The Many Misadventures of Mirri (and Varanis Arano)

VaranisArano

Haunted Legacy: Part 1

The next morning, the innkeeper delivered breakfast with a box and a note from Varanis that read, "I've gone to investigate the disappearances at Farmer's Nook with my friend Alchemy. Your daggers arrived from the Fighters Guild."

Mirri pulled off the lid. Inside were two straight-bladed daggers in the style the Fighters Guild adapted from the Akaviri, but she'd eat her dustcloak if any Fighters Guild smith touched these. The blades were ruby-red and further stained with the tell-tale crimson of nirncrux. They'd been made, tempered, sharpened, and enchanted by the hand of a true master. Most likely by one master in particular with her own arms business and good reasons to want Vandacia dead. "Thanks, Varanis."

She belted on the daggers and went to the Temple of Dibella to check on the twins.

The Dibellaseum was an elegant two-story building who's windows were crowned with flowerboxes overflowing with white lilies. Calia met her at the door, the stress on her face easing at once. "Mirri. We were about to go find you before Destron did something stupid. Come in."

She and Destron both wore the pale robes of Dibella novitiates; her in pink and him in lilac. They both looked exhausted. "What's wrong?" She asked. Maybe being infused with Daedric energy, they were having visions like Eveli's?

"Calia can't sleep," Destron said. "She thinks someone's hunting her."

"Something about my room feels wrong," Calia confirmed. "I don't understand it. I slept fine on the road, so it can't be that I'm not used to being out of our doomvault. We're supposed to be safe here in the temple, right?"

"Governor Keshu cleared the priestesses from suspicion because Vandacia was trying to defund them for years." Mirri said. "Has there been anyone strange hanging around who might be a cultist?"

Destron jerked his head at the front window. "Faric Gemain. The priestesses say he just arrived in Gideon. They also say his grandmother plotted with some novitiates to murder their beloved high priestess and steal the temple's relics sixty years ago. He's got a real grudge against them."

Mirri went to the window. A Breton man with short red hair came down the lane toward the Dibellaseum and took up station across from the door, scowling mightily at the building. "Has he tried to get in?"

"No, and that's the only reason I haven't gone out there and punched him," Destron said. "I don't like anyone who makes my sister feel this bad."

"I don't know that it's his fault," Calia said. "It's just in my bedroom. I feel fine in the Chapel and everywhere else. Mirri, would you take a look and tell me if I'm crazy?"

Her bedroom upstairs was a relatively simple affair like most of the novitiate rooms: wooden beams, plaster walls, delicately carved furniture, green lily banners, and a soft bed. Mirri checked all the furniture and under the bed, finding no compartments or hidden catches in the walls. "Alright, I'm stumped."

"Should we go talk to Faric?" Destron suggested, pounding his fist into his hand.

Calia sighed. "Won't you just make his grudge against the priestesses worse if he's not behind this?"

"We should talk to him." Mirri decided. "But first, I'm going to go get some backup. Magical expert-type backup to find what I'm missing here and a friendly face to do the talking."

...............................

Faric Gemain scowled at the twins, Mirri, Tiras, and Yisara as they approached. "I can't believe that even you novitiates are sanctified bullies." He waved at the Temple. "Look at yourselves living in the lap of luxury while war rages and your grudges make it hard for an honest man to earn an honest living."

"Woah," Mirri said, hands up. "We're all new around here and just want to make sure our friends are settling in fine. It's a little hard to do that with you scowling at them whenever they leave." With Faric focused on her, Tiras Tirethi headed into the Dibellaseum.

Meanwhile Yisara pulled out her notebook. A good cry, a good night's sleep, and a clean white shirt and fresh makeup had done wonders for her. She smiled with the promise of yet another book outline. "Mirri, leave the good man alone. Faric, I'm a novelist and I hear you want to set the story straight about what really happened."

She flipped the notebook open, pen at the ready. "Tell me everything."

"Well, uh, it's a nice change to meet a woman who's not shooting dirty looks at me." He said. "You two novitiates have probably heard all about it - how the Dibellites think my Granna Cerise plotted to murder the high priestess. Well, it's not true. Granna Cerise wasn't even in town when the novitiates started disappearing, and then she and the high priestess went missing together. Grandpa wanted to find them both, but the Dibellites jumped to conclusions and ran him out of town. They've spread rumors that've hounded him and me, even though we live in Bravil."

Destron asked, "So is that why you've been out here scowling at us day in, day out? I'm not much of a fighting man, but you're making my sister uncomfortable."

Faric flushed scarlet. "I...I'm sorry, uh -"

"I'm Calia," she volunteered. "I've had a really bad feeling about living in the Temple. Since you seemed so angry, we thought maybe you'd know something about it."

"You mean that I was causing it," Faric said, now irritated.

Mirri said, "Can you blame them for suspecting you?"

"Look, I've got a grudge, right? Well so does the Temple. They ran my Grandpa Lierre out of town carrying my father on his shoulders. All my life, all I've heard is that the Gemain name is mud. Carpentry tools stolen, sawhorses broken. They even taunt my son about it now, and he's only two!"

"That's horrible," Yisara said, looking up from her notes. "You're a fearless underdog trying to protect your family!"

"I'm glad someone sees it that way," he muttered.

"I want to help you. I know what it's like to dig into what's really going on," Yisara continued. "I found out that my great-great-grandmother really did murder her lover-"

"-on second thought-"

She shushed him. "-But she didn't curse the castle. That was his stuck-up controlling mother."

Calia said, "Well, if it's not Master Gemain here, I don't know who'd cause that bad feeling in my bedroom with my bedroom. None of the priestesses feel dangerous to me."

"Let's check with Tiras." Mirri said. "Maybe he's found something."

VaranisArano

Haunted Legacy: Part 2

Tiras was deep in an argument with Priestess Larusa, an older Imperial woman who took charge of the everyday affairs of the Dibellaseum, saying, "You've got a locked secret room upstairs that reeks of rituals and blood sacrifice. I need a focus from the time of the spellcasting to get inside. Your relics of the High Priestess Rolaine are the most likely focus."

"You're a Tribunal-worshiping heathen. No, you can't have the sacred relics, no matter what lies you tell."

Before Mirri could tell the woman off for disrespecting the Gods of Morrowind, Calia pushed herself forward, "Mistress? I've been having nightmares. Might this secret room be the reason why?"

She considered it, then caught sight of Faric. "Why have you brought him inside our walls?" She snapped, "Were it not for the Black Fin's protection, I would throw the whole lot of you out."

"Well, you can't throw us out," Mirri said. "Maybe you should try working with us instead?'

Instead, she hissed at Calia, "Dibella protects us from dark magic, as you would know if you were really an novitiate."

"Well, Dibella's doing a bad job of protecting my sister," Destron said. "Maybe you should pray for her to change that."

Tiras drew himself up. "I agree. This room dates from the disappearance of your High Priestess and the novitiates. Dibella chose not to protect them either. I need that focus if we're ever to find out why."

"Absolutely not! Ask that Gemain-" She spat the name out, "-if you want to know who's at fault for any dark magic done here." Then she stormed into the chapel and slammed the carved doors shut so hard she nearly caught her ornate cape in the doors.

Tiras turned to Yisara. "Can I borrow your lantern? It's a very long shot, but there might be helpful spirits around here who can tell us what happened."

Faric pulled a pendant off from around his neck. "My Granna Cerise gave this to my Grandpa the night before she and High Priestess Rolaine disappeared. Could it serve as your focus?"

Tiras examined it. "This is a memory stone! We Telvanni use them to preserve memories. Yes, if your Granna had any memories concerning that room, I should be able to force the way open."

Mirri pointed out, "If she had any memories of the room, that probably means she's the one responsible for it. Faric, are you willing to face the truth?"

Yisara put her hand on Faric's shoulder. He covered his face with his hand. "I don't know what I'll do if Granna was a murderer."

"You'll carry on," Yisara encouraged. "Maybe even write a bestselling book about it to provide for your family that way."

Destron said, "You'll be fixing her mistakes."

Faric blew out a long breath. "That's worth doing too. Yeah. I can face the truth. Let's do this."

Tiras led them up to where Calia's bedroom wall met the outside wall...or appeared to. He held up the memory stone and began to feed power into it.

The red spell-light that Mirri now associated with Vandacia flared up on the wall in strange sigils. "That's Dagonist magic."

"No wonder I was having nightmares," Calia said.

Black smoke began to pour from the memory stone. In response, Tiras poured more power into it.

Two human figures formed out of the black smoke - one in an novitiate's simple robes and another in the ornate cape of a priestess.

"I can't tell if that's Granna or not," Faric complained.

The smoke cape swirled, revealing that the priestess held a knife. When she stabbed the novitiate, Yisara gasped and Calia sat down rather hard. Then the murderer dragged the body through the spell-lit false wall. Tiras spread his arms wide, and the illusion ripped wide open. The smoke and figures faded, and in its place, several skeletons lay tangled in the secret room.

For a brief moment, Mirri envied the rest of them the innocence that let them gasp over decades-dry skeletons when she'd seen fresh assassin kills and slaughtered servants. "Somebody better let the priestesses know that they have some funerals to plan."

"I'll do it," Calia said. "Tiras, will I be safe to sleep here, or should we ask Governor Keshu to let us move?"

"It's still Dibella's House. Think of it sort of like a pimple. Now that they know it's come to the surface, they can cleanse it."

She left. Faric said, "I'm not saying I'm happy they're dead - nobody deserves that. But surely this disproves the claims that Granna Cerise plotted with the disappeared novitiates to steal the treasure and kill Rolaine."

Mirri shook her head. "It disproves that they plotted together. It doesn't exactly absolve Cerise of the murder. Murders, now. Out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"But Grandpa always said they were out of town when the women started disappearing."

"No offense, Faric. He could've been lying. Or your Granna could've had an accomplice among the priestesses who started killing early to provide her an alibi."

He jutted his jaw out, but didn't argue any further.

Thinking that perhaps she was starting to think a little too much like Varanis for comfort, she and Destron began to search the room. She read through a journal describing the author's plan to kill novitiates and make an offering to the Ideal Masters. "Who are the Ideal Masters? More cultists?"

"Necromancers," Tiras said. "Ones so powerful they basically rule their own small plane of Oblivion. They'll bargain with mortals for power."

Faric asked, "So someone - maybe Granna, maybe not - killed them for power?"

"The Ideal Masters deal in souls, not death." Tiras said, then cast a spell on the nearest skeleton. "They've been soul trapped."

Mirri felt the pieces beginning to come together for her. "Vandacia worked in Gideon for years, right? What if he and this priestess started building up the Waking Flame together by giving souls to the Ideal Masters? It doesn't really matter if Cerise was the murderer because pinning the blame on the Gemains made for a convenient scapegoat and meant no one would investigate too closely and find out stuff they shouldn't."

"Stuff like this map?" Destron asked, holding up a map of the outskirts of Gideon.

Yisara said, "I didn't know people actually did "X marks the spot" outside of books like mine."

Tiras said, "That might be where they made their bargain with the Ideal Masters. It's not something you do in the house of a Divine, even one like Dibella. Nor is it something you leave up to an accomplice."

With that information, Mirri speculated, "In fact, since there were no more deaths afterward, that argues the bargain must have been made by one of the two women who disappeared together: Cerise or Rolaine. That also explains why Vendacia turned against the priestesses. Either way, his mole on the inside disappeared."

Faric said, "It matters to me if Granna was a cultist, a murderer, and a soul-thief. We have to use the memory stone on that spot."

VaranisArano

Haunted Legacy: Part 3

The X marked a spot in the swamp forest outside of Gideon that was surrounded by lightning-blasted dead trees. Mirri took a few steps into the clearing and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise up as the dead grass crumbled to dust under her boots. "There's nothing living here." 

Tiras held up the memory stone. The smoky figure knelt in the clearing, arms outstretched to the sky. Her hair and ornate cloak whipped in a nonexistent wind, and then a series of lightning bolts struck the trees.

Faric sat down with a thump on a nearby rock, hand over his heart. "She's guilty. Granna's guilty." 

Yisara hugged him. Destron said, "That's rough. Is there anything we can do to help you?"

"I...I guess I'd like to find her body. Give her a funeral. Give them both a funeral. She and Rolaine disappeared on a carriage ride out this direction. I don't know - maybe Granna meant to kill her on the way and offer her soul to the Ideal Masters," he gestured to the clearing. "There's no memory of that kill because she gave the stone to Grandpa the night before she disappeared."

Yisara held out her lantern. "With this maybe we can figure out what happened." 

Faric practically trudged along as they backtracked their steps. However, it was the light from Yisara's lantern, not its spirit-calling power, that glinted off the iron fittings of a carriage toppled off the road and into swampy water below. They splashed out to it. "Wouldn't it be something," Faric said, "if despite all this trouble, they both died in a freak carriage accident?" 

It would've been something, but only one skeleton remained in the carriage. It wore a headress of jewels worked into the shape of flowers, and clutched a small casket to its chest. 

"Gotta be the high priestess," Mirri said, and apologized as she broke the woman's death grip and picked the lock on the casket. Rusted hinges squealed. Three soul gems lay on rotted velvet. They gleamed black. "I was expecting the treasure. Rolaine had the black soul gems?"

Faric's shoulders straightened. "Maybe they weren't Granna's after all."

Mirri ran her hand over the skeleton's rib cage. Several of the cracked ribs had chips cut out of them. "Don't get your hopes up. You see these marks? Rolaine was stabbed. Probably before the carriage ran off the cliff." 

"What if Granna stabbed her because of the black soul gems?" Faric suggested.

"That would be a plot twist," Yisara said, jotting it down. "I might use that even if it isn't true."

Mirri ran back through what they knew already. The Memory Stone belonging to Cerise was the most damning evidence of both the murders and the ritual in the clearing. Rolaine had also been stabbed...yet she was the one clutching the casket of soul gems. What if...what if she'd been making an assumption all along? "Faric? How certain are you that the memory stone belonged to your Granna?"

"What? She gave it to Grandpa. She wasn't a thief!" Then he shook his head. "Or, I thought she wasn't. I don't know what to think."

Yisara clapped her hands, "What a plot twist! Think of it: The Memory Stone belongs to the murderer. Cerise, coming back from vacation, investigates and steals it from the High Priestess. Fearing investigation, Rolaine spreads rumors against Cerise. Cerise finds the hidden room. Gives the evidence to her husband. Confronts the High Priestess. Stabs her in revenge for the murdered novitiates, then the carriage goes over the cliff, leaving no trace but a memory stone that her husband doesn't know the evidence it contains that could clear her name. What a story!"

"This isn't a game," Faric told her. "It's my reputation at stake here."

"That's lot of speculation," Mirri agreed.

"Speculation or not, it's going in the book!"

Tiras suggested, “Try using your lantern again. Without a burial here, its possible their unsettled spirits may rise now that we’ve disturbed the skeleton.”

That sounded worrying. Fortunately, the ghostly woman that appeared on the banks of the swamp had a broken leg, and moreover, was crawling away from them on hands and one knee towards a small cave in the cliff the carriage had fallen over. They followed her at a safe distance, and when she crawled into the skeleton that lay sprawled in the cave with a badly broken left femur, she vanished.

This skeleton had less ornate jewelry, and clutched a scroll case tightly in her hand. “It must be Granna,” Faric said, choking up,

Mirri opened the scroll case. “I don’t believe it.” She said, reading it. “Yisara was right.”

“Hah!”

Faric’s jaw dropped. “Granna was innocent?”

She handed it over to him. He read it like it was water to a man dying of thirst. “The memory stone was Rolaine’s. Granna was investigating the murders and took it hoping the High Priestess knew something about why the novitiates were leaving, except Rolaine was the murderer! Fearing that she too would be killed and soul-trapped, she gave the memory stone to Lierre and agreed to go with Rolaine in the carriage on the way to the ritual site, expecting to either kill her or be killed.”

He raised it high, like an Arena champion celebrating victory. “This proves her innocence! We have to tell the Dibellites.”

Yisara nodded enthusiastically. Destron stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry I gave you a rough time.”

Faric pumped his hand. “With any luck, you’ll be the last one giving me a hard time over this. The Dibellites won’t be happy. They thought Rolaine was practically a prophetess. They’ve got a lot of crow to eat over how they treated my family, and I’m not going to stand for it one moment longer now that we know for certain that Cerise was practically a hero sacrificing herself to take down Rolaine before she completed that ritual.”

On the side of the Aedra, Mirri could hardly blame him for his delight at the thought of the priestesses enduring even a small fraction of the discomfort heaped on him and his family.

On the side of the Daedra, that left her with a thornier problem. According to Keshu, the Dibellaseum was the safest place for the Twins to stay undercover. If the Dibellites took offense to their rather unorthodox investigation - and the current high priestess seemed very offended that they'd basically run out with Faric after offering only a cursory explanation of the room and its contents - they might get kicked out of yet another Sanctuary. Or else Keshu would have to spend a lot of social credit to get their cooperation a second time, and she didn't need to remember Olik to know that Keshu couldn't spare much.

“We’re going to need to talk to Keshu first,” she said.

Faric warned her, “I’m not going to keep my mouth shut about this. Not now that we’ve got the proof I need to clear my Granna’s good name.”

Yisara said, “Proof isn’t going to keep you from being run out of town if the Dibellites raise another mob. Keshu has the soldiers to keep you safe.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

.................................

Governor Keshu sat in her office treating all them, including the Dibellite Larusa, to the flat stare of a head teacher disappointed in her pupils. Mirri wanted to sink into her chair. Here she was supposed to be the one Varanis trusted, bringing more trouble to Keshu’s town.

Though their chairs had originally been set in a semi circle, the priestess had moved hers several feet over so it looked like her against the seven of them. “Why am I supposed to just take their word that our Sibyl Rolaine was a murderer?

Tiras Tirethi pointed at her, in full snobby, snotty, Telvanni scion mode. “Because I’m giving my word, and my word is that of House Telvanni. I’ll vouch that everything the Memory Stone showed is the true representation of those memories. I’ll vouch that everything we say we saw at Rolaine’s carriage is true. Unless you want a diplomatic incident between your order and the Council, you’d best not call me a liar again.”

“I realize you’re an uncultured heathen, but if you don’t know what a Sibyl is, it means that Rolaine was personally and divinely blest by Dibella. Her visions came straight from the soft hands of the Goddess. Perhaps you are not lying about what you think you saw, but there is no way that your conclusions are correct.”

Yisara jotted that down. Then she said, “Rolaine might’ve been a Sibyl at one point. Given that we found her clutching a chest of black soul gems to her like a mother holds her baby to her breast, I think at some point, she gave Dibella the middle finger.”

Larusa shuddered at the disrespect. “See, Governor? They have no regard for our order. There’s enough chaos in the Dibellaseum with four funerals to plan.”

“Five funerals.” Faric grated. “My Granna died a priestess in good standing. As you well know.”

“No.” She barked back. “See, Governor?” She jabbed an accusing finger at the twins. “It all started when those two arrived. I want them out of Dibella’s House.”

Mirri did sink a few inches lower in her chair. Keshu said nothing, except to lean her elbows on the desk and rest her chin on folded hands, looking more disappointed than ever.

Calia, however, sat up straight, staring down the priestess. “I’m not sure I want to stay in Dibella’s House. When I asked you to let us investigate why I was having nightmares in my room, you refused. You were more concerned about your order’s relics than actually getting me the help I needed.”

Destron folded his arms. “I go where my sister goes. And I agree with her. Faric did a better job of seeing she’s taken care of than you. Funny how that works.”

It was one thing for the Dibellites to throw them out as a power play. It was quite another to have Dibellan hospitality shunned. The priestess wilted like a lily after a cold snap. “We really are in a trying time. Everything we learned from our Sibyl must be reevaluated.”

Keshu extended her hands out to both sides. “I would prefer that the twins remain in the Dibellaseum. It truly is the safest place for you in Gideon, especially now that the Dagonist taint has been cleansed from your rooms. But,” nodding to each side respectively, “if you do not wish to remain or if you do not wish to host them, I cannot and will not force you.” She folded her hands beneath her chin and looked at Mirri.

Right, there wasn’t going to be a better time to say what she’d been mulling over since the swamp. She straightened up. This was no time to look like a slouching student called on unexpectedly. “Look, we’ve all got a common enemy to blame here, right? Mehrunes Dagon, Vandacia, and Waking Flame. Rolaine killed people for the Ideal Masters because she’d forsaken Dibella. She deliberately lied to throw off the investigation, and her lies have misled the people who should have been able to trust their Sibyl for decades.”

“Decades.” Faric snorted. “Thanks to the Dibellites, that’s sixty years of torment for my father. Grandpa never stopped believing Granna was innocent. He died not knowing that she was.”

“This won’t be much of a comfort,” Mirri told him. “It could’ve been worse. Vandacia stayed in Gideon. He’s been trying to defund the Dibellaseum to cover his tracks there. Imagine if your Grandpa or Father had come back to investigate the Memory Stone. Vandacia would’ve killed him to protect himself. B’vehk! A week or two earlier, and you’d probably be a dead man too.”

“Or soul-trapped.” Faric winced. “Gods, you're right that it could've been worse.”

Now she appealed to the twins and the priestess. “The Waking Flame now threatens all of Blackwood and especially everyone in Gideon. Divided, we’ll fall. Or we stand together and work to heal our old wounds so we’re strong.”

“You sound like a Pact recruiter.” The priestess said. “Let’s not forget that Gideon is threatened because we’re sheltering the two Daedric children.”

“We’re not chil-” Destron protested. 

Calia shushed him. “Yeah, Varanis says we’re the Ambitions that the Waking Flame wants more than anything right now so they can destroy the world. So are you going to do your part to keep us and everyone else safe?”

“I fear Dibella has left my house. I must consider what course will bring back her favor.” The priestess rose and began to pace back and forth in front of Keshu’s fireplace. After about five minutes of silence, Keshu rose and got herself a cup of tea. When she sat back down, Larusa stopped her pacing and announced, “We will have four funerals.”

Holding up her hand to  forestall any outbursts, she continued. “Cerise will have pride of place as her rank and heroism deserves. We will give Rolaine to the priest of Arkay. He will bless her remains only so that she does not return undead and will bury her in the paupers field so that no one tries to use that false sibyl’s bones for relics.”

To Faric, she said with hands over her heart, “I will also send word to our chapter in Bravil, so they know what has happened if you wish to return home at once. If not, we have some pews that badly need repair and we would pay handsomely for carpentry work. Consider it recompense for some of the lost wages you’ve accrued coming here to tell us the truth.”

Faric pulled a face. “That’s not really…” He trailed off, then shrugged. “I came here hoping only to find out the truth and set the story straight. I’ve done that. Be churlish of me not to show a little grace myself, I guess. I’ll take a look at your pews. If the job is big enough, maybe my wife and son will even come up from Bravil for a bit. Or maybe not, with a cult taking aim at this place. I’d really rather not get soul-trapped.”

Destron asked his sister, “What do you want to do?” 

She said, “It was a nice room. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”

With that, Mirri breathed out a deep sigh of relief. They’d solved the cold case, freed the Dibellaseum of a Dagonist ritual, and she hadn’t shattered their nascent alliances beyond repair. Until now, she hadn’t realized it, but she’d pretty much soaked through her tunic in a cold sweat.

The Twins took the soul gem casket back to the Temple with the priestess and Faric, discussing funeral preparations. Yisara finished her notes and hugged her. “Anytime you smell a good story in the offing, you come find me, okay? Sweet Morwha, this one is going to be great.” She jogged off to the inn.

Tiras lingered. She hugged him. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I do have to get back to Revas,” He apologized.

“Sure. Once Varanis gets back, I’m sure she’ll have me hopping too.”

“I hope to see you again. Soon.”

“Me too. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you two run into any problems, okay?”

“I won’t. You do the same.”

Tiras left, and Keshu’s big office felt emptier for his absence. The governor opened a drawer and took out a sealed letter. “You handled that well. Unfortunately, the reward for good work is always more work. This was sent here for you.”

The envelope was heavy parchment, sealed by a single drop of black wax. Her stomach dropped. “Elam Drals had better not have taken out a Black Sacrament on me.”

“I think it is from the Black Hand, but not a threat,” Keshu said.

She tore it open and read, “Matus Amnis has loose lips. His manor may have more information. Be discreet.” 

“His manor is here in town,” Keshu said. “I could send soldiers to tear it apart if you think this is a trap. However, I suspect the Speaker would prefer that someone with a lower profile take a look, or he would have sent the letter to the Vestige instead.”

“She’s out of town anyway,” Mirri said, trying to decide if Elam’s tip was worth putting her hand into the clannfear’s jaws. “So is Eveli. Looks like it has to be me.” 

VaranisArano

The Face of Change: Part 1

Varanis rode up the road to Farmer's Nook, turning off just before the inn at a little inlet where the colorful caravan of the House of Revelries had set up their rainbow of ribbons, banners, lanterns, and striped circus tent. She slowed her panther to a walk as she was mobbed by masked performers. A pair ran alongside her, juggling balls and pins back and forth to each other ahead and behind her. Though her panther shook his head in annoyance at the projectiles, they never missed a beat.

Though when the acrobats ran out and began flipping next to her, she drew the reins back to a stop. "I'm looking for Alchemy."

Two acrobats knelt, making stirrups with their hands. Two more ran in, grabbing their shoulders and headstanding over the base into the stirrup. The smallest acrobat - either a very short Altmer or very tall bosmer - sprinted in from the far side, did a flip, and vaulted up onto the shoulders on the middle layer. She or he - it was hard to tell with Revelry tunics and the vocal distortion from the mask - announced, "Alchemy is in the circus tent."

A very tall Altmer in a purple silk tunic and a purple-gold mask strode out of the big tent, waving. Each unique mask meant something, though Varanis could never keep track of what. "Right," she said. "Ah-" How to politely say, 'Your pyramid of people is blocking the path'?

The pyramid disassembled itself in as flashy a manner as it'd formed. Varanis joined Alchemy, dismissing her panther. "You said there'd been disappearances in the village? Any problems with your troupe?"

"It's a sinister michief," Alchemy said, her smooth contralto voice low and soothing in contrast to the news. "No one's bothered us yet. There are rumors, though, and it's only a matter of time before we take the blame. We've had to cancel the performance, of course."

"I can tell your folk are getting stir-crazy."

"Aren't we something? We came to bring dreams and flights of fancy to this sleepy town - literally, flights -" Alchemy said, gesturing above them to the trapeze wires and nets at the top of the tent. "It's hard to enjoy oneself when you worry that it might be you or your loved ones who wander out into the woods, then come back wrong, and die a few days later."

"Came back wrong? Huh." The Waking Flame didn't seem like the sort of cult to practice catch-and-release with its victims. With this jaunt immediately taking an unexpected turn, she might as well come clean with Alchemy. "I'm hunting another daedric cult in Blackwood. Remember the Court of Bedlam from Summerset?" When Alchemy nodded, she continued, "Think of them, but Dagon-flavored. When I got your letter, I assumed they were behind the problems here."

"Well," Alchemy said with a certain amount of tact, "You know what they say about assumptions."

"Don't I know it." When she'd first met Alchemy at the House of Revelries in Summerset, well...she'd assumed. Alchemy had played on those assumptions with the best of intentions. Even though in hindsight, Alchemy's actions had been for the best, she'd be lying to herself if she said her pride wasn't stung to have been played like a fiddle. "So what do you think?'

"I think we should go to the inn of the Happy Crow and meet the dramatis personae: the bereaved. Their family and friends died in circumstances that vaguely resemble some of our stage tricks, so they were unwilling to speak to me. I promised that help was coming, and they agreed to speak to a true hero. I suspect they will be suitably impressed to meet the famous Vestige who saved Summerset. And if not, I will make sure they are."
…………………………..

The Happy Crow was a humble village inn, generally well maintained, though there were muddy boot prints all over the porch. Alchemy opened the door, and bowed her in with a flourish.

Three men sat around a table in the taproom, nursing mugs of mead. A tired looking Imperial with a farmer's tan poured the rest of the jug out for a Redguard with muddy boots. The Breton wearing an innkeeper apron raised his mug. "I'm shorthanded, so there's no hot meals and this is the last mead. Move on to Gideon if you want better service."

"I'm here to-" A tinny trumpet blatted behind her, and she about jumped out of her skin.

Alchemy played a few more notes of fanfare, stuck the hand-sized prop trumpet under her arm, stood at attention, and announced in the sort of voice that carried across the whole of the Rellenthil outdoor theater, "Varanis the Vestige, True Hero, Savior of Summerset (and the rest of Tamriel), Empieress, Master Angler, and the One Who Kicked Molag Bal in the Balls."

The three men stared at her, completely dumbfounded. She turned to Alchemy, putting hands on her hips. "Was that really necessary?"

The mask rendered Alchemy's face impassive. The flair with which she made her trumpet disappear spoke volumes about how smug she felt. "Of course. How else will people know who you are? How else will I get to see you jump like a gryphon who's had a tail feather plucked?"

"You've all gone stir-crazy with no one to perform for," she muttered, grimacing at the gryphon jab. To the men, she said, "Sorry about my friend. I am Varanis the Vestige and I'd like to help solve these disappearances."

The innkeeper said, "I've heard of you. You're the one who single-handedly closed the dark anchor over White-Gold Tower. Wish I had more mead, cause I'd drink to that!" The other two looked suitably impressed.

"It wasn't single-handedly." She demurred. "The Undaunted helped, and so did the Moth Priest and her Elder Scroll. So what's happening here? Alchemy said those who disappeared came back...wrong."

The tired farmer, Heseph Perrick, described how his sister Cylle went missing for a few days and came back with an eye twitch, a new desire to remember their bad childhood, and having forgotten the taste of salt. "She dragged me out to our childhood swimming hole, and leapt in, vanishing into the water in a cloud of ink. She should've broken her neck, but there was no body."

"I'm sorry for your loss." She said. Alchemy hummed in agreement from her seat at a nearby table.

"It's better than what Braden saw," Heseph said, nodding to the innkeeper.

"My brother got drunk and fell in the fire." Braden said. "There was nothing I could do. It happened so quickly."

Varanis winced. It was one thing to kill enemies with fire; quite another to think about innocents dying that way.

Braden went to the mantle over the fireplace and pulled down an urn, his voice getting angrier as he spoke. "You're a dragonknight, aren't you? You've probably burned dozens and dozens of people to death, right? Tell me then, are these the ashes of my brother?!" He dumped the urn out on the table in front of her. Black, tarry lumps fell out into a loose pile as he shook it.

Already she could tell there weren't any charred bones. She picked up one of the lumps. Rather than disintegrating into finer ashes, it smeared inky stains over her fingertips. "That's not human ash."

"I knew it!" He shouted, slamming his hand into the table and making the mugs jump. The Redguard man grabbed his mug. "I knew it. I've cooked enough meat to know what burning flesh smells like. Whatever it was that burned, it wasn't my brother Igmund."

"What did it smell like?" Alchemy asked.

"Musty hay, linen - like some mummer made a puppet of my brother." He glared at her. "It's hard to trust someone when you can't see their face."

"I trust her," Varanis said, before they derailed further in an unhelpful direction. "She's a friend." Actually, "friend" and “trust” were stretching the truth a fair bit, both more and less. Alchemy had been her mentor for a brief time when she pretended to join the House of Revelries while looking for someone else's missing family member. Alchemy had proven to be one of the few people capable of lying to her face, and more than clever enough to figure out and counter her attempts at deciphering the identities of the other Revelry Hopefuls. Because Varanis hadn’t known what she was doing and because Alchemy had the best of intentions, it all turned out well in the end. In the process, Alchemy had proven her love for the House of Revelries and her Hopefuls beyond a shadow of doubt. Letting the troupe take the heat for these disappearances wasn't in her nature.

It also meant that Alchemy might tweak her nose at every opportunity now, but Varanis was certain that the actress wasn't responsible for these disappearances.

She turned to the Redguard. He said, "My Khajit friend Bugtail and I were slaves together in Elsweyr under the Euraxians. We escaped when a dragon attacked."

Heseph snorted. "You aren't going to impress a real hero with that tall tale, Jahhouz. Dragons are legends."

Jahhouz sighed, "It's true."

"Of course it's true!" Alchemy exclaimed. "Just because things happen far away doesn't make them mere legends. It's the subject of our circus performance as our acrobats soar through the air as peerless dragons, pursued by fearless Khajiit and the Dragonguard. The starring role: Khamira the Brave Princess. Or it would have been, if we hadn't had to cancel." She appraised Jahhouz with a critical eye. "Would you mind telling your tale for a few of our dragon performers? They relish every chance to refine their moves."

He scratched his neck. "I guess I could. I don't talk about it much. Anyways, Bugtail was supposed to take a gelding down to Gideon. The gelding came back. He didn't wander back in for a couple days later, none the worse for wear. Problem is, the horses knew he wasn't right. He tried to help me with our mare. She's the gentlest creature in creation! She kicked him right in the stomach and he burst like a balloon full of ink."

"Ink seems to be the common denominator in the deaths," Varanis said. "Did they have anything else in common? Like a reason to leave Farmer's Nook?"

"Cylle wasn't unhappy, I think," Heseph said. "A farmer's life is hard work, though."

Braden said, "Igmund had a taste for city life. When he returned without the supplies he'd gone for, I accused him of gambling at the toad races. But he counted it out and he had every coin. So either he got really, really lucky, or that's got nothing to do with what happened to him."

Jahhouz said, "I miss Hammerfell. Bugtail misses his warm sands. With a war on in both our homelands, neither of us thought there was a reason to give up a good horse breeding business here and strike out for home."

"Huh." Ink wasn't much to go on. She couldn't think of any other connections. Most frustrating of all, every minute she struggled here was a minute not spent fighting the Waking Flame. "Sorry, I'm not exactly Inspector Vale putting clues together from different people's stories and pulling an "A-ha!" moment out of my behind."

"You can say that again," Alchemy murmured. "What? Someone's got to keep you humble."

"Not helping," she muttered back. She needed something to do. Someone to fight. Perhaps actively investigating would flush something out of hiding. She asked the men, "Is there anywhere you can think of where I should look around?"

Footsteps thumped on the porch. She spun in her chair as the door swung open. A thin, hunched woman whose face was prematurely aged by exposure to wind and salt water came inside, wringing her hands. "Hero? My daughter Annyce has run away again after I grounded her for not doing her chores. Again."

Heseph muttered, "Divines. It was only a matter of time before that flighty girl went missing."

As bad as it sounded, it was like the Three gave her exactly what she needed. "Tell us everything you can.

VaranisArano

The Face of Change: Part 2

After they found no sign of Annyce at home, her widowed mother Maelle directed them to the play fort her husband built for their daughter for her to act out all manner of adventures. "She wants to be a pirate," Maelle said. "Not a old sailor like me, probably because I've told her a thousand times that life at sea is damp, cold, and miserable at the best of times, and wondering if you ever see land again at the worst. I made better coin as a sailor than being a farmer - and every coin earned took its toll on me. I don't want that for my daughter. She'd do better to stay here and make a good living off the land."

"Many parents want certain things for their children," Alchemy said. "In the end, the child leaves the nest and decides for themselves."

"I'd be lot less concerned if it weren't for the disappearances," Maelle snapped back. "Death at sea is one thing. At least she knows the risks. Death like Cylle, Igmund or Bugtail? Farming is dangerous work. I don't want to leave her to do her chores only to find a puddle of ink because she wasn't paying attention."

Aside from the business with the trumpet, Alchemy had kept her eccentricities under wraps while interviewing the townsfolk. Now, as they climbed the rocky path up to the play fort, she began to declaim, "The hunting horn sounds the chase. Scene Change! The fearless heroine takes the bit between her teeth and charges onward, upward to the fort where dreams and nightmares come to life."

The promise of action hadn't given Varanis any more patience for being teased over it. "Cut it out. I'm not the heroine of one of your stage plays."

"You sure about that?"

"You're kidding me. They've written a play about me? I thought the ugly paintings were bad enough."

Alchemy laughed at her. "It's the hit this season with the main company. I'm told the Proxy Queen herself gave it a standing ovation. Don't sell yourself short as an actress either. I myself accepted your audition to the House of Revelries."

"Not exactly my finest moments there."

"I saw your potential then. I still do." Alchemy corrected her. "You have good instincts. How many times do you assess the battlefield and then act decisively? A thousand times or more, surely, because the battlefield is your stage. Yet when we first met and here now, you flounder when confronted with too much talking and no clear enemy. The scene is muddled. Clues and doubts swirl around you indistinguishable from each other. Your brow darkens. I said when I took you on as a Hopeful that your instincts needed honing, training, and refinement. Now, think!" She tapped her head as they crested the last rocks. "Lo, the dancers of doubt clear away. A spotlight shines upon new scenery."

Varanis grit her teeth. At times, Alchemy saw all too deeply for comfort. "This isn't a play. I'm not an actress."

"All the world's a stage, my dear." Alchemy replied.

All too aware that her face was set in a deep frown, she snapped back, "I don't appreciate being mocked, either."

That shut Alchemy up. Varanis turned her attention to the play fort. Annyce's father had built a farm shed well enough that it held up through to Annyce's teenage years. There were footsteps in the dirt out front, leading off into the swamp south toward the road. Inside, she found the same sort of toys she'd grown up with on the saltrice farm: upturned crates for a table with battered and chipped mugs for a kitchen, a child-sized wooden play sword, and a painted "chest" for valuables. The chest was empty except for a handful of well-loved adventure books. "She was Captain Wereshark fan, I see."

The only unusual thing was a new-looking leather rucksack. She dug into that, coming up with a few days worth of trail rations, a canteen, a wallet fat with coin, and a sheath of notes on the ships at harbor in Leyawiin. Annyce had written detailed notes on each ship regarding whether she'd make berth on each one. Merchant ships were "boring", apparently. One ship had caught her eye, with detailed plans to leave Farmer's Nook and persuade the Captain to take her on board. Except…

She smacked the sheath of notes against her thigh. "It doesn't make sense!"

"No?" Alchemy said, strolling over to the play kitchen crates, then examining the sword.

"No. If I listen to her notes and follow the footprints, I should ride for Leyawiin at once before she boards the Merry Mermaid for Abah's Landing. Except that if she's like the others who disappeared, she'll wander out of the woods in a few days, none the worse for wear and I'll be far away. She didn't take her travel supplies with her and she wasn't robbed either."

"What do your instincts tell you happened here?" Alchemy asked.

"They tell me fetch all!" Varanis snapped. Well, that wasn't true - her sense of dread was certainly active. "My instincts say I'm too late and she's already gone. Annyce will come back wrong and die in a horrid but inexplicably inky accident in a couple days. Give it a week and it'll happen again to to someone else. That's a week I don't have to spare with the Waking Flame hunting for the means to destroy the world."

She tossed the sheaf of notes back into Annyce's pack. It was bitter to admit failure to Alchemy once again. "This isn't shaping up to be one of my finer moments either. Sorry. I know you're just trying to help. If you see more than me what's going on, please, help me. I can't see it."

Alchemy sighed, with more relief than dismay. "Your instincts aren't wrong. Perhaps I should have tried to train you better back in Summerset rather than trying to throw you off the track. If you are a badly-trained bloodhound, I admit I had a hand in it. Let me make good my mistake now, Varanis. Turn around and face the wall."

"I don't want training," she muttered, but obeyed the instruction. "I just need answers and fast." There was a rustling behind her. What was Alchemy doing?

"You'll get your answers," Alchemy said. "Just don't turn around, please. I didn't bring an extra." Then Alchemy was at her back, lowering a hood over her head and a mask over her face.

For a moment, the full Reveler's mask of painted wood was exactly as disorienting and claustrophobic as first had been back when she first auditioned. She made herself take deep breaths until the urge to rip it off faded. It's no different than an ash-wrap or a narrow-visored helmet, she told herself. Even though she didn't have a clue how the mask was supposed to help here, it was incredibly important to how the Revelers trained to set aside their own identities and subsume themselves in their roles. If Alchemy needed her to wear the mask for this "training," then so be it.

With Alchemy standing behind and guiding her through placing her hands on her shoulders, they turned around. The actress said. "You are no longer Varanis. Set aside that role for now. You are Annyce. Look with Annyce's eyes. What do you see?"

"I see...it's all obvious, isn't it? My old toys. My old books. I look at them one last time before I take my notes, my pack, and head off to Leyawiin for adventure. But I don't!" She threw up her hands. "I leave my pack behind for no good reason and walk off into the swamp."

"You are not Varanis," Alchemy chided her gently. "You are Annyce. Talk yourself into the role if it helps. You are a young farm girl who loves reading about adventure on the high seas-"

"Her mother - my mother - doesn't understand why I have my head in the clouds staring after the - with me it was the soldiers. Annyce - me, I guess - dreams about ships. ships. She grounds me, hoping I'll be content to stay and farm with her. I'm not and I want out of Farmer's Nook."

"Keep going," Alchemy encouraged.

Looking around at the play fort, she continued improvising off what she knew from Maelle, "The only person who understood me was my father. He built this for me. He bought me my treasured books. Mother is afraid for me. Everyone else thinks I should give up childish things and work hard on the farm. Father would be proud that I am leaving to seek my fortune."

Alchemy squeezed her shoulders. She pointed to the crates with the mugs. "See with Annyce's eyes."

Varanis picked up a mug. Dark tea sloshed at the bottom. "It's a big decision to leave. Perhaps I decide to make a cup of tea." On a hunch, she picked up the other cup. Instead of being bone dry like she'd expected, it too had a small amount of dark tea in it. "Why not just use the same mug for a second cup of tea?"

"You are not Var-"

"I'm Annyce, I know!" She'd ignored the mugs as first, assuming it was just like her own youthful imaginary tea times with Redoran noblewomen. When would she learn not to assume? "Did I have a guest? I need to look at the footprints outside."

With fresh eyes, she could see what she'd missed: two sets of footprints walking together and over each other down into the swamp. Some of the footprints were twisted and turned, and neither one was consistently on top. "I had a guest. We talked over tea. What did we say? Whatever it was, I decided to leave my supplies and my plans behind, and we went into the swamp together. My guest must have had a better plan because I believe them. I believe they could give me something better than a berth on a ship bound for adventure."

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the role of Annyce. "Hell if I know what she'd want more than that though. Did I miss anything that you saw?"

Alchemy carefully removed the hood and replaced it on herself. "You can turn around now. Only two minor details remain known to the audience, but not to you."

Being the novice to Alchemy's master hadn't gotten any less galling since the last time. "Look, you've demonstrated that yes, I do need the training you can give me. I still don't appreciate being mocked."

Alchemy clapped her hands together and bowed. "I apologize. The first detail: Captain Wereshark is a series. The third book is missing."

"I never was much of a fan of pirates."

"The second detail," she added, and struck the pose of a perfect Altmer noble asking their partner to dance. "Annyce and her guest were so delighted with their decision that they danced their way to wherever they went. Will you dance with me?"
………………………..

Dancing in such a manner as to avoid swamp spriggans and bog dogs led them to a small Ayleid ruin exposed to the open air. It had once been a library. Now the remaining books were soggy and rotten with mold. The stonework was worn down with twisting channels where rainwater had eaten away lumps and bulges in the limestone pillars. The only other notable feature was a brazier with a Welkynd Stone for fuel. A book lay beside the brazier, well-worn but in considerably better shape than the mouldering books around it.

Varanis leafed through it. "Here's the missing Captain Wereshark book. Wereshark and his crew fight and narrowly escape Prince Vaugr and his draugr. They steal his treasure-" the next few pages were torn out. "Well, I guess they would've stolen his treasure and lived to sail another day."

The missing pages were nowhere in sight. Would Annyce have torn the happy ending out only to let it blow away? No, of course not. She checked the brazier. There was fairly fresh ash and a few scraps of paper in it. She teased one piece loose. The words from the book were stained with rust-brown blood. "Alchemy, was this a ritual?"

Alchemy peered at the bloody paper, the brazier, and the book. "As you know, I was a famous mage in a past life. I was also a dragon princess and a Vampire Queen in other past lives, but for the moment, only the mage matters. This does look rather like a bargain made with a daedra, doesn't it? Annyce's book. Her blood. A pact and the means to seal it."

"So help me, if she's made a bargain with Clavicus Vile…"

Alchemy stepped back. "Become Annyce again." She instructed.

Varanis sighed, and tried to settle back into the role. "You're right. It's not Clavicus Vile. Even a sheltered farm girl knows stories about his bargains. Plus, I've met the guy back in Summerset - nobody would want to dance with him. Who was it Annyce - I made the bargain with? I don't know. Someone who can offer…" She waved her hands, feeling helpless. "I don't know. Someone who offers me what I want more than a berth to Abah's Landing. Someone who can imitate me badly, and who fakes my death after a couple days. Someone who I trust despite knowing there's been disappearances. I just don't know."

Alchemy nodded along with her. "Let me pick your brain for a moment, since you've been to far more Ayleid ruins than I. The ancient Ayleids had many cities, yes?"

"City-states, yeah. They were never really united under a high king like Summerset was. They even worshipped different daedra-" She smacked herself on the forehead. "I'm a s'wit. There's probably a carving to their patron daedra around here somewhere."

Alchemy pointed at the pillars. Now that Varanis looked closer, the lumps, bumps, and twising channels were actually deliberately carved. Though worn, she could make out the shape of tentacles and staring eyes with too many pupils. "I'm more lost than before. Hermaeus Mora is an even worse dancing partner than Clavicus Vile. Besides, I'd expect him to know the taste of salt."

Alchemy shrugged. "I am also at a loss as to what the Demon of Knowledge might have wanted with a farmer's sister, an innkeeper, and a stablemaster, or what he might have offered them in exchange if they made a similar bargain as Annyce. Though he yearns after knowledge of all sorts, none of them seem any more knowledgeable than the others in Farmer's Nook."

Varanis took a final look around as she tucked the Captain Wereshark book into her pack. "I'm not missing something else, am I?"

"Not that I can see. Perhaps we should return to the village and wait for Annyce to return?"

VaranisArano

The Face of Change: Part 3

Though Varanis been preparing herself to wait for a couple days for Annyce to return, Heseph waved them down outside the inn. "Annyce is back," he said, gesturing inside. "Her face is all wrong, just like Cylle's."

"We'll talk to her," Varanis said. Finally, she could meet the one responsible for the disappearances.

Alchemy's hand on her arm stopped her. "After what we found, be careful."

Meeting the enemy face to face? Chatting them up for information? She murmured back, "Thanks. This part I can handle.'

Inside, Maelle was doting on a gawky, dark-haired teen, who ate a bowl of plain porridge with unusual gusto. "Annyce," Varanis said, taking care to sound pleasant. "Good to see you back safe after so many disappearances."

Annyce looked up like a startled hare, then smiled, or tried to. "Er, who are you?"

Alchemy coughed. Varanis turned on her. "Don't you dare break out that trumpet again."

Braden, tending the bar with a deep frown, surprised himself with a deep belly laugh as Alchemy tucked it away under her tunic.

Turning back to Annyce, she explained, "Your mother asked me to look for you. I'm delighted to see you're well."

"Mother, you didn't have to send someone after me," Annyce complained, her face drawing down into a deep frown. "I just ran away. No one needed to worry." She pasted on another smile, this one bigger than the last.

"I'm afraid folks are bound to worry after what's happened to Cylle, Igmund, and Bugtail," Varanis said. "Not that there's anything to worry about. They returned and so did you."

Annyce hugged herself. "Yeah, there's no need to worry. Why is everyone worried anyway? People like me want to leave Farmer's Nook sometimes. People leave to get a better life. To follow their dreams. I only came back because I knew Mother wouldn't let me go."

Whoever you are, Varanis thought, apparently you don't know that faking people's deaths isn't a good way to convince their family members to let them go. Perhaps this imposter had offered to take Annyce's place while she ran for Leyawiin? Except, no, Annyce hadn't taken her pack. She'd stayed close. None of the others had taken anything. They must be close as well. She said, "It's rather sad that there have been so many deaths in such a short time. That's a rough way to let people go."

Annyce looked away. A myriad of emotions passed over her face as if she was trying to figure out sadness. Varanis added, "Their family and friends didn't even have bodies to bury."

Annyce settled on a frown. "They wanted to follow their dreams, not be buried in a crypt. It's okay to let go. Maybe they wanted it that way."

Hah, she'd perform in one of Alchemy's stage plays again if the missing people weren't buried in a crypt. "I hope you get to follow your dreams, Annyce. Stay safe."

As quickly as she could extricate herself without looking suspicious, she made her way back to Alchemy. "They'll be in a nearby crypt."

"Or in a nearby Ayleid ruin that's part of the same city-state that worshiped Hermaeus Mora. I asked."

"Or that. We'll check the ruin first."

Maelle followed them out. "Thank you for looking for her. Even if she came back wrong."

"Don't thank us yet. We're still looking for your daughter." Varanis said. "You see what we see. Keep up the illusion that you think she's Annyce as long as you can. This imposter doesn't seem to intend harm to friends and family, but that might change if you confront them."

"Maybe I'll ground her. She won't believe anything else after this runaway attempt."

"Maybe when she returns," Alchemy said, "You'll consider whether that's the relationship you want with your daughter."
……………………………………………………

When they arrived at the Ayleid ruin, a flickering ward covered the entrance. When Varanis got too close, the ward coalesced into the figure of an imposing Nord woman about as tall as Lyris Titanborn and considerably wilder. "I'm the Mighty Flicka of Captain Wereshark's crew," she roared, drawing her saber and pointing it at them. "Who are ye, and why do we sail?"

Varanis backed off. Mighty Flicka sheathed her sword and waited, her gaze drifting off to the horizon.

She asked Alchemy, "I don't suppose you can unravel the ward?"

"My past life as a mage didn't have much to do with wards."

"Can I just fight the guardian, then?"

"She's only one of the crew. More of them might appear and my knowledge of stage combat won't be of much use to you."

Worse, they might attack indiscriminately, and she'd have to protect Alchemy. She dug around in her pack for the Captain Wereshark book. "Fine, I'll see if this says why the Mighty Flicka sails."

Instead, Alchemy held out her hand for the book. "Who are ye, Gryphon, and why do ye sail?"

Gryphon was the name she'd been given as a Hopeful. "I think it's just a simple password ward. I don't need to act out the answer."

"I'm concerned that the ward is so deeply representative of Annyce's pact that it's manifesting characters from her book," Alchemy explained. "If we want to be subtle about breaking the ward so we don't warn the imposter or cause a backlash on Annyce within, I think we do need to act it out. And it must be you, because I can't fight if something goes wrong."

Put it like that, "That makes sense. Maybe I ought to shush and do my training like a good Hopeful."

Alchemy chuckled, tapping the book. "You've never been one to shush and I don't expect you to. I do expect you to learn your lines."

Varanis sat down on a log to study the book as instructed. Mighty Flicka sailed for glory, like most Nords who cared about Sovngarde. The shadowscale predictably had a death-wish to meet Sithis. Dagger-wielding Bosmer Galena cared about the crew as family, which reminded her a fair bit of Captain Lerisa and Eveli both.

After five minutes of pacing, Alchemy sat down next to her. After five minutes more of anxious toe-tapping, Alchemy asked, "Do you need my mask to get into the role?"

As little as she wanted to admit it, the mask had been a helpful reminder that she was supposed to be Annyce, not Varanis. Undoubtedly it would help here. But that was also an incredibly personal offer from Alchemy, who like most House of Revelries performers might go years without revealing their mask-less face to another. If her mentor was making the offer, then she feared that her Hopeful needed the mask more than she knew. Perhaps needed the mask more than she needed her mentor standing back giving encouragement and instruction.

Was there another way to accomplish the same goal? She dug into her pack again, coming up with her black ash-wrap that still smelled a little of Stonefalls sulfur. "Will this work instead?"

Alchemy examined it with a palpable sense of relief. "Do you mind if I make it more piratey?"

Ten minutes more, and she was ready for her debut. Alchemy had turned the ash-wrap into a black bandana that covered the top of her face except for the eye-holes. Varanis had stripped off most of her plate armor and stood in the blackened leather and chainmail underlayer. Though still armored, she felt lighter than in ages. "Any last advice, teacher?"

"Who are ye? You need a name and Gryphon won't do for Captain Wereshark's crew. I think the Dread Pirate Ranis has a certain ring to it."

……………...

Galena Two-Scars saluted the Dread Pirate Ranis, flickered, and vanished. The ward vanished too. Alchemy started applauding.

Varanis bent over from sudden awareness of the strain in her muscles, then remembering long forgotten lessons in the House, began to shake her limbs out and roll her shoulders to release the tension that built up when portraying someone else entirely. The Dread Pirate was swagger borrowed from a thief in Abah's Landing, bluster taken straight from Razum'Dar, as boastful as Mannimarco, and even quicker to take offense than Varanis herself tried to be.

It was also more than a little exhilarating to be someone who wasn't the Vestige for even a few minutes. The weight of that responsibility settled on her once more, heavier than plate armor, as she took off the sweaty headdress and draped it over her arm to dry. "Let's go find Annyce."

Inside the small Ayleid ruin, they found Annyce, Cylle, Igmund, and Bugtail all laid out on stone tables in a tiny library. They weren't dead, only sleeping. Alchemy tried waking them.

Annyce opened unseeing eyes. "Dare ye cross sabers with Red Annyce? Ha!" Then she rolled away from them, closing her eyes tightly.

Igmund tried to keep counting his gold. Bugtail extolled the virtues of Elsweyr delicacies. Cylle grasped Varanis' hand and caressed it."Oh darling, that's lovely."

She sighed, and extricated herself from Cylle's grip as gently as she could. "They're dreaming. Pretty good dreams too, which is change. Usually I'm freeing people from their nightmares. I guess this explains why Annyce was delighted to the point of dancing: the imposter literally offered her the life of a pirate with none of the risks of a real ship at sea."

The ruin was safe enough for the moment. But if she brought the family and friends of the missing here for a reunion, what good would it do? Dreaming or not, they might as well be dead to those who'd known them.

Alchemy gently poked at the air above Annyce, sparking little flickers of magic that briefly flashed like a net over the teen's body. "She's not so deep in her dreams of Captain Wereshark that I can't reach her. Or send someone in after her. If I tie all these dream-nets together, you should only have to go in once."

Varanis held out the ash-wrap mask. "I guess its a good thing you had me learn my lines."

"Take care not to lose yourself in the role. This dream will be far more realistic than a stage, and you won't have your stage-fright to help you remember yourself," Alchemy warned as she tied the mask on her again, made sure she had Captain Wereshark Vol 3., and cast a spell tethering her to the dream-net holding Annyce "Break a leg, my Hopeful."

The spell flashed, and the Dread Pirate Ranis hit the sunbleached deck of the crimson-sailed Pale Spirit. At the moment, the sails hung slack and there was no breeze to move it or the other galleon ship tied alongside. Though they rolled on soft ocean swells, there was no sharp tang of salt in the air. She felt the absence as pressure, a sort of phantom smell as her body strained for the salt that should be there.

Scrambling to her feet, she quickly found the rolling gait of sea legs. On the other deck, pirates from the Pale Spirit fought draugr. Mighty Flicka stood astride the gangplank connecting the two ships, chopping apart any draugr that came for her.

"Flicka, what did you crash us into another ship for?" Ranis shouted. She spread her arms wide. "It's a big ocean out there. Were you so drunk on mead you saw their lights and thought it was a bar?"

"Well met, Ranis. Now get over here and fight!" After dispatching another draugr, Flicka clasped arms with her with a grip that could bend steel. "We need your fire to put these undead of Prince Vaugr's down for good. Clear the decks and then help Red Annyce. Our Crimson Shrike means to fight Vaugr to the death!"

"I'd better hurry if I want her to leave any of him for me." Ranis grabbed a rope, and swung over to Vaugr's ship. Dragon wings, spikes, and scales sprouted from her body as she began to fight the draugr climbing out of the ship's hold with mace and flame.

"That's the spirit! Try not to light the rigging on fire this time or you'll owe me a beer." Flicka shouted after her.

She carved a fiery path into the hold, joined by the flashing daggers of Galena Two-Scars. "What a fight!" She cried, breathing a wave of flame over the undead.

"What bad breath you have!" Galena cried. "Look, the Crimson Shrike."

At the stern, Annyce battled a king draugr. Red Annyce; so named for her coat (said to be redyed in the fresh blood of her enemies), her broad-brimmed hat with three feathers plucked from a crimson indrik, and the reddish stain of nirncrux on her twin sabers.

The king draugr, Prince Vaugr, shouted something incomprehensible. Annyce stood firm; her hat was not so lucky. Blown off by the force, it flattened against the hull and fell, it's feathers bent.

"You'll pay for that!" She screamed, and if Vaugr had any blood left in his desicated body, she wouldn't have needed to redye her coat when she finished carving him up.

Red Annyce collected her hat and refluffed the feathers. "Nobody touches my hat."

"Well done, crewmate," Galena said, satisfied. "Now to find his treasure before our Captain figures out how to end this becalming weather and we sail away from here."

She left. Red Annyce turned to Ranis. "Who are you? I thought I knew all the crew of the Pale Spirit."

"I'm the Dread Pirate Ranis."

"Never heard of you."

Her chest swelled with indignation. "Never heard of me?! I'm the most dreaded pirate of the Inner Sea. The Dominion and Covenant are my prey. I fear not the Tribunal, Divine, or Daedra. Who are you, Red Annyce, to mock me so?"

Red Annyce pointed a saber at her face. "You'll pay for those insults with your blood."

Ranis slapped her mace against her hand as a threat. It had a very leathery feel. She looked down at the weapon, and it was a book instead. "Who are ye, Annyce, and why do you sail?"

"That's Red Annyce to you," she said, lowering her sabers and shaking her head in confusion. "Something's not right."

While Ranis held the book, the ship itself seemed no more substantial than stage scenery. "None of this is real."

"No," Annyce declared. "Vaugr's treasure is real and this fight isn't over until we find it, savvy? Put that book away and come with me."

The Dread Pirate Ranis sheathed her mace. "Well met, Crimson Shrike. I'm pleased to lend a hand to Captain Wereshark's deadly crew and happier still to share in the plunder."

They clasped arms as fellow warriors. "To the main cabin," Red Annyce declared. "We'll beat Galena to it."

With Vaugr dead, the draugr stumbled around listless. One walked right off the side of the ship, splashing into the calm sea below. A salty breeze blew across the decks. Ranis knocked the lock off the main cabin door with her mace. Red Annyce rushed inside to a locked chest, pulling out a set of lockpicks. "Let me at it before you smash it to pieces."

"I'm quite good at smashing things." Ranis said. Red Annyce opened the box. "What's the treasure? Gold? Jewels?"

Annyce sat down on the deck with a thump, her hat falling off. She took no notice, holding up a few torn pages. "I don't understand."

Ranis knelt down next to her, holding a leather book. The torn pages matched the missing ending. She pressed it into Annyce's hands. "I think it's the treasure. Read it."

Annyce seemed to shrink in her red coat. "We gotta take this to the captain. Maybe it'll help him lift the curse that's kept us becalmed. We'll sail away and be gone from this place forever." Almost against her will, she began to read. Flushing with anger, she cried, "Why aren't I in it? I'm part of the crew. The Pale Spirit is like family. Why would they write me out?"

The longer she held the book, the more insubstantial the ships became. The treasure chest faded - or was it an ayleid brazier now? "None of this is real." Ranis said. "It's just a dream."

"No!" Annyce shrieked, two spots of color flaming on her cheeks. "Cres promised that the dream would last! Cres promised," Annyce said again, as though saying it would make the dream world real and drive Ranis and the book away. "Cres promised that no one would know the difference between me and them. They wanted my life, though gods only know why they'd want to live with a harping mother who never lets up about me doing my chores on the farm. Why would I want to do that when I can be Red Annyce?"

Ranis kept her hand on the book. The leather binding and worn pages seemed like the only real thing here. "It's just a dream to you. We already know that this - Cres, you call them? Cres isn't very good at pretending to be you. They'll fake your death in a couple of days. Do you want your mother to think you're dead?"

Annyce smacked her hand away from the book. "Pirates don't have to care what their mothers think."

No, the Dread Pirate Ranis had no mother. No mentors either, for she'd driven away those who tried to teach her. Everything she'd learned had been clawed from a harsh world, leaving her a proud, self-made plunderer.

The Dread Pirate Ranis was also dreadfully tired of wearing a mask. She took it off, running the fabric through her hands, finding the eyeslits. This too was real. It smelled of sulfur, not salt. She hadn't cut the eyeslits or tied it on herself. Someone else had. Someone who cared that she return.

"Why would I give up this amazing dream for life in the boring real world?" Annyce demanded of her.

It wasn't her words, but the words of her mentor who knew better than she how to turn the boring real world into an adventurous realm with fresh discoveries around every corner. "All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. Do you really want to dream in a ruin until you die? Or would you rather step out onto the real stage and play your part? You've got a plan, supplies, and a potential berth on the Merry Mermaid. What's stopping you from going out there and really reaching for your dreams?"

Annyce's mouth fell open. She clutched the book to her chest. "You really think I can?"

"If Alchemy can make an actress out of a stubborn adventurer like me, I have no doubt you'll make a seaworthy sailor!"

VaranisArano

The Face of Change: Part 4

Prince Vaugr's ship faded away completely. Varanis stumbled in the sudden relative darkness in the Ayleid ruin, half catching herself on the stone bier, half caught by Alchemy.

"Thank goodness you're back." The actress helped her sit down as her knees went weak. "You were gone so long. I worried I'd sent you in unprepared."

Her legs trembled like jelly from the strain. The Dread Pirate touched on too many of the darker parts of her personality, and she'd really rather not admit how close she'd come to losing herself in the role had she refused to acknowledge the debt she owed Alchemy. "You're a good teacher. It's not your fault that improv acting is not my strong suit."

"Before you go off to fight the Waking Flame, I'm giving you some improv exercises to practice when we're not dealing with a daedra-fueled dream. That okay, Gryphon?"

"It'll do me some good." Annyce began to stir on her bier. "The imposter is someone named Cres. Annyce traded her boring life to Cres in exchange for a dream where she was part of Captain Wereshark's crew. The others probably did the same for their own dreams."

Alchemy began to cast her spell. "What can life in a sleepy farming village offer someone who can create dreams?"

"The taste of salt."

Annyce rolled over. This time, her eyes focused. "I'm not Red Annyce. I'll never be Red Annyce. Damn Cres, and damn you two interfering busybodies."

"You'll be Annyce." Varanis said. "I still have faith in you."

The spell net covering the teen evaporated. The other nets flashed and vanished too. Cylle, Igmund, and Bugtail began to moan and thrash as they woke up after a very long sleep on hard stone.

Alchemy slumped over. "Help them," she waved Varanis off when she got up to help her. "I'm just out of practice."

Though limping herself, Varanis made sure Cylle didn't roll off her stone slab when she woke up sobbing, and helped the four dreamers get up and get unused muscles moving. They ate and drank greedily from her supplies, though nourishment did nothing for the unfulfilled look on their faces.

"They look like skooma addicts," Alchemy murmured. "Addicted to a dream. It may be wise for them to wean themselves off it for a while before they pursue their new path in life. Hopefully it will give their friends and family time to let them go."

"I have some ideas about that," Varanis admitted. "Being the Vestige does have some perks."

Annyce turned on her. "How are you going to make up for shattered dreams and condemning us all to a life of boredom and brooms? I'd like to hear it."

Varanis sat down next to her. "Before I do, I'd like to hear about this Cres. You met them at your playfort and…"

"Cres was Bugtail, but I knew they weren't actually Bugtail. Cres said they screwed up and couldn't be him anymore. Cres wanted my boring life more than anything - said it was better than their life and they'd trade me the dream. I don't think they meant any harm." Annyce sighed. "It seemed perfect. I would have all the adventure I wanted with none of the danger, and Mother wouldn't even worry because Cres would take my place. It would've worked if you hadn't interfered."

Alchemy asked, "So Cres didn't intend to fake Bugtail's death? Hmmm."

Varanis sighed. Pesky assumptions, again. "This Cres doesn't know the taste of salt, so they probably don't know the effect of mead either. "Igmund's" death might've been an accident too."

"I died?" Igmund asked.

"Cres got drunk, fell into a fire, and your brother watched you burn to death."

Igmund gasped. Alchemy pointed at Cylle. "Your brother watched you dive into your old swimming pool. He didn't even have a body to bury." Cylle covered her face. Remorseless, she told Bugtail, "Jahhouz thinks his gentle mare kicked you to death."

"You all may have had good intentions," Alchemy continued. "Nonetheless, your friends and family grieve. Not because they will not let you go. They grieve because you never gave them the chance." She paused for a very long moment. "I know something of that. Do what you feel you must. I have no more advice."

"Jahhouz is a good friend." Bugtail said with regret. "This one will give up the sugar treats of Elsweyr so that he does not feel guilty for this one's demise."

Nevertheless, it was an unhappy group that trudged back to the Happy Crow and the villagers waiting inside. Braden must have been keeping watch, because when he threw open the door and sprinted all the way down the path to throw himself into his brother's embrace. "Don't you dare get drunk and die in a fire again, you hear me, bro?"

Igmund hugged him back. "We need to talk."

"You're right. We do. This time I'll pay a little more attention when you talk about opening a second branch down in Gideon."

Once inside, Cylle threw herself into a chair across from Heseph and hugged herself. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

Bugtail and Jahhouz clasped arms and said little else.

Annyce went up to her mother, jutting her chin out. "I'll stay long enough to help you take in the harvest. Then I'm signing up as a deckhand and you can't stop me."

Maelle looked her daughter over from head to toe. "Perhaps it's time for you to leave the nest despite the perils of the ocean. I am glad to have the real you back. If you ever decide to send me a duplicate of yourself again, do try to send one who will do her chores."

Alchemy clapped her hands together sharply, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Lady, there is a difference between teaching your daughter how the world works and crushing her spirit at every turn. You ought to think about that before your daughter leaves."

Maelle flushed. Alchemy plowed on, the impassivity of her mask lending extra weight to her passionate words. "All of you have dreams, whether grand or simple. I portray dreams on the stage. Then the curtain falls and the dream is over. If you want your dreams to become reality, you have to seize the day and make them happen. When opportunity doesn't knock on your door, sometimes you have to bang on its door until it answers."

Varanis stepped up next to her, "And sometimes you need a little hope that things will get better. Sometimes it takes a little help from a friend to make that happen." Unlike a certain Dread Pirate, Varanis the Vestige was not a self-made woman. Friends, patrons, and mentors all helped make her into a hero. "I'm the Vestige, and here's my plan."

Briefly she explained the situation with the Waking Flame and her expectation that Leyawiin and Gideon would be unsafe for the next couple of months. "Once the unrest dies down, I'll see about helping people resettle in one of the cities if they want to. There'll be injured brigandines looking to take early retirement who might want to buy land out here, so Farmer's Nook won't die out."

Cylle and the farmers looked a little more lively at the thought of new folk coming to their village. Braden said, "I'd drink to that if we had mead. Do we still have to worry about this Cres or it safe for us to leave town for supplies?"

Varanis said, "We'll go talk to Cres. They don't seem intentionally malicious. But as you all saw, they aren't quite able to live up to what they promise."

Alchemy said, "As long as you all decide your own lives are worth making better through your own effort, yes, you should be safe."

On their way out, Varanis stopped to talk to Jahhouz and Bugtail. "Once the Waking Flame is defeated, I can take you both to Elsweyr or Hammerfell if you would like. To stay or just to visit is up to you."

"This one will think about it." Bugtail said.

"Thank you," Jahhouz shook her hand.

Annyce confronted them at the door. "Please don't hurt Cres," she pleaded. "Even if they did screw up, they were still a good friend to me. Can't they stay?"

Varanis said, "If Red Annyce left a bottle of mead out around Mighty Flicka, what would Flicka do?"

"She'd drink it." Annyce said. Her face fell. "Oh."

Alchemy touched her face with great gentleness. "Now you understand why Cres cannot stay here."
………………………

"We return to an old scene, a picturesque ruin where mysteries once confounded us. The stage brightens, for we heroes have rescued the missing and now seek only the last mystery," Alchemy declaimed on the path down to the small ayleid ruin below the play-fort. "Your brow lightens. You see the quarry. It wears a familiar face."

"Hello, Annyce," Varanis said pleasantly.

Annyce - or rather - Cres quivered in the center of the ruin. She hugged herself as though shivering in an Eastmarch blizzard. "I don't want to go back." She whimpered. Her voice now buzzed with the harshness that Varanis associated with dremora like Lyranth.

"You can't go back to Farmer's Nook,' Varanis said. "They know who you are now."

"Can I be someone else? Can I be you?"

"You really don't want to be me. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

Cres turned to Alchemy. "Can I be you? You saw the dreams I can offer."

"Enough of this charade," Alchemy said. "Off with your false face!" She clapped her hands. Light flashed.

In the place of Annyce, Cres - a tiny Watcher the size of a cat - hovered. It's tentacles quivered with terror. It's many eyes darted back and fort between the two women. "Don't hurt me! Please don't send me back. I can't bear to go back."

"I thought Watchers were bigger." Alchemy said with wonderment.

"They usually are," Varanis said and knelt down so that she could look Cres in the widest eye. "You keep the lasers to yourself and I won't send you back to Hermaeus Mora right this instant. Okay?"

All the tentacles drooped. "I didn't even do anything bad. I just gave them what they wanted."

"You're a servant of Hermaeus Mora, the Demon of Knowledge. You know the difference between what those people wanted and what they needed. They needed help to change their lives, not a dream that's left them longing all the worse after what they can't have."

Alchemy squeezed her shoulder and said, "What I just don't understand is why you traded places with them. They are farmers, stablemen, innkeepers. Why take on their lives when you make dreams?"

"I want to live like you people do.” Cres' eyes appealed to Alchemy. “I’ve watched people living for centuries and inked down everything for the One Who Knows. Do you know how tantalizing it is to watch people eat and never be able to taste it? Cylle understood drudgery, so I offered her a dream while I got the life she didn’t want anymore. And it was good! Maybe not the salt. I didn't mean to put salt on the strawberries. But the rest of it was good. Until I made a stupid mistake."

"You made a lot of mistakes," Alchemy said.

All of Cres’ eyes closed. “I know.”

For all their eyes, a Watcher couldn’t cry, and perhaps that was the saddest thing about Cres. Varanis asked, “Why did you keep trying?”

“I can’t bear to go back to watching and inking down your lives after what I’ve seen and what I’ve done and how much more there is to experience. Friendship, love, family, adventure! They all wanted that. So I gave them their dreams. Why can’t I have these little scraps of your mortal lives?” Cres pleaded.

“Its a little more than scraps when you are impersonating people,” Varanis said. “That’s what got you into big trouble.”

Cres inched away from her toward Alchemy. "I don’t need to impersonate someone. I just need a mortal pact to do more than an illusion and they didn’t want anyone to come looking for them. I didn’t have much to bargain with anyway. Dreams are the neighbor of knowledge, and they wanted to follow their dream.” Cres swiveled between the two of them. "If I make a different pact, would you let me stay? Something less troublesome? I could be...myself, and not someone else?"

Alchemy squeezed her shoulder again. "We'll talk," she promised Cres.

At a distance where they could keep an eye on the little Watcher but Cres could not hear them, Alchemy said, "Let me start by saying I think you've shown your mastery of the basic improv exercise "Surly Justiciar & Seemly Justiciar."

"I'd thank you, but I think we both know I'm just naturally surly and distrustful. Especially when Daedra are involved."

"Cres is a pitiable creature. A daedra who dares to dream and who, having now experienced mortal life, asks for help to change their lot in life. If you send them back to Apocrypha, they would have both the pain of broken dreams and no one to help them. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Even my surly and distrustful Gryphon doesn't think that Cres is malicious. Am I wrong?"

"No." Varanis shrugged. "And even if I did, I'd be pretty hypocritical when I've been working with a dremora Lyranth Foolkiller who, as her name suggests, can be quite malicious."

Alchemy gave a little laugh. "Here I've been thinking myself quite the hypocrite. As you know, when Hopefuls are accepted as members of the House of Revelries, they cast off their old identities completely. I knew at once you would never manage it; at the time I knew only that our extreme commitment to the arts attracts those who most desire an escape from prior circumstances. You know what I desired an escape from."

"Yes. And you knew that I did not."

"I did not know that the weight of the world rested on your shoulders then as it does now. Different Daedric Prince; same duty. You cannot ignore that call, even if you put on the mask for a time. You cannot...not be the Vestige. But Cres desires an escape as dearly as I did." Alchemy said.

"Cres doesn't want to be Cres. Cres wants to be anyone but Cres. They'll be a great Hopeful."

Alchemy clasped her hands together and did a little pirouette. "You agree! Oh, this story doesn't have to end in tragedy."

She practically danced down to Cres, explaining the commitment. By the time she was done, Cres was vibrating with excitement. "Please, I want to be a Hopeful!"

"It'll be hard work," Varanis warned. "It's not easy learning to act and you know you've got a long way to go."

She clapped Alchemy on the shoulder. "Good news though, you've got a great teacher. If she can make this stubborn adventurer into something of an actress, she'll have you trained to be a master thespian by the time you go before the Grand Maestro."

"I'll stake my reputation on it," Alchemy promised, reaching out to shake one of Cres' little tentacles.

The Watcher vanished, replaced with a teen about Annyce's size wearing all black clothes and a purple-gold mask identical to Alchemy's. "Did I do okay?" Cres asked, wringing their hands.

“Delightful.” Alchemy assured her. To Varanis, she said, “All’s well that ends well, Gryphon. I may have a new Hopeful to train, but don’t forget that you are still my Hopeful if you want to be.”

“I’m afraid I need to get my armor and then get back on the road. The Waking Flame waits for no woman, as much as I’d love to stay and watch your show.”

“I see that the weight of your role lies heavy on you again. If I, my troupe, or the House of Revelries can assist you, you have only to say the word.”

Cres chimed in, “I’ll help!”

“You,” Alchemy told them with great fondness, “have a lot to learn before you can keep up with Varanis the Vestige. Let us begin with your name. Every Hopeful deserves a name that speaks to their soul. How about...Dreamer?”

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 1

Though Gideon was the second largest in Blackwood, Mirri would classify it as either a large town or a small city. It lacked most of the amenities of Blackwood and, thus, lacked most of the Imperial infrastructure as well. The Imperials who lived here either had ties to Black Marsh trading companies or were bureaucrats for the Emperor. Matus Amnis was both. He’d been a middlemen for the taxmen who naturally kept working right through rebellion and Soulburst both, and he’d poured much of that skimmed gold into his manor on the south side of Gideon.

Or perhaps, if Elam Drals was right, the tastefully designed house she planned to break into was actually a front for the gold he’d skimmed off into the Waking Flame’s coffers.

Mirri wore a set of old clothes with a battered cap pulled down to better shade her face from the sun while hauling a handcart of delivery boxes that Keshu had pulled out of the embassy’s trash. Amnis Manor was in the nice part of town - for Gideon, which was not the best sort of town. Beggars panhandled near the doors of the rich and the guild warehouse doors. No one paid attention to her courier’s guise except the beggar sitting near Amnis’ front gate.

 He was Dunmer, and from the rosy blotches on what she could see of his bandaged-wrapped face, he'd picked up one of Black Marsh's nasty fungal infections. He held up his left arm when she approached. Wrapped, it ended in a stump. “Spare a coin, sera? Got crushed in a warehouse accident and can’t load boxes for a living.”

Did Varanis know about working conditions in the guild warehouses? She set her cart down at the gate and dug into her purse for three coins. “Alm, Si, and Vi bless you.”

He bit each coin. "Thank the Three and you, sera."

She knocked at the gate. Though the brass knocker rang a chime inside the house, no servant or guard came out to receive the packages. "Guess I'll head round back."

No one answered her knock at the servant's gate, nor was there smoke in the chimney. She squeezed her hand through the bars far enough to unlatch the gate and used her handcart to wedge it open. No one answered her knock at the back door, so she broke out her lockpicks.

With two tumblers set in place, there was a rasp of stone on wood at the gate. The beggar had followed her back, moving the handcart out of the way to enter the backyard. "Look," she said. "I just gotta make this delivery. Be a good man, keep your mouth shut, and the Three will bless you again when I'm done."

The beggar now leaned back against the gate in a familiar insouciant posture, twirling a knife in his no-longer stump of a left hand. "I thought about taking the bribe," Elam Drals said, "but perhaps I'll just congratulate you on your discretion instead."

With him standing in the only exit, this could be a very deadly trap. "Keshu knows I've come here." Her hands trembled, and the third tumbler slipped past her pick, snapping the tip off. "Oh, fetch."

Elam shrugged, not moving from the gate. "A courier and a beggar break into an empty house. At worse, someone might call the guard and you've got neat cover story that doesn't implicate Keshu or panic the citizenry. Nicely done."

He didn't seem eager to kill her. She turned her attention back to the lock with a new pick. Third tumbler. Fourth. One thing stuck in her craw. "Look, I'm just going to admit you had me completely fooled. I didn't give those coins to you. There are real beggars who could use it."

"I'm sure Almsivi will bless some poor sap before the day is through."

Fifth tumbler. She scrambled to her feet and into the Amnis kitchen. As she'd seen, there was no fire in the hearth. Cooking pots hung on their racks.

 Elam followed her in, saying, "He sent all the servants away and left not long after the Vestige arrived back in Gideon. Word on the street says he was tight with Vandacia, and that Vandacia was planning something big. Amnis should know about it and he may have left information behind."

A Dark Brotherhood Speaker could've jimmied the locks just like she had. "Why are you helping us?"

"Revenge. I'd love to send Vandacia to Sithis myself. Second best option is returning the favor by pointing the Vestige at his Cult and letting her tear them to shreds instead." He headed out into the main room and whistled in appreciation. "I have got to get some of this Imperial gold for my next Sanctuary."

She stepped out into an entryway tiled with copper and ceramic mosaics from Hew's Bane. Some servant kept the copper polished to a mirror bright finish. The walls were wood panels carved to look like the forests of Black Marsh, Valenwood, the Ascadian Isles, and Cyrodiil, all from unique and rare woods from those forests. The carpets sank under her feet and swallowed up the noise of their footsteps completely. 

“Wow.” Maybe Tiras was used to this type of luxury at home. She’d never lived anywhere remotely this nice or obviously designed to showcase the owner’s wealth and taste.

Upstairs, Matus Amnis’ private chamber only continued the opulent imports with a graceful writing desk that a small plaque on one corner announced that it had been used by author and Sapiarch Teldundindo of Shimmerene. With only three tumblers, the lock proved no trouble. “I’ve had better locks on my diary. The Sapiarchs must not be one for academic sabotage.”

“Oh, they are,” Elam said. “They just consider such mundanities as lockpicking to be beneath them. Black Sacraments on the other hand...hey, who am I to judge what they need to reach Alaxon?”

In among the trade letters and social invitations, she found one invite that stuck out. Reading the letter, she said, “”May the fire never waver and the flood never recede.” Its from Vandacia. He’s inviting them to a several day long “history-changing spectacle.” Bring formal clothes. Bring the enclosed coin.” 

“Any hint where?” Elam demanded.

She checked the envelope. Nothing. “Fetch. Its just the cover letter. No details. No invite. No special coin.”

“Amnis must’ve taken it.” Elam strode over to the wardrobe and threw the doors open, rifling through the clothes. “No cultist robes here. No formal clothes left either. Maybe I need to pay his servants a visit.”

“Would you tell your servants anything if you thought someone would come asking questions?”

He paused, perhaps considering that he had indeed left incriminating information laying around for them to find at his camp. “If I knew the Vestige was coming to ask questions, absolutely not. He knew, and he’s an idiot for not burning all his papers.”

“Yeah.” On a hunch, she started skimming through the trade reports looking for “fire” and “flood”. There it was: a report on the destruction of a warehouse in Leyawiin. Flooded, and then caught on fire? Unlikely, though on the surface it appeared to be a normal report.

She sniffed the paper. Nothing smelled of invisible ink, except there were tiny bumps on the page under her fingertips. She pulled the window curtain back and held it up to the light. Sunlight showed through tiny pinpricks punched under particular letters.

“Oh, very clever!” Elam said, taking a seat at the writing desk. “Dictate it to me.”

She pressed it against the window to see the pinpricks better. 

“F-R-O-M-M-O-R-I-S-Y-O-U-R-B-R-O-”. At the far corner of the street, a rider turned their horse onto their lane at a fast trot.

“T-H-E-R-I-N-T-H-E-W-A-K-I-N-G-.”

“Flame.” Elam said.

As the rider got closer, Mirri recognized her. “Eveli’s back!”

Elam stood. “There goes discretion. Give Vandacia my regards when you and the Vestige crash his party.” Then he vanished in a puff of smoke.

Despite the thick carpets, she fancied she heard footsteps rush down the stairs and out the back door. In the street, Eveli sprang off her horse and knocked on the front gate. When no one answered, she started looking around for a guard.

Mirri unlatched the window and waved. Eveli waved back. She gestured for her to come around the back gate. Eveli tied off her horse to the gate and headed back. There went discretion indeed. Hopefully Elam made it safely away before Eveli spotted him.

She met Eveli at the back gate. “Hey, wanna help me move these boxes into the kitchen? I’m doing a “delivery.””

Together they finished the job and went upstairs to finish decoding the letter from the cultist Moris. Eveli asked, “Was that - I thought I saw - was that Elam Drals dressed as a beggar?”

“Er…”

“Keshu warned me this might be a trap, so I ran here as fast as I could. Are you all right?”

When push came to shove, she’d rather have concerned friends at her back than a discreet assassin. “I’m fine. It was Elam following up on a lead.”

Eveli took over spelling out the code while Mirri wrote down the letters. “What did Elam want from you?”

It hadn’t been for her lockpicking, codebreaking, or discretion. “I think I believe him when he said he wanted to return the favor to Vandacia after the Councilor pointed us at the Dark Brotherhood. Elam’s going to let us face the brunt of the fighting.” 

He’d sent for her because she had powerful friends. She’d have to remember that as she gained notoriety as a hero, people like him would seek to use her as a weapon. 

Eveli pulled a face. “Do you ever get that feeling when you really want to do something and then someone you don’t like tells you to do it, and suddenly, it’s like, “Hold up. Wait a minute. Am I sure about this?”

“Yeah. Father always says the Hlaalu proverb, “Never take legal advice from your enemy.” 

Mirri finished rewriting the letters into legible words. “Vandacia’s supposed to be hiding out at Gracian Salvitto’s manor in preparation for his big event. Problem is, the letter is dated from the night we got the twins out of the doomvault. Vandacia may have moved on.”

“Or if he didn’t,” Eveli said, “He could leave at any time. Salvitto could leave too, and that’s our best chance for getting a real invite and coin so we can crash this history-making party. Elam Drals aside, I don’t plan on letting Vandacia have his way.”

“Me neither. I hate to say it, but we can’t wait for Varanis to come back. We’ve got to go after Vandacia ourselves.”

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 2

Gracian Salvitto's manor lay about a half day due north of Gideon as the crow flies, and a full day's ride on the roads. Mirri and Eveli took the long way around rather than risk spending longer lost in the swamp.

The north road curved through hilly territory that was drier and less lush than the lower swamps. Near the manor, Eveli tied her horse up in an out of the way clearing. Mirri dismissed Lucky.

Salvitto Manor was a massive two-story building with peaked roofs and its own little riverside complex of outbuildings, stables, and docks, all behind a cobbled wall and gatehouse. Eveli had an almost preternatural ability to bend in with anything green, so she climbed one of the trees arching over the drive just past the gatehouse with the cultists patrolling the grounds none the wiser. Using one of Elossi's preferred techniques, Mirri crawled through the tall grass along the cobbled wall until she found a drain culvert with no iron grate. That got her inside, and while the amount of cultists around said that Vandacia was probably still here, they weren't particularly alert to anyone creeping along the manicured hedges.

There was a commotion at the stables. One of two horses balked as they led it over to a carriage. As the stablehands soothed it, hitched it, and brought the carriage round to the front door, Mirri grew tenser. They weren't too late. Either Vandacia or Salvitto was here, just preparing to leave for the big event.

She dug into her pocket for a little hand mirror and flashed it in the direction of Eveli's tree. Once. Twice.

The manor doors opened. Vandacia strode out, followed by a young dark-haired man in blackened Nordic armor and a red-haired Imperial man in a silk tunic and jewelry worth more than her father made in a year. The latter must be Salvitto. Vandacia gestured the young man into the carriage. He shook his head.

Vandacia said something. Salvitto laughed. The young man got into the carriage. Then Vandacia clasped hands with Salvitto and got in the carriage himself.

Mirri cloaked herself and raced back to the gatehouse. The Dagonists at the gate swung it open for their High Priest's carriage, never noticing that she slipped out between them. Eveli was nowhere to be seen in the overhanging branches. She had to see what was coming, right?

Either way, she'd be ready. She ducked behind a tree trunk and drew her bow. Horse hooves rang on the paved drive as the carriage got closer. "Fire and Flood!" The gate guards cried.

Unlike most Dunmer, Mirri liked horses. Which made what she had to do even harder. She stepped around the tree as the carriage sped up to a trot, aimed, and fired at the nearest horse.

It fell with an equine scream, and tangled and toppled its neighbor in the doing. Then a CRACK! and with a great rustle of leaves, an enormous tree limb crashed down on the carriage. It broke off a good chunk of carriage's roof and very effectively stopped in it's tracks.

Mirri sprinted for the carriage fifty feet away. The footman batted away tree branches to get at his hand crossbow. Eveli's arrow transfixed him to his seat. The cultists at the gate shouted alarms and also ran to their High Priest's aid.

She drew her daggers and chopped through the branches blocking the carriage door, the nirncrux stained edges making short work of thick oak. They'd successfully stopped the carriage. All of this was for nothing if Vandacia portaled away.

The carriage door was locked. She attacked it with her dagger, digging in where the gap was, sawing at the latch, and levering the door open, purely trusting that Varanis' craftsmanship would let the daggers perform the job of an axe. All the while she could hear the twang of Eveli's bow and the screams of dying cultists.

The latch broke. She yanked the carriage door open.

Hot liquid struck her in the face, scalding and burning. She reeled, dropping her daggers to scrub at her face. Something heavy hit her next, a starburst of pain against her right temple, and crockery shattered on the pavement.

"Well done!" Vandacia exclaimed. "Now it's time for us to leave before the Vestige's assassins come for you again." There was the sound of a portal.

"Fetch!" The skin of her face stretched painfully and tore as she spoke. "Fetch!" She screamed. The sounds of arrows and shouting cultists seemed all around her and she couldn't see a thing. "Lucky!"

The young indrik, as though he sensed what his rider needed, formed under her. She clung to his neck, sobbing out, "Water. Find water."

Muscles bunched underneath her, and then he was off, leaping through the battle and carrying her to a babbling stream about a quarter mile of agony away. She slid off his back and bathed her face in the blessedly cool water until some of the pain from her raw skin and blisters went away, and the bitter taste of overboiled Canis root tea with it. What sort of hero was she, defeated by boiling water?

Footsteps crashed through the leaves, and her eyesight was too blurry to properly aim. It was Eveli. "Are you all right?" She uncorked a potion from her belt, poured it onto a cloth, and said, "This is going to sting."

Mirri bit her gauntlet as Eveli dabbed potion on cracked skin. A thousand Betnikh hornets had nothing on the sting from essence of cornflower or the stabbing burn in her eye sockets when Eveli put some drops of detection potions directly on her eyes. "I was stupid," she said when she could speak without shrieking. "If Vandacia had been waiting with a spell instead of a teapot, I'd be dead. Why didn't he kill me? I was a perfect target."

"The Nord with him threw the water on you and cracked your acorn," Eveli corrected. "Grab your bow. I want to make sure that your eyes don't need more potion."

Mirri made all the shots as Eveli directed. "Did Salvitto escape too, and all of this was a waste of time?"

"Any cultist with a taste for a fight chased after you. When the others saw that I was shooting those ones in the back, they broke like a rotten tree branch. I'm pretty sure Salvitto ran back into the house for a change of pants before he flees. Since you're okay, let's go get him."

"Thanks for coming for me."

"Friends before vengeance, always."

Lucky carried the two of them back to the now deserted estate where they recovered her daggers, found that the carriage had nothing of note in it besides that blasted tea service, and made sure the horses were out of their misery.

"I didn't know Bosmer could hurt trees," Mirri admitted. The tree limb was as thick around as her waist at its biggest.

"It's not part of the Green of Valenwood." Eveli said. "Anyways, the tree was ready to drop its limb in the next windstorm. I just asked it if it would do it a little early. The trees don't like the idea of the Deadlands, you know."

"I hadn't really thought about what trees wanted."

"I hadn't thought Dunmer fire resistance didn't work on hot liquid either."

Mirri sighed. "Fire, yes. Boiling water? Not so much."

Once inside, they found empty stables and empty grounds. Eveli said, "There's only so many ways to run. Looks like the cultists grabbed the remaining horses. We should check the docks."

Except for a richly appointed sailboat half-set for sailing, all of the small boats were gone from the docks. "I hope they get eaten by crocodiles." Mirri said, climbing aboard the sailboat. A crumpled pile of tarp on deck quivered. "Come on out and we won't fill you with arrows."

Eveli drew her bow on the tarp. "I can still add a few more cultists to my tally for today."

Gracian Salvitto peeked out from under the tarp. Up close, he was a handsome man who'd gone slightly to fat. "Don't hurt me, please. Vandacia made me do it. Vandacia made me do everything!"

"Then you won't have any problem telling us everything, will you." Mirri said. Eveli lowered her bow and began twirling the arrow between her fingers.

"Er, I can't. I don't know anything. Vandacia never told me anything."

Eveli said, "We've got a letter from Matus Amnis that says otherwise. Best come clean."

He looked at the water as though considering his chances against the crocodiles. "It's against our Code. I can't tell you anything."

Just because shehad no stomach for torture didn't make Mirri above some creative interpretation of the truth. "Loyalty to your brothers and sisters in the Cult, Salvitto? Its admirable. But just look around you." She spread her empty hands, and did a slow turn. The docks and estate remained deserted. "You're risking everything for them. They couldn't even stick around long enough to help you get to safety. Now you know the Waking Flame really means "every man for himself.""

"Vandacia will kill me if I say anything!"

"Vandacia will kill you anyway," she corrected him. "What use are you to him now? Your safe house is rumbled and he already has your gold. You are a liability and he'll kill you to silence you."

Eveli twirled the arrow in a more intricate pattern, spinning it over the back of her hand. "Or, you appeal to Governor Keshu for protection. We persuade her to grant it since you were so cooperative."

Mirri gestured to the gangplank and docks, still empty handed. "Go on. Run. We'll let you go. You can throw yourself on Vandacia's "mercy." Or else, tell us everything about this event you've been invited to."

Gracian Salvitto buried his head in his hands. "Gods, it was just a fancy dress club!"

"No it wasn't," she snapped, thinking about soul-trapped novitiates and slaughtered servants. "It never was, and you knew it."

"Oh gods." He dug into his velvet purse and held out a paper and coin. "Here. My invitation. The ship leaves from Leyawiin in six days. Before you ask, I don't know what the event is."

Mirri took the items. Eveli flipped the arrow up in the air, caught it, and continued spinning without missing a beat. "Try again, cultist. What's the event about?"

"Vandacia really didn't say! Something to do with that boy he had with him. More than that, I just don't know."

That "boy" had nearly gotten her killed. "Who was he?"

"I've never seen him before at our meetings. Vandacia said he was here for his own protection, and nothing more. The boy didn't say much at all."

The more she thought about it, Mirri had a bad feeling about that young man. They bound Salvitto to Eveli's horse and led it behind Lucky on the road back to Gideon. That night when they changed watches and Salvitto was sound asleep, she confided her fears to Eveli.

"Remember how Vandacia could've killed me? I think he wanted that young man to do it, and not with the teapot."

She could just make out Eveli's frown in the light of twin moons. "What are you saying? That attacking you was some sort of initiation rite?"

"I'm saying that Vandacia told him that he needed protection. Protection from Varanis and her assasins." She pointed between the two of them. "I didn't get the best look at him but he was young. Maybe even about the same age as Calia and Destron."

"Crack my acorn!" Eveli swore. "He's an Ambition."

"Worse, he's Vandacia's ally."

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 3

The open air gardens of the Temple of Dibella echoed with the crack of wood on wood, loud enough that Mirri and Eveli heard it with alarm as they entered the main floor. "What's going on?" Mirri demanded of Priestess Larusa.

"One of our Knights of the Lily answered the call more quickly than I hoped," she explained. "She's helping the Vestige train the Twins for combat."

"Varanis is back?" Eveli exclaimed. 

Mirri went out to the gardens. Calia and Destron fought back to back with quarterstaves of thick hickory and capped with iron buttcaps. Varanis and another woman, a blonde in gilt chainmail, circled then with their own quarterstaves. Destron was on the defense, spinning his staff hand over hand in a whirling arc that neither opponent could penetrate while Calia struck out at them where she could.

Important as it was that the twins learn to defend themselves, there just wasn't time. "Varanis, Vandacia has the Third Ambition!"

At her shout, Varanis turned toward them.

Calia struck, slamming the butt of her quaterstaff into Varanis' knee with a sickening crack. Varanis shrieked, fell, and shrieked again as her injured leg took the brunt of the fall. She rolled over onto her back, her face set in a rictus of agony.

Calia cried out in shock, then shrieked herself as the knight of the Lily batted the quarterstaff from her hands with a powerful blow. "Dead!" The knight declared. 

Destron slowed his spin until he could ground the staff. "We did better that time!" He turned around and saw Varanis on the ground. "Calia, what did you do?"

Calia was bug-eyed in shock, hands covering her mouth as Varanis groaned. Mirri wasn't much better. Eveli knelt over her, digging at Varanis' belt for her store of potions. "You gotta make some more of these for the rest of them," she said as Varanis drank. "Mirri used most of my stash."

"I'm so sorry," Calia whispered.

"You should be." Varanis moaned. "It's the end of my adventuring career. Taken down by my own pupil. I'll never live it down."

Calia looked ready to cry. Mirri saw the downturned smile. "Oh, get up, old lady," she said. "There's work to be done."

Varanis sat up, smiled cheerfully at Calia, and surrounded her broken knee with a ball of flame and healing energy. "Don't be sorry, girl! You saw an opening and took it, just like we taught you. Show no mercy to your enemies for they'll show none to you."

Calia picked up her quarterstaff with greater confidence. "I will."

She and Mirri helped Varanis limp inside and with no one else in the mood for more training, everyone followed. There, she and Eveli shared what they'd seen and the invite they'd recovered.

"We've got five days to make it to Leyawiin and get aboard that ship in fancy dress." Mirri said. "I'm going to be sicker than a dog, but it'll be worth it to crash that party."

"You mean, we've got five days for Gracian Salvitto to go," Varanis said, tapping the name engraved on the invite. "If the three of us show up, the Waking Flame is going to smell a rat."

"The five of us." Destron said. "We're going with you."

Eveli shook her head. "He's got one Ambition. We can't take you two straight to him."

"But that's why we have to go!" Calia said. "You said this Ambition thought you were out to hurt him. We aren't. We're Ambitions just like him so we can vouch for you. We'll tell him that Vandacia lied while you've been teaching us to protect ourselves." She looked guiltily at Varanis. "Even if it means we hurt you."

"It'll be dangerous. He attacked me." Mirri pointed out.

"Only because Vandacia lied," Destron argued back. "He doesn't know any better. Just like we didn't when we got out of our vault. We've got to help him."

He and Calia closed ranks, standing side by side, armed folded across their chests. Never had they more closely resembled each other. Never had they reminded Mirri more closely of her own family at times - siblings standing united before their parents. 

So she relented. "We'll have to disguise you really well. And we need some way to protect you from Dagonist spells. Calia, remember how you felt like something was stalking you? We'll be crashing a cult party; it's going to be worse."

The knight of the Lily spoke up. "The relics of the Divines can guard against daedric influence. I will speak to Priestess Larusa. Perhaps you can use the old relics from Sibyl Rolaine for their intended purposes." She left to do so.

"Do you trust Gracian Salvitto?" Varanis asked. "Five servants is a very large entourage to bring to a party, but perhaps we could make it happen if he cooperates."

Eveli said, "I trust him about as much as I trust a squirrel to remember where it buried the graht-oak acorn."

"Which is to say, not at all," Mirri said. "He's covering his butt. Nothing more."

"I'm Imperial," Destron ventured. "Maybe I could pretend to be him?"

"You were never very good at playing pretend, little brother," Calia said.

"At least we have a few days worth of a carriage ride to practice your acting and let my knee heal," Varanis said. "I'm not a great teacher, but I've learned some techniques from someone who is. If you two are prepared for the danger of facing Vandacia on a ground of his own choosing, and Dibella will protect you, this seems the best of some bad options."

………………...

Percius Loche was the finest tailor in Leyawiin. Due to the efforts of the Council and Keshu keeping the war out of Blackwood, he still had ready access to silks, velvets, organzas, and brocade that made Mirri's head swim with their beauty and expense. Moreover, his personalized creations fit the mannequins like a glove. When Vandacia's invite said "formal wear", he really meant the Loche label.

Loche was a tall, brunette Imperial man who fluttered around his studio waving a fan to dry his and their sweat before it stained any of his delicate fabrics. He measured them all and then began to choose fabrics, holding up color swatches to their faces. When he went to the storeroom, Destron combed his fingers through his beard and asked. "How do I pay for this? And livery for all of you?"

"You don't," Mirri whispered, trying to imitate Stibbons' servile manner toward Lady Laurent as she held extra swatches that Loche hadn't rejected. "Your servants take care of it for you. You're above such mere things as money."

Destron lifted his chin and tried to look above such mere things as the cost of his suit, a dress for his plus-one Eveli, and three suits of livery for his servants.

Her own suit measurement went quickly. Varanis had chosen a quilted tunic, boots, and thick shirts and pants with reinforced elbows and knees for their livery. Then she took them upstairs to the Armory, where she'd have then actually reinforced with subtle metal plating or sewn-in hidden chainmail.

Destron settled on a green and gray three-piece suit, with a waistcoat and coat made from protective leather.

Eveli's took the longest. After a good twenty minutes waiting outside the dressing room, Mirri knocked. "Do you want help?"

"Yes, please. I never wear dresses!"

Eveli held up a many layered skirt and a frilly bodice. "I don't know what I'm doing. I try to put it on like Loche said and I just look ridiculous so I must be doing it wrong."

Mirri help her put it on correctly. They both looked in the mirror. 

"See? I look ridiculous."

"You'd have to lose the pigtails," Mirri said. 

"I'm not losing the pigtails. Next dress!"

Loche's next dress was a High Rock style gown with a pearl-ruched skirt, and a tight bodice that narrowed to a point in front. Eveli looked down at herself. "Nobody could call me flat-chested in this. Problem is, I can't breathe. Next dress!"

Mirri stepped out for the next dress only to find Loche turning an alarming shade of puce, Calia laughing behind his back, Varanis smothering that downturned smile, and Destron trying desperately not to lose his cool.

"I've never not pleased a customer," he said, staring down at his hands as though the magic had gone out of them. "What does she like? Gems? Ribbons?"

As funny as it was to see Eveli struggle with fashion, she took pity on him. "She likes to climb trees. You don't have any Bosmer dresses, do you?"

"I...no, Bosmer formal wear is hardly suitable for high society, isn't it?"

Eveli stuck her head out. "I heard that, you louse. Am I going to have to tell people you couldn't serve me?"

Loche stammered apologies. Mirri asked her, "What do you like?"

She thought about it. "I don't mind a bare midriff. I just want to be able to move, you know?"

Loche dashed off into the back store room and didn't come back for two hours while they waited for the armor smiths to finish their suits. When he did return, it was with a two piece gown in a deep emerald green leather and silk.

Mirri went in to help her, but Eveli already had the tooled leather top on. "I like it," she declared. "It's like my old armor, just fancier!"

The layered skirt split open in the front, revealing glimpses of emerald green leggings when she stretched and kicked. "Yes. I can fight in these."

Eveli threw back the curtain and marched out. "I love it!"

Loche clasped his hands together in delight. "You'll tell everyone that?"

"Of course."

Varanis opened the door for them, bowing as Eveli and Destron went through. Then they headed for the docks. Though carts made way for their party and more than a few stopped to admire them, neither Destron nor Eveli could stop touching their formal outfits, plucking at her silk skirt or his lace-cuffed sleeves.

Mirri coughed. "You two look like rubes." 

Destron stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sorry. I've never had clothes this soft." 

Eveli said, "I don't want to know how much this cost, Varanis." 

"Not enough to break my bank, but enough that we aren't meeting any of the Waking Flame's rank and file at this party." She answered. "These are the people of wealth and taste."

"Like Matus Amnis and Salvitto," Eveli said. "A bunch of rich cowards looking for a little bit of extra power."

"Or like High Priestess Rolaine," Destron said. "They can still be dangerous. We'd best remember that."

"We'll remember that." Mirri assured him. "You just remember that you are one of those people of wealth and taste, dressed the part, and ready to get your share of whatever Vandacia's promising."

"I'll try." He said, as an Ivory Brigade guard bowed and opened the gate out to the docks for them. "What now?"

"Take the lead," Varanis instructed, as she had during the trip to Leyawiin. "It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you do it with confidence. If you don't know the answer, who cares? You have servants to handle the details."

Destron surveyed the docks with his nose up in the air, looking more like a noble by the minute. "Servant? Which one is my ship?"

The Calamity was a small caravel-style ship with a high fore and aft deck that would roll like a tub in any sort of waves. Mirri broke out in the cold sweat just looking at it. 

Destron sniffed. "It doesn't look like there's much room. I hope I don't have to sleep with the servants."

"Don't get a big head, brother," Calia warned.

"Get a big head," Varanis encouraged. "Vandacia trusted you with a preview of this event, not those people. You know something they don't."

Destron swaggered up to the Calamity. A Nord woman with a shaven head held out her parchment roll to stop him swaggering straight up the gangplank. "I'm First Mate Gulfrieda. Show me your invitation, or I'll dump you in the drink - be you noble or not."

He snapped his fingers. "Servant?"

When Calia wasn't quick enough to produce the invite and coin for his taste, he snapped at her again. "Servant! Don't keep the good lady waiting."

He certainly had the arrogance down pat. Gulfrieda checked the invite and coin with minute exactness. "It all seems to be in order. You and the lady-" She pointed at Destron, "-may board."

Mirri swallowed. It was the moment they'd practiced.

Destron drew himself up to full height like a Murkmire behemoth rousing from sleep. "What do you mean I can't take my servants along? HE said I could when he dined at my own table."

Gulfrieda was unimpressed. "All the guests wanted special accommodations. I received no such instructions."

"Did HE go to them for refuge when he needed it? No. HE went to me. I will not take cheek from a mere hireling."

"He didn't say anything to me about it."

"Hmmph." Destron folded his arms. "Servant, take care of it."

Varanis stepped forward, squaring off with Gulfrieda. "I'll dump you in the drink instead," she growled. "And then I'll fish you out, because the master still needs you to sail the ship. Don't forget who you serve."

"HE didn't say anything to me."

"HE wouldn't." Mirri said, thinking about the cult lingo from Amnis' coded letter. "We are but drops of rain to his flood. We are matches, HE the inferno. Do not question His desire."

"Fine. But you three sleep in the hold with the luggage."

…………...................

The tight berth and lack of hammocks didn't bother Mirri. She spent the first ten hours of the voyage puking up everything she'd eaten over the day, and then collapsed into an exhausted sleep against Varanis' shoulder down in their corner of the hold.

She woke with a jolt in near darkness. Something was glowing with a bright, pure light, illuminating Calia's worried face.

"Cover it up!" Varanis whispered. 

The light moved as Calia tore off a strip of cloth from her shirt. It was Rolaine's ring. The Lily shone with a pure radiance that hurt a little to look at and who's absence hurt even more when hidden away under a quick wrap. 

"Is Destron okay?" Calia asked, her brows pinched with worry.

"Eveli will help him with the brooch," Mirri said. Something was nagging at her. Something important. 

"At least we know the relics protect you," Varanis said.

"But from what?" Calia asked. She held out her hands. "I don't feel a spell."

The thing nagging at her became clear - she could still see Calia in the dark of the hold. A reddish light seeped in through every crack of the wood planking. Though the ship still rocked gently, she wasn't seasick anymore. "Maybe its not a spell. Where are we?"

Varanis left her side, climbing over the nobles' trunks to reach a small hatch higher on the wall. Whatever she saw when the hatch let more red light into the hold, it had her gesturing them up too.

Mirri helped Calia climb the mound of luggage and they looked out. The ship glided on a lake of sulfurous yellow water. Lightning flickered in the distance, revealing jagged peaks and spikes of dead trees in the distance.

"Where are we?" Calia whispered.

"The Deadlands." Mirri said. "Vandacia's party is in the Deadlands."

Calia's eyes darted back and forth, drinking in the blasted landscape. "Our tutors told us the Deadlands were beautiful. This is like nothing I ever imagined."

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 4

Mirri's group and the rest of the guests were ushered off the Calamity up a winding path to Vandacia's Keep. Like the towers she'd seen from a distance, the Keep was a multi-story spiked monstrosity reaching up to the roiling clouds of a growing thunderstorm. The pressure in the air grew tense. Little static sparks from their clothing tormented everyone. Though a torrent of rain threatened to fall at any moment, it never did.

So when two ogres slammed the door of Vandacia's keep shut behind them, she shuddered in relief, not fear. The rest of the guests seemed to feel the same, for when they were all led into a banquet chamber, they burst into a flurry of chatter. With fifty or more guests there of all races, she found herself overwhelmed trying to keep track of names, faces, and involvement in the cult, as Destron schmoozed and talked up his donations to the Cult with Eveli on his arm. Once he intimated that he'd seen a preview of the Grand Event, everyone wanted to talk to him. Varanis stood right behind his shoulder, both directing Mirri and Calia to keep guests well supplied with drinks and hors d'oeuvres - kebabs, sausage rolls, meat pies, and fancy cheese - and memorizing what Mirri couldn't. 

In the thick of it, Varanis caught Mirri's elbow and pointed out one of the guests hanging back: a statuesque woman in an armored black robe that certainly wasn't from Loche's shop. She wore a hood. Underneath that shape, there was the suggestion of horns.

"Is that Lyranth?" Mirri asked.

"I think so. Take Eveli and Calia and see what she wants. Did you see the Ambition?"

"No, I didn't. I thought he'd be a guest."

"If I were Vandacia, I'd keep my prize close."

Mirri got Eveli and Calia's attention, and they drifted over to Lyranth. Calia snagged a platter of meat pies. "Can we interest your Excellency in Deadland delicacies?"

Lyranth took one and bit down with sharp teeth. "Mmmm, human."

Calia nearly dropped the tray. "Really?"

Eveli said, "I knew it tasted familiar. What's that hot spice in them?"

"Harrada root," Lyranth said, while Calia stared at Eveli like she'd sprouted a second head.

Mirri felt a bit sick too, looking at a whole rollicking party of nobles who thought nothing of eating people, and not in the sense of the Meat Mandate. "We'll explain the Green Pact later, Calia. Lyranth, what are you doing here?"

"The same thing you are doing here." The dremora looked askance at Eveli's dress. "Is that really what passes for the height of mortal fashion these days? Or are you blind?"

"I like it." Eveli defended herself.

Lyranth's prickliness wasn't helping matters. She'd never been this unhelpful before, though Daedrology studies said this was a  normal attitude for a non-hostile Dremora. Unhelpful and spitting insults at anything that didn't have the strength to stand above or equal to them in the hierarchy. Which Mirri definitely wasn't. However…

"Varanis sent us to ask what you want to do here." Mirri said.

Lyranth took another meat pie. "Did she? I want the same thing you do: the Third Ambition or at least a piece of his power."

Calia tugged on Mirri's elbow. The three broke away and headed for the door that the servants used to bring food and drink out to the guests. From there, they ducked out into the less-used hallways.

Calia asked, "What did she mean - a piece of his power? I can't just give my powers to you or teach you like learning to use a quarterstaff. Do you think they know how to drain our powers away?" She looked hopeful. "I'd like to live normally."

Eveli said, "The Vosh Rakh just killed people. But they were Trinimac cultists, not dagonists. Maybe it's different?"

Mirri hated to throw a wet woolen blanket over Calia's hope. "Those people would tear you to pieces for a scrap of your power."

"Lyranth knows I'm an Ambition. She hasn't turned on me."

"Only because she's scared of Varanis turning on her in turn."

"Shhhh!" Eveli hushed and hustled them into a corner. She crept out and peeked around the edge. "It's Vandacia. I'll follow and pretend to be a lost little guest if I get caught. You two hang back, follow, and don't come help unless I really scream, okay?"

……………………..

"And then, just when the assassin was about to triumph," Destron said, "the Ambition threw tea in her face!"

Tacitus Urthinius, a bald, heavyset Imperial man who owned the Calamity and several other passenger ships, roared with laughter so hard that wine sloshed out of his glass and over his beige tunic. "Ah, damn," he muttered, snapping for one of the servants. "Get another tunic from my luggage."

"Right this way, my lord."

"Gods, I'm thirsty. Hungry, too," Destron said, reaching for a sausage roll from Varanis' tray. 

She smacked his wrist. "Don't. Don't eat anything here."

"I've been talking nonsense nonstop since we got here. Come on, servant, get me something to eat."

"You've been doing wonderful, Lord Salvitto. It's just that the last time I ate something in the Deadlands, I'm pretty sure it was made from people."

"I think I'm going to be sick." 

She lent him her arm to stagger over to a convenient pot. When he was done retching, she offered a glass of white wine. "Sip it. Swish it. Spit it. We can't afford for you get drunk. There's some safe rations in your trunk for later."

"Why did you eat people?"

"Because I was young, dumb enough to take a dare from a fellow Undaunted, and didn't understand why the Bosmer with us all thought it was delicious. Not til later, anyway. It wasn't something I did on purpose."

"Not like these cultists." Destron said, in between swishing and spitting wine. 

"I don't know how many of them know either. It's very easy to conveniently overlook bad things happening to other people when it's not you minced up for meat."

A servant rushed out of the kitchens and made a beeline for them, carrying a silver platter on which a letter rested. Varanis took the letter and handed it off to Destron with a bow.

He read it and turned white as parchment. "He wants to see me? Oh. Oh. Er, servant?"

Varanis straightened his collar, and fixed his cuffs, all the while reading the letter over his shoulder. "His Lordship the High Priest inviting you to see him is a great honor. Of course we must go."

Destron tucked the letter into his coat. "Very well then, my good man. Lead on!"

The servant marched on. They followed. Destron whispered, "But I'm not Salvitto. Vandacia will know I'm a fake!"

"He already knows, or he wouldn't be luring us into a trap," Varanis whispered back. 

"Then why are we walking right into it?!"

"We're buying time for Calia to save the other Ambition. Are you still protected by your brooch?"

The servant turned around. They went quiet until he resumed walking. Destron put his hand over his heart where the back of the pin barely showed through his leather waistcoat, and they silently followed deeper into Vandacia's sanctum.

……………..

The three women followed Vandacia into a spacious, tiered, audience hall easily large enough to seat his many guests. The young Nord Ambition waited near a low altar in the center. While the two exchanged greetings, Eveli shimmied up a corner wall to hide up near the chandeliers. Mirri and Calia crawled into the rows of seats, peeking between the carved chair legs to watch.

"As I warned you, Sombren," Vendacia said, "Duke Varen's Vestige and her hunting dogs are hot on your trail."

Calia mouthed his name. Sombren.

"What will it take to stop her?" Sombren asked.

"Killing her. As you should have killed that other assassin when you had the chance."

"I told you that's not what my power is for."

So he could've fried her after all, Mirri thought. The tea had nearly been deadly enough.

"Don't lecture me about your power, boy," Vendacia got up in his face. "I know more about your power and its purpose than you do."

"He does?" Calia whispered to her.

Sombren protested, "I've been trained to-"

"-Forget your training. There's a whole host of people here waiting for you to use it properly for the glory of Mehrunes Dagon."

He'd been backed up against the altar by Vandacia. Whatever else his training covered, it hadn't been how to prepare himself for a fight. Mirri tensed up just watching him. 

"I've been trained NOT to serve Dagon. I won't and you can't make me."

"That's where you're wrong, boy!" Vandacia seized his wrists. For a moment, it looked like Sombren might push off the older man. Then Vandacia kneed him in the groin. 

Calia shot to her feet. Mirri yanked her feet out from under her, wrapped her arm over Calia's mouth, and dragged them back down. She bit and got only chainmail, thrashed and got nowhere with an experienced older sister.

"Shut up!" Mirri hissed, sitting on her and hoping Vandacia didn't hear their scuffle over his own fight. "He won't kill Sombren yet. There's no audience."

Calia went still. "Promise?"

"If I see a knife, we'll go for him together." Mirri released her.

Sombren now stood chained to the altar. Though he strained at his bonds and his hands even glowed with red spells, he couldn't escape. "Molag Bal take you as a traitor, Vandacia!"

Vandacia barked a laugh as he turned to go. "It is you who betrayed Emperor Leovic's purpose, boy. I must confront the Vestige now, and when I return, you will surrender your power to all the Faithful."

No sooner had Vandacia left than Calia scrambled to her feet and ran down the center aisle. "Sombren, we're here to help!"

Mirri followed. Eveli dropped down from her perch. 

Sombren saw them. "Watch out! Assassins!"

Calia whirled, looking around the room, hands up ready to blast anyone.

"Pretty sure he means us," Mirri said. 

"Oh, right," Calia said with a sheepish grin. "Sombren, Vandacia lied to you. These are our friends. Mirri, come help me with these chains."

Mirri jogged down. Sombren started to struggle again. "She tried to kill me," he warned Calia.

Taking a cheerful tone, Mirri replied, "And you tried to kill me with a teapot. No hard feelings, by the way. I was actually trying to kill Vandacia because he's going to kill a bunch of people if we don't stop him, in addition to the whole Dagon cultist and traitor thing you just found out. Now let's see about getting these chains off."

She picked up one of the locks. Heavy. Daedric. This was going to be a challenge.

Sombren twisted so that he could see what she was doing. "Are you working with the Vestige?"

"Yes," Calia said. "She got my brother Destron and me, Calia, out of our doomvault before the cult found us. They've been keeping us safe. Sombren, we're both Ambitions. Don't you sense it? Our power? Our kinship?"

The daedric lock had heavy pins. She levered one up, then the next pin slammed down and broke her pick.

"I do." Then he said, "Then I have to warn you. The Vestige is hunting the Ambitions because she worked for Duke Varen who overthrew the Longhouse Emperors. She's not your friend, Calia."

If Mirri looked at the situation through the warped mirror of a man self-centered enough to be head of a massive Daedric Cult, that sort of made sense. "Who told you that, Vandacia?"

Sombren didn't answer. His clenched fists gave answer enough. The chains rattled, and the pins snapped another pick.

"Fetch." She announced, "We've got a problem. I could keep trying to pick the lock, but if more of my picks snap, I'm gonna jam the mechanism. I don't think we have time for that."

"Vandacia took the key," he said. 

"Then Varanis will get it, no problem," Eveli said. "He said he was going after her."

"Destron's with her!" Calia gasped. "We can't leave Sombren either. The cultists might be here any minute. What do we do?"

They all looked to Mirri. Calia worried but hopeful, Eveli grim and growing grimmer, Sombren unsure of his footing in the changing situation.

Varanis might need rescuing. She certainly wasn't infallible. On the other hand, Destron had lightning at his command. Vandacia had tricked Sombren rather than fight, so he probably wasn't prepared to fight the Ambitions even on his own ground.

And considering his own ground, he'd been given this keep by Dagon. The Dremora and other Daedra inside would've kept their own hierarchy. No daedra bowed to mortals easily. "I'm willing to bet that Vandacia isn't the only one with a key. If we go fight one of his senior daedric lieutenants, we'll find more keys to this tower."

"What about Destron?" Calia asked. 

Mirri wanted to hug her, remembering how wrenching it had been to leave Liam behind in the doomvault to go get help. "I can't tell you how to choose between protecting your twin or your brother Ambition."

Calia stared down at her hands until they began to glow with flames. "I feel like I ought to protect my brother, but he has his own power. Sombren, I won't fail you."

…………………...

Vandacia met them on a balcony that overlooked the sulfurous lake below. "Greetings, Gracian. You look much changed from the last I saw you."

"I can't say it was due to the pleasure of your company, Your Lordship." Destron said.

"Where do you find these allies of yours, Vestige?" Vandacia asked. "Out of professional courtesy, I feel I should inform you that your recruiting is slipshod and haphazard. I mean, it's embarrassing to watch a legendary hero of your caliber picking up Sharp-Arrow who can't shoot, a Daedrologist who can't tell the person who hired her is really a dremora, and this man who barely resembles Salvitto. Did you pick him up off the street? I had my eye on a Breton-raised mercenary who's practically a dead-ringer for the man and you never even noticed."

Varanis made a complicated gesture. Something bright flashed in the stormy sky high above Vandacia. "Thanks for the advice.  I'll have to remember to pick the man you're watching next time."

She said it with such sincerity that the High Priest paused as he worked through exactly where she'd insulted him. A falling star plummeted through the clouds, bathing everything in a white glow.

Vandacia threw up his hand. "No!" A red shield formed around the balcony.

"Run!" Varanis hissed, shoving Destron back out the door, and matching deed to word as the meteor smashed into the shield with a cataclysmic blast.

"What about Calia?" Behind them, Vandacia howled with rage as he realized he'd been tricked.

"While they chase us, they aren't looking for her. Now run like your sister depends on it!"

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 5

Varanis and Destron ran through Vandacia's tower, always downwards, always following a servant if they saw one running from them. Behind them, the corridors rang with the hunting calls of a pack of clannfear and the shouts of cultists encouraging the beasts onward.

Though fear gave his feet wings, Destron soon gasped in exhaustion. "I should've. Exercised. More!"

"Hard to do in a vault." They came to a corridor with many rooms. A pair of servants at the far end carried a noble's trunk between them. Wisely, they dropped it and ran.

She slowed Destron to a walk. "Catch your breath. I need to find our luggage."

None of the nobles' suites held their trunks yet. Groaning, Destron joined her in jogging downward after the servants. "Do we really need to save the clothes? Or did you bring weapons?"

"Not exactly. Regular weapons would've give the game away." Down another long flight of stairs that left their thighs and calves burning, they came to the loading dock with a path that led down to the Calamity. Servants scattered, dropping trunks as they fled.

"We can't leave without Calia!" Destron protested.

Varanis grabbed a heavy chest and slung it in front of the open doorway. "I'll block the entrance. If you see Eveli's trunk, give a shout."

She had a waist-high barricade by the time the clannfear pack arrived. They learned quickly that if they tried to climb the barrier, they got lashed down with a flame whip. At the direction of the cultists, they began to worry at the stacked luggage and pull the barrier apart from below.

Destron hauled Eveli's trunk out. "Armor, trail mix, a bottle of...bugs?" He held up a glass jar filled with black-shelled beetles as big as his thumbs. "These are Eveli's rations?"

"That's what we need. Throw it on the clannfear!"

Destron heaved the bottle up and over. Varanis whipped it out of the air, smashing the bottle open. The clannfear leaped up to snatch the falling, burning beetles in their mouths and then began to leap about shaking their heads. One slammed it's snout against the wall again and again. 

Some of the bugs survived to hit the ground, and those, fluttering their armored wing cases furiously, vented the contents of their scent glands over clannfear and cultists alike. Eyes watered. Noses streamed. Then, the stampede began as clannfear clawed over cultists and cultists clubbed clannfear in a mad dash to get away.

"Maybe, when we go find my sister, we go a different way?" Destron suggested.

"Good idea," Varanis wheezed, her eyes stinging. "Lead the way. You don't want to be downwind of me right now."

……………………….

Returning to the Audience Hall after defeating a Tower Senechal for his key, Mirri and Calia got swept up in a large group of noble party goers heading in the same direction. Imperial lady Mabyn told the Redguard merchant Kaud, "Finally, we'll have real revelations for our gold."

"I'm more than ready for some of this promised power." He replied.

"Sombren's power," Calia whispered.

Mirri whispered back, "I need a distraction to use the key."

They and the nobles flowed into the hall and began jockeying for seats. Mirri and Calia tried to make their way towards Sombren. However, in the scuffle for precedence, the guests thought nothing of elbowing, slapping, and even kicking mere servants out of their way. Calia retreated first, and after a particularly sharp elbow to the nose, Mirri too had to back off. Sombren watched the whole affair in somber silence.

Eveli's way through the crowd towards them was marked with sharp yelps as she kicked people in the shins. "You two," she ordered them. "We need to talk."

The two closed ranks so Eveli was between them and sheltered from the pushing, shoving, and squabbling over the best chairs. “Did you get it?” She asked.

Mirri flashed the key. It was wrought daedric metal, heavy, and sharp edged to match the biting hooks of the lock. “I can’t get up there like this.”

“Vandacia might come back any minute,” Calia fretted. As a few very prominent looking guests, including Lyranth, even invaded Sombren’s platform and began poking and prodding him, she clenched her fists. “They treat him like the animals for sale in Gideon. They’re the real beasts.”

“I wish I had my bow,” Eveli said. “By the Green, I wish I had my stink bugs! One bug and I’d clear the room.” She rubbed her chin. “Actually, I know something that might make them just as sick if they think about it and make them mad at Vandacia besides. I just need your help.”

She took Calia’s hands. “we promised we'd tell you later. The Meat Mandate is Y’ffre’s sacred requirement that the Bosmer eat what they kill, be it beast or man. For me to eat man, mer, or beast-kind that I've slain is a matter of religious duty.  But for these pampered sots?”

Eveli dropped her hands and headed into the throng, grabbing Mabyn’s sleeve. “Did you have some of the amazing meat pies? I’ve never tasted Altmer so delicious!”

Mabyn looked down at her with revulsion and a sort of dawning dread. “What?”

Eveli began to loudly extol the virtues of Vandacia’s kitchens, crediting him with meat pies made from tender Altmer and sausage rolls made with Argonian intestines for casings. 

“It can’t be,” one of the Argonian guests exclaimed.

“I beg your Excellency’s pardon,” Mirri stepped forward, assuring her. “Lord Vandacia promised that only the best victuals would do for his distinguished guests. That means Argonian intestine sausages. I'm told you could even request pickled Dunmer ears if you like."

Like a wave, the rumor swept around the room. Now, the nobles wanted to talk to the two servants, peppering them with questions. Mirri stuck to Calia like glue, working their way up the front of the room. A heavyset Imperial man with the ruddy cheeks of one deep in his cups grabbed Calia’s arm. “You say we’ve been eating people, girl?”

She tried to pull away. He held on with drunken strength. “Sir. Good sir. Lord Vandacia said we needed the best meats. As the Bosmer know…”

He shoved her away to sprawl at Sombren’s feet. “Look here-”

Lyranth stepped in front of Calia and with a voice sharp enough to cut through all the chatter, said, “You didn’t already know?” Shaking her head, she sneered, “You stupid mortals. You don’t even see what you stuff your gullets with, much less what’s right before your eyes.”

The doors swung open once more. Vandacia stalked through and at the vein throbbing in his temple, Mirri felt her heart leap into her throat with relief. That was not the face of a man who’d faced Varanis and come out victorious. The eight-foot-tall daedric warrior following him bellowed, “Everyone to your seats!”

Mirri sank down in the far aisle, kneeling next to the seated nobles in what she hoped was an appropriately servile attitude that Vandacia would take no notice of her. Lyranth booted the drunk Imperial out of her way and seated Calia next to her with a possessive grip on her arm.

Vandacia strode up to the altar. “My Brothers and Sisters of the Waking Flame. A new day dawns over Blackwood-”

Drunkard hadn’t found a seat. Now, he walked up to Vandacia like a big man ready for a fight. “You cannibal! You fed us human meat.”

Others leapt to their feet, shouting along with him. Eveli’s piercing voice shouted out, “It was so juicy!”

“Sit down!” Vandacia roared. His dremora grabbed Drunkard by the throat with one hand and lifted him up into the air. About half the angry nobles did shrink back. 

Then the doors banged open again. It was a single low ranking cultist. When he entered, the guests near him reeled, covering their noses and fanning themselves. “My Lord, the Vestige defeated our hunters. She’s coming for us!”

Pandemonium erupted among the guests. The dremora tossed Drunkard to the ground and looked to Vandacia for orders. Mirri made eye contact with Sombren. She mouthed, “Its okay!”

He gave a tiny nod in return.

Vandacia threw up his hands. Lightning cracked between them up to the ceiling. In the shocked silence, he snarled, “Were I not a benevolent priest, I would keep the Ambition’s power for myself. All of you with courage, sit down.”

As they froze, he put his hands on Sombren’s shoulders. “This is one of the fabled Four Ambitions of Mehrunes Dagon. His death will elevate us all.”

“Damn you all.” Sombren snapped.

Red spell light crackled over Sombren’s whole body and he screamed. The hair went up on Mirri’s neck. Calia sat bolt upright, straining against Lyranth’s grip on her arms. 

“He was created for one purpose - to give us his power and grant our dark lord a connection to the mortal plane!"

Sombren screamed again, an ugly guttural sound that rose in pitch until his voice broke. Eveli screamed with him from the back of the room. “The Vestige is coming!”

Not knowing how else to get to Sombren before the ritual killed him, Mirri joined the cry. “The Vestige is coming!”

Even the spectacle of the ritual and their desire for power couldn’t quite quell the guests’ fear. Many turned in their seats when yet more cultists ran through the opened doors shouting the same warning. The last two were human torches. The Vestige really was coming!

Varanis and Destron burst through the doors. Panic swept the room. Lyranth released Calia. Mirri dashed forward to the front row just before the guests would have swept her up in their frightened horde rushing for any door they could see that didn't have an angry Vestige standing in their way.

“Run, you fools. I'll do this myself.” Vandacia sneered. His spell tightened on Sombren like a noose, choking off his screams. “You are too late, Vestige. Watch and despair as I claim Sombren for Mehrunes Dagon!”

“No!” Calia screamed. Fire burst from her hands.

Her fire swept the altar, but did not harm Sombren. Vandacia recoiled, ducking behind his captive. “Who are you, girl?” Red light gathered in his hands as he prepared to strike her back.

Varanis ran forward. She'd be too late. Then Destron shouted, “Don’t you touch my sister!” His lightning cracked across the room and flung Vandacia back into a wall.

The last place Mirri wanted to be was between two angry Ambitions, the Vestige, and a Dagonist High Priest. Unfortunately, she had the key, and a job only she could do.

Praying hard to the Three, she ran to Sombren’s chains. Fire and lightning flew right over her head as she worked. The key clicked into place, lifting and turning the heavy pins. Sombren slumped to the floor, clutching his chest as she unlocked each chain. "Don't let him hurt Calia," he whispered.

Mirri got her shoulder under him. "Let's get you out of the way so she can defend herself properly."

In his armor, Sombren was heavy. Worse, he was none too steady. The ritual had sucked something out of him. They limped towards the exit with Eveli and Lyranth covering for them.

Meanwhile, the tall dremora guarded Vandacia while he got back to his feet. The High Priest conjured up a shield that fended off the best attacks that Calia, Destron, and Varanis could throw at him. His face alight with fiendish glee, he cried, "The Twin Ambitions? And you've brought them right to me, Vestige? What a prize!"

Sombren's head came up. "No!" He twisted out of Mirri's grip. "She's betrayed them."

"She has not!" Mirri exclaimed.

"Run, both of you!" Varanis ordered, in the sort of battlefield shriek that carried over the clash of swords, shields, and spellfire. "Ambitions, defend Sombren! Lyranth, take them to safety."

The dragonknight planted herself in front of Vandacia and his dremora, covering their retreat as Destron and Calia ran to join them. "I know the way back to the Calamity." Destron gasped. "Just try to hold your breath for a bit."

The smell wafting from Destron and the hallway struck them like a blow. Once, she'd found a week-dead guar with maggots crawling on it. If the week-dead guar had been eating rotten eggs and lying in a cesspool, perhaps it might have come close to this stench.

"Oh, you used the stinkbugs!" Eveli said, delighted.

"Bosmer are nuts," Calia choked.

"Don't call me a cracked acorn!"

Destron led the way. He and Calia didn't hesitate to blast any cultist or dremora out of their way. At some point, Calia's flames burned the wrap off her finger, so her Lily of Dibella ring lit their way with its radiance. The lesser scamps and clannfear fled from that as much as their stench.

Lyranth took up the rear. Whenever Mirri looked behind them, the reflective walls flared with distant firelight.

They ran out of the tower towards the docked ship. The crew of the Calamity worked with equal fervor, throwing off the lines tying them to the docks. "Cut loose," Gulfrieda bellowed from the top deck. "Cut loose or I'll send you to Dagon myself!"

Sails dropped. A storm wind picked up as they ran down the path, whipping bitter dust into their faces and stinging their eyes. Calia covered her face.

Sombren gasped, "We'll never make it."

They hit the dock running, but already the gap between the metal ramp and the Calamity had widened to more than Mirri could jump. By the time they reached the edge, the ship was farther than Varanis could've dragon-leaped, and she was nowhere in sight.

Mirri turned to Lyranth. "You can portal us to Gideon."

Lyranth folded her arms. "I can. What's in it for me?"

She had a bad feeling about this. "Varanis said you should take us to safety."

"Varanis isn't here," Lyranth said, nodding back to the tower. "You and the wood elf have no weapons. The Ambitions have no other defenders. I could just claim their power now."

Calia and Destron went back to back, sheltering Sombren behind them. "You'll be in for a fight if you do, Daedra." Destron warned.

Calia said nothing, but her fists glowed with flame and Dibellan radiance.

Lyranth didn't move either to harm or help them. Mirri realized, "You're still afraid. Afraid that the Vestige is going to walk out that door having escaped yet another trap."

"I am never afraid." Lyranth spat.

Varanis sprinted out the tower like the hosts of Dagon were at her heels. Indeed, Vandacia's dremora lord chased after her down the path to the docks, a blazing greatsword in his hands.

"Valkynaz Orran, one of Dagon's own Royal Guards," Lyranth said, with admiration. "For him to have fought her from the ritual room to here makes him a very worthy opponent."

Eveli protested, "She doesn't even have weapons!"

"So?" Lyranth shrugged.

Varanis saw them. She pointed at Lyranth as she ran. Valkynaz Orran roared, "Face your doom, Vestige!"

Facing the fight, Lyranth spread her hands. "Don't interfere, little Ambitions," she warned. "I want to see what the Vestige does."

"Kill him!" Mirri screamed to Varanis.

Varanis whirled around, sliding a little down the dusty path. Valkynaz Orran slashed through the air where she'd been. White sunlight gathered in her right hand.

Mirri gaped as the light lengthened into a longsword. Cardea Gallia had once described the Fighters Guild's signature weapon for her; she'd never seen it: Dawnbreaker.

"For Dagon!" 

"Darien!"

Their blades clashed. Impossibly, the Valkynaz held firm against the prismatic blade. Snarling, he pressed the advantage of his greater height, forcing Varanis down the slope. Her boots dug into the dust.

Eveli screamed. Lyranth grinned, showing all her sharp teeth. Mirri tasted blood, and then the pain. She'd bitten her tongue without realizing.

Then Dawnbreaker split. No longer one blade, but six - one in each color of the rainbow. Orran's flaming greatsword held firm against red, orange, and yellow. Green, blue, and indigo sliced him through at the waist, knees, and ankles.

The greatsword hit the dust, extinguished.

"Yes!" Mirri shouted. Even Sombren cheered with them, raising his fist as if in salute to a victorious Arena fighter.

Once at the docks, Varanis got up in Lyranth's face. "If you want to pick a fight with me and not just my friends, let's do it. Now."

Lyranth waved her hands and a portal appeared beside her. "Straight to Gideon and no more games, on my word as a Foolkiller."

Mirri went through first, and while she was glad to arrive in the Temple of Dibella with Sombren, she was even gladder when Varanis came through last and the portal closed behind her.

Ilsabet

Well that was a moment of badass I did not see coming.

VaranisArano

Ilsabet wrote: »

Well that was a moment of badass I did not see coming.

Thanks! I had a lot of fun writing this part and trying to take what we can do in gameplay to a different narrative level.

Also, Varanis' battlecry was a genuine light bulb moment. I was looking for some sort of Meridia-themed battlecry that the Fighter's Guild might use when they call on Dawnbreaker and not finding much. But once I remembered that in Summerset, Darien basically is Dawnbreaker...it couldn't be anything else.

Ilsabet

VaranisArano wrote: »

Ilsabet wrote: »

Well that was a moment of badass I did not see coming.

Thanks! I had a lot of fun writing this part and trying to take what we can do in gameplay to a different narrative level.

Also, Varanis' battlecry was a genuine light bulb moment. I was looking for some sort of Meridia-themed battlecry that the Fighter's Guild might use when they call on Dawnbreaker and not finding much. But once I remembered that in Summerset, Darien basically is Dawnbreaker...it couldn't be anything else.

It definitely made that a very personal moment on top of being badass in general. Like most of the Fighters Guild probably doesn't even know about Darien's connection to their signature move, but the Vestige sure does, and invoking her old friend...

I have to say in general it's been really interesting to see the different spins you've put on these familiar quests. Like I know in my head that a lot of this isn't technically the way it happens in-game, but the way you rework things tells a really compelling story in its own right. It's good times.

VaranisArano

A Mysterious Event: Part 6

Varanis buried her face in the soft down pillow. It smelled of lilies, not stink bugs. The whole feather mattress smelled of fresh air, sunlight, and lilies. Softness cradled her like a cloud. She never wanted to move again.

Someone knocked on the door. "Go away!"

Instead of knocking again, Mirri pushed the door open. "Get up, old lady, before Destron and Sombren eat all the food."

Food. Her stomach growled. She rolled over, stretching muscles that felt like she'd been beaten black and blue, and a stabbing twinge from her knee reminded her once more she really was getting too old to be battling up and down daedric towers like it was nothing. Sheer adrenaline did not help the morning after and it had been a very long time since she last took an incapacitating injury that didn't outright kill her shortly after.

Calia waited behind Mirri in the hallway. She bit her lip. "How's your knee?"

"Fine," she lied.

Calia raised an eyebrow.

"It'll work itself out sooner or later if I take it easy." Making sure she didn't limp, she led the way downstairs to the Dibellan dining hall.

Behind her, Calia whispered, "Is she going to take it easy?'

"Fat chance," Mirri whispered back.

Indeed. While they'd been very fortunate to rescue Sombren, Vandacia's glee when he realized that all three known Ambitions were within reach only proved the point that she couldn't rest on her laurels. There weren't going to be more leisurely carriage rides in her future, whether her knee liked it or not.

Priestess Larusa met them at the door. "Is there a problem with the food?

Destron and Sombren sat with plates full of pastry, eggs, and fruit. The tray of sausage links, rolls, and sliced ham was untouched.

Varanis shrugged. As Eveli joined them, Mirri loaded up her plate with jam pastries. Calia, eyeing the sausages, chose eggs and a handful of grapes instead.

"You don't have to save the meat just for me," Eveli exclaimed, loading her plate up with ham slices and sausages. "I can eat plants as long as they aren't from Valenwood."

Varanis speared a slice of ham. "Eveli, this is...you know, right?"

Eveli blinked at her, ate a bite of her own ham, and chortled. "It's the pig sort of pork, silly!"

While Eveli burst into gales of riotous laughter at their faces, Varanis passed the tray down and the others fell on the meat like a pack of ravenous wolves.

……………...

Under Sombren's watchful eye, the Twins fought in the temple's courtyard. Destron sparred with the Knight of the Lily, working on feeding power through his staff so that his shield of spinning hickory flared with lightning. Each knock of wood on wood cracked with a thunderclap. It wasn't subtle, but neither were the Black Fin legionnaires now posted outside the Dibellaseum.

"Measure your power," Sombren encouraged him. "Use as little in each strike as you can. Just being in the Deadlands will drain some your power naturally, so pace yourself."

From her spot on a bench overseeing Calia's firefighting, Varanis agreed, "Like running with weights. Train yourself to do more with less."

Destron kept his attention on the fight. The thunder grew less intense. Calia shot her a look of pure poison. "I hate those stupid weights."

Sombren tapped his breastplate, which in Nordic style featured a large circular boss marked with, in his case, the tree of Chorrol. "I learned to fight in this plus whatever spoils Duke Varen's soldiers loaded me down with as their pack mule after they took me from my vault. Now the steel feels light as a feather. Calia, you're using too much fire and not enough of your own power, if that makes sense."

Calia frowned to the target dummy. Despite soaking it with water beforehand, she'd left the dummy singed and scorched. "I don't understand. I'm burning it like Varanis told me to. I'm certainly stronger than I was when I left my vault."

"Yes, but…" Sombren trailed off.

Though he'd made up with Mirri and Eveli since the rescue, he still avoided her as much as possible. There was no denying the awkwardness for the Twins, caught between two teachers and neither wanting to choose.

"Listen to Sombren," she instructed. "I'm a dragonknight. I understand fire. I'm not an Ambition and my experience with daedra is mostly killing them. He's the only one with real training in how to use your special powers, so when he says you should do it his way, listen to him."

Calia nodded. She gathered a fireball between her hands. "More of my power, huh? Hah!" She wound up like a thrower, and when her foot hit the ground, she cast the now red-tinged-with-power fireball. It enveloped the dummy as her others had. This time the fire spread across the wet hay like it was dry, blackening in strands and patches, until burning clumps began to rain from the stand. "Oh."

"That's what it should look like." He approved.

Calia stared at her hands then at Varanis.

"That was good!" She encouraged. "Now, do it again."

With renewed excitement, Calia turned to the other dummies. With some hesitation, Sombren sat down on the bench next to Varanis. "Thanks," he said. "You did what you could to train them, not being an Ambition and all."

"Its a good thing they have you now. They'll need to be able to fight with everything they've got if we're to avoid being sacrificed by the Waking Flame, not just run away." Up close, he looked no older than Destron and Calia. Which meant he'd been around sixteen when Duke Varen launched his rebellion. "Vandacia was bad enough when I thought he just wanted a few sheltered but extremely powerful child soldiers."

Thunder rolled as the knight pressed Destron on his footwork. He backed up. She was proud to see him keep his head on a swivel watching where he was going. When the knight backed him too close to a corner, he brought his staff up in a whirling arc over his head and slammed it down on the ground. A lightning bolt sprang from earth to sky with a deafening boom. His opponent flew back into a hedge.

Sombren leapt to his feet. "Well done, Destron!"

Destron grinned fit to split his face as he helped the knight out of the hedge. "This time I saved it for when I really needed it."

Sombren lost all traces of his smile when he sat back down and told her, "I'm not training them to be soldiers. Especially not soldiers for you. I'm training them to survive, as I had to."

In time, perhaps he'd come to trust her. Unfortunately, they didn't have time. She'd have to settle for challenging his assumptions. "When Vandacia told you that I was Varen's Vestige, did he mention that name came from Colovian loyalists who don't want to admit that Emperor Varen was tricked into ripping down the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion, got a lot of people soul-trapped and killed including yours truly, and then died helping me save the world from his mistake?"

"No..."

"Then I'm guessing he also didn't mention that one Ertus Vandacia of the Elder Council swore an oath of eternal loyalty to Emperor Varen Aquilarios."

Sombren buried his face in his hands, looking like she'd upended his world in two sentences. Calia burned another dummy to cinders, soaked a third dummy, and burned that one too.

"But Vandacia didn't lie." Sombren said at last. "I would've known it if he did. But you aren't lying either."

"I get the feeling that the way around your Ambitions' truthsensing powers is to tell you just enough correct information to let you draw your own conclusions."

He took his time parsing that out. "That doesn't exactly make you sound very trustworthy either."

"I'd rather encourage you to test what others are telling you than expect you to trust me blindly because I helped haul you out of a bad situation. I'm guessing that's what Vandacia did."

"Pretty much." Sombren faced her directly for the first time. "Look, why are you helping us? No lies."

"Because-" Because it's complicated, and by the furrow of his brow, perhaps he could sense it. "Because I joined the Pact Army ten years ago to fight off the Akaviri, and I've seen a lot of war since then. Because of Trynhild Earthturner, who was about Calia's age when I sent her to die holding the Bal Foyen docks, and her brothers who weren't that much older when I told them their mother turned traitor and I had to kill her. Because I first met Varen as a kindly old Moth Priest who'd helped me save the world and didn't find out just what a mess he'd made of his empire until I went to the Imperial City and saw for myself."

And finally, "Also because I've made a bit of a heroing career telling Daedric Princes to quit tormenting people, and then kicking their butts when they don't listen. So since Vandacia and his Waking Flame aren't leaving you, Calia, and Destron alone, I'll be happy to help kick their butts too. You've got my help, even up to Mehrunes Dagon himself."

"You actually meant that." Sombren said. "I just don't know what to think."

"Well, if you want my advice, it's 'don't take advice blindly from the woman who didn't predict her daedric fremeny Lyranth choosing to mess with her friends behind her back.' It's not the first time I've been wrong. Trust who you want; don't trust anyone blindly."

Carefully, she stood up. Her knee didn't twinge this time as it took her weight. A few days of light labor must be doing wonders for her. She clapped her hands. "Destron, Calia, it's time for you to run until I get tired!"

The twins groaned all the way through putting their weights on until Sombren joined them at the line in full armor. "What? We Ambitions fight together. We have each other's backs. We'll run together too."

She blew the whistle and they sprinted back and forth between a series of lines she had marked for them. Whether it was his time as a pack mule or the work of whoever trained him in his power, Sombren absolutely smoked the twins. Not to be outdone, Destron and Calia pushed themselves harder than ever before.

In between sharp whistle blasts, she thought they'd do well indeed at fighting for themselves, and better yet at learning to think for themselves. If only Vandacia gave them the chance.

………………..

"Blast," Mirri said, holding up her armored tunic and sticking her spread fingers through a hole in the leather. "I thought I dodged that icicle."

"Come with me to the Egg and Hammer," Varanis invited. "My guild shipment should've arrived by now."

Gideon reminded her more of the siege of Davon's Watch, these days. "The calm before the storm," as Walks-in-Ash would say. Caravans were rare and the people out on the street either went directly about their business or loitered on street corners - potentially spies, but just as likely to be going stir-crazy from the looming threat of potential siege and strange sounds from the Temple of Dibella. The inn was full of travelers afraid to take their chances outside the crumbling walls and the room next to theirs was let to some Dunmer mage who was drunk at mid-morning. He scoffed at her Pact armor.

"What did you order from the Guilds?" Mirri asked.

"Eveli said you needed potions. You all do, really."

"Thanks." Mirri said. "Thanks for the daggers too. You weren't that subtle. Sorry."

She unlocked the room. The papers on the table were not how she left them. One of the maps showing southern Blackwood and the Ojel-bak region was missing. "Let's hope I was subtle enough to fool the Waking Flame."

Mirri checked her own things. "They didn't bust my trunk at least. I knew investing in a good lock would come in handy." From the bathroom, she complained, "The fetcher tried on my spare lipstick!"

The fetcher had rifled through everything that wasn't locked down tight, and even busted through the lockbox she'd put on the maps to weigh them down. "Well, they found all the info I wanted them to. I'll just have to hope they believe I'm focused on the Sul-Xan rather than eliminating Waking Flame patrons."

The guild shipment, being both insured and protected by powerful curses until she claimed it, was untouched. She loaded Mirri down with a couple crates marked Delicate: Do Not Drop. "Pass the potions out to everyone, and when I get back from telling Governor Keshu and Eveli that the jig is up and the clock is counting down, I'll make sure your new armor fits."

"New armor too? Sweet!"

"Try not to get a hole in it before the day is out.You're supposed to be learning to dodge Sombren's snowballs, right?"

"I'm getting better."

"Sure. Should I have him throw tea pots instead?"

"I'm going, I'm going!"

……………………

"How's the armor fit?"

Mirri did a pirouette, showing off the new armor and a full belt of potions to Varanis, Eveli, and the Ambitions. "I love it!"

Destron and Calia likewise grinned, having traded their Dibellan robes and leather waistcoats for a mailed robe similar to what they'd worn in their Doomvault. Varanis had made some concessions to practicality, cutting the robe off at the knees and splitting the front. "I can actually run in it now," Destron said. "Not that I want to run more laps!"

Sombren held up his new chain shirt and nordic breastplate. Varanis helped him put it on and adjust the straps. "Comfortable?"

"As comfortable as armor ever is," He touched the emblem on the breastplate where she'd marked a carving of a boar. "How did you know this was the sign on my vault?"

Eveli chimed in, "From Leovic's papers, we knew there were rams, a boar, and a fox. We just didn't know you were people, not weapons."

"That," Varanis said quietly enough that only he would hear it, "is where Nords put their clan insignia on their armor. I thought you might prefer your own sign, not Varen's."

He hugged her tight enough it became hard to breathe.

"Hey, I need those ribs."

He released her, and to give him time to wipe his eyes, she stepped in front of him, and announced the bad news. "The Waking Flame found the false trail I laid for then in the inn. I'm afraid that means no more lounging around in the lap of luxury for this old lady. Worse, I've tried to buy you all time to train without worrying about what happens next, but it's time I shared the full scope of what we're up against."

She spread out a map of Blackwood. The others gathered round. Little red dots marked the map up along each of Blackwood's major waterways, clustered in Gideon, Leyawiin, and any major settlement bigger than a village like Farmer's Nook.

"This map correctly shows the holdings of those guests Vandacia invited to his party." She flipped the map over, revealing Tamriel, also marked with flecks of red. "And their overseas holdings. That's who wants your power."

Mirri poked at Morrowind's dots. "I knew I saw a few Dunmer at the party. There's always some idiots willing to worship the House of Troubles."

"Is nowhere safe?" Calia asked.

Sombren shook his head. "I always wanted to go to Skyrim someday."

Eveli glared at Valenwood as though she could light the map on fire by looking at it. "Valenwood will be safe. I guarantee it. We haven't forgotten how Daedra destroyed Gil-Var-Delle. The Vinedusk Rangers will have those Dagonists staked out for a barbecue within a fortnight."

"So we run?" Destron asked. "I mean, I'm getting a little tired of running. Why can't we take the fight to Vandacia?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you three." Varanis said.

Calia, Destron, and Sombren made eye contact with each other first, and then with her. "Ask us?" Sombren asked. "You're the hero."

"It's a group effort," Mirri said. "You three have a say too."

Varanis nodded. "You're the Ambitions. Whatever you decide has consequences for all of us, good and bad. When we found out about the party, Calia and Destron insisted on coming along to rescue you. Because they did so, they saved your life. However, you heard Vandacia. He had all three Ambitions in the same room, ripe for sacrifice. Had you not run when you did, he would have tried to overpower me and kill the three of you. He might even have succeeded. Vandacia victorious in one fell swoop; needing only the last Ambition to make his triumph complete. If you choose to stand your ground and fight him, you three have to be ready. You can't hide behind me for the rest of your lives."

She stepped back to let them process the disaster barely averted in their own ways. Sombren picked up the map, flipping back and forth between Blackwood and the rest of Tamriel. Calia and Destron looked at each other, working through it in their own silent way as two people who'd lived together their whole life.

"Should we split up?" Sombren ventured. "Three people and guards are harder to hide than one. Especially if we disguise ourselves."

"I don't want to leave my brother," Calia said. "I don't want to leave you either! I know we just met, but you're my brother Ambition and I'm not letting Vandacia sacrifice either of you if I can help it. I can't protect you both if we run to three corners of Valenwood."

"I'm tired of running," Destron said. "Actually, no - I'm tired of being afraid of Vandacia. Back in the Deadlands, we were only strong enough to stop him from killing Sombren when we worked together. We'll keep training, and the three of us together ought to be strong enough to take him down."

Sombren flipped the map over to Blackwood. "Then we stay. We train. We look for our lost brother or sister: the Fox. Together we fight."

"Good." Varanis said, and when the Ambitions looked to her, she added, "It doesn't matter if that's what I would do so long as that you are confident it's what you want to do. This is your fight as much if not more than it is ours. It's only right that you decide your next course of action."

All three stood a little taller.

Eveli said, "Then I'm going to write to the Vinedusk Rangers and make sure Valenwood is safe if we need to retreat later. Maybe I'll even call on my uncle who used to live in Gil-Var-Delle. He won't stand for a Daedric Prince destroying another city on his watch."

Mirri asked, "Varanis, do you need help hunting down the cultists?"

She flexed her knee. No twinge. No aches. "I think I'm about as good as it gets for an old lady."

The others chuckled.

But an hour later, Mirri cornered her as she was about to leave for a meeting with Governor Keshu's spymaster. "Seriously," Mirri said. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"I'm not that old yet. Even if I was, I think the Ambitions need you more than I do. I'm suspicious enough for the both of us. They need someone with them who's seen more of the world than either a vault or an army camp. Keeping them safe doesn't just mean killing their enemies."

"I can do that," Mirri gave her a quick hug. "Kill that fetcher who used my lipstick for me, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

She left the Dibellaseum. Before she'd made it more than a few paces into the street, Mirri stuck her head back out. "Just curious, how old are you anyways?"

"Older than you and younger than your mother, whippersnapper."

VaranisArano

Harrada Harvest/Love Among the Fire: Part 1

Keshu ushered Varanis into her office, along with another two Argonians. The tall female clasped arms with her. "I'm Vos-Huruk. Fought in the First Stonefalls War, and didn't think much of General Indoril even then."

"Well met, then."

The shorter male said, "I'm Tee-Wan. You wanted to talk to Keshu's spymaster. That's me."

"These are my egg-siblings," Keshu said. "You may trust them as you trust me. Now I must consider how best to defend Gideon now that Vandacia will turn his attention to your known location. We don't have much time."

"The Ambitions decided to train. i'll take the lead against the Waking Flame to try to draw the heat off them. Since Vandacia's spies searched my rooms, they'll expect me to head south."

"Good!" Tee-wan said, and gestured her over to a map. "As it happens, we have a problem brewing in the south." He pointed to the rectangle of a very large xanmeer complex deep in Sul-Xan territory.

"I need to take the fight to Vandacia before he brings the fight to us. If they aren't literally boiling out of there to attack Gideon, find someone else to deal with it."

"Funny you mention boiling." He said.

Vos-Huruk pulled a glass flask out of her pack. Red liquid sloshed. "Don't mind his fondness for puns. Groaning only encourages him."

Up close, it was a deep amber-red color, like tree-sap syrup if the tree was weeping blood. She unscrewed the flask. The three Argonians backed up. "You should be fine," Vos-Huruk said. "You're a dryskin."

"If you aren't," Tee-Wan allowed, "we'll be hung out to dry, but that won't be your problem."

She wafted her hand over the open bottle. It had a sharp, spicy scent that was quite familiar after an evening serving drinks and food with the same smell. She capped the bottle. "This is from the Deadlands. Brewing. Boiling. The Sul-Xan are making it here?" She tapped the map.

"Yes." Tee-Wan led the way down to the cells below the mansion. A Sul-Xan tribesman rattled the bars of his cell, hissing obscenities that quickly escalated beyond Varanis' own impressive range of Argonian curses learned in Pact Army camps. It wasn't his strength or the ferocity of his curses that arrested her so much as his amber-red eyes, tongue, and sweatstained clothing.

"The sole survivor of a raiding party hitting caravans." Tee-Wan explained. "The Black Fin Legion squad brought him back when Keshu recalled us all to protect Gideon. In ordinary times, the Sul-Xan know that we'll be back within the season and wouldn't press their luck. Who knows what they'll do with Deadland drugs in the mix? You see the problem."

"I do." Every instinct cried out to chase after the nobles she'd seen at Vandacia's party, tearing up the Waking Flame's support by the roots and burning it branch and tree. However, as she'd seen in the Rift, a second invading force of Reachmen had greatly complicated her attempt to clean up Thallick Wormfather's portion of the Worm Cult. This was a chance to knock out the Sul-Xan before the fight even got properly started. "I'll go south to the Silent Halls."

"You won't go alone." Vos-Huruk said. "The caravan owners are up in arms about their missing shipments and workers. Keshu says we must appear to listen to their concerns. I say it sounds like an excellent chance to see what a drugged up battle wamasu looks like, so I am glad you've agreed to come."

"By the sound of that, I may be gladder still for your presence." Varanis turned to Tee-Wan. "Before we go, let me bend your ear about an idea I've had for dealing with Vandacia's noble supporters. We'll need Councilor Lovidicus' agreement and the help of the House of Revelries to prepare a trap for them in Leyawiin."

"I'm all ears."

...............................

Several hours after Varanis left, Mirri and the Three Ambitions joined Governor Keshu and her spymaster Tee-Wan for their own meeting. He laid out a letter from Beragon. "Like the clever fox, Eveli's brother decoded enough of Leovic's documents to make an educated guess about the location of two remaining doomvaults in Blackwood." On a clean map, he marked one at the tip of the peninsula where the river separated the region from Cyrodiil proper. "The Doomvault Vulpinaz."

"Fetch." Mirri said. "I've been there. Nearly died there. Guess I know what that dremora Xigira hired our team to find. The fourth Ambition.'"

"Did you see them?" Destron asked.

"No. Maybe they fled while Varanis and I rescued my friends and brother. I didn't see anything like Calia and Destron's room, but then, we weren't looking for the Ambitions or other people. I just wanted to kill Xigira."

"Or maybe," Sombren suggested, "they were long gone. Like me." He tapped on a western lake between Glenbridge and Hutan-Tzel. "That's the other Doomvault, isn't it. Duke Varen beat you to it six years ago."

Tee-Wan rolled up Beragon's letter. "He will be as angry as a stuck boar that his efforts were useless. Or perhaps not, since our initial scouting effort suggests that there is a great deal of daedric activity in the area. The Fighters Guild promised to dispatch a team to deal with Doomvault Porcixid. They haven't reported back."

"So, what do we do?" Calia asked. "Vulpinaz might hold some clues to where our fellow Ambition went."

Mirri had a bad feeling about Porcixid. "I love my fellow Fighters, but to be honest, most of them aren't prepared to deal with anything daedric that's more dangerous than a dolmen. There's a reason the Undaunted laugh about having to pull us out of sticky situations."

Sombren said, "I got caught by a patrol of Daedra when I tried to go back to my old vault after leaving my mentor. I wanted to learn more about where I came from. Vandacia broke into my cell with some of his cultists and I was so glad to get out that I didn't think about how he found me there. I'd like to know what the daedra are doing there."

"We should look for the Fox first." Destron argued. "They'll be sacrificed if they get caught."

Two against two. Mirri considered suggesting that they put out a call for the Undaunted, but Sombren's stiff jaw made it clear that he wanted to go back to his vault. She didn't have the heart to gang up on him. So they were at an impasse.

Tee-Wan said, "Perhaps I may share a personal request that could tip the scales between hunting a fox who's left her foxhole and bearding a boar in his den? I must confess that the Fighters are not the only ones who have gone to Porcixid. The leader of our Black Fin mages, Xocin, who is egg-sibling to Keshu and I, has also gone there. He has done this without telling me why. I believe it to be the deepest of personal matters and I am most worried for him."

That sounded ominous. "You think he's betrayed us?" Mirri ventured.

"No." Tee-Wan assured them. "Rather, I fear that he is not thinking with his head. Or perhaps he is, just with the other one."

Mirri smothered her giggles. Sombren snorted. Destron and Calia looked at each other, mystified. "I don't get it." Calia said.

Tee-Wan rubbed his forehead. "To speak as plainly as I can, I believe there is a damsel in distress. Xocin has run off to play the white knight. He was last seen heading off to Porcixid after spending a great deal of time and coin buttering up the dark elf Melyn Drad at the Egg and Hammer. Drad hasn't done anything wrong, as far as I know, so I can't haul him in for questioning. Nevertheless, something he said sent Xocin haring off without a word to me. I'd like to know what it was."

Mirri remembered Drad now - he was the drunk at the inn who'd taken offense to their very existence, as though mid-morning was unfathomably early to be making noise around him. "Right. If we're to find out anything from him before he drinks himself into a stupor, we'd best go now."

Destron looked at the water clock showing late afternoon. "I guess its too late for us to leave for Vulpinaz anyway."

"One final request-" Tee-Wan said, and pointed at Mirri. "Xocin is exceptionally discreet about his lady-loves, so…"

"Don't worry. I'll leave my romance writer friend out of it." 

………………………

The innkeeper was more than happy to direct Mirrin and Sombren up to Drad's room. "Tell him his coin better be good for the scorch marks he keeps leaving on the floor."

From outside his room, it sounded like he had the fireplace burning at full blast. Even the door handle was searing hot to the touch. Mirri rapped on the door. "Serjo Drad?"

He yelped in surprise. The door latch rattled, and he yelped again in pain. A minute later, he opened the door with a cloak wrapped around his hand. A wall of hot air, laden with the scent of sparks and sujamma, washed over them.

Serjo Melyn Drad's long red hair and gray wizard's robe dripped with sweat. His eyes were bloodshot, even by Dunmer standards. His breath stunk of liquor. Behind him, a flame atronach tapped her toe, folding her arms as she waited for her master to finish with his guests.

"What do you want, fetcher?" He demanded. "Can't your stuck-up Captain leave a retired Pact mage to drink off his measly pension in peace?"

Well, if he thought Varanis sent them, she'd use it to her advantage. "My Captain doesn't want to cut off your pension because you burned down the inn."

"Bah, your Captain wouldn't know an expert in Conjuration if he bit her," Drad grumbled. "I'll summon daedra if I please-" He glared at the Atronach, and pointed to the floor, where the wooden floorboards were slowly blackening under her toe. "I told you not to mark the fetching floors! Begone." The atronach winked out, and the room seemed cold in comparison.

"Eh, there's always another one where that one came from," he shrugged.

This was the mer that Xocin took a quest from?

Sombren cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, ah, serjo? We're looking for a man named Xocin."

Drad drew himself up to his full height. It should have looked ridiculous, but Mirri could just about make out the shadow of the Pact Mage he used to be behind the drunkenness. "You with the Pact, Nord?

"No sir."

"Then don't you go letting that Captain with her fancy dragonheaded armor convince you to sign up. Your superiors will fawn all over someone else, give them the credit, and when you finally call it quits, give you a pittance to live on. At least Xocin had the sense to see that I was a better conjurer than he, and paid me accordingly for my help."

Mirri asked, "What did you help Xocin with?" 

Drad snorted, then began to chuckle, which escalated into a full belly laugh. It must have been embarrassing. No wonder Tee-Wan wanted discretion.

"You two won't understand how ridiculous it is for a conjurer of his caliber." He said, when at last he brought himself under control.

"Okay, now as a Daedrologist, I'm professionally interested," Mirri said.

"He's gone and fallen in love with one of his own summons." Drad said. 

"That's dumb." Mirri said.

"I know, right?"

"Is it?" Sombren asked.

Before Drad could explode into the tirade building up inside him, Mirri explained, "Summoned Daedra hate mortals. They have to be magically compelled before you can trust them with even a simple task and there's all sorts of tragic stories about what happens when you mess up. Even accepting a gift from your summons breaks the spell and allows them to turn on you."

"Exactly," Drad said. "He's been summoning warriors of the Kyn to help him in battle, and then he went and got attached to one of them. All he wants to do is summon her permanently. So I told him those doomvaults hold ritual stones that can do the trick. He took off for Doomvault Porcixid as soon as he'd paid me."

"Would that really work?" Mirri asked.

"Sure, he'd be able to summon her permanently using the stone. Would he survive once she got tired of him? That, I told him I couldn't guarantee."

As they left, Sombren murmured, "I did get the feeling Tee-Wan didn't tell us everything. Do you think he thought we wouldn't want to go if we knew Xocin was in love with a dremora?"

"Maybe," she said. "It's one thing to go rushing off to save a lady from dire peril. Quite another when she's a daedra who'd sooner carve your heart out than caress you."

Sombren frowned. "Not all dremora are bad."

"I've met two of them. Xigira tricked my team and tried to sacrifice us. Lyranth, well - come to think about it - she tried to sacrifice us too."

He didn't answer.

…………………….

Tee-Wan came clean at once. "I thought it likely that Xocin was chasing after Xyria once more. I did not know that he sought the ritual stone to summon her permanently - that I thank you for finding out. Now that you four know, the decision is yours: Vulpinaz or Porcixid?"

"Like I told Sombren, it's a bad idea to trust dremora," Mirri said. "Who's this Xyria?"

"During the war with the Akaviri, Xocin summoned a battalion of Kyn to fight with us."

Despite herself, she whistled. "That's impressive. Drad made it sound like Xocin wasn't an expert."

"Dark elves and egos go together like kwama and eggs," Tee-wan noted. "Xyria was his most loyal commander. So much so that she died for him, when letting him die would have freed her from ignoble service in the eyes of the Kyn."

He continued, "That's not unusual. Summons often die for their summoner. But Xyria did it out of love, as even one as cynical as I could see. Xocin loved her back, and has summoned her as often as he can. I am not surprised that he has rushed off into enemy territory in hopes of summoning her permanently. I am still worried more than ever that he is not thinking with his head."

"I'm with Mirri," Calia said. "I thought maybe we could trust Lyranth after she helped us escape our vault. We couldn't. At Vandacia's party, she made my skin crawl just to be near her. I should've listened to my instincts when she first talked about eating people."

Sombren said, again, "Not all dremora are bad."

"Right," Mirri challenged him. "Name one."

He rubbed his face. "Look, I…I don't want to talk about it yet. Please don't push me. Let's just say that maybe this Xyria isn't out for power or bloodlust."

"Maybe," Destron suggested, "she's more like the Dremora tutors we had in our vault."

Mirri disagreed, "Those were probably bound daedra. They couldn't harm you. An unbound, permanent summons is different."

No offense to the three Ambitions, but Varanis was right. They needed a more experienced adventurer looking out for them because their sheltered upbringing by a daedric cult left them with some major blind spots. Unless Sombren was more forthcoming, how could she be sure that he hadn't been fooled? It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

Either way, they needed to make a decision and get on the road. "It seems to me that whether we trust Xyria's intentions or not, we all think that finding Xocin and investigating the daedric activity at Porcixid needs to be our first priority. Am I right?"

The Ambitions nodded.

"Thank you," Tee-Wan said. "When you find him, tell Xocin I said to take care not to crack his own egg in his haste to make an omelette."

VaranisArano

Love Among the Fire/A Battle of Silk and Flame: Part 2

Doomvault Porcixid lay in a swampy valley surrounded by barricades and palisades of daedric manufacture. Every one of them faced inwards towards the doors. There were no bodies or weapons anywhere, even though the front sides of the barricades showed signs of fighting.

“Maybe someone came by and killed all the daedra?” Destron suggested, hopefully. “Maybe Xocin and the Fighters Guild don’t need our help.”

Mirri shook her head. “The daedra were guarding against something they feared coming out of that doomvault. Xocin may be an expert in conjuration, but I doubt he’s that fearsome. Even Varanis isn’t. And I know for certain my fellow Comrades in arms aren’t.”

Calia asked, “Then what do you think happened here?”

Earlier, it’d been Varanis explaining things to her. Now, it was her turn to pass it on. “There’s been a lot of fighting here, but no bodies, right? Well, what fights daedra but leaves no bodies? Other types of daedra. Most species don’t get along with each other, especially if they serve different princes.”

“We only had dremora tutors in our vault,” Calia said.

Sombren nodded in agreement.

“Right. Then here’s a quick lesson.” As they picked their way through the barricades to the doomvault doors and solved the puzzle of the daedric symbols by sheer brute force, she ran down the basics. Dremora like their tutors, Xigira, Lyranth, and Xyria were of “The Kyn”, of which there were many ranks like Valkynaz. They clawed ther clans and hierarchies out of the chaos of Oblivion, making them extremely proud and, well- “They think about mortals the way you or think about the pig that became our sausage. We and most of the other daedra are just unthinking beasts to them. They frequently war with the Xivilai and the humanoid daedra that serve other Princes like Golden Saints, Dark Seducers, Winged Twilights, Spiderkith, Aurorans and others.”

She added, “Unless we see bodies soon, I'm guessing there’s two Daedric Princes clashing over your old vault.”

“I hate to say it,” Sombren said, “But maybe Vandacia did me a favor by capturing me before I got inside.”

Destron asked, “Before you left, did you see anything that two Daedric Princes might want?”

“No. Of course, I didn’t really get to look around when I was hauled out for the Duke to decide what he wanted done with me.”

The doomvault doors opened wide like two jaws. A Redguard man in Akaviri armor fell over into the entryway. “Comrade!” Mirri rushed to his side. He was breathing hard, yet his lips and the veins in his neck were an unhealthy shade of gray.

She dug in her belt pouch for a Cure Poison potion and put it to his lips. A couple trickles of liquid, and his breathing eased. After the whole bottle, he could stand with assistance and address the four of them.

“Thank you, Comrades. I’m Khud af-Hadajja of the Fighters Guild. I’m glad to see you and gladder still to see our daedrologist Mirri. Surely this is a job for an Undaunted team like you if there ever was one.”

Well, the Ambitions weren’t the Undaunted, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “What sort of venom was that? Harvesters? Hungers? Spiderlings?”

He shuddered at the last one. “It must have been spiderlings. My partner Morgane and I snuck in, following the trail of some of Dagon’s dremora while they tried to secure parts for this machine. A massive weapon of some sort, from what they said. Then other daedra appeared, covered in spiders. We had no chance to get past them. It was like they could smell us.”

“Spiderkith,” Mirri identified. “Daedra that serve Mephala. They can even feel your body heat. There was nothing you could do.”

“Morgane didn’t make it. I made it to the door. They left me for dead. I guess I probably was, if you all hadn’t come along. You’ve all got more of those potions, right? Don’t go in without them.”

Thanks to Varanis, they all did. Sombren told them, “I didn’t see anything like machinery or a massive weapon. Of course, if it were big enough, maybe Varen’s men left it alone. I dunno, though. My squad of guards once stole a four-poster bed and made me carry the poles for about a day before some noble officer confiscated it and made his servant carry the stupid thing. So maybe it was always here.”

“Or maybe its new,” Calia said. Turning to Mirri, she asked, “You're the Daedric expert. What do you think?”

Based on what she’d seen at Vulpinaz and Capraxus, she had a few guesses. “Once breached, these Doomvaults are places where Nirn and Oblivion meld and merge. It's the perfect place to bring a weapon out of the Deadlands into Nirn, right? I think the Spiderkith and Dagon’s dremora are fighting for control of the weapon.”

Calia looked back at the doors of the doomvault. “That could fit a pretty large weapon through it.”

“That would explain the barricades,” Destron said. “Neither side can afford for the other to bring the weapon through.”

“Neither can we,” Mirri said. The size of the doors seemed more ominous than before.

“We’ve got to destroy it before that happens,” Khud said. “I owe it to Morgane to see our mission through.”

Mirri told him, “If you see an Argonian named Xocin or a dremora named Xigira, give a shout, okay? We’re here to find them.”

He looked at her oddly. “What do you want with a dremora? Ah, nevermind, you’re the Guild’s daedrologist, not me.”

She pulled the other three aside for a moment. As the experienced one, it was her job to make sure they were prepared for success. “Be discreet, okay? I’m pretty sure I trust him, but he reports back to the Fighters Guild. That report is going to say that three Undaunted helped out, not the Three Ambitions.”

“How do we pretend to be Undaunted?” Destron asked.

“Act like yourself, but more swagger.”

Destron puffed up his chest. “Like this?’

Calia facepalmed. “Brother, you really aren’t good at pretending.”

“Hey, I did great pretending to be Salvitto!”

Sombren stood straighter, slinging his battleaxe up to his shoulder. “Walk like a lion, Destron. Duke Varen walked like he owned the place."

“Er, what’s a lion?”

Mirri suggested, “Walk like Varanis. Like you know every daedra who comes at your quarterstaff is coming away with a cracked skull.”

That, the Twins understood.

Sombren added, “We need to think like Varanis too. We can’t afford for the Spiderkith and dremora to realize what we are. In Varen's army, I saw how officers who hated each other would band together against an outsider. We Three are a prize."

They rejoined Khud and headed into the doomvault. The first couple hallways were the same reflective walls familiar from Vulpinaz and Capraxus. A body in akaviri armor lay in front of them. She looked shriveled, as though the poison had sucked the moisture out of her.

Khud set her body in a more dignified pose. “Rest in peace, Morgane.”

From further down one of the hallways, Calia called back, “Mirri? You need to see this.”

The reflective walls bled into a different sort of darkness; a dark cavern riven with deep veins of glowing crimson crystals. Translucent spider webs stretched from wall to wall. Streams of crystal clear and undoubtedly icy cold water gushed from the walls, carving turbulent channels of uncertain depth.

Khud said. "This wasn't here before. It was just a pack of spiderkith, I swear it."

"It's not the Deadlands," Calia said, holding up her hand.

Destron touched his chest where Dibella's pin rested. "I don't feel anything either."

Sombren frowned. "It's definitely a realm of Oblivion. I can tell, even though I'm not attuned to this one. It doesn't seem to be strengthening or draining my powers, so it should be safe."

"Safe?" Khud asked. "By Tu'whacca, you Undaunted are hardcore."

"I think," Mirri said, "this is the Spiral Skein. Mephala's Realm. Beware those water streams. That current will suck you down, further into her clutches."

Khud shook his head. "I'm no Daedrologist. A few years ago, we Fighters took on normal enemies. Bandits, ogres, goblins, the sort of riff-raff that take advantage of years and years of war. Then in the space of a couple years, we're tackling Molag Bal's dolmens, Mehrunes Dagon's doomvaults and now Mephala? I thought it was supposed to be hard for Daedra to get into Nirn."

Sombren said, "Varanis said Emperor Varen ripped down the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion a few years ago, opening the way for Molag Bal."

Calia argued, "But the doomvaults have been here for at least twenty years, or longer. That's not his fault."

"The big Daedric invasions, like Summerset, are his fault," Mirri said. "This one…Divayth Fyr, who's a far greater Daedrologist than I am, says that the barriers between the realm of Oblivion are also permeable. So Mephala might be invading the Deadlands here, and from here into Nirn by taking advantage of the path Dagon created. Or maybe Dagon is invading the Skein, so her Spiderkith are fighting back."

Khud shook his head. "Whether it's Dagon or the Spider Queen, no one wins if they get their hands on that weapon."

As they carefully picked their way down the steep path into the cavern, she heard Destron tell Calia, "I think finding Xocin just got a lot harder."

VaranisArano

Love Among the Fire/A Battle of Silk and Flame: Part 3

At least, Mirri thought, the assortment of Dagonist and Mephalan daedra gave the Twins, Sombren, and her time to find a solid pattern to their teamwork in combat. Destron took the lead, and anything that tested his spinning quarterstaff came away with a broken skull or worse. Swarming spiders turned to paste whenever he made contact. Calia and Sombren protected his flanks. Mirri went back to her bow - her new bow now that Varanis had gotten her hands on it - to better handle the smarter dremora who wanted to hang back and hurl spells from a distance. Whatever her Baandari poison didn’t kill, Khud shot full of silver crossbow bolts.

They battled through the cavern, back into web-covered doomvault corridors, and through a nest of spiders, where they picked the trail of the machine. Underneath the carpet of webs, something extremely heavy had gouged deep scratches in the stone floors.

A fiery portal blossomed, melting the spiderwebs beneath it. An armored dremora woman stepped out. Her smooth head and horns shone in the firelight. When she saw them, she clasped her hands together in appeal. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but my clairvoyance spell said you could help my lover, Xocin. He’s a mortal like yourselves; a Saxheel man. I sense he’s somewhere nearby and I beg you to find him before those hunting me do.”

From the portal, there came the sound of a horn. She froze, the way a baby guar lies still in the brush when the nix-hound stalks nearby. The sound of baying hounds followed, if hunting dogs had throats of metal.

“Find him, please,” she pleaded. “I will lead the hunters away from you.” She stepped back through the portal.

“Xyria?” Calia asked.

Who else could it be? Though she was nothing like what Mirri expected - someone like Lyranth, imperious and acting as though she were doing them a favor by asking for their assistance, not the other way round.

The portal slowly started shrinking. A harsh daedric voice declared, “The Markynaz will reward me for your death and the soul of your lover.”

Sombren strode to the portal and declared, “Absolutely not. Non my watch.” He thrust his arm in, searching. Then he hauled Xyria out.

She stumbled out, staring between him and them in astonishment. “The hunters will follow me here. You should have left me to run.”

Yes, we should have, Mirri thought. Sombren, the naive idiot, had just unknowingly and without caring for the consequences, summoned an unbound dremora with no allegiance to them whatsoever. B’Vehk, he knew how to put his money where his mouth was.

Sombren and Xyria rejoined them as the first hounds spilled from new portals. Their paws threw up sparks as they landed and their jaws dripped fire. The daedric huntsman, a black-clad executioner with a bundle of spiked collars at his belt, strode out. “Fraternizing with more mortals, eh, exile?" He wagged a collar at Xyria. "Perhaps once I kill them, I’ll take you back to Markynaz Kathutet alive this time so he can do the honors.”

The dogs snarled, and leapt at his command. Sombren threw his hands out, encasing them all inside a frosty shield. The dogs slammed into it like a puppy hitting a door, backing off, sliding down, and trying again. As they did, their fires extinguished.

“Ready?” Mirri asked. At their nods, she pounded once on Sombren’s armored shoulder. He blasted the shield outward over the heads of the dogs. The huntsman and another hunter emerging from a fourth portal were impaled on ice shards as long as Mirri was tall.

Destron spun his quaterstaff. One strike broke the back of the first hound. The second one crushed its lower jaw. Another hound harried his flank, only for Calia to deliver two crushing blows with her own staff to its rib cage before it could sink its teeth into her brother.

Khud fired his crossbow. His target howled, pawing frantically at the silver bolt in its eye and doing more damage as it dug. The final two dogs, seeing the fate of their packmates, cowered without the huntsman to drive them onward. Mirri shot them down with no hesitation. The portals vanished, leaving the room dark, cold, and merely spider-infested. Smouldering spider nests was not a pleasant smell.

Xyria said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have worried that the hunters would prove too much for you. Xocin does know how to pick good friends.”

There was a baying sound from the next room. Mirri drew an arrow at the entrance.

Xyria listened, her face becoming a picture of terror, an emotion Mirri had not expected on a daedric face. “They have Xocin’s scent!” She pushed past them and rushed off following the sound of the hunting hounds.

Sombren unslung his battleaxe. “I’m going after her.”

“We’ll lose the track of the machine,” Khud protested.

“We’re here to save Xocin too,” Destron reminded him.

Mirri caught up with Sombren, warning him, “You brought her here. You’re responsible for her until she returns to Oblivion, and she’s unbound by any obligation to you. You know what that means?”

Sombren clenched his jaw. Ahead of them, the spiderwebbed hallways transitioned to the red rock, dust, and lava-lit landscape of the Deadlands. The baying took on a new pitch. They’d sighted their prey. Xyria shrieked a battlecry.

“I know not all daedra are bad.”

“And you know that if you’re wrong about her, then I’ve got your back.”

……………………...

Xocin, alive, but in rough shape, rested in Xyria’s arms. Khud walked a perimeter around the remains of a conjuration ritual gone wrong. Mirri traced the lines drawn in the dust. As far as she could tell, not being a conjurationist herself, Xocin hadn’t made any mistake. Nevertheless, the flaming coal of a summoning stone that he cradled to his chest like a child was dim, like a fire left to go out on its own.

Xyria stroked his face. He let go of the summoning stone to hold her hand. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “I promised you I had the means to bring you out of Oblivion permanently, and then I lost the connection.”

Now she knew what’d gone wrong. “You tried to summon her out of Oblivion, when we’re all in a doomvault where Oblivion and Nirn are bleeding together.”

“Yes,” Xocin admitted. “It was foolish and the ritual backfired on both of us. As bad as I look, it was worse for her. She was snapped back into chaos creatia, newly reformed, and already running for her life not an hour later.”

Xyria chuckled. “What else is new, love? Markynaz Kathutet and my clan will never stop hunting me for the disgrace I dealt them. I got to see you. To hear your promise. To meet your fine friends here, who rendered more help to us than I dared dream of. It has all been worth the suffering.”

At face value, there was no mystery why Sombren trusted her at once. In fact, they reminded Mirri of Mathen and Yisara in their tenderness toward each other, except that by all accounts their love had ten years of trial by fire. Thus passion was tempered by maturity. Yet at face value, Lyranth had valued Varanis’ cooperation, and thrown it away for the prize of the Ambitions. No doubt, Xyria also sensed their power. Could their love overcome temptation?

Perhaps, by prying, she might reveal what lay beneath the surface. What, as the Clockwork Apostles said, made Xyria ‘tick.’”

“Tee-Wan sent us to find you,” She said. “He was worried.”

Xocin sat up with a heavy sigh. “Of course he did.”

Xyria, helping him stand, snickered at him. “So glum, my Xocin. Such despair at the well-meaning concern of your friends.” She told them, “My Xocin is not a cheerful man. Thus, did he face the Akaviri charge when they overran our battle lines.” She heaved a sigh so much like Xocin’s that he shook his head. “Of course they did.”

“You won that battle for me.”

“I did. I was so proud, and prouder still because I snatched the glory of victory from Markynaz Kathutet. He hated it, because he could not add it to his banner when he sought my oath of allegiance.”

“So,” Calia asked, “he’s hunting you because you beat him in a fight? What a sore loser!”

Mirri told her, “The Markynaz are Dagon’s senior vassals. Think of dukes or lords. One step below the Valkynaz, like the one Varanis beat. I don’t think that one will be angling for round two anytime soon.”

“That’s oversimplified,” Xyria corrected her. “High-ranking dremora like Markynaz Kathutet lose a lot of status when summoned by mortals. Being defeated doesn’t quite have the same stigma. He, and I too, could’ve regained our status by killing Xocin. He approached me with a plan whereby I would take advantage of Xocin’s greater trust in me and allow him to be killed by the Akaviri. I refused.”

“You died for me,” Xocin said. “Don’t sell yourself short, beloved. I even told you to save yourself from the trap, and instead you fought until they hacked you to pieces so I could escape.”

“I would do it again.”

“That,” he explained, “is why Kathutet cannot forgive us. There’s a part of me that wishes now I’d settled for churls." Despite his words, they held hands tightly. "I would miss Xyria, but at least he wouldn’t take his revenge on me a thousand times over when he hunts her down. I took care with my binding spell so that he cannot ever harm me directly; he knows how to stab me in the heart anyway.”

In all the books on daedra, Mirri had never read anything like this. Summons died for their masters, yes. Summons did not continue to obey their masters when released from the geas. Xyria, unbound, loved Xocin with a determination that Mirri could only envy. Was she capable of that level of dedication to Tiras, herself?

Sombren asked her, “Do you still doubt them?”

Mirri rubbed her face. “Were you literally any other woman, I’d have no qualms. Even a novice at love like me can tell you two are the real deal. No offense, Xyria, its just that I’ve been betrayed by two dremora women in the last two months.”

Xocin sighed. “Of course.”

Xyria snickered at him, then told Mirri, “I am not offended. After all, Markynaz Kathutet would be the first to tell you I am a traitor.”

“I think that’s actually a good recommendation for your character,” Destron muttered.

Problem was, Mirri agreed. “Look, give us a moment to talk.”

“Of course.”

The Ambitions closed ranks with her. She turned to Calia. “You shared my doubts. Are you satisfied?”

Calia nodded. “I get good feelings from them. Maybe that’s not the best indicator of trustworthiness given Vandacia-” she glanced at Sombren, “-but she doesn’t make my skin crawl the way Lyranth did at Vandacia’s party. If that changes, I’ll warn you all straightaway.”

“Do that,” Mirri instructed. She held out her hands, weighing them up and down. “Way I see it, I’ve got two dremora women in the bad hand. One in the good hand.” She too looked at Sombren expectantly. “Help me even the scales, Sombren.”

He grimaced. “If you can’t trust Xyria even after watching her with Xocin, you aren’t going to trust Xynaa no matter what I say.”

Xynaa? Her gut feeling said, ‘Absolutely not.’ On the other hand, she refused to be like Varanis, distrusting everyone new until proven otherwise, and she’d asked Sombren to show his cards and reveal private information. She owed it to him to listen.

“Sombren, I trust that you’ve thought about trusting people after Vandacia. Since you still trust her, I’ll listen.”

Destron asked, “Is Xynaa your mysterious mentor who trained you?’

With that question, the dam burst. Sombren explained, “When I left my vault, my powers began to grow until they nearly consumed me. Xynaa found me. I was terrified and desperate enough to agree to attune myself to the Deadlands, which drained my powers naturally so I didn’t die. She brought me to her hiding place and trained me to control my powers. I’m alive today because of her. Xynaa never betrayed me despite ample opportunity. She had four years to sacrifice me, if she wanted to.”

Calia and Destron made eye contact with each other. She said, “Lyranth lasted, what, about four hours?”

Sombren took Mirri’s hands and raised them equal with each other. “Balance the scales. Xynaa is trustworthy. I’d stake my life on it. I have staked my life on it.”

She squeezed his hands. “Thank you for reminding me that there is such a thing as being too paranoid.

VaranisArano

Love Among the Fire/A Battle of Silk and Flame: Part 4

Once Xocin recovered enough to keep up, they picked up the trail of the machine once the Deadlands faded back into more doomvault corridors. Sombren stopped at a particular intersection, growing excited. “I recognize this!”

Khud looked at him funny.

“This way!” With increasing surety, Sombren led them down through two left turns and a right, then stopped dead at the edge of a Spiral Skein cavern. His shoulders slumped.

“Are you alright?” Mirri asked.

“I hope Mephala enjoys my old rooms, I guess,” he muttered. “Whatever I hoped to find here, it's long gone.”

Whenever possible, they stuck to the doomvault corridors, jumping over the rushing streams and lava bridges. After a winding maze of corridors, they finally came to the profane forge where something - probably the four-armed ruinachs, must have dragged the base of an enormous hourglass of metal. The bulbs of the hourglass were globes of bright sunfire, connected by a crackling beam of energy that rose from them into the stormy red clouds of the Deadlands sky. She suspected they’d constructed the base in Nirn then married it here in the Deadlands with the upper globe. "That'd be our machine. Any idea what it does?"

Xyria said, “Its a siege weapon.”

“Perhaps meant for Gideon,” Xocin speculated.

Off in the far distance at the Deadlands' horizon, a giant four-armed figure strolled toward them. At the moment, he was so far away he did not seem to be getting any closer.

“Tell me that's not Dagon.” Khud pleaded

Considering he looked just like his statue in the cult base underneath the Imperial City, she nodded grimly. “What do you all say we blow this thing and get out before he arrives?”

Calia stepped up to the join between the two globes. “I’m pretty sure I can just feed power into it and it’ll unbalance itself.”

She lit a tiny flame in between her hands. As she fed power to it, it grew into a fireball the size of her head. She lifted it up on level with the upper globe. As the fireball grew in size and intensity, the upper globe of sunfire began to spin faster, and faster. The metal cage holding it in place groaned and trembled with the forces at work.

“Its tearing itself to pieces!” Khud shouted, delighted.

The fireball grew hotter yet. The metal arm on the far side sheared off, flying out into the Deadlands beyond the forge. Fire raced down Calia’s hands and arms. The siege engine was losing control. Was Calia?

She warned her, “Calia, I think you’ve done enough!”

“I’ve got it!” Calia said. Then fresh flames gouted from her hands and shriveled her gloves in an instant. The Lily ring flared radiant for a glorious moment, and then turned white-hot. Now, Calia screamed in agony, falling to her knees as molten metal severed her ring finger to a charred stump. Despite that, flames and power continued to pour from her and the fireball grew.

“Sister, stop!” Destron lunged for her.

Sombren grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back. “You can’t help her with this,” He bellowed. “Calia, beat the flame down. Your power is yours to command.”

The opposite happened. As Calia continued to scream, her power swelled in her chest, stronger and stronger. Something was very wrong.

“What’s happening to her?” Destron demanded.

“It's the Deadlands,” Sombren said. “They should be helping to drain her power. Instead, its increasing. I don’t understand. You two are attuned to the Deadlands, right?”

No. No, they’d never attuned the Twins to the Deadlands. That process wasn’t necessary for most mortals who wanted to travel through Oblivion. Nor had it been necessary to attend Vandacia’s party. Except - she realized in a moment of sudden crashing horror -Destron’s brooch and Calia’s ring had protected them from the moment their ship entered.

“Her ring,” she gasped. “Dibella’s protection is gone.”

Sombren spun on her, aghast. “Our powers want to return to Dagon. It’ll tear her apart!”

Destron tore at his robe. “I’ll give her my lily. I’d gladly die for her.”

But then he'd die and Dagon was definitely closing the distance. She had seconds to act, and there was only one solution that might save Calia and Destron both.

“Xyria,” she ordered, “Clear the way ahead to the nearest Spiral Skein.” The woman ran ahead, Xocin at her heels. “Sombren, did Xynaa teach you how she drained your powers?”

His face cleared. He rushed to Calia’s side, summoning frost to dampen her rampant flames. His power began to draw down her power.

She pulled Destron’s hands away from his Lily brooch. He fought, but she twisted his arm up behind his back. “Look, I’ve got four younger siblings. I know how to wrestle.”

“I can save her!”


“At the cost of your life! If I can have faith in Xyria to find us a way to get Calia to safety, then you can have faith in Sombren.”

Calia fought with Sombren. She pleaded, "Don’t stop me. At least let me destroy this thing before I die.”

“Don’t give up!” He encouraged her. “Help me control your powers!” He twisted his head, looking at Mirri with despair. Destron renewed his struggles.

Xocin ran back inside waving frantically. “This way!”

"Grab her and go!" Mirri ordered Destron.

Destron snatched up Calia, threw her over his shoulder, and ran after Xocin. Sombren grabbed their discarded staves and followed with Mirri. Behind them, the metal twisted, shrieked, and the upper globe shattered. Over the blast, and through Sombren’s ice shield covering their backs, she fancied that she heard a deep voice rumbling angry threats at them as they ran.

They sprinted down two corridors. At the end, the blessed darkness of another high-arching cavern beckoned. “Just a little farther, Calia,” Destron gasped as she cried out with each jarring step. “I’m never going to complain about running practice again.”

A portal blossomed in front of them. “Oh for Vehk’s sake,” Mirri snapped, loosing an arrow at the armored daedra who appeared. It sank into his shoulder. He looked down at it, merely annoyed.

“Of course it's you,” Xocin said, with equal annoyance.

“Xyria,” he said, “I’m gracious. Kill Xocin now and I’ll reinstate you as my right hand. Mortals, if you kill the Argonian first, I'll even let you live.”

Mirri sheathed her bow and held out her arms for Calia. “Give her to me. Destron, he’s between your sister and her only chance of survival.”

In her arms, Calia burned hot in the grip of a deadly fever. Destron took his staff from Sombren and started to weave it wrist over wrist. Lightning crackled across the buttcaps in a flashing pattern. Sombren gathered his battle axe to strike.

When the dremora growled and went for his own sword, Xyria stepped between them. She grabbed onto his arm and held on with a death-like grip. “Kill him, Markynaz?” she said. “No. Now and always.”She dropped flat, pulling him off balance.

Sombren’s ice-edged axe whistled over her head, cutting Markynaz Kathutet in half. Destron’s staff obliterated him in a deafening barrage of lightning bolts.

Mirri dragged Calia over the smoking crater and into the chill darkness of the Spiral Skein. Immediately, Calia broke into a sweat as her fever broke and she began to shiver. Sombren rushed to her side, coaching her on how to draw down the power swelling in her chest. It took only a few minutes, but felt like an eternity, before she started to breathe more evenly and her whimpers were only pain from her lost finger. Healing potions from their packs couldn't regrow it; they did heal her burns.

Destron hugged her. She clung to him. “I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“You did, thanks to what Xynaa taught Sombren,” Mirri said. She could admit when she was wrong. “And thanks to Xyria, who found the way to safety.”

Xyria said, “Consider it the tiniest drop of repayment for protecting Xocin. We’ll scout ahead for a safe way out of the doomvault for you all.”

…………………………...

It was dusk by the time they all got out. No one wanted to camp on the doorstep of the embattled doomvault, so they hiked up out of the valley to the high road. While Xocin and Xyria shared out the rations in the twins’ packs, Mirri pulled Khud aside.

“While I’m sure you’ve got a million questions, none of what happened here can go in your report, understand?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I guess I don’t need to either. The Undaunted trio broke the siege engine, so what does it matter to me that they’ve got weird powers and mysterious pasts? If Cardea Gallia wants to know more, I’ll tell her to ask our resident Daedrologist. Will that do?”

“It should. To be clear, I’m afraid that some of the cultists hunting for them are highly ranked nobles, if you know what I mean. I don’t want to buy trouble for you and the guild.”

“I had enough trouble here. Thanks for the warning.”

The Three Ambitions looked exhausted and worried as they dug into their packs of dried fruit, meat, and nuts. Sombren handed her a bag, and said, “I’m sorry. When you all rescued me from the Deadlands, it never occurred to me that they weren’t attuned and that instead you’d found a different method of protecting them.”

Destron patted his Lily. “I don’t suppose the Temple can just give Calia another relic?”

“I’d just end up burning it up,” Calia said, hanging her head. “I knew I was getting stronger every day, but I thought I wouldn’t lose control. That was a mistake.”

Mirri sat down next to her, offering a hug. Calia embraced her. A moment later, Destron hugged them both. Then Sombren piled in.

“You’re squishing me!” Calia yelped. When they let go, she was smiling once more. “What do we do now?”

They all looked to Mirri. She said, “Okay, grand strategy isn’t my forte. With that said, I think its likely that we’re going to have to go back to the Deadlands at some point. What’ll it take to attune the Twins?”

“Some Dagonist relics,” he said. “The sort that cultists tend to venerate.”

“Tee-Wan will know where some of those are,” Mirri said. She turned to Xocin and Xyria, who were once again holding hands. “You two should go to Gideon and inform Keshu that we’re helping the twins get the training they need.”

Sombren sucked in a deep breath. “Do you really mean it? I mean, they need the same training Xynaa gave me. It's not just the risk of losing control. Our powers build up the longer we’re out of our vaults, and it would have consumed me without Xynaa’s teaching. Eventually, Calia and Destron wouldn’t need to lose control while using their powers. Even if they never used them again, it’d build until it's just too much for them.”

Destron growled, “I’m really not liking whoever decided we needed these powers. Death by sacrifice, death by losing control, death by the Deadlands ripping us apart, or death simply by our own powers consuming us. Feels like the deck is stacked against us.”

“Getting training really does seem like the only way forward,” she admitted. She didn't have to like it for it to be the right path. “Since Xynaa trained you, we’ll go to her and ask her to train the Twins.”

“She’ll want something in return,” Xyria warned them. “Even I do,” and she stroked Xocin's hand.

“Of course you do,” He murmured and kissed her.

Sombren frowned. “She wanted my help fighting with some rival daedra. I suspect that as a fairly independent dremora, she’ll see the value of having the Ambitions as her allies. At least, unlike Lyranth, we know she wasn’t tempted to take my powers.”

“We can work with that." She said hopefully.

Calia sighed, staring down at her hands with a glum face that’d lost her smile. “Days like this, I wish we’d never left our vault. I tell myself that we’d have been dragged off straight to sacrifice otherwise.” She held up her hand with the missing finger. “Though perhaps I’m merely destined to sacrifice one piece of me at a time.”

Now more than ever, looking at glum, dour faces in the firelight, Mirri understood why Varanis, Keshu, and Xyria reached for dark humor. Nothing else seemed apt. “Maybe next time, you’ll give your middle finger to Dagon.”

Confusion and irritation replaced her glumness. “What?”

“Right. Sorry. I forget you were raised in a vault.”

Sombren demonstrated the gesture. “She means you can do this to tell him to go, ah, “fetch” himself.”

Destron turned beet red.

Calia stood, brushed off her armor with determination, turned toward the valley with the doomvault, and extended the middle finger of her wounded hand to it. “Damn you, Dagon. You will not have our power. We will survive.”

VaranisArano

Author's Note

After the last hiatus, I told myself I had to finish the whole thing before I started posting again. So, yes, its finished. This time I don't plan on leaving y'all hanging for... *checks notes*... a year and a half. Sorry about that!

VaranisArano

Harrada Harvest: Part 2

Vos-Huruk and Varanis perched atop one of the pyramidal towers outside of the Silent Halls xanmeer. The Argonian woman scanned the complex with a pair of binoculars. She grinned. "What did I say about drugged up beasts?"

She handed over the pair and pointed it out to Varanis. Near the entrance in a courtyard that had once been an apple orchard before it fell to neglect and overgrowth, a reddish miregaunt bellowed at a Murkmire behemoth. The behemoth's scales were likewise stained reddish at it's throat, back, and armpits. It bellowed back without fear. The beasts clashed, separated, and clashed again. Though they tore rents in each other, neither cared about the pain.

"My gold's on the behemoth," she said.

"Miregaunts are nasty. I bet a wamasu could take both of them."

As amusing as it was, betting on the battle was only a welcome distraction from their task. The Xanmeer complex was huge, with many overgrown gardens rising in tiers around the central pyramid. Unlike steep-sided Ira Sotl near Hutan-Tzel, this one rose low and broad across nearly the whole width of the walls. Over the centuries as the nearby river shifted in its banks, the whole foundations sank into the swamp and many of its rooms now lay underground. The gardens were tinged red, as though they were not merely overgrown with vines, but red vines at that. Sul-Xan scouts walked the walls. Another party of Sul-Xan guarded a group of workers in an orchard. As the sun rose higher, they shepherded the workers inside, though the process was not that gentle.

Only one Sul-Xan guarded the main door to the complex, though as the sun lit the door and he left his fire and went to the nearest tree, she realized he wasn't an Argonian after all. "There's a Bosmer down there."

He pressed his ear to the trunk of a beech tree, hugging it tight. He pulled away to speak to it. He embraced it again.

"He's a cracked acorn, as Eveli would say."

"Aren't Bosmer supposed to be good with plants?" Vos-Huruk asked. "Assuming these things are plants, of course."

"I'm pretty sure those red vines are what passes for plants in the Deadlands. So why don't we go ask the madman if he knows anything about a daedric plant that makes Saxheel and beasts come down crazy with bloodlust? Unless you have a better idea."

Vos-Huruk accepted her binoculars back. "Not really, no."

Varanis shimmied back down the tower, wedging hands and boots into handhold and crevices. "Then let's get cracking."

"You're as bad as Tee-Wan."

…….......................

The old bosmer Adrahawn sized them up. "Usually there's only one vision guide. The Green must really want me to get my hands on some of those harrada creeper seeds if it's sent two of you."

"What does the Green want with harrada creepers?" Varanis asked.

"Well, the leaves guided me here, so it must want it for some reason, right? Maybe it's the medicinal uses. I read about it in one of Divayth Fyr's books. There's a man who knows salves from soups. Or maybe it's that the harrada creeper here is strangling a tree to death. It's been screaming for help and no one else is coming to help but me."

The women looked at each other. Varanis said, "Normally when I jump into a suicidal rescue mission, it's not for a tree."

Vos-Huruk chuckled. "If Governor Keshu were here, she'd say something like-" she cleared her throat and imitated Keshu's higher, more girlish voice. "Harrada Creepers and their seeds are invasive species and thus considered Class 4 Contraband from the Deadlands. Cargos carrying them through Blackwood or beyond our borders will be impounded."

"Fortunately," she added in her normal voice, "I'm not Keshu. Adrahawn, help us weed out this infestation straight from Oblivion and I'll look the other way as long as you grow those seeds in planters and pass those medicines on to the Black Fin legion."

…………….............

Up close, harrada vines were thin, whippy weeds that moved with a mind of their own. A mind that wanted to snag ankles, trip them flat on their faces, and lash out at any exposed flesh with backwards barbed thorns.

All three were bruised and cut by the time they made it into the xanmeer even though they'd successfully avoided combat with the Sul-Xan. Varanis tied a strip of cloth over her elbow where a particularly stubborn harrada whippet had ripped her chainmail rather than tear out of the ground.

In the lead, Vos-Huruk checked a balcony ringing a large inner chamber. She waved Adrahawn forward. "Herbalist, what do you make of this?"

The chamber below them was big enough to house vats of boiling amber-red liquid, racks of harrada vines set over coals to dry, and a hodgepodge of alchemical decanting equipment looted from caravans. Sul-Xan overseers stalked around a mixed group of captives, lashing them with harrada whips if they made a mistake. The center of the room dipped into a deep pit with smooth walls. That held a wamasu, and its furious eyes were as amber-red as those of its captors.

"Divayth Fyr says that harrada thorns dull the pain just so they can get stuck in deeper." He said. "The captives aren't even wearing gloves. I bet they can't feel a thing."

"Just what we need. Enemies who can't feel the pain as we cut them down." Vos-Huruk muttered.

A fresh group of captives came in from another hallway, toting bales of vines. Adrahawn said, "I suspect the harrada grows better in its native conditions."

"That's hot and dark," Varanis said. "There wasn't much rain or sunlight in the Deadlands. Perhaps they are growing it in bulk further in."

"Then we need to deal with this distillery first," Vos-Huruk said.

Adrahawn offered, "I'm not much of a fighter, but I am a friendly face. If you ladies draw their guards away, I should be able to get some of these captives to safety."

"We can do that," Vos-Huruk said.

"It'll still be dangerous for you," Varanis warned him.

"I can still hear that tree screaming for help as the harrada creeper strangles it. These people would scream if they could."

She and Vos-Huruk picked out a spot to make their stand. Across from the wamasu and nearby the vats, one end of the room had large drains with wide-mouthed grates over them. A narrow walkway went between them; it was the only path that didn't risk a slip through a grate that could snap a leg or ankle. They'd dump the vats down the drains, attracting the attention of the Sul-Xan, then retreat past the grates making their enemy come at them single file.

Getting there proved more of a challenge. It took them about ten minutes to work out the patrol routine so they could get downstairs, and even then, there was a lot of holding her breath as they peeked around the next corner, praying they didn't raise a hue and cry while in a hallway, or worse, in an open area where they'd have no choice but to go back to back, surrounded by foes.

They covered the last open ground to the vats in a dash.

“Ready?” Vos-Huruk asked.

Someone squeaked behind them.

Varanis turned. A dunmer woman raised her hands, trembling. The skin on her hands was torn and punctured by thorns. She shook like a leaf before a storm, half in terror and half, Varanis guessed, from long exposure to the boiling fumes.

“We won’t hurt you,” she whispered, reaching out like she would to soothe a frightened animal. “Just stay calm. We’re here to help.”

Some clarity came back to the woman’s eyes. She took Varanis’ hand and clutched it as a child does it’s mother’s. “Someone came. Oh, thank the Three, someone heard our plight and came.”

Varanis hugged her, while Vos-Huruk did a careful scan of the room, nodding to her. Varanis said, “Vos-Huruk of the Black Fin Legion came to rescue you. And the others, if we can.”

It all came spilling out in quick whispers. “I’m Bevene Rethandus. They hit our caravan. Took my family and a dozen others. They don’t just make us collect the harrada - they feed it with our blood. Stick us like pigs and say it makes it more potent. I don’t see how. The potions already make them brutes, and they were brutish to begin with.”

Vos-Huruk pointed out where Adrahawn waited. “Go with him when the dung hits the fan. Grab your family and get to safety. We’ll take care of this, or I’m not a Black Fin Legionnaire.”

Bevene eeled away. Vos-Huruk wrapped a cloth over her mouth. “There’s no point in me taking chances with the fumes or splashes, as much potion as there is in those vats. You should do the same, just in case large quantities can effect dryskins after all.”

With a twinge of regret, she undid the Dread Pirate Ranis’ mask and rewrapped it as if preparing for an ashstorm. Then when Vos-Huruk was in position, Varanis tried to push over one of the vats. It shifted just enough to tell her she had a better chance of lifting her panther single handedly than she did of knocking these over. It was just too heavy. She was loathe to stove it in and risk dowsing herself in the potion. Unless...the vats sat on little wooden tables. Her mace made short work of the one closest to the grates.

Her mace splintering wood also alerted every Sul-Xan nearby, and any who’d missed it, couldn’t possibly miss the vat toppling on its side with a bang and gushing amber-blood liquid down the drains.

Just to make sure of it, she smashed out the next two supports and sent two more kegs crashing down before retreating to join Vos-Huruk. Red liquid swirled down the grates on either side of them. Tribesmen and warriors shrieked warnings, alarms, and warcries. The overseers whipped their captives into a group, as if to drive them further into the complex. The wamasu bellowed. When a foolhardy group of warriors tried to rush past it in their haste to attack, it rose up and belched lightning all over them. That was the last straw for the captives, who broke and ran despite the stinging whips of their captors. She caught a glimpse of Adrahawn waving them down, before the mass of warriors gathered steam to run at them.

Vos-Huruk pulled out a bag of caltrops. “Now, this is what I call a target-rich environment.”

Varanis raised her shield, and goaded them. “Come and get it, fetchers!”

They charged. Vos-Huruk threw caltrops over the mass of them. Some stumbled and fell. Varanis stamped her foot, calling up earthen talons that tore deeper into their bodies than a harrada root, then stamped again, and the stone floor turned to ash and flame. More stopped, stumbled, and died. None screamed anything but warcries.

One tribesman came at her with an obsidian axe. She parried with the shield, and batted him onto the grate. He caught his balance for a moment, then his foot slipped into the grate and the ankle snapped sideways. He did not even blink at the pain before Vos-Huruk beheaded him.

None of the warriors faltered, though they certainly died. Not the woman with the twin daggers when Varanis’ deep breath stole the air from her lungs and returned it in a fiery blast that knocked more of them onto the grate for Vos-Huruk to kill. Not the man who ran at them, greatsword raised above his head, without a care that a caltop impaled his foot further with every step, nor when she’d broken his ribs with a crushing blow from her mace. Not a one.

“Imagine an army like this!” Vos-Huruk gasped, hamstringing a fighter, and when she wouldn’t stop crawling towards them, buried her battleaxe in the woman’s frilled skull.

Varanis shield-bashed a man in the face, breaking off half his horns, and he still tried to rip out her throat as he went down. “I’d rather fight daedra. At least they know when its a losing proposition.”

A woman screamed. It was Bevene, leaning over the balcony as Adrahawn and two Dunmer men tried to hold her back. “The wamasu!” she screamed again.

The tide of warriors coming at them slowed. A deep grinding noise came from the other side of the room. The surviving overseers, perhaps less hyped up on potions than the rest, hauled on chains that lowered a ramp down into the wamasu’s pit.

“Well, fetch,“ Varanis complained. “You just had to say something about a drugged up battle wamasu, didn’t you?”

"What else could go wrong?"

"Now you've really gone and done it!"

Even in their battle fury, none of the warriors wanted to be in between a several ton lizard and its prey. The wamasu snaked its head back and forth as they goaded it with spears. One overseer got too close. It snatched him up, mauling with its feet.

Vos-Huruk clapped her hands. The caltrops vanished. Varanis took a new position where they’d lain so she had more room to maneuver.

Vos-Huruk took up a flanking position. “I’ll try to hamstring it,” she said. “It may not slow it down at all.”

“I’ve fought wamasu before. Let it bite the shield, not me. Don’t stand in the lightning. Play jump-rope with the spiked tail.”

“But have you fought a drugged up one before?”

“...this’ll be a first.”

They laughed. It was good to share that same dark humor with another warrior.

The wamasu saw them, and then it needed no more goading. She braced her shield for impact.

She saw stars as her shield rebounded and hit her in the face. Then she flew, feet knocked clear off the floor. Then nothing.

VaranisArano

Harrada Harvest: Part 3

Water flowed over her face. Not water - as she gasped, it tasted of copper and spice. She couldn’t breathe. She lurched out of the muck and liquid, just enough to get her face up, gasping for air and spitting out potion. Her lungs were on fire. So was her bad knee, which had twisted underneath her as she lay.

She was in a dark room, with a small bit of light filtering down from the drains some twenty feet ahead of her. She lay on the grate, which had broken beneath her. Her knee stabbed pain all up her spine. She cried out.

Something huge shifted in the darkness. She froze. When her eyes adjusted, the wamasu lay there, curled in on itself where it had fallen. It must have slammed her into the grate, which broke, and then the pipes carried them both sliding down into the soft muck and potion mess below. It looked at her, blinked its eyes, and looked at her again, as though judging whether or not she was worth the trouble of cracking open that armor to get at the juicy bits inside.

She drank most of the healing potions on her belt, hoping her knee would mend. Her mace lay about an arm’s length from her foot. She tried for it, and another stabbing pain convinced her otherwise. No way could she fight in this much pain. No way could Vos-Huruk get to her in time to save her before the injured wamasu ate her. Nor did she particularly want to deal with the damaged armor afterward. That left her with only one desperate option.

She took off her wrap, soaked it in the red liquid, and wrapped it around her knee. Then she scooped up handfuls of potion and drank it. Gradually the pain lessened. It wasn't a healing potion - that much she was sure of. But when she stretched out again for her mace, her knee protested, but didn’t stop her in her tracks.

It might not heal her, but by the gods, she’d feel no pain.

A deep droning buzzed through the xanmeer. Low at first, it grew in volume.

She stood. Now she saw her shield, and trudged after that, careful with her footing. That brought new aches and pains, so she drank more of the puddled liquid. There was probably all manner of muck, moss, slime, and dung in it, but that was a problem for another day assuming she survived this one.

Now the droning became louder, until it was more akin to a scream. Whatever the Sul-Xan were doing, they didn’t have much time to stop it. She must get out.

The wamasu followed her every move with its red eyes and massive head. “Do you hear it too?” it asked.

“The screaming?” If something big enough to tear her in two wanted to talk, it was only polite to engage in conversation, right? “Yeah, I hear it. Something’s in pain.”

It shook itself. Its legs sunk deep into muck and potions. “The Hist Tree screams. I tried to help it. They captured me. You helped me escape.”

She wasn’t about to correct it about the helping part. The screaming tree though - it was a Hist?

She’d communed with the Hist before. Once, deep in the Shadowfen bogs when foul child-murder and the appearance of betrayal shattered the Hists’ trust in the wisdom of their Argonian tribes in joining the Ebonheart Pact. The experience was quite unlike talking to the Ambitions with their truthsense. There was no hiding behind cunning words or twisting meaning to either confound the truth or teach them to think. There were no words at all.

The Hist had known her more deeply than a lover. They'd sunk roots deep into her mind and heart to taste her righteous anger at the egg-smashing child-killing Dominion soldiers who’d invaded the Hatching grounds. They’d drank of her satisfaction at hunting down the skin-stealer who’d tried to break their alliance. They’d spread their leaves in the sunlit fury of her determination to protect the Argonian homelands as fiercely as she had her own Morrowind (and that was fiercely done indeed).

So when she saw a Hist shackled and punctured for the pleasure of Molag Bal's Xivkyn in Coldharbor, she'd ended its misery without a qualm. Had that tree screamed in pain and misery as this one did? Had it cried for help? Had it cursed her as she tore out the pipes that drained and boiled its heartsap?

The Hist Tree screamed again. She couldn't make out the words, the plea tore at her soul. Though it brought her close to the wamasu, she started trudging down the drain toward the sound.

He bared a mouthful of sharp fangs. "Where are you going, dryskin?"

Fearless, she stared him down. "There's a Hist Tree that needs saving."

He stared her down in turn as one predator to another. "You are too slow. Injured. You cannot hunt on your own. I should drag you down and devour you so that I grow stronger. Then I will save the Hist Tree."

"Last time you went at this alone, you got trapped in a pit. I helped you escape, remember?"

He hissed. "Yes, I remember."

"We should battle together."

"You are still too slow." He crouched down low and flattened the spines on his neck and shoulders.

Her knee did not pain her at all as she climbed up his bent elbow to his shoulders. His muscles bunched. She clung to a ridge of protective scales as a handhold as he crawled through the drain tunnels far faster than she could walk. "Hold on, Hist, we're coming!"

……………..............

They followed the sound of the Hist Tree screaming through the drain channels until they came to a heavy metal grate leading outside. Varanis slid off his back and pulled the lever, raising the gate.

"I knew a dryskin would be useful," he approved.

"Help!" Shrieked the Hist Tree. "I'm starving. I'm so thirsty!"

"We're coming!" She shouted back as she climbed back up.

They swarmed back out into the sunlight. He climbed up the xanmeer, clinging to stones, vines, and clumps of harrada to haul his bulk upward. Though the stones sometimes crumbled and vines broke loose, the harrada never loosed its grip. She clung to his spines, gripping the sides of his neck with her knees.

At the second level of the broad xanmeer, she saw Vos-Huruk and Adhrahawn come out of a doorway. She waved. They gaped.

The wamasu bellowed and charged at them. They wisely bolted back through the doorway. "Cowards! Hist-killers!"

"They're friends!" She shouted back, afraid that he'd dash after them and run them down in the hallway. He picked up speed. Did giant territorial swamp lizards have friends? "They want to save the Hist Tree!"

He tried to stop, skidded, and slammed into the side of the doorway. She barely kept her grip. He shook himself. "Why didn't you say so?"

An apology seemed inadequate. Vos-Huruk stepped back out, staring at her as though she'd expected to see a ghost. "Xuth, woman, I thought Tee-Wan was punning about the amount of punishment you could take."

She patted his flank. "Get on. The Hist Tree doesn't have much time before the harrada creeper kills it."

"You hear it too now?” Adrahawn asked.

The Hist Tree shrieked, "My leaves are dying!" Both of them touched their ears.

Vos-Huruk clambered up the wamasu to perch over the broken horns right behind the shoulders. "What sort of crazy lizards turn on their Hist Tree? The Sul-Xan are Naga, sure, but that's no excuse." She offered a hand to Adrahawn, so he could scramble up behind her.

He now carried a small wineskin slung around his waist. "Weedkiller," he explained. "Made it from that potion, so it should be extra potent against the harrada."

"Good." Varanis said. She patted the wamasu's shoulder. "We're ready to go - er, what's your name?" Giant territorial swamp lizards did have names, right?

"Hides-In-The-Reeds-and-Drags-Unwary-Passers-By-To-Their-Doom-In-The-Deep-Water," he said. "There's more, but a two-legged dryskin like you wouldn't understand the full significance."

"Hides-In-The-Reeds-and-, sorry, can you repeat that?"

She repeated after him slowly. "Hides-In-The-Reeds-and-Drags-Unwary-Passers-By-To-Their-Doom-In-The-Deep-Water."

Vos-huruk snorted. "Maybe he'll earn a new name after this. Saves-Hist-Trees."

He snorted. She relayed his comment. "That's embarrassingly short for a wamasu of his age, stature, and mating prowess. He will consider Saves-Hist-Trees as the beginning of a new name after he's done it. Now hold on!"

VaranisArano

Harrada Harvest: Part 4

Hides-In-The-Reeds-and-Drags-Unwary-Passers-By-To-Their-Doom climbed up to the top level of the xanmeer. It was a square, with a courtyard in the center where the Hist Tree should have blossomed. Instead, when they entered, the air took on a red tinge more familiar to a doomvault. The humid swamp air swirled with hot dry gusts from the Deadlands. Harrada vines grew in thickets around blackened stalks of “trees” marked with daedric runes. Harvesting parties of captives and guards ran at their entrance, either to or away from the fight.”

“It’s everywhere,” Adrahawn gasped. “Y’ffre help us.”

The Hist moaned. “So thirsty. So hungry.”

Vos-Huruk snarled a curse, pointing, “Their Hist! They’ve sacrificed it to Dagon. A thousand curses are not sufficient for these Naga.”

At Varanis’ first glance over the battlefield, she’d missed it. At the far end of the courtyard, the Hist tree wilted under the crushing pressure of thorny vines as thick as her thighs. Its branches sank under the weight. Its pale flowers hung like overripe fruit on the verge of rotting. The few leaves that remained clung to choked branches on withered stalks. From root to trunk to crown, the Hist bled sap as the vines shifted inch by inch, digging their thorns under the bark and ripping it up. At the base of the tree, a bulging pod swelled. That was the root from whence all the vines spread.

A dark rage clouded her vision. The Sul-Xan might not owe their Hist Tree any allegiance, but to sacrifice it to a slow death by a thousand cuts, thirst, and starvation? When the drugs surely enabled them to hear its dying screams and pleas as clearly as she did? That was cruelty almost beyond belief.

Several ranks of Sul-Xan warriors planted themselves in between them and the Hist.

“Die, fetchers!”

Hides belched lightning all over the front rank, staggering them, then charged in among them. He lashed out with his tail left and right, smashing aside warriors and crushing bones with each strike. Varanis bent low over his neck with her shield as warriors in the back hurled spears at his eyes. She caught them with her shield, turning them aside, or sending them flying into the crowd with her dragon wings. Behind her, Vos-Huruk whooped her own warcry as she flailed their flankers with blows from her battleaxe. Adrahawn held on, and sprayed a dash of weedkiller in the eyes of any warrior foolish enough to grab for him. Those fell screaming, clutching their face. Whatever he’d mixed up was certainly potent against harrada!

The line of warriors broke like a stick. Hides harried them back into the harrada thickets. Adrahawn shouted. “Listen! The Hist!”

She barely heard it over her own thundering heartbeat. A whimper.

Hides didn’t need the pressure of her knees to steer him, not that she could really hope to steer a multi-ton swamp lizard with a mind of his own. He left the pursuit and headed right for the Hist. He climbed up the thick vines at the base, with his lower claws ripping into their fibrous exterior, and reached up to the smaller vines - only about the size of her arms - that choked off the Hist’s branches. “This ends now.”

He pulled. The whole Hist pulled in his direction under the pressure from the vine.

Adrahawn tumbled off his back. Vos-Huruk leapt clear to join him on the ground. Varanis clung on to the ridge of scales. “You’ll pull the whole tree down before it lets go,” she shouted. “Tear the vine to shreds instead.”

Adrahawn put his hands together as a trumpet. “Destroy the seed pod.”

Hides clawed the vine, scraping through thorns that pointed forward and backwards. One stuck deep in his paw; he did not seem to notice. “Let go, prey!” he roared.

The vine snapped. He slipped, back limbs giving way. They both fell. Varanis landed in a thicket of harrada, which did cushion her fall. Getting out of the thicket left her chainmail underarmor more torn than before. When she stumbled out of it, Vos-Huruk didn’t say anything except to grab her facemask and tie a makeshift bandage around Varanis’ head. She touched it, and Vos-Huruk slapped her hand away. “Just because you can’t feel it, doesn’t mean you won’t bleed like a stuck pig.”

Hides shook himself. The paw that’d been pierced by the thorn now hung at an odd angle. “No great beast has bested me, foul-hist-killer-vine-and-thorn. You will certainly not.” he boasted. This time he tackled the thick lower vines, biting and tearing, putting all his strength into it.

The vines unraveled, releasing their stronghold on the Hist tree, uncoiling from the high branches, and unwrapping from the trunk.

“You did it!” Varanis shouted.

“You cannot beat me, foul-”

The huge vines lashed out, wrapping around Hides. Legs, torso, tail, and neck. They squeezed. He squeezed back in a silent wrestling match of certain death.

Varanis and Vos-Huruk charged in as one. Vos-Huruk chopped vines with her battleaxe. Varanis cauterized the open wounds with dragon fire a moment later. Adrahawn dashed in spraying his weedkiller. The vines withered, but did not retreat. Hides’ clawing slowed. His eyes bulged. A thorn slashed across his face, ripping through one eye in a gush of vitrea. His jaw hung slack. They couldn’t slash and burn fast enough to save him.

Adrahawn shouted at her again. “The Seed Pod! Rip the seeds out, and I’ll spray it.”

With renewed vigor, they slashed and burned their way to the bulging pod. Vos-huruk cut it open, revealing a pulpy interior. Varanis thrust her hand inside. It felt slippery, with areas of bulging firmness, not unlike when - as a little girl - it'd been her chore to debone a bantam guar for dinner. Then, what felt like a thousand barbs stuck into her skin. She grasped them and pulled out a handful of red-black burrs the size of small berries. They clung to her glove.

Adrahawn frantically sprayed weedkiller into the seed pod.

As he did, there came a new screaming. Harsh, metallic, daedric screaming. The harrada vines ripped free of Hides, leaving new wounds all over his body in the process. He slumped, head low, yet his flanks moved up and down as he took great, gasping breaths. “You...did not...beat me, thorn.” The vines shrank away, and shrank, withering.

She started toward him. Vos-Huruk grabbed her arm. “Hold still. I can’t believe you aren’t screaming in pain right now, you stupid woman.”

Adrahawn grabbed a bottle from his pack and very gingerly started plucking the seeds from her glove. A number came out bloody and her glove was holed, then torn, and slick with blood by the time he was done. It was a little sickening to watch, but it felt more like picking off something sticky.

“You really don’t feel that?” Vos-Huruk asked.

“No.”

“That’s...disturbing.”

With the desired seeds secured, all four of them attacked the remaining harrada with new vigor. Slash, burn, and spray. Lightning blasts charred whole thickets around the Hist. The once choking vines shriveled to a vestige of their former strength, and then charred to nothingness.

Above it all, the Hist began to sing.

It was not a melody she knew or even properly a melody at all. She’d never heard anything like it and never would again. It sang with the wind in its few stubborn leaves and the life in new buds. It sang with the overripe flowers that burst open in clouds of glowing pollen that cleared away the red air of the Deadlands. It sang of sunlight and rain, of how its roots would draw good water out of tainted muck, and of promises made, broken, and now renewed. There were no words, and neither she, Adrahawn, nor Hides needed words to know its thankfulness.

“I wish you could hear it,” she told Vos-Huruk.

“Its probably just as well I can’t,” Vos-Huruk said, thumbing back at the Xanmeer. “One of us has to hear the Sul-Xan getting bold again.”

Now that she listened for it, there were warcries outside the courtyard. She turned to Adrahawn, “Can they regrow the harrada?”

He scratched his head. “I think - and this is pure speculation based on what the Hist says - well, not really says, its a tree, but-”

“They aren’t going to wait for you.” Vos-Huruk interrupted him.

“Not without the seeds or the Deadlands, no. They’d have to sacrifice their Hist again to do that.”

Varanis strode over to Hides. “That’s not happening again.”

Hides bent low. She levered herself up onto his bloody back. “Vos-Huruk, guard Adrahawn and those seeds. We'll deal with the Sul-Xan."

“You are a madwoman.” she said, shaking her head. “May Sithis ride with you.”

Hides-In-The-Reeds-and-Drags-Unwary-Passers-By-To-Their-Doom roared. For a good minute, the warcries outside went silent.

“I, Saves-a-Hist-From-Foul-Vine-and-Thorn-By-His-Strength-and-Puts-His-Enemies-To-Flight-With-His-Roar, will teach you traitors a lesson in respect!”

He twisted around enough to look at her with his good eye. “I will add more to my name before I go to the mating grounds next season, but it's a good start.”

“Let’s burn that lesson and your name into Sul-Xan legend.”

VaranisArano

Harrada Harvest: Part 5

At the base of the Hist Tree, Varanis slumped against Saves' neck. His sides rose and fell, less and less. His good eye opened, then closed, and did not open again. She flushed hot, then cold down to her bones, shivering and shaking with reaction. There was pain, now. The skin on her right hand torn raw by the seeds left a bloody handprint on his shoulder. Her head throbbed. Her knee, a sunburst of agony. She could not even scream; her chest hitched and every breath came out in a whimper.

The Hist Tree’s song was silent. It seemed more vibrant than ever, so perhaps she merely could not hear it any longer.

She touched Saves’ head. He turned toward her touch. If he said anything, she could not hear it. Her lips cracked as she spoke. “Saves-a-Hist-From-Foul-Vine-and-Thorn-By-His-Strength-and-Puts-His-Enemies-To-Flight-With-His-Roar, I’m sure a dryskin like me cannot fully appreciate the magnificence of the name you deserve. Wherever the great beasts of the deep swamp go when they die - back to the Hist or the mating grounds of your ancestors - your name and your deeds are worthy of respect.”

He huffed a small breath. She stroked his scales until he stopped moving entirely, though salt stung fire from every tiny cut on her face.

Eventually there was a rustling nearby. She looked up, and hissed as the movement pulled at cuts that had barely clotted.

“How,” Vos-Huruk asked, “are you still alive?”

Gods, she hurt. “Do me a favor. Kill me now.” It was not entirely a joke.

Vos-Huruk glanced behind her to the courtyard's entrance, where Adrahawn and a large group of captives waited. He was wringing his hands as he argued with two Dunmer men. More than a few of the captives lay on the ground, utterly spent. Others grouped in family clusters, clinging to each other. She sat down next to Varanis. “I’ve got a problem, okay? You can help.”

The flashes of heat and chills were back. She shivered uncontrollably. “I’ll try.”

“Since Tee-Wan said you could take a lot of punishment and keep coming back for more, I get the feeling you aren’t saying the ‘kill me now’ thing out of despair.”

“No.”

“Problem is, remember how I promised Adrahawn that he could keep those seeds if he helped? Keshu would’ve griped at me for maybe starting the new Saxheel version of moon sugar, but she’d’ve understood that I had to keep my word. Well, that was before I saw what that potion did to the Sul-Xan and to you. You were unstoppable.”

Her bones felt like icicles. She’d never been this cold before, not even in Coldharbor. “Even Molag Bal calls me stubborn.”

“Your kneecap is now turned sideways. You look like you’ve been flayed, and you’re trembling like a leaf in a hailstorm. If you kept chugging that harrada potion, you’d go until you literally dropped. The captives we freed aren’t that much better. Now, imagine if the Ebonheart Pact got their hands on the recipe.”

“They’d...they know I’d kill them before I let them dose our soldiers like this.”

“You think they’d let you stop them?”

Yes. Jorunn respected her. Almalexia cared too much for her reputation. Walks-In-Ash would be the first to condemn it. But others? Could she stop it if the Covenant or Dominion got their hands on the recipe? And if she did stop it, at what cost for the fragile agreements that bound the three alliances to work together in the event of the next, sadly inevitable daedric invasion from Oblivion?

“No,” she whispered.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I can keep my word to Adrahawn. He keeps the seeds and I hope that he sends us medicines only and nobody gets any ideas about doping up their soldiers into feel-no-pain killing machines. Or I tell him that he needs to use all of the seeds to make medicine now that can flush that harrada poison out of you and the other captives. The seeds are gone, the captives never want to talk about what happened here, and Keshu and I give them a fat purse to keep their mouths shut.”

“How’s that my problem? You’ve got it worked out.”

“He's a Bosmer. He loves plants like his own children, so he’s dithering about saving the seeds or the captives. He thinks you died from your wounds.”

Right. Then she could choose death and the agony would be over. Or she could live and buy those seeds with her pain.

“It's been a really long time since I took an incapacitating injury that didn’t kill me soon after.”

Vos-Huruk laid a hand on her axe. “Are you sure?”

She raised her hand. “Even Molag Bal calls me stubborn. Ah, you might have to carry me.”

Vos-Huruk laughed, whirling and shouting back to the others through cupped hands. “Someone make a stretcher. Adrahawn, she’s still alive. Make your medicine quick!”

Adrahawn’s medicines burned like Red Mountain itself spewed lava rivers down her veins, but then the pain faded, and she slept like the dead. When she woke, he’d treated her many cuts, scrapes, and outright gouges with sticky salves. They looked like they’d been healing for a week or longer. The knee, however, he’d only splinted with some straight Sul-Xan javelin shafts cut down to size.

“It's beyond me,” He apologized. “You need a real doctor, not an herbalist.”

She patted his shoulder. “You did all you could for me, and more than enough for the others we rescued.”

Having recovered much of their strength through his ministrations, the former captives had set up a small camp near the wayshrine outside the xanmeer complex. Bevene and the two Dunmer men with her, her husband and son, fixed up a wagon from the wreckage of an older, captured caravan. The other survivors tended their wounds, mended their tattered clothes, or stared off into the distance, too worn down by torturous treatment to do anything more.

He tugged at his ear. “Can you still hear the Hist?”

“No.” Though there was some joy in hearing the simple sounds of camp life - the clatter of a spoon in a pot of gruel and the cracking of an open fire - she still missed the melody of the Hist. “I’m not touched by the Green. I only heard it because I drank so much of the Sul-Xan’s potion just in order to walk. What’s next for you?”

“I guess I go wherever the Green leads me,” he shrugged. “I would’ve liked to save some of the harrada creeper seeds to grow and make more medicines. I’m an herbalist; that’s what I do. But I guess these smiling faces ought to be enough reward for me, right?”

Was it? They’d accomplished one mission: save the caravaners. In her experience, there were always new crises to face. More families to save. The Rethandus Family smiled to see her awake and sitting up now, but if her vision misted, they looked no different from any other Dunmer family she’d saved, who’d remember her fondly long after she’d moved on but nothing more.

They’d destroyed the harrada fields and the distillery. Gideon would not face a two-pronged battle as Vandacia plotted his next move. Again, that should be enough reward for her, right? Except that it’d cost her dearly in injury, lost time, and the priceless advantage of the wayshrines. She must get to Leyawiin quickly to set her plan in motion with Tee-Wan before Vandacia rallied his allies and the only way to do it was to wayshrine there, hope that Lovidicus’ doctor was as good as he seemed, and pray that the Waking Flame did not see through whatever disguise she cobbled together.

In the bigger picture, this mission was a disaster.

Adrahawn touched her shoulder. “The Hist is still singing, you know?”

She clasped his hand. “Thanks. I’m glad you still hear it. This was worth doing.”

Vos-Huruk helped her up on her feet. She offered a pair of rough crutches and a tattered robe and hood. Together, they bundled up her armor into a leather pack. “I’ll send your weapons via courier. Without them, you look like a battered refugee, fleeing the Sul-Xan to tell Councilor Lovidicus about the threat from the South. Nothing special. Nothing to raise the eyes of a Waking Flame spy.”

She shuffled off toward the wayshrine. With the splint she couldn’t move her leg at all so it was an awkward weight to swing combined with the pack trying to pull her off balance. After a few steps, she adjusted her grip on the crutches. After a few more, she added more padding to the arms. “I’m going to be able to bench-press a camel by the time I’m done.”

Vos-Huruk shadowed her steps. “If you told me you already could, I’d believe it. Now, I’d ask you if you were sure about going alone, but you seem more like yourself now. Not like when you were talking to the wamasu like you could hear it.”

“I could. He-” A lump lodged in her throat. She turned for a final look at the xanmeer, which was a low mountain against the horizon, cast in sunlight and shadow in the midmorning sun. The courtyards were green again, and much of the reddish taint vanished. In the square courtyard at the top, perhaps she could just see the top branches of the Hist, and knew that his body lay at its roots. So many of her allies died. He was only the latest wound on her scar-laden heart.

Swallowing back tears, she said, “He told me the name you suggested was a good start. Saves-a-Hist-From-Foul-Vine-and-Thorn-and-Puts-His-Enemies-To-Flight-With-His-Roar. If he had lived, it would be longer still. The surviving Sul-Xan will remember that name in their legends.

“Then so will the Black Fin Legion.” Vos-Huruk saluted.

Then she shook her head in wonderment. “You really heard him and the Hist too? Then that potion made you into something like a Sap-Speaker for a while. Ah, that’s a mystery no plain and simple warrior of the Saxheel like myself has any business messing around with. I’m more glad than ever those seeds are out of the way. You earned it, though, and Adrahawn too. The Green certainly guided him here for a reason.” She grimaced. “I feel guilty about how I’ve treated him, just not that guilty.”

“He’s a good man,” Varanis said. “Not every Bosmer I’ve known communed with the Green or even held it in the reverence. Perhaps, if you talk to him about your fears - that these medicines would become like skooma, a perversion of your religious rites…”

Vos-Huruk nodded. “I will do that. The Hist know a person’s character. He’s been tested and found true. No wonder breaking my word didn’t sit right with me. He’s earned my honesty at least. I have much to speak of with him on the road to Gideon.”

They clasped arms. “Give my regards to Keshu.”

“Good luck. Sithis go with you, and death to the Waking Flame.”

Varanis raised her hand to the wayshrine’s flame. As southern Blackwood reformed into the busy city square of Leyawiin, she prayed to whoever was listening that no one took any notice of the crippled woman stumbling away from the wayshrine.

VaranisArano

A Keep's Ransom: Part 1

Eveli rode up the hill to Borderwatch, a garrison town and fort on the border between Blackwood and Northern Elsweyr. Guarding the roads from the rage of dragons and the war in Cyrodiil alike, its tall, imposing walls gave the soldiers on its parapets a commanding view of the countryside. There was no way to avoid being seen on the approach by the Ivory Brigade.

Problem was, she didn't need the eyes of an eagle to see that the soldiers on the walls wore iron cuirasses painted with the symbol of an eye. The painted eye banners weren't Leyawiin's colors either. Huddling below the walls outside of the gate, a tiny camp of brigadines was the only friendly presence she could see.

There was no sign of her cousins she'd called in from Valenwood, either. Uncle Araedir's side of the family had promised to keep their noses clean on her behalf, but...

"Eveli?" A Bosmer woman's voice rang out.

She relaxed in the saddle. Of course her cousins, experienced smugglers and Dominion dodgers all, would've gotten out of the way of whatever trouble befell Borderwatch. She trotted over.

The camp in the trees had only two bedrolls, and only one hooded and masked cousin. "I didn't invite you, Erilthel," Eveli said. "What is the Thieves Guild doing here?"

Erilthel pulled down her facemask, making a sour face. "That's "Lady Twilight" to you, Sharp-Arrow, since apparently you're the reason I'm missing out on this surprise reunion. I know you don't approve of my career, and I know Uncle Araedir is mad I don't practice the traditional Rite of Theft, but seriously, I thought I was still part of the family."

""Lady Twilight", then," she said, "is exactly why I didn't invite you to help the Vestige prevent Mehrunes Dagon from destroying a city."

Erilthel stared at her, then up at the fort, then back at her. "Ohhh. Molag Bal poked the termite mound and now Dagon's gone and stepped in it. I want to help!"

"You're Thieves Guild," Eveli reminded her.

"So you'll call on the side of the family of whom the Dominion officers say "Disreputable smugglers who ought to be hung by their ears" or worse, but not me. What a snob you've turned into." Erilthel pulled up her face mask.

Once, they'd been as close as sisters. Closer, in fact, than Eveli was with her actual sisters. They shared the same fearless desire for adventure. Then Erilthel went off with some high elf girl to make her fortune stealing from rich and poor alike, and within the month, Eveli took the first mercenary job she could find: caravan guard heading to snowy Wrothgar.

As gently as she could, she let her cousin down. "I'm a hero working for the Elder Council. I can't work with a Thief."

Erilthel only laughed at her. "Okay, hero. Just wait til you find out what our cousins have gotten up to. Head into the brigadine camp and talk to Commander Axius. When you decide you need my help after all, I'll be waiting here."

………………………..

When she spotted the brigadine sentry, Eveli gestured for the woman to accompany her into the camp. "I'm working with Councilor Lovidicus and Governor Keshu. What's going on here?"

The woman pointed out a tent where an older Imperial man wearing the ornate breastplate of an Ivory Brigade commander argued with a male Orc wearing the painted eye. "You'll need to talk to Commander Axius. Just be warned-" She made an apologetic face. "He may not be happy to see another Bosmer."

"They've gone and cracked Commander Axius' acorns, haven't they? I'm so sorry. Beragon warned me I shouldn't've asked them to Blackwood without adult supervision."

"You'd, ah, better see for yourself." The sentry gestured for her to join the Commander and his guest.

The Orc, whose iron armor was painted over with the symbol of an open eye, scowled at Commander Axius with the sort of displeasure that reminded Eveli of stern Chief Bazrag hearing news he didn't like, as Axius admitted, "Look, Brother gro-Mora, I could be crowned Emperor of Tamriel tomorrow and still not be able to meet your demands."

"Goes to show crowns aren't worth much in a pinch, eh? We're getting tired of the delays and you don't want us to vote to punish the hostages."

Now, Eveli gaped. "You took my cousins hostage? How? They're slippier than fish! You gotta tell me how you did it. Heck, sell that secret to the Dominion back in Grahtwood and you'll make a small fortune."

Brother gro-Mora twitched. Axius covered his face with his hand, and told the Orc, "I'll tell Councilor Lovidicus that his last act before resigning his position will be to disband the Brigade and send ships for you. What you do in Khenathi’s Roost is not my territory; not my problem."

That blew her previous disbelief right out of the water. "What are you saying, man? I work for Lovidicus, and I'll-"

Axius glared at her. She remembered the hostages. "-I'll urge him to cooperate with your wishes, Brother. One resignation coming right up!"

Brother gro-Mora nodded to them. "Get it done."

Eveli waited long enough for him to get into the fort and out of hearing range before exploding on Axius. "I work directly for Councilor Lovidicus and Governor Keshu. That's why I called in my cousins to help us, and there's no way I'm telling him to resign on the say-so of a man who's apparently lost his own fort! Now, what are we going to do about rescuing those hostages?"

"Those were your cousins, eh?" Axius asked. "That bunch of Bosmer scoundrels and smugglers who swore they'd kept their noses clean on account of one Eveli Sharp-Arrow - that's you?"

She had a bad feeling about this. "Yeah. That's me. I called them in to fight the Waking Flame."

With the ill-disguised pleasure of a man drowning in bad news who finally got to pass some of it on to someone else, he explained. "Then it looks like hostage rescue just became your problem. Let me tell you how it all went down. It was a busy day for trade, with groups showing up all day. We can only process paperwork and inspections so fast, so we asked your cousins to wait."

She winced.

"They went nuts. They started messing with everyone's business. Bothering the other traders, poking about the smithy, getting into the keep where they aren't allowed. So there I am, fielding a dozen complaints about their behavior, including a scholar visiting from Summerset who's threatening a diplomatic incident over it."

"Then, while we were distracted by their antics," he continued, relishing her grimaces, "those trade groups who'd been trickling in all day pulled out their weapons. The Painted Eye, they call themselves. They took hostages from the remaining traders as well as our friends and family living in the fort. I surrendered my Fort to prevent bloodshed, and I've been trying to negotiate ever since."

Eveli bit her lip. "Sorry. That side of the family really doesn't do well with authority. But they aren't bandits, and I don't understand why they've stuck around as prisoners. Trying to keep them locked up is like scooping water with a sieve."

He handed over a letter. "Maybe the Painted Eye's demands will shed some light. You'll see they aren't much for authorities either."

She skimmed a veritable list of Tamriel's most outrageous political ideas. Voting rights. Removal of hereditary titles and appointed nobility. Freeing Painted Eye "freedom fighters." Khenarthi's Roost as a free port (to be ruled by the Painted Eye, of course.)

"Ohhh, so it's about politics!"

Axius raised an eyebrow.

"My cousins hate the Dominion. Brother gro-Mora talking about taking over Khenarthi's Roost would've been like offering moon sugar to a Khajiit, and never mind that they know the Maomer have their eye on the place too," Eveli explained. "I gotta go inside and talk some sense into them before they sign up with these crazies."

After a moment, she added, "Honestly, you had me at 'hostage rescue.' Besides, the Councilor would want me to help you."

He sighed. "Great. There's a loose grate you can use to get inside on the south wall. Try not to steal anything while you're at it."

"Just because my cousins practice the Right of Theft doesn't mean all Bosmer do." She retorted.

"Well, the last Bosmer who offered to help most definitely was a thief with her nonsense about being 'Lady Twilight.'"

"I didn't invite that cousin, I swear."

"Either you're related to half of Valenwood, or you're the lone white sheep of the family," he said. "Your totally uninvited cousin and her Argonian partner said they'd rescue the hostage yesterday. There's been nary a peep from them since, so I assumed the honorless wretches took what they wanted and fled." He shrugged. "Or they're dead or hostages. Don't know. Don't really care either. I just need my hostages freed so we can take back my fort!"

Eveli sighed. Time to go back to Erilthel, hat in hand, and get her help.

……………………….

Erilthel turned out to be more than willing for a reason. "Help me rescue my partner Seeks-the-Dark and we'll help rescue the hostages. Deal?"

"I didn't fall off the turnip cart yesterday. So what's the Thieves Guild doing here?"

Erilthel bit her lip. "Lady Twilight doesn't welch on her buyers."

"Well, Lady Twilight isn't getting the job done without help, is she?"

She folded. "Seeks took a job from some hoity-toity high elf scholar. Relicmaster Glena-something. There's an ayleid relic buried under the keep that he says causes geologic instability. Problem is, our cousins signed on with the Painted Eye, and so they watch the courtyard. The inner keep is crawling with the Painted Eye. We were spotted, and Seeks was captured while distracting them so I could escape."

Eveli's jaw dropped. A Psijic Order Relicmaster hired the Thieves Guild? A relic that caused earthquakes? Suddenly, their intent to take over Khenarthi's Roost made more sense. They'd have the whole island as hostages if they found it. "This is real hero stuff!"

"Hey, don't go cutting me out," Erilthel protested. "You need me."

Well, if Varanis could work with an assassin like Naryu Virian, maybe it wouldn't hurt her own reputation to work with Lady Twilight just this once. "Could you and Seeks get into the keep and secure the relic if I gave you a big enough distraction?"

"Yeah!" Then, she asked, "What are you going to do about our cousins?"

The problem with Uncle Araedir was you couldn't persuade him that the sun rose in the east unless he saw it himself. She'd be fighting an uphill battle to change his mind on the Painted Eye. Unless…"I think you gave me the trump card I needed."

"I did?"

"Tell me what you think: Uncle Araedir lived in Gil-var-delle, destroyed by Molag Bal, and comes out to help me prevent the same thing from happening here to another city. Do you think the Painted Eye's been upfront with him about their plans for using that relic?"

"Ohhh. I like the way you think!"

VaranisArano

A Keep's Ransom: Part 2

While Erilthel snuck back into the fort to wait for the best chance to free Seeks, Eveli climbed up one of the fort's towers. Hauling herself hand over hand up stone was harder than climbing trees - the stones had more handholds than bark, but there was no comforting rustle of leaves. It was also far more exposed, so when she clambered over the parapet, she wasn't at all surprised to be greeted by cousins Thaelyth and Colem with their bows drawn.

"Hey," she said. "Just coming by to find out what the Painted Eye offered you all that tops helping me out."

Colem laughed and helped her down from the ledge. "Good to see you again, Eveli."

She clapped him on the back. "Can't wait to kick Dagon's arse with all of you."

Thaelyth answered the original question. "They offered a chance to strike at the Dominion."

As she'd feared, then. "Khenarthi's Roost doesn't deserve what the Painted Eye is going to do."

Thaelyth's jaw clenched. "Well, my crew didn't deserve what they got for the high crime of defacing Ayrenn's customs stamps. So the Dominion can suck it. Khenarthi's Roost will be well shut of the Dominion and better off with their freedom."

"It's not that simple-"

"I don't want to hear your hero prattle either."

Colem coughed. "We're supposed to vote on these things now."

This was news to her. Must be a Painted Eye idea. "You're telling me that Uncle Araedir listens to a vote now? I gotta see this to believe it."

…………….

Ten minutes later, she was the center of attention at a delighted family reunion of sixteen Bosmer. Uncle Araedir, still the old lion of a warrior she remembered teaching her to shoot, greeted her warmly. "Thanks for thinking of us, girl. We'll see this business through here, and then come shake your Vestige friend's hand before we help her serve notice to the Daedra that Gil-var-delle remembers."

The enthusiastic greetings didn't go unnoticed by the Painted Eye. Brother gro-Mora left the keep and headed over like a stormcloud about to rain on a picnic. "You." He jabbed an accusing finger at Eveli. "You're working with them." 'Them' was punctuated with a dismissive wave that might mean anyone from Axius to the whole hereditary nobility.

Though she'd have to play it carefully, this was her best chance to plant some seeds on dissension and doubt. "Yeah. So? I just want to talk to my mother's brother and my cousins."

gro-Mora shook his head at Araedir. "It's not a good idea to listen to the lackeys of the powerful."

Araedir matched him scowl for scowl. "We voted to join you. Not to have you tell us who to talk to."

With the glee of a born troublemaker sensing opportunity, Colem bellowed out, "Who wants to hear what Eveli has to say?"

Her cousins raised their hands. Eveli beamed at them. "The Ayes have it."

"We had an agreement!" gro-Mora protested.

"And we just voted," Cousin Brerfin pointed out. "You can't decide to respect our right to vote only when the answer suits you."

Faced with a small horde of frowning, suspicious Bosmer, Brother gro-Mora retreated to the haven of his more supportive Painted Eye brethren. He detailed a couple of them to keep an eye on the gathering then headed back into the keep, something that didn't go unnoticed by her cousins.

Good, dig your own grave, Eveli thought. Now, she only had to avoid the pitfall of pushing her cousins too much herself. "First off, is everyone okay? When you didn't show up at Gideon, I was afraid you'd given some poor dragon indigestion."

Cousin Urinthil dug around in her pack. "Actually, I think I've got some dragon jerky left if you want to try it."

Jerky? Mmmm! Must not get sidetracked. "Maybe later? So, I know why Thaelyth voted to join the Painted Eye. Down with the Dominion, and all that."

Araedir looked around the courtyard with no small pride. "I gotta admire that sort of brazen exercise of the Rite of Theft. It's not often you see someone take over a whole fort. So once they started talking about their ideals, I thought this was a fine group to work with."

Despite his certainty, he frowned at the knot of Painted Eye soldiers watching them.

Eveli kept her mouth shut. You didn't argue him into or out of something. You let him do it to himself. This Rite of Theft business, however, was an opening.

"The Rite of Theft does require that the victim have a fair chance to get it back." She reminded him.

"Do you teach grandmother to suck eggs too, girl?"

"Commander Axius hired me to steal his keep back."

Thaelyth snickered. That set off the others until they were howling with laughter. Laughing at her, though the increasingly worried Painted Eye didn't know that. One of their number headed inside the keep.

She sighed, "I know. I'm a wee bit outnumbered on that one." That set them off again. When the glee faded, she asked, "What's the Painted Eye doing inside the keep anyway?"

"Does it matter?" Araedir asked. "They stole it fair and square."

She waved outside of the keep. "I met with our cousin Erilthel on the road. I know, I know she's a real Thief, but she says there's a dangerous relic inside the keep the Painted Eye wants."

Like an old lion, her uncle could go from relaxed to intensely dangerous in a moment. "Don't lie to me, girl."

"I'm a hero. I might be wrong, but I'm not lying."

Urinthil spoke up. "Uncle, what about that high elf?"

"What about him? Snobby enough to stick his head up his-"

"He ran off to Axius complaining I would mess up his digging in the crypt, so the commander locked it up, remember?"

Thaelyth said, "He's still inside the keep with the Painted Eye leaders, not under our guard with the rest of the hostages. Mind you, I'd probably have lost patience with Tel-dumb-dim-boy by now if he wasn't."

Her cousins might be a disreputable lot of rabble-rousers, but only smart smugglers made it as long or as successfully as they had. Given all the pieces, they could put them together as quickly as she had. Urinthil and Thaelyth paired off and headed into a tower adjoining the keep, doubtless to check with the sapiarch themselves.

Araedir told her. "If it turns out they haven't played straight with us, we'll hold another vote."

Brother gro-Mora came out of the keep and made a beeline for them. Eveli nodded to him politely.

He wasted no pleasantries on the matter. "We trust you." He told Araedir. "She's working with the Commander and can't be trusted. Put her with the hostages."

"You want us to hand over my niece?" He growled.

She couldn't ask for a more perfect opportunity! "I'll do it!"

At the look of consternation on gro-Mora's face, she giggled.

"Are you sure?" Araedir asked her, concerned. "We can vote whether to turn you over or not. You'll be out voted for sure."

"I'm sure the hostages have been well cared for, right? So I'll be as safe as anything." She unhooked her quiver and handed it over with her bow to Colem. "Here, keep my weapons. I'll be fine."

A squad of the Painted Eye who'd reported to gro-Mora marched her over to the group of hostages held in the smithy. Two more of her cousins, Celeas and Gaenan, took up post nearby. The woman in charge of the squad locked a chain around her ankle, long enough to walk to the toilet trench, and warned, "Don't give us any trouble or there'll be trouble for your family, you hear?"

Meek as a lamb, she agreed. "I hear." Then under the suspicious eyes of her guards and hopeful looks from her fellow hostages, she found a seat against a wall and tried to relax. She'd planted the seeds of doubt. Now she just had to wait for them to sprout.

……………………

The bell tower rang the hour with two long strokes.

From his perch on the tower, Colem drew back his bow. A guard fell, then another. Celeas and Gaenan hit the smithy guards from behind. They never had a chance.

Gaenan freed Eveli. Celeas handed over her weapons. The fort's blacksmith passed out weapons and heavy tools to the other hostages and they all joined in the fight.

The second fall of Borderwatch was swift and brutal. Eveli's cousins opened the gates from the inside. The hostages rushed out; the brigadines rushed in. With her cousins' help, they cleared the roof, towers, and courtyard. Only the keep remained in Painted Eye hands, and Eveli was pretty sure she'd seen Erilthel and a gray-scaled Argonian sneak inside.

She joined Uncle Araedir, Thaelyth, and Commander Axius outside the door to the inner keep. They sized each other up like two rival Imga bands squabbling over the same graht oak.

She clapped her hands, drawing their attention. "I take it that the Painted Eye is up to something nefarious, after all."

Araedir rubbed his eyes, looking more like a tired old lion than ever. "You were right about the relic."

"That scholar was right?" Axius asked. "What would the Painted Eye want with some old Ayleid junk?"

Thaelyth told him, "Their grand plan for driving the Dominion out of Khenarthi's Roost has nothing to do with voting, and everything to do with causing earthquakes until the Maomer leave. They'd shatter the island if necessary. We overheard everything."

No wonder Araedir looked so dejected. "They had me fooled completely," he said.

Eveli knew that feeling all too well, and the guilt that came after when she looked back with the benefit of hindsight and realized everything she'd done, trustingly, to help Kurog and Vandacia.

Worse, this time, she'd seen the betrayal coming and hadn't warned him. She'd justified it because she'd known he was stubborn. Stubbornness which, if she were brutally honest with herself, ran in the family.

She took a deep breath, forgave Varanis for doing the same thing to her, and hugged her uncle. "Family before vengeance. We're all okay, including the hostages. That's what really matters."

Araedir hugged her back, but said, "No. Lying to us is not acceptable. They thought they could use us. We will punish them."

"Revenge isn't a filling breakfast," she warned. "I called you here to protect innocents from Dagon destroying their homes, just like Molag Bal did to yours. I called you here so you could make peace with it, not to throw our family away."

Thaelyth looked particularly troubled. "Father, my desire for revenge against the Dominion helped the Painted Eye play us for fools."

Araedir sighed. "My dear girls-"

The keep rumbled. A second later, the ground rippled like water. Axius landed hard on his rump, while the Bosmer swayed as if climbing branches tossed in a storm wind. Dust and loose roofing slates rained down from the towers.

For a moment, the red haze of the Mysterium Xarxes’ visions covered the scene. Eveli saw a different tower and a different keep entirely, of imperial make but apparently enmeshed in the Deadlands. The tower crumbled as though struck by a giant’s hammer. A single lantern fell on the broken stones and went out.

Then the haze faded, leaving a nasty headache behind. The tremors subsided and her cousins converged on them.

"That earthquake is caused by the relic," Eveli said, rubbing her forehead and hoping the headache passed as quickly as it usually did. She couldn’t let the daedric book distract her from the task at hand. "Erithel and her friend Seeks-the-Dark should be inside trying to secure it before the Painted Eye do. They may need a hand."

Axius warned them, "The keep is built over an ancient Ayleid crypt. It's a death trap. I can't justify sending my soldiers in there."

"It's going to be worse than a death trap if the Painted Eye get the relic," Araedir argued. "I vote we go deal with them the Bosmer way."

Eveli winced, just imagining what Axius would have to say about a full Meat Mandate barbecue in his backyard. Come to think of it, she'd have to mention it to Governor Keshu…

"I vote," Thaelyth spoke up, "that we follow Eveli's lead. She's the hero here."

Eveli beamed at her cousin. When her other cousins all raised their hands, and slowly Araedir began to nod, she beamed all the harder.

Another rumbling tremor hit. She raised her voice above the rushing wind and shattering tiles. "Family before vengeance! Help Erithel secure the relic and get out safely."

VaranisArano

A Keep's Ransom: Part 3

Seeks-the-Dark was a dark-scaled Argonian who was so light of foot that when he stepped out from the crypt's now unblocked entrance, he found himself face to face with a dozen startled Bosmer and their drawn bows.

"I'm with Erithel!"

Eveli lowered her bow. "Where is she?"

He waved back where they'd came. "I sent her to safety with that elven scholar after he told us where to go. Now, whether or not she listened to me…"

"We didn't see her."

"Oh, joy. Say, you're her cousins, right? I don't suppose you have any hints for how to get her to listen to her supposed teacher? No? Guess I'm stuck with "Lady Twilight" a little longer. Follow me, I followed one of the Painted Eye leaders down to the relic, and snuck back to wait for you lot."

They followed Seeks through a series of twisting tunnels. The ancient Ayleid ruins were taking a battering from the continued tremors. Several times they had to scramble over cracked masonry and collapsed pillars.

"Is it just me," Colem asked, "or are the tremors getting stronger."

"It's not just you," Seeks said grimly.

Most members of the Painted Eye in the catacombs took off running when they saw who was coming for them.

Holding the entrance to the relic's chamber, Brother gro-Mora either had more courage than most or, when he didn't rise to his feet to give them a death worthy of Malacath, perhaps he'd simply lost faith. He gazed past Araedir's arrow, making eye contact. "I trusted you."

"Yeah, well," Araedir said, "I trusted you. Look where that's gotten us."

Thaelyth said, "You talked a big game about equality and voting-"

"Turns out," Brerfin broke in, "You only listen to votes when you like the result."

"-and all along you were planning to earthquake Khenarthi's Roost into submission." Thaelyth finished.

gro-Mora sank in on himself. "That's not true," he protested, but his voice was weak. He gestured behind him, where a woman wearing a Painted Eye robe gestured over a small round orb. "Sister Phedre wouldn't."

Eveli sighed. Another trusting soul, lied to. "How about you ask her?"

Like an old tree swaying in a storm wind, Brother gro-Mora stepped into the chamber. His face was a mask of dread, anticipating the worst. "Sister? They say we're going to - I mean, if Khenarthi's Roost votes to accept Dominion rule, we'll leave peacefully, right?"

Sister Phedre, an ice-blond Imperial woman, stared him down as she forced spell-power into the Ayleid relic. The room began to shake. "Brother, we're going to rock them all the way to hell."

Brother gro-Mora staggered. Eveli reached up and put her hand on his shoulder. "Help us make this right."

He nodded. Her cousins spilled out through the doorway.

Phedre grabbed the relic from its plinth and ran.

Fortunately, she didn't make it far. One moment, she was sprinting down the hallway while Eveli drew a bead on her back. The next, Erilthel stuck her foot out from a crossing hallway.

Phedre faceplanted onto the tile with a shriek. The relic shattered. The tremors subsided.

Erilthel shrieked too, grabbing at her ankle.

Seeks sighed. "Of course she didn't stay put like I told her to."

Eveli lowered her bow and jogged towards them. Brother gro-Mora followed. "Sister Phedre, it's over. No one has to die."

"It's not that easy," she spat.

Judging by the looks on their faces, her cousins agreed. Eveli said firmly, "It is that easy. Family before vengeance. We're safe. The prisoners are all safe. As Councilor Lovidicus' representative, I accept your surrender and guarantee that you'll be treated with at least the same respect you treated your prisoners."

"That's a pretty good deal, sister." Phedre sighed and the fight seemed to go out of her.

Erilthel sighed as well, "Too bad I broke the relic. There goes Lady Twilight's perfect record for always satisfying her customers."
………………….

Commander Axius received her report with a great deal of bemusement, which chuffed her to no end. Eveli said, "Usually everyone looks at Varanis like she's grown two heads and accomplished a miracle. I must have done this hero business right."

"If you say so," he said dubiously. "I can’t believe I’m agreeing to let them all just hang around here cleaning up the mess they made before heading out to Gideon to fight cultists, but you’re the woman working directly for the Councilor. Just between us, do you really believe in their change of heart?"

"I think they need a second chance and a solid eye on them."

He humphed.

It was possible, even probable, that she would regret encouraging Araedir and her cousins to help the Painted Eye stick to their ideals instead of resorting to vengeance. Certainly the Dominion would not appreciate it! On the other hand, if Khenarthi's Roost wanted to oust the Dominion in a free and fair election, she'd be proud of her small part in making that happen.

In the meantime, Sister Phedre, Brother gro-Mora, and the rest would give her uncle someone to look out for during the battle to come, while their magical talents should prove useful.

"For what its worth, I trust my family to not repeat the same mistake a second time. By the way, Erilthel did help get your hostages out.”

“Yes. So I only have to deal with a Sapiarch lodging a complaint with his superiors about bandits and rough and uncouth treatment by a barbarian Bosmer woman, instead of having to write the College my condolences.”

After she said goodbye to her family and got their promise that they and the Painted Eye wouldn’t make more trouble for her, she stopped at Erilthel and Seeks' camp. The Sapiarch in question was a lanky Altmer scholar, who was tapping his foot and glaring at them over his folded arms. “You’ve ruined decades of research.”

Seeks broke down the camp, ignoring him. Erilthel, massaging her sprained ankle, matched him glare for glare. “Look, Tel-done-dinner-”

“Teldundino of Sunhold.” He corrected through gritted teeth.

“-Of Sun’s-right-arse-cheek. If I hadn’t broken the relic (and I didn’t break it; that was Phedre’s fault), then you wouldn’t be getting your hands on it anyway. Lady Twilight doesn’t welch on her buyers if she can help it.”

He complained bitterly, “I spent decades hunting through scraps of old manuscripts and maps, making rubbings in dank ruins, all to figure out where this Ayleid city was. I’m about to make the find of my career when bandits, thieves, and bandit, thieving Bosmer all show up to take my supposedly well-hidden prize. Now I literally have nothing to show for it.”

“Wow.” Erilthel said. “With that run of bad luck, are you sure you didn’t annoy Nocturnal or something?”

He stared at her, agog or furious, Eveli couldn’t tell as she smothered down giggles. Oh, he was annoying alright, but Councilor Lovidicus wouldn’t thank her for leaving that problem on his plate. “If you had gotten the relic,” she asked Erilthel, “wasn’t your buyer a member of the Psijic Order?”

The scholar’s eyes got wide.

Seeks’ head popped up. “Yes. I like the way you think.”

“Hey, we don’t welch on our buyers-”

“You’re not,” Eveli said. “You’re putting your buyer in contact with a reputable scholar in the field of Ayleid relics in lieu of getting him the relic you came for. I’m sure the Psijic relicmaster will be happy to hear from, er, sorry…”

“Teldundindo of Sunhold. Make sure you get the name right. There were five other Teldundindos in my class at the college. Wouldn’t want the relicmaster to get the wrong one, you know. Hah ha.”

Seeks left off the packing and took Teldundindo by the elbow, drawing the other man off to one side and starting up a patter about just how much their assistance might be worth to him. The scholar nodded along.

Eveli comforted her conscience with the thought that even if he did get conned for his savings along the way, he really would benefit from a little bit of Psijic sense and training when it came to dealing with dangerous relics.

Erilthel rubbed her forehead. “Well, cousin, I’m not entirely sure how you managed all that.”

“I’m a hero. All in a day’s work.”

“Hah, sure. I’ll have to fancy it all up properly before I publish Lady Twilight’s next adventure. We need a proper final fight with the Painted Eye and all that. A daring escape off into the sunset while the Commander shakes his fist. I’m definitely not going to write that the relic broke. Lady Twilight always finishes the job right.”

“Just do me one favor.”

“You can’t be my sidekick. That’s already Seeks’ job.”

She sat down next to Erilthel. It’d been good to see her uncle and cousins again, and see them all safe. Soon, she’d be taking them into another battle. One that her visions said changed the sky red and painted the stones slick with blood. If they were very unlucky, this might be the last time she’d see this cousin who was once closer than a sister.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a hero, its this: family before vengeance. If I die fighting Mehrunes Dagon, you live your best life, okay?”

“You aren’t going to die.” Erilthel said, uncomfortably, then held out her arms for a hug. Eveli buried her face in her shoulder. “Hey, do you want help? After we get Teldun-whoever to where he’s supposed to go, Lady Twilight and Seeks can come to Gideon.”

They were thieves. Light of foot, deft of hand, and silent in the shadows. They weren’t skirmishers one step short of being bandits like her other cousins, or warriors like herself. She couldn’t drag them into the coming battle in good conscience. “Tell you what. When this is all over, Governor Keshu is gonna throw the biggest party you ever did see. I’ll see you there.”

“I’ll see you there,” Erilthel said. “You’d better not welch on Lady Twilight, Sharp-Arrow.”