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Breton Stamblade Fiction (starting with DC/Main Questlines, we'll see how I go.......) (Spoilers)
I plan to update Chapter by Chapter, weaving the Harborage Quests with the DC Questline until they merge, and going from there.
I'll include a few side quests and some random NPC dialogue where appropriate for giving perspective.
There will be spoilers for anyone who hasn't completed certain parts.
And as it's what I use day-to-day, there'll be some English spelling as well as American, so be prepared for a few extra letters.
Really, really nervous about this, but here goes....
Chapter One: Soul Shriven in Coldharbour
Gasping, disoriented, I jerked upright as I woke, vivid flashes of a dream or memory echoing through my mind. I sat on the bare stone floor for several moments, fingers splayed against the rough coldness before pressing them to my aching chest, where I could have sworn a strangely garbed Altmer had moments ago stabbed me.
Silent stillness greeted my hands, and I blinked in shock, frantically relocating them to my throat in a futile search for a pulse. Nothing but my harshly tearing breaths, and in the distance shouts and clashing weapons repeated a message of danger on the heels of my nightmare. Or was it?
Scrambling to my feet I looked around and found myself in a cell, alone except for a few bedrolls, several occupied by the pale bones of skeletons. I shuddered, turning away to stare at the flames of a small fire, and recalled the sound of flaming torches, of footsteps and chains, the feeling of a metal collar around my neck as I stumbled down a stairway, half dragged by the shackles on my wrists as the prisoner in front of me was jerked forward…. a strange red banner, behind the silhouette of a figure holding aloft a crystal in one hand as he stabbed down with the other, then green-blueish vapour rising into the crystal from his victim…. the many dark purple shards of crystal heaped everywhere…. a limp body being dragged from the stone altar before I was thrust in their place, arms pulled roughly apart keeping me prone…. whispering as shrouded figures prayed…. pale hair and cruel eyes, the flash of a blade – a monstrous face, dark, horned, eyes glowing blue as I was swept towards it -
I flinched in reflex, then tried to search further back in my mind, uneasiness spilling into alarm as I realised there was nothing to be seen, no memories prior to those glimpses of horror, nothing of myself, of family, of anything beyond darkness, pain and death. But was I dead? I decided I didn’t really want to know just yet.
A noise outside my cell, closer than the distant din of conflict, had me stumbling on a bedroll as I turned too quickly towards the source, and a tall blonde in rags similar to my own appeared on the other side of the jagged bars.
“Whoa there! Are you alright?” She queried as I steadied myself. “The name’s Lyris.” She continued, checking the bolt before she swung a huge axe at the lock on my door, sending sparks flying at the impact. “I hope you’ve still got some fight left in you. You’re going to need it.”
I hurried, more aware now of my footing, through the door to find Lyris already several feet away, near the body of a – wait, a Dremora? “Dead.” She confirmed. “Must have been the runt of the litter.”
My eyes kept straying to the odd features of the corpse’s face as I quickly stripped its body of weapons and armour, surprised by my familiarity with the leather jack and breeches, and bow. I grimaced at the too-large sabatons, hoping I’d find footwear soon, before jogging down the passageway after Lyris, unwilling to lose track of the one person in existence who I knew, even if only very briefly.
“Keep your weapon ready and stay sharp,” she advised as I caught up, amazed by how much taller than me she was. “This place is full of surprises.” No sooner had she spoken that another Dremora appeared, greatsword raised above its head to attack. I stepped aside for a better angle as Lyris parried with her axe, all too aware I needed to find another weapon for closer combat. A quick arrow to the neck staggered our opponent and Lyris finished it off. Several Dremora later I had acquired snug leather boots, a helmet, bracers, and a mismatched pair of daggers, and was feeling slightly less anxious about our chances of survival and escape. We passed other prisoners, some fighting, some fleeing, and a few pushing against a door which shuddered under the impact of a monstrous weight hitting the other side.
“Let’s get out of here, my friend,” Lyris urged me, spurred by their warning that more guards were approaching. As we stepped into the next room she stopped abruptly, staring at the glowing apparition of a hooded figure holding a staff. “The Prophet!” she exclaimed, and I paused, unsure whether this would mean further danger or bring assistance.
“Greetings, Vestige.” He seemed to be speaking to me but did not quite face either of us. “Like you I am a prisoner in this place. You must rescue me, and I in turn must rescue you.”
Lyris turned to me, her face shocked, as the Prophet’s image disappeared.
“Hold a moment.” She commanded, “Come here, we need to talk.” I took a few steps closer, curious. “The Prophet!” Lyris repeated. “He’s a prisoner here, too. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you, even for a moment. He must think you can help me.”
“Help you do what?” I asked.
“Break him out, of course!” Lyris shrugged, fidgeting as though impatient to get moving. “Believe me, I can use all the help I can get. That blind old man is the only person alive who can get us back home. Tamriel’s a long way from here.” Her words plunged through me, sinking my stomach as they did so, but again I shied away from the implications.
“Where do we go from here?” I asked to distract myself.
“These tunnels will eventually take us to the Towers of Eyes. That’s where we’ll find the Sentinels.”
“What are these Sentinels?” And why do I remember nothing, but recognise so many things once I hear of or encounter them? But I didn’t think Lyris could answer that.
“Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour. The Sentinels are connected. If we destroy one, the others will be blinded. With any luck, that will buy us the time we need to free the Prophet.”
“How can we destroy it?”
“I’ve no idea. Brute force? We’ll find a way. We have to. Be ready for anything. I doubt Molag Bal left the Sentinels unguarded.”
“I have so many questions.” I groaned, unsure where to begin.
“I’m sure you do.” Lyris, despite her urgency, seemed to understand my frustration. “And I’ll answer them as best I can.” She offered kindly.
“Who is the Prophet?” As good a start as any, I decided.
“He’s a strange one, no doubt about it, but he’s the wisest man I’ve ever met.” There were stories, layers of them, in Lyris’s eyes as she said this, as though she was reliving epic adventures. “He sees things. The past, the future.”
“What is this place? Where am I?” Although ‘Who am I?’ was a more urgent concern, I doubted Lyris would have that answer for me, either.
“You’re obviously not in Tamriel anymore.” Little did she realise I had no way of knowing that! “Think of the most miserable, depressing place you’ve ever been in your life. That’s paradise compared to Coldharbour. And to top it off, well… there’s no easy way to say it. You’re dead.”
“Then how are we having this conversation?” I asked, although I had already come to that conclusion.
“I don’t know.” Lyris admitted. “Once we rescue the Prophet, he can tell you about the Gods and the ways of Oblivion. I don’t understand any of it, myself.”
“If I’m dead, who killed me?” Memories of the cold-eyed Altmer standing over me, dagger raised, stirred, and I squashed them firmly.
“A man named Mannimarco. His Worm Cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. They sacrificed you and everyone in this prison, to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. After you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven.”
“What does that mean?” Probably that my soul had been stripped from me if I took the words literally.
“It means you’re a slave and you’ll spend the rest of eternity here in Coldharbour, working under the lash of the Daedra.” A hint of impatience showed in Lyris’s voice. “Unless of course, you come with me.”
“Are you dead, too?” She didn’t seem to be, but then, I probably didn’t either, at a glance.
“No, I wasn’t sacrificed. The Prophet and I were brought here…. Conventionally, if that makes any sense. But we’re prisoners here, same as you.”
“So how can we rescue the Prophet?” I asked, turning back to the matter at hand now that it seemed I had exhausted Lyris’s knowledge, and possibly her patience, too.
“It won’t be easy. The place is watched by magical constructs called Sentinels. We won’t stand a chance unless we can blind them. I’ll tell you more when we get there. And we’ll never get there if we don’t get moving.”
I nodded my agreement, and we made our way through the next door, into what seemed to be a forge of sorts, just as a huge Dremora threw a man several yards through empty air, screaming, to be impaled onto spikes taller than I was. Horrified, I fired arrow after arrow, moving obliquely to keep a clean shot as Lyris rushed forward, her axe aloft. We made short work of him, but I was guilt stricken. If I hadn’t delayed us, hadn’t needed so many questions answered, we may have been in time to save the poor wretch on the spikes from his terrible fate.
“Well played friend!” Lyris must have seen some of my self-recrimination, and she was making an effort to lift my spirits. “Arkay’s beard, you’re good in a fight!”
I attempted a smile in response, and as we headed for the far passageway, the Prophet’s disembodied voice startled me.
“The God of Brutality knows of your escape. Hurry!”
We picked up our pace, pushing through the next door so quickly I almost tripped.
The chamber beyond was vast, the ceiling far above us, with jagged outcroppings thrusting up from the ground. I stared in awe, wondering how we would find anything in so large a space. But wait, 'the Towers of Eyes' Lyris had said. That must mean the highest points. I quickly scanned the chamber for stairs or a ramp leading up one of the outcroppings, and decided to head for the closest, hoping there might be some hidden behind its bulk.
“The God of Schemes can see every part of Coldharbour.” Lyris cautioned me. “We need to distract him.”
Thankfully a path appeared to our left, and we raced up the slope, killing any Dremora we saw before they could raise an alarm. The Soul Shriven here were mindless, shuffling, practically corpses, other than a few aggressively feral ones who attacked if we strayed too close. Killing them felt like a mercy.
Off to our right, a narrow stone walkway curved into midair, leading up towards what I fervently hoped to be one of the Towers we sought.
“Try to be inconspicuous.” Lyris murmured. “We just got free of this place. The last thing we need is to get recaptured.”
Considering our options, I dropped to a crouch, slowing my approach to the summit, moving as silently as I could.
Lyris nodded in approval and halted just short of the top. “I’ll keep watch.” She whispered, and I moved forward, trusting her to guard our escape from anything following us. Peering over the edge of the walkway, I found a small plateau ringed by jagged stone, with what could only be described as a disembodied, enormous eye, glowing with blue, suspended under an archway. Its gaze swept back and forth as it spun in place, and I froze.
You can’t see me, I thought as hard as I could, look away, look away. As if it had heard me, the eye spun away, and I rushed silently forward, dagger drawn, and stabbed it from behind. It froze, darkening, before dissolving into nothingness, and I turned and fled back to Lyris.
“Quickly!” She urged me, “We must get to the Prophet’s Cell!”
We raced back down the walkway and onto solid ground, then through a shallow, glowing stream and into the middle of the chamber. Before us was an ornate gateway, and I paused near it, wondering if I was going the right way.
Suddenly blue flames erupted over the gate, then settled into the pattern of an arcane ward, locking us out. “Fool!” thundered a deep voice, “You will never escape my realm!”
“Herma-Mora’s wagging tongue!” Lyris swore, “The door’s warded. We’ll never get in this way.”
I turned to face her, to see that she was beyond frustrated. “Damn it!” she continued, “Destroying the Sentinel must have triggered these wards. We’ll need to find another way in.”
I sighed at this, hoping Lyris had something more up her sleeve, and was rewarded when her expression turned thoughtful. “Hmm. Maybe Cadwell can help us.”
“Who’s Cadwell?” I asked, wondering if finding them would prove any easier than our current task.
“Cadwell is the oldest of the Soul Shriven.” Lyris explained, almost fondly. “After years of torment, Soul Shriven usually go insane and turn feral, but not Cadwell. He was already insane before he left Tamriel. Mad as a box of frogs, but completely harmless. You’ll see.”
“How can a madman possibly help us?” I decided not to pursue my possible fate of insanity by concentrating on the here and now instead.
“Cadwell sees things as he wishes them to be. To him, Coldharbour is a wondrous place. It’s his home. And he knows it like the back of his hand. He’s usually down by the river. Let’s go find him.”
I nodded my agreement, and Lyris led me to a campfire where one of the prisoners sat, playing a lute and singing a rather nonsensical song. He had the milky eyes and gaunt features many of the other prisoners shared, but unlike them he seemed sprightly, animated, although possessing an odd choice of headwear….
“Hello, what’s this? Out for a stroll, then?” He greeted us. “Lovely day for it.”
“You must be Cadwell.” I ventured, bemused, as the pot on his head slipped further over one of his eyes.
“Sir Cadwell, yes indeed.” He corrected. “A pleasure! And fair Lyris! Good to see you m’dear! How are you, then?”
“We’re trying to get inside the Prophet’s Cell.” I interrupted. “The door is sealed.”
“Oh dear, oh dear.” The odd man hid his face behind his lute in alarm. “Well, that is inconvenient, isn’t it?” Lowering his lute, he brightened a little, continuing. “Tell you what – I happen to know another way in! Much more of a scenic route. Rather a fun little jaunt, actually. Full of traps, and corpses, and nasty beasties filling up the bits in between.”
I stared at him, bemused. “How do we get through all of that?” I asked, wondering just how bizarre his response would be.
“Rather cautiously, I expect.” Was his reply. “Watch your step, hold your nose, and do mind the traps. There’ll likely as not be a fair dose of running and skull-bashing as well.” Well, I had asked….
“Where’s the entrance?” I thought to check.
“Follow the river.” Cadwell advised us. “You’ll find the door to the Undercroft at the water’s end. Once you’re inside, stick to the light and you’ll find a ladder that will take you right up to the Prophet, straightaway. Do give him my best!”
“Thanks.” I offered drily.
“Best of luck.” His white eyes seemed to twinkle merrily. “Do check in now and again, won’t you?”
Not if it means coming back here, if I can help it! I thought to myself, then realised that was rather ungracious of me. “Tell me about yourself, Sir Cadwell.” I invited him, wondering how much like this odd fellow I might yet find myself becoming in time.
“Well, there’s not much to tell, is there?” How could someone sound so delighted and self-deprecating at the same time? “It’s the same old pish-tosh.” He continued. “Gallant knight, epic quests, rescued maidens. I came to this land when my head was quite unceremoniously separated from my body. Bad luck that, but you make the best of things.”
“How long have you been here?” I encouraged him.
“Oh, quite a long time.” He mused. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was the oldest of the Soul Shriven. Of those who didn’t go feral, that is.” I supressed a shudder, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I know every tunnel and path, every nook and cranny. The others look up to me, I suppose.”
I glanced at the other Soul Shriven nearby, remembering that one had been pressing his hands to his ears as we approached, clearly not a fan of Sir Cadwell’s singing. But there were several nearby, little more than shuffling corpses, milky eyed, silent. How long does it take to become like that?
“How do you know Lyris?” I changed the subject.
“Ah, Lyris. Girl’s as mad as Sheogorath’s jammies.” I blinked at that. Pot, kettle? “Heart’s in the right place, I suppose. Says she’s going to rescue the Prophet to save us all from eternal torment. How an old blind man could do that is quite beyond me!” I had my own doubts, but considering my other options for escape were exactly nil right then, I deemed it prudent not to mention them.
“How do you know the Prophet?” I asked.
“An Imperial gentleman.” News, but not relevant. “Apparently he was once a powerful mage, but the years haven’t been kind. Lyris says he knows of a path back to Tamriel. I rather think that if one existed, I’d have found it by now.” Sir Cadwell sounded a little miffed at this.
“You don’t think there’s a way to get home?” I asked, my silent heart sinking.
“I hadn’t actually given it much thought. Anything’s possible, I suppose.” And he sounded distinctly disinterested in that possibility. “Truth is, I’ve been here so long, this place feels like home. But a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, so where’s the harm, eh?”
Lyris was right, I decided, Sir Cadwell was most definitely insane.
Thanking him, we bade our farewells and followed the river towards the Undercroft, Lyris muttering her misgivings as we ran; “Cadwell seems to think this Undercroft is a delightful place. That probably means it’s a death trap. We’d better be careful.”
Finding a locked door barring our way, Lyris shrugged at me as though to say her axe wouldn’t be of much use on its less exposed mechanism, and I dug through the pockets of my pilfered armour in hopes of a key. What I found instead was a handful of lockpicks, and I was glad of the extras as my clumsy attempts broke more than one.
“The sooner you get that door open, the sooner we can get out of here!” Lyris urged me, and I clenched my teeth, hardly daring to breath as the final tumbler clicked into place. Whatever secrets my past held, I doubted picking locks had been a frequent past-time.
Through the door, the Undercroft was a twisting tunnel complicated by dead ends, littered with corpses, glowing puddles, and spurts of blue flames interrupting our progress. Stick to the light? Which light? My indecision was interrupted by yet another skeleton attacking us, and after it was defeated, Lyris bellowed out a challenge.
“Come get some more, you skeeving Horkers!” she shouted, and I winced her volume. Deciding to follow the burning torches as the only things emitting light that didn’t glow blue, and finally reaching the ladder Sir Cadwell had promised us, I followed Lyris into a much larger room than I had expected.
“The Prophet’s cage should be just ahead. Quickly now! We haven’t much time.” She urged, racing ahead. In the centre of the room was a strange arrangement of glowing sigils and blue-flamed candles, and hovering above them was the Prophet, suspended in an orb of swirling dark blue.
Coming to a halt, Lyris examined everything. “All right.” She announced. “The good news is, we made it here in one piece and the Prophet looks unharmed.”
Surely nothing could be worse than what we’ve already faced to get here. I thought privately.
“Now the bad news.” Lyris continued, and I wished I hadn’t tempted fate as she spoke. “It’s going to be up to you to keep him safe and get him back to Tamriel. I’m not going with you.”
Wait, what?
“There’s a trick to opening the Cell.” Lyris turned to face me as she explained. “The only way for a prisoner to leave is for another living soul to take their place. I need to swap places with the Prophet.”
“There’s no other way?” I asked, horrified by the thought of leaving her here.
“Believe me, I wish there was.” She said ruefully. “But… I don’t see anyone else here with a beating heart, do you? If Molag Bal isn’t stopped he’ll destroy everyone and everything we’ve ever loved.”
I couldn’t remember having loved anyone, I couldn’t remember anyone but her at all, but what she said, the conviction with which she said it, convinced me she felt her sacrifice worth the possibility of preventing something catastrophic from happening.
“I’m ready when you are.” I offered, hoping she could hear in my voice the respect I felt for her bravery, the regret our lack of options caused me.
“Once it’s done get moving,” she advised. “The Prophet will know where to go, but he’ll need your eyes, and your protection.”
At my nod, Lyris stepped onto the glowing sigils, and was lifted into the air. I couldn’t keep watching her as several Dremora arrived and I drew to my daggers, slicing as I stepped nimbly between and past them, turning and twisting in a dance of death that my body was finding itself unexpectedly fluent in.
From the corner of my eye, I could see glowing strands weaving between Lyris and two angular pinions, before they snapped open to reveal smaller versions of the orb which held the Prophet. Trying to block out Lyris’s cries of pain I closed each of the pinions and the light filled her, before dragging her towards the orblike Cell as the Prophet was expelled through her somehow to fall to the floor before me.
“Freedom!” He exulted, “I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting though, if Molag Bal has his way.” Straightening and brushing himself off, the Prophet somehow turned to face me despite my silence.
“Thank the Divines, you are safe!” He continued. “There is that, at least. Lyris sacrificed everything, that we might go free. Her sacrifice must not be in vain.”
As he spoke, I stared up at Lyris floating in the swirling orb, her expression stoic, almost blank, before turning back to him. “Can we find a way to take her with us?” I asked, hardly daring to hope.
“I wish that were possible.” The Prophet’s voice was pained. “But I promise you, once we escape Coldharbour we will find a way to rescue her together, Vestige.” He vowed.
“Vestige?” I queried, remembering he had called me that earlier, too.
“That is the name I have given you.” I considered that reasonable, given that I couldn’t remember any other name I might use instead. “You are but a trace of your former self. A soulless one. An empty vessel that longs to be filled. It is as the Scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined.”
“Why does Lyris call you the Prophet?” I asked, wondering what the Scrolls were, and why he mentioned them with such…. reverence?
“That is what I have come to be called. My true name is lost- even to me.” At this I felt an odd kinship with him. “Years of torment have taken their toll. Quickly now, we must make haste to the Anchor!”
“Anchor?” I repeated, wondering what a ship might be doing in these tunnels, even if this place was named Coldharbour, it didn’t seem very nautical. So, I have some experience with sailing, perhaps? I wondered as the terms sprang to mind unexpectedly.
“The Anchors are Daedric machines of the darkest magic.” He explained. “Their chains bind our world and pull it towards Coldharbour. I can use one of these Anchors to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it.”
“Alright.” I agreed. “Stay close then.”
“Up the stairs, quickly!” The Prophet instructed, turning and moving faster than any blind man should be able to. “We must get to the Anchor mooring!”
Following the Prophet to the stairs, I led the way up out of the Cell’s chamber and along a passageway, praying silently to whichever Divines might be listening that we could by some miracle navigate a safe route through Daedra-knew-where to find Daedra-knew-what. Upon reaching a door I was surprised by the vast chamber we entered. Massive gears turned in place around some esoteric pattern of raised circles and glowing sigils in the floor, with a ring suspended above stairs leading to midair above a chasm, secured by barbed chains, each link larger than my torso.
“There it is! The Dark Anchor Mooring!” Is this man really blind? I wondered. He seems to see fairly well…. and no, not a ship to be found after all.
Breaking into a run, we crossed the space only to be halted by an eruption of blue flames from the chasm and the roaring apparition of Molag Bal himself, eyes and gaping maw glowing with the blue of stolen souls.
“The mortal thinks it can defy me? Futile! Soon your world will be in my chains.” With that the God of Brutality faded from view, summoning an enormous skeletal construct to prevent our escape. The bones seemed held together by those blue flames alone.
“Come, I will protect you!” The Prophet promised, and I began firing arrows as quickly as I could before the monstrous skeleton closed the distance, switching to my daggers as it drew too near to fire upon safely. Twisting and ducking, I drew the hideous summons away from the Prophet, surprised by the blind man’s accuracy as he shot glowing bursts at our foe until our attacks finally caused it to crumple, defeated, in a pile of bones.
“A moment, Vestige.” Snatching up an amulet from the remains, I approached the Prophet, who appeared unharmed. “The Dark Anchor’s portal is high above us.” He explained, “I will prepare a spell to lift us to it. But first, you must re-attune yourself to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard.”
“A skyshard?” I repeated, unsure what he meant. I could be alive again?
“A shard of Aetherial magicka that carries the essence of Nirn. Some link them to Lorkhan, the missing God of Creation. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form. I will summon one of these shards for you to absorb.”
“I’m ready.” I couldn’t adequately express how anxious I was to be gone from here.
With this the Prophet turned towards the chasm, raising his face and staff upwards. “Shard of Aetherius, fall upon us now, and anoint us with your blessing.” A blue glow suffused him, and a large crystal, shining with a pure, clean blue light, appeared in the centre of the nearby glyphs. “There, quickly! Collect the skyshard!” The Prophet exclaimed, and I stepped up to the skyshard obediently, before pausing in uncertainty as to what I should do. Pick it up?
But the crystal seemed to understand my hesitation, suffusing me in its glow and holding me aloft as I seemed to somehow absorb its light, until I dropped with a cry back to my feet to find it gone. The Prophet had wasted no time, stepping up to the base of the stairs, he thrust his staff aloft.
“Great Akatosh, Dragon-God of time, I require your strength.” He entreated, lowering the staff and tracing glowing patterns with his other hand. “Let the way be opened. Let these wandering souls return home, let the will of Molag Bal be denied!”
A blinding light emanated from the Prophet, and I shielded my eyes until it faded.
“Hurry!” The Prophet called as he ran up the stairs, “We must go now!” Fearlessly the blind man leapt into the void, but instead of falling he hovered briefly before rising into the air. Following him I, too, was swept upwards, through the series of inert rings to the active portal ring above them, and into Akatosh’s blinding light.
I must have lost consciousness, as the next thing I knew I found myself waking on the floor of a ship’s forward hold, a glowing projection of the Prophet nearby.
“The Vestige awakens, once again.” He observed. “Come here, we must speak.”
Rising, I approached his ghostly form.
“As I feared, we arrived in different locations.” He greeted me. “I am in a city of industry, where men speak of intrigues and plots beneath layers of innuendo and pleasantry. It matters not. You have awakened once again and we must set you on your path.”
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked.
“Days? Weeks? I cannot tell. The voyage between worlds disrupted all sense of time and space.” He shrugged as if to dismiss this as unimportant. “I know only that you were deposited into the sea, and some charitable soul fished you out and brought you to dry land.”
“What should I do now?” I asked, blanching at how close to death I had come once again, and wondering where I would have found myself if I had drowned. Or perhaps I had? I had already died, then been reformed, so what would death now mean for me, if I wasn’t truly alive? I touched my neck to find my pulse as absent as ever.
“I’m afraid you will have to decide that for yourself.” The Prophet’s apology cut through my musings. “I must focus on searching for a way to repay Lyris’s bold sacrifice. I cannot simply abandon her to the wrath of Molag Bal.”
This I had no trouble agreeing with, and yet… I felt a responsibility to help in some way. “When will I see you again?” Somehow, I didn’t feel that our time had come to part ways, despite our current separation.
“I cannot foresee that. But we will meet again.” His promise eased any lingering doubts I had. “There is still much we need to accomplish. Be wary, Vestige.” The Prophet continued. “Our very plane of existence is in peril. The threat of Molag Bal looms across all Tamriel, and chaos spreads in its shadow. Danger roams the land and will assume many forms. Do not let it catch you off-guard.”
“Where should I go?” I wondered aloud, feeling completely adrift, without anything familiar left to me except this blind old man.
“You must find your own path.” He told me, still refusing to offer a directive. “But perhaps there is a reason for the place in which you find yourself. Explore. Search for a cause to lend your hand. Join with others. You might even seek out those who rescued you from the sea. The choice is yours.”
Finally, a glimmer of a path forward took shape in my mind. “You think there are many who need my help?” I asked, unsure what help I, with no memory of who I might be, could offer anyone.
“Indeed.” He assured me. “I sense that even now there are good people near you who face grave danger. They need your assistance should you be willing to give it. To thwart the will of Molag Bal, we must be willing to skirmish with evil wherever it rears its head.”
“And there are others who would join me in this?” I pressed, anxious for some sense of purpose, or belonging.
“We do not face these troubled times alone.” He promised me. “Many shall rise up to fight this tide of darkness. Wherever you go, you will encounter others who share your courage and valour. Help them if you can, and enlist their aid if you have need of it.”
With this we bid each other farewell, and squaring my shoulders, I walked through the open doorway without a backward glance.
Edited by ZOS_Kevin on November 7, 2024 11:09AM I'll include a few side quests and some random NPC dialogue where appropriate for giving perspective.
There will be spoilers for anyone who hasn't completed certain parts.
And as it's what I use day-to-day, there'll be some English spelling as well as American, so be prepared for a few extra letters.
Really, really nervous about this, but here goes....
Chapter One: Soul Shriven in Coldharbour
Gasping, disoriented, I jerked upright as I woke, vivid flashes of a dream or memory echoing through my mind. I sat on the bare stone floor for several moments, fingers splayed against the rough coldness before pressing them to my aching chest, where I could have sworn a strangely garbed Altmer had moments ago stabbed me.
Silent stillness greeted my hands, and I blinked in shock, frantically relocating them to my throat in a futile search for a pulse. Nothing but my harshly tearing breaths, and in the distance shouts and clashing weapons repeated a message of danger on the heels of my nightmare. Or was it?
Scrambling to my feet I looked around and found myself in a cell, alone except for a few bedrolls, several occupied by the pale bones of skeletons. I shuddered, turning away to stare at the flames of a small fire, and recalled the sound of flaming torches, of footsteps and chains, the feeling of a metal collar around my neck as I stumbled down a stairway, half dragged by the shackles on my wrists as the prisoner in front of me was jerked forward…. a strange red banner, behind the silhouette of a figure holding aloft a crystal in one hand as he stabbed down with the other, then green-blueish vapour rising into the crystal from his victim…. the many dark purple shards of crystal heaped everywhere…. a limp body being dragged from the stone altar before I was thrust in their place, arms pulled roughly apart keeping me prone…. whispering as shrouded figures prayed…. pale hair and cruel eyes, the flash of a blade – a monstrous face, dark, horned, eyes glowing blue as I was swept towards it -
I flinched in reflex, then tried to search further back in my mind, uneasiness spilling into alarm as I realised there was nothing to be seen, no memories prior to those glimpses of horror, nothing of myself, of family, of anything beyond darkness, pain and death. But was I dead? I decided I didn’t really want to know just yet.
A noise outside my cell, closer than the distant din of conflict, had me stumbling on a bedroll as I turned too quickly towards the source, and a tall blonde in rags similar to my own appeared on the other side of the jagged bars.
“Whoa there! Are you alright?” She queried as I steadied myself. “The name’s Lyris.” She continued, checking the bolt before she swung a huge axe at the lock on my door, sending sparks flying at the impact. “I hope you’ve still got some fight left in you. You’re going to need it.”
I hurried, more aware now of my footing, through the door to find Lyris already several feet away, near the body of a – wait, a Dremora? “Dead.” She confirmed. “Must have been the runt of the litter.”
My eyes kept straying to the odd features of the corpse’s face as I quickly stripped its body of weapons and armour, surprised by my familiarity with the leather jack and breeches, and bow. I grimaced at the too-large sabatons, hoping I’d find footwear soon, before jogging down the passageway after Lyris, unwilling to lose track of the one person in existence who I knew, even if only very briefly.
“Keep your weapon ready and stay sharp,” she advised as I caught up, amazed by how much taller than me she was. “This place is full of surprises.” No sooner had she spoken that another Dremora appeared, greatsword raised above its head to attack. I stepped aside for a better angle as Lyris parried with her axe, all too aware I needed to find another weapon for closer combat. A quick arrow to the neck staggered our opponent and Lyris finished it off. Several Dremora later I had acquired snug leather boots, a helmet, bracers, and a mismatched pair of daggers, and was feeling slightly less anxious about our chances of survival and escape. We passed other prisoners, some fighting, some fleeing, and a few pushing against a door which shuddered under the impact of a monstrous weight hitting the other side.
“Let’s get out of here, my friend,” Lyris urged me, spurred by their warning that more guards were approaching. As we stepped into the next room she stopped abruptly, staring at the glowing apparition of a hooded figure holding a staff. “The Prophet!” she exclaimed, and I paused, unsure whether this would mean further danger or bring assistance.
“Greetings, Vestige.” He seemed to be speaking to me but did not quite face either of us. “Like you I am a prisoner in this place. You must rescue me, and I in turn must rescue you.”
Lyris turned to me, her face shocked, as the Prophet’s image disappeared.
“Hold a moment.” She commanded, “Come here, we need to talk.” I took a few steps closer, curious. “The Prophet!” Lyris repeated. “He’s a prisoner here, too. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you, even for a moment. He must think you can help me.”
“Help you do what?” I asked.
“Break him out, of course!” Lyris shrugged, fidgeting as though impatient to get moving. “Believe me, I can use all the help I can get. That blind old man is the only person alive who can get us back home. Tamriel’s a long way from here.” Her words plunged through me, sinking my stomach as they did so, but again I shied away from the implications.
“Where do we go from here?” I asked to distract myself.
“These tunnels will eventually take us to the Towers of Eyes. That’s where we’ll find the Sentinels.”
“What are these Sentinels?” And why do I remember nothing, but recognise so many things once I hear of or encounter them? But I didn’t think Lyris could answer that.
“Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour. The Sentinels are connected. If we destroy one, the others will be blinded. With any luck, that will buy us the time we need to free the Prophet.”
“How can we destroy it?”
“I’ve no idea. Brute force? We’ll find a way. We have to. Be ready for anything. I doubt Molag Bal left the Sentinels unguarded.”
“I have so many questions.” I groaned, unsure where to begin.
“I’m sure you do.” Lyris, despite her urgency, seemed to understand my frustration. “And I’ll answer them as best I can.” She offered kindly.
“Who is the Prophet?” As good a start as any, I decided.
“He’s a strange one, no doubt about it, but he’s the wisest man I’ve ever met.” There were stories, layers of them, in Lyris’s eyes as she said this, as though she was reliving epic adventures. “He sees things. The past, the future.”
“What is this place? Where am I?” Although ‘Who am I?’ was a more urgent concern, I doubted Lyris would have that answer for me, either.
“You’re obviously not in Tamriel anymore.” Little did she realise I had no way of knowing that! “Think of the most miserable, depressing place you’ve ever been in your life. That’s paradise compared to Coldharbour. And to top it off, well… there’s no easy way to say it. You’re dead.”
“Then how are we having this conversation?” I asked, although I had already come to that conclusion.
“I don’t know.” Lyris admitted. “Once we rescue the Prophet, he can tell you about the Gods and the ways of Oblivion. I don’t understand any of it, myself.”
“If I’m dead, who killed me?” Memories of the cold-eyed Altmer standing over me, dagger raised, stirred, and I squashed them firmly.
“A man named Mannimarco. His Worm Cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. They sacrificed you and everyone in this prison, to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. After you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven.”
“What does that mean?” Probably that my soul had been stripped from me if I took the words literally.
“It means you’re a slave and you’ll spend the rest of eternity here in Coldharbour, working under the lash of the Daedra.” A hint of impatience showed in Lyris’s voice. “Unless of course, you come with me.”
“Are you dead, too?” She didn’t seem to be, but then, I probably didn’t either, at a glance.
“No, I wasn’t sacrificed. The Prophet and I were brought here…. Conventionally, if that makes any sense. But we’re prisoners here, same as you.”
“So how can we rescue the Prophet?” I asked, turning back to the matter at hand now that it seemed I had exhausted Lyris’s knowledge, and possibly her patience, too.
“It won’t be easy. The place is watched by magical constructs called Sentinels. We won’t stand a chance unless we can blind them. I’ll tell you more when we get there. And we’ll never get there if we don’t get moving.”
I nodded my agreement, and we made our way through the next door, into what seemed to be a forge of sorts, just as a huge Dremora threw a man several yards through empty air, screaming, to be impaled onto spikes taller than I was. Horrified, I fired arrow after arrow, moving obliquely to keep a clean shot as Lyris rushed forward, her axe aloft. We made short work of him, but I was guilt stricken. If I hadn’t delayed us, hadn’t needed so many questions answered, we may have been in time to save the poor wretch on the spikes from his terrible fate.
“Well played friend!” Lyris must have seen some of my self-recrimination, and she was making an effort to lift my spirits. “Arkay’s beard, you’re good in a fight!”
I attempted a smile in response, and as we headed for the far passageway, the Prophet’s disembodied voice startled me.
“The God of Brutality knows of your escape. Hurry!”
We picked up our pace, pushing through the next door so quickly I almost tripped.
The chamber beyond was vast, the ceiling far above us, with jagged outcroppings thrusting up from the ground. I stared in awe, wondering how we would find anything in so large a space. But wait, 'the Towers of Eyes' Lyris had said. That must mean the highest points. I quickly scanned the chamber for stairs or a ramp leading up one of the outcroppings, and decided to head for the closest, hoping there might be some hidden behind its bulk.
“The God of Schemes can see every part of Coldharbour.” Lyris cautioned me. “We need to distract him.”
Thankfully a path appeared to our left, and we raced up the slope, killing any Dremora we saw before they could raise an alarm. The Soul Shriven here were mindless, shuffling, practically corpses, other than a few aggressively feral ones who attacked if we strayed too close. Killing them felt like a mercy.
Off to our right, a narrow stone walkway curved into midair, leading up towards what I fervently hoped to be one of the Towers we sought.
“Try to be inconspicuous.” Lyris murmured. “We just got free of this place. The last thing we need is to get recaptured.”
Considering our options, I dropped to a crouch, slowing my approach to the summit, moving as silently as I could.
Lyris nodded in approval and halted just short of the top. “I’ll keep watch.” She whispered, and I moved forward, trusting her to guard our escape from anything following us. Peering over the edge of the walkway, I found a small plateau ringed by jagged stone, with what could only be described as a disembodied, enormous eye, glowing with blue, suspended under an archway. Its gaze swept back and forth as it spun in place, and I froze.
You can’t see me, I thought as hard as I could, look away, look away. As if it had heard me, the eye spun away, and I rushed silently forward, dagger drawn, and stabbed it from behind. It froze, darkening, before dissolving into nothingness, and I turned and fled back to Lyris.
“Quickly!” She urged me, “We must get to the Prophet’s Cell!”
We raced back down the walkway and onto solid ground, then through a shallow, glowing stream and into the middle of the chamber. Before us was an ornate gateway, and I paused near it, wondering if I was going the right way.
Suddenly blue flames erupted over the gate, then settled into the pattern of an arcane ward, locking us out. “Fool!” thundered a deep voice, “You will never escape my realm!”
“Herma-Mora’s wagging tongue!” Lyris swore, “The door’s warded. We’ll never get in this way.”
I turned to face her, to see that she was beyond frustrated. “Damn it!” she continued, “Destroying the Sentinel must have triggered these wards. We’ll need to find another way in.”
I sighed at this, hoping Lyris had something more up her sleeve, and was rewarded when her expression turned thoughtful. “Hmm. Maybe Cadwell can help us.”
“Who’s Cadwell?” I asked, wondering if finding them would prove any easier than our current task.
“Cadwell is the oldest of the Soul Shriven.” Lyris explained, almost fondly. “After years of torment, Soul Shriven usually go insane and turn feral, but not Cadwell. He was already insane before he left Tamriel. Mad as a box of frogs, but completely harmless. You’ll see.”
“How can a madman possibly help us?” I decided not to pursue my possible fate of insanity by concentrating on the here and now instead.
“Cadwell sees things as he wishes them to be. To him, Coldharbour is a wondrous place. It’s his home. And he knows it like the back of his hand. He’s usually down by the river. Let’s go find him.”
I nodded my agreement, and Lyris led me to a campfire where one of the prisoners sat, playing a lute and singing a rather nonsensical song. He had the milky eyes and gaunt features many of the other prisoners shared, but unlike them he seemed sprightly, animated, although possessing an odd choice of headwear….
“Hello, what’s this? Out for a stroll, then?” He greeted us. “Lovely day for it.”
“You must be Cadwell.” I ventured, bemused, as the pot on his head slipped further over one of his eyes.
“Sir Cadwell, yes indeed.” He corrected. “A pleasure! And fair Lyris! Good to see you m’dear! How are you, then?”
“We’re trying to get inside the Prophet’s Cell.” I interrupted. “The door is sealed.”
“Oh dear, oh dear.” The odd man hid his face behind his lute in alarm. “Well, that is inconvenient, isn’t it?” Lowering his lute, he brightened a little, continuing. “Tell you what – I happen to know another way in! Much more of a scenic route. Rather a fun little jaunt, actually. Full of traps, and corpses, and nasty beasties filling up the bits in between.”
I stared at him, bemused. “How do we get through all of that?” I asked, wondering just how bizarre his response would be.
“Rather cautiously, I expect.” Was his reply. “Watch your step, hold your nose, and do mind the traps. There’ll likely as not be a fair dose of running and skull-bashing as well.” Well, I had asked….
“Where’s the entrance?” I thought to check.
“Follow the river.” Cadwell advised us. “You’ll find the door to the Undercroft at the water’s end. Once you’re inside, stick to the light and you’ll find a ladder that will take you right up to the Prophet, straightaway. Do give him my best!”
“Thanks.” I offered drily.
“Best of luck.” His white eyes seemed to twinkle merrily. “Do check in now and again, won’t you?”
Not if it means coming back here, if I can help it! I thought to myself, then realised that was rather ungracious of me. “Tell me about yourself, Sir Cadwell.” I invited him, wondering how much like this odd fellow I might yet find myself becoming in time.
“Well, there’s not much to tell, is there?” How could someone sound so delighted and self-deprecating at the same time? “It’s the same old pish-tosh.” He continued. “Gallant knight, epic quests, rescued maidens. I came to this land when my head was quite unceremoniously separated from my body. Bad luck that, but you make the best of things.”
“How long have you been here?” I encouraged him.
“Oh, quite a long time.” He mused. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was the oldest of the Soul Shriven. Of those who didn’t go feral, that is.” I supressed a shudder, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I know every tunnel and path, every nook and cranny. The others look up to me, I suppose.”
I glanced at the other Soul Shriven nearby, remembering that one had been pressing his hands to his ears as we approached, clearly not a fan of Sir Cadwell’s singing. But there were several nearby, little more than shuffling corpses, milky eyed, silent. How long does it take to become like that?
“How do you know Lyris?” I changed the subject.
“Ah, Lyris. Girl’s as mad as Sheogorath’s jammies.” I blinked at that. Pot, kettle? “Heart’s in the right place, I suppose. Says she’s going to rescue the Prophet to save us all from eternal torment. How an old blind man could do that is quite beyond me!” I had my own doubts, but considering my other options for escape were exactly nil right then, I deemed it prudent not to mention them.
“How do you know the Prophet?” I asked.
“An Imperial gentleman.” News, but not relevant. “Apparently he was once a powerful mage, but the years haven’t been kind. Lyris says he knows of a path back to Tamriel. I rather think that if one existed, I’d have found it by now.” Sir Cadwell sounded a little miffed at this.
“You don’t think there’s a way to get home?” I asked, my silent heart sinking.
“I hadn’t actually given it much thought. Anything’s possible, I suppose.” And he sounded distinctly disinterested in that possibility. “Truth is, I’ve been here so long, this place feels like home. But a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, so where’s the harm, eh?”
Lyris was right, I decided, Sir Cadwell was most definitely insane.
Thanking him, we bade our farewells and followed the river towards the Undercroft, Lyris muttering her misgivings as we ran; “Cadwell seems to think this Undercroft is a delightful place. That probably means it’s a death trap. We’d better be careful.”
Finding a locked door barring our way, Lyris shrugged at me as though to say her axe wouldn’t be of much use on its less exposed mechanism, and I dug through the pockets of my pilfered armour in hopes of a key. What I found instead was a handful of lockpicks, and I was glad of the extras as my clumsy attempts broke more than one.
“The sooner you get that door open, the sooner we can get out of here!” Lyris urged me, and I clenched my teeth, hardly daring to breath as the final tumbler clicked into place. Whatever secrets my past held, I doubted picking locks had been a frequent past-time.
Through the door, the Undercroft was a twisting tunnel complicated by dead ends, littered with corpses, glowing puddles, and spurts of blue flames interrupting our progress. Stick to the light? Which light? My indecision was interrupted by yet another skeleton attacking us, and after it was defeated, Lyris bellowed out a challenge.
“Come get some more, you skeeving Horkers!” she shouted, and I winced her volume. Deciding to follow the burning torches as the only things emitting light that didn’t glow blue, and finally reaching the ladder Sir Cadwell had promised us, I followed Lyris into a much larger room than I had expected.
“The Prophet’s cage should be just ahead. Quickly now! We haven’t much time.” She urged, racing ahead. In the centre of the room was a strange arrangement of glowing sigils and blue-flamed candles, and hovering above them was the Prophet, suspended in an orb of swirling dark blue.
Coming to a halt, Lyris examined everything. “All right.” She announced. “The good news is, we made it here in one piece and the Prophet looks unharmed.”
Surely nothing could be worse than what we’ve already faced to get here. I thought privately.
“Now the bad news.” Lyris continued, and I wished I hadn’t tempted fate as she spoke. “It’s going to be up to you to keep him safe and get him back to Tamriel. I’m not going with you.”
Wait, what?
“There’s a trick to opening the Cell.” Lyris turned to face me as she explained. “The only way for a prisoner to leave is for another living soul to take their place. I need to swap places with the Prophet.”
“There’s no other way?” I asked, horrified by the thought of leaving her here.
“Believe me, I wish there was.” She said ruefully. “But… I don’t see anyone else here with a beating heart, do you? If Molag Bal isn’t stopped he’ll destroy everyone and everything we’ve ever loved.”
I couldn’t remember having loved anyone, I couldn’t remember anyone but her at all, but what she said, the conviction with which she said it, convinced me she felt her sacrifice worth the possibility of preventing something catastrophic from happening.
“I’m ready when you are.” I offered, hoping she could hear in my voice the respect I felt for her bravery, the regret our lack of options caused me.
“Once it’s done get moving,” she advised. “The Prophet will know where to go, but he’ll need your eyes, and your protection.”
At my nod, Lyris stepped onto the glowing sigils, and was lifted into the air. I couldn’t keep watching her as several Dremora arrived and I drew to my daggers, slicing as I stepped nimbly between and past them, turning and twisting in a dance of death that my body was finding itself unexpectedly fluent in.
From the corner of my eye, I could see glowing strands weaving between Lyris and two angular pinions, before they snapped open to reveal smaller versions of the orb which held the Prophet. Trying to block out Lyris’s cries of pain I closed each of the pinions and the light filled her, before dragging her towards the orblike Cell as the Prophet was expelled through her somehow to fall to the floor before me.
“Freedom!” He exulted, “I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting though, if Molag Bal has his way.” Straightening and brushing himself off, the Prophet somehow turned to face me despite my silence.
“Thank the Divines, you are safe!” He continued. “There is that, at least. Lyris sacrificed everything, that we might go free. Her sacrifice must not be in vain.”
As he spoke, I stared up at Lyris floating in the swirling orb, her expression stoic, almost blank, before turning back to him. “Can we find a way to take her with us?” I asked, hardly daring to hope.
“I wish that were possible.” The Prophet’s voice was pained. “But I promise you, once we escape Coldharbour we will find a way to rescue her together, Vestige.” He vowed.
“Vestige?” I queried, remembering he had called me that earlier, too.
“That is the name I have given you.” I considered that reasonable, given that I couldn’t remember any other name I might use instead. “You are but a trace of your former self. A soulless one. An empty vessel that longs to be filled. It is as the Scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined.”
“Why does Lyris call you the Prophet?” I asked, wondering what the Scrolls were, and why he mentioned them with such…. reverence?
“That is what I have come to be called. My true name is lost- even to me.” At this I felt an odd kinship with him. “Years of torment have taken their toll. Quickly now, we must make haste to the Anchor!”
“Anchor?” I repeated, wondering what a ship might be doing in these tunnels, even if this place was named Coldharbour, it didn’t seem very nautical. So, I have some experience with sailing, perhaps? I wondered as the terms sprang to mind unexpectedly.
“The Anchors are Daedric machines of the darkest magic.” He explained. “Their chains bind our world and pull it towards Coldharbour. I can use one of these Anchors to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it.”
“Alright.” I agreed. “Stay close then.”
“Up the stairs, quickly!” The Prophet instructed, turning and moving faster than any blind man should be able to. “We must get to the Anchor mooring!”
Following the Prophet to the stairs, I led the way up out of the Cell’s chamber and along a passageway, praying silently to whichever Divines might be listening that we could by some miracle navigate a safe route through Daedra-knew-where to find Daedra-knew-what. Upon reaching a door I was surprised by the vast chamber we entered. Massive gears turned in place around some esoteric pattern of raised circles and glowing sigils in the floor, with a ring suspended above stairs leading to midair above a chasm, secured by barbed chains, each link larger than my torso.
“There it is! The Dark Anchor Mooring!” Is this man really blind? I wondered. He seems to see fairly well…. and no, not a ship to be found after all.
Breaking into a run, we crossed the space only to be halted by an eruption of blue flames from the chasm and the roaring apparition of Molag Bal himself, eyes and gaping maw glowing with the blue of stolen souls.
“The mortal thinks it can defy me? Futile! Soon your world will be in my chains.” With that the God of Brutality faded from view, summoning an enormous skeletal construct to prevent our escape. The bones seemed held together by those blue flames alone.
“Come, I will protect you!” The Prophet promised, and I began firing arrows as quickly as I could before the monstrous skeleton closed the distance, switching to my daggers as it drew too near to fire upon safely. Twisting and ducking, I drew the hideous summons away from the Prophet, surprised by the blind man’s accuracy as he shot glowing bursts at our foe until our attacks finally caused it to crumple, defeated, in a pile of bones.
“A moment, Vestige.” Snatching up an amulet from the remains, I approached the Prophet, who appeared unharmed. “The Dark Anchor’s portal is high above us.” He explained, “I will prepare a spell to lift us to it. But first, you must re-attune yourself to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard.”
“A skyshard?” I repeated, unsure what he meant. I could be alive again?
“A shard of Aetherial magicka that carries the essence of Nirn. Some link them to Lorkhan, the missing God of Creation. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form. I will summon one of these shards for you to absorb.”
“I’m ready.” I couldn’t adequately express how anxious I was to be gone from here.
With this the Prophet turned towards the chasm, raising his face and staff upwards. “Shard of Aetherius, fall upon us now, and anoint us with your blessing.” A blue glow suffused him, and a large crystal, shining with a pure, clean blue light, appeared in the centre of the nearby glyphs. “There, quickly! Collect the skyshard!” The Prophet exclaimed, and I stepped up to the skyshard obediently, before pausing in uncertainty as to what I should do. Pick it up?
But the crystal seemed to understand my hesitation, suffusing me in its glow and holding me aloft as I seemed to somehow absorb its light, until I dropped with a cry back to my feet to find it gone. The Prophet had wasted no time, stepping up to the base of the stairs, he thrust his staff aloft.
“Great Akatosh, Dragon-God of time, I require your strength.” He entreated, lowering the staff and tracing glowing patterns with his other hand. “Let the way be opened. Let these wandering souls return home, let the will of Molag Bal be denied!”
A blinding light emanated from the Prophet, and I shielded my eyes until it faded.
“Hurry!” The Prophet called as he ran up the stairs, “We must go now!” Fearlessly the blind man leapt into the void, but instead of falling he hovered briefly before rising into the air. Following him I, too, was swept upwards, through the series of inert rings to the active portal ring above them, and into Akatosh’s blinding light.
I must have lost consciousness, as the next thing I knew I found myself waking on the floor of a ship’s forward hold, a glowing projection of the Prophet nearby.
“The Vestige awakens, once again.” He observed. “Come here, we must speak.”
Rising, I approached his ghostly form.
“As I feared, we arrived in different locations.” He greeted me. “I am in a city of industry, where men speak of intrigues and plots beneath layers of innuendo and pleasantry. It matters not. You have awakened once again and we must set you on your path.”
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked.
“Days? Weeks? I cannot tell. The voyage between worlds disrupted all sense of time and space.” He shrugged as if to dismiss this as unimportant. “I know only that you were deposited into the sea, and some charitable soul fished you out and brought you to dry land.”
“What should I do now?” I asked, blanching at how close to death I had come once again, and wondering where I would have found myself if I had drowned. Or perhaps I had? I had already died, then been reformed, so what would death now mean for me, if I wasn’t truly alive? I touched my neck to find my pulse as absent as ever.
“I’m afraid you will have to decide that for yourself.” The Prophet’s apology cut through my musings. “I must focus on searching for a way to repay Lyris’s bold sacrifice. I cannot simply abandon her to the wrath of Molag Bal.”
This I had no trouble agreeing with, and yet… I felt a responsibility to help in some way. “When will I see you again?” Somehow, I didn’t feel that our time had come to part ways, despite our current separation.
“I cannot foresee that. But we will meet again.” His promise eased any lingering doubts I had. “There is still much we need to accomplish. Be wary, Vestige.” The Prophet continued. “Our very plane of existence is in peril. The threat of Molag Bal looms across all Tamriel, and chaos spreads in its shadow. Danger roams the land and will assume many forms. Do not let it catch you off-guard.”
“Where should I go?” I wondered aloud, feeling completely adrift, without anything familiar left to me except this blind old man.
“You must find your own path.” He told me, still refusing to offer a directive. “But perhaps there is a reason for the place in which you find yourself. Explore. Search for a cause to lend your hand. Join with others. You might even seek out those who rescued you from the sea. The choice is yours.”
Finally, a glimmer of a path forward took shape in my mind. “You think there are many who need my help?” I asked, unsure what help I, with no memory of who I might be, could offer anyone.
“Indeed.” He assured me. “I sense that even now there are good people near you who face grave danger. They need your assistance should you be willing to give it. To thwart the will of Molag Bal, we must be willing to skirmish with evil wherever it rears its head.”
“And there are others who would join me in this?” I pressed, anxious for some sense of purpose, or belonging.
“We do not face these troubled times alone.” He promised me. “Many shall rise up to fight this tide of darkness. Wherever you go, you will encounter others who share your courage and valour. Help them if you can, and enlist their aid if you have need of it.”
With this we bid each other farewell, and squaring my shoulders, I walked through the open doorway without a backward glance.
2
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Chapter Two: Stros M’Kai (Part One)
As I made my way through the lower deck of the ship, an Argonian sailor caught my attention.
“The withered stalk flowers again.” She greeted me, and I wondered if I had drowned before being found in the ocean yet had somehow begun breathing again once retrieved. “It is good to see you, alive and well.”
“How did I get here?” I asked her.
“We found you floating in the water.” She replied. “I’d seen corpses with more life in them, but Captain Kaleen dove in and fished you out anyway.”
“So she rescued me herself…. Who is she?” I queried.
“The captain of this vessel.” I was informed. “She’s currently ashore, recruiting for our latest contract. You might want to pay your respects, seeing as she saved your life.”
“I’ll go do that.” I agreed. “Where am I, exactly?”
“You’re on the Spearhead, Captain Kaleen’s ship.” Not quite the information I was seeking, but I supposed it made no difference at this point which port we were docked in when I had no memory of Tamriel’s geography.
“Who are you?” I asked instead.
“I am one of Captain Kaleen’s few remaining loyal crewmembers.” She stated proudly, but again not giving me the answer I had intended to request. “The rest…. well, the less said of those bloody-minded mutineers, the better.” That might explain why the captain was ashore recruiting, I mused, and bidding the Argonian farewell, I made my way on deck.
How do you describe the sun, Magnus‘s blazing tear in the fabric between Mundus and Aetherius, to someone who has experienced only darkness, and the far dimmer fires of torches or blue burning souls? There had also been Akatosh’s blinding light, but it had not emitted any heat. I assumed I must have seen sunlight before, somewhere in my lost past, as I could recall the lore once given the cue, recognised the slightly darker skin on my arms and hands as being tanned from time spent under its rays. But as I stood there, eyes closed against the sudden glare to absorb its welcome warmth, I had nothing to compare the feeling to.
Eventually I became aware of sounds around me, picking out the creaking of the ship, screaming gulls, the bustle of a port city full of sailors on shore leave. I opened my eyes to take in a rocky harbour and sandy bay dotted with palms, arched walls and minarets gleaming golden in the sun’s light. Making my way down the boarding ramp, I followed the wooden boardwalk, scanning the people I passed for any sign of recognition as I passed them.
“I’m sick of this island, Kaleen.” I heard a woman saying and turned to follow the voice to its source. “I should be in Betnikh, visiting my people.” She continued. Approaching, I saw the speaker to be an Orc, standing with her arms crossed in front of a Redguard woman who sat on a settee beneath an awning, cradling a tankard.
“Think, Lambur!” She replied sarcastically, “How will we get there without a crew?”
As I drew closer, I saw her take a long draught from her drink. This was her idea of recruiting? Sitting around drinking under an awning on the docks, while bickering with one of her crew?
“Look at that Lambur!” She exclaimed, noticing my approach. “Our half-drowned friend is up and about.”
I glanced at Lambur, but she merely pointed me back to Kaleen. “Speak to the Captain.” She instructed me. “She’s the one who likes to talk.” I returned my attention to the Redguard on the settee, amused.
“We weren’t sure you’d make it.” Kaleen congratulated me.
“You saved me?” I asked her in reply.
“Really, I just fished you out of the water.” She demurred. “Master Kasan got you breathing again. The important thing is you’re alive.” So, I did drown, I thought wryly. Glad no-one noticed my lack of a pulse. “But if you’re feeling grateful…. I could use some help.” The captain finished.
“Help with what?” I asked curiously.
“A job.” Was the brief response, before she continued. “Anyone who helps is going to get rich. Right now I need a fresh face, someone this island’s butcher-in-charge, Headman Bhosek, doesn’t know and won’t stop. Basically, you recruit the folks I need, you get a cut of the take. Interested?”
“Alright.” I agreed, wondering if this was what the Prophet had had in mind, but feeling an obligation to assist her regardless. “I’ll help you.” Someone needs to, since you don’t seem inclined to do it yourself.
“The three folks I need are Crafty Lerisa, Jakarn and Neramo.” Kaleen listed. “Any or all of them would do.”
“I’d like to hear more about Neramo.” I asked, wondering where to start.
“Neramo’s nice enough for an Altmer, if you get past his Dwemer fixation.” She began. “Thing is, the relics he finds in Dwemer ruins sometimes come in very handy. He just might have a device we can use for our heist.”
“Tell me more about Crafty Lerissa.” Her name was intriguing, at least.
“She’s an old friend.” Kaleen explained. “Captain of the Maiden’s breath. She’s also a master of disguise. We can use that. The Sea Drakes used their lighthouse tricks to run her ship aground near Saintsport. Rescue her, and she might join us.”
“What about Jakarn?” I asked last.
“He’s a thief, but he’s the best there is. He’d be a big help in the heist I have planned. Problem is, he robbed Bhosek. Nobody robs Bhosek. He’s been tossed into the grave, under Bhosek’s palace.”
“I’ll look for Jakarn.” I promised. And the others. “How do I get to him?”
“There’s an entrance off the river, under the palace. Watch out for traps and the other prisoners. They’re all murderers down there, the worst scum on the island.” She cautioned me. “That’s the Grave. You can leave any time you want, if you can get out alive.”
“Who runs Stros M’Kai?” I asked, surprised the name came to mind. Had I overheard it? Or had some other place Kaleen mentioned jostled those hidden memories of mine?
“Bloody Bhosek, or Headman Bhosek, as he calls himself now.” Kaleen waived her tankard in emphasis. “Killed the old ruler and took his place.”
“Doesn’t anyone stand up to him?” It didn’t sound as if he was beloved by the people here.
“Captain Helane, but she’s worse than Bhosek.” No potential ally there, more’s the pity. “Her Sea Drakes run Saintsport south of here. Biggest band of murderers on the seas. Bhosek and Helane tolerate each other. Neither’s ready for a war, yet.”
“Where’s the rest of your crew?” Best to get this over with now, rather than later. I decided.
“Deserted, the traitors.” She grimaced. “See, there’s a fortune to be made from Breton galleons. Thing is, King Fahara’jad called for an end to it, now that we’re all part of the Daggerfall Covenant. Of course, as a loyal Redguard, I obeyed.” And your crew didn’t have enough faith in you to stay.
“Who is King Fahara’jad?” I could guess but thought it prudent to confirm as much as I could, when given the chance to rebuild my knowledge.
“Ruler of the Redguard people, now king among equals in the Daggerfall Covenant. King Fahara’jad would have us raid the ships of our enemies, not our allies. There is wisdom in that.”
“Did your crew disagree?” Not hard to see where this is leading, I thought, given what her Argonian crewmember told me.
“If by ‘disagreed’ you mean ‘tried to kill us’ then yes.” She snarled. “Bunch of bloody mutineers. Lambur, myself, and a few others ran them off the ship, but word spread. No one here wants to sail with a captain who won’t raid Bretons.” That can’t be the only reason, I thought, I wonder what else they’re saying?
“Where can I get a drink around here?” I asked, ignoring the bottle beside Kaleen. It was probably empty by now, or close to it, given how free she was being with information.
“The Screaming Mermaid’s just up the road, and they’ve always got good rum.” She recommended. “Just keep a grip on your coin purse, or you’ll be a beggar by day’s end.”
“Anyone I should watch out for?” I checked.
“Bhosek’s thugs, the Bloody Fists.” Yep, bet that bottle’s empty by now, and her tankard, too. I hadn’t noticed her drink from it since my arrival, or spill a drop, despite waving it around as she spoke. “Cross one, you cross them all, and Bhosek will have your head on a pike faster than you can say, ‘Please don’t put my head on a pike!’ Also, the Sea Drakes will gut you if you enter Saintsport.”
Taking my leave, I decided Lambur was right, Kaleen really did love to talk. And drink, apparently. If this is how she solves her problems, I decided, confused, it’s a wonder she made captain at all!
I headed for the Grave first. Partly because it was closer than Saintsport, but also because I wasn’t sure where to find Neramo yet. Should have asked that! I scolded myself as I used the palace as a landmark, veering towards it at the next intersection.
Sand spilled over the pavers of the road, almost obscuring them, and I could hear the calls of vendors at a market nearby. The quick swim to the entrance of the Grave was refreshing, but I was surprised when I reached the doors to find an Altmer girl holding a torch waiting outside them. I must have glanced at her too long, as she took it as an invitation to unload her woes on me.
“My poor Jakarn!” She cried, and I was careful not to react to the name. “I don’t want to think about what they’re doing to him down there. He’s a Prince! He doesn’t belong in the Grave.”
“You said Jakarn is a Prince?” I asked, not sure I’d heard her correctly.
“Yes, from Westtry.” She confirmed, stars in her eyes, and I struggled to suppress a snort of laughter. “How I long to travel there with him. He described it as bright, beautiful, and full of life.”
“Why do they call it the Grave?” I asked the distressed Elf. For all her talking, Kaleen had given me more words than useful information.
“It’s beneath the palace and anyone thrown in dies there.” She replied, as though stating the obvious to a simpleton. “Jakarn said the guards are brutal and the other prisoners are worse.” Sounds like he might have expected to end up in there?
“Can’t he escape?” Surely any decent thief would have back up plans if he’d done enough research about the place to mention the dangers to his…. Mistress? Or mark?
“Traps, guards, and other prisoners prevent that.” She protested. “Jakarn said there are rows and rows of traps. And everyone down there, except for Jakarn, is a vicious murderer. No one’s ever gotten out. My poor Jakarn!” She wailed.
“Aren’t you worried about ruining your dress?” Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh, I decided at her expression of outrage.
“What kind of a question is that?” She demanded. “My true love has been cast into a dark pit to die. If I thought I could get past the traps, I would go in after him. I can always buy another dress.”
Raising my hands and shrugging in what I hoped was a conciliatory gesture, I backed away towards the door. When the High Elf didn’t scold me further, I turned and let myself through, wondering why she hadn’t asked for my help. Probably too possessive of her precious ‘Prince’, I decided, she might prefer he stays in this pit rather than be rescued by another woman? Still, she showed some gumption when I teased her, so maybe she just didn’t think I’d agree?
I stopped thinking about it to concentrate on my surroundings. Ahead, mechanical spike traps thrust upwards before retracting, and beyond that, flames blocked and archway, each controlled by some sort of timing device. Counting silently to myself as each reset, I quickly made my way past them.
Here I had the option of dropping through a hole in the floor to the level below or taking a path through more of the same traps. I opted for the known danger over chancing the drop and made my way along the passage and down a flight of stairs, picking off the occasional guard who decided to attack me. Passing beneath the opening in the floor above, I rounded the corner to find a Breton man in a cell, staring at me through the bars of his locked door with the shrewd expression of a practised grifter. So much for being able to leave any time, I scoffed, or did he lock himself in for safety? Deciding not to take anything he said at face value, I approached his cell.
“Hey.” He said, his expression morphing into one of helpless entreaty. “You’re not a guard. You have to help me!”
“Captain Kaleen sent me.” I replied, deciding to make it clear I was here to release him. “She needs your help with a heist.” There, that should show him I know what he is.
“Well, that’s perfect!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands wide. “Get me out of here and I’m at your service. You’ll find me a man of many talents.” Innuendo dripped from the last few words, and I almost rolled my eyes. Nope, I thought. Not in your wildest dreams. “If I found a handsome guy locked in a cell, I’d free him.” He continued suggestively.
“Did you really steal a gem from Headman Bhosek?” I asked, keeping my distance.
“Is that really important right now?” He dismissed my question, but must have seen the distrust in my eyes, as he straightened and assumed a more direct expression. “Sure, I took the gem, but he took it from some poor merchant. Tossed him in here to die. Can’t steal from a thief, can you?”
I think I’ll remind you of those words, someday. I decided. “All right. I’ll get you out.” I agreed, unlocking his cell door.
“I owe you for this.” Jakarn said as he strolled through the door. “Thanks. Now, let’s get out of here!”
I followed him back the way I had come, until he abruptly threw a smoke bomb and vanished from sight. “You first.” His voice floated back to me. Coward. I thought, disgustedly, and made my way back up through the traps towards the entrance I had used. I can’t wait to see your expression when you’re greeted by your adoring ‘true love’ outside. And I really don’t want to know where you were keeping that smoke bomb….
Sure enough, when I reached the door, Jakarn was standing just inside, a look of unease in his eyes.
“We can’t go that way.” He whispered urgently.
“Why not?” I asked innocently, careful to hide my amusement.
“Irien’s out there.” My glee must have shown at these words because he straightened slightly, and when he continued, his voice had returned to its regular baritone. “Oh, and guards. I saw many, many guards. Look. Let’s slip out a side exit. That way, we can both keep our heads.”
I doubted there were guards waiting outside, and furthermore, that even if there were, I would be in any trouble, but Kaleen was expecting me to return with this idiot, so it was probably best to humour him a little longer.
With a nod, I gestured for Jakarn to precede me, and followed him to a storeroom off to one side before the first trap, where a ladder was positioned beneath a hatch in the ceiling. Wondering whether it was worse to give him a head start, and a chance to run off, or a view of my backside, I decided I was better equipped to deal with any unwanted advances than a thief with a vanishing trick, and lead the way up the ladder.
“Thanks for breaking me out back there.” Jakarn said once the hatch was closed behind us. “Listen, while you’re in a heroic mood, want to help me get something I left with the goblins?”
“You gave something to the Goblins?” I repeated, incredulous. Kaleen, do we really need this guy?
“I figure, if you want something kept safe, give it to the Goblins.” Jakarn insisted. “They’ll watch it for free, they’re too stupid to trade it, and they’ll kill anyone who tries to take it.”
“Won’t they kill you if you try to take it?” I pointed out the flaw in his logic.
“Here’s the thing.” The con artist decided to level with me. “You went through a lot of trouble to free me, right? There’s no way you’ll let me get eaten by Goblins. So you, my good friend, will follow me to their mine. Yeah?”
You manipulative ***. He was right, and he knew it. And what was worse, he could probably see the realisation in my eyes, too. If Kaleen didn’t want you for her heist, I would kill you right now. I made sure he could see that, and had the satisfaction of watching him swallow, slightly less sure of himself, while I fought the impulse to turn and stalk off. Taking my continued silence as agreement, Jakarn nodded and stepped back.
“This way.” He indicated, and I followed as he crossed the bridge, heading north. When the road on the other side began to curve west, he pulled his disappearing act again. “I’ll meet you at the door.” His voice drifted back to me, and I slowed to a halt. I would help him, but I didn’t have to scurry after him like Irien would have. Let him wait a little, while I looked for Lerisa first, and with any luck, Neramo too.
Glancing around, I was surprised to see a body down the bank, almost at the edge of the water. Approaching slowly, I found a woman, clearly dead, probably killed by wild animals if the marks on her body were any indication. Rolling her over to check, I spied a folded piece of paper tucked under her belt. Although stained with dried blood, I could still make out the writing as I examined it:A reward is hereby offered for all Dwarven relics delivered in good working order.Intrigued, I pocketed the note and the strange metal gear which had been under the body and returned to the road. Not five paces further I found an injured Nord man sitting beneath a torch, muttering to himself.
Monies paid depend on condition, rarity, and usefulness of said relic.
Pieces of relics are also accepted, depending on condition.
– Rulorn.
“Damn murdering Goblins!” He groaned, and I made my way over to him. “Goblins. They’re going to kill us all!” He told me as I approached.
“What happened?” I asked, kneeling to get a better look at him.
“They killed everyone – my brothers and our five guards.” He recounted, his expression haunted. “They speared me good, left me for dead. I crawled here after they left. Their new king’s got them all riled up, ready to attack Port Hunding and wipe out the town!”
“What can I do about it?” I offered, taking pity on him.
“Kill their king!” He entreated me. “They won’t attack the town without him to lead them. Bring me his crown so I know the ***’s dead. I’ll try to make it to town, unless the Goblins kill me first.”
“I’ll do it.” I vowed. Jakarn owes you a favour, my friend. I thought as I stood. You’ve just saved him a bit of a wait.
“I just need to gather my strength and hobble back to town.” The injured Nord insisted. “Get that Goblin king and bring me his crown, if you can!”
“How’d you run into the Goblins?” I wondered aloud.
“We actually went looking for them, if you can believe that.” He admitted ruefully. “We’d heard they had a new king and that he was stirring up trouble. We figured we could handle them, but there were too many for us.”
“Why don’t we just warn the town?” I asked.
“No good.” He shook his head. “Bhosek’ll never believe it. He’s a suspicious *** and will think we’re trying to trick him somehow. He’d have our heads on pikes. I’m too fond of my head to risk it.”
And for all I know, mine will reanimate and then I’ll be in real trouble! I shuddered at the thought.
“What’ll you do if I go after the king?” I checked again, concerned by his pallor.
“I’ll try to make it to town. I’m too injured to be any good to you, and if the Goblins catch me out here, I’m dead.” He repeated, resignedly. Bidding him farewell, I continued up the road towards the mine, any hopes of delaying my reunion with Jakarn dashed by the urgency of the situation.
There were several Goblins patrolling the road, and others camped in the ruins overlooking it, but they were no trouble to pick off one by one. Moving from sentry to sentry, I eliminated each until I found myself at a fence of sharpened stakes, protecting a tent of domed hide, an animal skull affixed to the front. The bodies of several Nords and Redguards were strewn about the enclosure, and I surmised they were the rest of the party who had been slain.
Seeing my approach, a Goblin wielding a Lightning Staff came rushing out to confront me, but his attacks were slower than my arrows, and I was able to evade them while maintaining a steady rate of fire. Moving in closer as he desperately charged up a heavier strike, I staggered him with a forearm bash followed by a kick to his head before finishing him with a dagger. A quick search turned up his crown, and a pouch of coins to add to my meagre supply, and I made my way back towards the mine entrance.
I had spotted Jakarn there on my way past earlier, but pretended not to see him as I eliminated the sentries. Strolling up to him now, I was pleased to see the thief fidgeting with impatience.
“I unlocked the door.” He informed me. “Now we can retrieve my gem. I’ll see you inside.”
“What does the gem look like?” I asked, delaying him just a little longer.
“It’s as pretty as a thing can be.” Jakarn reminisced, rubbing his hands together in avarice. “And as big as my two fists.”
I smirked a little at that. Looks like I’ve discovered your one true love, Jakarn. You shouldn’t have let me see that. Opening the door, I entered the mine ahead of him.
“They store everything on the upper level.” He whispered, staying well back as I engaged the Goblin ahead. Not much for fighting, are you? I added this to his list of failings.
But again, the Goblins were spaced out well enough that I could pick them off one at a time, and we made steady progress through the mine. That didn’t stop Jakarn from nipping ahead while invisible so that he could mock me, though.
“Try to keep up!” His disembodied voice called back to me as I fought another goblin. Gritting my teeth as I finished it off, I ran up the tunnel to a door leading onto a wooden walkway wrapping along the cliff-face. How about you try to kill something? I griped to myself, taking out a goblin he had slipped past.
Rounding the bend towards the upper level of the mine, I levelled my bow at the next goblin just as Jakarn popped back into existence behind another, further back.
“Hope you’re not keeping score!” He called to me as he slit its throat, and I was tempted, oh, so tempted, to alter my aim just a fraction.
But at least he had made himself useful, if only briefly before disappearing yet again. I fought my way through the tunnel to where he waited next to another door.
“This is the part where I trust you.” He smirked at me.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, instantly suspicious.
“I’ll kill the Goblins in the scaffolding in the next room.” He offered, and I made a mental note to control my expressions better in the future. Never give a grifter any insights. “You grab the gem.” He continued. “It’s in a chest on the floor. There’s a passage on the far side. Take that and meet me outside. If something goes wrong, regroup at the inn in town.”
So this is how you figure out whether you can still turn me into a mark or not, I realised, but you know I need to bring you back to Kaleen, so you’re pretty sure I’ll play along for now.
Nodding my agreement, I eased my way through the door, making my way around the edge of the cavern in a crouch, to the opposite wall where a campfire illuminated a chest, and several racks of meat…. Swallowing my sudden nausea, eyes fixed on what I was sure were human remains, I almost didn’t see the Durzog in time. Thrusting a dagger sideways into the gaping forest of fangs to keep it from biting me, I stabbed deep into its neck with my other, again and again until it fell limp.
Looking ahead, and scanning my surroundings with better attention, I could see one Goblin next to the chest, but nothing else in my path. Firing a few arrows as I approached, I switched to my daggers again as I spun past him, stabbing down into his chest from behind, and finishing him off with a slice across the back of his neck.
I knelt before the chest and opened it. Sure enough, there was Jakarn’s gem, bright red and expertly faceted, if a little smaller than he’d claimed. I stuffed it into a pocket and paused a moment, listening to the grunts and clashes of weapons above, before shrugging to myself and making my way towards the exit tunnel. Spotting the Durzog pacing before it with plenty of space to spare, I dropped it with a few arrows, and made my way outside.
I was on a sandy ledge, high above what looked to be safely deep water, so with a wide grin on my face, I took a running leap into the open air before plunging into its refreshing depths. Surfacing, I began swimming for the closest sandy shore among the stacked rocky outcrops, rather surprised to see an Orc waiting near the water’s edge.
“Over here,” she called to me as I swam closer, “I have a question for you.”
Wondering who she was, and what she wanted, I took my time wading out of the shallows and onto dry land, water streaming off me as I approached her.
“What were you doing in the mine?” She demanded once I stopped a blade’s reach away. “And did you see a scummy Breton up there?” Bristling slightly at the oblivious insult to my race, I decided to play dumb for now. Although “scummy” does sum Jakarn up pretty well…..
“What’s his name?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Jakarn.” She spat angrily, crossing her arms. “He stole a gem from Headman Bhosek. Now, if the gem came back, Bhosek might let him live. Can you help me, or not?”
Oh, this was tempting. So, so tempting. But would Jakarn believe me if I told him I’d had no choice but to hand over his precious gem, to save his life? Probably not worth the trouble. I decided. Besides, I don’t want word getting around that I’m associated with him, any more than I want a reputation for being unreliable to work with….
“Sorry.” I lied, relaxing my posture slightly while maintaining eye contact. “Haven’t seen him.”
“Now that’s just too bad.” She growled in frustration. “If you do run into him again, tell him that if we catch him, he’s dead.” As she spoke, she drew a thumb across her own throat in an unmistakeable gesture, and I chuckled internally. That’s a big ‘if’, given how slippery he is.
Suspecting that by this point, Jakarn was probably watching us from the ledge above, I nodded to her and moved on up the path, hoping to get my bearing on higher ground. A dull gleam through the sparse grass caught my eye, and I climbed the slope to find another of the Dwemer cogs lying on the sand. And in the distance, almost straight ahead, was Bhosek’s palace. Smiling again, I broke into a jog and made my way into town.
I found the wounded Nord standing by the well in the Screaming Mermaid Inn’s courtyard.
“Did you do it?” He asked me as I slowed to a walk, then a halt next to him. “Did you kill the Goblin king?” He still looked terribly pale, but that could have just been his natural Nordic complexion.
“Yes. Here’s the crown.” I presented it to him.
“By Kyne, you did it!” He exclaimed, taking it from me. “I’ve been expecting them to attack the town any minute. Bhosek tossed me out when I tried to warn him, said he’d have my head if I didn’t shut up. He’ll never know you saved his town for him.”
If I had my way, Bhosek would never even know I existed, but this man didn’t need to know that.
“If it’s not Goblins, it’ll be something else tomorrow. I swear this town is cursed.” He confided as he passed me a pouch of gold.
“Why aren’t you in the tavern?” I asked, slipping the pouch into a pocket.
“They kicked me out.” He admitted. “They heard Bhosek threatened me and they don’t want to risk his Fists storming in to arrest me.” One more reason to dislike Bhosek, as if I need any more.
Bidding him farewell and sparing a hope that he might survive this place long enough to escape it, I left him and crossed the courtyard to the Screaming Mermaid’s front door.
Before I could reach the steps, a familiar Altmer lady burst out the door and stomped down towards me in a fury. “That ***!” Irien fumed, and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Looks like she’s finally had Jakarn’s lies exposed.
“If you’re looking for that *** Jakarn,” She fumed, crossing her arms and stamping one foot as she spoke, “he’s at the tavern with a Redguard girl.”
“What happened?” I asked her, not entirely unsympathetic. She may have been fooled by his act, but she did have backbone, and I found myself respecting her more than I had initially.
“I overheard him telling a Redguard girl that he’d whisk her off to Sentinel.” Irien explained, angrily, and my respect for her increased as she continued without any hint of tears. “That he was a ship captain. She swooned like a fool. Like I did. I’d tell the Headman where he’s hiding if I didn’t hate the Headman more. I need off this island.”
Offering her my commiserations, I made my way up the steps and inside to see Jakarn leaning against the far wall, watching the door as the promised Redguard girl vied with a Bosmer and a blond Nord man for his attention. Firming my stride and glaring as I made my way over, I made it clear by my expression that I wasn’t here for social reasons.
My progress was impeded when Jakarn’s fan club began singing his praises to me, and I gave serious consideration to flinging the gem at his head and fleeing, in case their delusions were contagious.
"Jakarn's gorgeous.” The Redguard girl started. “He could rob me any time."
"I don't really believe he's a captain.” The Bosmer admitted in a whisper. “He looks so good I don't care."
"I don't believe a word Jakarn says, but there's just something about him.” The blond Nord confided in me. “He's fascinating."
“Hey there, glad to see you made it out.” The thief himself addressed me, flipping a coin in the air and affecting a casual disinterest. Nope, I thought, playing hard to get is not going to work on me, buddy, and neither is anything these poor sots have to say about you.
“Here’s the gem you stole.” I announced, not making any effort to lower my voice or hide his prize as I handed it over.
“Hey, now. The headman stole it first.” He tried to rationalise. “And you brought it back to me, didn’t you? Thanks, good-looking.”
I rolled my eyes at his blatant flirting, making my disinterest clear. So, you were watching. Wonder if you only had me tag along because you knew she’d be there and needed a distraction to make your exit? “You owe me for freeing you, and Captain Kaleen needs your help.” I reminded him instead.
“Seeing as it’s you asking, sure.” He tried again, and I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “If she’s planning a job, I’m in. All I ask is a trip off this rock after it’s over.”
Knowing Kaleen’s lack of crew, I was sure that could be arranged. Jakarn would probably be happy to haul ropes rather than risk Bhosek finding him, especially as he’d probably be the number one suspect once we pulled off whatever heist the captain had planned. And I wasn’t about to refuse the blade and pouch of coins he offered me, either. Payment was payment, and I had more than earned it.
“You! Hey, you there!” A breathless voice behind me called out, and I turned to see a Breton girl approaching. About to step aside so she could accost Jakarn unimpeded, I realised she was looking at me, not him, her expression friendly instead of outraged. “Need any help?” She asked me brightly. I couldn’t help but smile back, her friendliness was so infectious. “Ha! I didn’t think I’d ever find you.” She exclaimed, catching her breath. “You move around.”
“Can I help you?” I asked, bemused.
“I’m Nicolene!” She introduced herself, earning another mark in my good graces. So few people actually tell me their names! “I work for Captain Kaleen. She sent me to find you, see if you’d had any luck recruiting for our heist. Looks like you’re already making new friends.”
I was torn between laughter and a furious denial at this. “You could say that.” I spluttered. But I definitely wouldn’t.
“Then listen,” she whispered, leaning closer, “just so you know. We’re set up in a hideout near the docks. Come find us when you finish recruiting. Look for Lambur outside the door.”
“I’ll find you when I’m ready to leave.” I agreed.
“There’s three folks Captain Kaleen wants to help with her heist – Crafty Lerisa, Jakarn, and Neramo.” Nicolene reminded me. “She told me about ‘em. Who do you want to know about?”
“Tell me about Neramo.” I chose, hoping she could direct me where to find him. I already knew to look for Lerisa in Saintsport, and I didn’t feel I needed to ask about Jakarn when I'd already gained his support, not to mention he was well within earshot.
“He’s a brilliant Dwemer sage.” She enthused, before correcting herself. “Not that he is a Dwemer himself, but he studies them. He’s out at Bthzark, digging in the ruins there.”
Thanking her, I scanned the main floor of the Inn, checking for anyone taking too much interest in our conversation. Or worse, yet, attempting to hide their interest. The only patron who stood out to me was a robed and hooded Breton, crossing his arms and shuffling side to side with indecision, but he looked desperate and uncertain, not shifty, and I made my way over to him, curious.
With a sigh of visible relief, he inclined his head to me. “I bring an urgent message from Rhea Opacarius,” he announced formally, “chief oracle of the Twilight Queen, Azura.” Daedric cultist. I realised with a start, but Azura was…. I couldn’t quite remember, but for some reason I wasn’t inclined to reject his message.
“What does this oracle of Azura want?” I asked cautiously instead.
“Best to discuss that with Rhea.” He replied, scanning the room. “Too many eyes and ears here. She awaits you in the Cloudy Dregs Inn in Wayrest.”
“Fair enough.” I accepted, privately wondering if any Inn would be completely free of eavesdroppers. “I’ll meet Rhea in Wayrest.” But I hope she’s not in any great hurry, I don’t feel like it’s nearby.
Bidding the young cultist farewell, I left the Screaming Mermaid and made my way east out of town.
I need to find a horse, soon. I resolved, mentally tallying my gold. Once I can afford one, anyway.
1 -
Chapter Two: Stros M'Kai (Part Two)
Not too far from town, I heard a voice on the side of the road.
"That old fool won't find me here. Time for a nap."
Curious, I looked around and spotted a Bosmer man sitting on a bedroll beneath an awning.
"Whatever it is, I didn't do it." He insisted at my approach.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked him.
"Who knows?” He exclaimed in exasperation. “Neramo, I guess, but not me. I'm only here on Bhosek's orders, to make sure the Elf does his job. I never agreed to dig around in the sand for mad Dwarf toys."
“What if I wanted to help?” I asked.
"Be my guest.” He waved me off towards the road. “Go talk to Neramo. I'm sure he'll be delighted to offload more of his task onto someone else."
“I'll find him.” I said, nodding my thanks and returned to the sandy road, where I spotted another awning a little further along.
“It’s right here,” Neramo was saying to himself as I approached. “A Dwemer ruin unsoiled by Bandits and thieves! Yet I cannot get inside.” He sounded as excited by the prospect as Jakarn had about his gem, and I cleared my throat to get his attention.
“Miraculous!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms wide upon noticing me. “To think the Dwemer of old Volenfell settled as far as Stros M’Kai! My brother and I have scoured the ruin’s exterior for some time now, but we have never been able to get inside.”
“Why do you want to get inside?” I asked, glancing over the haphazard collection of parts, notes, piles of books and a bedroll, and a copy of a book with ‘Guylaine’s Dwemer Architecture’ written on its cover on the corner closest to me.
“Several reasons.” He admitted. “One is that Headman Bhosek commissioned me to explore the ruins.” And I bet you’re eager to keep your head on your shoulders. I surmised as he continued. “A fascinating aspect of Dwemer ruins are the ancient mechanisms to be found inside. Bhosek thinks to use them in Port Hunding. I need to get inside to investigate.”
“Perhaps I can help.” I offered, noting he hadn’t mentioned any other reasons yet.
“An excellent suggestion. I believe this automaton can unseal the door, if it can be controlled.” With this he indicated a Dwarven spider crumpled on the sand beside him. “I have its control rod, but two focusing crystals seem to be missing. They are nearby but the local creatures dissuade me from claiming them.”
“I’ll find them.” I agreed, realising I had a true non-combatant on my hands here. He wasn’t even equipped with a staff!
“With the focusing crystals in hand, I can complete this control rod and safely reactivate the automaton.” Neramo predicted optimistically. “While you recover the crystals, I’ll make the proper adjustments to the construct.”
“What can you tell me about the Dwemer?” I asked, eager to fill more gaps in my memory.
“Some call them Dwarves – a race of brilliant artisans and metalworkers who possessed great ingenuity.” He elaborated in admiration. “They built vast underground cities filled with remarkable inventions. Now such works are all that remain of the Dwemer.”
“What happened to them?” I wondered aloud, and Neramo took this as encouragement to continue.
“None can say for sure.” He admitted. “Some believe they achieved divinity. Others claim they were consumed by some folly of their own. Perhaps both are true. But long ago they vanished, the entire race, leaving little but their marvellous treasures behind.”
“Treasures?” I repeated, wondering if I might find something that could help me afford a horse.
“Dim the gleam of avarice I see in your eyes.” He chided me. “The treasure I seek is knowledge, worthless to any but a scholar. Those who help me acquire this can expect to be well-rewarded, however.” This was good news, and I left to search for the required crystals. Making my way through the exterior parts of the ruins, I found one up a broken flight of stairs in a decapitated tower, and the other behind a pile of rubble through a collapsed archway. There were a few wolves around, and some nasty beetles which were even larger than the wolves and gave me the shivers. At least they’re not spiders. I thought, then shook my head in disbelief. What am I thinking? Spiders don’t grow that big….
I eventually found Neramo down a surprisingly clean and intact passageway where he waited outside a locked door, the spider construct ticking at his feet.
“I’ve reassembled the spider, but I must be able to control it.” He advised me. “That reminds me – did you find the crystals?”
“Yes, I have them right here.” I replied, bemused by his absent mindedness.
“Splendid.” He said, taking them from me. “Now I just insert them into the rod like so. By the way, I hope you can destroy this mechanism if it attacks us.”
You didn’t think to mention that might be necessary, earlier? I wondered, drawing my daggers, and taking a short step back to allow myself a better angle as a precaution. You’re taking this absent-minded obsessive genius thing just a bit far…. Still, at least you haven’t tried to manipulate me. Yet.
“Let’s see here!” he exclaimed as the automaton began scurrying around us, harmlessly. “It works!” Then, more smugly, “I knew it would, of course. Into the tunnel you go.” He instructed his new toy, and it clicked its legs in a tight turn, heading obediently for the locked door. “Now to get that door open.”
We watched the spider as it entered the ruin. “At long last, Bthzark!” Neramo exulted. “Come, we’ll talk of our next move inside.” I followed him through the door to find his automaton waiting patiently, and he paused, suddenly hesitant, staring at a broken spider ahead.
“As you see, Headman Bhosek’s trust in my skills was not misplaced.” He boasted as once he turned back to me. “Nor was my faith in your prowess. Will you assist me in another task?”
“What do you need?” I asked, resigned to this being another situation where I had to help one of Kaleen’s contacts resolve their own affairs before they would be able to join her.
“Despite the age of these ruins, I suspect the usual defences are in place.” He admitted. “As I am averse to danger, would you explore the ruins to locate any Dwemer generators inside?”
“Generator?” I repeated the strange word. “What’s a generator?”
“Oh. I suppose I’m the only one who calls them that.” Neramo realised, before explaining. “’Independent Apportioning Dynamo Core’ is a mouthful, but the Dwemer built them to last for generations. I say ‘generators’ to honour their enduring nature.”
“What do I do if I find them?”
“This control rod will keep our new friend loyal to you.” He promised, passing it to me. “I suspect the generators have been damaged over the years. You’ll need to escort the spider to each and bid it to repair them.”
Nodding my understanding, I slipped the rod into my belt for now, and drew my bow. As I made my way further into the abandoned edifice, Neramo’s spider clicked along docilely behind me.
There were two generators, each in a side chamber, and several less than friendly automatons guarding the rooms. I fought those off, and my mechanical companion dutifully repaired the generators when I waved the control rod at them. Returning to the main central chamber after checking various containers I passed on the off chance they might contain something valuable or useful, I found Neramo waiting.
“Excellent work.” He congratulated me. “Bthzark breathes again! Now for a more personal project. How would you like to earn a little more coin?”
“I’m listening.” I responded.
“As you see, we are not the first to enter Bthzark.” Neramo gestured at various papers and notebooks lying about, which I had suspected to be relatively recent. There had been a few other signs of occupation, too, but Neramo was still talking. “In truth, I accepted Bhosek’s request to explore these ruins only because they contain something I want, something I believe others died trying to obtain.”
“And what’s that?” I asked him.
“Knowledge is the greatest treasure.” Neramo elaborated reverently. “The Dwemer guarded their secrets as a king protects his gold. In Bthzark, the Dwemer hid a set of schematics, mechanical drawings that I greatly desire to possess.”
“And you need my help to find them.” I surmised.
“An easy task.” He promised. “Those earlier explorers likely retrieved them, only to find themselves sealed inside Bthzark through some treachery. Their misfortune is my – our – gain. We must find where they perished.”
“Fine.” I agreed. “Let’s go.”
“There may be more constructs waiting on the other side of this door.” Neramo admitted nervously. “You go first.”
Rolling my eyes once I was safely turned away from him, I led the way.
Down a short passageway opened a much larger room, and immediately ahead of me was an open chest on a dais. “So, the schematics were here.” Neramo pronounced upon seeing it. “I doubt they escaped.”
Methodically checking every pot and urn I passed under the pretence of making a thorough search for the schematics, I heard Neramo picking up notes and journals behind me. “These writings could prove crucial to understanding the schematics.” He called to me. “My brother should be able to decipher these.” Ignoring his preoccupation, I continued pocketing various odds and ends as I made my way to the back of the room. “Interesting…. I’ll meet up with you shortly.” He called, becoming distracted by something.
I found a skeleton and a journal, the writing mostly illegible, but I could make out enough to guess at the poor man’s fate;Aduber’s claims proved to be true. We found the island. The Rourken really did come this far. Still, I’ll watch him closely. Never trust a Khajiit.
….
…. clever ***, Dwarves…. the rightmost bridge secured with traps, the left with hidden constructs …. only way past is to sneak ….
….
….. Pollonaro and his tomes…. just what are we looking for! The Elf tells us nothing.
….
Opened the chest …. sealed shut…. trapped …. skittering in the pipes ….
Setting it aside as something Neramo might find interesting, I looked up to see a door to either side on the wall ahead. Traps or constructs? I debated to myself. Deciding to risk the traps, I approached the door to my right. Steam vents, barriers of trapped lightning, and large blocks greeted me, but some careful timing saw me through unscathed, and in the chamber beyond sat another skeleton, a scroll next to him.
Oh, and a large almost humanoid construct rolling around on a sphere. It took me a while to destroy it, keeping as much distance as possible between myself and its wicked-looking sword-arm, dodging bolts from its crossbow-arm and firing arrow after arrow at it, but finally it collapsed with a loud clang.
I picked up the scroll, hoping it was Neramo’s precious schematics. A quick glance revealed diagrams of some sort, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
There was one last mechanical spider waiting for me in the short passage to the exit, but moments later I was outside, and there was Neramo, scratching his head awkwardly as he greeted me. He must be one silent, stealthy elf when he needs to be to have got past those concealed constructs. I thought to myself, relieved he had made it out safely. Or did he take one look and climb off the side? Would explain how he’s already outside ahead of me. I’d have noticed him in that last room, surely.
“Ah, there you are.” He greeted me. “I was just coming to, er, help you. I hope you found what we were looking for.”
“As promised, I have your drawings.” I assured him, handing them over.
“The schematics are mine at last!” He exclaimed, taking them eagerly. “Splendid. This places me in your debt. What would you ask of me in return?”
“Help Captain Kaleen with the heist she’s planning.” I requested in relief.
“I hear Kaleen intends to head towards the isle of Betnikh.” Neramo mused, rubbing his chin. “The ruins there greatly interest me. But first, I will assist you in this heist.”
Nodding my thanks, I bid Neramo farewell.
“I must get the schematics to my workshop!” He called, summoning a portal. “Join me if you wish to return to town. Come, Clanker.” I smiled to see his spider automaton obediently follow him into the portal, but I waved him to go on without me, and instead turned back to the road.
Heading south-east towards Saintsport, I broke into a jog and resolved to keep my eyes on the road to avoid any distractions. As much as I enjoyed being able to help people, time was getting on and I needed to find Lerisa, and probably help her with some difficulty before I could meet Kaleen back at the docks.
But as I approached the outskirts, I could hear a voice calling for help. Slowing to a walk and scanning the area, and freeing my bow in case of an ambush, I was soon approached by an exhausted Wood Elf.
“Help me!” He panted, clutching his stomach. “They’re after me!”
“What’s the problem?” I asked warily.
“The Sea Drakes!” He explained. “When it gets foggy, like last night, they play tricks with the lighthouse, lure ships aground. The Maiden’s Breath – my ship – they lured us in and wrecked us.”
Wait, that’s Lerisa’s ship, he must be one of her crew! I realised.
“Where’s the rest of your crew?” I asked him hopefully.
“Drowned or captured.” He replied mournfully, and my heart sank, only to pick back up again as he continued. “Captain Lerisa’s looking for them. You heard of Crafty Lerisa, right? Anyway, I’m through. No more sailing for me. You want to find the captain, just look for her monkey, Howler.”
“Find the monkey.” I repeated. “Got it.”
Nodding, he made his way slowly up the road towards Port Hunding while I turned again towards Saintsport. Deciding to use guile over force, I made my way to the shoreline, crouched over, and crept from cover to cover towards the nearest building. My caution paid off unexpectedly when I found another Dwemer gear, and just a short way past it, the edge of a buried chest. Unearthing and opening the lid, I found a note full of insults and coded directions. Tucking that away for later study, I continued on my way.
Climbing a ramp leading up to the boardwalk, I peered over the bank and spied a sort of square filled with flapping laundry lines, surrounded by a low stone wall, buildings ringing the three sides facing it. The short distance from my position was handily populated by well-spaced palm trees, providing good cover for me to use. Waiting until the nearest brigand had their back turned, I cautiously crept forward, moving trunk to trunk and checking carefully for watching eyes before leaving each piece of cover.
Crouching behind the wall once I reached the square, I inched along it, wondering how I was going to find one tiny monkey in a space as large as this town. Peering cautiously around the edge of the wall to check for danger, I blinked in surprise to find myself face-to…. ah, face, with a monkey. Shrieking, it scrambled away from me and fled into the nearest building. Nipping after it and hoping no-one saw me, I followed the small creature through the single large room onto a low stone balcony, where it jumped onto a crate and chittered at me.
“Well, you aren’t at all what I was expecting.” Said a woman’s voice behind me, and I turned to see her stepping back into the room, away from the open doors. I followed her, wondering where she’d been hiding. I’d seen no-one on my way through the building. “Let’s talk.” She invited, leaning back against a canvass topped crate almost exactly her height. “What brings you to this trash pit?”
“How did you do that?” I asked instead.
“Sneak up on you?” She guessed. “It’s what I do. Now, answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to rescue Crafty Lerisa, captain of the Maiden’s Breath.” I teased, fairly certain that was the identity of the woman in front of me.
“How charming.” She drawled in amusement. “The Maiden’s wrecked on the sandy shore. As for Crafty Lerisa, you’ve found her. Just in time, too. Captain Helane’s Sea Drakes have my crew. I won’t leave without them. Help me rescue them, and I’ll owe you a favour.”
“All right.” I agreed. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to disguise my crew as Sea Drakes.” She outlined. “Take these clothes. Look for a portly Breton, a sour Redguard, and a big Orc. The Drakes are keeping them in the large buildings. Once they’re out, meet me by Helane’s ship.”
Ah, so there’ll be a part two, I’m sure. I suspected, but only asked “What if I need a disguise?”
“Look for hampers with clothes, or kill a Sea Drake and take theirs.” She suggested. “Put on their clothes and you’ll look just lovely. Oh, do watch out for the Sea Drakes with torches. They’re not drunk. If you get too close, they’ll spot you and alert the others.”
“I understand.” I agreed. “Let’s get started.”
“Remember, you can take clothes from hampers or off dead Sea Drakes.” Lerisa reminded me. “Oh, and try not to get killed.”
Turning right as I left her building, I took advantage of the lack of Sea Drakes at the moment and ran to the nearest building, on the corner of the square I had crept through. Upstairs I found the Breton man, trussed up and left in a corner.
“Who are you?” He asked fearfully as I approached him. “What are you doing here?”
“Lerisa sent me.” I reassured him. “Take this disguise and get out of here.”
“Thank the Eight!” He said fervently. “I thought I’d die in here! Helane came by not long ago. Told me to look forward to a public flaying. Then she beat me bloody, laughing the whole time. She’s one cold witch.”
“Let me get you out of those ropes.” I replied kindly, imagining what I’d do to Helane if I could get my hands on her.
“Stay away from Helane.” He cautioned me as I left him to dress and make his way to safety. “She’s a monster.”
The next building, at the head of the square, was also two storied, and I slipped inside quietly. Lucky thing, too, as there was a Sea Drake brigand standing at a table with his back to me. Killing him quickly, and trying to do so without bleeding him like a stuck pig, I grimaced as I stripped off his clothing and pulled it on over my own before making my way upstairs. There were two more brigands up here, but they barely glanced at me as I made my way past them to the balcony where the Redguard was bound.
“Another torturer from Helane,” he sneered, “even uglier than the last one.”
“Lerisa sent me.” I spoke quietly so as not to be overheard. “I’ve got a disguise you can use to escape.”
“I knew she wouldn’t leave me to rot!” He perked up. “Quick, untie me! The Sea Drakes spent the past few hours breaking my fingers. I can’t wield a sword, but I can still strangle a few on my way out.”
“Let me untie you.” I smiled at his renewed spirit and was careful not to jostle his fingers as I freed him.
“These Sea Drakes give pirates a bad name.” He stated. “Kill every last one you see.” Deciding I didn’t like his odds if I didn’t intervene, I drew my bow as I turned and let fly at the sentries, giving him a clear escape route.
Checking my disguise was in order before I left the building, I strolled leisurely through the square to avoid a torch-bearing sentry checking the perimeter and made my way into the last building on the right.
In an alcove opposite the door a brigand was passed out, drunk, on a stretcher, and I left them to sleep it off as I made my way upstairs. These Sea Drakes were predictable, and I found the Orc propped against a crate on the floor, hands tied behind his back.
“Don’t know who you are, but you better run if you don’t want the Sea Drakes to gut you.” He said shrewdly when I approached him.
“Lerisa sent me.” I replied. “Take this disguise and sneak out.”
“Ha!” He scoffed. “Another of Helane’s tricks? Let me go, then chase me down and beat me within an inch of my life? I’ll chance it and make a run for Port Hunding. See how far I get.”
Does he think I’m a Sea Drake, or not? I wondered, crouching to get at the ropes binding his hands. “Let me untie you.” I huffed when he jostled me.
“Word of advice.” He offered once he was standing. “Don’t let them capture you. If you can’t get away, die fighting.” I nodded in acknowledgement, and he ran out. Following him out of the building at a slower pace, I made my way back down to the shoreline and followed it, swimming silently beneath the pier to a rocky outcropping to pause and take my bearings near a large fern. Turning my back to it, I was startled by Lerisa’s voice.
“You’re a welcome sight.” She greeted me, and I turned, then blinked when I realised the fern had disappeared. “I’ve rescued everyone except Crenard, Haerdon and Mekag. Any luck?”
“Found all three.” I replied, guessing by the names these were the Breton, Redguard and Orc she’d sent me after. “They’re safely away.”
“Almost done then.” She nodded. “Everyone’s out except my first mate, Deregor. They’ve got him in the belly of Helane’s ship. You’ll find the keys below deck. Look for Deregor down in back.”
“What are you going to do while I rescue Deregor?” I asked, although I could hazard a guess, and found I heartily approved.
“I’ll be visiting Helane in her cabin,” Lerisa said sweetly, “to thank her for the hospitality she’s extended my crew. Come on up after you release Deregor. You should really say hello.”
“How did you get the key to Helane’s quarters?” I wondered.
“Her cabin girl had a key.” Lerisa said. “Poor little Bosmer lass, barely any meat on her bones. I think Helane was starving her. She’s on her way to Port Hunding now and I’m one key richer.”
“How did you make yourself look like a fern?” This, I was just dying to know. I’d been completely fooled.
“Good trick that.” Lerisa grinned. “Did I really disguise myself as a fern? Or did you see a fern because you weren’t looking close enough?” She had me there, I’d barely spared the ‘plant’ a glance before turning my unprotected back to it. Shaking my head with a wry grin of my own, I made my way back around the rocks and onto the pier where Helane’s ship was moored.
There was a sentry at the base of the boarding ramp, who soon dropped into the water below, an arrow in one eye. No crew on deck, but several below, and I peppered them with arrows from above, while the narrow stairway acted as a bottle neck to keep them from reaching me. Stepping over their bodies, I found the key in a lockbox, and Deregor behind a door at the far end of the hold.
“Who in Oblivion are you?” the trussed Bosmer demanded as soon as I closed the door behind me.
“Actually, Lerisa sent me to rescue you.” I answered drily.
“Yeah?” He replied. “Ha! I knew she got away! Helane said she was being keelhauled and beaten, but I knew better. They don’t call my captain crafty for nothing. Get me out of these ropes and let’s get out of here!”
“Hold still.” I cautioned him. The knots were too tight for my fingers, probably due to his struggles, so I used a dagger to slice them open.
“Captain Lerisa never leaves anyone behind!” He crowed as he stood and ran for the door. “Make sure she’s safe.”
I was sure Lerisa would be just fine, but I was looking forward to giving Helane a piece of my mind as I made my way above deck and into the Captain’s quarters.
“Wait!” I heard, as Helane staggered down the stairs from the sleeping area of her chamber, followed by Lerisa in some rather skimpy Wood Elf attire. “You’re not my…. What have you…. Did you poison me?”
“Oh my, Captain, are you feeling okay?” drawled Lerisa, pausing at the foot of the stairs.
“I’ll gut you like a stuck pig.” Helane gasped, bending to press her hands to her knees as her guts presumably cramped in pain. “Cut your eyes out…. Roast you….” She trailed off as Lerisa stalked forward.
“Like you did my crew?” Lerisa whispered venomously, removing her hood. With a gasp of pain, Helane fell to the plank floor and lay sprawled on her back, helpless. “That won’t happen again.” Lerisa vowed.
Lifting her gaze to meet my own, Lerisa crooned in the same odd voice; “Oh, she fell down.” Then she seemed to breathe a sigh, exhaling the vengeful aspect possessing her, and addressed me with her own voice. “My, that felt good!”
“What did you do to her?” I asked, curious, but by no means repulsed.
“Me?” Lerisa blinked innocently. “Did I do that? Her starving little cabin girl may have poisoned her drink. Who can say? Did Deregor get out?”
“Yes, he’s free.” I hoped the cabin girl wouldn’t face any consequences for Lerisa’s actions. If she had been as deprived as Lerisa described, she shouldn’t have to suffer further by playing scapegoat.
“I’ll be going then.” Lerisa stated. “I told my crew to gather on the beach. I’m going to make sure they all made it out. Meet me there and we’ll square up.”
“What kind of poison did you use on Helane?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s jarrin root.” She replied casually. “A very nasty local poison. It won’t kill her, not right away. It starts by dissolving the stomach lining, then goes from there.”
Painful, but that’s what Helane deserves. I debated silently, then aloud “You’re just going to leave Helane to die?” What if someone finds her before she does?
“I’d love to stay and watch, but no time. You can stay if you like.” She offered. “It’s actually her poison. Kept for slaves who disobey. There’s an antidote on the dresser, if your heart bleeds enough.”
“What would you do if I gave Helane the antidote?” I asked, amused by the idea.
“I’d feel mildly disappointed, but I leave it up to you.” Lerisa answered after a moment’s consideration. “Meet me on the beach once you’re done here and we’ll settle up. Just watch your boots. She’ll start vomiting soon.”
With a last smile, Lerisa left, and I stood over Helane, watching her gaze vacantly upwards. She didn’t seem to see me, too lost in her pain, perhaps. My eyes drifted towards the bottle on her dresser. What if she isn’t as debilitated as she seems? I pondered. What if she manages to reach the antidote? I should kill her myself. It’s a mercy she doesn’t deserve, but as Lerisa said, no time.
Drawing a dagger, I slid it into Helane’s bitter, cold heart, withdrawing it with a sharp twist. Wiping the blade clean on her breeches, I left the room without a backward glance. Back on the main deck, I walked to the railing on the seaward side, stripped off the disguise covering my own armour, and let it fall on the deck, safe, and visible to anyone who wondered who might have killed Helane. It was the best I could do to keep suspicion off her cabin girl.
Then I dove off the ship. I needed the peace of the water to help calm me after those heated moments of vengeance, so I swam leisurely around the rocks to the beach where Lerisa waited with her crew near a longboat. She watched me wade ashore and greeted me with arms flung wide in welcome.
“My crew’s safe and only a little bit tortured.” She smiled. “I call that a win!”
“Captain Helane is dead.” I replied calmly.
“Many a captain who sails these waters will be glad of that news!” She informed me. “Now, let’s talk favours. I owe you a big one.”
“Help Captain Kaleen and I pull off her heist.” I countered.
“She’s a bit too obsessed with old Fahara’jad for me,” Lerisa pondered, one hand on her chin, “but I like her style. Seeing as I need a new ship, gold will come in handy. I’m in. Can’t let what you did for us go unrewarded. See you back in town.”
At last! I rejoiced silently, catching the vest Lerisa threw me as I turned to leave. Its weight was oddly distributed in my hands, as though the pockets held something heavy…. I nodded my thanks to the captain and began the long walk back towards Port Hunding. It was past time I needed a horse, but my purse wasn’t quite plump enough yet….. Oh, wait, didn’t I find that note with the cryptic directions to some buried treasure? Surely that wouldn’t delay me by too much….
Pulling the note from my pocket, I scanned what it said;
Stand atop Saintsport's star
And spy the eternal sentinel
Skirt its gate to reach the shrine
Northwest stands the warrior
Walk forty-five paces south
Leftward palms frame the sight
Of the island of iron faces
Follow the rocky finger
Through the broken ship
Find the stone ship at anchor
Riches lie under leaves in its port.
Well, a star could be a shape, or a source of light. I hadn’t noticed a star-shaped building, but the was a lighthouse just above me, which should provide a pretty good view of the area, so I would probably ‘spy’ the eternal sentinel from there.
The short climb was easy enough, and looking out over the expansive view, I saw a huge statue of a warrior, blade raised, which seemed to fit the ‘eternal sentinel’ description. Let’s see….. I paused to read the next instructions before climbing down. ‘Skirt its gate to reach the shrine’…. So I just walk past it until I find some sort of shrine? That’s pretty vague, but okay. Taking the most direct line possible, I almost tripped over another Dwemer cog sticking out of the sand. That’s four now, surely that will be enough to get me some gold? I decided, stuffing it away in my pack. I’ll have to look for Rulon when I get to town.
Approaching the huge sentinel statue, I continued past it far enough to line up the lighthouse behind, turned to face directly away and continued walking to a sort of rotunda with a brazier inside, burning with a blue flame.
Northwest stands the warrior…. It definitely wasn’t the one I’d just passed, so there must be another, probably smaller, statue out there. Taking a bearing I set off again, walking until I reached a bronze statue, similar in design to the large stone sentinel guarding the harbour.
Walk forty-five paces south…. Easily done, and when I glanced to my left, sure enough there was a gap between a few palms showing an island with some vaguely face-shaped formations on it. Wading out into the warm shallows, I swam towards the island and climbed ashore. Rocky finger, rocky finger….? I wondered, looking around. Sticking straight out over the water to my right, like a pointing finger, was a narrow rock formation, and just for fun I ran along it and dove off the end, swimming straight for shore. I had seen what might be a mast rising at an odd angle over the sand dunes ahead before taking my dive, so I climbed the slope and saw ahead of me a large, wrecked ship. Filled with bandits. I sighed and weighed my options. On the one hand, I was instructed to go through the broken ship to find the stone ship at anchor, whose port I was supposed to check for leaves, but I decided to skirt around it in a crouch, as taking on this many bandits, especially in ones or twos, would just take ages, and I was already on a detour as it was.
And then there it was, an outcropping of three rocky ‘decks’ in the bay, with wooden ‘masts’ as markers to prevent any ships from running aground on them during high tides. I walked around the sandy cove, searching for fallen leaves in vain for a good ten minutes before taking a break on some raised ground under a few palms, disgruntled. Who knows how long ago that note was buried. I told myself. Some old leaves could have been blown away or swept out to sea in a storm by now. There isn’t even a tree anywhere to be seen, except for these palms…. Palm…. trees…. Oh, I’m an idiot. And I stood up to dig into the mound of sandy dirt I had been sitting on.
Not too deeply buried was a chest, and inside it some gold and an amulet. Really? I thought, exasperated anew. All that running around for this?
But it put me that much closer to being able to afford a horse than I had been, so I stowed the paltry treasure in my pack, kicked some sand over the empty chest’s closed lid, and started the trek back to town.
After a couple of enquiries, I eventually found Rulorn outside a warehouse near the market end of the Port Hunding Docks.
“Yes?” He asked as I approached him. “Do you have something for me?”
“I found something you might be interested in.” I replied, reaching into my pack for the gears I had collected.
“Just what my sphere needs!” He exclaimed taking them. “Just give me a minute, then throw that switch over there.”
“I’ll wait.” I agreed, eyeing the sphere with apprehension. It was the same as the automaton I had fought right before finding Neramo’s schematics, and I wasn’t keen for a repeat just yet.
“Ah, good, I believe this should work.” Rulorn muttered, head down in the contraption’s inner workings. He stepped back to consider his work. “One never knows what‘s going to happen when working on Dwemer devices.” He proclaimed sagely, then flinched as the sphere spat a shower of sparks. When it appeared nothing more serious was going to happen, he straightened and moved back to the corner of the building. “Now, throw the lever!” He instructed.
I really hope I’m not about to regret this! I thought and gave it a push.
Immediately the sphere opened, unfurling the humanoid figure to rise from its centre, before rolling into the street extending its sword-arm. The automaton then spun in place, rolled back and forth briefly, lowered the sword-arm, returned to its starting point, turned, and collapsed in a heap.
“I must say that my research does not often produce such spectacular results!” He celebrated. “Most gratifying!” He turned to face me. “Research never goes as one expects.”
“Was that good?” I asked dubiously.
“I’m amazed it worked at all,” he confided, “but thanks to you, I’ve made great strides today. Neramo will be thrilled! Please take this for your good work.” And he handed me a pouch of coins. Happy to be that much closer to purchasing a horse, I nodded my thanks, realising as I walked off that that Rulong must be the brother Neramo had mentioned several times.
1 -
Chapter Two: Stros M'Kai (Part Three)
Lambur was standing outside a building at the far end of the docks. With her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, she was a living, breathing, ‘Do Not Enter’ sign, but she greeted me as I approached with what probably passed as friendliness for her.
“Good to see you back in one piece.” She nodded as I made my way to the steps leading up to the door but stopped me before I could pass her. “Hey! The captain’s looking for you.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, wondering how long my little treasure-hunting excursion might have kept everyone waiting.
“Thanks to your work, we can go ahead with the heist.” She began, and I relaxed. “We’ve even got a few extra sailors clamouring to join our crew. You should talk to the captain upstairs.”
Inside I found Nicolene first. With her arms braced as support behind her, she was reclining on the floor next to a backpack.
“You’re back!” She exclaimed, as bubbly as ever. “Found anyone else to help us with this heist?”
“We’re moving along.” I announced, not sure if she had been expecting me to pull a few strangers off the streets as extra hands or not.
“Ha!” She replied confidently, throwing me a jingling pouch. “I knew you’d get it done! Who needs the old crew – those traitors! – when we’ve got you helping us?”
Smiling my thanks as I tucked the gold away, I headed upstairs to find Kaleen, Neramo, Lerisa and Jakarn.
“We’ve got a crew to rival the legends!” Kaleen saluted me with her tankard as I drew near. “Time to make some money, don’t you think?”
“I agree. What now?” I asked, coming to a halt in front of her.
“Now we’re ready for the real challenge – the heist.” She announced. “The target’s Bhosek. That slimy ***’s finally gonna get what’s coming to him. We’re going to steal his sailing logs.”
“His sailing logs? Really?” I repeated, wondering if I’d misheard. Was she slurring? Had she been drinking this whole time? Or was the tankard just a prop to distract people?
“His sailing logs are the key to our fortune, friend. They’re the records of every ship that’s docked here, every stolen cargo they’ve unloaded, and every illicit payment made to Bhosek.”
“How does that make us rich?” I asked, wondering what her next steps would be. Because there had to be more to this.
“Those records are worth a fortune to King Fahara’jad.” Kaleen revealed. “They’re written proof that Bhosek has violated the King’s order to stop raiding Breton shipping. With those papers in hand, the King can threaten to destroy Bhosek if he doesn’t stop.”
Or use them as cause to replace him with someone better able to lead this island…. I mused, but instead asked “The king’s agreed to pay you for them?” I wanted to be sure there was actually going to be some form of payment at the end of all this.
“Absolutely.” She assured me. “His envoy is on the dock now, waiting. As soon as we turn over the sailing logs, he gives us a fortune in gold. The trick will be getting into Bhosek’s palace, stealing the logs, and getting out with them. That’s your job.”
Wait, what? Then why did I have to go looking for everyone else first? I wondered, But I suppose Bhosek is already familiar with Jakarn, and probably knows of Lerisa’s reputation, so he’s unlikely to leave them unsupervised…. And this really isn’t in Neramo’s skillset. They’re probably needed as consultants more than anything else.
“How do I do it?” I asked, resigned to my continued role in this.
“First, you need a servant’s disguise to get into the palace.” She listed. “The papers are in a lockbox on the top floor. Bhosek has the only key. Slip this powder into his drink, then grab the key.”
“And then?” It couldn’t be that easy, surely.
“The lockbox is always guarded.” She warned me. “The guard’s not bright, but he’ll raise the alarm if anyone tries to open the box. Deal with him quietly – no stabbing. Lambur and I will have the ship ready to sail when you return with the papers.”
“I’ll be back soon.” I promised. I hope…. But let’s see what advise the others have to offer.
I turned to Neramo first, unsurprised to see him completely absorbed by whatever he was reading.
“Oh.” He exclaimed, startled at my interruption. “Yes, hello. This is fascinating. Did you know the Dwemer had devices to rapidly mince fruit?”
“Neramo, can you help me get to Bhosek’s lockbox?” I asked, deciding this would be the best area his expertise in strange contraptions could be applied.
“I can offer help with the guard, perhaps.” He pondered. “You wish to deal with him quietly, correct?”
“What’s your idea?” So, he was listening, after all…. Best to remember staring at a page can be a useful camouflage when eavesdropping in future!
“I removed this device from Clanker.”” He offered. “When pressed, it produces quite the incapacitating shock. If you would test it for me, preferably on a living subject, I would be grateful.”
“I’ll take it.” I said, accepting the device gingerly. “Thanks, Neramo.”
“Let me know if there are any lingering effects.” He added. “Twitching, mainly. I’m quite curious about the twitching.” And…. that’s not disturbing. Not at all. I decided, looking around to where Jakarn and Lerisa stood on Kaleen’s other side.
Jakarn was slouched against a crate, flipping that coin again as I walked closer, but upon seeing my approach perked up. “It’s a wonderful day for a sailing trip, isn’t it, friend?” Friend? That might be pushing it. But it’s better than him trying to flirt with me. “Especially if it gets me off this rock before Bhosek chops off my head.” He added in a more serious tone.
“Can you help me get to Bhosek’s lockbox?” I asked the thief. Just because he’d been caught, didn’t mean he wouldn’t have some useful information.
“Bhosek keeps the key around his neck.” He told me. “A cinch to steal. I’ll get the key off Bhosek. Meet me out back.” And have you beheaded as soon as someone recognises you? You’re not that annoying.
“No need.” I dissuaded him. “I’ll steal it myself.” His information on the key’s location was assistance enough, and I wasn’t about to risk my neck to rescue him again. Besides, once Bhosek is knocked out by this powder, even an amateur should be able to take the key off him.
"I like your confidence.” He replied. “Let's see what you can do."
Lastly I turned to Crafty Lerisa. It was her opinion on strategy I valued most, so I had wanted her to hear everyone else before I asked for her advice and assistance.
“Quite the motley crew, aren’t we?” She observed.
“What do you think of Captain Kaleen’s plan?” I asked her.
“She’s right. You’ll need a disguise to get anywhere near Bhosek.” And disguises were Lerisa’s speciality, I recalled. “Fortunately, you have me. Just say the word and I can have servant clothes waiting for you at the palace.”
“Thanks, Lerisa.” She hadn’t disappointed. “I’d love your help.”
“My pleasure.” She replied sincerely. “Meet me outside the palace. I’ll pick out something special for you.” Okay, that kinda sounded a bit alarming….
Giving my farewells to everyone else, I left the building, Lerisa fading from notice almost immediately, while I took a more relaxed, leisurely stroll towards the palace. Partly to give Lerisa time, but mostly to avoid drawing attention to myself.
I’m just a girl wondering what sort of horse to buy…. I thought to myself. Nothing to pay any attention to happening here. It was a brief walk to Bhosek’s palace, and I found it rather pleasant not to be in a hurry for once, taking in the views as I crossed the bridge separating it, alone on an island, from the rest of town. Lerisa was in servant garb, sweeping the courtyard below the steps to the main entrance.
“Well, look who came to pay a visit!” She remarked brightly as I drew near.
“Did you find a disguise for me?” I didn’t whisper, but spoke just softly enough, my back to anyone else nearby, that I should go unheard.
“Oh, yes.” She replied in a similar tone to mine. “Try these on. I’m sure they’ll fit you just right. In the meantime, I’ll just continue my sweep of the palace.” I grinned at her choice of words and moved off to a secluded corner to change clothes unseen before slipping into the palace. To my relief, the outfit was identical to the one Lerisa had been wearing.
Making my way towards the stairs, I scanned the room for Bhosek, but didn’t see him. Rather than conduct a search, I caught the attention of a woman sweeping his bedchamber.
“Onsi’s bones, what is it now?” She groaned, and I realised that anyone sounding this exhausted was probably given enough tasks to have a good idea of what was happening here.
“Have you seen Headman Bhosek?” I asked her timidly.
“Shouted at you too, did her?” She sympathised. “He just went outside to carouse with the latest slatterns from the mainland. Best hurry up and refill his drink. You don’t want him running out of drink.”
Perfect! I thought, instead dipping my head to her quickly, and scurrying off like the abused and frightened serving girl I was impersonating. I let myself out the back door, crossing the courtyard, and found Bhosek in the garden, reclining on a carpet strewn with cushions. ‘Keeping him company’ were two girls in Bosmer garb, an Altmer and an Orc.
"'Bout time, you lazy rat.” Bhosek growled in my direction, and I kept my face averted from him. “I'm near empty. Fill me up before I have you whipped!"
Scurrying over to where several bottles waited on a small table, I slipped Kaleen’s powder into a cup and filled it with wine, swirling the liquid as the powder dissolved, before placing it on a tray for Bhosek.
"Ladies, entertain yourselves. I'll be right back." The Headman ordered before taking a swig. A moment passed. Bhosek muttered, stumbled, and passed out, falling to the ground where he lay sprawled on his back on a carpet. Good enough.
"He's asleep?” The Orc girl exclaimed, surprised. “Already?"
"They don't usually nod off 'til after." The Altmer commented, confused.
I kept my back to them as I bent over Bhosek, slipping the key from his neck. And maybe taking a few trinkets from his pockets in the process.
"Did they just pick Bhosek's pockets?" The Altmer wondered aloud.
"I won't tell if you won't." The Orc stated, basking in the sun’s light as she lay on her back. "Oh, I could lounge out here forever. So nice."
Hurrying back inside with my prize, I made my way upstairs to find the lockbox and its guard. Ever-so-carefully removing Neramo’s device from my belt, I stopped a short distance from the guard, extended the device towards him, and pressed the button, while fervently hoping I had it pointed the right way. Thankfully a burst of lightning wrapped around him, and with a low cry he crumpled to the floor, where he lay unconscious but breathing. And twitching, I noted with amusement for Neramo’s sake. Focusing on the lockbox, I quickly opened it, stashed the contents under the back of my shirt, and made my escape.
Stopping only to change back into my own apparel, I secured the logs in a pocket, slipped Neramo’s device into my pack with renewed caution, and abandoned the servant’s garb in a nearby urn before strolling unhurriedly back to the docks.
Kaleen waited at the base of the Spearhead’s boarding ramp, two armoured guards and King Fahara’jad’s envoy beside her. Seeing me approach she stepped forward.
“My friend!” She greeted me. “Welcome back. Do you have some good news?”
“Here’s the shipping logs, Captain.” I replied with a smile, handing them over.
Checking them quickly as she turned to the envoy, Kaleen offered him the bundle of papers.
“Here you are, Tharwab.” She proclaimed. “The shipping logs that show Bhosek’s defiance of the King’s decrees.” With this she stepped aside and ascended the boarding ramp, waving me on to follow her. “Come on.” She encouraged me when I hesitated, wondering where this fortune in gold she had promised us was. “It’s time to go.” With a shrug I followed after her. “On your feet!” She called to the crew. “Man your stations, prepare to sail!” Then, taking the stairs up to the aft deck, Captain Kaleen took her place at the helm of the Spearhead.
“Home to Betnikh!” I heard Lambur rejoice. “I’ve missed my clan….”
Kaleen turned to me, and I looked at her, expectantly.
“Before we leave for Betnikh, talk to the crew.” She advised me. “Get familiar with them. It’ll be a long trip.” And what, you’ll dismiss anyone I can’t get along with? I wondered, but she held my gaze until I responded.
“All right, I’ll get to know the crew.” I agreed.
“If there’s one thing Master Kasan taught me, it’s that knowing your ship and crew keeps you alive. Seems like you’d make a fine captain, some day. But you’ll have to find your own ship!”
Checking who else was on the aft deck with us, I saw Lambur standing portside of the wheel, impatient to be under way. “Captain Kaleen took her time getting off this damned island.” She grumbled. “Doesn’t surprise me. Orc problems aren’t her problems. But we’d be stuck here if not for your help. I won’t forget that.” I smiled at her promise.
“What do you want?” Irien demanded when I turned to her next.
“You’re sailing with us?” I asked her, wondering why she’d subject herself to time trapped aboard with Jakarn, until I remembered how desperately she’d wanted to leave Stros M’Kai.
“Of course.” She replied vehemently. “I’ll pull my weight, unlike Jakarn. He’s not getting near another woman until I’m too old to stop him, and we Altmer live a very long time.” I almost laughed at her plan and turned to Jakarn with a raised eyebrow. He was only a few feet away, leaning against the aft mast.
“Stros M’Kai is a depressing place.” He drawled. “Too many Redguards waving their damn swords around. At least on the Spearhead, no one wants to kill me except Irien. She’ll come around. She’s crazy about me.” I left him to his delusions, and the Altmer glaring daggers at him.
Neramo had Clanker following him around the rear of the deck. “When active, Dwemer spiders have an extraordinary capacity for learning.” He informed me. “Now I have to stop Andrilion from teaching Clanker to bring him drinks.”
I found Andrilion nearby, moping. “Wonderful.” He complained. “Now I’ve been ordered to follow Neramo on another fool’s errand. At least the drinks are free.” Ordered by who? I wondered. Bhosek should be passed out still, did Neramo conscript you? It wouldn’t surprise me, but I decided not to ask.
On the main deck, the blond Nord from the Screaming Mermaid was stowing cargo. “I’m looking forward to seeing Jakarn in action.” He told me excitedly. “I hear he’s an incredible sailor. Lots of…. stamina.”
“What made you want to join us?” I asked him, hoping he had other reasons to be aboard.
“Following Jakarn, of course.” He replied, staring at me blankly. “Why else would I be along? I’m looking forward to working alongside him, sweating shirtless in the hot sun. You wouldn’t understand.” Well, he had that part right, at least, so with a shrug I left him to his work.
Standing gossiping next to a rack of casks were the two other members of Jakarn’s little fan club, and I made the mistake of meeting the Redguard’s gaze before I could avoid them.
“Blade’s edge, we’re setting sail with the famous Jakarn!” She celebrated. “Elethian and I have a bet on who’s going to bed him first.” Well, neither of you, if Irien has her way….
“I can’t wait to see Jakarn’s battle scars.” The rather tipsy sounding Bosmer chimed in. “I’m sure he’s got them everywhere.” I backed away in horror, making my escape through the rear cabin in the hopes of finding a way onto the for’castle.
“The Spearhead’s a good ship but she’s no Maiden’s Breath.” Mekag greeted me when I emerged. “At least she’ll get us away from Stros M’Kai. Looking forward to getting to know Lambur better. I like an Orc with a quick blade and a quicker tongue.” I silently wished him luck.
There was a Breton girl standing nearby I didn’t recognise. “This should be an interesting voyage.” She remarked to me. “Quite a crew Kaleen has thrown together!”
“Who are you?” I asked her, confused.
“Vimy Lacroix.” Was the quick reply. “I’m a collector of sorts, one who travels to places others dare not go. I hoped to join Neramo’s expedition to Bthzark. When I heard he had completed it and was sailing on, I just had to come along.”
“What do you do, exactly?” Her description had sounded suspiciously vague.
“You’re inquisitive.” She noted. “What I do, I do well. You’ll be glad to have me on this voyage if we encounter slavers. And I make a wicked sliced ale.” So…. thief, assassin, tomb-raider for hire?
Master Kasan was in the prow, meditating. “Again, sailors flock to the Spearhead.” He said after rising at my approach. “For this, Kasan is thankful.”
“What can you tell me about the captain?” I asked him, deciding he would give me better insights than the others would.
“Some call her the Duneripper’s Daughter. Others the Forebear Witch. We, her loyal crew, call her Captain Kaleen. She is a master sailor, though Kasan now wonders where her allegiance lies.”
“What do you mean?” I queried.
“There is a Forebear King in Sentinel now. Fahara’jad.” I nodded for the old Khajiit to continue. “He has allied himself with the Bretons and Orcs in this ‘Daggerfall Covenant’. Kasan fears his apprentice thinks much of Fahara’jad. Too much. A true sea-rover has no such loyalties.”
“Captain Kaleen is your apprentice?” This was…. not unexpected, now that I thought about it.
“Kasan taught Kaleen much, though she is her own woman, strong and proud. Kasan is grateful to help her find her way. She is a worthy successor. All that was once Kasan’s is now hers.”
This explained a bit. Kaleen was young for a captain and didn’t have Lerisa’s charisma or smarts to inspire a crew the way she did. There was an air of naivete to her in some ways, a lack of attention to detail, an aversion to getting her own hands dirty. She’d had me running around recruiting for her, then had her “crew” mainly act as consultants while I went in and did ‘her’ heist. And now that it was over, she still hadn’t paid me…. Master Kasan had given me a lot to think about.
I shimmied over the railing back down onto the main deck, using the kegs as cover from Jakarn’s would-be seductresses. Deregor was near the boarding ramp, staring off at the docks, probably keeping an eye out for pursuit. “Wherever Captain Lerisa goes, I go.” He declared proudly, then continued, quieter. “Even on this tub. Can’t wait until we get our own ship again.” I smiled at him in understanding and took the main hatch belowdecks.
“Ah! Don’t sneak up on me.” The Altmer shuddered, and I recognised him as the escapee from Lerisa’s crew I had met outside Saintsport. Twitchy fellow, not a fighter.
“What did you do on the Maiden’s Breath?” I asked him, rather than teasing him for going back on his vow to never board a ship again.
“I was quartermaster.” He said, some pride coming back into his voice and posture as he reminisced. “I made sure we had the supplies and equipment to do whatever Lerisa wanted.”
“Do you miss it?” Well, obviously!
“For now.” He admitted. “But Captain Lerisa is hoping to get her own ship again. We’ll see how things go in Betnikh.”
Haerdun sat at the nearby table. “Can’t hold a sword yet, but I can hold a book.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should find a book that will teach me how to fight with my left hand!”
In the galley the same Argonian who had greeted me when I first awoke on this ship was staring at the maps once more. “The crew of the Spearhead grows again.” She said, sounding pleased. “I did not think to see it so soon. The sun shines on us.”
The Breton, Crenard, was glued to the counter where Kaleen’s Altmer cook was wielding a cleaver. “Really, how do they eat this stuff?” He whispered to me. “I’m going to teach Fenlil a thing or two about cooking.”
“So you’re a cook?” It would explain his ‘portliness’, as Lerisa had described him to me.
“One of the finest, my good friend!” The Breton boasted. “I used to own my very own café in Wayrest, before that thug Ugurz closed me down. I hope to open another one, once I collect enough coin. Maybe in Daggerfall. Hmm….” I left him to his planning, making my way back above board and into the Captains quarters.
Nicolene was bustling about, in her usual high spirits. “I knew Captain Kaleen would get another crew together!” She beamed at me. “When she wants something, she gets it!” Well, it seemed more likely that a lot of things in Kaleen’s life had been given to her, as the only one Kaleen had actively recruited was me.
“What can you tell me about this ship?” I asked her, hoping to ease into questions about the captain next.
“The spearhead’s the fastest galleon on the seas!” The bubbly girl exclaimed. “Master Kasan gave her to Captain Kaleen when he retired. He taught her all she knows about the sea. Once the Captain gets a new crew, we’ll be off again.” It was understandable that Lerisa and her people wouldn’t want to stay long, I could already see them chafing to get back to their own roles again once they obtained a new ship.
“What can you tell me about the Captain?” I asked casually.
“She’s amazing!” Nicolene enthused. “She’s smart, tough, and a real fighter. She’s incredible with a sword, even for a Redguard who grow up using them. I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“How did you meet her?” Hopefully there would be a few insights amongst the chatter.
“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing.” The Breton girl hedged. “But funny! I was living on the Wayrest docks, picking a few pockets here and there to get by. Then Kaleen came walking by, with a huge bag of gold swinging from her belt.”
“And you tried to steal it?” I guessed, dumbstruck by Kaleen's naivety.
“I did steal it!” Nicolene insisted. “She didn’t even notice it was gone until I was halfway down the street, but boy, did she get after me. She can run! When she caught me, I thought I was dead, but she offered me a job. She was impressed.” And relieved, I bet!
“So you joined her crew?” Theoretically, taking someone in at their lowest, giving them employment with a sense of dignity, ensuring they were fed, clothed, and had a purpose, would inspire incredible loyalty, and explained a lot about how Nicolene viewed Kaleen.
“She said it was a good lift – taking her purse I mean – and offered me an apprenticeship.” Nicolene confirmed. “Sailing the seas, drinking and fighting, finding treasure – I love it. Captain Kaleen’s an incredible mentor.”
Crafty Lerisa was perched on the aft deck’s rail above the stairs to the main deck, Howler next to her. "The Spearhead's no Maiden's Breath, but at least she doesn't have a giant hole in her side.” She informed me shrewdly as I climbed back up to the helm. “I'd be happy if we never saw land again." I nodded my understanding as I passed her. Crewing under another captain, even temporarily, would be uncomfortable, especially while knowing it also chafed at your crew, and would require a great deal of tact. Fortunately, Lerisa would be capable of managing the balance well.
I nodded to Kaleen as I approached her, indicating I had introduced myself to the crew, and was ready to leave Stros M’Kai behind. Preferably before Bhosek woke up and discovered he’d been robbed….
“Then we leave for Betnikh,” Kaleen proclaimed, “an Orc island that hasn’t yet joined the Covenant. I hope to change that. Lambur’s happy to go home. She may try to thank you with ale. My advice? Make it to six mugs. You’ll have a friend for life.”
I laughed at this, catching Lambur’s slight nod as she moved off to attend to her duties. I rather liked Kaleen’s blunt First Mate, and although I found ale too bitter for my preference, I resolved to make the attempt. It'll be an interesting voyage, but at least I shouldn’t have need of a horse for the duration.
1 -
Chapter Three: Betnikh (Part One)
“When my crew turned traitor, I never thought I’d see Betnikh again.” Kaleen confided in me once we were securely docked. “Feels good.” The two words were simple but spoken with a world of meaning.
“What now?” I asked her, watching the crew begin to unload cargo.
“Head into town and get a drink!” Was her immediate advice, and I blanched at the memory of my seasickness the morning after drinking with Lambur…. I was proud to have made it to eight mugs before passing out, though. “This is home and we’ll be here for a while.” Kaleen continued, “Here’s your cut of the take from the heist.”
I accepted the pouch of gold eagerly, along with a cuirass. The armour was too heavy to suit my usual fighting style but was probably valuable, if I could find an appropriate merchant.
“Careful here.” Kaleen advised me as I started towards the ramp to disembark. “These Orcs aren’t part of the Covenant, but I’m working on that. Feel free to check out Stonetooth fortress. Maybe you’ll meet a nice orc.”
“Why should they join the Covenant?” I asked, ignoring her innuendo, and the look that accompanied it. It was no secret that I’d declined any number of invitations while aboard, but that was less about the lack of privacy, and more that something had seemed…. lacking in each case, and it wasn’t just my absent soul or non-existent heartbeat, although the latter would become obvious to anyone in such proximity.
“They aren’t fools.” Kaleen replied. “Proud as the Seamount clan are, they can’t deny the Covenant’s strength in numbers. And they’ll make a fortune selling weapons to our alliance.”
Nodding at her reasoning, I descended the ramp, and was soon on solid ground once more. The air was fresh, with the green smell of growing things almost masking the tang of salt. The leaves were beginning to turn on a few of the sturdy trees, and I could see a bustling, if small, market nearby. The guard at the edge of the dock turned to me as I stood there, breathing deeply and wondering why some plant scents seemed strangely familiar.
“Good thing you arrived with Captain Kaleen.” He advised me. “Outsiders aren’t welcome on Betnikh, especially not now.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Bloodthorn Cultists attacked the fortress.” He replied and I shivered in recollection of my recent demise at the hand of Mannimarco’s Worm Cult. “You’re lucky you don’t look like them or you’d have a spear in your belly.”
“Looks like the attack failed.” I observed.
“Of course.” He declared proudly. “We slaughtered most; the rest fled. They stole something from the chief, but we’ll get it back. We’ll mop them up as soon as Chief Tazgol raises the army. You want to know more, ask Lambur.”
“I’ll go find her.” I agreed, hoping she wouldn’t be drink in hand, and if she was, that she wouldn’t make me drink ale again. I much preferred mead.
As it was, I eventually tracked Lambur down in the Fortress itself, and she was stone cold sober.
“This was part of a larger plan.” She told me in lieu of a greeting. “I’m sure of it!” When I gestured for her to elaborate, she continued. “The Bloodthorn Cult assaulted the fortress. They were repulsed, but they stole a Breton scroll the Orcs found here long ago. Chief Tazgol thinks the attack failed, but I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?” Were they only after the scroll?
“The cultists retreated after the initial assault; they came here to steal that scroll, I’m sure of it. But why? Have they set a trap for us? We must know before the chief decides to attack.” It sounded like she planned to join the Orc army’s assault on the Bloodthorn Cultists.
“How can I help?” I offered.
“Start with Shaman Laganakh.” Lambur requested. “She witnessed Bloodthorn rituals in the Carved Hills. She’s waiting by the Longhouse south of here. Cultists were also seen at Moriseli, to the north, and Grimfield, west of here.”
“What can you tell me about Moriseli?” I asked, wanting as much information as I could get before I ran off to investigate, this time.
“It’s an Ayleid ruin.” She elaborated. “Years ago, Breton raiders attacked us. An outnumbered patrol held out there for weeks until they were wiped out. Later, our army destroyed the raiders. It’s just a ruin, really. I don’t know what the Bloodthorn want with it.”
“What about Grimfield?” I wondered. “That’s an ominous name.”
“It’s a graveyard.” Lambur stated bluntly. “Not ours – Breton. When we conquered the island hundreds of years ago, War Chief Yzzgol left it intact out of respect for our enemies. We don’t desecrate graves, but the Bloodthorn cult will. Plenty of fresh bodies.” Urgh, I though in disgust, necromancers.
“What do you know about the Carved Hills?”
“It’s mostly wilderness. There are Ayleid ruins, but they were looted long ago. I don’t know what the Bloodthorn want there, but Laganakh might know more.”
Nodding my thanks to Lambur, I made my way out of the Fortress and south to the Longhouse where Laganakh was waiting, watching the market.
“I trust you are here to help.” She barked, looking me over. “Dark rituals are being performed around the island. I first smelled the corruption on the wind. Then my shaman found evidence at an Ayleid ruin nearby.
“Who is performing the rituals?” Always best to seek confirmation from the source, I reasoned to myself, rather than go off of hearsay.
“The same cult that attacked the fortress.” Laganakh confirmed. I sense a link between the attack and the rituals. There is a way to be certain. Chief Tazgol has forbidden me from pursuing this, so I ask you too.”
Why would the Clan Chief forbid his Shaman from investigating an attack on his stronghold? I wondered.
“How?” I asked, deciding to keep my more political questions to myself.
“By the bridge to the south is a totem.” The shaman directed me. “Those who touch it see visions. It may show you a vision that links the attack to the rituals I feel corrupting the island. Follow wherever the vision leads you.”
“I will.” I promised her gravely.
“You journey into danger.” The shaman warned me. “Choose your steps carefully.”
“How can I see these visions?” I asked, hoping for more instructions than ‘touch the totem’.
“The land remembers those who tread upon it, for good or ill. The totem taps into these memories and shows us the ghosts of the past.” Was her explanation instead, and I couldn’t help but wonder as I skirted the market (no-one seemed to be selling horses, and I wondered whether an island this small even kept a stable) if someday, someone touching the totem might see my actions here.
The totem was smaller than I’d expected; a thick stake had been driven into the ground to about my own height, then braced with two branches crossing it in an ‘X’, before being decorated with skulls. The jawbones were missing, so I couldn’t tell if they had been tusked or not. Tentatively reaching out a hand, I brushed my fingertips across the rough timber. I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen, but crouched beside me, the colourless, almost transparent form of a cultist appeared. Moving slowly, still crouched over, he slunk to the bridge where he abruptly stood and gazed around as if checking for something, before making his way onto the bridge.
“The stench of these Orcs is unbearable.” He complained as he crossed, and I continued to follow his image over the bridge, up off the road towards some ruined Ayleid arches and a rocky cave entrance or overhang. There, he knelt before the image of a woman with a staff on her back, who began speaking to him, and I strained my ears to listen as I approached.
“You have the scroll.” She was saying. “Rejoice that you did not fail. Varden will be pleased.”
“I live to serve my masters.” The man responded.
“Go west to the Ayleid site.” She instructed him. “The scroll’s ritual should enable you to succeed where the others failed.”
“I will not fail you, mistress.” He replied so swiftly that he spoke over the end of her more measured words.
A few moments later, their images vanished. Who’s Varden? I wondered. For that matter, who were they? But at least I had been given a place to start, and comparing the directions roughly matched up, so chances were these Ayleid ruins were the Carved Hills, which Lambur had told me about.
I won’t know unless I look. I decided and made my way west.
Leaving the path at the first sign of Ayleid architecture, I entered a sort of circular hollow, ringed by collapsed arches and marble steps, to see the same colourless ‘echoes’ of the previous vision, again the man kneeling and the woman this time on a platform above him but standing behind another man. And just who might you be? I pondered to myself. The mysterious Varen, perhaps?
“Now, read the scroll.” The standing man instructed the kneeling one. “The ritual it holds will send you into the spirit realm. Should you succeed, I will follow.” Wow, way to tell someone you don’t trust the process, and they’re just a test subject. I thought as the speaker raised his arms. “In the name of the Bloodthorns, enter the spirit realm!”
There was a brief greenish flash, a bursting sound, and the cultist slumped forward before disappearing.
“Failure again!” the speaker uttered. “Perhaps an ancient curse lingers here. I will try the ritual in our lair.” With this the two remaining echoes vanished, but a familiar voice greeting me had almost made the final words indistinguishable, so I was gritting my teeth in frustration as Jakarn approached me.
“Well, look who’s here.” He drawled, and I counted slowly as I exhaled a deep breath, but he continued, obliviously. “Let me guess, you want into the Bloodthorns’ secret lair.” What? How did he…. Could he hear that? I wondered, turning towards him as he continued. “I unburdened their secret entrance of its lock.” Grinning at me, he added “I’ve got your back, good looking.”
“What are you doing here, Jakarn?” I asked the overly flirtatious thief. I thought I made it quite clear during the voyage here that I have no interest in playing with you, and besides, you have enough playmates as it is.
“Looking for you.” He shrugged. “Laganakh told me you were headed this way, chasing the creeps who attacked the fortress.”
“You knew about the Bloodthorn lair?” I asked him, accusingly.
“Sure.” He drawled. “I tracked a few of them to their cave. Rather than poke around on my own, I decided to wait for you, my friend. And here you are!”
I sighed deeply, then straightened my shoulders. Despite his many…. many, many, faults, Jakarn was a superb sneak, and a talented reader and manipulator of people. I didn’t dislike him, but I did find him irritating, and I needed to get over that if I was going to work with him. His usefulness balanced out his unwanted attentions, and he was probably being extra flirty just to irritate me, anyway. Which is extra annoying, now that I realise he’s might be doing it for exactly that reason.
Holding my hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, I turned away, and noticed an older Orc lady at a nearby shrine of sorts attempting to get my attention. Well, here’s a timely distraction. I decided impulsively and made my way down the bank and across the small stream to her.
“I meet you at last.” She greeted me warmly. “I saw you defeat the scheming Redguard who rules Stros M’Kai. I see great events swirling about you.”
“How?” I wondered. Can you see that I’m sort of, well, dead?
“Visions.” She declared, throwing her hands wide. “This is one of three shrines around Betnikh that give glimpses of events that effect many lives. They affect you in particular. Would you like to see them yourself?”
Ooh, that’s a tough question! I realised. If it could show me options, and consequences, ahead of time, that would be helpful, but if it just showed me good things, or bad things, how could I be certain I was making the right choices to lead to the outcome I wanted?
“Yes.” I answered her, deciding that I would just have to make whichever choice felt right, and live…. well, deal with the results.
“Burn these herbs at each shrine.” I was instructed as she handed me a fragrant pouch. “You will receive a vision of things to come. I will be in my longhouse, should you have questions.”
“I will.” I agreed, and moved to stand before the nearby shrine, Jakarn following behind me.
Throwing a handful of the dried herbs into the brazier on the altar produced an orange flash of flames, and a glowing mote of light which flew to burst with a bang in the archway beyond. Once it faded, the colourless, translucent form of a Redguard woman, well dressed, appeared, and was approached by a Breton Knight in armour.
“I know what you’re planning, your Grace.” He addressed her as he drew near.
“What are you doing here?” She questioned him. “Leave my room at once!”
“I won’t allow Alcaire to fall into Redguard hands.” He insisted, ignoring her command.
“Alcaire in Redguard hands?” She repeated, surprised. “Tears of Zeht! You’ve gone mad!”
“I’m sorry, but this is the only way.” The Knight insisted.
“No! Please!” The Duchess begged in dawning horror, but the Knight stabbed her, and she fell to the ground. Moments later, they faded from view, and I was left confused. I didn’t know who either of them were, other than guessing she was a Duchess from the way he’d addressed her, and that he was a knight by his armour, and I had no way of knowing if her death was something that needed to happen, or something I should be trying to prevent.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, I thought, as I turned and made my way to the cave hiding the Bloodthorns’ lair entrance with Jakarn. What if all I see are terrible things I have no way of changing? Or I end up changing things that need to happen, because I take them out of context, and rush in blindly?
“This place reminds me of the Grave.” Jakarn reminisced as we approached the door. “Great memories….” And abruptly, I was oddly grateful for his presence. At least Jakarn is predictable, up to a point. “Why do evil lairs always smell so bad?” He griped as we entered.
Inside it appeared to have once been a mine, with timber walkways, tunnels supported by bracing timbers, and discarded tools lying about. With a few cultists added here and there for ambience, but picking them off one by one was easy work, especially when Jakarn actually helped instead of vanishing in a puff of smoke the way he had on Stros M’Kai. But what I truly found perplexing was the lack of water. We’d been wading through it approaching the entrance to this place, but now a great open shaft plunged beneath the walkway we crossed, and it was dry. Magic. I decided and put it out of my mind. Nothing I could do about it if it suddenly failed, so why tempt fate. And that’s probably how I should think of those visions of the future, too. I realised, engaging another cultist in the tunnel we’d entered as Jakarn sliced into him from behind. The information may prove useful to know, but I shouldn’t think of it as something I have any control over. If the opportunity presents itself to use what I learn in making a decision, all I can do is do what I can, and not drive myself mad over what-ifs. And it wasn’t as if a vision of the future could show me my past, either, and I was becoming more used to my missing memories and silent heart, knowing that I was doing all I could to improve them, so there was no need to drive myself relentlessly, answers would come in time. See? I know how to handle it, I’m already coping just fine with other, similar issues….
“I’m gonna rob this place clean, later.” Jakarn promised himself as we ran forward to take down the next cultist before they could sound an alarm.
Both us of stuck to daggers, more suited to the tight spaces and bends in the tunnels, and less risky than me peppering a foe with arrows if Jakarn was fighting close with them. It worked well, and I found myself enjoying the co-ordinated way we fought.
“We could always ask them to leave the island.” Jakarn suggested, following me down a ramp. I rolled my eyes, but in amusement rather than exasperation, in better spirits than I ever recalled being in while in his company. Is he…. growing on me? I wondered. But the idea of flirting with him still revolted me, so at least I hadn’t swung that far over.
The base of the tunnel opened out into a larger chamber with an Ayleid doorway to one side, a large puddle, and a worktable laden in books and soulgems, and in the centre of it all was the translucent echo of the speaker from the last vision, probably the Vardan the earlier woman had mentioned.
Raising his hand aloft he vanished, then reappeared.
“At last – success!” He exclaimed. “I can enter the spirit realm. The next phase of our mission can begin!” And with that he faded again from view. I looked around and focused on the Ayleid door. There was a lit torch illuminating it. Deciding this was the most promising way out, having seen all there was to see here, I approached the door.
“I’ll catch up with you later.” Jakarn called from behind me. “These Bloodthorns need to be robbed.” Waving him off, I opened the Ayleid door and found myself in the open air of Betnikh, emerging from a similar Ayleid doorway set into a cliff. Below me was the edge of a lake, and on the near shore was Laganakh. Foregoing the temptation of a high dive into the water, I instead made small jumps from rock to rock, and descended to the shoreline before making my way up the bank to the Shaman.
“You return.” She greeted me. “What did you learn of the Bloodthorn plans?”
“They are desperate to enter the spirit realm.” I informed her.
“The fools!” She exclaimed. “Did they succeed?”
“Yes, I saw it happen.” I confirmed.
“The dangers that face us become clearer.” Laganakh told me. “I will try to convince Chief Tazgol of this, though I doubt he will accept the word of an outsider. Your efforts on our behalf bring you honour.”
Nodding my thanks at her words, and the pouch of coins she passed me, I decided to search out the remaining shrines before looking for Lambur again. And chances were I’d find at least one either near Grimfield or on my way there, so I set off for the cemetery.
"Stop right there! No one enters, Chief Tazgol's orders." One of the Orc guards halted me as I arrived.
“Where did all these zombies come from?” I asked, seeing them lurching through the grounds between the tombstones.
"Bloodthorn Cult.” He spat. “They're raising zombies all over the graveyard. I'm here to keep the people out until War Chief Tazgol arrives and crushes them all."
“Aren't you worried about the cult raising an army?” I asked, perplexed at the lack of action so far.
"Ha! An army?” He scoffed. “These are Breton zombies. Flimsy little bodies in the ground. They'll die easy. Still, if you feel like slaughtering cultists, I won't stop you. Start with the crypt in the centre. I saw a few in there."
“I'll go have a look.” I agreed, relieved it had been so easy to gain access.
He was right about the zombies, too, they weren’t difficult to put down, and neither were the odd cultist or two I ran into on my way through the cemetery to the central crypt. Arriving at the small structure, I made my way inside and down the stairs to the burial chamber, to be met with the glowing apparition of a Breton woman.
"Greetings, stranger.” She addressed me calmly. “You are not a cultist. Help us defeat these necromancers!"
“How?” I asked, wondering if she had a plan that allowed a single fighter to take on the ever-increasing numbers out there.
"Take the Staff of Arkay, a potent weapon against undead.” She instructed. “You must first charge the staff, then use it to destroy the foul abominations summoned by these necromancers."
“How do I charge the staff?” I asked, relieved that yes, she did have a plan, and could also articulate it.
"The blasphemers employ dark magic to raise the dead.” She explained. “Disrupt their rituals and release that energy. The Staff of Arkay will convert this into power to destroy their dark creations!"
“Very well. I'll stop them.” I promised, relieved it would be relatively straight forward.
"The Staff of Arkay.” She prompted, and I picked the staff up. “Take it, use it to strike down these blasphemers."
“Who are you?” I asked her, hefting the unfamiliar weight.
"In life, I was a priestess of Arkay.” She replied. “I served King Renwic for many years. I was with him when the Seamount Orcs invaded. We died together at their hands."
“The Seamount clan killed you?” I repeated, remembering Lambur telling me that the Orc clan living here had conquered the island, taking it from the Bretons hundreds of years ago.
"Many died under their blades.” She admitted sadly. “But that was long ago. The Bloodthorn Cultists desecrate our graves today. I beg you to stop them."
“Are you the guardian of this graveyard?” I asked, wondering why she was…. well, here. Lucid. Clearly not raised by a necromancer.
"Even in death I watch over my people.” She smiled. “Necromancy is a crime against Arkay. The aura of corruption builds as my countrymen's bodies are raised and desecrated by these minions of the Worm. I need your help to stop them."
“What can you tell me about these necromancers?” The more information I have, the better prepared I’ll be….
"The Bloodthorn Cult's necromancy corrupts nature.” The spirit informed me. “They're led by Reachmen of the worst sort, allies of Mannimarco. They raise our dead to assault the Orcs. This desecration must end!"
As soon as she mentioned the Bloodthorns’ connection to Mannimarco and his Worm Cult, it was all I could do not to run rampaging across the island, searching out cultists to destroy. But Kaleen had cautioned me to tread carefully, and I wasn’t about to jeopardise her efforts as diplomat by offending the locals. Besides, there were enough targets here for me to vent my rage on.
"Disrupt the rituals, kill the cultists. Drain the energy from their defilements." She reminded me, and I nodded resolutely, securing the staff on my back and drawing my daggers. This was personal now, so I wanted this to be close work, to see and feel their deaths. I ran up the stairs softly, light-footed, silent, and fell among the first group I found like a creature of vengeance. I barely remembered to use the staff to absorb the floating remnants of the ritual’s energy before stalking my next targets and was soon lost in the process of eradicating as many of Mannimarco’s allies as I could find.
"The staff is fully charged. Quickly, meet me at my tomb." The spirit’s voice interrupted my slaughter, and I came back to my senses with a jolt, dazed. Who was I? What was I? How can killing be so easy? I wondered, returning to her crypt.
"I sense great power in the staff. You've done well." The spirit greeted me, and I made an effort to shake off my unanswerable questions.
“What do I do with it?” I asked her.
"The staff will reveal circles of corruption among the crypts.” She informed me. “There lurk the Bloodthorn Cult's abominations, hidden in pockets of Oblivion. Plant the staff in a circle to draw an abomination into our world. Then destroy it!"
I resumed my prowl through the historic cemetery, taking the time to wipe out anything I came across as I searched out the corruptions. The first spat out a scamp as it collapsed in on itself, and I put it down swiftly with a few deep thrusts of my blades, before continuing on. The second disgorged a zombie, which was destroyed just as quickly. Several cultists later I found a third, which revealed a ghost.
"It is done!” The spirit’s voice advised me once I had despatched the final abomination. “Meet me at the west end of the graveyard."
I may not have taken a very direct route, as I tracked down and disposed of more of the cultists and their zombie horde, but on my way I found another of the vision shrines, and stopped to see what it would show me. Knowing what to expect, I tipped a handful of the herbal mix into the flames and watched the orange mote of light burst to reveal the next vision of the future within the archway. The monochrome figures were of hulking werewolves this time, confronting a man.
“Now you are one of us.” One snarled at him as he transformed. “Go.” It ordered, and he ran off. “Spread our gift.” With a gargled laugh from the leader they vanished.
Okay. I decided. Werewolf outbreak, but where? Deciding that the information I needed would come in due time, hopefully soon enough to prevent tragedy, even if I couldn’t prevent that particular sequence of events from occurring. Maybe that’s the point, I mused, maybe I can’t change what I see, and shouldn’t try to, but maybe I can use the knowledge of it to ensure I prevent whatever disaster it could lead to from happening?
Deciding that was a healthy way to think of it, for now, I drifted off course, and came across a hunting party’s camp to find the Orc in charge being bandaged by one of the hunters.
“Blast it, Sgrugha, stop-” His words cut off at my approach.
“Keep staring, outlander, and I’ll repay the sacking of Orsinium twice over.” He snarled at me. “A few scratches don’t bother me.”
“What’s your problem?” I asked, wondering how he’d been injured.
“You.” He retorted. “Coming here, thinking you’re better than us? Think again.”
“Maybe I am better.” I replied, judging him as the sort to respond more favourably to a show of confidence than a conciliatory approach.
“Strong talk; prove it.” He laughed. “I bet my axe that any of my hunters could best you in a duel.”
“I’ll take that bet.” I agreed cheekily.
“Beat three of my hunters in duels, and my axe is yours.” He promised.
“Shouldn’t I have something at stake?” I offered.
“No need. The loss of your dignity will be my reward.” He smiled in anticipation.
Nodding my agreement, I turned to look at my options. The nearest hunter was a woman about my own age, but a bit bulkier, armed with daggers. Closest to myself I’m going to find here. I decided. Ideal for a warm up, and to show them how I compare directly with one of their own.
“Yeah?” She said as I approached her. “I don’t have all day.”
“Ready for a duel?” I asked her cheerfully.
“My daggers are always willing to teach a lesson.” She boasted.
“Ready when you are.” I invited, stepping away to circle her, looking for an opening. She was strong, and faster than the men would be, but I was faster still, and my smaller frame allowed me to step in closer, avoiding her strikes narrowly as I spun under her attacks. Dazing her with a kick to the head, I moved on to my next opponent.
This time I picked for size difference, a hulking swordsman.
“Why don’t you face a real warrior.” He greeted me.
“Are you willing to duel me?” I challenged him, arching a brow.
“More than willing.” He insisted. “It’s been too long since I crushed an outsider’s face.”
“We’ll see.” I smiled confidently, beginning to enjoy myself. This was combat for the fun of it, a challenge to prove myself to strangers who doubted me, who needed some confidence in my skill if I was going to be able to help them. There was no need to kill, only the thrill of the dance itself.
My opponent was as I’d anticipated, even stronger than the first, but also slower, and I danced around him freely, stepping in to leave tiny nicks on his hands and neck before staggering him with a blow to his head with my fist, weighted by my dagger. He nodded acknowledgement of his defeat, and I turned to see another hunter watching me.
She was young, like the first, and also wielded daggers, but I knew she’d be more of a challenge to me than any of the larger, slower men, so I grinned at her in invitation.
“So, I’m next?” She asked.
“Ready for a duel?” I challenged her.
“My daggers are always willing to teach a lesson.” She repeated my first opponent’s boast, hands on hips.
“Ready when you are.” Repeating my response, also, I gave her space to move forward, away from the tree she had been leaning against. She was more agile than the first had been, and faster, and had probably been watching my previous matches, looking for weaknesses and patterns. So I made sure not to repeat any moves, using more lunges, some dive rolls and fewer spins, blocking her strikes against my blades, testing myself more than her. I loved it. But I had a point to prove, so I popped her in the chin with a pommel, sending her staggering back, and she waved a hand in surrender.
I returned to the huntmaster with a jaunty spring in my step, to find him glowering as he still attempted to fend of Sgrugha’s ministrations.
“No need to gloat; I saw it all.” He harrumphed. “Clearly my hunters need more training.”
“And my reward?” I asked cheekily.
“My word is as solid as this steel.” He boasted. “Take my axe. Maybe someday you’ll learn how to use it.”
I nodded in respect, took my prize, and left him to Sgrugha’s less-than-tender bandaging, to track down the spirit I’d agreed to meet.
1 -
Chapter Three: Betnikh (Part One)
She was hovering over the sand beside a ruined crypt; it had tilted backwards and was partly covered, as if sinking into the shoreline.
“The Bloodthorn’s perversion of my people is ended.” She thanked me as I drew near. “The honoured dead are at rest once again.”
“Is the threat ended?” I asked her.
“The cult focused all their power into their abominations. Now these are dust and ash. The threat to us is ended, but the threat to you remains.” Nice to get a clear answer from someone for once, I decided, even if it isn’t great news. “King Renwic wishes to repay our debt to you. Speak to him. Learn your true peril.”
Another spirit materialised behind her, floating in the open doorway of the half-buried crypt. I turned to face him and moved closer.
“You have returned my people to their rest.” He greeted me. “I wish to repay you, but I have only information to give.”
“What can you tell me?” I asked him.
“The Seamount Orcs attacked generations ago. They took our island. Under their rule, what we once called Betony became Betnikh. My failure to defend my people was unforgivable, but how I attempted to defeat the Orcs was worse.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I attempted necromancy.” He admitted. “An ancient Ayleid relic is buried on this island. The Bloodthorn seek its power. Enter the portal beside me. You will see my last day through the eyes of my enemies. Learn what you can.”
With a nod, I turned to the portal, unable to speak. I could only imagine the horrors a necromantic cult would unleash if they had possession of an Ayleid relic designed for such a purpose, and the earliest memories my imagination had access to were of being sacrificed, and of Coldharbour, so it was a bleak picture indeed. But my entire purpose now is to prevent such horrors from coming to pass. I reminded myself and stepped into the portal.
I found myself in an Ayleid ruin, the sounds of battle in the distance, several Orcs, my fellow warriors, ahead. I ran towards them.
“Targoth!” The Hunt-Wife greeted me, rising from where she had been bending over Breton corpses. “The Breton King has sealed himself deeper in the ruin. He is preparing some foul spell!”
“What spell is this?” I found myself asking in a gruff voice.
“I know only that the magic he summons will slaughter our army.” She shook her head, her words urgent and rapid. “Unless we stop him, every Orc here will die.”
“How do we stop King Renwic?” I…. he…. asked.
“We must learn how to reach their cowardly king and the nature of his foul magic.” She urged. “Make these prisoners talk! We have confiscated their belongings. They may hold clues to what they know.”
“How far should I go in my interrogations?” I felt the words as they were spoken, and shuddered inwardly. This isn’t me! I wailed in my own mind, locked within the will of another. But I need to know what they saw, what they did, how I can stop this in my own time…. Firming my resolve, I ceased my internal struggles against the actions of my host and continued to watch.
“The Code of Malacath is clear.” The Hunt-Wife said firmly. “So long as these Bretons aid their king in his foul magic, they remain our enemies. If you can coerce them through words alone, do so. If not….”
“If not?” My host prompted her.
“They must pay the blood price.” She drew a thumb across her throat as she spoke. “I took this charm off a Reachwitch. Hold it tight and order any guard to execute his prisoner. The charm will chain their soul and compel them to answer you. You will have one question Targoth. Ask wisely.”
I felt ill, and this unease must have been shared by my host, or had I influenced him somehow?
“Is there honour in killing unarmed prisoners?” He asked her.
“They aid their king in his foul plan to kill us all!” She exploded furiously. “Unless they tell us how to stop him, his magic will wipe us out. We are at war, Targoth. Do what you must.” There was something she’d mentioned….. I thought desperately ….some sort of code?
“Remind me about the Code of Mauloch.” My host said, and I silently rejoiced. Maybe I’m not just a passenger in here!
“Don’t steal.” She recited, irritated. “Don’t attack without reason. Fight with honour. Protect your tribe. These Bretons claim to have surrendered, but if they refuse to answer truthfully, they remain our mortal enemies.”
Nodding, my host made his way further around the bend in the passage, to where Orc warriors guarded their prisoners. I recognised the Priestess of Arkay as the spirit I had assisted, and somehow knew the others to be the queen, princess and a knight, probably a trusted bodyguard. I was becoming more attuned to my host, a strange melding of wills, based on our agreement of what was right, just, and honourable, and what was distasteful.
“You!” The queen spat in derision upon seeing us. “How much more blood do you want?”
“Answer me truthfully, and you live. Lie to me, and you die.” We replied.
“You’ve invaded my home. You’ve slaughtered my people. Why would I help you, Orc?” She accused bitterly. “You’ll kill us all anyway.”
I pushed at my host’s attention, reminding him to tailor his questions based on the captives’ possessions, and spotted a note on the floor near the queen. I focused on it intently until he picked it up and read;
I know how to save us, my love. Meet me at the ruins we spoke of a fortnight ago. Open the door using the method I taught you. Bring Visanne. Once inside, we will be safe.
— R
“Tell me how to open the door that hides Renwic, or I will kill your daughter.” We threatened her.
"Visanne?” She exclaimed in horror. “No. She's just a child! You cannot kill our child!"
“If you want to save her life, tell me how to reach Renwic.” We remained outwardly implacable.
"Oh, Renwic, forgive me.” The queen sobbed. “There are crystals in braziers by the door. Turn them to lower the wards. Now please, spare our daughter."
"I have nothing else to say to you." We stated, turning away.
"You have proven your barbaric nature.” The queen spat bitterly. “Be gone."
Looking over the remaining prisoners we ignored the princess and courtiers, and instead walked towards the knight. Pausing, we first read a note the guard had removed from him;
I ask more of you today than I have in the past. You must hold the Orcs. Give me time to complete the spell we discussed.
Hold fast, Drago. Even if you fall, we will find victory.
— King Renwic
"Orc! You will pay for this." Drago fumed at us.
“Answer me truthfully, and you live. Lie to me, and you die.” We calmly repeated the instructions we had given the queen.
"Ha! You dictate terms, pig child?” Drago mocked. “Give me back my sword and I'll give you a clean end. Ask your questions. Amuse me."
“Tell me what magic your king plans, or I will hurt you.” We instructed, still calm, hoping to madden him into indiscretion. He’s shown himself volatile enough to be prone to emotional outbursts and taunting.
"Terrified, are you?” Drago was working himself up just nicely. “Ha! You should be. Our king is a mighty sorcerer. Even now, he summons an undead army from the depths of these ruins. Flee while you can, Orc! Leave our island!"
We gave him a slight smile, saying nothing. He’d told us exactly what we wanted to know, and didn’t even realise it. Gesturing to the guards to stand watch, we turned away.
"Kill me if you must, Orc.” Drago continued shouting at our back. “I swear, I will rise from the very grave to make an end of you."
Ignoring him we ran down the passageway, passing frightened Bretons and Orc warriors until we found War Chief Yzzgol outside the door to the inner chamber.
"Targoth! Our victory is near!" He greeted us.
“I know how to open the door.” We told him, gesturing to the two crystals.
"By Mauloch's right hand!” He exulted. “My Warcaller triumphs again. We will end this assault and the efforts of this cowardly king."
“What will we do with King Renwic?” We asked, although I was fairly certain how this ended for him.
"There's no honour in the slaughter of a broken people and defeated knights.” Yzzgol acknowledged. “If King Renwic surrenders, he will join his people in exile. Let them spread word of our ferocity across the seas!"
“What if he doesn't surrender?” Because I know he doesn’t….
"Then I will cut him down. Stay your blade beyond this door, Targoth. Leave King Renwic to me."
Adjusting the alignment of each of the bracketed crystals, my host and I unsealed the door and made our way inside the chamber, followed by Yzzgol. Ahead of us was a circular garden, with a tiered well in the centre, another crystal mounted within its rim. King Renwic stood facing it, and with his back to us, hadn’t noticed our entrance.
"What's this?” He seemed to be speaking to the relic. “Yes, I feel your power. But how do you work?"
"Renwic!” War Chief Yzzgol called out, passing us as we stopped to watch this play out. “Surrender now, and I'll spare your worthless life."
"Stay back!” Renwic bluffed, turning. “I hold destruction in my hands!" He held a blue flame, nothing more, dancing in his fingers.
"Magic cannot save you.” Yzzgol replied. “Surrender or die!"
"Leave, now, or I'll use this relic to obliterate you!" Renwic tried again desperately.
"You will not harm my people.” The War Chief decried. “Draw steel!"
"Help me! Help me, damn you all!" Renwic cried out, but the translucent golden spirits beside the well made no move to assist him, and as he lifted his hands, the blue flames still burning, Yzzgol cut him down, not realising the lack of threat.
"Targoth!” Yzzgol turned to me. “Bury this elf-loving fool. Those who remain will accept exile or die." As he walked off, a portal opened over the Ayleid crystal, and I slipped through, back to my own time.
Both spirits were still hovering in place when I emerged, thankful to be back in my own body again.
"Even my death failed my people." Renwic mourned.
“You tried to use the relic, and Yzzgol killed you.” I reminded him.
"Yes.” He agreed. “Once I summoned the relic's power, I realized what it demanded of me. Souls. It craves souls. I would not pay that price, but the Bloodthorn will. They will raise this undead army and slaughter you all."
“How can I stop them?” I asked him.
"The Ayleid relic is the key, but my memories have faded with time.” He admitted. “I no longer remember its location. I know only that you must find it before the Bloodthorn. I offer this knowledge as payment for the souls you saved today."
With this, both the King and the Priestess of Arkay vanished, and I turned my thoughts to the last of the three sites Lambur had asked me to investigate, Moriseli.
Another of Chief Tazgol’s guards stopped me as I approached.
“The souls of the dead are restless.” She told me. “Ancient warriors who died in battle against the Bretons now rise. Who calls to them, and why?”
“Is there anything I can do?” I offered.
“You are one of the newcomers.” She pondered me. “Another of your group, the mage Neramo, went to see what he could uncover. Find him and learn what he has seen.”
“Neramo?” I repeated. “Where can I find him?”
“His magic enabled him to pass the spirits undetected.” She told me. “I suspect he looks to reach the inner ruins. Seek him near the doorway, beyond the fields where the dead roam.”
“I’ll go and see if I can aid him.” I agreed.
“Be careful.” She warned me. “Foul magic taints the air. Perhaps your learned friend can shed some light on this dark mystery and help you bring an end to its source.”
“You know these ruins well.” I remarked.
“The Ayleids – Wild Elves as some call them – have always fascinated me.” She elaborated happily. “They are long gone but their ruins remain on Betnikh. From these we glean how they lived and died, so many years ago.”
“Isn’t research a strange occupation for an Orc?” I asked, then blushed furiously as I realised just how presumptive and rude that sounded.
“We are not all warriors, and we are far from the savages outsiders assume.” She rebuked me gently. “Some of us wield a quill as skilfully as others wield warhammers.”
Nodding my apologies, I made my way into the outer ruins, staying crouched and skirting the restless spirits as I made my way around the perimeter first. Finding the third of the vision alters, I paused. There didn’t seem to be any spirits nearby, so with a shrug I fished out the pouch of herbs, and tossed the last of them into the brazier.
The orange flames flared up, the glowing mote darting out to explode withing the great stone archway, and two familiar figures appeared. I leaned forward, excited and apprehensive at the same time.
“Strange that such a small thing can cause such terror.” Lambur was saying. “It must be destroyed!”
“Hold on.” Kaleen replied. “Let’s think about this.”
“What’s to think about?” Lambur pressed her. “It killed hundreds of Orcs!”
“The cultists did that.” Kaleen allowed. “In the right hands, this could defend the Covenant against invaders.”
“I’m not giving that thing to the people who levelled Orsinium!” Lambur insisted, and they vanished.
I blew out a breath, thinking furiously. If this was the Ayleid relic they were discussing, and I couldn’t imagine it being anything else given the matching details and circumstances, then I agreed with Lambur. The price this thing extracted in harvested souls, the potential horror of armies of undead, surely Kaleen, as a Redguard, couldn’t condone such measures? And the risk of it falling into enemy hands, or of it corrupting allies and fracturing alliances…. I had to find it, and I had to destroy it. And I had to do everything I could to make sure the cultists didn’t have time to find it first and kill anyone with it. No more distractions, no more interruptions. I decided. And no more creeping quietly unless it’s going to save time. I need to find Neramo right now.
With that I turned and sprinted towards the centre of the ruins, skirting groups of the restless spirits where I could, or ploughing straight into them when I had no option. I alternated between my bow and daggers as required and left a trail of ectoplasm in my wake until I found Neramo, standing near the steps to a door. Realising I was probably better off attempting to act normal, I slowed my approach, pasting a smile on my face.
“Ahh, my old friend!” Neramo greeted me. “Couldn’t resist another exploration? Be mindful, this one may be a touch more dangerous. Foul necromancy is at work here.”
“I heard you were here.” I answered brightly, trusting Neramo’s obsessive and easily distracted nature to help me pull this off. “What’s going on?”
“The mysteries of Nirn span beyond the Dwemer.” He explained. “The Ayleids fascinate me in equal measure. I had to see this place for myself. The more vexing mystery at present, however, lies with these Orc spirits.”
“The spirits?” I repeated, as if I hadn’t just been mowing my way through them to reach him.
“Even you must have noticed the ghostly figures in the field.” He chided, and I glanced down at a large smear of ectoplasm on my left bracer, before meeting his gaze again, one brow raised in irony. I meant 'what about the spirits', not 'what spirits'!He didn’t notice. “This is no ordinary haunting. Something brough them back and binds them here. I suspect the answer is inside the catacombs.”
“Perhaps we should investigate.” I suggested, trying for perky to mask the sarcasm in my tone.
“Indeed you should.” He replied, and I recalled his aversion to danger. “The ruin is sealed magically, but it is a minor challenge. I shall unseal the door for you and await your return. My research is best done in safety.”
“I’m ready.” I stated, bouncing a little on my toes in impatience. At least I wouldn’t have to conceal anything from him inside if he was going to obligingly remain out here. I’d be able to move much faster alone, anyway.
“Just like old times, isn’t it?” Neramo reminisced, walking towards the door. “I do like to have such a useful too- uh, ally with me.” I rolled my eyes behind his back, as he braced himself, casting at the crystals to either side of the doorway. “A proper application of magic to these stones…. And the way is open!”
Nodding my thanks in passing, I ran lightly up the steps and opened Moriseli’s door. Inside a flight of stone stairs angled steeply downwards, and at their base I found a door with a stylised tree carved into it ahead, a passage to my right, looking a little worse for its age, and a small chamber to my left with the spirit of an Orc sitting in a glowing circle. I had the odd feeling I should know him, so I approached, halting outside the glowing barrier surrounding him.
“You…. You are not one of them.” He decided, looking at me. “You have not the taint. Help us. Free us from this torment!”
“Who are you?” I asked him. “What’s happening here?”
“I am Targoth, Warcaller of the Stonewolves.” He replied, and I almost stumbled in shock. I knew him – I had been him, briefly, he had been my host in the vision of the past King Renwic had sent me into. “Cultists have violated my tomb and those of my warriors. The vile priestess Drusilla leads the cult, dragging our spirits back to this realm.”
“How?” I asked, thinking, Drusilla, that must be the cultist I saw back when the totem showed me those visions of the past, the theft of the scroll.
“In life, I wielded a magical war horn. My soldiers obeyed it, hearing its call across all barriers. Drusilla now uses it to call my warriors from beyond the grave, binding them to her will.”
“How can Drusilla be stopped?” I demanded, straight to the point.
“She is in the lower chambers.” He replied approvingly. “Kill her before she can send my soldiers against our descendants. That will free me from her bonds. Then the horn can return my warband to its honoured rest.
“I’ll find her.” I promised. And I’ll kill her. The door with the carved tree on it was unlocked and opened into what seemed to be a library of sorts, with several cultists scanning the shelves and books, still perfectly preserved, on them.
Deciding I’d rather not leave anyone able to sneak up behind me, I spun through the room, taking each out as I came upon them, before racing down the stairs, barely pausing to despatch a cultist lounging against the wall on the lower level. Slowing as I entered a large room, I made my way slowly towards the far end, drifting back and forth in my deadly bladed dance as several cultists noticed me and tried to attack. I barely noticed that one was Drusilla before I had slain her, too.
At the far end of the room was an altar, Targoth’s war horn set upon it in some sort of ritual. He appeared as I approached it.
“You have freed me!” He said in thanks. “But my warriors still cry out for an end to their torment.”
“What did the cultists want with your warband?” I asked him.
“I overheard them mention the ruin of Carzog’s Demise.” He informed me. “Whatever they are planning, it is to take place there. But that is not my concern. Now that you have the horn, free my warriors.”
“How?” I asked.
“Return my horn to its rightful place atop my tomb in the next chamber.” He instructed. “Then my warriors will rest once more.”
“What if I keep the horn?” The further delay chafed at my sense of urgency; despite the knowledge it was the right thing to do.
“Then you condemn my warriors to further degradation!” He scolded. “Surely you have more honour than that. We no longer belong in this realm. Our battle is over. Let us have peace.”
“I understand.” I replied, ashamed of my impatience, and carried Targoth’s horn to his tomb, where I laid it carefully beside his skeleton.
“Your efforts honour us, champion.” The Warcaller thanked me. “I feel the spirits of my warriors return to rest. And so I shall follow.” I nodded my thanks for his assistance. “Be bold, warrior. The cultists still plague this island. You will meet them again, to their sorrow.”
When I emerged from the catacombs, the studious Orc I had met when approaching Moriseli was standing where Neramo had been, but there was no sign of the mage.
“The spirits have vanished!” She called to me as I approached her. “Their valiant souls rest once again. Quickly tell me what you found below; we have much to discuss.”
“I released the spirits,” I told her briefly, “but Carzog’s Demise is the Cult’s target.”
“Cultists have indeed been spotted at Carzog’s Demise.” She confirmed, troubled. “Their intent is unknown. I will pray for the honoured dead then return to speak with the chief. I fear all will be needed to end the Bloodthorn plot.”
“Ha! Found you!” I heard as I nodded my farewells, and turned to see Nicolene running towards me, as cheerful as ever. “Glad I found you! I’ve got news.” She announced, coming to a halt before me. “We need you back at the fortress. Right now!”
“What’s happening?” I asked, torn between my two tasks.
“Orc scouts sighted Bloodthorn Cultists in Carzog’s Demise.” She explained, and I was relieved that at least following her would mean I was still working to prevent the larger disaster. “Tazgol’s mobilising the army to go kill them all, but Lambur’s worried. She thinks it might be a trap. Did you find out anything?”
“The cultists seek an Ayleid relic that can raise an invincible army.” I replied, deadpan. What do you think I’ve been doing this long, picking flowers?
“That’s awful!” Nicolene exclaimed. “I’ll go find the captain. Get back to the fortress and let Lambur know. Maybe it’s not too late!”
But as I ran towards the fortress, I had the sinking feeling I had said the wrong thing to her, that the promise of an ‘unstoppable army’ may have been what had convinced Captain Kaleen that the relic was a prize to be won for the Daggerfall Covenant, and not a threat to the world. Deciding I needed some clarification on the visions I had seen, I made a brief stop to speak to the shaman, Magula.
“You’ve returned.” She stated. “You have questions.”
“How true were those visions?” I asked her breathlessly.
“You saw possible futures.” She replied serenely. “No path is set. Your actions will influence what is to come.”
Nodding my thanks, I left her longhouse and made my way inside the fortress, to find Lambur just inside the northern gate.
“You’re back. Good.” She greeted me. “Do you know what this cult is planning?”
“The cult seeks a powerful relic beneath Carzog’s Demise.” I told her, more careful now of how I chose to describe it.
“Bloodthorn Cultists were sighted at those ruins.” Lambur told me. “Chieftain Tazgol has already taken the army to deal with them. They’re walking into a trap!” She paced nervously a few moments, thinking things over, then turned to me again. “Chief Tazgol is leading the Orcs towards Carzog’s. He’s determined to wipe the Bloodthorn Cult off Betnikh.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. “You sound worried.”
“Chief Tazgol doesn’t see the danger.” Lambur explained. “The Bloodthorns are after an ancient Ayleid weapon that we know nothing about. We must catch up to Tazgol and stop him from rushing in!”
“Let’s get going.” I agreed.
“Quickly!” Lambur instructed a nearby soldier. “To Carzog’s, to deal with this threat!”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted, and ran from the fortress, Lambur and I following him north.
When we reached the ruins, the soldier dropped to sit and catch his breath, while Lambur and I approached an officer nearby.
“Commander Kharsh, what’s wrong?” Lambur addressed him.
“The Bloodthorns have raised a spectral army from the depths of the ruins.” The commander replied, visibly shaken. “We can’t defeat them!”
“Get the wounded back to the fortress.” Lambur ordered him. “We’ll put an end to this!”
As she spoke, I noticed Neramo running down the stairs from the arched edifice nearby.
“The cultists have somehow sealed the doors with the welkynd stones.” He panted.
“Find a way into the ruins.” Lambur instructed Kharsh before turning to Neramo and myself. “I need to find Kaleen!”
“The Orcs are being routed by a spirit army.” Neramo turned to me as Lambur ran off. “The Bloodthorns have tapped into a power I’ve never seen before.”
“Neramo, how do I get inside?” I asked the mage.
“The crystals around the door are activated by three Welkynd stones in the ruins.” He described. “I think I can handle one of them, but you’ll need to deal with the other two.”
“I’ll do my part.” I said to him, wondering why he thought I could handle twice what he, the mage, could. Unless…. Probably too many spirits near these ones, and he’s chosen the safer one! I realised.
Following Neramo back up the stairs, we crossed a bridge, the oncoming Orcs, injured retreating from the battle, made our progress like that of salmon fighting against a current, and I lost track of Neramo in the press of bodies. Looks like I’m on my own for this, I realised, chances are he’s going to decide this part’s too dangerous for him.
There were a lot of Ayleid spirits floating around, and far too many dead Orcs, as I made my way to the closest of the three welkynd stones Neramo had mentioned. After adjusting it, I noticed the world turn…. Darker, less colourful, as though a dark blue strip of silk, gossamer fine, had been tied over my eyes. Hopefully that means I did something right with the stone! I didn’t want to consider the alternative just yet. Turning to continue, I was stopped by an Ayleid spirit in my path. But instead of immediately attacking me, this one spoke.
“This is no place for the living.” It warned me, in a hissing, rasping voice. “Begone!”
“I need to pass the doorway.” I insisted.
“Others entered before you.” It countered. “They have released an ancient evil in the depths of our sanctuary. No more shall pass!”
“I plan to end this evil.” I vowed.
“On that promise, I will help you to enter our catacombs.” It relented. “Precede me to the door.”
I fled, desperate to complete this as I felt time slipping away, and upon reaching the door, the spirit activated one of the three locking crystals, and disappeared as the world turned bright and full of colour once more. Oh, I realised, it’s carrying the stone’s power that puts me into the spirit realm and makes everything look like that. And sure enough, when I activated the next welkynd stone, everything went dark again, revealing more spirits.
“Living and yet without a soul.” A spirit near me observed. “How can this be?”
“My soul was stolen.” I replied bitterly. “I will get it back.”
“Are you one of those who violated our sanctuary?” It asked me.
“No, I want to stop them.” I told it.
“Deep within our sanctuary, others have unleashed a force beyond their control.” The spirit warned me. “Lead me to the door, if you dare to enter.”
“Let’s go.” I agreed, and ran back to the door and it’s locking stones. Once more the world around me became that of the living, and the only shades I could see were those summoned by the relic below. I fought my way through them to the final welkynd stone, and re-entered the spirit realm.
“Violation!” A spirit behind me hissed. “The living desecrate our sanctuary. Death to all!”
“Wait!” I cried. “I’m here to stop them.”
“A terror unseen for millennia has been unleashed.” It told me. “Death and eternal torment await all in this land. What hope do you have of stopping forces you cannot understand?”
“Let me inside and I’ll try.” I bargained, realising how completely his words summed up my existence in general now, and not just on this mission.
“You lack a soul.” It realised. “That loss may serve you in good stead inside. Lead the way to the door and I will help open it.”
“This way.” I nodded in thanks, and ran back to the door for the third time where I watched the spirit unlock the last of the crystals, and return me to the colours of the living realm, to find Lambur and Kaleen waiting in front of the door.
Running past them to the door, which swirled in the deep blues of the spirit realm, I braced myself against it, feeling a pulse of energy as the light flared and dimmed slightly.
“It’s opening!” Kaleen called out. “Get ready everyone!”
A second pulse, another flare of light before it dimmed further, less than half strength now.
“Best move quietly.” Master Kasan cautioned, and I realised with a twist in my gut that Kaleen had brought her crew. “The enemy is within.”
A final pulse, the remaining light flared before dying completely, and I pushed open the door.
Making my way down the stairs and along a few corridors, I was equal parts startled, relieved, and irritated to see Crafty Lerisa examining a wide basin full of glowing crystals.
“These look valuable, don’t they?” She smirked at me. “Never been in ruins this old before. Bet there’s some good stuff just lying around, free for the taking.”
“What have you found out?” I asked her, wondering if Jakarn was already somewhere ahead stripping the place of whatever he could lay his hands on. Lerisa would be disappointed if he was.
“I overheard cultists talking about a portal.” She informed me. “The relic that’s causing all the trouble is in there. I lifted a uniform off a cultist who no longer needed it; it’s waiting in the bag. Might help you get past some of the ones I left alive.”
“Thanks!” I snatched up the backpack and pulled out the disguise.
“Get into that uniform and act natural.” Lerisa advised me. “Should fool some of them at least.” With this she vanished in a puff of smoke.
I pulled the garments on over my armour, gave a few tugs to settle everything, and made my way deeper into the ruin. There were cultists everywhere; digging in the piles of rubble, performing some strange rituals while surrounded in the greenish-blue lights that spoke of necromancy, or patrolling with torch in hand. I kept away from those ones, they looked far to alert, and eventually found myself outside another door carved with a glowing tree. There were a few dead cultists, and Master Kasan waiting for me. I didn’t bother wondering how he’d got past the cultists ahead of me, although I hadn’t taken long speaking with Lerisa. I was more concerned about where Lambur and Kaleen might have got to….
“The others have gone on ahead.” He said, seemingly reading my mind. “I delayed here to discourage pursuit.”
“Are the others far?” I asked, worried.
“Only a little ways ahead.” He assured me. “We will be waiting for you.”
“Best of luck, Kasan!” I bid him and slipped through the large door.
“Oh, look, more gloom and death.” Jakarn’s sardonic observation greeted me on the other side, and I hurried over to him. “Follow me, I know a shortcut.” He offered, and I followed him wordlessly to another of the carved doors. “One moment, and I’ll open this door for you.” He promised, and moments later we were through. “Let’s go!” He called, breaking into a run.
The passage was filled with rock, as though it had grown through the walls and ceiling, and still clung there, although plenty of stones also littered the ground, making for rough footing. I was relieved when we rounded a bend into slightly better-preserved section, until I saw a jet of flame emerge from the wall ahead.
“I’m off, don’t get murdered.” Jakarn announced and vanished in his own puff of smoke.
I sighed and started counting off the timing on the fire traps, moving fast as I passed each nozzle, until I had cleared them. There were a few Bloodthorn Cultists trying to lob their own fireballs at me next, but I dealt with them quickly, moving in close with my daggers to make it more difficult for them to hit me with their spells. Eventually I reached the door to the inner sanctum of the ruins. It was just as I recalled from my vision of the past in Warcaller Targoth’s time, with the crystal suspended over the Ayleid well in the centre of a garden. Neramo, Lambur, Jakarn and Kaleen were inside, and I made my way to the mage, who knelt beside a body.
“I suspect that Vardan died when the portal closed.” He told me. “The body cannot survive without the soul.”
Ummm…. Hello? I thought but decided not to point out the obvious exception to his point. I had died, and was now an anomaly, after all. “What can you tell me, Neramo?”
“The Bloodthorns created a portal to the spirit realm with this Welkynd stone. Vardan is on the other side, commanding the spirits slaying the Orcs. He’s trapped over there since we closed the portal.”
“How can we stop him?” I pressed impatiently.
“Without the Breton ritual Vardan used, only one without a soul can cross the portal.” Neramo explained. “That means you.” So nice of you to remember…. “You must activate the Welkynd stone, enter the spirit realm, and kill Vardan.”
“I’m ready.” I agreed, all too aware that every moment’s delay could mean the loss of more lives.
The world turned dark blue around me with a flash of pain, and I cried out involuntarily, gripping my head. When the pain cleared, I looked around to find the chamber now empty, except for Vardan at the far door.
“You’re too late!” He rejoiced as I approached him, unsheathing my daggers. “My army feeds!”
Darting in close, where it would be harder for him to target me with his spells, I carved into his spirit, spinning and twisting to dodge his counter attacks. Without the advantage of distance to improve his aim, and unable to block my strikes, he soon fell, and I returned to the well in the centre of the room. Above the faintly glowing stone was a small orb, swirling with dark blue. I reached out to take it, and everything went dark around me.
“Strange that such a small thing can cause such terror.” Lambur was saying as I emerged into the world of the living once more, the relic now floating above the crystal in this realm. “It must be destroyed!”
“Hold on. Let’s think about this.” Captain Kaleen was saying, just as she had in my vision of this future event. Have I changed nothing? I wondered sadly as I walked over to find the two facing off, Lerisa and Nicolene behind the captain, while Master Kasan, Neramo and Jakarn stood with Lambur.
“What’s to think about?” Lambur hissed at her. “It killed hundreds of Orcs!”
“The cultists did that.” Kaleen responded. “In the right hands, this could defend the Covenant against invaders.” Or be used to invade other lands. I thought with a shiver, knowing there was no safe way to use this thing, even with the best intentions, without the temptation to use it for evil. You had to be willing to justify feeding it souls, for starters, and I for one was vehemently opposed to anything requiring that.
“I’m not giving that thing to the people who levelled Orsinium!” Lambur declared, and I stepped between them before anything further could be said, or they came to blows over it.
“The relic, ours at last!” Kaleen greeted me, hoping to sway my opinion with patriotism. “For the Covenant!”
I don’t remember anything about living in your Covenant. I thought, turning to reply to her. “So you’re sure we should keep it?” I asked her mildly.
“Yes.” She declared. “Keep it and use it! A discovery like this could tip the war in our favour. Think of all the lives we could save!”
“How would it save lives?” I asked, thinking instead of all the lives it would cost.
“With this relic, our enemies would not dare invade the Covenant.” Kaleen exclaimed, and I wondered what sort of reward she hoped to claim for this ‘discovery’, and whether she had any intention to share it with the people outside who had bled for it, but she was still rambling on, caught up in her fantasy. “No more Pact raids out of Skyrim. No Dominion fleets in our waters! Think of the whole ocean here, not just the waves. It’s what we must do to protect our people. All our people.”
“I have to think about this.” I told her, turning away towards Lambur, who gazed at me with worried eyes. I offered her a small smile and a wink, hoping she’d understand my meaning.
“Destroy the relic, now!” She demanded, playing along like the smart girl I knew her to be, and I hid my sigh of relief. “Didn’t you hear the screams, as those things consumed the souls of my people?”
“This is a hard decision.” I replied, hoping her arguments would show Kaleen why we couldn’t entrust anyone with the relic.
“It should be an easy one.” Lambur replied, acting frustrated. “You must destroy it. Do not hand it to the ones who levelled Orsinium and tried to exterminate all my kind!”
“Orsinium?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Orsinium used to be the Orc homeland.” Lambur told me, but I hoped everyone else was listening to her, too. “Breton and Redguard kings have a nasty habit of burning it to the ground. Now the Covenant will solve all our problems? You give them the relic, they’ll use it to keep Orcs in line. If not now, then one day.”
“How likely is that?” I asked, smiling slightly to let her know this was the right tactic. I didn’t dare try nod my head.
“This object is a curse, a danger to all.” She said, quieter but no less intently. “It can be turned against anyone as easily as Vardan turned it against the Orcs. Unless you want me as an enemy, destroy that thing!”
Damnit, she made it too personal! I cursed inwardly. “Thanks for your advice, Lambur.” I said aloud, hoping that some of what she’d said had made it through Kaleen’s daydreams of triumphantly presenting King Fahara’jad with the ultimate weapon with which to turn the tide of this war. But a quick glance her way showed an expression of earnest entreaty, not a single concern in her eyes for the likely devastation such a future would hold.
Without a further word to anyone I turned and approached the relic to examine it. It spun in place, pulsing with the energy of thousands of stolen souls, and I felt sickened by its mere presence. If I could have destroyed it, I would have, but I couldn’t see how…. Unless? Knowing that it would be impossible for any of them to retrieve it, I banished it back into the spirit realm, hoping they would believe it destroyed.
Hearing a pained sigh behind me, I turned to see Kaleen and Lerisa comforting a crumpled Nicolene. The others had left. Unsure what could have made the perpetually bubbly girl so unhappy about my decision, and doubtful that anything I might say now could be of help, I left the room through the door on the other side of the well, hoping to avoid everyone for a few minutes.
I should probably go and introduce myself to Chief Tarzog, anyway, I decided. I had been on his island for a while now, running around and fixing his problems, although he’d probably view it as interfering since several of my actions were against orders he’d given his people.
When I arrived at the fortress, I found him waiting for me, still in full armour.
“What did you decide to do with the relic?” He asked immediately, and I hid a smile at his bluntness.
“I destroyed it.” It was a simpler reply than the truth, I decided, adding more honestly. “No one will ever use it again.”
“The only correct choice.” He agreed, hanging his head briefly in relief. “War should be honourable. There is no honour in the use of such a device. You have saved my tribe and my island. For this, I owe you a great debt.”
I allowed myself to smile at this, a solution forming in my mind. A consolation prize of sorts for Kaleen, but it was all she’d intended to achieve when she arrived here, so she should view it as a win. Of sorts. Eventually….
The axe Chief Tazgol handed me looked valuable, and there was a pouch of gold, too, so I was feeling rather happy when the Chief straightened and crossed his arms, regarding me more seriously.
“One less Ayleid relic to plague our world. Good.” He said, looking thoughtful as though considering something.
“What’s next?” I asked him, growing slightly worried.
“Your actions have revealed a vulnerability.” He replied gravely. “I thought my tribe safe on our island. This Bloodthorn attack proved me wrong. Only you and your friends on the Spearhead, united, were able to save this island.”
Maybe not quite so united anymore, I admitted to myself, but decided he didn’t need to hear that right now. Not if he was thinking what I hoped he was.
“What are you asking me to do?” I asked instead.
“Months ago, Sir Lanis offered membership in the Daggerfall Covenant.” He revealed. “I refused. You showed me I was wrong. We need allies. I would ask you to travel to Glenumbra and give Sir Lanis my petition to join. I have ordered Captain Kaleen to sail you there.”
I hid a wince at his words, instead agreeing. “I’ll forward your petition to join the Daggerfall Covenant.” Ooh, Kaleen is not going to forgive me for this…. I realised sadly. First, I destroy her chance of glory at presenting the relic, and now she’s being ordered to carry me to deliver news of an achievement she hoped to make herself!
It was with heavy steps that I made my way to the dock, and aboard the Spearhead. Kaleen was waiting at the top of the boarding ramp, her arms crossed in disapproval as I stepped aboard.
“I swore never to sail with you again.” She told me bitterly. “But Chief Tazgol has asked me to sail you to Glenumbra, which I will do.”
“Chief Tazgol is ready to join the Daggerfall Covenant.” I replied, hoping an edited version of the truth might soften her a little. “He asked you to take me to Daggerfall.”
“Only out of respect for the chief and the good of the alliance, not for you.” She replied stiffly. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, let’s go.” I agreed, not wanting to add to her resentment by keeping her waiting on me, although I would have enjoyed exploring more of the island. I’ll just have to come back, some day. I decided, making my way to my bunk to unload. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable voyage, if Kaleen’s reception of me was anything to go by, and I decided to avoid Nicolene as well, if I could.
I learned during the voyage that Nicolene had brothers who were in the Covenant army, and she was distraught at the lost chance to protect them. I felt for her, truly, but what about other people’s brothers, sisters, children, lovers? What happened to whichever army was used as a first ‘example’ to deter others from invading Covenant lands? And what happened when someone, inevitably, coveted the relic for less-than-honourable purposes?
I was still wrestling with how to explain these thoughts to her when we made the final approach to Daggerfall, and I made my way on deck to disembark. Kaleen didn’t want me on her ship, so I was anxious to be off as soon as possible, away from people who had once called me friend, but now glared at me with resentment.
“We’ve arrived.” Captain Kaleen announced to everyone. “Welcome to Daggerfall.”
Throughout the brief voyage, Jakarn had remained friendly, but part of that may have been his wishful thinking that I might rescue him from his current predicament. As I stepped out from below deck, I saw him leaning against the rack of kegs, tankard in hand and Irien, Elethien and Nasmat surrounding him.
“We’ve all agreed” The Bosmer explained. “He’s going to choose one way or the other. Or we’re throwing him off the boat.”
“The irony is delicious.” The Redguard smirked at me. “You could cut it with a knife. Or anything else, for that matter.”
“This is actually quite fun.” Irien smiled at me, clapping her hands in glee. “Look at him squirm.”
I raised an eyebrow at Jakarn in amusement.
“I could get used to travelling around with you.” He said to me, clearly hoping I would invite him to join me, giving him an escape. “It’s never dull, I’ll give you that.”
I shook my head in disbelief, and turned towards the rest of the crew. Majoll was working near the mid’ mast, no so subtly listening to the drama play out.
“Ha!” He exclaimed as I neared him. “Those ladies are such fools! Jakarn and I have already agreed. We’re going to run off together and have grand adventures!”
I bit my lip to hold in my laughter and moved on to Deregor.
“Well now, a familiar face. How good to see you.” He exclaimed loudly, and I smiled at his antics before he continued, quieter. “Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m on the wrong ship.”
“Well. That was an awful lot of drama, wasn’t it?” Lerisa greeted me on the aft deck. “I think I’m about done here. It’s time to sail on my own boat. Stay safe. We’ll meet again.”
Despite initially siding with Kaleen, Lerisa had quickly gotten over her anger. I hoped she understood my reasons, but I hadn't wanted to discuss the situation with her. Perhaps the cooler heads among her own crew had influenced her change of opinion, I wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. I turned to make my way back down to the main deck, only to find Nicolene standing at the top of the stairs. It was the first time we’d come face-to-face since leaving Betnikh, and I hesitated.
"When the elves attack our shores and hundreds of our soldiers die, I want you to remember the choice you made.” She told me bitterly. “If you had kept that relic, we could have saved those soldiers. You made the wrong choice."
Deciding there was nothing I could say at this point to assuage her resentment, I turned away, only to see Kaleen at the helm.
“We’re here, in Daggerfall.” She stated icily. “Now get off my boat.”
I turned away to the other staircase without speaking, my heart heavy as I descended. Neramo was reading a book nearby as Clanker scuttled around him.
“I wish I could have retrieved that Ayleid relic for study, but you were wise to destroy it rather than place it in Breton hands.” The Altmer mage consoled me. “I realise Kaleen disagrees with your decision, but never doubt it was the right one.”
I gave him a wry smile in thanks, and approached Lambur, who was standing near the boarding ramp, lost in thought. She turned to me when I paused beside her.
“I know going against Kaleen was a hard thing.” The Orc admitted. “It was for me as well. We have more history together than you can imagine. Even so, it’s time to start my own crew, sail my own ship. You, my friend, would be welcome with us anytime.”
With a fond smile to her, I left the Spearhead and made my way through the docks towards Glenumbra. I had spent time sitting with Master Kasan as he meditated during the voyage, and I knew Kaleen’s departure from what he viewed as the true path pained him. He had seen her wish to keep the relic as a desire to hold power over her enemies, betraying her dreams of patriotism and hunger for recognition. I agreed with him, but knew that it would take time, and some hard lessons for Kaleen to open her eyes.
The city rose before me, crenelated walls and towers of dark stone, with smaller buildings of timber frames and plaster walls, and…. wait, was that a stable ahead? There were stalls of horses, and a stylised horsehead on a sign above, and I picked up my pace, delighted. But just as I drew close, I looked ahead and saw a knight at the foot of a staircase, matching the description I had been given of Sir Lanis Shaldon, the very man I was here to see. I couldn’t stop to buy a horse just yet, not if there was a chance he might recognise me when I approached him. It wouldn’t be a good display of priorities or a sense of duty, and I didn’t want to give a bad impression.
“The proud city of Daggerfall greets you.” He pronounced as I stopped before him. “Can I help you with something?”
“I bring a petition.” I replied. “Chief Tazgol wishes to join the Daggerfall Covenant.”
“The Seamount Warchief?” He clarified, crossing his armoured arms. “Impressive. I don’t know what you did to convince him, friend, but you have my gratitude. Well done! I will take this petition to High King Emeric immediately. Enjoy your stay in Daggerfall.”
With this he passed me a heavy pouch, and ran up the stairs into the city. Elated, I turned back to the stables, a spring in my step. At last, I wouldn’t have to run everywhere anymore, I’d have a horse!
1 -
Chapter Four: The Harborage
I named my sorrel mare Sweetroll, because the stablemaster told me she had a fondness for them. We were taking a ride along the paved trail which started near the stable, heading east out of town, with the plan of getting to know each other a little, and were keeping a casual walking pace for now. The landscape was pretty, rolling grassy hills strewn with white flowers and jutting granite rock formations, wooded with birch and oak.
The stable was barely out of sight behind us when an image of the Prophet appeared on the path without warning. To Sweetroll’s credit, she barely twitched an ear at this sudden intrusion, and stood docilely when I halted her to speak with him.
“There you are Vestige. We must speak at once.” He said without preamble.
“Hello Prophet.” I greeted him, amused.
“Listen well.” The blind man continued. “I have located a safe harbour from which we might plan our course of action. You must meet me there.”
“Where is this safe harbour?” I asked, wondering if it was somewhere I would need to book passage on a ship to reach. And I finally found a horse….!
“I awoke in a city of Bretons, its air heavy with the smells of baked bread, horses and intrigue.” He described, and I dared hope I could reach him without returning to sea. “Daggerfall.” At this I smiled, delighted. “The Harborage is in an abandoned cave, outside the city.”
“I’ll find you there.” I promised, and he vanished without giving me any further direction.
Well, he said he smelled horses, so maybe his cave isn’t far from the stables? I pondered the clues I had been given, deciding to search a little farther along the path I was on before returning to circle the city. I nudged Sweetroll back into a walk, scanning around the area as we continued along the path until I saw a flaming torch off to one side, and looking closer I discovered a rough timber door set into the rock face of an uneven hill. I dismounted and left Sweetroll outside to graze, pushing the door open to find a wide, dry tunnel. Vines dripping with sweet-scented blue flowers trailed the walls, and tree roots hung from the ceiling, and here and there along the floor were clusters of glowing blue mushrooms.
“I hear familiar footfalls.” The Prophet’s voice greeted me as I made my way deeper along the tunnel. “Come closer, Vestige.” Rounding the last bend I saw him sitting on a stool at the edge of a pool of light from some opening above. There were a few desks and worktables, a bookshelf, and several trees in the cavern, and more of the flowering vines and glowing mushrooms. Groupings of candles remained unlit, not needed by the blind man.
“Welcome to the Harborage, Vestige.” The Prophet greeting me. “This is as comfortable a home as an old dried-up husk like myself could hope for.”
“How did you find it?” I asked, wondering at his tone. Had that been self-recrimination? A touch of bitterness at some past failing? He didn’t seem to place much value in himself, I’d noticed, merely in his purpose. It consumed him completely, and nothing else seemed to have any value for him.
“Despite my blindness – nay, because of it – my other senses seem to have heightened.” He explained. “This place had the right smell about it.” As good a reason as any to choose a home, I reasoned, especially when you aren’t choosing based on appearances.
“When you first appeared to me in Coldharbour, you spoke of my destiny.” I prompted him, wondering where I fit into his plans.
“Indeed.” The Prophet agreed. “But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Without an understanding of where we are bound, every road will get us nowhere. Before we truly understand our destination, we must speak of the past.”
“A history lesson?” This sounded promising, even if it wasn’t my own past, and gaps that could be filled might help me remember other things.
“Of a sort.” He seemed to be mulling over another term for it, but continued. “I invite you to enter my mind and walk with me through visions of the past, that you might understand the events that brought us to this time, this moment.”
This sounded interesting, and I readily agreed.
“Enter my mind, Vestige,” the Prophet invited me, as a blue glow swirled around him, “and walk with me through the shadows of past events.” Raising his staff, he then struck the ground with the butt of it, and the world around me darkened, shifted, until I was standing in an indistinct grey landscape. Looking down at myself, I could barely discern a translucent outline, luckily the Prophet was slightly brighter, more visible.
“Follow me, Vestige,” he directed me, “and learn of the events that precipitated our present crisis.” With this the Prophet slowly led the way through the ruined.... landscape? Mindscape? I wasn’t sure of the correct term but decided not to ask; I didn’t want to distract my guide from what he had to tell me. We made our way down a walkway similar to the one at the Tower of Eyes in Coldharbour, towards a plateau littered with half ruined columns and roofless rooms.
“My part in the story began when I awoke on the steps of the Abbey of the Moth Priests, with no memory of my prior life.” Did he realise how strongly that would resonate with me?
“The Moth Priests took pity upon me and brought me into their fold. I was weak and near death. It was there I first set eyes upon the Elder Scrolls and devoted my life to their study.” Wait, what? I thought, confused. He hadn’t always been blind? And Elder Scrolls? Are they those Scrolls he mentioned in Coldharbour?
“The Scrolls allowed me to glimpse the very fabric of reality, but each profound insight dimmed my vision and eventually left me permanently blinded to the light of the world.” So that was how he lost his sight, I mused.
Reaching the plateau, the Prophet paused beside a wide ring of columns encircling an unlit brazier.
“The prophecies of the Elder Scrolls are a fluid, living thing.” He explained “They are not fixed. At many points throughout history, the actions of heroic mortals have rewritten them.”
So they probably told of the most likely probability, and not of absolute certainties, I decided. “What does that have to do with me?” I asked.
“I only know that you are important, Vestige." The Prophet stressed. "The Scrolls revealed to me that your destiny is intertwined with that of the Five Companions.”
“Who are the Five Companions?” I asked.
“The Five Companions were a band of adventurers who sought out an ancient artifact called the Amulet of Kings. They hoped to use this artifact to persuade Akatosh, the Dragon God, to accept their leader as one of the Dragonborn.”
“Dragonborn?” I repeated the unfamiliar word, but doing so didn’t provide any response from my hidden memories.
“The Dragonborn are mortals destined for greatness, with the blood of the Dragons in their veins. It is said that only a true Dragonborn can ignite the Eternal Dragonfires in the Imperial City.”
“Who was this leader?” Other than someone with a thirst for glory….
“You have already heard enough babbling from this old, blind fool.” The Prophet dismissed my question. “It is time you met the Five Companions yourself, and witnessed their fate.” With this he turned and strode through a gap in a wall to where a long, curved table was set, other counters and chairs scattered around it.
The glowing form of a familiar figure approached the table, then turned and faced us. Lyris! I recognised her immediately.
“The first companion, Lyris Titanborn, daughter of giants, was the mightiest warrior in the service of the Emperor.” Lyris’s image turned and walked off, picking up a tankard from one end of the table as another took shape at the opposite end.
“Next, Abnur Tharn, a powerful sorcerer and Grand Chancellor of the Imperial Elder Council.” He stood there, almost as far from Lyris as he could get, and I sensed a mutual distaste for each other’s company between them, but the Prophet continued.
“The Redguard swordmaster Sai Sahan, leader of the Imperial Dragonguard.” These Imperials really loved naming things to include “Dragon” in their titles I decided. Sai Sahan bowed towards us, and moved to stand beside Lyris, who was head and shoulders taller than him.
“The Imperial Emperor, Varen Aquilarios, who attempted to light the Dragonfires and failed.” The Emperor appeared across from us, behind the table but roughly equal distance from Lyris and Abnur Tharn, then took a seat slightly closer to the other Imperial as the Prophet continued speaking. “And finally, Mannimarco the traitor.” I startled as the man who had killed me appeared, near Abnur Tharn but on his other side, even further from Lyris and Sai Sahan. “The King of Worms. A powerful necromancer, and your executioner.”
So I have already met two of them, I realised, and each meeting changed my fate completely.
I watched as Mannimarco’s image made its way to the Emperor, then turned back to the Prophet.
“These were the Five Companions, who set out from the Imperial City on an epic quest to recover the lost Amulet of Kings.” He concluded, the introductions completed.
“How could the Amulet of Kings turn Varen into one of the Dragonborn?” I asked. How could anything changed someone’s very blood?
“Mannimarco convinced Varen that the amulet could be used to perform a ritual that would rekindle the Dragonfires.” So much for them being eternal if they needed to be relit. I thought “He claimed this would please Akatosh and entice him to adopt Varen as one of the Dragonborn.”
“Why did Varen want to be Dragonborn?” I was suspecting hubris, or some other such selfish reason may have played a part, as the Prophet didn’t seem to approve of the situation.
“By tradition, only the Dragonborn can lay claim to the Ruby Throne and rule as the one, true Emperor by divine right. Varen conquered Cyrodiil and took the throne, but unless he became Dragonborn, he feared he’d always be thought of as a pretender.” This didn’t explain much; there could be any number of reasons Varen may have wished to legitimise his claim to the throne, but the Prophet didn’t seem to want to, or be able to, divulge them.
“Tell me about the other companions.” I changed the subject.
“Each of the Five Companions were chosen for their skill and courage, and each had a special role to play in the party. Who would you like to know more about?”
“Tell me about Lyris Titanborn” I chose, curious about our missing friend.
“You’ve already met Lyris. She is a Nord warrior from the frozen lands of Skyrim to the north. And it is said that her family lineage contains the blood of giants. Varen chose her for her strength and her loyalty, to be his personal bodyguard.” I had already seen Lyris demonstrate her loyalty in sacrificing her freedom for the Prophet’s, so I could understand an Emperor wanting that same loyalty in his chosen bodyguard.
“Tell me about Sai Sahan.” He had seemed on friendly terms with Lyris, so I was predisposed to like him.
“Sai Sahan came from a long line of Redguard swordmaster nobles. He was the leader of the Dragonguard, the security detail of Varen and the Elder Council. While Lyris was Varen’s bodyguard, Sai was charged with protecting the entire group.” This suggested a sense of responsibility, strategic thinking, the ability to see a larger picture, and discipline.
“Tell me about Abnur Tharn.” I was avoiding the inevitable.
“The Tharns are one of the most influential families in Cyrodiil. Abnur, their patriarch, is the leader of the Elder Council, a powerful battlemage and a shrewd politician. With his counsel, Varen was able to seize the Imperial Throne, years before.” So, likely arrogant and manipulative then, small wonder he and Lyris wouldn’t be close. I bit my lip, unable to delay any longer.
“I’ve heard enough about these three. What about Mannimarco?”
“Mannimarco the traitor.” The Prophet spoke with distaste. “The great enemy. The most powerful necromancer this world has ever known. His Worm Cult infiltrates and corrupts every corner of Tamriel. It was he who convinced Varen to perform the ritual you are about to witness.”
“What happened when they performed the ritual?”
“Disaster. War and pestilence. A world brought to its knees. Now watch, and see how one man’s arrogance brought about the greatest threat our world has ever known.” It sounded as though the Prophet resented Varen almost as much as he despised Mannimarco, and as heartily as I agreed with him on the latter point, I didn’t think I had the full picture on the former just yet. I turned with him to walk back the way we’d come.
The Five Companions approached from the far side of the ring of broken pillars, more solid than their earlier images, filing into the circle and arranging themselves around the perimeter.
“There it is.” The Emperor spoke first. “The Dragonfire brazier. Mannimarco, you’re certain this will work?”
“It will work, my liege.” I startled, realising this was the first I had heard his voice. It sounded arrogant and cold to my ears, and I wondered how none of them had realised his true nature earlier. “The Amulet of Kings will rekindle the Dragonfires, and ensure your rightful place as Emperor. You have my word.” Liar, I thought bitterly, watching him stride across the ring to stand on the far side of the circle from Varen.
“It better work, Mannimarco,” Lyris warned the arrogant Altmer, “or you’ll find your neck at the business end of my axe.” I smiled at this, clearly not everyone had been completely fooled by his act.
“My Lord, I wonder if you’d muzzle your half-giant pet?” Abnur Tharn sniped. “She really is annoying.”
“Enough, both of you!” Sai Sahan exclaimed. Diplomat, I thought, you’ve had practice playing peacemaker, haven’t you? “We are here to ensure My Lord’s rightful claim to the Ruby Throne.”
“Abnur, begin the ritual.” Varen moved to stand before the brazier. “I have a destiny to fulfil.”
Well, I agreed, arrogance certainly did play a part here, and not only Mannimarco’s.
As Abnur Tharn walked forward, positioning himself across the brazier from Varen and holding forth the Amulet. An elongated diamond shape, bezel-set in gold, the Ruby glowed, emanating a stream of red towards the brazier.
The Emperor bowed his head in supplication, hands pressed together. “By the lighting of the Dragonfires, I claim my rightful lineage!” He intoned, lifting his head and adjusting his stance as though bracing against a great force, a haze of golden light forming around him. Reddish gold flames kindled in the brazier. “By the fires of creation, let me be reborn! By the will of Akatosh, I proclaim myself…. Dragonborn!”
Mannimarco moved closer, approaching the brazier, and suddenly the glow surrounding Varen extinguished. He was lifted from the ground, dragged upwards by the dark blue and pale greenish energies being ripped from him as he cried out in agony.
Abnur Tharn stepped back, lowering the Amulet.
Lyris drew her axe, but stayed back, as if uncertain who or what to use it on, or whether interfering might cause more harm than good.
And Mannimarco floated upwards, hovering above the brazier, emanating the same odd mix of pale and dark hues as the fire below him extinguished.
Sai Sahan rushed forward, sword drawn, but too late to prevent disaster as Mannimarco, any pretences of loyalty or false trustworthiness dropped, exulted in his triumph as he looked down on the others.
“Varen Aquilarios, you are no heir to Alessia!” He mocked. “You will pay for your sacrilege!” For his foolishness and gullibility in believing your lies, I thought, bitterly. “The veil between Tamriel and Oblivion tears and splits asunder!”
Throwing his head back, a bright light erupted to outline Mannimarco’s form as Sai and Lyris were thrown to the ground and Varen struggled against the force holding him aloft.
“What’s happening?” Tharn demanded in alarm. “The sky is opening up! This is bad! This is very bad!” Way to state the obvious, I thought, as with a choked cry he, too was flung to the ground and Varen was finally released to fall, spent and dazed.
“This isn’t supposed to happen!” the Emperor protested, struggling weakly to raise his head. “What is the meaning of this? Mannimarco, what have you done?”
“Gullible fools!” The traitor mocked his former companions as they attempted to regain their feet, pulses of energy preventing them from rising. “The veil between Oblivion and this world has been torn! My master, Molag Bal, is free to claim Tamriel for his own!” And there we have it, I thought, the true purpose behind his treachery is finally revealed to those he betrayed.
“Akatosh!” Varen entreated, his voice breaking in despair. “Forgive me! Have mercy on our souls!”
With a blinding flash they all disappeared from the vision, leaving the brazier standing alone once more, and I turned to face the Prophet.
“The ritual tore the veil between Nirn and Oblivion,” he repeated gravely, “allowing Mannimarco to begin stealing the souls his master needed to power the Dark Anchors and initiate the Planemeld.”
“What went wrong?” I asked, wondering if there had ever been any basis of truth behind the ritual to begin with.
“Akatosh gave Alessia the Amulet of Kings as a symbol of his covenant with Nirn. So long as the Amulet remained in the care of Alessia’s heirs, and the Dragonfires remained lit, Tamriel would be protected from the Daedra.”
“What happened next?” I prompted him.
“Mannimarco tricked Varen into breaking the covenant, and the veil between Oblivion and Nirn was torn. The Elder Scrolls named this event the Soulburst. It gave Molag Bal the opportunity to disconnect the souls of Nirn from their hosts.”
“What happened to the other Companions?” I asked, wondering what had befallen those I had not met.
“Varen was lost.” the Prophet replied. “In the chaos of the moment, Sai Sahan took the Amulet of Kings and fled.” Bigger picture thinker, I remembered describing the swordsman to myself earlier. “Lyris was captured by Mannimarco and delivered to Coldharbour, the realm of Molag Bal.”
“What about Abnur Tharn and Mannimarco?”
“Tharn remains Chancellor of the Elder Council, and his daughter Clivia rules as Empress Regent. But the true power remains in the hands of Mannimarco and his Worm Cult.”
“How did you end up in Coldharbour?” I suddenly realised I’d never asked him this, and a pang of guilt stabbed me.
“When I discovered the truth about the Five Companions, I made subtle enquiries. But apparently, not subtle enough.” Irritation coloured his voice. “Mannimarco got word of my interest and abducted me. He took me to Coldharbour, where I remained a prisoner until you freed me.”
Until Lyris freed you, I thought, I merely tagged along, then escaped with you.
“They saw you as a threat?” I ventured my guess.
“The truth is always a threat to evil men.” He agreed. “Mannimarco feared I would reveal his treachery. And if knowledge of Nirn’s vulnerability were to become known, it could threaten his master’s schemes. Molag Bal does not favor loose ends.” Surprising he let you and Lyris live, then. I thought drily.
“Walk with me.” The Prophet turned but stood in place despite his request to me. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued. “Long ago it was written – so long as the Amulet of Kings was borne by Alessia’s heirs, Tamriel would be protected from the forces of Oblivion. But the Soulburst tore the veil between worlds, and gave Molag Bal the opportunity he desired.”
The Prophet strode forward and began to descend another curved stone walkway as he continued speaking. “Molag Bal’s Dark Anchors pierce the torn veil, and seek to draw Nirn into the depths of Coldharbour.” There was a strange, hornlike groaning, creaking, tremendously loud, a rattling of huge chains, and on the plateau below us the point of an Anchor fell into a raised circular dais its three chains sagging, then drawing taut as if winched tight. We continued down towards it as the Prophet continued speaking. “These terrible engines of destruction have been appearing all throughout Tamriel.”
I watched bursts of lightning streak up along the chains as we drew closer.
“If the Lord of Brutality and Domination is successful, he will merge our world and his own in a terrible Planemeld.” Deciding we were close enough, the Prophet stopped walking and turned towards me. “Few will survive the ordeal, and those who do will be enslaved for all eternity.” A fate I narrowly escaped, although without my life or soul intact.
“And so it falls to us, Vestige.” The Prophet admitted sadly. “We must stop Molag Bal and his Dark Anchors, or our world is doomed. And now, history seems to have caught up with us.” He concluded. “Shall we return to the Harborage?”
There were so many questions I still had, answers I needed, and parts I felt were missing from his story, but I was anxious to be back in the light and colours of the world again, and away from the dreary greyness of the Prophets mindscape.
Was the lack of colour, the echo of Coldharbour’s landscape mixed with ruined architecture a reflection of the Prophet’s state of mind? If so, it seemed he had lost all sense of hope.
“Yes.” I agreed. “I’m ready to go back.” If the Prophet has lost hope, I will have to hold enough for both of us, I decided.
“As you say.” He replied, and I wondered how much of my thoughts he might perceive while I stood in his mind, as he repeated the action which had brought us here. As the light swirled around him, I noticed particles of it were glowing moths, and wondered if they represented the ones the Moth Priests took their name from. Was this magic based on those mysterious Elder Scrolls which had destroyed his physical vision?
I found myself back in the Harborage, facing the Prophet, and he spoke before I could think of a way to ask.
“And so, it begins. The remainder of the story has yet to be written. It is your story, now.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” I replied.
“And there is so much to do.” He acknowledged. “But know this – you do not walk this path alone.”
“So, what’s our next move?” I asked, wondering if he had found a way to retrieve Lyris.
“We must grow in strength and in numbers.” He admitted. “You will need more than the company of an old blind man to alter the course of history. We must assemble our own group of companions. The first, you have already met.”
“Lyris Titanborn?” Please? Finally?
“Lyris sacrificed her own freedom to allow us to escape. She remains a prisoner in Coldharbour. I must determine her precise location if we are to mount a rescue. That will take time.”
My hopes sank slightly, and I tightened my grip on them, determined not to give up.
“What should I do in the meantime?” I asked, needing to be taking some form of action.
“Mannimarco’s agents weave a web of lies and deceit. They pit the races of Tamriel against one another and divert their attentions from the real threat.” This I had already noticed in my recent travels, and I nodded my head slowly in understanding. “Seek out these agents wherever they can be found and expose their lies.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I promised, remembering the Prophet probably couldn’t see my less audible agreement.
“Forgive me.” He sounded drained. “Bringing you into my mind seems to have taken quite a toll on me. I must rest. I will contact you when the time is right. Until then, walk in the light Vestige.”
Murmuring my farewells, I left the Prophet to recover his strength, and resolved to return to the city. Surely there were ways I could make myself useful there until the Prophet had further need of me, and the stablemaster should be able to board Sweetroll for me if the Inn didn't provide stabling.
1 -
Chapter Five: Daggerfall
Standing outside the local Inn, Sweetroll’s reins in one hand and a note in the other, I reread the message for what might have been the fifth time;Are you an adventurer of good reputation? Have low to moderate homicidal tendencies? Looking for a cozy home to call your own, but too low on funds to afford one?The Inn was called the Rosy Lion, and although it didn’t provide stabling, there was a stable only a few buildings away which I could make use of. The Inn itself was a sprawling, multi-storeyed stone building with a large common room on the ground floor. Felande wasn't difficult to find, and seemed happy to speak with me.
How would you like a free inn room? That's right, completely free! No catch! Just seek out Felande Demarie at your local inn for more information about this exciting ownership opportunity!
"Who wouldn't want such a cozy little home?" She asked, eyeing me appraisingly. "You have a look about you. Some sort of quality that's rare to find. And trust me, I'm never wrong about these sort of things. Can I interest you in a room at the local inn? Actually, wait. That came out wrong."
“A room at the local inn?” I repeated, wondering what the catch was.
"Look, empty rooms are just bad for business.” She confessed. “The upkeep alone costs me more than the place is worth. But I think we can come to a sort of arrangement. And not the sort of arrangement that involves a few drinks, let me be clear about that."
“What sort of arrangement?” I asked, relieved.
"I need someone to improve the reputation of my properties. A hero type who people look up to. And I have a feeling about you. You've done something great, and are probably on the way to do something greater. Seems like we can help each other here."
"I'm interested." I admitted. "What are the details?
"Yeah, all right, details." She repeated. "I can see how this might be a bit sketchy, but don't worry. The inn room is well-kept, conveniently located. I know you adventuring types, wanting a home in every town. This would be a nice addition to your holdings."
"There has to be a catch." I voiced my concern. "What is it?"
"No catch.” She assured me. “I just need someone to freshen up my image, and my gut tells me you're the one to do that. As long as you're not planning on turning it into a skooma den or an outlaw's refuge, the room is all yours."
"So, within legal reason, I can do whatever I want with the place?" I asked, disbelievingly.
"Oh, sure!" Felande insisted. "You can set up some crafting stations, house your pets, display any treasures or trophies you've come upon in your adventures. Hey, you can even set up a target dummy to practice combat. Just don't demolish the place and we're good."
I craned my head around the door, scanning the empty space. Plenty of room for a bed, some storage, and a few knickknacks I’d been lugging about, unwilling to sell for various reasons. It would do nicely, and the offer was unbelievably convenient, especially considering I was probably going to visit the city frequently to see the Prophet. I turned back to Felande, closing the door behind me.
“All right, I accept your offer.” I decided.
"Excellent! You won't regret this decision, I swear. Here's the deed and key to the room. Took me a while, but I finally was able to take them back from the last tenant. Required more time in the sewers than I had hoped for, but hey, that's business."
“Anything else I should keep in mind?” A bit late now, but better I know than not.
"Nope, just make yourself at home. Spruce things up a bit! Honestly, I can't wait to see how you arrange the place. Hopefully you'll end up with a few less Daedric shrines than another former tenant of mine. Like zero. Zero's a good number."
“Of course!” I promised. “I don't even worship Daedra.”
"Oh, what a relief.” She sighed happily. “I can't tell you how hard it is to wash blood stains off of cobble floors. But that's not even the worst of it! I've had tenants cram their rooms with the wildest things. Mounts, foliage, assistants - I mean, it's an inn room!"
“Do you own the place?” I asked, wondering how anyone would manage to coax a mount inside and up the stairs, no matter how much they wanted to save on stabling.
"I own this and several other properties throughout Tamriel.” Felande stated proudly. “It pays to diversify. Of course, that means I've got to look out for a variety of troubles too. But hey, no one ever said the real estate business was easy."
Bidding her farewell, I left the Inn and headed to the Tradesman’s Square I had passed through on my way to the Rosy Lion earlier. Hopefully someone there will have a bed and some other furniture I can purchase. I thought, glancing at a hound who had decided to follow me. It looks too well cared for to be a stray…. I wonder what it wants? Deciding the dog wasn’t being a nuisance, I ignored it in favour of checking the market stalls. There was a grocer, a florist, an armourer, a tailor, a leatherworker and several weaponsmiths, but no-one selling furniture. I tried the Crafting Halls next, but again was met with a selection limited to weaponry. There were a few other buildings nearby including a Bank, an Enchanter’s Supplies store with a Jewellery workbench, and a Clothier’s, but perplexingly, nowhere had a bed for sale. The Clothier did, however, have several plans available for reasonable prices, and I recalled a woman offering to certify people in Crafting, although that had seemed aimed more at increasing the number of hands available to churn out weapons and armour for the war, if the notice boards covered in order requests were anything to go by. Still, how much harder could a bed be, once I had learned the basics? I bought instructions on a basic bedroll to get started with, returned to the Crafting Halls, and approached the redhaired Bosmer.
"You here for crafting certification?” She asked brightly. “Don't worry, there's no cost involved—your alliance covers all my fees. Once you're certified, they'll let you fulfil the crafting writs. Everyone wins!"
“Yes, I saw a notice.” I confirmed, deciding that at least fulfilling a few writs would earn me some coin as well as provide some practice. “How do the crafting writs work?”
"They're daily requests for crafted goods, but they're only available to certified crafters.” She explained. “If you can show me you know your craft, I'll get you certified."'
“All right.” I agreed. “Tell me how this works.”
"I can train and certify blacksmiths, clothiers, and woodworkers.” She listed. “If that sounds like something you'd want, we can get started."
“Tell me more about the crafts you certify.” I asked, wondering which would be most useful.
"Of course.” She beamed. “What do you want to know?"
“What can a blacksmith make?”
"Anything with metal in it—and I don't mean horseshoes and callipers. The crafting writs are for weapons and heavy armour, so that's what I teach."
“What does a woodworker make?” This would probably be most useful for furniture, eventually.
"Bows, shields, and magical staves. Staffs? No, it's staves. I always forget how to say that."
“What do clothiers make?” Hopefully some bedding and soft furnishings!
"Cloth and leather goods. The crafting writs want pieces of light cloth armour or medium leather armour, so that's what I certify."
“All right, I've got it.” I told her, mulling over my options. I should probably learn everything I can, since it’s free, I decided, and the more of these writs I complete, the more I can earn while I practice!
"Have you spoken with Danel Telleno?” The Bosmer asked me. “He handles certification and training for provisioning, enchanting, and alchemy. He's a bit stuffy, but he knows what he's doing."
“No, I'd prefer you certify me.” I replied. I can always go and see him next, but these sound more useful right now.
"Excellent! We can get started whenever you're ready."
With this Millenith gave me a list of supplies to go forage for, and when I returned with my raw materials she walked me through refining them, constructing a basic item for each discipline, and then deconstructing the items to learn how to salvage materials. By the end of it I was dirty, sweaty and tired, but rather proud of myself, and I was certified to complete writs for Blacksmithing, Woodworking and Clothing.
Best of all, I’d made myself a bedroll! I dropped it off in my room before going to find Danel for further training, and an hour later I had added Provisioning, Enchanting and Alchemy certifications to my achievements, and had a small collection of useful potions and some fresh meals in my supplies. No more scavenging from enemy campfires! I celebrated to myself as I stowed my provisions and headed back out towards the market, wondering what recipes I might be able to purchase there. Happily distracted, I almost tripped over something on my way out if the Inn.
"Woof!"
I looked closer at the hound, and he whined anxiously.
“What's wrong?”
The dog looked down the road and then back at me, as if it wanted me to follow.
“All right.” I sighed, the poor thing had been following me around for a few hours now. “Let's go.”
I followed the dog through town, to the fountain near the East Gate where he abruptly turned and, sniffing constantly, retraced his way back down towards the market square before turning a few yards before the bridge and headed down the short slope to the reservoir between the forge and the mill. On a small knoll in the shallows, too far from the bridge to be easily noticed, lay a man facedown, clearly dead. As I circled his body I noticed a scrap of paper, but as I bent to reach for it, movement behind a nearby boulder caught my attention.
“Your interference will not be tolerated.” The man stated coldly as he approached, daggers drawn. Wondering what the dog had gotten me into, I drew my own blades and stepped up onto the firmer ground near the body, letting my awareness spread as he rushed me. I deflected his first blow, sliding in behind him as he overstepped to regain his balance, slashing at his arms and kidneys as I jumped lightly to avoid a few rocks. He spun to face me, a flicker of uncertainty or maybe fear on his face as I waited for his next attack. It was a lunging, desperate stab and I defected it upwards, opening his guard wide and burying my own dagger in his heart before his second could come forward. I freed my blade with a twist, allowing his body to fall backwards with a splash, and bent to examine the note.
Grocer – three blood oranges
Tailor – crescent-emblem cloak
Florist – black roses with thorns
Deciding that since the tailor’s shop was only a few yards away if I climbed the bank behind the Forge, rather than visiting the market then doubling back, I folded the note and tucked it away, then checked the assassin, taking a small pouch of gold and his daggers.
Winvale's Winsome Loom was where I’d purchased the instructions for my bedroll, and the tailor gave me a nod of recognition as I entered.
"Interested in a set of new clothes?” He asked me. “Something in silk, perhaps? No one ever leaves my shop empty handed."
“I'm looking for a cloak with a crescent emblem.” I replied cautiously, uncertain how to address the situation.
"I'm afraid those aren't for sale.” He advised me. “The crescent moon is the heraldry of the Casimir family, the rulers of Daggerfall."
“Why would a dead man write that on a note?” I asked, deciding to be blunt.
"Dead?” He repeated. “Rugged fellow, had a dog? That's Roy. Well, that was Roy. I'm sorry he's dead, but I'm not surprised. If you figure out what Roy knew and who killed him, I'm sure someone will reward you. It's also a good way to get yourself killed."
“Were you and Roy good friends?” I asked him, deciding to get as much information as I could.
"I guess.” He pondered. “I liked Roy. He watched out for the merchants around here. And, in exchange, we helped Roy. I listened and let Roy know what people were saying. If we ever told him something important, Roy made sure the right people were informed."
“Tell me more about Roy.” I invited him.
"Roy was a good man.” The tailor sighed. “Loyal to Daggerfall. People trusted him. Even that old dog loved him." I nodded my thanks and turned to leave. “It’s a shame what happened to Roy. May Tall Papa guide him.” The Redguard murmured behind me.
As I wandered into the market square, the florist gained my attention first.
"Flowers for sale! A posy to gain a sweetheart's favor, perhaps?" She suggested.
“Not today.” I dismissed her offer. “I found a body in the water near the mill wheel. He carried this list.”
"Oh. That's … that's a pity.” She sighed sadly. “Well, now this is a mess."
“What do you mean?” I asked.
"I'm taking a chance here.” She told me frankly. “Sometimes I hear strange things. Like what's on that note: black roses with thorns. I've heard whispers of dark nature magic. That's just the kind of thing Roy—your dead man—would be interested in."
“How did Roy become involved in all this?”
"With the note?” She asked. “I don't know. That's just what Roy did. He would find out things. Daggerfall has many eyes and ears. After all, information is cheaper than war." I nodded my thanks, turning towards the grocer’s stall. "I'll set aside some lilies for Roy." She promised as I left.
“Welcome, friend.” The grocer greeted me. “You can’t get better fruit of vegetables anywhere in Daggerfall. I guarantee it.”
“I found this list.” I told him. “Do you have three blood oranges?”
"Look, I don't want any trouble.” He replied anxiously. “That's a phrase used by the King's intelligence network. It means someone's going to get killed. I don't want to know anything more. Just leave me out of this."
“The King's intelligence network?” I pressed.
"You know, the eyes and ears of Daggerfall?” He replied nervously. “That's how King Casimir keeps track of what's going on in the city. But you didn't hear about it from me."
“I have a few other phrases to ask about.” I told him, frustrated by his caginess.
"I said leave me alone!” He burst out. “Take your questions and go. I'm not involved in this. This sounds like something that Roy would want to know about."
“Who's Roy?” I hoped asking would get him to open up a bit.
"Damned persistent, aren't you?” He grumbled resentfully. “Roy's a friend. I trust him. People I don't know, I don't trust. And I don't know you."
“Tell me more about what you do.” I coaxed, deciding that telling him of Roy’s death would have him clamming up for good.
"I sell the best fruits and vegetables in Daggerfall.” He stated. “Lots of people come by. I talk and I listen. Then I talk to my friends, like Roy. As for other people? Maybe they should decide what they're going to do, now that they know so much."
“I discovered the meaning of all the items on the list.” I mused, more thinking aloud than speaking to the nervous grocer, then turned my attention back to him. “Where should I report this?”
"Well, not to me. Talk to someone official, like Captain Aresin. He's over at the bottom of the castle steps. I don't know what else is on that list, but this feels like treacherous business."
I hurried up the stairs near the Mages’ Guild building, scanning the walkways along the wall as I ran, and found the captain standing and looking between the crenelations towards the market below.
“Welcome to Daggerfall.” He greeted me distractedly. “Move along.”
“I have information from Roy.” I announced, rather than introducing myself. What name would I give? The Prophet’s appellation, while accurate, wasn’t really something I felt I could offer to most people.
"Roy? Where is he?” The captain demanded. “Why did he send a stranger in his place?"
Before I could answer another assassin charged at us with a wordless yell, and I spun a kick at his head as I drew my daggers. I took the chance to show off a little, dodging strikes and toying with my opponent before despatching him and turning back towards Captain Aresin.
“Roy's dead.” I eventually answered the captain, sheathing my daggers. “I found this note on his body.”
"Dead? Mara's Hands! Let me look at that note.” I handed the page over and he scanned it quickly. “It's our code, all right. Someone who uses dark nature magic is planning to assassinate King Casimir! But who's behind this? I need to know more."
“I can get more information.” I offered, dismayed to have my own translation of the code confirmed.
"Just don't try to play me for a fool." The captain warned me. "But with Roy dead, I don't seem to have much of a choice. Talk to Grenna gra-Kush at the Rosy Lion Inn. If Roy was onto something, she'll know what to do. Betray us and … well, she'll still know what to do."
“I'll talk to Grenna.” I agreed and jogged down the stairs towards the Inn.
Grenna was near the hearth in the Common Room on the main floor, tankard in hand.
"I'm busy.” The Orsimer girl barked at me when I approached. “Can't you see I'm drinking here?"
“Captain Aresin sent me.” I told her.
"And? Why are we talking?" She demanded.
“Roy uncovered an assassination plot.” I explained.
"By Malacath!” She exclaimed, suddenly far more focused. “Roy stepped on a nest of snakes this time. One of the vipers is upstairs. He might know something. I'd confront him, but he knows me. Maybe a stranger like you can get him to talk."
“I can do that.” I agreed.
"Eager. Reminds me of Roy.” She sniffed. “Go upstairs. Find Leveque and rattle his teeth, but don't kill him. We may need him later. Just don't mention me. I'm not an agent of the crown. I'm just an Orc enjoying her ale."
I left her with a grin, and took the stairs two at a time, but there must have been something in my expression as I scanned the open area, as before I could determine who Leveque might be, he was fleeing in panic.
"Oh, no! Help me! I've been discovered!” He cried, running off as yet another assassin appeared from one of the nearby rooms. “Don't let them get me!"
Irritated, I made quick work of Leveque’s minder and climbed the next flight of stairs to find him cowering next to a stack of crates.
"You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?" He tried to bluster.
“I'm willing to overlook all this in exchange for some information.” I replied, leaving a hand on the hit of one of my daggers after sheathing them, slowly, to make my point.
"Agreed. I'll tell you everything I know.” Leveque agreed hurriedly. “Martine Lerineaux hired me. He lives next door to the inn. In the large manor house. I'm a mason, you see. Martine wanted me to make him a map of the tunnels beneath Daggerfall."
“What tunnels?” I demanded.
"The secret ones that lead to the castle.” Leveque admitted. “But I don't know what he's planning. I swear! I just needed the gold. I've got my own troubles back in Wayrest."
“Stay here.” I ordered him, brushing the hilt of a dagger with my fingers to reinforce the message.
"I told you everything I know.” He babbled as I turned to go. “Talk to Martine."
"You're back.” Grenna greeted me. “What happened?"
“Leveque had some protection.” I informed her.
"I thought I heard some noise upstairs.” She noted. “But you don't look any worse for the wear. Did you let that snake Leveque live?"
“He's alive.” I confirmed. “He gave Martine Lerineaux information about secret tunnels to the castle.”
"Martine the merchant? We need to know everything!” Grenna exclaimed. “Get inside Lerineaux's manor. Look for anything that can shed light on what they're planning. I'll stay here and keep an eye on Leveque, so take anything you find straight to Captain Aresin."
“Very well.” I agreed.
"Lerineaux's manor is a short walk from here." Grenna told me.
As it turned out, the manor was directly next door to the Inn, and the front door was unlocked. Suspicious, I snuck inside silently and explored. There were a couple of cultists being exceptionally unobservant in the main room who I picked off quickly and quietly with my bow, and another in a side room who I used my daggers on, before I made my way cautiously towards the stairs.
Apparently, I hadn’t been quiet enough as Martine Lerineaux came charging down the stairs towards me, maul raised, before I reached them. It was laughably easy to skip backwards as he swung the large weapon at me, then dart back in to slice at him, circling and dodging as he lumbered in heavy armour with the more unwieldy weapon, until I stepped in and finished him before he could recover his balance after a missed attack.
I cleared the upstairs of a few more bandits while searching for information, and was fortunate enough to find a note with exactly the details I needed;
Martine,
Your ships are more than adequate to transport our agents. All you need to do os deliver the cargo. Once night falls, we'll emerge from the crates and use Leveque's maps to get close to King Casimir.
Angof will be pleased with the chaos caused by Casimir's death! The kingdom's leaderless ranks will offer the Bloodthorns little resistance. Overcoming the south will be easy and Glenumbra will be ours. Rest assumed that you will be compensated very well for your loyalty to the Bloodthorn's cause.
See that those crates are not disturbed. The agents inside must stay hidden until time is right. If they are discovered, I will perform the deed myself and then come back for you. Do not fail us.
—Verrik
So there’s a back up assassin hidden somewhere in the city, but meanwhile we have a chance to foil the main attack, and hope that this Verrick will assume we are unaware of his intentions. I thought. It will be easier to take him off-guard if he assumed the King would have relaxed his own guard.
I hurried back to Captain Aresin, who was still on the wall above the market square.
"Most of the royal family is safe, but his lordship is brave … and stubborn.” He informed me when I arrived. “He refuses to leave the throne room. I need more information to convince him of the danger he's in."
“King Casimir is the target.” I told him. “Assassins are hiding in cargo crates on the docks.”
"His Lordship?” He exclaimed in horror. “Keep this quiet or we'll never find the assassins in time. Divines help us if the King is killed. It could destroy the alliance!" He dropped his head and muttered, "Both King and Covenant are at risk today." Then looked back at me and said, louder, "I've taken every precaution to protect the royal family, but the King refuses to lay low. We need to find those assassins!"
“I'll search the harbor.” I offered.
"Good.” The Captain agreed. “Talk to Sasana at-Abbas. She oversees the docks. Tell her what you discovered and she'll help in any way she can. Now hurry. The King's life is in danger."
“I'll talk to Sasana.” I agreed and turned to leave.
"Sasana is in one of the warehouses on the hill overlooking the docks.” Aresin called after me. “You can trust her."
The harbour wasn’t far, and Sasana was fairly easy to spot.
"Unless this is about cargo, I can't talk right now.” She said when I ran up to her. “I'm extremely busy."
“Captain Aresin sent me.” I told her. “The King is in danger.”
"The assassins are in my port?” She guessed, indignant at the idea. “Find these snakes and kill them, but do it quietly. I don't want to start a panic." I nodded briefly and moved toward the nearest crates to begin my search. "I'll alert the guards.” Sasana advised me. “If any of these conspirators get past you, we'll cut them down."
The crates already in the warehouses all appeared in order, and although there was one sitting suspiciously out of the way on the upper dock, it only held supplies. I made my way down to where two ships were docked, and boarded the Hotspur. Sure enough, a crate on the main deck held an assassin, who was so disoriented at her hiding place disintegrating around her that I was able to take her out swiftly with only a few strikes.
Spotting another likely crate on the for’castle I entered the captain’s cabin to find a way up there, discovering a bonus crate with a second assassin on my way. This one was slightly more prepared, but having been crammed into an enclosed space for long hours was a little slow, and easy to take down. The third crate did indeed hold its own smuggled assassin, and after finishing her off I dropped to the main deck, ran down the boarding ramp, then sprinted my way up the many stone steps to the castle above the town.
This place is too damn steep! I grumbled silently to myself. Just as soon as I finally get a horse, I’m having to race around ships and a city, and there’s no real point in having Sweetroll carry me such short distances!
Captain Aresin was missing from his usual place, and the flight of steps up to the castle itself was the longest yet. I found Aresin in the throne room when I entered the castle, and he seemed to be arguing with King Casimir as I approached.
"My Lord, you must go now!" He begged his monarch.
"I will not!” The king insisted. “The dragon does not flee its lair!"
I thought Nords used dragon symbolism, don’t Bretons have a lion as the national totem? I pondered distractedly as I reached them.
"They're coming for you!” Aresin all but wailed in frustration. “Wait. What was that?"
"Death to the King!" A hooded figure declared in a sinisterly low voice, as several more assassins followed him into the room. The guards immediately stepped forward to engage them as Aresin hastened Casimir towards the stairs.
"Get the King out of here!” He ordered. “Go!"
I ran after Casimir, following him up the stairs and through an antechamber to the gallery above the throne room, where he stopped abruptly. I lunged past the frozen monarch to intercept the assassin who had been waiting, blocking his strike and spinning around him to slice and stab in a quick flurry of blows.
“You stand in Angof’s way.” He snarled, and I realised this must be Verrik. I redoubled my efforts, ducking under his blows to knock him off balance, never ceasing my own strikes until he staggered back and crumpled, dead.
“Good riddance.” The king muttered as he strode past the corpse to turn and face the way we’d come. I made a quick check of the body to remove anything useful, and stood to face Casimir as Aresin arrived.
"Captain, this isn't easy for me to say, but I want to apologize for ignoring your warnings." King Casimir said haltingly.
"It was nothing, my King.” Aresin assured him before he knelt in a deep bow. “I apologize if I was impertinent in my duty."
"Not at all, Aresin.” His king forgave him. “Rise, please. In service to Daggerfall, our friend here is to have any support the watch or the knights can provide."
"Of course.” The captain agreed. “We'll do whatever we can to help find Angof and determine his motives. All of Daggerfall stands behind our hero."
At this the king turned to face me, and I realised with a start that I, who didn’t even know my own name, was about to converse with royalty. I really should just give myself a new name, I decided, that way I’ll at least have something to offer people. It’s just rude not to introduce myself to anyone.
“It would seem that the Captain’s concern for me was well founded.” King Casimir admitted to me. “You saved me from this assassin’s blade, as well as from my own foolishness this day.”
“I did what I could.” I demurred, embarrassed by the situation.
“Indeed.” Casimir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The body on my floor proves that. Who was this man who came to kill me? What did he want?”
“The assassin was Verrik, but he worked for someone named Angof.” I explained.
“Angof?” The king repeated. “I’ve heard this name whispered by my agents. The royal spymaster reports of unrest across my kingdom stirred into a froth by this Angof, but that’s all we know.”
“They wanted to create chaos by assassinating you.” I elaborated, recalling Verrik’s note to Martine.
“Creating chaos is a method, not a goal.” King Casimir mused, crossing his arms. “It’s a means, not an ends. There’s more going on here than chaos for its own sake. We must get to the bottom of this.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I offered, happy to make myself useful while waiting for the Prophet’s next summons.
“Oh yes, my friend.” King Casimir assured me. “I hereby grant you special dispensation to investigate the villain Angof in my name. But you must keep this quiet, for we don’t want to tip our hand. I shall never forget your service this day, however.”
With this he handed me an ornate broadsword, and a plump pouch which made me far happier than the heavy weapon did, and I nodded my thanks in a clumsy half-bow, before backing up a little, and leaving the king with the captain as I made my way back downstairs to find both Grenna and Sasana had arrived.
"Good thing you showed up.” Grenna congratulated me. “Now I've got a good story to tell back in Orsinium."
"Assassins in my port?” Sasana didn’t seem to have forgiven the insult yet. “Thank Tall Papa you were here."
I accepted their appreciation awkwardly and escaped back outside into the city. Now, to offload my loot somewhere, and come up with a name for myself. I decided as I walked down the stairs, feeling far more relaxed than I had as I ran up them only minutes earlier.
An armourer in the market was happy to pay well for the fancier pieces, and I chose to dismantle the more functional items so that I could salvage components from them. There were a few items that seemed to have special attributes which I took apart to study, in the hopes I could learn the techniques involved and utilise them myself in the future when making my own gear.
And then I went and took Sweetroll out for a ride, so that I could discuss my naming with her, since I felt more foolish talking in public to myself than to a horse, and I wanted to try saying my options aloud to hear how they sounded.
“What do you think, Sweetroll?” I asked my mount as we walked the trail towards the Prophet’s Harborage. “I’m obviously Breton, so my name should be, too…. And if I’m being descriptive, then Chastain as a surname, because it means chestnut, and my hair’s a sort of chestnut red. And the only other thing I know about myself, other than I’m pretty good at killing, is that the Prophet told me I have a part to play, for some purpose of the gods, and that the Scrolls say it’s important. And I’m dead, but my body has been restored by a skyshard. But I want a pretty name…. Angelique? I think it means divine messenger…. Angelique Chastain…. The chestnut-haired messenger of the Divines. How does that sound, Sweetroll?”
The docile mare bobbed her head as if nodding, and I smiled in relief. I had a name! And I’d arrived at the Harborage, I realised, pulling Sweetroll to a halt. Buoyed by the creation of my new identity, I decided to see if the Prophet was ready to send me after Lyris yet.
1 -
Chapter Six: Daughter of Giants
"It is good to see you again.” The blind man greeted me when I emerged from the tunnel into the cavern he called home. “And I do see you, in my own way. You are a wound in time, a tear in reality that shouldn't exist and cannot long endure."
“Why do you speak in riddles, Prophet?” I asked him.
"Fate speaks in riddles.” He deflected. “Your fate was written in the Scrolls, long ago. It is entwined with the fate of the Five Companions. I have finally located Lyris Titanborn in Coldharbour."
Finally! I rejoiced to myself. “Is she safe?”
"She works a terrible forge, under the lash of the great deceiver, Molag Bal.” The Prophet replied. “Her soul is in great danger. You must go to her. I can manifest a gate to that dark realm, but you must go quickly."
“Open the gate, I'll rescue Lyris.” I agreed.
“Tread carefully in Molag Bal’s realm.” He cautioned me. “You are important. The Scrolls have so named you.” That’s…. unexpectedly touching. I thought. But is he genuinely worried for me, or for the future of his prophecy?
“What happened to Lyris after we escaped Coldharbour?” I asked to distract myself from my cynicism.
“After Lyris took my place in the Wailing Prison so that we might escape, the Daedra moved her to the Foundry of Woe.” The Prophet explained. “It is a place of torment and despair. She toils endlessly, making weapons for the enemy.”
“How do you know this?” I asked, puzzled. That’s pretty detailed knowledge of her situation.
“The God of Schemes invaded my mind many times during my imprisonment. It was a torturous experience.” He grimaced. “But by forcing his way into my mind, he inadvertently opened his own thoughts to me and thus created a *** in his own armour.”
“What do you mean?” And does that mean you can hear my thoughts, since I’ve been in your mind? I wondered. Or does the invitation rather than forced entry make a difference?
“We are connected, he and I.” The Prophet answered. “With concentration, I can see through his eyes. He feels my presence, and it fills him with rage. When you enter the Foundry to recover Lyris, I can keep his attention focused on me. He will be blind to you, for a time.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I worried.
“It would be a far greater danger for you to enter Coldharbour without this distraction.” The Prophet deflected again. “It is Molag Bal’s realm and his power there is great. I will endeavour to distract him in this manner whenever you travel there.”
Thanking the Prophet for his concern, I stepped through the waiting portal, and back into the place of my nightmares.
I emerged in a huge workshop. Ramps led between levels and Soul Shriven worked at tables, overseen by Dremora. Piles of soulgems, laden bookshelves, chests and crates of weapons lay about, and from my current position on one of the upper levels, I had a good view of the area around me. No sign of Lyris yet, but I was beginning to gain attention, especially with the glowing blue beam of the Prophets portal lit up behind me. A few arrows, and the nearest guards were no longer a problem. I switched to my daggers, crouched low, and made my way across the cavern to an area which had been partially obscured from my earlier vantage point by rocky outcroppings, and was rewarded soon enough with the sight of a prisoner significantly taller than the others. Checking for any guards first, I quietly made my way to Lyris before standing.
“You!” She startled. “You’re alive! Are you really here, or is this another trick?”
“It’s me.” I assured her, concerned by how distressed her expression seemed. “The Prophet sent me to find you.”
“Then he’s still alive. Thank the Gods! But, you! You can’t stay! You have to leave before they find you here!”
“I’m not leaving without you.” I vowed firmly. Not this time. This place is destroying you.
“You don’t understand.” She slumped forward in despair, unable to meet my eyes. “They’ve…. done something to me. I can’t leave!”
“What do you mean?” I demanded, horrified.
“It’s hard to describe. My memories, my feelings, they’ve been fragmented. Ripped apart. And all the different fragmented pieces have been locked away in different parts of the Foundry.”
“Then we’ll retrieve them.” I promised, hoping it would prove that simple.
“I’ve tried.” She sounded broken, defeated, and I felt my loathing of this place increase a hundredfold. “The Daedra took everything. My willpower, my courage, my sense of self. I’m an empty shell. The fragments are reflections of my worst fears and most painful memories. I can’t…. I don’t think I can face them.”
“We’ll face them together.” I stated implacably, hoping Lyris could see that I refused to give up on her. “Come on.”
“I’ll do my best.” She agreed. “Lead on.”
With no doors in sight, we made our way to the far side of the cavern, towards a ramp leading up into a tunnel. I made sure to stay alert for any guards, making quick work of them with bow or daggers, all too aware that Lyris was unarmed, unarmoured, and far too uncertain of herself. Although she did get a few good punches in, and I resolved never to get her mad enough to take a swing at me if I could help it.
Passing a group of Soul Shriven, she shook her head in pity. “These lost souls are barely aware of their humanity. The guards don’t even beat them anymore.” Our distraction allowed a Dremora to step into our path before I could get my bow up, and I took a quick step backwards to give myself space to switch to my daggers, using Lyris’s larger frame to shield myself from view.
“You!” He snarled at her. “Back to work, slave!” Before he could turn his attention to me, I stepped past Lyris and attacked, and as he fell, dying, I sprinted down the path to take out the two guarding the door.
We emerged onto a strange scene, a wide ledge, the steep cliff rising on one side and dropping away on the other, and there were towering pine trees, and in the distance the burned-out shell of a house.
“This can’t be!” Lyris exclaimed. “It…. It looks like my childhood home in Skyrim!” She rushed past me to a stone memorial, where a small brazier burned between two headstones. “My parents’ graves.” She murmured sadly, dropping to kneel before the flames. “My mother died in childbirth. My father was distant. Cold. I think he blamed me for my mother’s death. I ran off to become a mercenary when I was sixteen. I never saw my father again. He was murdered by an old enemy.”
As she rose, the glowing image of a huge man appeared beside one of the gravestones, turned, and ran towards the ruins of the house.
“Father?” Lyris called after him. “Papa, is that you?” She ran after the apparition, and I in turn ran after her. At the house we found a Dremora confronting the image of Lyris’s father.
“Bleed, you ***!” He mocked. “Die like the monster you are!” As he attacked, the larger man made no move to defend himself, and I stepped in between them, blocking the Dremora’s blades on my own before twisting free to slash at him. “Her mind and soul are already ours!” He growled at me. “Abandon your pathetic rescue!” Not a chance. I thought, drawing him away from the unarmed ghost of my friend’s father before ducking under one of his wild swings, reversing a blade and burying it through his back and into his heart as I passed, then freeing my dagger with a sharp twist as he fell to the soot-stained floor.
The ghost straightened as I approached, and I sensed Lyris close behind me.
“Who are you?” He asked. “Why does Lyris walk with you?”
“I’m here to help Lyris.” I replied. “Who are you?”
“In life, I was Gjalder, father to Lyris.” As I’d thought, but I wasn’t taking anything for granted here. “My spirit was torn from its rest and brought to this foul place. The Daedra force me to experience my own murder, again and again. I thought my torment would never end.”
“They’re using you to keep Lyris shackled to Coldharbour.” I guessed.
“I don’t understand.” He protested, “Lyris was always a free spirit. Why would my presence bind her here?”
“She blames herself for your death.” Another guess, but it seemed a safe one.
“Lyris?” Gjalder addressed his daughter for the first time. “Is this true, child?”
“You were always so cold.” Her voice was quiet, fragile. “So distant. My mother died giving me life. It was my fault! I should never have been born!”
“Lyris, look at me.” He father entreated. “The blood of giants flows through my veins. Your mother was a Nord. I gave her my seed without thought for her safety. That’s why she died. Not because of you, child. Because of me!”
“I thought you blamed me.” Lyris confessed. “You…. You couldn’t even look at me, Papa!”
“Do you not see?” Gjalder asked her. “When I looked at you, I saw her face. I loved her child. Just as I love you – more than life itself. We cannot change the past, nor should we cling to it. You must not let these feelings haunt you. Let them go. Let me go.”
“I love you too, Papa.” Lyris admitted, her voice softer, but with warmth now, not pain. “Rest now. Be at peace.” As she spoke a smile broke over Gjalder’s face, and his glowing image faded away.
“He’s gone.” Lyris sighed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I exhaled, deeply affected by the scene I had just witnessed. Was my father still out there, somewhere? Did he ever think of me? Miss me? Did I have a mother? Siblings? I shook the thoughts away, refocusing on our task. I had a friend who needed my help, and not much time to spare. The longer we took, the harder it would be for the Prophet to keep Molag Bal distracted, and the worse our chances of a successful escape became.
Leaving the ruined house behind, I turned towards the cliff beside us, and as expected, there was a door leading further into this nightmare realm.
Lyris’s thoughts on our location seemed to echo my own as she followed me. “This place is a labyrinth of hopelessness, built to compound the misery of those who labour here.” She muttered as we passed though the door and into short tunnel which opened into a military encampment. “Careful,” she hissed, crouching and moving to the shadows along the wall, “Keep your head down.”
Following her example, I crept forward towards the tents ahead, alert for sentries. Three men dressed in Imperial armour stood blocking a door opposite the one we’d entered by, but I could see no-one else nearby. I was about to turn and motion Lyris forward, when I heard them speaking.
“Did you get all the pieces?” One asked.
“Yeah, I stashed them in the footlockers all around camp. I bet the commander makes her run fifty laps this time!” Another replied, and I glanced at the chest I was crouched beside, using as cover.
“Fifty?” Let’s hope the beast gets a lashing.” The third responded, and a flash of fury swept over me as I realised who they were talking about.
“All right, let’s get back to it.” The first one instructed. “Act natural.” With this they parted, strolling off to differing tents or campfires to wait for their game to play out.
Narrowing my eyes, I lifted the lid on the footlocker beside me, and found pieces of Imperial armour, several sizes too large for either myself or any of the conspirators I had overheard. Silently removing them, I continued around the camp, looting anything I came across, until I had collected the full set of Lyris’s armour. Leaving the soldiers none the wiser, I made my way back to where Lyris waited.
“Did you find something?” She asked as I approached, seeing the bundle I held.
“I believe this armour belongs to you.” I replied, presenting it to her.
“I can’t believe it!” She exclaimed. “This armour is who I am. It’s what I am. A warrior without her armour is like a bear without claws.”
“Suit up.” I smiled, turning my back. “I’ll wait.”
“Excellent.” Lyris announced moments later. “I’m ready.”
I turned to find her looking far more assured and confident, and had to admit she cut an imposing figure in the heavy Imperial mail and plate style I had seen her wearing in the Prophet’s mindscape when he gave me that history lesson.
“It’s good to be back in my armour again.” She rejoiced, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her, before remembering the soldiers in the camp. Were they based on other people from her past? I wondered. Did her fellow soldiers really resent her so much that they’d resort to such malicious pranks?
As soon as we passed the first tent one noticed us and charged forward in attack. “Wretched Nord slave!” he bellowed at Lyris. “You will rot here forever.”
Not if I have any say in it, you ***. I thought, spinning to kick him in the face before slicing into him with my daggers as he staggered backwards. The commotion brought the other two running, and I switched briefly to my bow, felling them with a few poisoned arrows, all too aware of their swords and Lyris's as yet unarmed state, despite her restored armour. I switched back to daggers and ran forward to finish them off before Lyris caught up.
I really hate these doors. I decided as we made our way through one from the campsite and into a tunnel. It’s that grinding metal sound as they slide open, like a rusty blade. And they’re like jaws opening and snapping shut again, with those overlapping parts, like jagged teeth.
“Watch your step.” Lyris warned, regaining my attention. “All the mining has made these tunnels unstable.” Sure enough, there were showers of dust and small rocks falling from the ceiling in places, and rumbles which had me ducking and covering my head as we made our way. I wasn’t so distracted that I didn’t notice the Dremora ahead, and unslung my bow to pick them off from a distance, the torches they held blinding them to our location in the shadows.
Through yet another door was a plateau, falling away on one side, and I stared at the islands floating in midair beyond the edge.
“Abnur Tharn, you traitorous ***!” Lyris exclaimed, rushing past me to confront the translucent apparition floating above the ground ahead. “I should have expected to find you here!”
“Don’t be a fool, Titanborn.” The battlemage responded dismissively as I approached at a more measured pace. “I’m trying to help you. Your hatred poisons you! Warriors are like steel. When you lose your temper, you lose your worth.”
“Help me?” How did she get words out past teeth that tightly clenched? I wondered. “You betrayed us all, then went back to licking Mannimarco’s boot before the smoke cleared!”
“I did what I had to do.” Tharn responded shortly. “And, as a show of my good intentions, I have a gift for you. But, be warned, Coldharbour will not give it up easily.” With this he disappeared, and beyond where his image had hovered was a raised mound, circled with flickering greenish flames. But it was what rested in the centre of the circle that caught Lyris’s attention.
“Is that….?” She started, stopped, then swore. “Shor’s bones, it is! Vestige, that’s my battle axe!” I could hear the excitement, the glee and longing in her voice, and smiled to myself at the improvement she had made since leaving the Foundry. “That’s definitely my axe, but be careful. Tharn said that Coldharbour won’t give it up, easily.”
With a nod to acknowledge her warning, I slowly made my way forward, scanning our surroundings as I went. Sure enough, just beyond the circle of flames, a huge Clannfear was curled, camouflaged against the barren ground, barely visible between the stones. An eye slitted open, watching us as it held perfectly still. I sighed, lining up a shot with my bow, but it leapt into the air as I fired, and I stepped aside just in time to avoid being landed on, switching to my daggers as I moved. Not the best weapons against the tough hide of my foe, but they were faster than any larger weapon, and left me better flexibility to manoeuvre. And I needed that speed, tucking my knees up tight as I jumped over the whip-fast tail, spinning and dodging claw swipes, before finally gaining a clear strike and sinking a dagger into the back of the beast’s neck.
“It’s good to have you back.” I heard as I cleaned and resheathed my blades, and I turned to see Lyris holding her reclaimed battle axe. “Are you thirsty for Daedric blood old friend?” She crooned over the huge weapon before affixing it to her back and joining me. “My axe! It feels good to have it back. It’s part of me. Losing it was like losing an arm.”
I didn’t have that sort of attachment to my daggers or bow, and wondered briefly if I ever had, or would, but it was remarkable the improvement reclaiming her weapon had made in Lyris. Still, that did make me wonder….
“Why would Tharn try to help you?” I asked her.
“I don’t know” She admitted. “I don’t trust him and I never will. But it’s odd. The blind hatred I felt when I first saw him? I could have strangled him with my bare hands. But now…. I think he was right. That hatred was poisoning me.”
“How do you feel now?” I asked, wondering if she could sense the same return of her confidence that I could see.
“Better!” She exclaimed. “Stronger. Almost whole again. Isn’t that strange? I feel powerful enough to take on Umaril the Unfeathered, himself! I feel…. Like a warrior again!”
“What’s next?” I asked, smiling in relief.
“We’re not done yet.” Lyris caution me. “We need to keep moving forward. The passage is blocked by a rock slide, but now that I have my axe back I might be able to break through it.”
“Let’s check it out.” I offered, keen to be moving. I could almost feel the sands of time passing, too quickly for comfort.
“Stand back.” Lyris instructed as we approached the pile of boulders, some almost as tall as her, blocking our exit. “No pile of pebbles is going to stop me now!” She proclaimed, and punched the closest boulder, sending the pile tumbling to uncover the entrance to a well-lit tunnel.
I was impressed, and overjoyed to see my friend back in such good spirits, and our good moods added an extra spring to our steps as we made our way through the scattered rocks and along the tunnel.
Only to be met by an Ogrim blocking the path a short distance later.
“So many Daedric beasties, so little time.” Lyris sighed, almost happily. “We need to keep moving.”
And with Lyris armed once more, I was free to stay back and pepper the hulking monsters with arrows while she cut at them from closer range, making short work of each as we followed the passageway upwards, passing broken lengths of enormous chains heaped along the side of the path.
“I almost feel like myself again.” She called back to me once we’d despatched a Dremora, and I grinned in reply. Two more Dremora and a final Ogrim guarded the door, but they were downed in moments and we were through and in a short hallway almost before the last body hit the ground.
“Did you hear that?” Lyris asked me, pausing abruptly. She tilted her head as though straining to listen. “That sounded like….. no, it couldn’t be.” With that she raced ahead, and rounding the corner I saw her on a raised dais, staring at the translucent figure of a man in glowing chains. “Sai!” She breathed in horror. “What’s happened to you? What have they done?”
And sure enough, the projection was of the Redguard Swordmaster I had seen in the Prophet’s mindscape.
“Lyris!” He rasped. “Lyris, I can see you! Are you really there?” There was pain in his voice, but dawning hope. His head remained bowed as if he lacked the strength to raise it, and his arms were stretched wide by his bindings.
“Sai, it’s me!” Lyris assured him “We’re seeing some kind of vision of you. Do you know where you are?”
“I…. I don’t know.” He admitted. “They’re torturing me. They…. Want the Amulet of Kings. Want me to tell them where it’s hidden. But I haven’t broken. Not yet.” His pride in this lifted his head, and he squared his shoulders, straining against his shackled wrists.
“Sai, you need to hold on.” Lyris pleaded. “We’re going to find you. I’ll make sure of it. We’ll find you! Somehow we’ll get you out of there!” The image faded suddenly, and Lyris turned her gaze frantically, searching the room for him. “Sai? Sai!” She called. “No! Bring him back, you ***!”
Exhaling, she turned to me. “That was no trick. That was Sai Sahan!” She assured me.
“Are you going to be alright?” I asked her.
“Sai’s a friend. Maybe my best friend. We need to find him and get him out of there!” Lyris insisted.
“There must be a way to find out where they’re keeping him.” I assured her.
“We need to tell the Prophet about this.” She decided. “He’ll know what to do. But first, we need to find a way out of here. I don’t care what else they throw at us, nothing’s going to keep me from helping Sai.”
“Let’s go.” I agreed, moving past the dais where Sai’s image had been projected, and towards the far door. At least this one’s different, I mused to myself with a roll of my eyes as I spied a lever attached to the thick chain beside shallow steps. Sure enough, pressing the lever opened the door, and we ran through the passageway beyond. There were several Soul Shriven standing limply about, and I shivered as we passed them, realising almost too late that the next still form was a Dremora, now levelling his sword at me. Sidestepping to pass him, I ducked under his swing, stabbed into his armpit as I straightened, and slit his throat as I completed my turn, his back pressed to my front, his blood spilling onto the floor as I pushed him away. I spun back to continue our journey, keeping a better eye out for any other Dremora ahead. There were a couple more among the motionless Shriven, but I was better prepared and kept running as I slashed quickly at them in passing. Through another door. And suddenly before us was a statue of Molag Bal, one hand holding his club, the other uplifted, the figure of a man gripped in his clawed fingers. I felt cold looking at it, and I wasn’t the only one affected.
“Something’s wrong.” Lyris muttered behind me. “All the doubt, the fear, the loneliness…. It’s all coming back! I…. I have to push through this! Let’s go!” She rallied herself, and my pride in her restored my own sense of purpose. Skirting the statue, we pressed on, but as the next, inevitable door opened of its own accord before us, and the glowing sigil in the floor erupted to release a tentacled Watcher, Lyris hesitated once more.
“Stendarr defend us!” She exclaimed. “That thing! It’s the source of all my fears! I can hear it whispering to me. Taunting me!” Glancing at her, our eyes met, and the understanding that the only way to fight back her fears, to truly reclaim herself again, was to defeat this thing, passed between us unsaid. Raising her axe above her head, Lyris rushed forward, and I sidestepped to gain a clearer shot at the floating horror, firing arrows in quick succession as Lyris battered at the flailing appendages. Suddenly the Watcher pulled its limbs in tightly to its body before whipping them back out, spinning as it bore down upon me. I dropped beneath it, rolling as it passed overhead, and sprang to my feet to fire on its retreating form. Defeated, it fell, tentacles splayed against the floor, its many eyes staring blindly in all directions.
“We did it!” Lyris exclaimed. “The voices…. The whispering…. It’s gone! This whole time it was like watching myself from a distance. I felt…. Disconnected. But now, this is the best I’ve felt in years. Like I’ve been reborn! And I owe it all to you. Thank you.” I smiled and gave her a brief nod. “Let’s get out of here! We need to rescue Sai, then we’ve got a world to save!”
I couldn’t have agreed more, or been happier to see the Prophet’s portal beaming down onto a raised platform nearby, and as I made my way up the stairs to it, Lyris close behind me and restored to her confident and capable self, I hoped our success would continue.
A moment later we were standing in the Harborage, the Prophet before us, and I felt a sense of homecoming wash over me.
“Lyris, child. Are you alright?” the blind man greeted her, and I hid a smile at the care in his voice.
“Yes Prophet.” Lyris assured him. “I’m fine. The Vestige freed my mind from the Daedra’s control.”
“Thank the Divines.” He exhaled. “Your loss would have thrown all into chaos.”
“They won’t take me again.” She vowed. “Not alive, at least. Prophet, Mannimarco captured Sai Sahan!” Straightening, her tone turning urgent, Lyris continued. “He’s torturing him to find out where the Amulet of Kings is hidden. We have to rescue him!”
I stepped forward to add my own report, and the Prophet turned to face me.
“You’ve brought Lyris Back!” He congratulated me. “And largely intact, from the look of her.”
“She’s been through a lot.” I confided, knowing Lyris would never admit to the suffering she had endured.
“And she will need time to recover.” The Prophet agreed. “One does not leave such a place unscarred.”
“We saw a projection of Sai Sahan.” I said, confirming Lyris’s tale. “He spoke to us.”
“What did he say?” He asked. “Did Sai tell you where he is being held?”
“He doesn’t know.” I admitted sadly. “Mannimarco is torturing him. He wants the Amulet of Kings.”
“Then we must locate him before Mannimarco forces him to reveal the Amulets hiding place.”
“We also saw a projection of Abnur Tharn.” I told him. “He tried to help Lyris.”
“Did he?” The Prophet sounded surprised. “I thought he had firmly aligned himself with Mannimarco and his Worm Cult. Curiouser and curiouser.”
“How will the Amulet of Kings help us?” I wondered.
“As you saw in my visions, the Amulet’s misuse ripped a hole in the barrier that protects Tamriel from the forces of Oblivion.” The blind man reminded me. “That damage must be undone, and the Amulet is the key. But, to find the Amulet, we must first locate Sai Sahan.”
“How can I help?” I offered.
“For now, you must leave me to my meditations.” He admitted. “I must set my mind to the task of locating Sai Sahan. Until then, embrace the unknowable. The drops of water cannot know themselves to be a river, yet the river flows on.”
“One last thing.” I pressed. “Why did Molag Bal leave Lyris any possibility of escape?”
“Perhaps it was simply arrogance.” The Prophet mused. “Perhaps it was all part of his grand scheme. Who can know the logic of a Daedric Prince? I will call upon you again when the time is right. Farewell, Vestige.”
Bidding them each goodbye, I left Lyris and the Prophet and made my way from the Harborage. I needed to rest, and my bedroll at the Rosy Lion was calling to me. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough, and I suspected I would have a long ride north ahead of me while trying to track down Angof.
1 -
Chapter Seven: The Wyrd (Part One)
To travel north, I decided the best route was to leave Daggerfall by its East Gate, follow the road to Delyn’s Mill, and depending on what news I picked up along the way, take one of the trade roads northeast or northwest.
The trees were beginning to show touches of autumn colours, especially the birches, and patches of golden hyacinth-shaped flowers spread thickly in the lush grass, and it was a beautiful day. I was keeping Sweetroll to an easy canter and enjoying the scenery, the walls and towers behind me not yet fully hidden by the trees, when I noticed two people on the riverbank ahead and a man standing just off the road before the bridge, all looking anxious. Slowing Sweetroll to a walk, I halted her alongside the man to speak with him.
“Stranger, this forest is cursed.” He greeted me. "A caution, my friend. If you're following this road, know that Deleyn's Mill is lost!"
“What happened at Deleyn's Mill?” I asked him.
"The land's turned against us!” He cried, distraught. “Spriggans and imps have overrun the mill. My family and I escaped, but the rest of the villagers weren't so lucky."
“What can I do to help?” I offered, glancing past him to the man and woman on the river bank, who were still staring back the way they’d come as though searching for other survivors.
"I don't know.” He wrung his hands in distress. “There might be a way to help the other villagers. A group of women showed up as we fled. Threw spells around and called themselves the Wyrd Sisters. They helped us escape. Maybe they know what's going on out there."
“I'll talk to these Wyrd Sisters.” I agreed.
"I'm taking my family to Daggerfall.” The man replied. “We'll be safer there."
“You mentioned other villagers.” I prompted him, swaying easily in the saddle as Sweetroll sidestepped a little, picking up on his anxiety.
"Our friends and neighbors.” He mourned. “They were trapped by the imps. There was nothing we could do but run for our lives."
“I'll do what I can to help them.” I promised the grieving man.
"Thank you, my friend.” He nodded deeply in gratitude. “You're certainly braver than I am, I'm sad to admit."
“Do you know why the village was attacked?” I asked, patting Sweetroll’s shoulder to sooth her.
"Sheor curse me, but I have no idea.” He admitted. “Deleyn's Mill has always focused on our work. We don't get involved in politics or feud with our neighbors. Of course, chopping down trees could make a spriggan angry, I suppose."
“Have the spriggans ever done anything like this before?” I wondered.
"Not since I've lived in Deleyn's Mill.” He shrugged. “Come to think of it, those strange vines that recently sprung up are new. I couldn't cut them even with my finest axe."
“What strange vines?” I asked, suspicious of the timing.
"You'll see them soon enough.” He assured me. “They're especially thick up north. You can't miss them. They're all twisted and diseased-looking. I'd suggest staying far away from those awful vines. They're nothing but trouble, of that I'm sure."
I decided to leave Sweetroll grazing safely near the bridge rather than risk her being injured, although I was a little anxious about leaving her unattended. Realising that situations such as this were bound to happen frequently given my mission to help people, and I had best test her patience and loyalty now rather than later when I could be much further from civilisation, I secured her reins so she wouldn’t tangle them and left her to enjoy the lush grass.
From the top of the arched stone bridge, I could see the village, and the imps hovering thickly everywhere. Avoiding them as best I could, and making quick work of those I couldn’t, I made my way closer. As I approached the millhouse itself, I noticed a woman on a small islet in the river, and changed course to approach her.
"The spirit of the Wyrd weeps, for something drives her children mad.” She told me as I approached. “I fear for the innocents in this village."
“What's going on here?” I asked her, hoping for more information than the fleeing villager had given me.
"The forest is enraged.” She replied. “Filled with hatred. We tried to calm it as we always have before, but our magic falters. Never have the elemental spirits refused to answer our calls. The grass, the trees, the very earth itself—they're dying."
“What can we do?” I wondered.
"For now, our purpose is to defend the villagers from these creatures.” She advised me. “I can construct a simple ward to protect the mill, but we are far from the Wyrd Tree. I shall require a focus."
“I'll help.” I promised. “What do you need of me?”
"Take this creature, born and bound to the essence of Aetherius, and let it guide you to what I need.” The Wyress instructed, passing me a torchbug. “Hopefully, it will find enough to establish the ward."
“What's the Wyrd?” I asked her, cursing my missing memories yet again.
"The Wyrd Tree, the spirit that gives life to this land. My sisters and I are Beldama Wyrd. We serve the Wyrd Tree. We came here to discover why anger infests this part of the forest."
“Have you discovered anything?” I asked.
"No, and that worries me.” She admitted. “The forest no longer speaks to us. We sensed that something was wrong and that's why we came here. But beyond that, we are at a loss as to how to make things right."
“What should I do with this creature?” Other than hope it isn’t an imp’s favourite snack…..
"Let this torchbug fly where it will.” She instructed me. “Let it guide you to the essence of Aetherius. It will find the soil that is most pure and draw out what I need for my focus. A focus is required for the ritual to work. This torchbug, born from the soil and sap of the Wyrd Tree, will seek out untainted earth. Let's hope the corruption hasn't spoiled the entire area."
Nodding in agreement, if not with complete understanding, I carried the torchbug across the stream and past the buildings, guessing that if the idea was to find “pure” soil, it was more likely to a be a little way out of the village. Sure enough, once released the glowing insect lead me up the slope to where trees had been recently felled, and hovered in place beside a pair of spriggans. Grimacing at the necessity, I despatched them with my bow before approaching the torchbug and accepting the essence it had located. The next location was to the north, near stacks of felled logs, and thankfully free of the enraged nature spirits, although I did wonder if I was imagining the woman on top of one stack until I climbed up to check on her.
“I thought I was the only one left out here.” The Nord greeted me. “Well, get up here and fight beside me. Today is a glorious day to die!”
“How many of the creatures have you killed?” I asked.
“Every last one of the damned things that got too close.” She stated proudly. “A Nord never gives up. And a Nord never backs down from a fight. I’ll keep fighting and swinging my axe until my arm falls off. And then I’ll find a way to fight some more!”
“The surviving villagers are gathering in the mill.” I advised her. “You should join them.”
“I’m not afraid to die, stranger.” She vowed. “But I might as well do it while defending the village. Thanks for the help. I look forward to fighting at your side back at the mill.”
It took forever for the little torchbug to find another pure spot, I’d made my way back around the perimeter of the forest to where the Wyress waited for me on the tiny islet before it darted towards the end of the stream where falls tumbled down the rocks towards the shore, thankfully detouring to a more navigable way down, although I wasn’t entirely sure if that was for my sake. I avoided a few imps, followed the glowing mote, and accepted the third Aetheric essence from it before picking my way back up the steep slope.
"I mourn the creatures you were forced to kill.” The Wyress consoled me when I returned to her. “They usually aren't so aggressive."
“I've gathered what you need.” I replied, trying not to dwell on the cost.
"May the essence of Aetherius protect us all.” She replied. “Now, please, stand back. I must perform the ritual of warding."
“I'll just get out of the way.” I said, giving her space.
"Oh, I hope this works!" She replied, hands glowing and casting a glowing circle that covered the islet, runes outlining the edge, before all the light condensed into an orb hovering in front of her. "There, I think that's done it. Come with me." I trailed behind as she led the way to the mill, the glowing orb following her closely until it sped for the open doorway and filled it with a shimmering green glow, and a few strands of ivy leaves. "Good! It worked! That's a perfectly fine ward, if I do say so myself." She stated, and walked through into the mill as I followed. "That ward will buy us some time. Now we have to figure out what to do next."
“The villagers can't hide in the mill forever.” I pointed out.
"Agreed.” She nodded. “The mill is safe for now, but we need to get the villagers out of here. My sister Jehanne has a plan to help the villagers, but we need your assistance. If you're willing to help us, please talk to her."
“Who are you to nonchalantly walk through flames and forest?” Wyress Jehanne demanded of me when I approached, definitely not as friendly as her sister. “You smell of the city of stone. Have you come to cleave our forest? Rip up our soil? Haven’t the spirits already been enraged enough by your kind?”
“I’m only here to help.” I tried to placate her.
“So you say” She retorted. “My sisters and I serve the Beldama Wyrd. We have a duty to uphold. You? I don’t know your true intentions. Still, we could use the help of someone who isn’t as attached to the forest as we are. You might prove useful, after all.”
“What do you need me to do?” I offered.
“My sister Olyna is still out there, probably trapped somewhere between the fires and the enraged forest creatures.” She explained. “The fires burn, our sister is missing, and the villagers are dying. Something needs to be done.” And it’s all a bit too stressful for you, hence the attitude….
“I’ll deal with the fires and save anyone who’s still alive.” I promised.
“Get everyone back here and we can keep them safe.” She agreed. “For a while. In the meantime, we’ll work on what to do next. And make sure you put those fires out. This building won’t provide much protection if it burns to the ground.”
“Do you know why the forest has become so hostile?” I asked her.
“Isn’t it obvious?” She fumed. “The people of the city of stone caused this. They have no regard for the natural world. Nature only beds so far before it begins to suffer. Then it reasserts itself. Nature always prevails. That’s why the vines appeared.”
“What vines?” Probably the same ones that refugee at the bridge mentioned…. But I wonder if Jehanne knows anything about them?
“The vines!” She exclaimed in frustration. “They started appearing weeks ago, bursting through the soil and spreading throughout Glenumbra. We’ve never seen such vines before, and even the Wyrd tree was engulfed by the strange growths. Whatever’s happening, no one is safe.”
“Who are you and why are you here?” I asked, curious about her motives, since she seemed so conflicted about the fate of the people here.
“We are the witches of the Wyrd.” She explained. “We serve the Wyrd Tree and the forest is our home. If this was Breton against Breton, we would not get involved. But something unnatural caused this. The forest has been wounded and that concerns the Beldama Wyrd.”
“You still came to help.” I pointed out.
“We stand apart, but we aren’t heartless.” She insisted. “No one deserves to die for something they haven’t done.”
Nodding in understanding, I left the mill and was relieved to find a well, and a bucket, only a few yards away. Arming myself with a full bucket of water, I ran for the nearest mostly intact building, and doused the flames licking at the door.
Inside was an enraged Khajiit, stomping on the corpse of an imp.
“No more!” She vowed, giving a few final stomps. “Mura will not stand for it! You won’t hurt any more of Mura’s friends!” Noticing me, she turned towards me and gave a rather growling explanation. “These creatures show up in the night, try to take everything from Mura. This one has worked hard to make friends, find people who would accept her. Mura will not allow these beasts to kill her friends.”
“There are survivors.” I soothed her. “They’re at the mill.”
“Do you speak the truth?” She asked me anxiously. “Mura thought everyone was dead. Now you tell me good news, and hope fills this one’s heart.”
“The Wyrd sisters are protecting your friends.” I promised, hoping whoever she was especially close to was safe.
“Mura has heard tales of the witches who roam the west. Some good, some bad. This one will not turn down help, though, yes? Mura will find her way back to the mill. Just let one of those creatures get in this one’s way!”
I bid her goodbye with a smile, and left the cabin. The next fire I extinguished was near the warehouse by the docks, and huddled at the water’s edge below was a terrified villager.
“I don’t want to die out here!” He babbled when I dropped off the edge of the dock to check on him. “You’ve got to help me!”
“Are you injured?” I asked him.
“Injured? Injured?” He repeated incredulously. “What does that matter? Everyone’s dead! I think…. I think I’m the only one left.”
“You’re not the only survivor.” I informed him gently. “Head to the mill. The villagers are gathering there.”
“Survivors?” He breathed hopefully. “I’m not all alone? Oh, thank the Eight! I have to get to the mill and see who else is still alive.”
Scanning the docks again, I could see a huddled form trying to hide behind some crates at the end of a pier, with an imp drifting nearer. I sprinted across the sand and back onto the docks, feet slapping loudly on the planks, and stabbed into the imp before it could fully turn to face me, slicing deeply to end it as quickly as possible.
The Orc who stepped out from behind the crates looked rather sheepish, but made an effort to put on more bravado than he obviously felt.
“It’s, uh, good you got here when you did.” He stumbled as a greeting. “You were much more, eh, merciful than I was about to be to those creatures.”
“Are you alright?” I asked sceptically.
“Ha! Better than those imps after I get through with them!” He boasted, then seemed to have second thoughts. “Um, assuming you didn’t kill them all already. You did? Kill them all, I mean. Didn’t you?”
“The way is clear to the mill.” I replied, struggling not to roll my eyes. “You’ll find safety there.”
“The mill. Of course.” He replied, relieved, then made one last attempt to sound tough. “Well, if I do run into any hostile creatures along the way, they’ll regret the day they decided to invade our village!”
Nodding goodbye, I left him to gather his courage and ran back up the pier, then made my way past the other buildings. I almost didn’t check the last building along the beach, as it appeared in ruins with collapsed walls and multiple fires, until I heard an anguished cry coming from it.
“No, my daughter! She can’t be gone!” A woman wailed in grief.
“She’s…. gone. I’m, I’m sorry.” A calmer voice answered gently, and then I was firing arrows at the fireball-throwing imps as I raced forward, switching to daggers to cut down the last few once I was too close to use my bow. I flung bucket after bucket of water at the flames, and ran into the ruined dwelling to find a villager and the missing Wyrd sister.
“My darling daughter. No. She…. She can’t be dead. No, no, no.” The villager mourned, and I averted my eyes from the limp figure in a corner I had recently extinguished.
“Did my sisters send you to aid us?” Wyress Olyna asked me, and I turned to her in gratitude at the change of subject.
“Yes. You need to head back to the mill.” I told her.
“May the Mother Spirits guide us!” She prayed. “I tried so hard, but I wasn’t able to save more than this single villager. I’ll make sure we both get back to the mill.”
“No! My beautiful daughter, please say something!” The villager wailed, kneeling beside her daughter’s body. “You have to be alright, you have to be!”
“We have to go.” The Wyress told her gently. “We can’t stay here any longer. Your daughter’s gone.”
“We can’t just leave her here like this!” The village woman insisted, as Olyna began casting, and green light the colour of new growth circled her feet. “I have to say goodbye! Wait, what are you doing? What’s happening?”
And with a quick burst of golden light they vanished, teleported to safety, and I gratefully turned to run back to the mill, flinging water at every fire I could find along the way.
“Perhaps I was too quick to pass judgement on you.” Wyress Jehanne greeted me, far more friendly than when I had first met her. “These people, including my sister Olyna, owe you their lives.”
“I did what I could.” I replied, wishing I had arrived sooner. Maybe if I had I would have been able to do more, perhaps even save that poor woman’s daughter....
“The remaining fires should burn out soon.” She went on, as though seeing the regrets in my eyes. “You did what you could, but the forest’s rage has ravaged this village. It’s terrible, for sure, but a small part of me is thankful that these saws won’t operate again.” I shrugged, understanding her perspective, but still mourning the lost lives, both human and other. “My sisters and I should be able to open a path to safety, but we’ll need your help again to make this work.”
“What do I need to do?” I asked her.
“We can travel along the roots of the Wyrd tree.” She told me. “That’s how we were able to get here so quickly. But there’s some kind of corruption in the soil, and now that path is blocked to us. The roots need to be nourished with pure energy.”
“Where do I get pure energy?” I asked, wondering if this would mean following the torchbug again.
“Nothing is more pure than life itself.” Jehanne replied. “We can use the lifeforce of the creatures to nourish the roots of the Wyrd Tree. Kill one of the creatures near each root. Their life essence should provide the power we need to get the villagers out of here.”
“I’ll take care of it.” I promised, silently weighing the lives of the villagers against the lives of the maddened, bloodthirsty spirits, and the Wyrd Sisters’ devotion to their Tree.
“Look for the roots of the Wyrd around the mill. Remember that those creatures must give up their lives near the roots or the roots won’t absorb their life essences. Any creature you kill away from a root is a life extinguished for no reason.”
Deciding that asking anything else wasn’t as urgent as getting the task done, I left the mill to begin searching for the Wyrd Tree’s roots. I figured that they would probably be near the places of pure soil the torchbug had led me to when gathering the essence of Aetherius, so I retraced my steps to the waterfall first. Sure enough, there was a tiny, sparsely-leaved shoot breaking out of the earth, which once I shot down the spriggan standing guard next to it, began to glow. Okay, so I know what to look for, and I have a good idea of where to look. I decided, and ran back across the stream and up the hill to where the torchbug had first led me, making sure to avoid attracting the attention of any of the spriggans or imps as I went.
Locating the root, I sniped the closest spriggan, then once its life force had been absorbed I dropped flat to hide myself from an imp looking around as if searching for me, and inched my way backwards until I was able to stand and run north to the final area of my search. I picked off a spriggan from a distance, made sure the root was glowing, and ran back to the mill while the way was still open.
Jehanne and Helene stood alone inside the mill, and seemed genuinely happy to see me again.
“We were able to get all the villagers through the portal.” Jehanne celebrated. “They’re safe in our camp for now.”
“Anything else you need from me?” I wondered, gazing around the empty building.
“I should return to our camp and help protect the villagers.” She replied. “My sisters will continue to look into the madness that occurred here. Perhaps you could help them, if you have an interest. You have earned my respect, stone-dweller. Thank you. Speak to Helene. There are still questions that require answers.”
With this she stepped through a portal, leaving me with the Wyress who had first sent me following the torchbug, Helene.
“I didn’t want to say anything with all these poor people around.” She told me. “They’ve already gone through so much. But after studying the situation, I think I know what’s going on in the forest.”
“What did you discover?” I asked.
“The terrible magic that infects these creatures.” She started. “I’ve heard stories, but I’ve never seen it used. Reach magic. I don’t know how this happened. Even the guardians of the Wyrd are silent. This is much worse than I originally imagined.”
“Who are the guardians?” I asked. I thought that was your job, you and your sisters?
“Elemental spirits connected to the Wyrd Tree.” She explained. “They guide us in protecting the land. But if we cannot reach them, they cannot aid us. I must ask for your continued help in this. All of Glenumbra may be at risk if this blight continues to spread."
“What do you need me to do?” I’m saying that to a lot of people…..
"You must meet with Wyress Ileana.” Helene insisted. “She was the first to sense the disturbance and may know more about Reach magic. We have to find a way to stop this or the very earth around us will perish. Please, find my sister on the road north of this mill."
I nodded my goodbyes and slipped from the mill. Before heading north, I backtracked towards the bridge until I was clear of any imps or spriggans, then whistled for Sweetroll. To my delight she appeared immediately, snorting happily to see me, and I swung myself into her saddle, loosening the reins again before turning her to skirt the destroyed village and pick up the northbound road a safe distance away.
0 -
Chapter Seven: The Wyrd (Part Two)
A short ride later, the road ended at another running crossways to it, and in the junction stood three more Wyresses, who turned at my approach.
“Please, we’re dealing with serious matters here.” One spoke, holding out her hand to halt me. “The guardians are in desperate need of our aid, and any interruption can have dire consequences.”
“Wyress Helene sent me to you.” I replied by way of introduction. I really should start using my name, now that I’ve given myself a perfectly good one, but still…..
“Oh, my apologies.” She nodded. “You must be the stranger who helped my sisters at Delyn’s mill. I’m honored to meet you. I can’t talk long. As you know, things are not well in our woods. The guardians have gone silent and this corruption spreads.”
“Who are the guardians?” I asked, wondering how different her answer might be to Helene’s.
“They’re elemental spirits.” She began. So far the same. “They used to guide us, but now…. Nothing. And just when we need them the most. There’s an old rite to contact them that might work, but it’s too dangerous for me or my sisters to perform.”
“Perhaps I can perform the rite?” I suggested. Can’t be any more dangerous than my visits to Coldharbour….
“I don’t know.” She sounded genuinely confused. “You’re not one of us. But we have to try something, I suppose. See the lurchers out there? Gather their limbs. That’s the dangerous part. Then burn the limbs at the alter atop the nearby ruins. If it works, a guardian should appear.”
“I’ll perform the ritual.” I promised. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll gather more limbs for you to perform it, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll escort you to gather them while I protect you. Something will work, eventually.
“If you’re able to speak to the elemental spirit, find me at the Vale of the Guardians.” She requested. “It’s north of this location. I’ll wait for you there. And please, hurry! We need the wisdom and guidance of the guardians now more than even.”
“What’s a lurcher?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“They are abominations of the Bloodthorns!” She exclaimed. “The lurchers were spriggans once, until the cultists twisted and corrupted them. That’s what the Bloodthorns do. We must stop them!”
“Tell me more about the guardians.” I requested.
“If you must know, the guardians are the Ehlnofey.” She told me. “They’ve been a part of the land since the dawn of Tamriel. The guardians have been with us since we first found the Wyrd Tree. They protect the land and guide us in our duties.”
With this knowledge, I went in hunt for the lurchers, picking them off from a distance with my bow before scavenging their limbs, finishing the occasional one who drew too close with my daggers, and taking care to avoid the enormous, mutated thorned vines which thrust their way, writhing as though in search of prey, from the ground.
Once I had five intact lurcher limbs, I climbed to the ruins and located the altar, piling the limbs together on the flat stone top before setting them alight. Through the orange flames, a strange form appeared, arms held apart with glowing purple while translucent greenish chains swirled around its body.
“Greetings, child.” The apparition addressed me. “We have been waiting for someone to summon us. Angof the Gravesinger has imprisoned us and we are cut off from the Wyrd. You must set the Guardians free.”
“How do I set you free?” I asked it.
“Have mortals so soon forgotten the old ways?” It pondered. “Surely the wyresses remember the standing stones. First, the stones must be cleansed of Angof’s dark influence.” I knew these vines had something to do with Angof! “Protect the Wyrd while they destroy the corruption binding the stones.”
“Will destroying the corruption set you free?” I asked, hardly daring to hope it could be that easy.
“No, but cleansing the stones should loosen Angof’s grip.” The spirit informed me. “Tell Wyress Ileana about the corruption. She will know what must be done. Our time grows short, mortal. Free us before Angof’s corruption takes hold.”
“Tell me more about the guardians.” I requested.
“We are the echoes of old voices, remnants of a time long ago. Still, a few of us remain. We were the Y’ffre. Then we became the Ehlnofey, the Earth Bones. We nurture the land and guide the Wyrd. They call us guardians.”
“Who is Angof?” I asked, hoping for some information to pair with this name I kept encountering.
“He is a tremor in the land, a poison in the water.” The Guardian described. “He is a whisper, a shadow, a chill wind. He is Gravesinger and Reachmage, necromancer and corrupter. Death and decay are his domains. Angof binds us and seals us to make us part of him.”
Wow. I thought. That’s….. actually really useful to know. Although….
“Gravesinger?” I repeated the unfamiliar term. “That sounds….. bad.”
“Gravesingers are necromancers that seek power over life and death.” I was informed. “They seek to control the realms we would nurture and protect. They call upon the Daedra who hide in darkness to aid them in their efforts.” Oh, please don’t let Molag Bal be involved in this…. I winced at the thought.
“And what’s a Reachmage?” I continued digging for information.
“Far from here, where the earth and sky grow cold, lies the chill of the Reach.” The guardian described. “Daedra worshippers live there, mocking the Aedra, the Ehlnofey. They call themselves Reachmen and their mages pollute the land with dark magic.”
“What is the Bloodthorn cult?” Can’t hurt to ask, it might just know more than I’ve been able to learn, I reasoned to myself as I asked the question. It seems to know more than anyone I’ve spoken with so far.
"They are a pestilence.” The Guardian practically hissed. “They serve the corruption that binds us, the one called Angof the Gravesinger. The cult spreads his decay, planting his blighted seeds to pollute the natural world. They prepare a path for Angof's true master—Molag Bal."
With this the spirit vanished, and I trudged my way back downhill and around the water, to the Vale of the Guardians to find Wyress Ileana, cursing my ill-luck all the way.
“I heard a whisper echo through the forest.” Ileana said, walking forward to meet me. “Was it the guardians? Did they talk to you?”
“Yes.” I replied, shaking my foul mood off. “They’re imprisoned. The guardian said we need to cleanse the standing stones.”
“Imprisoned!” She protested. “Our enemy is that powerful? We will do whatever we can to help. The guardians must be set free. What must we do? Without the aid of the guardians, we can’t regain control of our Wyrd Tree.”
“The guardian said the standing stones must be cleansed.” I told her. “Send your Wyrd there.”
“Four of my sisters have gone north to cleanse the stones, but they need protection.” Ileana replied. “Corrupted creatures attack them before they can destroy the foul vines that choke the stones. You must go and help them.”
“Destroying the vines is only the first step.” I explained. “The guardian said you’d know what else to do.”
“Of course! The standing stones!” She exclaimed. “I should have realized. Take my amulet and protect the Wyrd. When they’re done, weaken a lurcher and use the amulet to control it. Bring the controlled lurcher to the standing stones on the hill. We’ll do the rest.”
“I’ll protect the wyresses.” I promised as I took the amulet from Ileana.
“Meet us at the ritual site, and don’t forget the lurcher.” She reminded me as I ran off, back up the path and out of the grove. Off to my left there was a wyress waiting by an ornately carved boulder, easily twice her height, with beautiful blue-flowering vines climbing one side. And Angof’s corrupted vines growing on the other.
“Wyress Ileana told me you would come.” The wyress greeted me nervously. “I hope this works. Please don’t let anything happen to me while I destroy these vines.”
“I’ll make sure you have the time you need to destroy the vines.” I reassured her.
“You know, when you say it like that I almost believe it.” She replied, determination replacing her earlier fear. “Let’s do this thing!”
I stepped back far enough to allow myself safe firing lines to either side of her, and as soon as she began her ritual a lurcher appeared, bearing down on her. I fired at it until the corrupted once-spriggan collapsed.
“Stay alert, I’m not done yet.” The wyress warned me, and I scanned our surroundings. A second lurcher was lumbering towards us, and I made sure it didn’t reach her.
“It’s destroyed.” She sounded relieved. “I’ll meet you at the ritual site once I’ve rested for a minute.”
Nodding goodbye to her, I circled slightly to the right in search of the next stone, following a vague recollection of seeing similar stones forming a loose grouping while I’d hunted lurchers for their limbs earlier, and was soon rewarded by the sight of another monolith with a wyress standing beside it.
“See these vines?” She asked when I reached her. “Corruption runs through them and they choke the sacred stone. Soon, they will tap into the stone’s magic and defile it completely. If you will help me, I can destroy these foul vines.”
“I’ll keep you safe.” I agreed. “Just destroy those vines.”
“Your confidence is inspiring. Thanks for that.” She smiled. “Now prepare yourself. The vine’s protectors will be on us as soon as I cast my spell.”
I stepped back and watched for the first hint of movement, arrow nocked and bow drawn, and let fly at the cultist running towards us, dropping her with a few quick shots.
“I’m almost finished.” The wyress gasped. “Keep them off me a little longer!” There was a second cultist, but she didn’t reach her either.
“They’re finally gone.” The wyress called. “I need a minute to catch my breath, and then I’ll meet you at the ritual site.”
I waved to her and ran off, continuing my wide arc, and finding the third standing stone. The wyress was kneeling beside the vines, examining them.
“Corruption radiates from this…. thing.” She told me. “I can feel it worming into my soul. The corruption spreads outward, altering or killing all the forest creatures. We have to destroy it!”
“I’m here to protect you.” I replied. “Are you ready?”
“Then keep me safe while I destroy this damned thing!” She exclaimed, rising to begin her spell, and I skipped back, readying an arrow, but a cultist appeared as if materialising from the standing stone itself, and I fired almost point blank, immediately switching to my daggers to finish her off.
“I need more time!” The wyress called to me, and I stepped in closer to her, ready to move in either direction, keeping my daggers in hand. The next cultist appeared, and I ran to intercept her, blocking her first attack, staggering her back with a kick and then stabbing deeply to finish her off.
“We’ve done it!” The wyress sounded happy to announce. “Let me catch my breath and I’ll head to the ritual site.”
I nodded to her and ran for the last standing stone. Bet the next wyress is going to say something similar, I thought to myself as I ran, they don’t seemed to be used to physical exertion, if channeling magic wipes them out so much.
“I loathe these vines.” A voice startled me, and I stopped still, realising I’d arrived at the final stone, and the Wyress was speaking to me. “They reek of death and corruption. But every time I try to deal with them, I’m attacked by cultists or corrupted creatures.”
“I’ll keep you safe.” I told her. “Destroy the vines.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” She replied, sounding very young, her youthful face at odds with her silver hair. “I mean, I know what to do, and now you’re here, right? Oh, what am I so worried about? Consider those damn vines destroyed!”
I pelted the first attacker, a lurcher, with arrows until it collapsed.
“Faster, I need to go faster!” The wyress was muttering to herself, before saying louder to me; “Be ready for another attack!”
It was a lurcher, quickly dealt with.
“We destroyed it!” The wyress celebrated. “Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you at the ritual site.”
Well, I’d have lost that bet. I thought with amusement as I nodded to her and left in search of a lurcher to subdue. No complaints about being out of breath from her.
I headed towards the ritual site, and ensorcelled the closest lurker I could find to the path leading up to the site itself. Once charmed, the lurker staggered after me docilely enough, and I led it up the track and towards a circle of standing stones. The wyresses had gathered, forming a loose semicircle within the stones, and I left my lurker in the centre of the circle. A golden beam of light suffused it, and the lurker collapsed as the light faded, leaving the spirit of the spriggan it had once been standing in its place.
“By my blood,” I startled to realise it was the spriggan speaking, “the corruption is washed away!” And it dissolved into nothing, spirit and lurker both vanishing.
Wyress Ileana stepped forward and addressed us all.
“The sacrifice has made this holy place pure again.” She proclaimed. “We can begin the ritual whenever you are ready.” With this she looked directly at me, and I stepped forward as she spoke to me. “That poor spriggan spirit is finally free. It is a lurcher no more. Through its blood, we have cleansed this site. Everything is ready.”
“It’s time to set the elemental guardians free.” I replied.
“I agree.” She nodded. “They’ve been imprisoned for much too long. Beldama! Sisters! Focus your power on the stranger! It’s time to break Angof’s hold on the guardians.”
Four beams of glowing green light merged in me, and I was bathed in the warmth of spring, the scent of new growth, the refreshment of a much-needed rain, until at some unseen signal they all broke off, and walked out of the circle, leaving me feeling lightheaded, but unharmed.
“At last, the chains of corruption fall away.” A familiar voice announced, and I turned to see guardians appearing, it was the Guardian of the Earth who had spoken.
“Angof will pay for this insult!” The Guardian of the Air muttered as I looked at each in turn.
“Speak, champion of the guardians.” The Guardian of the Water bid me. “We are in your debt.” I stepped closer as it continued. “We are free! This is as it should be.”
“You don’t sound surprised.” I noted, amused.
“We are earth’s bones.” It responded. “We endure. We knew someone would come to set us free. We just didn’t know when it would happen, or who it would be. It seems right that you were the one. You are mortal, but also not mortal. Angof has much to fear from you. Angof’s evil flows deeper than the wellspring of this land. This must end quickly.”
“How do we finish this?” I asked, assuming that I would be needed in whatever plan they had.
“There is more work for you, champion.” The Guardian confirmed. “Go to the Wyrd Tree and find Wyress Gwen. We protected her from Angof's slaves, but she cannot save the Wyrd Tree. That task belongs to another. Go and learn what must be done."
“I'll find Wyress Gwen.” I agreed, nodded my farewells to the Guardians and Ileana, and made my way downhill, preoccupied with a point the Guardian of the Water had made as I went.
I wonder what it meant by not mortal? I pondered as I ran, This isn’t the first time it’s been pointed out to me. I know I died before ending up in Coldharbour, and that I don’t have a heartbeat, or a soul, anymore, but….. am I able to resurrect myself again if I’m killed? Can I take more chances, without any real, lasting consequences if I need to?
I spotted a wyress in the distance, kneeling over the body of a wolf, and altered my course slightly. I was still so absorbed by my thoughts as I approached that I didn’t think to make more noise, or alert her to my approach, and when I stopped a short distance away and cleared my throat, she startled in surprise at my sudden appearance.
“What? Who? Damn it all!” She sputtered. “The last person who snuck up on me got a sword in their gut for their trouble!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” I apologised, glancing at the dead wolf she had been so focused on, but seeing no obvious cause for its death. “Wyress Ileana sent me to help.” Easier to use her name than explain the Guardians’ release right now.
“Sorry.” She apologised brusquely. “Old habit. I was in the guard before joining the Wyrd. Damned Bloodthorns have taken our Wyrd Tree. I’ve never seen magic like this. I don’t know what you can do, but if Ileana sent you, your help is welcome.”
0 -
Chapter Seven: The Wyrd (Part Three)
Wyress Gwen remained crouched over the dead wolf. "Have a look around, if you must, but we need to act soon.” She told me, her gaze remaining on the slain creature.
“What can I do to help?” I offered.
“The Bloodthorn cultists stole our portal stones!” She exclaimed angrily. “I swore off violence when I left the guard, but killing cultists might be the only way to recover our portal stones.”
“I can take care of the cultists for you.” I assured her, my eyes narrowing slightly at the prospect of slaying a few of Molag Bal’s minions. Hopefully more than just a few.
“We need those stones to get into our enclave without being seen.” Wyress Gwen continued. “Recover the stones and activate them inside the huts so my sisters can join you. I have my stone. Here. Set it by the entrance to the Wyrd Tree and I’ll step through to meet you.”
“I’ll take care of it.” I promised her, , stowing the stone in a pocket and making my way down into the valley holding the Wyrd Tree. Having noticed the Wyresses’ close ties with animals, and especially Gwen’s concern for the dead wolf, I took care to avoid the wolves roaming the area, keeping a distance so as not to provoke them into attacking me. It was a small thing, and would show the Wyrd I respected their ways even if I didn’t follow them.
I paused to get my bearings before I reached the base of the valley. The Wyrd Tree towered over everything, so much larger than any of the ships in Daggerfall's harbour that two or three might have been laid end-to-end between its spreading roots, and easily four times taller than the tallest mast. Nestled under several of the wide-spread roots were a few small stone huts, spaced far apart as they circled it. Wolves and lurkers roamed about, but I didn’t see any cultists yet, so I veered slightly left towards the nearest hut, and slipped inside.
The place didn’t look completely ransacked, but an apple basket had been tipped over, and I doubted the Wyrd’s idea of interior design included dead chickens lying on the floor. I glanced at the bedrolls under a window in the northern section of wall, then noticed a letter on the floor. Curious, I picked it up to read;Wyress Gwen,
Things have gotten strange around the Wyrd Tree since you've been traveling. Remember those weird vines that began sprouting a few weeks ago? Well, they've grown huge and they seem … evil … somehow. I know it sounds crazy, but that's the only way I can describe it. Evil with a capital "E."
I noticed that the forest animals have become agitated and even aggressive when they get close to the strange vines. Moreover, as the vines grow stronger, the aggressive behavior lasts longer. I'm beginning to fear that the creatures will attack soon. That's how much the presence of the vines has changed them.
And now it's worse than I feared. Some of the vines have mutated, and now they spawn lurchers from their corrupted thorns.
I'm sorry, Wyress, but I can't stay here any longer. Bloodthorn cultists have attacked us and taken control of the portal stone caves beneath our huts. I can't prove it, but I'm certain these cultists are responsible for our recent troubles. I have failed you, but I hope you can forgive me. I know you won't listen, but I urge you to stay away from the Wyrd Tree until this all blows over.
Wyress Domi
I left the letter on the floor where I had found it. Well, at least now I know exactly where to find the portal stones, I thought, and it explains the wolves’ behaviour too…. I lifted the trapdoor below the south window and slipped through. Down a sturdy rope ladder was a surprisingly spacious cavern. The blue-flowering vines climbing the walls reminded me somewhat of the Prophet’s Harborage, and I felt a pang of guilt at my extended absence. Once I’m done with this, I promised myself, I’ll go back and check on him.
I followed the curve of the cavern, and paused when I caught sight of two cultists and a wolf ahead. Deciding to kill the cultists first to see if the wolf could be spared, I pulled out my bow and let fly several arrows in quick succession. The first never knew what hit her, and the second fell before being able to bring their staff around to attack me, but the wolf crouched, growling, before charging me. Sighing in disappointment, I switched to my daggers, sidestepped the poor beast, and plunged one blade into the back of its head, the other deep into its chest as it passed me, twisting my wrists to release my blades before walking over to wipe them on a cultist’s clothing and sheathing them once more.
The cavern curved further, large roots piercing the ceiling and more of those sweet-scented blue flowered vines growing on the walls, and ahead was a standing stone. Feeling slightly foolish, and rather glad no-one was watching, I cast a few gestures towards the stone and was almost surprised to see a portal form and several Wyresses emerge. Waving off their thanks, I ran back along the cavern, climbed the ladder into the hut, and peered out the door. Still no cultists to be seen, so I circled the great tree, ever cautious to avoid the wolves, and entered the next hut.
Inside I found nothing of interest, but at least there was no wolf in the cavern below. There were, however, a pair necromancers, and I allowed my fury to fuel my attack, wielding daggers rather than my bow as I wove and spun between the two cultists….. I probably took longer than I needed to kill them, so let’s just leave it at that. I activated the portal stone, greeted the Wyresses who emerged, and left quickly. I focused on my breathing as I crept towards the next hut, deep inhales and slow exhales, coaxing myself to gradually calm back down to my usual equilibrium. I was feeling much more myself when I arrived at the third hut, the northernmost one, until I made my way inside and found the body of a wyress on the floor.
It was strange, I could almost see a lever in my mind trembling between blinding hot rage and a cold, calm viciousness….. I nudged it and felt myself settle into a calculating awareness where everything was crystal clear, almost emotionless but hyper vigilant.
A small smile curved my lips as I slipped through the trapdoor and stalked along the cavern, keeping to the shadows. Ahead were two cultists and a wolf. A few quick arrows felled the wolf before the cultists knew what had happened, but I was gone before they had turned to look for me. I slunk along the wall silently, daggers in hand. One of the cultists looked to be another necromancer, the other wielded daggers, and I tilted my head as I considered my options. Moving both daggers to my left hand for a few moments, I flung a throwing dagger at the necromancer and followed it, slicing at the dagger wielder’s face and arms as I passed, switching hands to throw another blade at the necromancer again before she could recover, blocking a strike from the dagger wielder as I spun away from her second blade and dropped to stab deeply below her ribs, into her kidney. She collapsed in agony, and I flicked a last throwing dagger at the necromancer as I straightened before stalking towards her. She must have recognised something in my expression because she turned to flee but it was too late. I stabbed and sliced until she fell, then turned back to finish the other one off with a stab to her Molag Bal worshipping heart. I wiped my daggers clean on her shirt and sheathed them, then picked hers up for a closer look. The blades were a matched set, several degrees better than the mismatched pair I’d scavenged in my travels although in need of sharpening, and I swiped the sheaths for them off her belt, stowing the bundle for later. I almost forgot to open the portal before heading back to the rope ladder, sparing the wyresses little more than a nod of acknowledgement as I left.
Once back in the hut I knelt beside the slain wyress briefly, checking her eyes were closed and brushing a few dead leaves from her hair. With a bitter sigh I stood and walked out of the hut.
The last hut was spaced further around the great tree, past a waterfall. I skirted the trunk of the Wyrd Tree closely to avoid the shallow water, encountering neither wolves nor lurkers, and was relieved to see nothing out of place when I entered the eastern hut. In the cavern beneath were two wolves and a fire mage, and I debated whether I should just use my bow to kill the cultist before taking an invisibility potion to pass the wolves….. but it wouldn’t fool their noses, and what if they injured one of the wyresses before they recovered from the Bloodthorn’s taint?
I dropped the wolves with arrows, firing quickly from out of the cultist’s sight, then stepping sideways to bring him into range had time to fire a few more arrows his way before he could raise his staff. I leapt out of the way of his fireball, rolling as I landed and popping upright to fire again. He staggered back and I loosed arrow after arrow into him until he fell. At last I opened the fourth portal, spared the emerging wyresses a smile in greeting, and reemerged into the light.
There was a door set into the Wyrd Tree on its southern face, and I set Gwen’s portal stone between the torches flanking it, stepping back as she immediately emerged.
“You placed my stone well.” She thanked me. “I should be protected this close to the tree.”
“What should I do next?” I asked her.
“We need to summon the guardians.” She replied. “With their power, we can cleanse this place of Angof’s foul influence.”
“How do I summon the guardians?” I hoped I wouldn’t need lurker limbs again, there were plenty to be had, but fighting lurkers would gain the wolves attention, and I was loathe to kill them needlessly if they had a chance to recover.
“Angof’s cursed vines prevent the guardians from getting anywhere near the Wyrd Tree.” Gwen explained. “Find the vines that grow within the circles of Wyrd blossoms and destroy them. That should allow the guardians to appear before you.”
I nodded to show I understood and headed towards a patch of blue flowers I had noticed below the waterfall in my travels around the tree. In the centre was a twisted, thorned vine a little over waist-height against me with a deer’s skull fused to the top. I hacked it to pieces.
“This pollution is almost too much for me to bear.” The Guardian of the Water lamented as it emerged from the shallows. “Help us to restore balance to the Wyrd Tree.”
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Destroy the corrupted spirit and then we can cleanse this place.” The Guardian replied. “Listen to my words. I shall offer what aid I can.” I nodded, readying my daggers. “Stay close and let my power flow over you.”
“These stones belong to Angof now!” A sibilant voice muttered behind me, and I turned to see a tattered, wraithlike apparition drift forward from the waterfall, pale blue glowing from its eyes, mouth and the opening of its long, belled sleeves. I darted forward and slashed at it, circling around to evade the talons as it swiped at me, and a dark miasma formed around its clawed hands.
“The tide of battle turns!” The Guardian of the Water called to me. “To my side, now!” But I had circled so that the Corruption now floated between us, and my desperate lunge towards the Guardian fell short of its golden barrier of protection as a blast of choking foulness swept over me. I wheezed, struggling to my feet as I heard the wraithlike form cackling behind me, and felt a sharp pain in my back as the Corruption of Water struck me with its talons.
Stupid girl. I thought bitterly. You were warned, but did you listen? I choked, watching blood stain the water before me, and realised it had come from my mouth as the world darkened, wavered, and slid out from under me.
The next moment I felt weightless, suspended in a clean blue glow. There were brighter points around me, some close, some much farther away, and nearest of all, the sense of myself, of my body, with a cluster of those brighter blue lights. Curious, I reached towards myself, that cluster of lights, and one blazed for a brief instant before disappearing, and I felt my lungs expand in a huge, tearing breath. The next moment I could see the world around me, real once more, but I was somehow transparent, and glowing blue. I shuffled towards the Guardian of Water, feeling uncoordinated and slow, until after a few seconds the blue pulsed and disappeared, leaving me healed and whole.
I shook my head, blinking, and almost dropped the daggers I still gripped. Okay, think about that later, once you’ve taken care of this thing! I scolded myself, spinning to block the Corruption’s claws as it swiped at me once again. This time I took care to remain closer to the Guardian, and stood safely behind its golden barrier when the Corruption next attempted to blast me, switching to my bow and firing rapidly until the wraith collapsed.
“It is defeated.” The Guardian of the Water rejoiced, and I smiled at it, then secured my bow and waded through the shallows to the far bank and onto dry land. I continued back around the great tree at a distance, still avoiding the wolves, until eventually finding the next skull-topped vine to the southwest, near the second hut.
As soon as I had demolished the vine, the Guardian of the Earth appeared.
“The Earth weakens.” It mourned. “Angof’s poison corrupts it. Together we will crush this vile manifestation.”
“I’m ready.” I promised.
“Good.” The Guardian replied. “I cannot harm this corruption of the earth, but I can protect you from its attacks. Listen to my warnings and you will prevail.” Oh, believe me, I thought, I’ll be listening very closely to whatever you say! I readied my bow as the Guardian continued. “I shall tell you when to return to my side. If you are close, I can shield you from the spirit’s attacks.” Should have come here first…. I forgot just how informative this guardian can be!
“These stones belong to Angof now!” The Corruption of Earth rasped, and I began firing arrow after arrow at its floating form.
“The spirit casts a spell that shall shake the very ground beneath you!” The Guardian of the Earth called out. “To my side, now!” I sidled closer, ensuring I was safely within the golden barrier as a blast of dirt and stones exploded in all directions.
Draw, sight, release, new arrow, draw, sight release….. I continued firing. Eventually the Corruption sagged, then fell.
“It is defeated.” The Guardian of the Earth confirmed, and I replaced my half-drawn arrow back in my quiver and secured my bow.
The last circle of Wyrd blossoms was up a short track, overlooking the rest of the valley. As I destroyed the skull-topped vine, the Guardian of Air appeared.
“When I call, come to me.” I was instructed as I readied my bow. “My power shall protect you.”
“These stones belong to Angof now!” Hissed the Corruption of Air as it materialised. Wiser now, I kept close to the Guardian and fired my arrows at the Corruption, making sure I didn’t stray too far from safety.
“The winds of battle turn against you!” The Guardian warned. “Come here and I shall protect you!”
I sidestepped closer, maintaining my barrage of arrows until the Corruption was destroyed.
“It is defeated.” The Guardian of Air confirmed. Relieved, I nodded farewell and picked my way back downhill, returning to Wyress Gwen at the door set into the Wyrd Tree.
“I can feel the oppressive weight of Angof’s corruption lifting.” She bowed towards me in thanks. “I sense the gratitude of the guardians, but I also sense….. fear. Angof’s vermin are afraid.”
“All of the spirits of corruption have been destroyed.” I replied. And anything left is right to fear me….. I died. Again. And somehow I came back again, too. What am I now?
“You did well and I’m happy to stand at your side.” Gwen smiled, passing me a pair of gauntlets and a pouch of coins. “Now we finally have a chance against Angof and putting an end to his unholy corruption. There’s one more challenge we have to face, though. Angof’s last wraith nests within the tree. It won’t be banished very easily, but the guardians promise to help you. When you’re ready, enter the tree and expel the foul spirit.”
“I’ll put an end to this right now.” I vowed, and entered the Wyrd Tree. Within was a shallow pool of water, and trailing clusters of blue flowers, and I could sense the echo of the peace that must usually permeate the space. But those thorned vines thrust through the water’s surface in places, and a Corruption drifted in the centre of the pool. I made my way to the Guardian of the Water.
“Destroy this foulness!” The Guardian greeted me. “Set the Wyrd Tree free!”
“Ah, the witch’s puppet has come!” The Corruption of the Tree hissed in response. “Time to end your interference once and for all!”
I drew my bow and began firing, slowly moving sideways to put myself as equally distant to each Guardian as I could, uncertain who I would need to run to first.
“The winds of battle turn against you!” The Guardian of the Air called to me. “Come here and I shall protect you!”
I turned and surged through the shin-deep water, reaching safety just in time for the golden barrier to shield me from the Corruption’s blast of foulness, then spun back and resumed firing as I repositioned myself.
“The tide of battle turns!” Warned the Guardian of the Water. “To my side, now!”
I was closer, and in a few quick steps was safely protected, my steady stream of arrows never ceasing. The Corruption faltered, dipped briefly, and before it could recover I closed the distance and sliced into it with my daggers, the blades ripping through its insubstantial form until the Corruption of the Tree collapsed.
“Fool!” An oddly accented voice shouted, and I turned to see a projection of a masked and hooded man. Angof. I realised, studying his appearance intently. “You may have destroyed one of my slaves, but I have so many more.” He growled before vanishing. I stood there, stunned. Did he…. Did he really have vines growing out of his shoulders? I wondered, deeply disturbed.
The Guardians seemed to be lost in communion with the Wyrd Tree, so I left them alone and returned to Wyress Gwen once more.
“It’s so beautiful!” She exclaimed upon seeing me. “Do you see? Things have already changed. The Wyrd Tree has been restored.”
“I’m just glad I was able to help.” I replied. Especially since part of that help was killing cultists who happened to be Molag Bal’s allies…..
“Thank the guardians that you did!” She agreed. “We were losing this battle, but now things are different. And you, a stranger! It’s a wonder you risked your life for us. There’s no end to the surprises this world has to offer!”
And with this she presented me with a staff, carved from a fallen branch of the Wyrd Tree itself. I turned the smooth wood in my hands, marvelling at the significance of it. This, I would treasure. I would have to leave it in my room at the Rosy Lion when I travelled back to visit the prophet.
“I served in the Lion Guard before coming to the Wyrd, so I know more about the world.” Gwen confided in me. “I think it’s time my sisters stopped hiding. We could benefit from more outside contact.”
“Will the Wyrd Tree recover?” I asked her.
“If there are no more attacks, the tree will be fine.” She assured me. “A hunter, Gloria Fausta, came looking for help while you were inside the tree. I’m ashamed to say we turned her away. We couldn’t divert our attention when the outcome of your battle was still unclear.”
“Where did she go?” I asked, wondering what sort of assistance this hunter needed.
“Aldcroft.” Wyress Gwen replied. “She said werewolves captured Camlorn and the Duke had fled. We weren’t able to aid her, but perhaps you can. Chamberlain Weller in Aldcroft would know more.”
“I’ll head to Aldcroft.” I agreed. If I set out now, Sweetroll should have me in Daggerfall within a few hours. Depending on what the Prophet needs, I could be back here tomorrow evening, and in Aldcroft the following morning?
As I walked out of the valley, I was happy to notice that the wolves seemed to have recovered; their posture and expressions were calm and relaxed, and they passed within mere feet of me with no aggression whatsoever. A part of me longed to take a few minutes to sit with them and enjoy the renewed peace in the valley, but I had places to be, and too little time. So I whistled for Sweetroll, gave her a pat and a treat in greeting, and once mounted I turned her back the way we had come, urging her into a steady, ground-covering canter she could maintain for hours comfortably, heading south towards Daggerfall.
Edited by Margravigne on January 18, 2024 2:58AM0 -
Chapter Eight: Chasing Shadows
I suppose it was to be expected that, in hurrying back to Daggerfall, I found myself turning off the Baelborne Road to cut due south in the very depths of the night. It may have been wiser to have travelled via Deleyn’s Mill, keeping to the relative safety of the roads in the darkness, but Sweetroll was surefooted as a mountain goat, both Masser and Secunda were near full and shining brightly through the trees, and I was feeling oddly reckless.
Besides, I had just glimpsed someone standing by the road up ahead, and was feeling tired enough to want to head straight to my bedroll at the Inn without having to spend time helping anyone. Whoever they were, they didn’t look like they were in immediate danger. Up ahead was one of the small pavilions referred to as Wayshrines. I’d noticed them everywhere in my travels, from Stros M’Kai to just outside the valley of the Wyrd Tree. There was even one behind the Rosy Lion. What was odd, was that this one felt….. different. Familiar? There was something almost pulling me towards it, as though a part of me recognised it somehow. Curious, I guided Sweetroll up to the structure and dismounted, but no sooner had I stepped foot on the first step than a blue flame ignited on the central pillar, and I froze in place.
Those lights….. the distant ones, while I was, well, dead….. were they these Wayshrines? I wondered, slowly ascending the three steps and passing through the archway. I brushed my fingers through the blue flame, feeling only a cool tingling, and when I checked my hands, they were completely unharmed. Intrigued, I placed my hand against the top of the pillar, through the flame, and my mind opened in some strange way. I was still standing in the Wayshrine, but I could also see a map, more detailed than any I could recall ever seeing before, with four bright points marked on it. Examining this strange vision, I could recognise the map as being of Glenumbra, and the bright points were in Daggerfall itself, and where I was now standing to the east of the city, with the others just north of Deleyn’s Mill and south of the Wyrd Tree.
Impulsively I reached towards the light behind the Rosy Lion in Daggerfall, blinked, and found myself standing in the Daggerfall Wayshrine. I stumbled in surprise and caught myself against the pillar, and the vision of the map reappeared. Quickly I focused on the Baelborne Wayshrine, and in an instant found myself back in the forest. I laughed in amazement as I turned to look around, seeing Sweetroll grazing contentedly. She flicked an ear at me and continued grazing, unimpressed by my disappearing act.
Well, that will certainly make things easier! I realised. I wonder, can I only see the ones I’ve already found? And if that’s the case, why were there so many more lights then, and what were those ones clustered on me?
I touched the pillar again, and focused on the intention of moving backwards, wanting a broader view. Immediately the map expanded, larger than I could have imagined. Bright points of light traced my journey so far across Stros M’Kai, Betnikh and Glenumbra. I never imagined Tamriel was so vast. I thought, awed at the extent of the strange map. If I was better skilled at drawing, I could make a fortune selling copies of this. The details are amazing! Inaccessible, for now, the continent spread before me, from the island of Auridon in the southwest to Vardenfell in the northeast. This is going to save me so much time! I giggled, rather giddy with delight. Stepping back from the pillar, I remounted Sweetroll and turned her towards Daggerfall’s East Gate. We splashed through the ford and I left the reins slack, allowing Sweetroll to pick her own path while I considered what I had learned.
I still don’t know what that cluster of lights was, maybe I need to clean out my belongings and see if it was something I’m carrying? A good cleanout sounded like a sensible idea regardless of this new puzzle. I was doubtless carrying a lot of gear I didn’t need, and should sell it or break some of it down to scavenge components for crafting and improving my weapons and armor. I had pouches of ingredients for potions and cooking, various ores to refine and quite a few sentimental trinkets to store in my room at the Inn.
I should head to the workshops once I stable Sweetroll, I decided, giving her neck a fond pat, if I sort out my research and deconstruction first, I can drop off what I won’t need in my room, get some sleep, then sell what I don’t need to a merchant in the morning on my way to see the Prophet.
I took Sweetroll to the stable I had purchased her from, gave her a thorough rub down and feed of grain, and left a few coins and a note in her stall for the stablemaster, then made my way to the crafting halls. An hour later – and considerably lighter – I passed through the common room of the Rosy Lion, surprised by how crowded and noisy it was at this pre-dawn hour. But once in my room, all I had energy left to do was drop my gear and collapse into my bedroll.
The next morning I upended my bag, spilling out ores, pouches of ingredients, coins, provisions and the odds and ends accumulated in my recent travels. The last pouch landed with an odd clink, and I opened it to find my collection of soul gems. I’d found them on a few cultists I’d slain, as well as laying about in Coldharbour, and being uncertain of what value they might have, had thrown a few in with my other spoils. But looking at them now, most of them had gained an odd glimmer, almost an inner light. There were two still as I’d found them, but the other seven, no six, were different. And where has that last one got to? I wondered, checking through the rest of my possessions as I stored crafting materials and ingredients away in a chest. I placed the Wyrd Tree staff in a corner, counted out my gold and repacking what I was comfortable carrying after stowing the rest behind a loose stone in the wall. No sign of it anywhere….. wait. I sat abruptly on my bedroll as the thought occurred to me. When I resurrected, a light vanished. Now I’m missing a soul gem. How many lights were there on my body? I stared at the remaining gems, the six brighter ones and the two darkened ones. Are those brighter ones….. carrying a soul? Did I use someone else’s soul to resurrect myself?
As uncomfortable as the thought was, the pieces certainly fit, and made an odd kind of sense. I’d been carrying soul gems. At various points in my travels, I had killed cultists, creatures and bandits, and now most of those soul gems had changed appearance. And I was definitely missing one. This doesn’t make me a necromancer. I told myself. I don’t know what I am, I don’t even know if this is still my body, or if it was remade by absorbing that skyshard.... but the only corpse I’ve ever reanimated is my own. And there might be a way to avoid doing that again if I can somehow use the Wayshrines instead.
Resolving not to dwell on the subject any further for now, I repacked the soul gems into their pouch and stowed them securely, then finished sorting through the rest of my gear. Once I’d gathered everything I wanted to sell into a bag, I left the Inn and wandered through the market selling my excess spoils and buying a few necessities before collecting Sweetroll and riding out to the Harbourage. I had barely turned onto the trail behind the stables when the Prophet’s projection appeared.
“Ah, there you are Vestige.” He greeted me as I halted Sweetroll. “Come to the Harborage. We must speak.” With that his image vanished, and I nudged Sweetroll back into a walk. Once at the Harbourage, I left her grazing outside and entered the cool shade of the Prophet’s underground home. The sweetly scented blue flowers on the vines, similar to those of the Wyrd, soothed me, and in the distance I could hear…. Wait, is that music? I followed the passageway into the main cavern, and blinked in surprise to see Lyris playing a lute while the Prophet sat listening. He rose and faced me as I approached, senses as keen as ever, and I waved to Lyris as she continued playing.
“Good, good. You are safe.” The Prophet welcomed me. “Good fortune did not abandon us entirely.”
“Is something wrong, Prophet?” I asked him, glancing again towards Lyris, but she was absorbed in her melody.
“Despite many days of meditating and scrying, Sai Sahan's whereabouts still elude me.” The Prophet admitted in frustration. “The projection that you witnessed in the Foundry of Woe showed him to be in great peril. If we are to find him, I will need your help, Vestige.”
“What can I do to help?” I offered.
“Though Sai remains hidden from my sight, Lyris brings news that an agent of the enemy lurks in Daggerfall.” The blind man replied. “Fear is on the lips of the people. Darkness walks among them. Even a blind man can sense it. It is the hand of Mannimarco.”
“How can that help us?” I asked. Sounds like they’d be leaving more of a mess to be cleaned up.
“If it is truly an agent of Mannimarco's Worm Cult, it may provide us with a clue that will hasten our search.” He explained. “Seek this agent, but tread carefully. The Worm Cult is a cult of necromancy, and the undead are fearsome opponents.”
“How can I find this agent?” I wondered, hoping he had a lead other than staking out the marketplace to offer me.
“Venture to Daggerfall.” The Prophet instructed me. “Speak to old maid Maxelle and Husniya the mercenary. It was on their lips that Lyris first heard murmurs of trouble lurking in the shadows. Locate this agent of evil. Return with any personal effects they carry with them.”
“I'll find something and return.” I promised him, glancing again at Lyris. She had a flat, fixed expression, as though she was at the end of her rope and the only thing keeping her sanity intact was her focus on the melody as she played to distract herself. Poor Lyris, I thought, she must be so worried about Sai, but can’t risk doing more in case she’s recognised by this agent….
“Good hunting, Vestige.” The Prophet bid me as I turned to leave. “Keep your wits about you.”
After a few moments consideration, I left Sweetroll at the stables and continued into town on foot. I wasn’t sure where these people I was looking for would be, much less what they looked like, but decided to check the marketplace first and then the Rosy Lion. The market was a bust, but on my way to the Inn there seemed to be a small crowd gathered near the east gate listening to the town crier’s latest announcements, and as I approached an older woman turned to speak with me.
“You’re new to Daggerfall, aren’t you?” She demanded. “I know everyone in town.”
“Have you noticed any other strangers in town?” I asked her, guessing I had found ‘old maid Mazelle’.
“I don’t like to gossip,” She confided, leaning closer, “but there’s been an Imperial vagrant nosing around for the past few weeks. Suspicious looking fellow. I actually saw him picking through the trash outside the castle a few weeks ago. I’ve no idea where he is now.”
“Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?” I asked her.
“I’m sorry, but I am not in the habit of ogling strange men!” She declared indignantly, pulling away and crossing her arms in feigned outrage. I shrugged in apology and moved on before she drew too much attention to me.
In the main room of the Rosy Lion, I realised I recognised most of the regular patrons. Husniya sounded like a Redguard name, so I approached an armoured Redguard woman at the bar who I’d not seen before.
“Who’s this now?” She all but purred. “I bet you’ve got a wild tale or two to share.” Wilder than you’d believe, no matter how much you drink. I thought with amusement.
“I was hoping you’d have a tale for me.” I replied with a smile. “About a stranger in town?”
“Present company excluded?” She asked with a raised brow. “Hmm. Well, there was a dodgy looking Imperial hanging out in a doorway near South Gate Alley this morning. He was eyeballing everyone who happened by. Seemed like a cutpurse looking for an easy mark, if you ask me.”
“Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?” I tried, hoping for a little more to go on.
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.” She replied. “I’d be willing to bet he’s staying on the south side of town, though.” I gave her a smile in thanks and left the Inn.
It was still early afternoon, so rather than risk being spotted by my quarry I decided to run a few more errands and wait for the shadows of the evening to form before hunting him down. I took a slight detour via the Mages’ Guild building to see if they had any work I could fit around my travels. I had read one of their handbills earlier while searching for Mazelle and Husniya, and it had instructed candidates to seek out Nemarc at the local Guildhall.
The interior seemed to be a two-storeyed, cylindrical bookcase. The room had a circular, slightly sunken area, the symbol of the guild outlined in tiles taking up the centre, with a staircase to either side of the entrance leading up to the walkway which circled the room, while arches supporting it providing a recessed area for the ground floor’s shelves. Everything was made of the same dark stone the walls of the city were built with, and banners and coordinating drapes hung at regular intervals to soften the space while tables with matching chairs and benches provided areas to sit and study.
“Hmmm, I formed the lattice clockwise? Wait! That will cause an enormous explosion, hmmm...” A dark-haired mage stood lost in thought, mumbling to herself. She caught me glancing at her and came forward to greet me. “Welcome to the Mages Guild. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I'd like to know more about the Guild.” I told her.
“Ahh, good! We're always on the lookout for new members. We're lorekeepers across the face of Tamriel. Guild members seek out books, tomes, and ancient scrolls in their travels. Perhaps you'd like to join?”
“Let’s talk about the Mages Guild.” I agreed.
“Always a pleasure to speak with another knowledge seeker.” She smiled. “Guildmaster Vanus will be pleased.”
“What can you tell me about the Mages Guild?” I asked her.
“We're bookhunters, of a sort.” She explained. “We seek out new information, capture it in our libraries, and make copies for distribution across Tamriel. The Guild doesn't care about battlefields, or boundaries. Just knowledge and the acquisition of new tomes.”
“What do I get in return?” I asked bluntly.
“We provide training in unique spells and abilities only available to members!” She enthused. “And from time to time projects crop up for those with an adventuresome spirit. You may end up working with the Guildmaster himself!”
“You mentioned a Guildmaster?” I queried.
“Vanus Galerion, one of the founding members of this august body.” She confirmed. “Still holds the proud title of Guildmaster, overseeing every guildhall in Tamriel. He works with other ranking members, such as Telenger the Artificer, to ensure our future success.”
“You're not affiliated with the Daggerfall Covenant?” I asked, slightly confused.
“We're neutral in the war between the three Alliances.” She clarified. “While many of us in Daggerfall follow the Lion banner, when we're on Guild business we kneel to no king or queen. That's why you'll see members of every race in our halls.”
“I'm ready to join the Mages Guild.” I decided.
“Excellent!” She exclaimed. “Allow me to welcome you as a Student of the Guild! I suggest you begin by talking to Valaste, our Mistress of Incunabula. She's at the back of the hall, and often has tasks for new recruits. Good luck!”
Deciding that keeping an eye open for interesting books was enough for now, I left the Guildhall and turned left, straight into the Fighters’ Guild. Balance. I reasoned to myself. And why not make the most of every opportunity?
Inside, arches opened into smaller rooms to either side and a circular stairway lead upstairs. To the right there was a man tapping his mouth with a quill, lost in thought as he made notes on a clipboard.
“Welcome to the Fighters Guild!” He greeted me when I approached. “You look like the capable sort. Have you come to answer the Guildmaster's challenge?”
“Challenge?” I repeated, curious.
“The worthy crusade of the Fighters Guild!” He announced. “Surely you've heard of it! We have a new Guildmaster, and a new singular purpose. Why don't we talk about it for a moment?”
“Sounds good, let's talk about the Fighters Guild.” I agreed.
“Hah, I can tell we'll be drawing blades together soon enough.” He exclaimed happily. “Now, what can I tell you?”
“What's this crusade you mentioned?” I asked him.
“Our new Guildmaster is an Argonian named Sees-All-Colors.” He explained. “She has us all hunting down the Daedra, and their Dark Anchors. You might have seen them already. Enormous chains fall from the sky. Plagues of Daedra boil out to lay waste to the countryside.” I’ve seen them from the other side, I thought with amusement, and it’s the sort of thing that would give you nightmares.
“What do I get in return?” I asked instead.
“Excellent question!” He exclaimed approvingly. “We train our members in special techniques. And the higher-ups are always looking for motivated members to help with special projects. You never know when the Council will come looking for more hands.”
“What happened to the old Guildmaster?” I asked.
“Guildmaster Jofnir passed away very suddenly.” He explained. “Always thought he'd die with a blade in his hand. Instead he passed in his sleep, called to Sovngarde by his ancestors. We all miss him, but in short order Colors has proven to be a very able leader.”
“You're not part of the Covenant military?” I asked, noting the distinctly different armour.
“We only raise our blades in service to the guild.” He told me. “We're neutral in the war between the three Alliances. Some of us follow the Lion banner and King Emeric, of course. But every race, every creed, belongs under the Guildhall's roof.”
“I'm ready to join the Fighters Guild.” I decided.
“Then let me welcome you as an Associate of the Fighters Guild!” He exclaimed. “Get out there and take the fight to the Daedra! You’re in luck, too. See-All-Colors herself is here, upstairs. She often has tasks for new recruits. Why don’t you introduce yourself?””
Smiling at his enthusiasm, I decided meeting the Guildmaster could wait, so after picking up directions to the local Dark Anchor sites I left the guildhall and made my way south through town. To pass some time, I checked for writs at the crafting halls, making a few weapons and pieces of armour, some provisions and potions and enchanting a glyph. All of these I hauled out the northeast gate to the harbour and stored in the quartermaster’s chests, signing the waybill for each deposit. I pocketed my payment and made my way back through town, aiming for the stables where I checked on Sweetroll and fed her a treat. Finally, the long shadows of late afternoon formed, providing cover along the base of the tall walls and in the narrow alleyways.
I drifted back into town and slipped down the alley Husniya had mentioned, then made myself comfortable where I could be almost invisible to even a watchful observer. I didn’t have long to wait before an Imperial man let himself into a nearby building, and he may have unlocked the door with a key, but he did so in the most furtive, suspicious manner I had ever seen. Chuckling to myself, I waited a few minutes before leaving the alleyway and letting myself through the same door. Once inside I froze, dropping to a crouch, and examined the room.
To my left was a fireplace, a narrow bed lay against the wall to my right, but directly ahead was a large trapdoor. I tested its weight before easing it open just far enough to slip through. Below the ladder, a wide passageway led down stone stairs to storage room, cluttered with crates. I watched my step, cautious of traps, and was disgusted when the pile of rubbish on the floor stirred and rose, revealing itself to be a reanimated skeleton. A few well-placed arrows put it back to rest, and I continued along a rather dubious tunnel, picking off more of the risen dead as I went.
The tunnel opened into a half-ruined chamber, although my view was obscured by a chunk of wall. I skirted it silently to see an Altmer in a green-glowing circle on the far side of the room. Red lamps and banners depicting Molag Bal’s emblem hung above a sort of altar with a strange, dark orb placed on it.
My first arrow took him in the shoulder, and when he whirled in surprise I realised he wasn’t just any necromancer, he was a vampire. So, where’s the Imperial? I wondered, firing again.
“I’ll feast on your blood!” The vampire scoffed, flinging a blade at me. I leaned out of its way, firing a third arrow at him as I righted myself, and continued firing as I moved closer, until swapping to my daggers and lunging past him to turn and slice at his neck as he spun to face me. He was quick, eerily so, but he relied on intimidation and speed, and I was better. A final deep slice across his throat and he fell, leaving me to examine the room for anything the Prophet might find useful.
As I touched the dark orb, a translucent purple projection appeared above it. Abnur Tharn! I realised, stepping back in surprise.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” He demanded. “Why have you contacted me?” At my silence he waved a hand in frustration and continued. “This is Abnur Tharn. The Master and I are very busy. This had better be important. Wait a moment. I don’t know your face. Identify yourself, immediately!”
“Who, me?” I replied, stalling.
“Yes, your report, you insipid twit.” He sighed, a clever man resigned to dealing with those he considered his intellectual inferiors. “What, did you contact me by accident?” So, if I play stupid, he’ll probably believe it….
“Forgive me, my Lord, but I heard something that might be of interest to you.” I simpered, bowing.
"Well, out with it.” He snapped, and I hid a sigh of relief. “I don't have all day. Your disguise is terrible, by the way. You look like a character from a bad adventure novel."
“Someone has been asking the locals about a Redguard named Sai Sahan.” I said, peering up through my lashes to gauge his reaction.
"Are they?” Abnur Tharn drawled, intrigued. “I didn't think that Redguard has-been had a single friend left. Not in this world, at any rate. Never fear. Sai Sahan is safely locked away. Even if they were to discover his location, attempting a rescue would be suicidal."
“Do you know where he is?” I asked, continuing my ruse.
"Of course I do.” He snapped. “But I'm not in the habit of revealing vital secrets to insipid lackeys. Now, be gone! And if you contact me again without good reason I shall contact your cell commander and have you properly thrashed for your ineptitude."
“Thank you, my Lord.” I replied, bowing deeper until his image vanished. Standing again, I swiped the orb, then after a quick search which turned up nothing of interest other than the vampire’s diary, made my way back along the passageway, alert for any sign of the missing Imperial.
Strangely, I didn’t encounter him. I could have sworn he entered the house just before me. I thought as I let myself back out into the darkened streets of Daggerfall. Maybe I missed a turnoff, and he’s somewhere down there still? It wasn’t concerning enough to make me want to check; I had the orb, the vampire was dead, and unless this Imperial had sat there silently while using an illusion spell, he hadn’t seen my face. I kept it averted in case he was watching, and slipped out the gate. Just let him try follow me. I smiled to myself. I doubt he can move quietly enough in these woods.
But I reached the Harborage without any hint of a tail, so I shrugged and put his existence to the back of my mind. Chances are he’s long gone by now, if he’s seen what’s left of that vampire…. Is that Lyris still playing? I wondered as I walked along the passageway. She must be struggling with this situation, I mean, her voice when she recognised Sai Sahan was…. There’s something more than friendship there.
"You've returned.” The Prophet’s voice broke me from my musings as I entered his cavern. “What have you found?"
“The cultists use orbs like this one to communicate.” I told him, passing it carefully to him. “I spoke to Abnur Tharn.”
"Abnur Tharn shows his face again.” The Prophet considered this a moment. “I get the sense that he might have a larger part to play in the coming events, but for good or ill I cannot say. Leave the orb with me. I shall be able to use it to locate Sai Sahan."
“Good luck.” I wished him.
"I shall need time to unravel the sorcery that controls this orb." He replied.
"Hold a moment." Lyris called to me, lowering her lute. “We need to talk.”
Curious, I offered her a smile as I approached, unsure how to ask her how she was doing.
“I heard you and the Prophet talking about Abnur Tharn.” Lyris stated once I drew nearer.
“Why do you dislike Tharn so much?” I asked her.
“Didn’t the Prophet tell you the story of the Five Companions?” She asked me.
“He showed me a vision about them,” I replied “but I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
“I don’t know where to start.” Lyris told me. “There’s so much to tell.”
“Tell me about the Five Companions.” I suggested.
“We were chosen by Emperor Varen to join him on a quest to recover a lost artifact called the Amulet of Kings.” She replied. “The five included Varen, myself, a Redguard named Sai Sahan, Abnur Tharn, and the traitor, Mannimarco.”
“Tell me about Abnur Tharn.” I asked, now that she had begun.
“Abnur Tharn is Grand Chancellor of the Elder Council, and chief advisor to his daughter, the Empress-Regent. He’s also Mannimarco’s toady.”
“Tharn didn’t seem too happy working for the Worm Cult.” I recalled.
“Tharn’s first loyalty is to his family and the Empire, and he’s a ruthless *** when it comes to defending them.” Lyris explained. “The Worm Cult obviously doesn’t share those loyalties. Tharn would never trust them, but he’s too much of a coward to betray them.”
“What if he got something out of it?” I asked, a vague idea stirring in my mind.
“Maybe.” She dismissed the idea. “But what could we offer him? He’s already got more gold than the Gods themselves!”
“Tell me about Mannimarco?” I asked.
“You only know him as the man who killed you and stole your soul, but back then he was Emperor Varen’s most trusted advisor.” Lyris told me. “It was Mannimarco who convinced Varen to search for the Amulet of Kings.”
“Why would Varen need the Amulet?”
“Varen wasn’t a true Dragonborn Emperor.” Lyris explained. “He didn’t share Alessia’s bloodline. Mannimarco said the amulet could change all that. He said he could use it to perform a ritual that would turn Varen into a true Dragonborn.”
“What happened next?”
“It took us more than two years, but we finally recovered the amulet and returned to Cyrodiil to perform the ritual.” She continued. “Mannimarco set us up. The ritual caused a violent explosion of magical energy. We lost Varen. Sai Sahan and I were declared outlaws.”
“What then?” I prompted her.
“Mannimarco convinced the Elder Council to recognize Abnur Tharn’s daughter Clivia as Empress-Regent, but Mannimarco was the true power behind the throne. Sai Sahan and I went into hiding. There was a bounty on our heads.”
“Tell me about the Dragonfires?”
“Well, the legend says that the Dragonfires were created from the blood of Akatosh and given to Saint Alessia.” Lyris told me. “When a new Emperor is crowned, they’re supposed to relight them to prove that they’re a true heir of Alessia. One of the Dragonborn.”
“I’ve heard enough for now.” I told her, she’d given me quite a bit to think about.
“I know it’s a lot to take in.” Lyris agreed. “We’ll talk more later. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on the Prophet. Hopefully that orb will help him find out where Sai Sahan is being held. Once we know that, we can plan our next move.” I made my farewells and turned to leave.
"Interesting item, this Orb of Discourse.” The Prophet was murmuring as I passed him. “I must find a way to use it to determine the location of Sai Sahan."
Now…. I thought to myself as I left the Harborage, slipping through the forest a few tree-lengths from the path, and heading towards Daggerfall. Should I collect Sweetroll and ride for Aldcroft tonight, or get some sleep and use the Wayshrine to return to the Wyrd in the morning and set out on foot?
0 -
Chapter Nine: Werewolves of Glenumbra (Part One)
Dawn was a mere smudge of pink on the horizon as I manoeuvred Sweetroll into the Wayshrine behind the Rosy Lion, coaxing her as close alongside the pillar as I could. She flicked her ears in curiosity as I leaned over in her saddle to touch the pillar, and I patted her neck soothingly with my other hand, which gripped her reins loosely.
Well, let’s see if this works. I thought, focusing on the Wayshrine outside the Wyrd Tree’s valley. Sweetroll snorted at the sudden change in location, shaking her head. She turned to look back at me, as if to ask if that was all, then walked calmly down the steps and onto the path when I tightened my legs against her, as calmly as if she did this every day. I released a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding and laughed aloud, delighted. Yes, this will definitely save me a lot of time!
We took the path eastward down the hill and joined the road, turning east again towards Aldcroft. I had studied my vision map carefully before coaxing Sweetroll into the Wayshrine that morning, and made a few notes and updates on my old, far less accurate, oilskin map. The forest thinned out as we travelled, the trees losing their leaves and the grasslands becoming marshy. Fog drifted in patches, chilling the damp air, and in the distance lightning flickered, followed by the rumble of thunder. Arched stone bridges curved over the streams to allow small boats to pass below, and eventually lamp posts appeared alongside the road. From the top of the next bridge I could see the tops of tall masts through the swirling fog, and the occasional glimpse of a roofline. I had reached Aldcroft.
A well-dressed man who I assumed to be Chamberlain Weller stood outside a stone house a short way into town. Hands clasped behind his back, he rocked forward and back on his feet, lost in thought, and looking like a man with too few good options to choose from. I continued on to the stables where I spoke with the Orc stablemaster, who seemed exasperated with the newly arrived soldiers’ requests for a discount, and left Sweetroll to be cared for, before walking back to speak with the chamberlain.
“What is it?” He asked me. “I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of an emergency at the moment.”
“I’m searching for a hunter named Gloria Fausta.” I answered him.
“I don’t know anyone who goes by that name, I’m afraid.” He replied. “Our Duke was kidnapped. Perhaps she was taken along with him. I certainly wouldn’t put it past those Bloodthorn ***.” Bloodthorns again. I thought to myself. Maybe I can find a way to thin their ranks here a little? “We have a bit of a…. situation…. with Duke Sebastian of Camlorn.” Chamberlain Weller continued. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help extract the Duke from a rather precarious situation?”
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Our bumbling town watch allowed the Duke to get kidnapped, that’s what happened.” He sighed in exasperation. “Please, you look like you can handle yourself. Surely someone with your talents can help us.”
“Who kidnapped the Duke?” I asked.
“The damned Bloodthorn cult!” He growled through clenched teeth. “With Camlorn in chaos and the Duke out of action, who knows what the cult intends? At least the Lion Guard finally arrived. Speak to Lieutenant Harim if you want to help. Last I heard he was near the lighthouse.”
“I’ll talk to Lieutenant Harim.” I promised. And then I’ll go ‘talk’ with some cultists….
“Lieutenant Harim was scouting near the lighthouse.” The chamberlain repeated, probably more to reassure himself than to tell me. “Maybe he’s figured out where the Bloodthorns are holding the Duke by now.”
A quick scan of my surroundings showed the lighthouse across the bay, but not feeling like a swim in such damp and chilly weather, I decided to follow the shoreline, hoping to pick off a few stray cultists along the way. But I saw no one until I found the Lieutenant crouched beside a large tree near a bridge, using the trunk to spy on the lighthouse ahead.
“Watch yourself.” He cautioned me as I took cover next to him. “This place is thick with Bloodthorn cultists.”
“I’m here to help rescue the Duke.” I replied quietly.
“I could use a seasoned warrior.” He replied. “There’s no point relying on the local watch. They’re simply not up to the job. The Duke’s in the lighthouse, guarded by some Bloodthorns. I was waiting for reinforcements to arrive before making a move.”
“I’ll rescue the Duke.” I offered, my eyes on the cultists. Two stood outside the lighthouse, and several more were roaming around, sweeping the area.
“You’re a bold one.” He sounded surprised, and I hid a smile. “Very well, when the reinforcements arrive, we’ll make sure none of the cultists slip away. And if your plan doesn’t work, we’ll drink a toast to your memory later in the tavern.”
“Why is the Lion Guard here?” I asked, turning to face him.
“We were sent to provide more security for the Duke and to keep something like this from happening. It’s too bad we didn’t arrive sooner. The local watch just wasn’t prepared to deal with the Bloodthorns.”
No one’s ever prepared for cultists the first time…. I thought as I nodded to him and silently slipped from behind the tree and towards the bridge. I’m just fortunate enough to have the chance to make up for my own first encounter. I downed the two cultists at the bridge with arrows, then switched to my daggers as I crept across and closer to the buildings. The two by the lighthouse stood close to the road, and I turned to circle behind them, using a low wall as cover, and coming in close before popping up between them, blades already flickering as I sliced quickly, not giving them time to recover or get away.
Inside the lighthouse was a large office and a small bedroom for the keeper, and up the stairs and through the hatch I found Duke Sebastian of Camlorn, sitting on the stone floor with his hands bound behind him. He was encased in a pale ward, and on either side of the lighthouse’s great mirror were large, dark crystals, similar to soul gems, hovering in a dark blue glow. I knelt next to the Duke.
“You don’t look like a Bloodthorn cultist.” He said to me. “I assume this is a rescue attempt?”
“Yes, I’m here to rescue you.” I agreed, relieved he had his wits about him.
“Divines be praised.” He said thankfully. “The cultists trapped me with these focus crystals. I’m a bit of a mage myself, but I’m powerless inside this ward.”
“I’ll destroy the crystals.” I told him, and rose to smash each with the butt of a dagger’s hilt. As the second one fractured and fell apart, the duke rose, his bindings dissolving with the shards of the broken crystals.
“I’m free.” He confirmed. “Now to get out of here. But there’s one more thing….”
Isn’t there always? I thought to myself as I raised an eyebrow towards the Duke, inviting him to continue.
“Thanks, friend.” He acknowledged. “But I’m not the cult’s only prisoner.”
“Who else did they kidnap?” I asked him, fairly certain it would be the missing hunter, Gloria.
“I overheard the cultists talking.” The Duke revealed. “They have a prisoner who’s a threat to the werewolf leader, Faolchu. They plan to execute her. If she really is a threat, then it seems crucial that we rescue her.” We? I thought. Oh, no, you’re getting to safety, your grace.
“I’ll find her and set her free.” I replied, putting just enough emphasis on the first word to make my point, and holding his gaze until he relented.
“Very good. I’ll return to Aldcroft.” He agreed. “Meet me there after you rescue this mysterious woman.”
I nodded and stepped back as the Duke opened a portal and disappeared, before slipping through the hatch and making my way downstairs again. Sounds like it must be Gloria Fausta they took. I decided as I crept from the lighthouse to the next building, checking for cultists. Since she was coming to Aldcroft, but doesn’t seem to have had a chance to make herself known to the chamberlain. If she’s a hunter, she may know of something that can harm Faolchu, so that fits, too. I peered through a window as I circled the house, found it empty and moved on to the next one. Seeing a dark haired woman sitting bound on the floor, I let myself in.
“My executioner?” She guessed, raising her head at my entrance. “You couldn’t lift the axe, let alone deal with all the blood.”
“Save your insults for the Bloodthorn.” I retorted, glancing at a corpse on the narrow bed. “I’m here to free you.”
“Splendid.” She replied. “Cut me loose. We’ll kill these Bloodthorn dogs and then go after Faolchu and his werewolves.”
“Duke Sebastian will want to talk to you first.” I told her, more irritated by her assumptions than I had been by her insults.
“Sebastian?” Her voice rose in frustration. “We don’t have time for…. Oh, very well. We’ll talk to the Duke. Let’s go, then. No time to waste.”
“Hold still and I’ll cut you loose.” I told her, slicing her bindings with a dagger.
“My thanks, friend.” She said, rising to her feet. “That was too close for comfort. I’ll meet you in Aldcroft.” And with that she left the house.
I took a quick look around, pocketing a couple of lockpicks and a copy of “Great Harbingers of the Companions” which was on the Mages’ Guild’s list of books, then let myself out. There was no sign of Gloria, but I did see a stray cultist by the water’s edge, and ghosting up behind them to slit their throat definitely made me feel a little better as I retraced my steps along the shore and into town.
I entered the stone house the chamberlain had stood in front of earlier, and found the Duke and his Duchess in the main room.
“Here I am, safe and sound back in Aldcroft.” He greeted me. “I have you to thank for that.”
“Have you spoken to Gloria?” I asked him, seeing her standing at the back of the room near a staircase.
“Yes, and I share her concerns about both Camlorn and Aldcroft.” The Duke replied. “We must deal with these werewolves once and for all. In fact, I hope to involve you in that.” Not exactly a surprise. I thought as he paused briefly. Nothing incurs extra work the way delivering a result does. “Gloria suspects Faolchu’s agents are here among us, even now.”
“Werewolves?” I clarified. “Here in Aldcroft?” Hardly news, given how neatly you were both captured.
“Indeed.” Duke Sebastian replied wearily. “They hide in human form. It’s exactly what they did in Camlorn before they struck. We need to find and destroy them before Aldcroft suffers the same fate as poor Camlorn.”
“How can I spot the hidden werewolves?” I asked him. I doubt it would be a simple as waving a haunch of fresh venison around and seeing who’s nose twitches.
“Gloria says this amulet can be used to spot the hidden werewolves.” The Duke told me. “I’m sure she can tell you more about it.”
“If there are werewolves here, I’ll find them.” I promised, before moving forward to speak with the hunter.
“I know why you’re here,” Gloria started, crossing her arms defensively as she turned to face me, “but where I got that amulet is a discussion for another time. Just be careful. The werewolves won’t appreciate having their secrets revealed.”
“How does this Amulet work?” I asked her, deciding to ignore the fact I was being sent out to do what was, apparently, her job. She’s probably more shaken than she’s letting on…. Or far less experienced.
“I’m no expert, but Hircine is the Daedric Prince of manbeasts.” Gloria answered. “The amulet bears the Call of Hircine. Werewolves can’t resist its call – it forces them to reveal their true nature. Pretty useful, right?”
“The Call of Hircine?” I repeated, raising a brow sceptically.
“Don’t you know anything?” Gloria replied impatiently. “Hircine! The creator and guardian of all were-creatures? Hircine’s Call…. well, it calls to their true nature. Reveals them for the beasts they really are.”
“You seem to know a lot about werewolves.” I replied, allowing my eyes to narrow and my voice to lower a fraction. Not that my amnesia is any of your business, I thought, but with your attitude, I think I might begin to dislike you if we have to work together too long.
“What of it?” She demanded defensively, recrossing her arms. “Don’t you have some werewolves to go find?”
“I’m interested in your story.” I replied sweetly. “I did save your life.”
“Fair enough.” She admitted, inhaling and bracing her fists on her hips. “All right, here’s the dark truth. I’m related to Faolchu. He’s my ancestor. Every day, my family and I live with the shame of the horrors he inflicted on the world. And now he’s back. So I hunt werewolves – and I kill them.”
I offered her a slight nod in response and left before I could no longer stop myself from asking how many she’d killed. It wasn’t really my business, and the sooner I completed whatever needed my attention here, the sooner she’d no longer be my problem.
Aldcroft was filled with both soldiers and refugees from Camlorn, with many of the latter waiting around the docks, presumably for a ship bound somewhere they could start over. These seemed like an easier ruse for any werewolves hoping to be overlooked, so I wandered along the timber jetties, amulet in hand. As I passed a young women, she leapt to her feet, crying out as if in agony.
“The pain! It hurts! It hurts!” She cried, writhing in transformation. “Aldcroft must fall! For claw and fang!”
You poor thing. I thought as I stepped inside her strike and sliced deeply into her chest and throat, ducking under her clumsy lunge and swiping claws as she passed me to stab her liver and heart, putting her out of her misery. I wonder if you chose this, or if it was forced on you, like that man in one of the visions I had on Betnikh…. Oh. I realised, pausing a moment as the thought struck me. This situation must be what that vision I had of the werewolves foresaw. But how can I use that knowledge?
Surprisingly, no one had reacted to the brief fight, other than a dockworker who cowered away covering his head with his arms. No soldiers came running, no other werewolves broke cover to aid her.
Saddened, but resolute, I continued with my task. By the time I had completed my search, four more werewolves had been unmasked and slain, and the slaughter of such obviously unskilled fighters left me heartsick and weary as I returned to the Duke.
“Are they here?” He asked me as I entered the building. “Are Faolchu’s cursed offspring here in Aldcroft?” Cursed is right. I though sadly. That’s exactly what Faolchu has done to them.
“I’m afraid so, your grace.” I replied soberly.
“So Gloria was right.” He sighed. “I suppose I should have known. At least we’ll be better prepared this time. And it seems I’m once again in your debt. At least now we know what we’re facing. Meanwhile, Gloria has discovered something important about how Faolchu came to power.”
“What did Gloria discover?” I asked him, curious. And how? Has she even moved from that spot?
“Gloria says that Faolchu was summoned back from the dead.” The Duke told me. “If that could happen once, how can we hope to stop this villain? Anyway, to learn more, Gloria needs a live werewolf. Can you capture one for her?”
This hunter is sounding more like a con artist every minute. I decided. She already knew he’d died, it’s part of her family history. Obviously Faolchu has been resurrected by a necromancer, and given what else is happening around here, I have a pretty good idea of who it was….
“How can I capture a werewolf?” I asked, carefully not putting any emphasis on the ‘I’, and just as carefully keeping my gaze on the Duke’s face, and not Gloria standing by the stairs behind him.
“Talk to Sergeant Armoil.” Duke Sebastian advised me. “His soldiers faced werewolves in Camlorn and they captured one of the beasts. He can advise you. Then meet Gloria in the cave to the east, across the bay. That’s where she’ll perform the rite to learn how to defeat Faolchu.”
“I’ll speak to Sergeant Armoil.” I agreed. But first, I need to chat with our ‘hunter’. Gloria saw me approaching, and started speaking before I reached her.
“As soon as you catch a werewolf, meet me in the cave across the bay.” She told me. “I hate to miss the fun of the hunt, but I have to prepare the cave for our reluctant guest.” Well now, look who thinks they can give me orders. I thought, amused.
“Tell me about the ritual you’re going to perform.” I replied.
“Faolchu died a long, long time ago.” Gloria said. “He was summoned back from the dead. I want to find out who to blame for that. You can read the history of a werewolf’s sire from the blood of his offspring. That’s why we need to capture a werewolf.”
“Aren’t you Faolchu’s offspring?” I asked her innocently. I could tell you who to blame, but I’d rather you didn’t tag along.
“If that was a joke, I don’t think it was very funny.” Gloria fumed. “Go capture me a werewolf. I’ve got things to do.”
I raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze a moment before turning away and leaving the building. The sooner I’m done here…. I promised myself silently as I made my way north to the area the soldiers were using for their exercises. Overseeing some recruits practising on dummies was a man in Sergeants’ armour, standing with his back to me, and I made my steps more audible as I approached him.
“I’m tired of defending this backwater.” He griped when I halted beside him. “There’s work to be done in Camlorn and….” His voice trailed off in dismay as he turned and saw me. “….oh, sorry. I thought you were one of my soldiers.” And that would still be appallingly unprofessional of you, I thought, complaining to your subordinates.
“The Duke said you could help me.” I stated blandly, ignoring his blunder. “I need to capture a werewolf.”
“Ah, right.” The Sergeant scratched the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. “That’s not what I expected to hear. We did capture a werewolf at Camlorn. For a little while, anyway. My battlemage, Lexi, did it. She should be able to help you. Lexi!” He shouted past me. “Front and center, if you please!”
And with that he turned away, likely hoping to forget the past few minutes. I turned as light footsteps approached, to see a girl who barely looked any older than I did approach.
“Right, so here’s how we capture a werewolf.” She enthused. “You fight the beast and keep it busy, meanwhile I cast the spell that entraps it. Just do your part and leave the magic to me. I’m an expert.”
I shrugged and headed for the gates, leaving her to follow me. Was I ever that naïvely arrogant? I wondered. I’m almost afraid to remember my past, in case I was.
Beyond the palisade was one of the steeply arched bridges, and from its vantage point I could see a scattering of werewolves roaming the foggy marshlands. Turning east, I spotted a likely target and loped down the span towards it, dancing around the clumsy beast with my daggers. The trick, I think, will be in not damaging it too badly before Lexi can bespell it. I decided. No point in having the poor beast expire before Gloria can do her part.
Lexi braced herself a short distance away, a violet beam of light streaming from her hand to the snarling werewolf as I blocked and dodged its swiping claws.
“Er, I think that time I overdid it.” She admitted as the werewolf collapsed, barely a scratch from my blades on it. “Let’s find another one.”
Lucky for you, we have plenty to choose from. I thought, heading further east. I could hear snuffling beyond a nearby boulder, and moments later a howl greeted us before a werewolf lunged out of hiding. I stepped forward to meet it, sliding past its attack and swiping with a dagger to nick it shallowly, just enough to draw its attention and keep it focused on me, not Lexi, as she positioned herself for another attempt. Her magic shot out to envelope the growling beast, and I kept out of its path.
“Got him!” She exclaimed in delight, before whining in dejection; “No, no I haven’t. Mudcrabs. Now we need another werewolf.”
Well, it’s not very quick, but this is certainly one way to clear the area. I thought, already moving towards the next werewolf. I quickly snared its attention, turning so that it faced away from Lexi, and waited for her to try again. Her violet magic hit the werewolf and flared white.
“It worked!” She exclaimed happily. “By Julianos, it worked. Well, that should hold the ugly cur. Take the werewolf to the cave. I’ll tell Sergeant Armoil it worked.” And with that Lexi opened a portal and disappeared, while I headed east, the werewolf docilely lumbering along behind me.
I had to detour north slightly to avoid a narrow channel from the harbour, not because I wanted to avoid a swim and the resulting wet leathers, but in case the shock of cold saltwater broke the werewolf following me out of the docile stupor Lexi had put him into. At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
I was rather surprised when I came across the first dead werewolf, I honestly had started to believe Gloria was all show and no substance. After passing several more at the mouth of the cave, and then another couple in the tunnel, I paused to examine one. Silver crossbow bolts pierced the slain beast’s chest, mostly in its back. Well, that tracks with what I’ve learned. I decided. It would be easy enough to pick them off from a distance, especially if the first few shots were landed before it even started charging.
I eyed the faint drag marks in the dirt as I descended into a cavern where several more dead werewolves were grouped in the centre. Makes for an interesting looking “final showdown” I suppose, I smiled at her attempts to stage a more impressive display, but I doubt you spent much time swinging that hammer strapped to your back. No crush wounds on any of these, just more glints of silver.
“You caught one. Good.” Gloria announced, stepping forward. “Let’s get him into the circle.”
I inclined my head, and the werewolf lumbered past me to where I’d indicated, and crouched, panting.
“All right.” I turned back to Gloria. “What do we do?”
“I’ll create a link between the three of us.” She explained. “We’ll be able to see into the werewolf’s past. And, hopefully, into Faolchu’s past as well. The connection between offspring and sire is strong.”
I stepped aside, giving her space to work but keeping a clear view of everything. A pale glow suffused the werewolf as it crouched on all fours, struggling not to collapse, and a cloud of violet swirled around my head. But not yours, Gloria…. I noticed. Is this a true vision, or are you projecting a fabrication stitched together from pieces you haven’t shared? Not that I’ve been entirely forthcoming, either, I suppose.
But the translucent figure of Angof appearing behind the struggling werewolf certainly matched the one I’d seen in the Wyrd Tree, right down to the oddly accented voice.
“Now the legendary werewolf lord shall fulfil Molag Bal’s true purpose.” He proclaimed. “Arise, minion. Arise from the dead!”
“I serve no one, Reachman!” Faolchu growled, as his own shadow emerged from the ground, glowing silver. Not the same colour? Is she pulling the image of Angof from my memories? I wondered, then admonished myself. I must really dislike her if I’m being so suspicious.
“Serve or suffer, cur.” Angof’s echo was saying. “I’ve bound you to my will. Glenumbra’s destruction is your only goal.”
“Today I submit to you, Angof.” Faolchu snarled. “But one day soon I will rip out your heart and eat it whole.”
“Empty boasts from Molag Bal’s newest slave.” The Gravesinger scoffed. “Come, Faolchu. We have business to attend to.”
Their images faded away, followed by the violet mist around my head, and I turned to face Gloria once more.
“So it was Angof.” She declared, crossing her arms. “I thought I smelled the stench of true evil.”
“Faolchu and Angof working together?” I replied. “What do you think it all means?”
“You saw what I saw.” She retorted. “In order to stop Faolchu for good, we need to put an end to Angof. A tall order, but it’s not impossible. Wait…. The werewolf apparently has something to say.”
I turned to face the struggling creature, who managed to stagger to his feet, although he swayed weakly. “Fools!” he growled. “Your Duke has been blessed with Hircine’s Curse! He will destroy everything he loves. You have failed! Angof has sealed your fate.” The last of his strength spent, the werewolf collapsed, dead. Whether from Lexi’s spell or Gloria’s, it was hard to tell, but I was betting on it being an aftereffect of Lexi’s enchantment, after what had happened to the earlier targets.
“The Duke was infected?” Gloria repeated, scratching the back of her neck in concern. “I was afraid of that, but I hoped I was wrong. I’ve been keeping an eye on him in case…. The change came over him.”
And yet you told no one, I thought, furious, and who’s keeping an eye on him now? His wife? Foolish, irresponsible, arrogant….
“We have to do something.” I told her, allowing none of my frustration to show.
“Faolchu has been ahead of me every step of the way.” Gloria fumed. “This failure falls on my head. But we can resolve this here and now. I need to die and you need to take my blood.”
“What?” I asked her flatly.
“We’re wasting time!” She shouted at me. “I need to die so you can take my blood. If administered in time, the blood of the master can cure his spawn. You know I’m Faolchu’s descendent. If the Duke drinks my blood, he’ll be cured of the curse.”
I looked at Gloria for a long moment, weighing my options. As annoying as you are, I’m not petty enough to take this opportunity to be rid of you. And besides, there’s no guarantee that all of your ancestors kept to their own beds over the years…. Or that there’s still time left for drinking your blood to guarantee the Duke’s recovery. Besides, I think you need to learn to live with the consequences of your actions, and not go out in a glorious blaze of heroic self-sacrifice….
“No, not this way.” I replied calmly, allowing some of the weight from my deaths, my resurrections and visits to Coldharbour, and the countless lives I had already taken, to fill my voice. Just a touch, but enough to have her look at me differently, and offered her a small, cold smile. You have lessons to learn, Gloria. And I really hope I don’t regret this. “We need you alive. I’ll handle the Duke.”
“Damn it!” She cursed, her head falling backwards in frustration. “I hope your noble attitude doesn’t get everyone else killed!” Not if you don’t screw up, it won’t. “All right. I guess I’ll stay alive long enough to see this through. Let’s go before it’s too late. I’ll meet you in Aldcroft.”
With this Gloria turned and sprinted from the cave, and I followed her at a less frantic pace. It was her mistake not to warn anyone of her concerns regarding the Duke. I reasoned as I loped along the shoreline back to town. She can damn well exert herself for once to fix it. When I arrived in town, I found Gloria in the street outside the Duke’s temporary residence, arms crossed and facing Duke Sebastian, who was clutching his stomach, half bent in agony. At my approach he looked up, tying to stand straighter and offering me a weak smile.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you.” He apologised to me. “I thought I could fight it off. I was wrong.”
“Your grace, we know you have the curse.” I replied gently.
“Yes, I quite understand.” He replied, obviously expecting to being executed, and resigned to that fate. “I ask but one favor. Let me say farewell to my wife and daughter. They’re just inside. It will only take a moment. Then you can do what you must.”
I examined the strain on his pale, sweating face, the tremor in his hands, and realised I had made the right decision in the cave. It looked too late for Gloria’s blood to have cured him, but perhaps there might be another solution, given time.
“No. I can’t risk it.” I told the Duke calmly. “But I won’t kill you. Gloria, capture him!” I commanded her coldly, allowing more of my past to show in the look I shot her.
“Why, you heartless…. I’ll never see my family again!” The Duke choked, devastated.
“We’ll continue to look for a way to cure you.” I promised him, as Gloria shot a burst of the same violet magic Lexi had been using, calming the Duke as it bound his hands behind him.
“That was unexpected.” Gloria said to me. “Why did you change your mind?”
“We can’t kill the Duke.” I explained. “Camlorn needs him.” And I didn’t change my mind. I thought, frustrated with her anew. I told you I would handle him, not kill him. Why would I play straight into Faolchu’s plans by removing this region’s leader?
“You really are an old softy.” Gloria scoffed. “Well, I’ve got him. I think. Normally I’d never keep a werewolf as a pet. But in this case, perhaps you’re right. If we can cure the Duke, that would certainly be better than killing him.” Oh, how I wish I could shake some sense into your arrogant head. I thought. You’re guarding the Duke, not keeping him as a pet. Have some respect. And perspective. This is supposed to teach you the consequences of keeping secrets and using them to manipulate people into believing you’re more capable than you really are. “I’m sure Faolchu would call mercy a weakness.” Gloria continued. “But I think it shows strength of character. We’re going to need such strength in the days ahead.”
“Is there anything else we can do for Camlorn?” I asked, ignoring her attempts at flattery.
“Faolchu’s already been brought back to life once.” Gloria reflected. “We need to make sure that can’t happen again.”
“How do we prevent that?” I asked her. We’ve been over this already, get to the point.
“The Duke had Mages Guild researchers working on that problem. They’re trying to find out how Faolchu originally died.” Surely you’d know that, it being part of your family history? “If you want to help, they’re at Glenumbra Moors. The battle site where Faolchu died the first time.”
“I’m on my way.” I told her and left. Another moment and I might have checked to see whether her blood was an effective cure after all. I grumbled to myself. There was a Wayshrine at the northern end of town I wanted to take a quick look at, then Sweetroll to collect, and if I was lucky, there would be a merchant somewhere I could offload some loot to. With all the soldiers currently encamped in town, there's bound to be some enterprising sort who's set up shop by now.
0 -
Chapter Nine: Werewolves of Glenumbra (Part Two)
The vision in the Wayshrine showed Glenumbra Moors to be northwest of Aldcroft, nestled inside a valley with a single entrance. The north gate and bridge I had taken with Lexi led to a road heading the right way, so I collected Sweetroll from the stables and set off.
After a few minutes' ride the ground began to rise, out of the marshlands, becoming mossy. The road turned, north to west, and I saw the escarpment which encased the old battlefield, a lighter shade of grey than the building stone used for the bridges. Eventually a break in the cliff appeared, a short, wide tunnel in the rockface, with an old wooden palisade visible in the distance, its timber gates long gone. I turned Sweetroll into the gap, then pulled up beside some tents, dismounted, and left her grazing after giving her a treat. I enjoyed spoiling my horse.
A few moments search among the scattering of mages and soldiers had me directed to Conjurer Grahla, an Orc member of the Mages Guild. She stood facing the empty gateway, staring out over the old battlefield.
“A messenger?” She asked as I approached her. “From Aldcroft, by any chance? What news from there? We heard reports that refugees from Camlorn had inundated the town.”
“Werewolves tried to take over the town, but they didn’t succeed.” I told her, deciding to skip over the Duke’s capture and subsequent infection, and my own part in the tale.
“That’s good.” She sighed. “Losing Camlorn was bad enough. Meanwhile, we’ve made significant progress here. Our research is finally beginning to yield results. The ghosts of the Alessian army still haunt this place. It’s been an age since the Battle of Glenumbra Moors raged here, yet the spirits linger.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked her, wondering how I could help.
“Faolchu, the beast that ravages Camlorn.” Grahla started. “He fought and died here. We want to know what happened all those years ago. Then we can kill him again.”
“How do you find out what happened so long ago?” I asked her. And why do you need to know how he originally died? Can he only be killed again, now, in the same manner?
“Sarvith, our Master of Incunabula, hopes to evoke a vision that shows us the events surrounding Faolchu’s death.” She explained. “We’re collecting the most powerful historic artefacts to use as focus objects. The spirits are making the task difficult, however.”
“I’ll help if I can.” I offered.
“The generals of the Alessian army played a vital part in the Battle of the Glenumbra Moors. Their weapons, if still intact, would suffice, I think. If you manage to get your hands on the weapons, find Sarvith. He knows what to do from there.”
“Why is it important to find out how Faolchu died?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
"Faolchu wasn't called the Invincible General for nothing.” Grahla told me. “You can cut him, bash him, fill him full of arrows—he just keeps coming. We must discover how they stopped him and ended this ancient war."
“What can you tell me about the Battle of Glenumbra Moors?” I asked next. Better to take a few minutes now, and go in with the best awareness of the situation possible, than rush in blindly. I reminded myself. Besides, who knows when I might learn something that helps me regain my memories?
"I could tell you the basic story, but if you want a deeper understanding you need to ask our loremaster, Dhalana.” Grahla replied. “She's up on the tower, observing the movement of the spirits."
With a nod of thanks, I climbed the nearer set of stairs, cautious on the ancient timbers in case of weak spots, and found a blonde Breton mage waiting for me. She could probably hear Grahla and I talking.
"Just look at those lost souls.” Dhalana said to me. “What drives them? Why do they fight on?"
“Can I ask you about the war?” I enquired instead.
"Of course.” She agreed. “What would you like to know?"
“What actually happened here?” Always start with the basics.
"This is where Clan Direnni fought to defend High Rock against the invading Alessian Order.” Dhalana began. “The Alessians outnumbered them three to one, but this was Direnni land and the clan prevailed."
“Tell me about the Alessian Order.” I requested next.
"The Alessians were a fundamentalistic sect that wanted to purge Elven influence from Tamriel's religions.” She described. “We think Faolchu was one of their generals. They called him the Changeling. And the Invincible One."
“Faolchu sounds fearsome.” I shivered.
"Nothing could stop Faolchu.” Dhalana agreed. “The soldiers he bit became werewolves and turned against their own. This land should have fallen to his lycanthropic plague. But someone or something killed him that day."
“Do you know who killed him?” I asked her.
"Legends tell us that the Nameless Soldier killed Faolchu." She replied, shrugging. "It's said the Nameless Soldier prevailed by making a great sacrifice."
“Tell me about the Direnni forces.” I requested.
"The Direnni settled in High Rock long ago." Dhalana explained. "They were ancient High Elves who stood with the local Bretons against the Alessian invaders."
“So the one who slew Faolchu was Direnni?” I asked, surprised.
"Seems likely.” She shrugged. “We don't know how the Nameless Soldier defeated Faolchu yet, but we're determined to figure it out."
I took my leave and carefully picked my way back down the stairs, then ventured through the gateway and onto the ancient battlefield. Before me spread the marshy valley, bare trees and ponds interspersed with glowing purple spirits. At the far end, where the ground began to rise was another palisade, this one with its gates intact, but luckily slightly ajar, enough that I could get through. Unsure whether the spirits could be permanently dispelled if I fought them, or if they would simply keep reforming, I opted for the stealthy approach and slunk my way through the undead army, taking care to move slowly and give each spirit a wide berth.
As I approached the far gates, I realised I wouldn’t be able to get through without a fight. Three spirits blocked my way, one clearly in command over the other two, and after quickly checking for any other spirits nearby enough to take notice, I began raining arrows on the trio as I drew closer, before using my daggers to finish them off, and noticed and an old, rusty sword thrust into the path. Hoping it would be of use to Sarvith’s illusion, I pulled it free and examined it. Blade of Lauran was etched across the guard, and I berated myself for not asking for the names of the Alessian generals. Still, your average rank and file soldier is unlikely to have a fine enough weapon that it would be engraved. I decided as I slipped between the massive timber gates and into the Alessian encampment. How have these tents survived intact? I wondered as I skulked past the groups of spirits and towards what looked like a command tent.
“They think they have the advantage, do they?” I overheard through the canvas. “Ha! Just wait until their plan crumbles around them!” I slipped into the tent, driving the two occupants towards a corner and out of sight of any other spirits nearby. Despite the confined quarters which hampered my usual fighting style of dancing around my opponents, I made quick work of them and retrieved a second sword. This one had Blade of Elaric engraved on it, which made me more optimistic that I was retrieving the correct weapons.
There was a wooden door set into the hillside nearby, and a track leading uphill which I followed cautiously. As it curved left, I was amazed to see a skyshard ahead on the edge of the bank before it became a crenelated walkway, but focused on the wraith floating nearby, and a little further on, another tent and pair of ghostly soldiers below a dark stone tower. Drawing closer to them, I could hear one issuing commands.
“Make sure these orders circulate among the troops." He ordered. "They need to be prepared for what's to come.”
Considering my options, the wraith seemed the more immediate danger, as it drifted about and was likely to be alerted once I attacked the soldiers, so I crept backwards as silently as I could, and peppered it with arrows until it charged at me, then I tore into it with my daggers. Once it fell, I switched back to my bow and began attacking the soldiers ahead. One fell quickly, but the other reached me and I finished him with a few deep slashes before running forward to collect the third sword, the Blade of Railon.
Safe for the moment, I approached the skyshard. It was the first I had seen since Coldharbour, and with the gauntlet of aggressive spirits to navigate protecting its location, Divines alone knew how long it had lain here. I moved closer, reaching out a hand to touch the glowing surface, but before I could make contact I was pulled aloft and filled with light. I didn’t remember the actual experience of absorbing the skyshard in Coldharbour, I was so confused and terrified at the time, so focused on whatever task was put before me in the frantic effort to escape, that many details were lost. Hovering suspended in the cool glow of Aetherial light, now, was a far cry from what little I could recall. I felt cleansed, refocused, filled with energy, and when the light faded and I dropped to my feet with a grunt of surprise, I almost wept at the loss. But a small echo of that feeling remained, strengthening me, and it was with a smile on my face that I moved back through the Alessian camp and across the battlefield to where the mages were gathered.
Remembering Grahla’s instructions, I searched out Sarvith and found him in the main tent arguing with another mage.
“It's true!” The redhaired Breton insisted. “Faolchu was as big as a tree, with claws like greatswords!”
“Yes, yes.” Mocked his Orc colleague as I drew closer. “And he breathed fire and ate warriors, armor and all. I've heard it all before.”
They eventually noticed my arrival and Sarvith turned to address me.
“Bhagrun here claimed that the threat Faolchu poses has been greatly exaggerated.” He said. “Poor fool wouldn't know a moth from a mammoth.”
“Grahla asked me to bring you these things.” I told him, handing over the ancient weapons and choosing to ignore their argument.
“Ah, the focus objects!” He exclaimed as he took them from me, juggling the swords as one slipped from his grasp. “These will do very nicely. Let me just, uhh.... hmm. I don't think that was supposed to come off. Well, these swords are pretty beat up. I'm sure we'll still have plenty of material for the ritual, though.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?” I asked him.
“If all goes well, we’ll be able to peer into the past.” The mage confided in me. “Hopefully see what happened to Faolchu. Find out how the Dirennis were able to defeat the Alessians so long ago. And if something goes wrong, well, then we shall see what we shall see.”
“I’d like to observe the ritual.” I requested, wondering why he sounded like he almost expected something to go wrong.
“Of course.” Sarvith agreed. “We'll be using the amalgamated essence of the past, focused with these ancient weapons, to open a sort of window into history. Follow me.”
“Now we may finally learn how Faolchu was defeated.” Sarvith declared excitedly as he led the way from the tent to an open area nearby.
“And maybe we'll find out how tall the horker really was.” Bhagrun retorted, accepting one of the blades from Sarvith when he passed it to him.
Near the cliff, Sarvith plunged a blade into the ground, then he and Bhagrun, each wearing a blade on their left hip, took a position several feet either side of the sword in the ground, held out their left hands towards each other, forming a beam of orange magicka which met above the sword in a darkly glowing ball of black and red power. They leaned forward, bracing themselves as they held the spell, until being thrown backwards as the spell imploded. Standing beside the sword, her hands pressed to her head, a spirit struggled.
“Listen to me!” She cried out. “You must listen!” then her form dissolved into vapour and dissipated as the two mages picked themselves up and stood unsteadily, looking as though they nursed bruises at the very least. Bhagrun had fallen closer to me, and I turned to check on him first.
“No surprise there.” The Orc sighed. “Poor Sarvith. His spells never work as planned. It's always the same. One disaster after another.”
Sarvith appeared more optimistic when I approached him, but from the way he held one arm, it was either broken or dislocated.
“Julianos's little teapot!” He exclaimed. “We did it! I think.”
“Was that supposed to happen?” I asked dubiously.
“The spell worked better than I anticipated.” He insisted. “We didn't just create a window into the past—we opened a door. The very air ripples with temporal disturbance. Somewhere nearby, a door into history stands open. All we need to do is step through it.”
“Who was that woman who appeared?” I asked.
“A fragment from the past, I think.” Sarvith sounded excited by this. “Something that was pulled forward with the spell. Let's hope that was all we pulled forward.”
“So how does this help us learn about Faolchu?” I asked the injured mage.
“Someone brave and rash enough has to actually step through the door we opened.” He replied blithely. “I'm too valuable to get lost in the past. And Bhagrun would probably change history with all his usual bumbling about. Ask Grahla what she thinks we should do.”
Shaking my head at his antics, I headed back to Grahla at the gateway.
“We heard a scream.” She greeted me. “And then ripples of magical distortion started to sweep across the battlefield. What happened?”
“Your mages have opened a door into the past.” I told her drily.
“They were supposed to cast a simple divination spell, nothing more.” She dropped her head in frustration. “Sarvith wasn't supposed to open any doorways.”
“Sarvith thinks we can go back in time to learn about Faolchu's death.” I relayed, trying to hide my amusement.
“I don't like this.” Grahla shook her head, concerned. “Time magic shouldn't be meddled with. But what's done is done. Maybe one of those ripples has the answers we seek.”
“What should I do?” I offered.
“Examine the ripples.” She replied. “See if there really is a doorway of some kind out there. And keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Who knows what they may have pulled out of the past.”
I turned and faced the battlefield. There was a strange purple orb of light floating almost directly ahead, just off the path, with two wraiths right in front of it. I sighed and drew my bow, suspecting I may have to fight my way through most of the battlefield before this was over, as I began firing at the wraiths. Once they had fallen, I approached the time ripple. It seemed inert, so I reached out and allowed my fingertips to brush through it. The same woman appeared, a pale blue projection of a Breton in heavy armor.
“You seek to see into the past.” She said. “I can guide you.” And with that she disappeared.
But I could see another ripple towards the Alessian army’s gate, its purple hue noticeably bluer than the spirits grouped beside it, and sent arrow after arrow into their midst as I skirted the shallow pond between us.
“I can show you how Faolchu met his death.” The Breton spirit offered, and I blinked in surprise as she disappeared once more. How did she know what I’m trying to learn? I wondered, circling right and following the timber palisade to a third glowing mote.
“If Faolchu has risen, then he must die again.” The spirit warned me once I had dispersed the nearby soldiers and activated the time ripple.
I continued along the cliffside enclosing the valley, sneaking past as many of the spirits as I could to save time, and eventually finding the fourth location in an Alessian campsite. After dealing with the long dead soldiers I summoned the Breton spirit a final time.
“Go to the crypt.” She instructed me. “I'll meet you there and show you how to discover the secret you seek.”
The crypt, I eventually found, lay across the valley to the south, in the one place I hadn’t yet been. I made my way down the stone stairs and into the underground chamber, to find the spirit waiting for me in front of a tomb, her head bowed in remembrance or prayer as she faced it.
“I remember this place.” She told me when I stopped beside her, examining the set of armor laid out before us with curiosity for a moment before turning to face her as she continued speaking. “We gave up everything to kill Faolchu. I’ll be damned if I just let him come back to life and curse the world again.”
“Is that why you’ve returned?” I asked her.
“I’m here because the one I loved gave up everything that day to save his people.” She replied. “You seek answers. I’m here to help you find them and hopefully avoid the tragedy that occurred on that long ago day.” You want me to change the past? I realised as she continued. “This armor is your key to the past. It belonged to my beloved and was buried in this place of honor. It was my beloved’s hand that cut Faolchu down.”
“What happens if I put the armor on?” I asked her, wondering if it would even fit me well enough to be worn.
“You’ll relive the last moments of the battle.” She predicted. “You’ll take the place of my beloved. Experience the fall of Faolchu as it happened. But be careful. You can affect events. Whatever you do may have untold consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?” I asked warily.
“You won’t just see a vision of the past, you’ll live through it.” The spirit cautioned me. “What you do may change the destiny of those around you. This is a terrible burden to carry, but it’s the only way to get the information you seek. When you’re ready, put on the armor.”
I stood there for several long moments in silence, weighing my options. This is a risk. I though to myself. I could inadvertently cause serious damage to reality with nothing more than a careless word, prevent someone’s very existence…. Although that may not be a bad thing, in some cases.
“I’ll put on the armor.” I decided, aware I really had no better option.
“Ah, this armor brings back such memories.” She sighed wistfully, before resuming a more focused manner. “Now get dressed. There’s much to see and the connection to the past won’t last long.”
That gives me something else to worry about, I realised, what if I become trapped back there? “How do I return to the present?” I asked worriedly.
"When Faolchu dies the armor will eject you from the past. You'll return, unharmed, to the here and now.” She told me. “Yes. That's what will happen. I'm sure of it." I eyed the spirit suspiciously for a moment, unsure whether or not to believe her.
“Can you tell me anything about where I’m going?” I requested, ever anxious to arm myself with as much knowledge as possible.
"It was a violent, bloody time.” She said sadly. “The Alessians were on a holy crusade to purge every Mer who occupied this land and called it home. They destroyed anything with even the smallest connection to magic."
“But you were Breton, not Mer.” I said, confused. “Why fight against them?”
"Would you stand by while those who didn't deserve to die were judged by religious zealots?” She asked me calmly. “Unless I strongly misjudged you, I think not. We did what was right. And we would do it again. Which is why I'm here."
“Tell me about your beloved.” I invited her.
"Wise, kind, courageous.” She reminisced fondly. “Everything one could want from a constant companion. But you'll see soon enough. I only hope that what you learn will help you in the present situation."
I donned the Direnni armor, and as soon as I settled the last piece into place, surprised by how well it fit after all, a tearing agony ripped a scream from me as I was transported back in time thousands of years, though I found myself standing in the exact same spot.
"There you are, my love.” A familiar voice reached me, although the sound of it stirred a powerful, unfamiliar feeling in me. “I was starting to worry about you." I turned to see the spirit of the Breton soldier, now flesh and blood, descending the stairs into the crypt. "Why do you linger, my love?” She continued, looking at me with curiosity. “Commander Parmion rallies the troops for the final assault. You're his best officer and our noblest knight. You should be at his side for this moment."
“I'm not sure what's going on.” I admitted, disoriented more by the sudden emotions filling me than my temporal travel.
"Did that blow to your head rattle your senses?” She teased gently. “We're on the verge of turning the tide and we'll launch the strike against Faolchu's headquarters soon. Come, my love. We have work to do."
“Remind me.” I smiled weakly at her. “What work is that?”
"The Alessian orders, of course.” She replied. “They're crucial. We captured the messenger but not before he handed the orders off. We need to search enemy soldiers until we can retrieve them. We can't have the Alessians surprise us when we're this close to victory." With this she turned and began making her way back up the stairs, calling over her shoulder as she went; "Do what you have to do and find those orders. Then find me at camp. We need to talk."
I found myself following before I had made the decision to move, my borrowed body driven by its overwhelming emotional connection to her, and paused on the stairs for a moment. Get a grip, Angélique. I told myself firmly. You’re not him. You’re here as a passenger only, remember that. Steadied, I continued up the stone stairs, emerging to find battle raging around me as Direnni and Breton soldiers clashed with the invading Alessians in a muted, almost colourless landscape.
Focus. I reminded myself. Where would those orders be? Turning towards the Alessian camp, I fought my way through the mêlée, using the confusion to my advantage. In the command tent I found a dead soldier laid on a low table, and a couple of pages beside his head. Snatching them up, I scanned the top page;
To all Alessian Soldiers,
The Direnni believe they have the advantage. They are comfortable in their camps and secure in their victory. They have lost focus.
Word has reached us that the Direnni will launch a major assault in the coming hours. When this happens, we will send our Alessian scouts under the cover of shadows to get in behind them, destroying their camp.
If this works, we can catch their assault from behind in a flank and wipe them out once and for all.
No one will stand in the way of the Alessians! Kill, and keep killing, in the Name of The One!
Confident this was what I needed, I tucked the papers away and ran from the tent, dodging skirmishes as I crossed the battlefield in a mad dash, all too aware that time was passing around me.
“About time you returned.” A voice hailed me, and I came to a halt in front of the speaker, a Direnni elf, hoping this was Commander Parmion. “There you are, my knight.” He continued. “Did you recover the orders?”
“Here are the Alessian orders.” I replied, handing over the papers with relief.
“Excellent.” The Mer continued, returning the orders to me once he had read them. “You’re a credit to the Direnni Guard. Now we can prepare a proper counter attack to the upcoming Alessian assault. They won’t know what hit them! You should show these to the Ayleid King. He just arrived, and is eager to get involved.”
“The Aylied King?” I repeated, startled. No one mentioned there was an Aylied involved in this battle!
“Yes, he surprised us all.” Commander Parmion took my reaction as if expecting it, much to my relief. “We weren’t expecting the last King of a dying people to show up on the field of battle. But he’s a brilliant tactician and his advice can only help. Meanwhile, we’ll send Alana’s unit to strike down Faolchu.”
“Alana?” I repeated, alarmed. Is that the name of the Breton who’s been helping me? But…. “I need to be the one to strike down Faolchu.” I blurted out. How else can I learn how he died?
“What? Nonsense!” The Commander dismissed my demand. “Alana can handle it. If these orders are any indication, I need you to lead our defences. But speak to Alana before she goes, if you like. Just make it quick. And don’t forget to talk to the King.”
I proffered a brief salute, turned, and made my way into to the command tent, where Alana sat on the edge of a narrow cot, making some last adjustment to her armor. She looked up at me, smiling warmly.
"I know you wanted to go after Faolchu, but you'll see plenty of action defending the camp." She promised me.
“Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?” I offered, torn by the emotions swirling through my borrowed body.
"I appreciate your concern, my love, but orders are orders.” She shrugged. “If either of us fails, this entire battle could be lost. But have no fear. I'll make sure we never have to worry about Faolchu again."
“How will you stop him?” I asked her, frustration and fear mingling as my priorities and those of my borrowed body aligned.
"How?” She repeated with amusement. “He's just a man, my love. I'll stick my sword in him a few times until he drops. Then I'll stab him again! I'll be back in no time, carrying his head high as a trophy. I can't think of a better gift to celebrate our new family."
“Our family?” I heard myself repeat, sounding confused, while battling with the impulse to warn her of Faolchu’s true nature. Hang on, she’s pregnant? That could have a huge impact on the future…. Did she survive this battle? Will her child change the future if they are born, or if they’re not?
"Later, my love.” Alana assured me fondly, breaking through my sudden panic. “I'll tell you all about it after the battle. No need to distract you right now. It's nothing but good news, though, I promise. I love you, you know. Now go." I hesitated, still struggling with the implications of what I knew from my future versus what Alana was telling me, and she spoke again. "Whatever happens, beloved, I….” Alana broke off, then continued resolutely; “No, enough. Only the fight matters now."
I stumbled out of the tent, overwhelmed on so many levels, and found a tall, golden-skinned Mer standing with his hands behind his back, scanning the preparations, with guards flanking him. A strangely shaped headpiece, more crown than helm, added to his height, and his ornate, golden armor matched it in design. The last King of the Ayleids…. I thought in wonder. Those mages would lose their minds if I told them about this!
“A Breton fighting for the Direnni?” He enquired curiously, meeting my gaze. “Somewhat surprising though not unheard of considering the current circumstances. Wait a moment. That armour…. I’ve heard stories about you. They say you fight as if Auri-El himself blessed you.”
“We recovered these orders from an Alessian soldier.” I blurted, unsure what else to say in response and thrusting the papers towards him, too stunned by his unexpected presence to be more eloquent.
“The situation unfolding upon the battlefield is telling enough.” The Aylied King stated as he scanned the pages quickly. “These orders only confirm my suspicions. The Alessians plan to slip past your defences to, how do they put it, catch the Direnni with their trousers down? What a curious phrase.”
“What should we do?” I asked him, beginning to collect myself.
“Use the Direnni magic of your armor to spot the Shadow Scouts before they can do any significant damage, then despatch them with extreme prejudice.” He advised with an off-handed air. “Simple enough really. But I’m actually very curious about you.”
“Why are you interested in me?” I replied, surprised and just a little concerned, although I took care not to let that emotion show. Surely he can’t sense my presence in this body?
“These old Aylied eyes see many things.” He explained, glancing past me to gaze around the encampment. “Everyone in this yard, for example, radiates an aura of life force. But not you. Your aura’s missing. I can’t tell if you’re not truly alive or you just don’t belong. I’ve never seen magic quite like this before.”
“You’re right.” I confessed, strangely amused by his perception. “I don’t belong here.”
"Honesty!” He exclaimed approvingly. “A most redeeming quality. But we will have to speak of this later, when matters are less pressing. Right now we have a battle to win. I appreciate your report."
I inclined my head in a slight bow of respect before moving off to listen to Commander Parmion's speech. He stood on a low dais to one side of the gateway, preparing to address the assembled troops.
"We make our final stand here.” He declared to those before him. “The Alessians are rabble and their numbers mean nothing. This land is ours and we intend to keep it. Today Faolchu and the Alessians meet their end at our hands. Today we celebrate our victory!"
The Commander’s words were met with enthusiastic cheers from the soldiers gathered to listen, but I slipped silently from the throng and through the gateway, back onto the battlefield. Direnni archers guarded the approach to the camp, and I paused behind them to scan the valley thoughtfully. If they were hoping to sneak through undetected, the Alessian scouts would be hiding where the ebb and flow of battle wouldn’t trip over them, so the edges of the battlefield were probably their most likely locations. I turned sharply and followed the walls of the valley, searching carefully.
Ahead a shadow crouched, the faintest trace of an armored figure, and I unslung my bow, fitted an arrow, raised and fired in a single smooth motion. Instantly the cloaking spell was interrupted, and I found myself facing several of the invaders. I fired rapidly, sidestepping to maintain some distance whilst avoiding the magical attacks aimed at me, and once I had felled the first couple of soldiers I switched to daggers, tearing through the remaining enemy as I spun and slid between them. I changed direction, passing the gateway and continuing along the perimeter, picking off another scouting party on our other flank, before despatching a third concealed above the crypt.
As the last body fell, a flung blade protruding from their throat, one of our own scouts staggered towards me, grievously wounded.
“Captain….” He called to me, struggling to remain upright. “Faolchu’s headquarters. We were ambushed…. surrounded. Alana and the others….” With this he collapsed, but I had already turned and begun sprinting for the Alessian camp, driven by an overwhelming, desperate fear for Alana’s safety. I tore through the invading force as though possessed, which come to think of it, I was, by myself…. But it wasn’t me in control as my borrowed body cut through armed opponents like they were wheat to be harvested until I reached the timber doors set into the bank below the tower. Several of our own forces took cover there behind barrels and crates, and one of them, kneeling over a prone form, looked up to make his report to me.
“There were too many of them. They tore us apart….” He recalled, glassy eyed with shock. “Captain, I have bad news. Commander Parmion is dead.”
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Commander Parmion decided to accompany us, but it was a trap.” He told me. “We expected to find Faolchu and his officers, but there was a whole platoon waiting for us. We couldn’t stop them. The commander fought bravely, but they cut him down and took Alana. I’m afraid there isn’t much time. We expect Faolchu to launch a full-scale assault at any moment.”
“What do you recommend?” I managed to ask though the churning emotions of my host.
“It’s a tough choice.” The scout hesitated. “I think there are enough of us left alive to go after Faolchu, but we also need to rescue Alana. I don’t know…. What are your orders, Captain?”
“I guess I need to decide.” I realised.
“This isn’t an easy choice, I know.” The Direnni scout acknowledged. “I don’t envy you. But whatever you decide, we’re with you.”
I need to know how to kill Faolchu, I reminded myself. It’s the whole reason I’m here. But do I need to be the one to kill him? And can I live with myself if I prevent this soldier from saving the woman he loves? If I send these soldiers after Faolchu…. Will they survive? Or will I be buying time at the expense of their lives?
It was the calm acceptance in the eyes of the scout that decided me. These men were willing to risk their lives no matter what I asked of them, and there was only one decision I could make.
“Take the soldiers and kill Faolchu.” I ordered him. “I’ll rescue Alana.”
“Yes Captain.” The scout nodded. “They dragged Alana up the path behind me. Good luck. We’ll get Faolchu for you.”
I just need you to keep him busy long enough…. I admitted to myself as I ran up the curving track to the plateux above, the dark stone tower rising broken and foreboding above the cluster of tents at the far end, all deserted except for the dead, and I ran faster, hurtling up the stairs and into the tower towards a familiar blonde form.
“What a disaster!” Alana fumed, struggling against her bonds. “I should have suspected a trap. And now Commander Parmion’s dead. What about Faolchu?”
“I sent the remaining troops to kill him.” I told her, stunned by the sheer sense of relief the sight of her sent through my body. Love is a terrifyingly powerful thing. I realised.
“You sent them to be slaughtered!” Alana exclaimed. “I was wrong. Faolchu isn’t an ordinary man. I drove my word right into his heart and he didn’t even feel it. Our weapons won’t be able to stop him. The soldiers won’t stand a chance.”
I know…. I admitted to myself. But I don’t think I could have made any other choice, not in this body.
“There must be some way to kill Faolchu.” I muttered, knowing that he had died here, but had I inadvertently changed that timeline?
“Let me think….” Alana muttered to herself. “….wait a moment! The way he shrank back from our torches…. Fire! That’s the answer. It has to be! Tell the others. Help them. If Faolchu isn’t killed, we all lose.”
“What about you?” I found myself asking.
“Someone needs to get this information back to our camp.” She insisted. “If Faolchu eludes you, our remaining forces need to know how to kill him. Go, my love. Go make history.”
With a nod, I cut through the rope binding her hands behind her back and ran, retracing my steps to the timber doors below. The bodies of our soldiers lay strewn and slumped throughout the first chamber, and my guilt and rage drove me as I hunted down and executed every single Alessian soldier I could find before heading deeper into the ruins.
“Put those damn fires out!” A familiar, guttural voice snarled in the chamber below me as I skulked along the shattered remains of the upper level, counting the soldiers below. “It’s time to wipe out all traces of those Direnni!”
I positioned myself on the landing partway down the remaining staircase, firing upon the Alessian soldiers one by one, picking each off before moving on to the next, and trying not to draw too much attention to myself. Once I ran out of targets, I descended into the camp and searched the tents, determined to deprive Faolchu of the support of his Alessian allies.
“Your puny weapons are no match for my fangs and claws!” The werewolf growled, and I moved silently towards him, a dagger clasped in each hand. There were piles of burning crates and barrels scattered through the camp, and I stopped where I had a good view of Faolchu, with one bonfire directly behind me, making me clearly visible to him before flicking a throwing dagger at his face.
Faolchu roared in fury, lumbering towards me, and as I ducked under his swiping claws, I spun, kicking him to stumble into the flames. He shrieked and staggered back, fur singed and smoking.
“No!” He howled in pain and fear. “Not fire!”
I circled him, positioning the fire behind myself again, and flung another throwing blade at his face, earning a growl of fury. Good. Get angry.I thought, throwing another. Angry enough to forget about all of this lovely fire everywhere…. That’s done it! I’d continued flicking small throwing blades at Faolchu’s face, and the last one had sliced across the tip of his nose, shredding the last of the huge werewolf’s restraint. He lunged towards me, snarling, arms spread wide to catch me, and at the very last moment I leapt backwards, tucking my shoulder to roll, pushing away from the flames and back to my feet.
Faolchu, caught off balance by my disappearance, stumbled into the flames, and I slashed at him from behind, desperate to stop him from rising, from escaping.
“It can’t end like this!” He screamed, “Not like this!” I almost relented, sicked by the stench of burning fur and flesh, the pain he must be experiencing, but a calmer, colder part of myself instead drew my bow and fired directly into his heart, freeing Faolchu from his torment in the only possible way that made sense.
I backed away from his smouldering corpse, desperate for fresh air, and a sudden flare of pinkish-gold light startled me into turning. A spirit stood nearby, a Breton man clad in the very same armor I currently wore. I wonder what you name is.
“Return to your time.” He instructed me kindly. “You learned that Faolchu’s weakness is fire. Use that knowledge well. Now enter the nearby portal. It will take you home.”
Still choking on the stench, I nodded in thanks and staggered into the glowing portal to find myself back in the crypt. A bare skeleton lay stretched out before me, but when I looked down, intent on removing the armor and returning it, I was startled to see I stood clad in my own leathers instead.
Shrugging at the sudden change, I made my way up the stairs, to find a pair of mages waiting for me, each oddly familiar although I was certain I had never met either of them before.
"Welcome back.” The Breton greeted me. “Are you all right? Were you successful? Why … why are you staring at me like that?"
“You're a woman.” I blurted out, staring at Sarvith, and past him, no, her, was Bhagrun, also now female.
"Why, yes, of course.” She laughed at me. “Are you sure you're all right? It doesn't matter. What happened?"
“I killed Faolchu.” I relayed, numb with shock. “Fire weakens him and makes him vulnerable.”
"Fire!” The altered mage exclaimed. “Can it really be that simple? Alana's said that all along, but now we know for certain. Now we can take the fight to Faolchu. And we can win."
“Alana's here?” I choked out. What have I done?
"Where else would she be?” Sarvith…. Saravith?.... asked me. “She's the one who approved your mission. Don't you remember? I'm sure it'll all come back to you. Time travel can be very stressful. Anyway, Alana's in camp. Go tell her what you learned."
Nodding mutely in apprehension, I crossed the empty battlefield towards the mages’ campsite. Right where the Direnni had set up. I recalled, recognising Alana standing beside Conjurer Grahla, who was thankfully unchanged. Alana, however, seemed different, but I couldn’t quite determine why.
"You're back.” She greeted me. “And just in time. But the celebration must wait, I'm afraid. Faolchu's forces have taken all of Camlorn and the Lion Guard's counterattack falters."
“Alana? Is that really you?” I asked, staring at her. Wait, she looks…. Younger? How?
"What's wrong with you?” Alana demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that? You know I'm the descendant of the spirit who appeared before you. Get your head on straight and tell me how Faolchu was originally defeated."
“Fire weakens him and makes him vulnerable.” I replied, light-headed with relief. She’s not her. I didn’t muck things up that badly, she’s just their descendant. Who didn’t exist before, because her parents hadn’t survived the fight…. Oh, I hope I haven’t screwed things up too badly!
"I thought as much.” Alana declared, satisfied. “That's the story our family has passed down through the ages, but I needed proof. Now Camlorn must be told. You know, what you've done here has changed everything. Maybe more than we know."
Don’t remind me. I thought, feeling pained with guilt, but somehow I forced a smile when I bid her farewell.
“If you go north, you should be able to catch up with the Lion Guard forces.” Grahla called after me. “Find an officer and tell him what we learned. Knowing Faolchu’s weakness might make all the difference.”
“I’ll catch up with the Lion Guard troops.” I promised, relieved to have a purpose again. I jogged towards the mouth of the valley, whistling for Sweetroll, and once mounted turned her north towards Camlorn.
0 -
Chapter Nine: Werewolves of Glenumbra (Part Three)
Rolling to my feet as I cleared the spiked base of the portcullis, I peered through the flames engulfing the crates which concealed my entrance to the city. Beyond them, Camlorn burned. Werewolves and cultists roamed about, while the bodies of slain townsfolk lay where they’d fallen, the unluckier ones being mauled and eaten by the werewolves.
I raised my bow and let fly at the closest of these, waiting until the last moment of its charge before pulling a dagger and driving the blade deeply into the back of the beast’s neck as I evaded its attack. The werewolf collapsed, dead, and I carefully collected a vial of blood before cleaning and resheathing my dagger.
I continued to pick off lone wolves as I ventured deeper into the overrun city. Few of the buildings remained untouched, many had collapsed walls, evidence of fire damage, or both. Some were little more than ruins. I used them for cover, unwilling to draw too much attention to myself until I had assessed the situation properly. In this manner I had killed a dozen wolves and cultists as I made my way to the cathedral, deciding that the stout construction made it defensible enough that any survivors had probably decided to hole up within its sanctuary. To my surprise, the door opened freely, unbarred from the inside, and I stepped inside to be met by drawn swords.
“Lower your blades, friends.” A voice commanded. “This one doesn't look like a werewolf to me.” The soldiers lowered their weapons, stepping back, and a dark-haired knight approached. “What brings you to our pleasant little city?” He enquired. “The war? The blood? The thrice-damned werewolves?”
“The Lion Guard holds the courtyard.” I replied, appraising his armor. “Your father sent me to find you.”
“That's the first good news I've heard today.” He exclaimed. “But if you're here to take me to my father, you can get that thought right out of your head. There are beautiful women in Camlorn that still need to be rescued.” I felt my thoughts tangle, trip and fall flat in disbelief at this. Wait…. What? He didn’t just…. If I’m stuck dealing with another Jakarn, I’ll…. Oh, he’s joking. I realised, relieved. Wow, that is some act....
“General Gautier sent me to retrieve your master key.” I replied drily, fighting to keep my answering smirk hidden, and putting as much emphasis on the last two words as I could.
“In all seriousness, I'm not doing anything before we find a safe refuge for the civilians hiding in the surrounding buildings.” Darien replied in a far more direct tone. “The inn nearby should be defensible enough and it's full of supplies. There's just one catch.” He hesitated, watching my expression.
“What's the catch?” I asked, playing along.
“The inn's locked up tight and the innkeeper was killed trying to reach us.” Darien admitted. “Get the key from the body and enter the inn, then shine a signal light. I'll rally the civilians and get them to safety. We'll talk about my key after that.”
“I noticed Bloodthorn cultists in the city.” I mentioned, curious as to what his reaction would be.
“When the werewolves attacked, the damn Bloodthorns appeared inside the city.” He cursed. “It was as if they'd been here all along. I think they even opened the gates for the werewolves. They had a plan and they executed it perfectly.”
“You think Faolchu and the Bloodthorns are working together?” I asked him. I mean, I know they are, but it’s interesting that you’ve picked up on it. I thought to myself with amusement. A fool you are most certainly not. I wonder what gave Gloria that impression? Probably your womanising act….
“If they didn't start out that way, that's certainly the case now.” The Guard Captain declared. “A marriage made in Oblivion, to be sure, but effective nevertheless.”
I held Darien’s gaze for a moment before giving him a slight nod and moving past him, deeper into the cathedral. There were wounded clustered around the alter, and I had an alchemist to find. I wonder what General Mandin meant by ‘difficult’…. I mused as I drew nearer.
“How…. How bad does it look?” A very young-sounded guard was asking a tunic-clad man fearfully, but at my approach the other man turned to glare at me, displaying the bushiest pair of mutton chops I had ever seen, and I stared, speechless for just a moment too long.
“Are you injured?” Alinon demanded of me. “No? Then stop bothering me.”
“I have the ingredients for your werewolf cure.” I told him as he started to turn away, and he instantly swung back to me, reaching out for the supplies. I hastily handed over the package from General Mandin before the alchemist could begin searching me for it, then passed him the vials of werewolf blood more carefully.
“Now, don’t ask me to guarantee that this antidote will work.” Alinon warned me. “Faolchu’s spawn are unusually resilient.”
“But can you make a cure?” I asked him, thinking of the Duke.
“In a church? Certainly not.” Alinon dismissed the possibility. “But I could do it at the inn. That’s Darien’s plan. To get us to the inn. Then we’ll see about crafting an antidote to this terrible affliction.”
Looks like I’m going out to rummage through the pockets of corpses. I thought to myself morbidly as I retraced my steps back down the aisle towards Darien, and the door beyond him. And I thought running into Gloria again was the high point of my day.
“I prayed to the Eight for a miracle. Instead they sent you.” Darien mentioned as I drew within earshot, staring at me with surprising intensity for a few moments, before realising I was aware of his scrutiny. “Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm joking. Mostly. Now go get that key.”
I walked past without any further word to him, pulling the church door securely shut behind me. The Inn was downhill and to the east, past several damaged buildings, one little more than a charred shell. Abandoning stealth in my rage, I attacked the nearest cultist, amused to realise that every single one I had encountered so far was some sort of fire mage. Looks like Angof finds it necessary to remind Faolchu who’s in charge. I chuckled to myself as I twisted my dagger to release the suction, allowing her corpse to fall away. I spun out of the way of a werewolf’s attack, then continued the spin to slash at his back and stab deeply into his kidneys, before slicing his throat from behind as he dropped to his knees. Although, if most of these wolves are townsfolk who can be cured, maybe I should try to avoid them. I realised, slinking towards a wall for cover. It won’t do for Alinon to perfect his potion, only for me to already have killed off all his test subjects and neighbours.
I found the innkeeper’s corpse, badly mauled, slumped against the side of the burned out house I had noticed from the cathedral's steps, and was relieved to locate the key in one of his pockets. Didn’t make it very far, did you? I realised with pity, looking across at the next building to see it was the Inn. I approached the building, searching for a door, and finding one without any nearby werewolves or cultists, I unlocked it with the Innkeeper’s key and slipped inside. Upstairs, I decided, climbing the nearby stairs, and north, that should be visible from the cathedral. I was relieved to find a candelabra on a small table below a window that seemed to be facing the right direction, and lit the candles, hoping someone was watching for the signal.
“Get the injured inside.” I heard Darien’s voice float up from below soon after. “Anyone who can still stand, guard the doors.” He ordered. How did they get here so quickly? I wondered, heading back to the stairs. Alinon was behind the bar, rummaging for something or other, and I headed straight for him to see if he needed anything else for his cure.
“Darien talks of nothing but wine and women, but behind his bluster he’s a better tactician than his father.” The alchemist confided in me, and I blinked in confusion. “Though that’s not saying much.” He added with a shrug. Okay, not sure how that’s relevant to anything….
“Is the cure ready?” I asked instead, ignoring his comments.
“What do you think I’ve been doing here?” Alinon demanded in disbelief. “Making soup? Here it is. Go beat up on some werewolves until they’re weakened, then douse them with this. If the cure works, they’ll revert to human form. Then send them back here.”
I took the vials he passed me with a nod of thanks, and turned to see that Darien was standing guard near the main door.
“And here we are, at the inn, all safe and sound.” The Captain announced as I walked towards him. “More or less. We saw the light and followed you inside.”
“Now about your master key.…?” I began, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not quite yet.” He replied in a sing-song manner, shaking his head at me. “We need weapons and armor to help protect these civilians. There are caches of Camlorn Guard supplies hidden around the city. Gather some and we can arm more people.”
“I'll find the caches of weapons and armor.” I agreed, turning towards the door once more.
“We'll need all the armor and weapons you can find.” Darien called after me, waggling his eyebrows when I glanced back at him “Just think how grateful some of these sweet young citizens will be.”
I laughed aloud as I let myself out of the Inn. How did Gloria not realise most of his smarmy act is just for show? I wondered, then smiled as it occurred to me that was probably what Alinon had been attempting to tell me. Well, I can’t speak for his drinking habits or his fighting abilities. I thought as I slipped around a building, stopping to search a chest stored behind it and finding it filled with weapons and pieces of armor. But his foolishness seems to be an act. Why though? What’s he trying to hide?
I allowed these thoughts to amuse me while most of my awareness focused on locating chests of supplies and avoiding the groups of cultists and werewolves, but when I spotted a werewolf by itself, I crept towards it, wondering how much damage I needed to cause to weaken it sufficiently for Alinon’s cure to take effect, while also trying to decide how to inflict that damage without it leading to lasting injuries. Well, hopefully Alinon put a healing potion into this mix. I decided. Because I can’t exactly bludgeon anything into submission. I’m all about speed and stabbing, when it comes down to it. So, non-lethal wounds to bleed it out a bit, but nothing to any vital organs or arteries…. I stepped forward, slashing at the werewolf’s back and shoulders, ducking as it spun to face me, and striking shallowly at its chest while dodging, waiting for an indication I might have weakened it. When it sagged briefly, growling, I flung the contents of a vial into its face and stepped back. In an instant, a man in torn clothing appeared in place of the werewolf, a look of terror on his face.
“Thank you so much!” He rasped, as I pointed him towards the Inn. “Thank you! Thank you!”
I waved him off and continued my search for lone wolves and chests of supplies in and around the ruined buildings. By the time I ran out of potions, I had cured four townsfolk and found three caches of weapons and armor, and I had reached the last building before the city gates, right across from the Inn. There was a werewolf on the steps of the house, and as little as I wished to have to kill someone who might otherwise have been cured, I could see a chest inside through the missing walls. It’s a wonder this building hasn’t collapsed yet. I noted, looking at the extent of the damage. The roof’s fallen in, the stairs to the upper floor are gone, and the walls have more openings than wall left…. But that’s the last cache, I’m sure of it. I circled the building, hoping one of those gaping holes in the wall were low enough to the ground that I could use one to sneak in.
I was in luck, not only could I scramble through the wall where a huge chunk of the plaster was missing between the timber framing, but a large pile of still-flaming debris hid me from the werewolf at the front of the house. I lifted the lid of the cache chest and realised my true dilemma. Slowly, carefully, I lifted each blade, every piece of armor, from the tangled pile inside, stowing them carefully in my pack, until I had wrapped and packed each one, without a sound to betray my presence. I grasped the lid of the chest and carefully pulled it forward, but as the lid lowered its balance changed, and the heavy lid slipped from my fingers, slamming shut.
I froze, peering from the corner of my eye towards the werewolf, who had raised its muzzle to sniff the air, and was turning towards me. I backed away from the chest, hoping to keep the pile of debris between us enough to hide behind, but with a roar the werewolf lunged towards me, and I rolled beneath its strike, drawing my daggers as I rose, and stabbing deeply into the creature’s neck. I danced backwards, evading its swiping claws, and ducked another lunge, plunging my blades into its kidneys before knocking the poor creature out with a blow to the head. I hope you survive this. I thought, backing away from its slumped form before turning towards the gap which used to hold the front door.
Wait, what’s this? I stopped, as on the edge of my vision I caught sight of a book, partly buried in the pile of rubble, surprisingly untouched by the flames. I pulled it loose, and opened it to the first page, hoping this might be one of the books from the Mages’ Guild’s list. The Journal of Darien Gautier was written in a bold hand, with scattered entries covering several pages. I snapped it shut, then paused, holding the closed book in front of me. I should really return this to him. I told myself. And I definitely shouldn’t read it. I stowed the journal safely in my pack and made my way back to the Inn. But as I set foot on the first stair below the main door, the impulse to take a peek at Darien’s journal became overwhelming, and I swung around the staircase, crouching in the cover it provided. I pulled the book from my pack and opened it, careful not to mark the pages with my blood-and-soot stained fingers.My first entry in a brand-new journal! How should I begin? Should I write in a stiff, formal tone? More conversational? So many decisions to make! How will I manage? And what am I supposed to do with what I write? Do I read it later and reflect on my true feelings? Damn it! Why did I let Alinon talk me into starting a journal?
Alinon said that writing things down would help me with my nightmares. Damn liar. He probably just wants me to write down my secrets so he can share them with the guard and have a good laugh.
That's not a bad idea, actually. Good for him for thinking of that! I'll need to keep that in mind as I write my entries.
***
Cheese
Bread
Fresh Herbs
Beef, Best Cut Available
Yes, I know. This is a grocery list, not my thoughts and feelings. But I needed to write this down somewhere, and the journal was near at hand. Might as well make the thing useful as well as therapeutic.
***
Reminder: Meet Prescilla at the tavern at dusk for drinks. Don't forget!
***
Reminder: Meet Shelli at the tavern at dawn for drinks. Don't forget! Forgetting did not turn out so well with Prescilla.
***
All right. Time to use this journal for its intended purpose. (Note to self: when you write down notes to remind yourself of something, you actually have to go back and read the notes or the reminding thing doesn't work.)
Alinon assured me that he was not going to steal this book and share its contents with the rest of the guard. He actually wants me to write down anything I remember about the nightmares I've been having. I still think he's pulling my leg, but I'm willing to give anything a try. I'm losing too much sleep not to try something!
I don't remember anything in vivid detail. Only vague glimpses of the nightmares I've been having since winter. I can't tell if they belong to one long dream or many separate ones, but they all have something in common: the bright light right before I wake up. I want to say that it speaks to me. That I can hear what it tells me. But when I wake up all I can recall is a glowing orb with light so intense that I have to shield my eyes.
Other things haunt my dreams. Dark images and frightful events. I've seen the sky turn dark and split apart to allow giant shackles to crash into the earth. I've seen armies of Daedra and undead swarm our cities, killing anyone who stands in their way.
Other times I've seen the face of death itself, its fangs dripping with blood as it stared at me. I've felt them sink into my neck and watched the creature burst into flames as it drank my blood. And then I see a cold, blue land. Jagged rocks that float in the alien sky. A sky I've never seen in the waking world. I hear screams in the distance. And everything is cold and death and nothingness.
Then the light appears once more, as if to guide me to safety. To tell me something. To say … and that's when I wake up.
I exhaust myself. I drink too much. And still the nightmares come to me. I really need to get a good night's sleep!
* * *
Onions
Tomatoes
Bread
Damn! I did it again. Oh well. It's been a while since I've had one of those nightmares. Maybe this journal thing is working after all.
* * *
I can't believe it. It's happening. It's actually happening. I don't know if I should be horrified or, well, I don't know what to think. All I know is that this isn't a dream.
Anchors from the sky are falling all around Tamriel. We're being invaded! May whatever gods favor us watch over us. My nightmares are coming true.
I can't let Alinon know about this. He'll think I'm some sort of prophet or something and make a big deal. I definitely don't want that to happen!
I crouched there, stunned, staring blankly at the pages for several minutes, heedless of my surroundings. Coldharbour. He was dreaming of Coldharbour. I realised. Having nightmares about it, and other things, evidently. But why? And more importantly, how? I turned back to the beginning, skimming over the entries, searching for a better understanding of what I had read.
Here he just talks about Alinon suggesting he start this journal to record his nightmares…. he also assumes it’s a prank, but he’s amused by that, not resentful. That’s rather sweet…. And although he made several entries to remind himself to meet various women for drinks, it looks like forgetting to show up happens more often than not. Are they asking him, or is he asking them? No, not important…. I turned to the next page. Here’s where it gets interesting. What is that light, I wonder? He doesn’t mention a colour, only that it’s blindingly bright. But this fanged creature, the thing that bursts into flames after biting him, what can that be? And why does drinking his blood seem to kill it? That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever encountered. The floating rocks in a cold, blue land is definitely Coldharbour, though. And he dreamed of the Dark Anchors before they began falling into our realm?
I closed the journal, slipping it into a side pocket for now. Well, this explains any ‘excessive’ drinking the good Captain may be indulging in. And spending that much time in a tavern would account for a lot of the rest of his reputation…. But this situation stinks of Daedric influence, and I can’t tell which one. I should keep an eye on him, see how tied into all this he might really be.
I emerged from my hiding place, and once more climbed the stairs, entering the Inn.
“Ah, the lovely clank of armor.” Darien greeted me. “Well done. When we get out of here, the first drink's on me. Now, I have some good news and some bad news.”
“Of course you do.” I replied, thinking; So do I…. I found your journal, but I’m not going to give it back to you.
“The good news is I do indeed have the master key to the city gates.” Darien was saying. “The bad news is your thrilling exploits have attracted Faolchu's attention.”
I nodded distractedly at him, but raised a hand in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture, and headed for Alinon.
“The cure—did it work?” The alchemist demanded in a hoarse whisper, crouched behind the bar.
“Yes, the cure worked perfectly.” I assured him, wondering what he was doing down there.
“The real pity is I can't make more doses until we're out of here.” He sighed. “Still, you were able to rescue a few of our citizens. Thanks.”
I climbed onto the bar and sat there cross-legged, wondering how to ask about curing the Duke. Alinon looked up at me, blinking owlishly from his spot on the floor, as I opened and closed my mouth a few times, debating what to say, before he came to a decision.
“I've known Darien a long time.” He told me. “Don't judge what he'll do by the way he talks. He's a better man than he pretends to be.” Oh, I’m aware of that, my friend. I thought wryly, but I offered Alinon a smile before sliding off the bar and heading back towards the door, and the enigma which stood guard there. Surely Alinon will cure the Duke, if he survives this. So I need to make sure he does.
“You certainly know how to make an impression.” Darien told me as I rejoined him. “You were too successful, my friend, and now Faolchu is—pardon the pun—howling mad.”
“Never mind that.” I told him, still distracted by the puzzle he represented. “We need to unlock the gates for the Lion Guard.”
“A bold plan, especially for my father.” He noted. “If we time it right, it should work. But that doesn't change the fact that Faolchu is hunting for us.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked, curiously. I’m no tactician, but apparently you're supposed to be....
“Take one of these newly armed townsfolk with you.” Darien outlined his plan. “Have the civilian light the fires in the towers to signal my father. I'll take the rest of the civilians and my guards and unlock the gates.”
“You just want me to protect a civilian?” I replied, confused.
“Oh no, you have something much more important to do.” Darien assured me. “Once the fires are lit, you confront Faolchu. Keep him busy long enough for our troops to take the city. I'll send aid as soon as I can.”
“You expect me to take on Faolchu by myself?” I laughed, amused by his confidence. Not that it’s misplaced…. but how does he know that? Was he watching me out there?
“Now, don't be modest.” Darien cajoled me. “You've more than proven yourself. Destiny beckons and you must answer its call. Say, that sounded rather good. I should write this stuff down.”
I hid a laugh in a cough. You’ll need a new journal first. I thought but said only; “I need fire to defeat Faolchu.”
“Oh, we can give you fire.” Darien promised me. “At least we can once the Lion Guard archers arrive. Keep Faolchu busy long enough, and you'll get all the fire you need.”
I nodded in agreement and was checking my gear while I waited for a volunteer to be assigned to me, when a howl echoed outside the Inn.
"Who dares trespass in my city?” A familiar voice roared. Why, Faolchu, there you are. “Find them. Kill them. Bring me their bones!"
I was equal parts surprised and not to see that the volunteer I was to protect was a girl who looked barely any older than I did, with stars in her eyes every time they strayed towards the Guard Captain, until I nudged her towards the door.
“Just make sure you protect that civilian.” Darien reminded me. “Volunteers don't grow on trees around here, you know.” But your admirers sure seem to. I thought cheekily as I followed the volunteer out the door, closing it firmly behind myself. The girl looked up at me with her huge eyes, the helmet almost too large for her, and feeling a twinge of concern, I glanced at the sword she carried, relieved to see it seemed to be in good order.
“I'm not much good with a sword,” She told me, following my gaze, “but I'll do whatever Captain Darien asks of me.” I sighed, resigned to what was essentially going to be a babysitting errand, and led the way to the closest tower, the one beside the main gate. Once I had the door unlocked, my charge slipped inside. "Keep watch.” She told me as she entered. “I won't be long."
As soon as the door had closed behind her a wave of werewolves and cultists assaulted the tower, and I was kept busy dealing with them until her return.
"I lit the signal fire.” She told me, staring at the bodies strewn about with surprise. “Let's move on."
I took the lead, moving uphill through the damaged city to the where the other towers were positioned either side of the Keep, and had her first enter the eastern one, and then the west. She gave me a smile and a wave before blithely making her way back through the town towards the gates alone, and I shrugged. Should have advised her to take shelter and hide for a while. I mused as I passed the burned shell of the stables and turned towards the steps to the Keep. I opened the door slowly, just far enough to slip through, then closed it softly behind myself.
As I crept through the entryway and towards the great hall, I heard Faolchu’s growling voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber ahead.
"Begone, Angof.” He snarled. “I did your bidding. This city is mine now."
"You are still my creature, slave.” Angof replied, and I froze in place. “I made you." Angof? I wondered, slowly creeping closer to the doorway to gain a view of them. Truly here? Or is this another projection?
"I devoured Camlorn.” The werewolf boasted. “All of Glenumbra will be mine!"
"Vain creature.” Angof dismissed his claims. “The Lion Guard stands at your door. You have failed."
"They are weak and I will crush them.” Faolchu insisted. “Camlorn is mine!" I reached the doorway to the great hall, crouching to peer around the frame as close to the ground as I could, hoping to be less noticeable.
"You will see, beast.” Angof’s image replied. “You will see." With this his projection disappeared, and I eased back before standing, slowly exhaling a sigh of relief. I don’t think I could have taken them both. I thought. Not alone. Not without using soul gems. Faolchu, however? I unsheathed my daggers, needing this fight to be close, personal. Faolchu I know I can kill again.
"You dare challenge me?” Faolchu snarled at me when I stalked into the room. “Prepare to feel my wrath!" I ignored his posturing, glancing up at the flaming ceiling, the burning windows, the gaping hole in the roof above the dais. Plenty of fire to work with for now, but I hope those archers you promised me arrive, Darien. I feinted left, and when Faolchu leapt to intercept, I swept under his strike, stabbing deeply beneath his ribs before lunging into a roll for clearance. I popped to my feet and turned to face Faolchu again, sidestepping to keep him in the centre of the room.
“Archers!” I heard the General’s call through the damaged walls and roof. “There's your target. Ignite, draw back, and release!" The volley of arrows brought part of the ceiling down onto Faolchu, and he writhed beneath it.
"The fire shall not destroy me again!" Faolchu howled, breaking free of the flaming debris and lunging towards me once more. I spun out of his reach, then dove forward to catch him off balance, slashing at his face and claws, driving him into a rage.
“Set fire to the entire building.” I heard through the roar of the flames. “For Camlorn!” Wait, I’m still in here! I thought indignantly, manoeuvring Faolchu beneath a sagging part of the ceiling just as it gave way, showering him in more burning timbers. I darted out of the way, flinging throwing blades at his face and neck, and the monstrous paws as he struggled to push himself upright, waiting for my chance. When Faolchu slipped, losing traction with his slippery, bleeding paws, I stepped in close to slash at his neck. One last blow, driving a dagger deeply into the base of his skull, and the resurrected werewolf collapsed, dead once more.
I staggered back, choking in the heat and smoke, before regaining my bearings and fleeing the burning building. Outside, smoke hung heavily, but a fine, misting rain was beginning to fall, and I tilted my face up to meet it, enjoying the coolness. Cheering soldiers hailed me, and I smiled as I realised the city had been retaken. I made my way down the steps to where General Gautier stood waiting for me.
"You did it.” He said to me, almost disbelievingly. “You killed Faolchu."
“It was a group effort.” I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.
"Yes, my friend, but you turned the tide.” The General insisted. “We had all but lost the war before you came and showed us the way to victory."
“Why were they so interested in Camlorn?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
"My son may know more than me on that matter.” General Gautier replied. “My only guess is that they sought to break the Lion Guard. Divide our forces and destroy us. If not for your intervention, they very well may have succeeded."
“There's trouble in other places?” I asked. More than what I’ve already found?
"Yes, throughout Glenumbra.” The General confirmed. “The Lion Guard is spread thin, and without King Casimir's full support I'm not sure if we'll be able to deal with it all. Of course, if I had a few more like you, we might just have a chance."
“What happens to Camlorn now?” I asked, ignoring his veiled request.
"We rebuild.” He replied simply. “Of course, we still need to deal with Faolchu's master, but tomorrow is another day and we should relish this victory. Well, don't let me keep you. We both have things to do, and you should speak with my son."
I looked past the General to where Darien stood speaking with some of the townsfolk, between the Inn and the damaged fountain in the centre of the square, then noticed Gloria leaning against the fountain’s outer basin, several feet behind him. Oh, joy. I thought, but with a nod to the General, I made my way over to her.
"Ha! Now you're just showing off.” She greeted me. “But I'm glad to see you alive and well. Darien, too. Tamriel would be a poorer place without the two of you in it."
“Where do you think Angof is hiding?” I asked her, ignoring both her griping and her admiration of the Captain.
"That's a problem for another day.” She waved off my question. “Let's enjoy this victory. You won here. Savor that while you can." I raised an eyebrow at this. Jealous, Gloria? Maybe you need to put more effort into fighting, and less into trying to manipulate people. I turned away without further response, and walked towards Darien.
“My condolences to your families for the hardship you've had to face.” He was saying to the survivors. “My soldiers and I failed to protect you as we were sent to do. I will ensure that I find who is responsible for this, and avenge our people.”
Noticing my presence, he turned to face me and caught sight of Gloria, still leaning against the fountain.
“I didn't know Gloria was involved in all this.” He said, turning back to me. “She does make wading through werewolves look pretty good, though, don't you think? Maybe she and I can get together later. Share a bottle of wine. Find a quiet corner where we can...compare notes.”
“Save it for your entourage, Captain.” I replied dismissively. I’m sure she’d be delighted, but I’m not going to do her the favour of telling you that! “Your father sent me to speak to you.”
“I wanted to thank you.” Darien straightened, and his voice lost the suggestive tone. “Personally. We might have been able to retake Camlorn eventually, but it wouldn't have been quick and it certainly wouldn't have been pretty. You saved lives, and that's not something I'll soon forget.”
“What will you do now?” I asked him, even more uncomfortable with his thanks than I had been with his father's.
“I'm resigning from the Camlorn Guard.” Darien admitted. “They need builders now, not soldiers. Besides, that Angof thing is still out there. Someone has to go deal with that. Unless, of course, you'd care to tempt me with a drink before I start my heroic journey?”
“Maybe later, when this is all over.” I told him after a moment’s consideration. I do need to figure out what you are, after all. I can’t lose track of you just yet.
“Well, then!” He exclaimed eagerly. “All the more reason for me to get out there and deal with this Angof fellow once and for all! The werewolves slipped in on my watch. I need to make amends for that. I need to make sure that Camlorn isn't threatened again.”
“It's time for me to move on.” I replied.
“First one to reach Angof buys the first bottle of wine!” Darien challenged me. “But in all sincerity, thanks for helping us. You really are an inspiration. And I should know, seeing as I'm pretty inspirational myself.”
I laughed at this, more comfortable with his smarmy act than I was with his earlier sincerity, although I did roll my eyes slightly.
“Still hanging around, eh?” Darien continued when I didn’t immediately walk off. “Don't suppose you’re reconsidering that drink? Ah, never mind. We both have things we need to do.”
“Speaking of Angof, do you have any idea where he is?” I asked.
“I had a drink with him earlier today.” Darien replied airily. “Discussed our favorite foods, our love lives, his plans for world domination, that sort of thing. No, I have no idea where Angof is.” This was snapped out, his frustration showing. “I will find him though. That much I promise.”
“So where are you going to start looking?” I pressed, hoping for a destination, or at least a direction to head in.
“A squad of Lion Guard soldiers headed north to track him down.” Darien told me. “There's been no word from them, but who knows what was lost in all this werewolf nonsense. That's as good a place as any to start. Maybe they found something.”
“I'll look for them.” I promised, and with that I walked past Darien and out of Camlorn.
Edited by Margravigne on February 2, 2024 2:10AM1 -
Chapter Ten: Castle of the Worm
“The fog has lifted, Vestige.” The Prophet’s projection told me as I swayed in Sweetroll’s saddle, beyond exhausted. “The path before us has been revealed. It is both dark, and twisted. Come to the Harborage. We have an unexpected guest who demands your presence.”
I sighed as he disappeared, considering my options. Sweetroll had been happily grazing outside the siege camp when I left Camlorn, and we’d headed north, finding a road which skirted the cliffs east of the city, but the exertions of the past day had now caught up with me, and I was struggling to stay awake as she plodded along. It had been becoming more and more tempting to simply make camp, but now I had a more pressing matter. Should I turn back and head for the Aldcroft Wayshrine? I wondered. Or press on and hope that there’s one nearby? They do seem to be fairly common, so that may be the quickest solution.
Sweetroll halted, snorting, and I came to my senses to see we’d reached a fork in the road next to an abandoned farm. A thick fog had rolled in, but I could still make out the damage to the buildings, and the oddly misshapen corpses laying in the fields. Our path had curved east, and now continued in a northeasterly direction, while the road to the left seemed to head more north than northwest. Clever girl. I patted her neck then urged her forward, turning left. Extra treats for you today.
A few moments later the banked slope on our right dropped, and a trail branched northeast, leading up to a rough palisade. There were Lion Guard banners to either side of the path where it left the road, but better still the silhouette of a Wayshrine crowned the top of the hill, backlit by the sunset-glowing fog, and the sight of it had me all but in tears with relief. I nudged Sweetroll into a canter, and as soon as we reached the Wayshrine and the blue flame had ignited on the pedestal, I took Sweetroll to the shrine behind the Rosy Lion. The ride through Daggerfall to her usual stable was a blur, as was untacking, feeding and grooming her, and I very nearly curled up in the corner of her stall to sleep, but realised just in time the Stablemaster, Bazgara, wouldn’t appreciate the unauthorised guest. Somehow I dragged myself back up through town to the Inn, and collapsed onto my bedroll, passing out as soon as I’d pulled off my boots.
The noise from the common room woke me a few hours later, but the short sleep had been enough to clear my head and leave me, if not refreshed, at least functional. I grabbed a few supplies and made myself a meal, then swung by the nearest Alchemy table to restock some potions, and soon enough I was leaving Sweetroll outside the Harborage to graze.
Lyris isn’t playing her lute anymore. I noticed as I made my way along the passage to the Prophet’s cavern. I hope that’s a good sign. But as I rounded the last bend, I could see her standing cross-armed stormy-expressioned, her gaze fixed on the translucent form of Abnur Tharn. Oh, Divines, I hope they haven’t been standing like that since the Prophet contacted me! I thought guiltily as the Prophet turned towards the sound of my footsteps.
“We have an unexpected guest, Vestige.” He stated blandly, and I glanced from him to Lyris then Tharn and back, wondering what to ask first.
“What’s Tharn doing here?” I asked carefully.
“My attempts to use the Orb of Discourse to locate Sai Sahan did not meet with success, so I decided to try a more direct approach.” The Prophet explained. “I used it as it was intended, and contacted Abnur Tharn.”
“Is he being cooperative?” I wondered aloud.
“He admits that he knows Sai Sahan’s location, but he will not reveal it.” Frustration laced the blind man’s words. “He demands to speak with you, directly.”
“Let’s hear what he has to say.” I agreed, careful not to look at Lyris before turning to face Tharn’s projection.
"We meet again, Vestige.” Abnur Tharn greeted me. “I wish to speak with you on a matter of some urgency."
“What's this about?” I asked him, suspicious.
"Mannimarco and his vile master have dark and terrible plans for this world.” The Battlemage warned. “If you wish to stop them, you need to find the Amulet of Kings. But to find the amulet, you must first locate Sai Sahan."
“And you know where he is?” I allowed it to be more question than statement.
"Of course I do.” Tharn retorted. “And I might be willing to share that information … for a price."
“I'm listening.” But no promises….
"If Mannimarco learns that we've spoken, he'll have me executed.” Tharn told me. “I'm a danger to him. I know too much. Therefore I, Abnur Tharn, Chancellor of the Elder Council, Overlord of Nibenay, formally request asylum."
“Asylum?” I repeated before Lyris could interrupt. “Are you joking?
"Do I look to be in a mirthful mood?” The Chancellor asked me. “There comes a point when even a patriot's loyalty is stretched too far, when the things he has done—and seen done—become too much to bear."
“Will you come to us?” I asked, suspicious this could all be a ruse to obtain the Amulet for Mannimarco.
"Would that I could.” Tharn admitted. “As it happens, I find myself to be somewhat of a prisoner, in dire need of rescue.” Now it starts to make sense. “My proposal is this: If you retrieve me from Mannimarco's fortress and grant me asylum, I will give you Sai Sahan's location in return."
“How can I be sure this isn't a trick?” I demanded.
"You can't. And you'd be a fool to trust me completely.” Tharn stated. “But the facts remain, you need me if you wish to find Sai Sahan, and I must keep my head if I am to ensure the continuance of the Empire. Neither of us has a choice."
“I can see your point.” I agreed, and turned back towards the Prophet – and Lyris - as he raised his staff, summoning a portal.
“Tharn is quite correct.” He noted. “We have little choice in the matter.”
“You can’t be serious!” Lyris exclaimed furiously. “How can we possibly trust him?”
“As our visitor so eloquently pointed out, we cannot.” The Prophet replied firmly. “But if we are to locate Sai Sahan, we must do this. Go with the Vestige, Lyris. Rescue Tharn. Give him the chance to redeem himself. He may surprise you.”
Before Lyris could protest any further, I stepped into the Prophet’s portal. I wonder why his are so different from anyone else’s. I mused, closing my eyes as the beam of blue light transported me to Coldharbour once more. They’re a completely different colour, and shape, not to mention that glyph beneath them….His remind me of skyshards, really.
In an instant, I found myself in a dilapidated shack with holes in the walls, a boarded-over window, the fireplace in ruins, clothing hanging from various ropes stretched between the walls, and a rather luxurious bearskin very much out of place on the floor. Lyris greeted me with a nod, too loyal to let me risk this alone, and I gave her a grateful smile before facing the floating form of Tharn’s projection.
“You appear to have arrived in the Wretched Squalor,” He observed, glancing around, “a shanty town of soul shriven outside Mannimarco’s castle.”
“How do we get inside?” I asked him.
“As luck would have it, Mannimarco is away on some errand for the Daedric Prince.” Tharn advised us. “The castle garrison is not on alert, so you should only encounter a token defence. The main gate is sealed, but there are undoubtedly other routes one might take.”
“Such as?” I enquired, trying not to be sarcastic. Bet you don’t know, but you’re too proud to admit it, so you’ll just imply such mundane details are beneath your notice….
“You’re the hero, aren’t you?” He sighed. “Improvise.”
“We’ll find a way in.” I rolled my eyes before turning to Lyris.
“What a skeever.” She muttered as his projection vanished. “Improvise, he says. I can’t believe we’re risking our lives to rescue that skeeving horker.”
“Any suggestions?” I asked her, lifting my brows.
“Subtlety and stealth.” She replied firmly. “Let’s not bring the entire castle guard down on our heads. And didn’t he say this was a town of soul shriven? Maybe we can find one who knows his way around.”
“We’d better get started, then.” I agreed. Would it be too slim a hope that Cadwell’s around here somewhere? I wondered to myself. Probably, but a girl can hope.
“Try to be inconspicuous.” Lyris warned me. “We just got free of this place. The last thing we need is to get recaptured.”
With a nod and a smile I slipped out the door, leaving the giants’-blood warrior to follow me. Don’t you worry about me attracting attention, ‘Titanborn’, I’ve picked up a few tricks on my travels. The familiar blue gloom of Coldharbour spread before us, casting its dim light over the small village of derelict houses. With no sign of Dremora around, I headed for the first hut, counting on the more alert of the soul shriven to be the ones making homes for themselves. Sure enough, I could see one inside sitting at a small table, and made my way inside, having to clamp down on every impulse to recoil once I got a look at her face. Did I look like that when Lyris found me? I wondered, horrified. Or does it happen over time, as the body…. desiccates? Did absorbing that skyshard prevent this?
“Get away from me!” The soul shriven exclaimed fearfully, her Nord accent still clear. “I don’t have anything for you!”
“Relax, I just want a way into the castle.” I replied as soothingly as I could.
“Go away or I’ll call the guards!” She replied. “They’ll…. they’ll…. They’ll probably take me, too.” She realised, terrified. “Just go! Leave me alone!”
I left, overcome by a swirling mix of pity, guilt at my initial reaction and fear for my future. The next few buildings held only shambling husks, but on a nearby porch I noticed a Khajiit rummaging through a crate and approached him cautiously.
“Famazar wishes he had his wares.” He was muttering to himself. “Even Worms need new clothes, yes?”
“I need a way into the castle.” I said once he noticed me. “You know of one?”
“Feet first.” He advised, still rummaging. “That is the fastest way in. Ask Cadwell. That crazy *** seems to know every corner of this place. You better hurry, though. I heard they just chased him into a building near the waterway.”
Cadwell! I briefly wished Famazar farewell before turning to face Lyris, who’s eyes had lit up.
"Why am I not surprised to find Cadwell here?” She exclaimed. “He certainly does get around."
Together we ran, leaping from the ledge dividing the upper cluster of dwellings from other buildings arranged around a central square, all stealth forgotten in the sudden urgent need to rescue our best chance at a guide into the castle. Ahead, a two storied building rose, more intact than most, with several Worm Cultists posted outside. I began firing while Lyris charged ahead, her massive axe raised, but had to slow my shots to make sure I didn’t hit her, before switching to my daggers once I was too close for my bow to be as effective, slashing at their flanks while they tried to fend off Lyris’s blows.
Inside, we found Cadwell backed into a corner by another two Cultists, and I flung throwing blades at them to catch their attention. One fell quickly enough, but the other – an overseer of some sort – put up a longer fight, and the cramped quarters made it more difficult still.
"I say, jolly good timing.” Cadwell greeted us warmly. “Lyris, enchanted, as always. And you - you're looking fit for someone so.… how can I put it? Deficient in the soul department?"
“Sir Cadwell?” I could scarcely believe our luck. “What are you doing here?”
"Wherever the forces of evil prey upon the innocent, wherever souls are stolen and bodies shriven, wherever a people cry out for justice, there goest I!” The pot-helmed knight proclaimed. “I mean, this whole eternal servitude business is rather nasty, don't you agree?"
“We need to find a way into the castle.” I told him, hoping he would have a solution for us.
"Dibella's garters, why?” He exclaimed in disbelief. “Lovely grounds, no question. But it's positively brimming with angry cultists carrying rather large weapons!"
“We need to rescue Abnur Tharn.” I explained. “It's complicated.”
"I see, I see.” Sir Cadwell pondered this. “A rescue, is it? Well, that's a different kettle of fish, isn't it? Hmm. There is a cistern that drains into the waterway. The door is locked, but that's not stopped me before. Why don't you meet me there and we'll see what's what?"
“Thank you, Sir Cadwell.”
"That might be our best chance to get inside." Lyris agreed as we followed after the soul shriven knight, but once through the door, he threw a smoke-bomb and vanished. Well, that might account for his familiarity with pretty much everywhere in Coldharbour. I reasoned. But it’s no less irritating that when Jakarn pulls the same stunt! Fortunately the glowing plasma waterway behind the building led directly to the cistern, and we arrived only moments later.
"You keep up nicely!” Cadwell congratulated us. “I can't abide dawdlers."
“What's next?” I asked him.
"This whole bloody castle sits on top of an ocean of unstable Oblivion-whatsit.” Cadwell explained. “The Daedra use pipes to control the flow of it all and it comes out as steam."
“Go on.” I urged him. Please get to the point.
"Well, most of the doors in here are sealed with pressure from that steam.” He continued. “It's all rather complicated, but in a nutshell—if I can tamper with the pipes, we can open the doors to the inner keep and you can slip inside."
“What do you need from us?” I asked.
"Well, I can handle the tinkering, but you'll have to keep the beasties off me.” He requested. “It will be quite a romp! Are you game?"
“I'm game.” I agreed, unsheathing my daggers. “Let's go.”
"Onward! Ha ha!" The mad knight rejoiced, running straight at a pair of clannfear, sword aloft. I laughed at his enthusiasm and gave chase, Lyris on my heels. Well, at least he’s staying visible! I told myself as we dealt with the aggressive reptiles.
"This place smells like dead slaughterfish." Lyris muttered as Cadwell ran off towards yet another clannfear.
"High steps!” He called back to us. “Come on!"
"Can we try to keep it a little quieter?” She griped. “It's a wonder the whole castle doesn't know we're here!"
Up a flight of stone steps was a huge daedroth and Cadwell fearlessly charged the massive beast, Lyris sprinting forward to engage it while I sidestepped to keep the best possible angle, firing arrows at its face, safely well above even Lyris’ height. As soon as the Daedra had fallen, our pot-helmed guide was off up the slope again, darting towards a cluster of pipes on the wall.
"Don't worry, this will get you inside with a minimum of fuss." He assured us as we intercepted a – thankfully regular-sized – daedroth bearing down on him, followed by the Dremora Kynval who had been lingering a little further uphill.
Cadwell finished his tinkering as we slew the Kynval, and merrily ran off ahead again, veering left into a dead end to work on more pipes. "One more after this one." He called out.
Lyris and I scanned our surroundings, weapons readied, and as I glanced along the right-hand passage, I saw only a pair of Dremora, a Caitiff and a Kynval, guarding an archway. I pulled out my bow and began firing, allowing the length of the passageway between us to give me several precious seconds to send arrow after arrow at them unimpeded. But as soon as Lyris charged into them, axe cleaving through armor and sending blood flying, I drew my daggers and ran after her.
Cadwell caught up just as the Kynval fell, stabbing at the Caitiff with his sword, and caught between the three of us it was soon dead. Immediately Cadwell began hammering at some nearby piping with the pommel of his sword, and I laughed as I saw how he carried out his tampering.
"This should do it!" He exclaimed happily. "There you are! Quick as you please. There's even time for tea."
“Thanks.” I told him.
"A pleasure.” He proclaimed. “Think nothing of it. The merest trifle. Truly. You'll find this Tharn fellow at the top of the Tower of Bones. You'll need to make your way through the keep's heart to get to it, but it's not terribly far."
“What is he doing up there?” I asked.
"I understand the King of Worms has set him to the task of inspecting the soul gems that find their way into the castle—which is to say, well … all of them.” Cadwell informed me. “You'll see crates of the things scattered around the premises."
“You should come along.” I invited him, worried about what trouble he might get into once we left. “It might be good for you.
"Indeed?” The mad knight sounded surprised yet delighted by the invitation. “Well, I might just take you up on that. But safety first! I'll stay here for the nonce and make sure nothing comes to bugger up our little adventure from behind."
“Thanks, Cadwell.” I repeated, sincerely meaning it. I don’t know how we’d have got this far without you.
"Sir Cadwell came through again!” Lyris exclaimed as we ran towards the door. “That crazy knight is starting to grow on me. Should I be worried?” I chuckled as we entered opened the door, but voices ahead had me dropping into a crouch and gesturing for Lyris to do likewise.
"No, no, hear me out.” Someone was saying. “How many Tharns does it take to rule an Empire?"
"Would you shut up?” Another snapped. “I'm trying to work here."
"None.” The first answered himself. “The one on the throne is a patsy and the one in the tower isn't useful anymore!"
"That's not even funny.” The other insisted. “Get back to work, would you?"
"What? It's true.” The joke-teller protested. “Lord Mannimarco is going to peel his skin off and make a particularly ugly flesh atronach out of him, mark my words."
"And if you don't help me, I'll make sure you're sewn up right alongside him.” The other threatened. “Now shut up!"
I raised an eyebrow at Lyris, who was trying to suppress her snickers, raising an eyebrow and tilting my head towards the cultists in question. She shrugged, but hefted her axe, so I drew my daggers and slunk towards them, popping up to spin between the pair, slicing and stabbing as I ducked and danced between them. A head went flying past me as I slit open the other cultist’s throat, and I wiped my blades clean on their robes before approaching the next door.
“You!” Abnur Tharn’s disembodied voice called. “Hurry up, the Worms are on the move.”
"Oh good, another projection of Tharn!” Lyris muttered as we entered the passageway to see Tharn’s transparent purple form hovering ahead. “Maybe if we ignore him he'll go away."
"There you are.” He said once he noticed us. “I was beginning to think you were captured. We've a bit of a problem, I'm afraid."
“What's the problem?” I asked the battlemage.
"The door at the top of the tower has sealed with a warded barrier.” He told us. “I've seen the Worms use similar sorceries before. It will sear you to ash if you touch it."
“How do we get through it?” I wondered.
"Here's a thought.” Tharn suggested. “The flesh atronachs that patrol the castle halls are assembled in a laboratory very close to the warded door. If you created your own atronach, it would be bound to obey you. You could force it to smash through the barrier."
“How do you build a flesh atronach?” I asked him.
"It's a simple process. A child of five could do it.” He drawled. “Unfortunately, we don't have a child of five, so I'll be forced to walk you through it. You'll need some good-sized chunks of flesh. Take them to the laboratory, and I'll contact you there."
“We're on our way.” I replied with a roll of my eyes and ran off to begin the grisly search, Lyris silently following. The rest of the chamber dead-ended in a barred gateway, rows of soul shriven standing beyond in mute ranks, oblivious to us. I shuddered and backed away, turning instead to the flight of stairs leading upwards.
On a pile of ice shards was a misshapen lump of bloodied flesh, and I dug through it for the largest piece I could find, my gorge threatening to revolt as I did so.
"I'm not going near the city butcher for a while, I'll tell you that much." Lyris gagged behind me as I stowed my prize and continued climbing. At the first landing, an opening led out onto a plateau of sorts, a Flesh Atronach and cultist standing guard. More to ensure there were no enemy left behind us to become a problem later, Lyris and I despatched them. I was disappointed not to find any suitable parts to harvest, Lyris’s axe had cut deeply into both of our adversaries.
"Ugh. Not the most glamorous task, is it?" She commiserated as we returned to the stairs. "It takes a lot to make me ill, but this is getting there."
I spied another atronach ahead, and began firing at the lumbering construct, concentrating my arrows towards its face, as Lyris ran up the stairs towards it. Fortunately, she cleaved through its neck in one stroke, and I retrieved two suitable pieces from the corpse.
"It's freezing in here.” Lyris muttered as we ran up the last few stairs to the next landing, passing more ice shards. “At least that means the body parts won't smell as bad."
A pair of necromancers waited to our right where the roof of the passageway rose, disappearing into steep cliffs leading to another plateau. We charged forward, blades flashing, dodging their cast spells and giving them no time to summon any undead assistance. Again, I found no salvageable flesh, but spied a few large chunks ahead, below a rocky outcrop surmounted by a truly hideous winged statue and knelt to examine them.
A sharp cracking sound and a roar from directly above had me jerking sideways into a diveroll, and as I regained my feet, daggers already in hand, I stepped backwards in shock. The statue? I realised in confusion. What? How? Whoops!
In my distraction it had moved within range, and the reach of its clawed hands was longer than I’d expected. I leaned back, allowing the deadly talons to miss me by inches, and slashed at the back of its arm, before ducking and spinning to come up behind the horned beast and slash at its wings while it pounded its fists into the ground before Lyris. The Nord warrior held the gargoyle’s attention while I slashed and stabbed at it, relieved that whilst its hide may resemble stone, it wasn’t actually made of it and my blades could penetrate well enough. In fact, almost a little too well, as I nicked its liver with a stab, causing the winged monster to whirl on me with a roar. I backed up, flinging throwing blades into its face and open maw, while Lyris hacked the unprotected back and wings, steadily remaining just out of reach until the gargoyle finally crumpled, defeated.
I staggered back to the pile of flesh I had been examining, finding a fourth chunk which looked acceptable for our purpose, then took a few moments to check the bodies.
"I can't believe we're doing this.” Lyris muttered. “Repulsive." We’re? I thought with amusement as I wiped my gore-streaked hands off on the robes of one of the dead necromancers. I’m the only one who’s actually touched any of this.
We returned to the stairs, battling another atronach and pair of cultists as we climbed, until eventually reaching the last step. Ahead, the fanged visage of Molag Bal was carved, surmounting a doorway, while to our right was room hung with clusters of flesh, suspended on their chains like fruit on a tree. In the centre of the room was Abnur Tharn’s projection, and we made our way towards him.
"This part's on you.” Lyris whispered to me as we approached. “I'm a dunce when it comes to magic."
I shivered at the sharp drop in temperature before noticing ice coating the floor and walls, and frozen figures arrayed along the walls, some in pieces, their icy flesh brittle. More disturbing, somehow, were the braziers beneath several of the suspended flesh-clusters. I really hope those aren’t being cooked….
"Put everything in the circle and we'll begin." Tharn instructed me, and I dropped the chunks of flesh I had collected onto a glowing blue glyph, ringed by blue-flamed candles.
"Not very big, is it?” He sniffed critically. “Oh well. Now, cast the ritual from the book."
I turned to the nearby pedestal, a spell-tome opened to the correct page waiting for me, and hesitated. Is this safe? I wondered. I’m no mage.
"The ritual is simple, even for the untrained.” Tharn must have sensed my reluctance. “As you might have noticed, the Worms aren't exactly scholars."
Shrugging, I began the incantation, carefully mimicking the required gestures, although the sight of the blue-green flames wreathing my hands sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. With a flash of orange flames, the flesh piled on the glyph shivered, expanding and merging as arms formed, hauling the grotesque form of a flesh atronach out of the glowing sigils as though it was climbing out of the floor. Well, it is rather short. I admitted, finding it barely stood much taller than my own petite (even by Breton standards) height. Let’s just hope it’s up to the task.
"Ha! We'll make a necromancer of you yet." Abnur Tharn celebrated, his projection drifting through the air towards the warded door at the far side of the chamber. "Even if it was a simple spell, it's a simple spell well done." Urgh, I don’t think so! I disagreed silently.
My atronach trudged in his wake, then continued on when he paused to observe its effect on the ward. Raising its fists, the atronach pounded the ward, parts of it crumbing to ash even as the purple barrier fragmented, then dissolved into nothing as the barrier dispersed and the door lifted open.
"You're not far now.” Tharn told us. “Through the door, and to the summit!"
Lyris and I ran through, into another chamber with a gate at the end showing the soul shriven arranged in ranks, and to our left a door set into an ornate frame, both decorated with what looked like polished slabs of the same crystal the soul gems were cut from. I shuddered at the thought and pushed it open, emerging from a cavern onto the narrow span of a slender bridge of spiked Coldharbour rock, with a dizzying drop beneath and a pair of Dremora waiting just past halfway. I began firing as Lyris ran forward, but the lack of width on the bridge had me soon running in with my daggers instead. The Kyngald was flinging fireballs around while Lyris battled the Kynval, who wielded a mace, so I tore into the pyro first, keeping her too busy to cast any more flames as she tried to block my strikes with her staff and giving Lyris some breathing room.
"Quickly, now!” Tharn’s voice urged us as Lyris and I finished them off. “Your lives are on the line, too, you know."
We ran on once they fell only to find another three Dremora, this time a Kyngald and Kynval with a Churl at the far end. At least here the bridge widened, merging into a broader, fenced and partially tunnelled thoroughfare as it passed through spires of jagged rock thrusting up from the depths far below. After defeating these, and another Kyngald-and-Kynval pair of Dremora a short way further ahead, I realised we stood outside a large chamber, accessible through a spiked frame set into the rock.
“Begone, insufferable Worms!” Tharn’s words echoed from somewhere within the chamber. “I’m working as fast as I can!” There was a fuller resonance to his voice, and I realised I was hearing him in person for the first time, rather than through a projection.
"I don't like this.” Lyris muttered behind me as we crept closer, cautious now that we were so close. “But if it's the only way to find Sai Sahan, I'm with you." Wasn’t my decision, my friend. I thought, inching closer to the opening. "There he is!” Lyris hissed quietly. “Looks like they've got him under guard."
Deciding to make the most of the large space, I readied my bow, rose and stepped into clear space, allowing Lyris to get past me, and began firing, alternating my shots between the cultists, a necromancer and a dagger-wielding fighter, while Lyris engaged the necromancer’s summons, a zombie.
Abnur Tharn, frustratingly, merely stood in place watching as we fought his guards.
"So, we meet in person at last.” He greeted me once we’d finally disposed of them. “You looked taller in your projection."
“I'm here to get you out, per our arrangement.” I replied, not inclined to offer small talk or trade insults. Besides, I’m a Breton, what did you expect?
"And not a moment too soon.” He exclaimed. “If I had to inspect one more bloody soul gem, I'd have thrown myself from the tower."
“Why should we trust you, Tharn?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow.
"A fair question.” The old Battlemage conceded. “I know things. Things that can help you. Here's a bit to whet your appetite. Mannimarco isn't doing any of this to serve Molag Bal. His ultimate plan is to out-scheme the God of Schemes … and to replace him."
“What?” I gasped, shocked by the very idea. “How?”
"The Amulet of Kings is the key to everything.” Tharn told me. “Why do you think he kidnapped Sai Sahan? He's torturing him. Trying to get him to reveal the Amulet's hiding place."
“He's trying to find the Amulet of Kings before we do.” I guessed.
"Precisely.” Tharn agreed. “With the Amulet at his command, Mannimarco believes he can trap Molag Bal's essence and absorb his power. He seeks to become a god himself!"
“That sounds bad.” I considered the implications a moment and shuddered. Bad is an understatement. “What else can you tell me?”
"I'd love to discuss this further, but this is hardly the place.” Tharn reminded me. “Get me to a safe haven and I will tell you the rest. That was our agreement, was it not? Now, let's - Wait. Did you feel that?"
“Feel what?” I asked, puzzled.
Before he could answer me, a projection of Mannimarco appeared with a flash of necromantic green light on the dais in the centre of the chamber, and he was flung backwards.
"Now, now, Tharn.” The King of Worms chided the former Chancellor. “No telling my secrets." A wave summoned flames of the same sickly hue engulfed Tharn before vanishing with him. "Go to your room, Abnur.” Mannimarco muttered. “I will deal with you shortly. Ah, dear Lyris.” He continued, turning to my companion. “Your old position at the Foundry is still available. We'll even give you your own set of unbreakable chains. And you.” The Necromancer held his staff aloft, summoning three skeletons. “The thorn in my side. The pebble in my shoe. How strong are you? Shall we test your limits?"
Go ahead, you monster. I thought, cutting my way through them as though they were ripe wheat.
“How infuriating!” Mannimarco snarled. “The process drains the energy from most victims, yet you keep fighting!” With this my murderer’s translucent image summoned three more.
You stole my past, my memories, my very soul. My fury was a thing of icily precise focus, fuelling me as I felled these as well, effortlessly avoiding the random explosions of ice from levitating shards emerging from the floor, each shackled by a chain to hold it in place.
“Your strength surprises me.” The necromancer observed, his tone more guarded now. “But how much more can you take, I wonder?” This time when he raised his staff, a bone colossus hauled itself from the floor with the three skeletons, and the explosions of ice increased in frequency.
You killed me, and now you won’t even face me in person. I thought scathingly, dancing across the floor as I cut my way through his minions, Lyris dealing huge blows with her axe to the colossus, holding it in place while I cleared the smaller skeletons before joining her. Oddly enough, my daggers seemed to slice into the massive bones, dealing far more damage than I had expected.
As it fell, Tharn reappeared, clawing his way out of the floor as if from a hole in the ground in much the same way as my flesh atronach had.
"Mannimarco!” He shouted, enraged. “You dare attack the chancellor of the Elder Council?"
He braced himself and sent a blast of pure magicka, the orange of living flame, from his staff at Mannimarco, but the King of Worms countered it with his own beam of necromantic green. A blaze of light formed where the two powers met, flaring and shifting closer to one then the other as each exerted more pressure.
“His power wanes, Vestige.” Tharn gasped at me, straining to hold back Mannimarco’s magicka with his own. “Strike him down, while his attentions are on me!”
With pleasure! I thought, wishing the necromancer were physically present so that my blades could inflict real damage as I plunged them into Mannimarco’s image, ripping my daggers through his back as I dragged them apart, his projection barely as substantial as water. The warring beams of magicka disappeared instantly, Mannimarco’s form swaying unsteadily.
“How dare you betray me, Tharn?” The king of Worms choked out. “Your suffering will be legendary!” And he vanished. I ran to Tharn, Lyris converging on us as he straightened, his breathing laboured.
“He will not remain discorporated for long.” The battlemage warned us. “His consciousness will be adrift for a few moments, but that is all.”
“Why did you help me?” I demanded, confused. He hadn’t so much as lifted a finger against the cultists earlier, not that his assistance had been needed.
“Because Mannimarco has delusions of godhood.” He replied, still catching his breath but sounding steadier. “He cares nothing for the Empire, he seeks only power. I’ve never done battle with him before. He’s far more powerful than I imagined. Ah, well. Too late for regrets. In for a bean, in for a beanstalk.”
Must be from all those stolen souls. “What now?” I asked, struggling to shake off the memory of laying across the stone altar, Mannimarco lifting his blade….
“First things first.” Tharn’s voice dragged me back to the present. “We need to get out of here alive.” Well, you two certainly do, I thought morbidly, stifling a snicker, I have a few more options available.
“What do you suggest?” Since you know the layout of this place better than we do.
“We certainly can’t go back the way you came in.” Tharn seemed to be following my own thoughts there. “I’d imagine they’re swarming the grounds already. There’s a refuse chute down the path. It’s a bit of a drop, but we’ll probably survive.”
A refuse chute? I repeated silently, exchanging a glance with Lyris for her opinion. He really must be desperate.
“Let’s go.” I agreed and crossed the chamber to the far side where it opened into Coldharbour’s blue haze and a another narrow stone walkway sloped away, curving towards the next spire, and the promised exit. Don’t think about what they used it for. I warned myself. Just get there and jump….
"You must be the ugliest princess I've ever rescued from a tower, Tharn." Lyris congratulated the former Chancellor as they followed me. She’s probably been waiting to say that since Sir Cadwell’s slip up! I realised, struggling to supress a giggle.
"I'm shocked that your lack of education and repeated blows to the head haven't dulled your wit, Titanborn." Tharn fired back, and I almost lost control of my laughter, the strain of our current predicament leaving me jittery, my emotions a volatile mess.
The sight of a gate barring our way purged me of any amusement a moment later, and I gripped the bars, peering around for any mechanism or lever to release it with, until a most welcome voice greeted me.
"Hello again!” Cadwell’s cheerily greeted us as he appeared on the other side of the gate. “Need a way out? I’ll have that open in just a moment.” He eyed me as I slipped through the moment the gate opened. “Arkay preserve us, you're as battered and bruised as a peach in a sack of rocks! Bit of the old derring-do, was it? No matter. You'll be needing an escape route, no doubt?"
“Great timing, Cadwell.” I thanked the mad knight.
"It's what I do, quite honestly.” He demurred. “We should probably hurry it up. The entire castle is as bristly as a sack of sewing needles after all that noise."
“Why don't you come with us?” I invited him again, now even more concerned for his safety.
"Come with you?” He repeated, bewildered. “You mean leave Coldharbour? Well, I don't know. It's been a very long time since I've seen the world I left behind. Do you think it's wise?"
“You should come along.” I urged him once more. “It might be good for you.”
"Well, that's settled, then.” He agreed, visibly pleased. “And after all, you do need someone to lead you out of here. Onward!"
“Let's go!” I agreed, my optimism buoyed by his indomitable good humour.
I kept my eyes fixed firmly on Sir Cadwell as he led the way, swallowing against the horror of the skeletons strewn across the tumbled rocks around the cistern-like hatch. This wasn’t my fate. I reminded myself firmly as I climbed up onto the stone blocks ringing the grate. I may not be alive, I may not have my soul, but my story isn’t over yet, and it will not end like theirs.
"Into the chute!” Sir Cadwell directed us. “Come on!" I slipped through behind him, falling past level after level of stone walkways crossing the hollow centre of the spire, towards the glowing azure of the plasmic liquid far below, and landing with a splash among the corpses. I shut my eyes as soon as I’d located Cadwell, swimming after him towards the shore, relieved by the splashes behind me as Lyris and Tharn also made the leap, but unable to look at the floating…. objects…. I occasionally bumped into.
When I reached the shallows I staggered out, only opening my eyes again once I was clear of the plasm, to see Sir Cadwell running up a narrow gully towards the shining blue beam of the Prophet’s portal. I sprinted after him, not turning to check on the others’ progress until I had rounded a craggy spire and was confident the glowing pool was out of sight.
“Quickly, I have opened another portal!” The Prophet’s voice snapped, and I whipped my head back around to see his projection, a cleaner, bluer shade than Mannimarco’s had been, waiting beside his column of aethereal-looking light. “Hurry!” The blind man urged us, and I raced down the uneven slope, needing no further encouragement than the beacon of safety ahead, the three set of pounding footsteps in my ears as my companions, safe, followed.
I dove into the cool glowing light and emerged once more in the Harborage, breathing deeply of the flowering vines’ reassuring scent. I think I need a moment. I realised.
The Prophet stood with Abnur Tharn and Lyris, but I made my way deeper into the chamber, to where the Prophet’s campfire burned brightly, its warm light reassuring.
"Another important strategy meeting, is it?” Cadwell greeted me as he stretched out his hands to warm them. “Excellent! Do pop by and say hello after you finished, won't you?" I offered him a smile of thanks and retraced my steps.
“My estates, my titles, my own life—it's all forfeit now.” The former Chancellor was lamenting. “All in the name of preserving the Empire. I swear by all the gods, Mannimarco will pay dearly for this."
“Are you all right?” I asked him, feigning sympathy in a deliberate prod at his pride to snap him out of his pity-party for one. When it comes to Mannimarco’s debts, I believe I have more owed to me than you do.
"Of course.” Tharn asserted, straightening his shoulders and shaking off his brief bout of melancholy. “I am Abnur Tharn. It will take more than a few brainless cultists to rattle these old bones. Now then, where were we?"
“You were going to tell us where Sai Sahan is.” I prompted him.
"Ah. Yes. Ahem.” Tharn cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Truth be told, I don't know the precise location, but I do know that he is Mannimarco's prisoner, and that the King of Worms is trying to pry the location of the Amulet from him."
“You don't know where he is?” I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief.
"Now, now, before you lose your temper, let me clarify.” Tharn placated me hastily. “I don't know precisely where he is, but I can find out. I'll just need a little time."
“You tricked us.” I ground out, furious.
"What?” Lyris exclaimed, overhearing us. “You son of a ***!" And she lunged forward abruptly, landing a punch square on Abnur Tharn’s face, knocking him flat. Bet that felt great to do. I thought enviously.
"Gah! Are you insane?” He choked, stumbling upright. “Get away from me, you brutish she-troll!"
"Lyris!” The Prophet admonished her as he approached. “Stand down!"
"He's done nothing but lie to us from the beginning!” She fumed, clenching her fists as though anticipating another attempt before crossing them firmly to ward off the temptation. “I don't care what he says, he'll always be Mannimarco's toady!"
"Please.” Tharn insisted. “Mannimarco wants me dead! Did I pretend to capitulate to him? Yes, I did. Do you have any idea how many lives I saved by doing so?"
"The only thing you saved was your holdings and your own hide, you pompous ass!" Lyris spat.
"Enough!” The Prophet commanded. “Abnur had no choice, Lyris. And we are guilty of our own deceit, are we not? The time has come for the Vestige to know the truth!"
"What's this?” Tharn drawled, perking up at the hint of intrigue. “The Vestige doesn't know? Oh, this is rich!" He chuckled.
"Sire, don't …!" Lyris protested.
"Vestige.” He began gravely, his voice uncertain, halting. “Until now, you have only known me as the Prophet. But that is not my true name. I.… am Varen Aquilarios."
"Our fallen Emperor, in the tattered robes of a Moth Priest, blind as a newborn kitten!" Tharn mocked.
"I am sorry I deceived you, Vestige." The Prophet – Varen – apologised.
I stared at him in shock, transfixed by the subtle echoes of his much younger self who I had seen in the visions he’d shown me, which were now so much more obvious. The shape of his mouth and the deep creases framing it, the high-bridged nose….
“You are angry.” He sighed sadly, misinterpreting my silence. “It is to be expected.”
“You’re the Emperor?” I managed to say, still processing this.
“I was once, but no more.” He replied quietly. “My name is Varen Aquilarios.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, feeling oddly hurt. “Why the deception?” Why let me believe you couldn’t remember your past, like me?
“In truth, I feared you’d kill me where I stood if you knew who I was.” He admitted. “You certainly wouldn’t have allied with us so readily.” But I didn’t remember anything! I thought as he continued. “I caused this. All of this. If Molag Bal destroys this world, the blame will be mine and mine alone.”
“How can I trust you now?” I asked brokenly. “Or Lyris?” I heard her indrawn hiss of breath as my question struck her, but kept my gaze fixed on the…. on Varen’s unseeing face.
“You must not blame Lyris.” He defended the loyal warrior. “She did as I instructed. She is my sworn protector, but she is also your ally. You have my solemn promise, Vestige. When this is all over, if you still judge me harshly, you can end my life.” I recoiled in shock at this offer, and realised in doing so that I truly didn’t blame him, I was merely hurt by the subterfuge. “I will offer no resistance.” He promised, oblivious to my reaction.
“So, what now?” I asked tentatively, unsure where we stood.
“We must find Sai Sahan.” Varen reminded me. “Everything depends on that.”
“What should I do?” I offered, hoping that falling back into my usual role would show him I bore no lasting resentment for his choices, limited as they had been.
“In this matter nothing.” He replied, his tone firming with resolve. “Abnur and I must confer. We will contact you again when we have more information. I did not foresee Abnur’s defection, but I welcome it. Mannimarco fears him – and with good reason. He can hep us. I feel certain of it.”
I accepted the hefty pouch of coin he offered, my other hand closing over the prematurely aged fingers in what I hoped was a squeeze of reassurance, unable to put into words what I was feeling just yet. I then glanced at Lyris, hoping to offer her a smile, but she was staring fixedly at the floor and I resolved to let us each take some time before seeing whether our fledgeling friendship had survived.
"I say, you do get into some wild adventures, don't you?” Cadwell chuckled when I returned to the campfire to bid him farewell. “This place is so odd. Did you know that the fire here is actually warm? Brilliant!"
His almost childlike delight in this pulled a smile from me, and it was with a lighter heart that I left the Harborage and rode Sweetroll up through town to the stables beside the Rosy Lion. It had occurred to me as I walked through the city that morning how much less painful the previous night could have been had I arranged to make use of this stable as well as Bazgara’s, and I was determined not to repeat the experience.
Edited by Margravigne on February 13, 2024 12:42AM1 -
Chapter Eleven: Angof the Gravesinger (Part One)
“My horses are beauties!” Blandine proclaimed as we finalised our arrangements. “Look how they hold their heads up high. I treat my horses well, whether they belong to me or if they just happen to rent a stall in my stables.”
Reassured by the Redguard woman’s obvious love for her charges, I untacked and groomed Sweetroll, settling her into a spacious stall with her feed – and the promised treats – then made my way into the Rosy Lion and my small but increasingly cosy room.
In addition to my bedroll I had a small table and stool where I could eat my meals when I didn’t want to mingle in the common room, a locked chest for storing my possessions, a set of shelves, storage containers for my supplies and a couple of lamps. I dropped my pack, kicked off my boots, and wrinkled my nose. Time to do some laundry and take a bath. I decided, removing my armor to wipe it clean and changing into a fresh set of clothes to wear while I took care of those errands. Then I’ll eat something and get a good night’s rest.
The next morning I checked my clumsily updated map, and decided that with everything around the Redoubt being such short distances apart, the risk of something happening to Sweetroll outweighed the convenience of having her with me. Besides, I reasoned, I can always come back through the Wayshrines if I do need to collect her.
On my arrival at the Lion Guard’s Redoubt I was directed to talk with Commander Marone Ales, who I found in a tent on the upper terrace of the fortifications.
“Ah, a new recruit!” He exclaimed when I approached him. “If you're here to help, we could certainly make use of you.”
“I'm looking for Angof.” I replied, shaking my head to indicate I was not there as a recruit.
“Aren't we all, my friend.” He sighed resignedly, probably assuming I was yet another glory-hunter. “Aren't we all. We might be able to assist each other, but we have some other business to take care of first. We're dealing with a literal undead uprising! Our patrols sweep the wilds while our primary wizard, Gabrielle Benele, searches for a magical relic that will help. But I'm concerned. Some of our patrols haven't returned.”
“Do you want me to find the missing patrols?” I offered.
“The Lion Guard doesn't usually seek help outside its ranks,” The Commander hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, “but these are desperate times. Do what you can to help any patrols you encounter. And if you run into Mage Benele, maybe you can help her out, as well.”
“I'll look for the missing patrols and the mage.” I promised.
“Stendarr bless you.” He thanked me, bowing his head briefly in prayer as he raised one hand, the other pressed to his heart in supplication to his patron Divine.
“I have a few questions.” I said when he raised his head again.
“I'll tell you what I can.” Commander Ales agreed.
“Where should I check for your patrols?” I asked him.
“In hindsight, I may have spread the patrols too thin.” He sounded worried. “I sent them to patrol the grounds around the redoubt, to protect the Gaudet Farm, and to guard the western ruins at Merovec's Folly.”
“Tell me more about Gabrielle Benele.” I requested next.
“Wizard Benele is here on behalf of the Mages Guild.” The Commander seemed less than confident in this appointment. “She claims there's a relic in the ruins that will help us defeat Angof, but magic is so unpredictable. And, truth be told, Wizard Benele can be easily distracted.”
“Why don't you go after Angof?” I wondered aloud. Surely that’s the most urgent priority?
“I'd love to, but there's some kind of barrier protecting the crypts at Cath Bedraud.” Commander Ales appeared to be resisting a strong urge to curse. “Unless Wizard Benele can get us through that barrier, we can't get to Angof. And the undead will just keep coming.” As I turned to leave, he muttered under his breath. “Blast that mage! She's put us all at risk. That bauble had better be worth the effort.”
Don’t think I was supposed to hear that! I smiled to myself, heading out the closest gate. I began my search for the missing patrols on the slopes south of the Redoubt, finding the remaining members of a patrol battling desperately against a group of zombies. I spun through the mêlée, slashing and ducking, allowing the exhausted soldiers to retreat while I finished off the undead. From there I ran west to the farm I had ridden past when I first came to locate the redoubt, rescued several more survivors, and continued north past the Wayshrine to Merovec's Folly. From within the maze of the ruined fort came the ringing of clashing steel and the growls of the vine-sprouting zombies, and I vaulted the low remnants of a wall to intercept one of the horrors at it lurched towards a wounded Lion Guard. I sliced into it, dodging the putrid green spray of its vomit as I spun between two of them, striking and slashing, working to draw them away from the exhausted soldiers until I could finish them. Once I was done, another Lion Guard member came running up to me.
“We have something important to discuss, but not here.” He told me urgently. “It's not safe. Meet me at the Wayshrine near the Lion Guard Redoubt. It's safer there!” With this he turned and left, leading the last patrol’s survivors back towards the Redoubt. I shrugged to myself, checked for any lingering undead, and followed after them, wondering what could have the man so agitated.
“Thank Kynareth I found you!” The soldier exclaimed when I joined him. “You don't know how many people I met who had been torn apart by these cultists and their creatures.”
“Slow down.” I replied calmly, leaning against the dark stone wall surrounding the rotunda, hoping my casual posture would encourage the agitated man to take a breath and focus. “Tell me what's going on.”
“I was with Wizard Benele at the nearby Merovec's Folly, looking for an important relic.” He began. “When the undead attacked us, we were forced to retreat. But the mage swore she was close to finding something. She did some magic thing and vanished.”
“She just vanished?” I repeated. What, she abandoned her patrol? Surely I’d misheard him. Not while they were under attack?
“She said that a nearby crypt contained a relic we needed to defeat Angof.” He recalled. “I would have remained by her side, but she just disappeared! I told Commander Ales what happened and he said I should find you and let you know.”
“Any idea where the crypt she talked about might be?” I asked, concerned. Any mage flighty enough to just take off without their escort like that could get themselves into serious trouble.
“The crypt's got to be somewhere near the ruins of Merovec's Folly.” He decided. “She kept a journal that she was constantly writing in. I'm sure it contains the location of the crypt. Our camp is west of the Redoubt. Her journal is probably still there.”
“What can you tell me about Wizard Benele?” I asked, wondering if I was jumping to conclusions regarding the mage’s reliability, or potential lack thereof.
“Wizard Benele is nice enough, but she's not very sensible.” The knight admitted. “She barely looked up from her books and scrolls, even when the fighting got intense. Oh, she'd pause long enough to zap a zombie that wandered too close, but otherwise she was oblivious.”
“I'll check the campsite and find Wizard Benele.” I promised him, and taking my leave headed west. There were zombies staggering around the slopes, and far too many fallen soldiers. I spared what time I could to hunt down the hordes before the urgency of the situation had me merely disposing of the ones directly in my path as I ran, searching for signs of the camp.
“Stranger. Aid me.” A voice called from behind a large, neatly trimmed log, and I skirted it to find a member of the Lion Guard, a knight judging by his armor, sitting between the sprawled corpses of a few zombies and the neatly placed bodies of his fallen comrades.
“Blood of the Forebears!” He exclaimed as I approached. “Angof's minions are relentless.”
“What happened here?” I asked the injured knight.
“We were working with the wizard Benele.” He said, confirming I had the right location. “I lost track of her when the zombies attacked. Now I'm the only one left. These cultists are desecrating our dead! It's an affront to Tu'whacca. But my wounds slow my sword.”
“I can aid you.” I assured him. “What needs to be done?”
“Bloodthorns desecrate the Lion Guard soldiers killed in the ruins.” He told me. “They raise them as zombies! If you use my sacred emblem, you can sanctify the corpses. That will prevent them from being raised as undead.”
“I'll do as you request.” I agreed, taking the emblem from him.
“Kill these monstrous creatures and avenge my fallen brethren.” He entreated, slumping back again.
On the log nearby rested a small book. I picked it up, hoping this was the wizard’s journal the knight had mentioned, but stowed it into my bag to read later, once I had sanctified the dead. Because the last thing we need is more of these things. I thought to myself as I beheaded a zombie in passing. It’s not just an excuse to kill more cultists…. Well, not entirely.
I might have allowed myself to get a little carried away as I retraced my steps back up to Merovec’s Folly and through its labyrinth of ruined towers and low, broken walls, but something about the sight of a necromancer standing over a dead soldier had that effect on me, for reasons I didn’t feel ready to examine too closely just then. Once I’d cleared the area, using the knight’s sacred emblem to consecrate around half a dozen fallen soldiers, I perched myself on one of the dark stone walls and wiped my face, taking a moment to drain a waterskin and inhale a few of the mudcrab and corn fritters I’d packed. As I ate, I pulled out the journal I’d found and read it, glancing up to check for zombies every few moments.
The talisman is here! I'm certain of it!
My research indicates that these hills hide the Midnight Talisman, a relic I believe is the key to defeating Angof. And my further investigations have enabled me to determine the exact hiding place.
I know that Commander Marone won't like it, but this opportunity is too good to let pass. I need to retrieve the talisman. There's no time to waste.
I believe that the crypt within the cliff face to the north of our camp serves as the talisman's final resting place. Unfortunately, our camp is under assault. Undead creatures relentlessly attack us from all sides. The Lion Guard soldiers grow weary with each assault they repel. I'll order them to return to the redoubt in the morning. If we make it to the morning.
Then I'll head for that cave to the north.
Well, she forgot to order the knights to return to the redoubt. I frowned, tapping my fingers on the edge of the journal before stowing it away. But why?
Deciding I needed to find this flighty mage and see what was so special about this talisman, I made my way down the steep hill towards the shore while searching for the crypt mentioned in her journal. It didn’t take long to find the entrance, a huge stone archway against the cliff face with several of the stone blocks which once closed it now fallen to provide entrance, and inside was a blonde Breton in mage robes, favouring a wounded arm.
“I hate meeting new people when I'm not at my best.” She fretted nervously. “Is my hair all right? Are my robes on straight?” Only a mage could be more concerned with their wardrobe than their wounds….
“Commander Ales sent me to help you.” I told her, hiding my amusement. She’s so young! It explains a lot of her flightiness, this is probably one of her first postings and she’s inexperienced in military protocols.
“Commander Ales?” Wizard Benele repeated as if dazed. “A good man and a good soldier. But how did you find me?”
“You left your journal at the camp.” I confessed, handing the slim volume over.
“I did?” The mage replied, automatically taking it from me. “I knew I left my journal somewhere. But I haven't told you the most exciting news!” She continued. “I found the Midnight Talisman. With it, we can punch a hole in Angof's barrier at Cath Bedraud. We just need to recharge the beautiful little relic.”
“What's the Midnight Talisman?” I asked. Her journal didn’t explain much about it.
“Do you like the name?” Gabrielle asked me. “I thought it up myself. Sounds simply ominous, doesn't it? Anyhow, it's a Daedric relic used to manipulate Oblivion portals. If you know how you can use the talisman to get past arcane barriers. And I know how.”
“So this talisman is the key to defeating Angof?” I stated, wanting to be certain I was interpreting her ramblings correctly.
“The talisman would be the key to defeating Angof—if its power wasn't depleted.” Wizard Benele sighed. “We need to recharge the talisman. Then we'll finally get our chance to deal with Angof and take the battle to him! Will you help me recharge the Midnight Talisman?”
“Of course.” I agreed. Since I’m going to need it to reach Angof, I don’t really have much choice. And I think you need a keeper, as well as some lessons on how to work with the military. “What do I need to do?”
“I have a ritual that can recharge the talisman and restore its power.” Gabrielle told me. “There's an ancient Wyrd site on the beach near here. We can use that as the focus for the ritual.”
“You're injured.” I noted. “Can you travel?”
“I just need to rest for a bit.” She replied, sounding painfully young and fragile. “Then I can get myself there and still have enough power for the ritual. Here, take the talisman and head on down. I'll meet you there.”
“I'll meet you at the ritual site.” I agreed, taking the talisman from her fingers. They trembled, and I wondered just how injured she was. Too proud to show it? Or too inexperienced to realise that she should be more open with an ally, so that all resources can be best utilised? It’s not really my place to say anything, but I do need to be able to work with her….
“Take the path down to the beach.” She cut through my thoughts before I could decide whether to broach the subject or not. “I'm too weak to walk, so I'll use my magic and meet you there.”
Sure enough, a path wound down the cliff to a calm shoreline of golden sand, and on a grassy islet grew a tree, its base suspended above the ground by the branching roots to form a sheltered area beneath, the Wyrd’s blue flowered vines twining between them in a perfumed canopy.
“You made it.” Gabrielle sounded relieved. “No zombie bites or anything.”
“Can you explain what we're about to do?” I asked her. Probably best to use a softly-softly approach and hope she picks up on how to interact with others? I decided. She’s not unintelligent, just a bit naïve, and experience should help that.
“I found an inscription in the crypt.” Wizard Benele told me. “It described the relic in remarkable detail. Apparently, the talisman can draw energy from the land itself. Ancient magic saturates this site. It's the perfect place to perform the ritual of recharging!”
“So what happens next?” I prompted her.
“I perform the ritual.” She stated. “You stand there and look heroic. Simple? Are you ready?”
“I'm ready.” Look heroic, huh? I suppressed a snicker.
“Here goes nothing.” Gabrielle muttered, then with a cry bright green light the colour of new leaves emanated from her hands as she gripped her staff with one and reached the other towards me, a beam of the green light extending from her to surround the talisman as I held it, connecting us for several moments before she slumped to one knee with a soft gasp.
“It's done!” She announced, staff flat on the ground beneath one hand. “But something's not right….” Her voice trailed off as she gasped for breath, head bowed and shoulders heaving with exhaustion. “That didn't seem right.” The young mage repeated in an alarmed tone.
“What happened?” Specifics, please! I thought in frustration. “Are you all right?”
“The ritual worked, but something….” Gabrielle sounded painfully young and fragile. “Well, something awful looked at me while I was channelling energy into the relic. I think there's something trapped inside the talisman.”
“There's something inside the talisman?” I repeated, concerned for her.
“Whatever's inside the relic, it's certainly not friendly.” She gasped. “We can try to dispel it using the Wyrd revelation stone in the circle just up the beach. Put the talisman on the stone and kill whatever emerges. That will do the trick.”
“I'll kill it.” I assured her. That’s definitely a task for me. “What about you?”
“Just getting down here tired me out more than it should have.” Gabrielle admitted. “I know you can handle whatever's inside the talisman. I'm pretty sure it's just a banekin or a lesser scamp.”
“Put the talisman on the stone and kill what comes out.” I repeated. “Got it.”
“The circle is just northeast of here, up the trail along the beach.” The shaken mage directed me. “Place the talisman in the revelation pool. That should force whatever's inside to come out.”
With a last concerned glance at Gabrielle where she knelt, slumped beneath the Wyrd’s tree, I followed the shoreline further north to a distant stone henge marking the ritual circle. As I drew closer and the path led directly through the primitive square archway, I saw the revelation stone with a shallow depression carved into its flattened top, just deep enough to hold the talisman submerged within the water pooled there.
“I see you, little mortal.” A sibilant voice taunted me as I stepped back from the stone, and I drew my daggers, watching a glowing blue mist begin to emanate from the Wyrd blooms ringing the stone in a wide circle. “I’ve guarded this talisman for untold centuries.” It continued, an edge of anger replacing the sing-song cadence. “And you hope to purge me from it? Never! I will personally send you back to Molag Bal.” How did it know? I wondered, disturbed.
A portal appeared, glowing pink, and from withing resolved the form of a black armored Kynreeve, hands gripping the shaft of a maul. The heavy weapon swung slower than my strike as I darted beneath its swing, stabbing through the joins in the dremora’s armor, and dancing away before he could counter. I spun, slashing at the back of his unprotected neck, skipping backwards to avoid the weapon's lightning enchantment strike. Oh, I needed this. I realised, ducking another slow strike and stabbing as I spun behind my opponent, noting Gabrielle’s horrified expression as she arrived and saw me battling the Kynereeve. I twisted, slashing and stepping away, too quick for the large weapon and heavy armour the dremora wore. Just pure, uncomplicated combat, knowing whichever of us loses will simply reform…. Now there’s a thought. The realisation jolted me, but my last strike had dropped my opponent to his knees, and as I stabbed deep into the base of his skull his weapon fell from his grasp, landing in the soft grass moments before his body.
“You did it!” Gabrielle congratulated me, face pale as I approached her. “Wings of Akatosh, what was that thing?” She stared past me at the slain Kynreeve, and I paused, unsure whether her fear was directed at it, or at me. “Julianos! I was wrong about how powerful the thing in the talisman was. My apologies.” She continued, and I felt my sudden tension dissipate at her words.
“It was a dremora.” I shrugged, not overly concerned by that so much as her failure to correctly identify the creature. “Is the talisman all right?”
“Dremora?” The mage repeated. “Oh, those are bad. Sorry. At least it's gone and we can use the talisman now. I have enough energy to open a portal for both of us to use. Are you ready to return to the redoubt?”
“I'm ready.” I agreed.
With a quick gesture Gabrielle summoned a portal, and I followed her through it to the upper tier of the redoubt’s encampment. Gabrielle was already standing beside a campfire when I emerged, where the knight to whom I had given Chief Tazgol's petition to join the Daggerfall Covenant, flanked by guards, waited with crossed arms and a concerned expression on his face. I wonder why I always seem to take longer than anyone else to pass through portals. I mused as I moved to join them. One more thing I’ll have to wait and think about when I have the time to do so, whenever that will happen. I was surprised to see Gloria Fausta also in attendance, and between her and Sir Lanis was the dog who had got me mixed up in preventing King Casimir’s assassination back when I had first arrived in Daggerfall.
“This is it.” Gabrielle announced when I reached her, keeping myself turned slightly away from the others for now. “All our work has led to this.”
“What's the next step?” I asked her.
“We're ready to confront Angof and destroy him.” The young mage sounded eager. “Thanks to you, he won't be able to hide from us now. I told Sir Lanis what happened out there. You should introduce yourself when you get a chance.”
“Over here! We have much to discuss.” Sir Lanis hailed me, and I turned to face him as he crossed one arm over his chest, fist clenched in a salute of greeting. “The great King Casimir sent us to stop Angof. With the combined might of the Dragons, the Lion Guard, and you, Angof will surely fall.”
“I'll help in any way I can.” I promised, carefully not looking at Gloria although she stood directly across the flames from me, sword in hand. Why is she holding that unsheathed here? No wonder Sir Lanis’s guards are eyeing her.
“Well said!” Sir Lanis exclaimed in appreciation. “But we can't just rush after the villain. First off, Angof's toxic mist protects the approach to Cath Bedraud. It rises from his vines and sickens anyone who breathes it in. The wizard Benele believes you might be immune to its effects.”
“I have this talisman, but I don't know if it will protect me.” I replied cautiously. Although I’d probably survive – or revive – even without it. I thought privately.
“We have to chance it.” The knight decided. “We don't have any other options. A squad of Dragons succumbed to the mist before they could retreat. Then that idiot Darien led a few Camlorn soldiers on an ill-conceived rescue mission and they were overcome as well.” Overcome as in incapacitated, or…? I shifted uneasily, unwilling to consider the possibility one of the few people I knew – however passingly – might be dead.
“If the mist doesn't incapacitate me, I'll save the soldiers.” I offered, hoping there would be survivors.
“I hope the soldiers still live.” Sir Lanis scratched the back of his head, his expression grave. “That mist is deadly. And that fool from Camlorn—what was he thinking? He charged right into the mist after them.”
“Where should I look for your soldiers?” And Darien was probably reacting more than thinking, I concluded, he seemed incapable of not trying to save people.
“They couldn't have gotten too far into the graveyard.” Sir Lanis reasoned. “The poison mist acts fast. Hopefully, they stayed together. Once you get them out of there, we can plan our attack against Angof.”
“You mentioned troops from Camlorn?” I prompted. Several times, too, so I can’t avoid asking about them now, but I can feel you staring at me, Gloria….
“With the city liberated from Faolchu, some of the Camlorn Guard came up this way looking for a fight.” The knight elaborated. “A noble named Darien was acting as their leader. He seemed very angry with Angof—something about werewolves.” And I’m relieved you haven’t connected me to that yet.
“Why is G…. Giblets here?” I asked, both grateful for the save the hound's presence provided my slip, and surprised to see him so far from home.
“Arkay blind me if I know.” Sir Lanis admitted. “When the King mentioned your name, the dog perked up and stuck with us all the way from Daggerfall. Looks like he's happy to see you.” Yes, but why did my name come up, and what was Casimir saying about me? I wondered in confusion, turning to say goodbye to Gabrielle.
“Angof the Gravesinger is as good as dead.” The mage declared, then her expression turned quizzical briefly as a thought occurred to her. “Or is he already dead? Or undead? Anyway, this is almost over.” She concluded breezily, smiling at me with total confidence.
"Saving the day again, eh?” Gloria interrupted, and I blinked at her. “Can't say I'm surprised. But I'm not about to let you have all the glory. There ought to be enough here for both of us." I spared her a nod as I left the campfire, unsurprised when she didn’t follow me. Let me? I’d like to see you try stop me. I felt my irritation with her build anew as I crossed the redoubt to take the northern road towards the vast graveyard. But I’m not focused on glory, I’m hoping those knights and soldiers are still alive, not that I see you risking yourself to help them. Does Darien mean so little to you after all?
My internal fuming had me stomping and muttering by the time I arrived at Cath Bedraud’s outer wall, and I came to my senses with a jolt to find my daggers clenched tightly in my hands. I drew a deep breath and checked my surroundings, exhaling slowly as I released the frustration encountering Gloria always seemed to invoke. The Redoubt was only a few hundred yards behind me, and despite the thorned vines thrusting from the ground in ever-thickening numbers, no zombies had crossed my path. More’s the pity, I realised, I could really do with a good fight right now….
The tall arch of the entrance had crumbled with time, now only lopsided columns hinting at their former glory, but the wrought iron fence to either side was intact, and just inside I could see the fallen bodies of two soldiers and a cultist. I crouched and crept forward, glancing to either side along the lowest of the paths encircling the hill where the vast cemetery slumbered. Vines and greenish mist met my gaze between the gravestones and mausoleums, and I climbed the path which led towards the centre like the spoke of some great wheel. I could see robed cultists and walking skeletons scattered between the dark stonework, but focused on finding the soldiers rather than indulging myself in hunting Angof's minions.
At the next intersection a noise from my left, the barely perceptible clink of armor, had me staring through the haze towards a tall wall bisecting the path. The mists were too thick for me to discern what lay beyond the archway cut into it, but I moved closer, breaking into a run as I recognised the armored figure standing guard over the crumpled forms of the soldiers behind him.
“Well, look who's here!” Darien drawled, sheathing his blade when he realised it was me. “I should've known you'd be making Angof's life miserable. Camlorn wasn't enough for you, eh? Say, these mists are poisonous. Why aren't you affected?”
“I think it has something to do with this talisman.” I hedged, not sure how to explain my death, much less my lack of a soul. “Why aren't you affected?”
“I wish I knew.” Darien shrugged. “I didn't think. I just rushed in to help the Dragon Knights. My guards started gasping and falling to the ground, just like the knights. But not me. These are the only survivors, but I don't think they'll last much longer.”
“Can we escort them out of here?” I asked him.
“The mist is thicker toward the gate.” He shook his head. “They won't survive passing through it again. But the mist doesn't seem to affect the necromancers. Those amulets must protect them. Kill a few, take their amulets, and give them to the knights.”
“I'll get one for each of the surviving knights.” I agreed, idly twirling a dagger between my fingers.
“Better grab a couple of extras, just in case anyone shows up while you're gone.” Darien advised, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I'll stay here and defend the knights from any wandering undead.”
Always the tactician. I nodded in agreement, allowing my gaze to drift across the stricken knights while I took a moment to think. He knows these men and feels a need to protect them. And he understands that my talents are in combat rather than reassuring the wounded, so it’s best I be the one running around killing things because that utilises my strengths better than guard duty.
“Don't worry about these fellows.” Darien interrupted me, misinterpreting my hesitation. “Nothing will get to them while I'm here.”
I nodded and ran deeper into the graveyard, spinning my daggers to resettle them in my hands as I allowed myself free reign to hunt down the cultists and their skeletal slaves. The mist had no effect on me as I circled Cath Bedraud’s paths, stalking my prey and collecting the necromancers’ amulets, until I realised that not only were my hands stained red, but my face was streaked with blood too. Returning to my senses, I checked I had enough amulets and hurried back to where I’d left Darien with the stricken soldiers, using a length of fabric torn from a necromancer’s robe and one of my waterskins to clean myself and my daggers on the way. There may be something wrong with me…. I admitted to myself as I stared at the blood-soaked cloth before discarding it. But for now, it’s useful so long as I can keep it under control. And hidden from those who might fear me for it. I added as I noticed Gabrielle had joined the small group, relieved I had made the effort to tidy myself.
“This beautiful woman from the Mages Guild just arrived.” Darien exclaimed on my return, his flirtatious knight act in full effect. “Says she knows you! You can introduce me later. I was right about the amulets, though, wasn't I?”
I nodded, suppressing a smile at his antics, which had helped smooth away the last traces of my rage, and turned to Gabrielle who crouched within a shimmering bubble of a ward.
“These soldiers won't last much longer and I don't have enough magic to extend my ward to protect them.” Gabrielle told me worriedly. “Darien told me about the amulets. Did you get them? With any luck, they'll work like the talisman you're carrying.”
“Here are the amulets I acquired.” I replied, handing them to her.
“Perfect.” Gabrielle took them gratefully. “Thank you. I'll put them on the wounded knights and Darien can lead them to safety. Do you have any more? I might be able to use them to clear the mist.”
“Yes, I collected a few extra amulets.” I confirmed, grateful that Darien’s forethought could assist Gabrielle.
“If I merge them and cast an amplification spell I can increase the size of my protection ward.” Gabrielle explained. “If I can get to a central point and hold the spell long enough, our troops will be able to get in. You just need to defend me while I do it.”
“Consider yourself defended.” I promised.
“Good. Meet me at the center of the graveyard.” Gabrielle instructed me. “When Angof notices what I'm doing, he's bound to send someone to stop me. If they interrupt me while I'm casting, the spell will fail. And that won't be good.”
“Count on me to get the knights out of here.” Darien promised. “You just protect Gabrielle. If this mad plan actually works, I'll see you inside the crypt.”
I headed uphill to the center of Cath Bedraud, where a paved area was encircled by archways in front of a large, ornate crypt with a dark blue ward covering its door. Gabrielle, having used a portal, stood waiting in the circle.
“Quickly now, before Angof knows we're here.” She greeted me, and I turned to face the pathways stretching out into the graveyard, scanning for cultists, zombies or skeletons.
“Are you ready to begin?” The mage asked, holding her staff aloft. “Remember that I can't defend myself while I'm performing the ritual. You have to protect me.”
“Let's begin.” I agreed, adjusting my grip on my daggers as I kept my gaze sweeping for any approaching threat.
“Stay close.” Gabrielle cautioned me, visibly nervous. “You need them off me until I finish.”
I nodded silently, my eyes already fixed on a skeleton as it ran towards us. I stepped forward to meet it, tearing into the desiccated tendons and rotted clothing with my daggers as I spun behind it and slashed the back of its neck. The vertebrae parted with a dry crack, and I sidestepped to meet the next, my dance spinning me in a wide arc around Gabrielle, keeping the reanimated corpses away from her as I twisted between their barren, grasping fingers, felling each before they could reach the young mage, until the last skeleton fell and the blue barrier began to dissolve moments later.
“We did it!” Gabriele celebrated. “Come one. Let's get inside before anything else tries to stop us!” She ran forward and after a glance around I followed her through the last traces of Angof’s ward in the doorway and down the stairs into the crypt below.
“That takes care of the mist, but who knows for how long?” She said when I reached where she stood beside a portal. “Let's not waste this opportunity. The time to strike at Angof has arrived.”
“What's next?” I prompted her, sheathing my blades after examining them for damage.
“This next bit is critical.” Gabrielle hesitated, her voice softening with uncertainty as she tried to gauge my reaction. “I've seen what you can do, so I know you're up to it. Besides, we'd never have made it this far if not for you.” I shook my head and smirked at her rather obvious attempt at flattery, and she waved off my response, her tone becoming brisker as she continued. “You won't be able to just walk into Angof's parlor and challenge him to a duel. He has minions. His kind always has minions. But don't let that stop you. We've come too far not to try to finish this.”
“Aren't you coming with me?” I raised a brow. She seemed so anxious to get inside a moment ago!
“I'll follow you as soon as the soldiers get here.” Gabrielle assured me. “Oh! Even better! Take this binding stone. Find a secure location inside the catacombs and use it to call me to you. I'll even bring some of the soldiers with me!”
“How will I know if a location is secure?” I prompted the young mage. You’ll learn to communicate better eventually….
“Some of the dead were protected by wards designed to prevent desecration.” She elaborated. “Look for a tomb with these wards and use the stone there. That should be safe enough for my purposes.”
“I'll summon you once I locate one of the wards.” I agreed, hoping Gabrielle knew what she was doing this time. ‘Should’ isn’t the most reassuring word when you’re the one saying it, young lady.
Edited by Margravigne on April 10, 2024 11:30AM1 -
Chapter Eleven: Angof the Gravesinger (Part Two)
“Go on.” Gabrielle urged, as if sensing my reservations. “Through the portal with you. There's no time to waste.”
I stepped through obediently, and found myself in a wide, low-ceilinged antechamber made of stones several shades lighter and browner than those outside, although that could have been due to the heavy coating of dust. Broad steps lit by sconce torches led deeper into the catacombs, Angof’s vines breaking through the paved floor, and I descended the stairs with my daggers in hand, despatching the roaming zombies as I searched for a suitable tomb where I could activate Gabrielle’s binding stone.
A purple ward caught my attention, and I stepped through the barrier into a small private tomb. Setting the stone onto the lid of the coffin, I stepped back and watched as two portals appeared, releasing Gabrielle and a female knight before vanishing again.
“Good, you found the perfect spot for….” Gabrielle trailed off, scanning the small room. “Wait, where are the others?” She asked.
“Others?” I repeated cautiously, dread making me almost nauseous.
“Yes. Sir Lanis and his knights volunteered to come with me, but I only see Dame Alexine.” Gabrielle fretted. “There must have been too many of us for the binding stone. This isn't good. The other knights could have been scattered throughout the crypts.”
“I'll look for the missing knights on my way to face Angof.” I promised her, turning to leave.
“Good. But listen—there's only one way to get out of these crypts.” Gabrielle’s warning froze me in place, and I slowly turned to face her as she continued. “You have to kill Angof. I don't have any other way to deal with his various protections and defenses now that I'm down here. He dies or we never leave. Those are our choices.” Now you tell me? I thought incredulously, nodding goodbye before I lost my temper with the young mage and said something I’d later regret. Not that it actually changed what I need to do, I suppose. “And everything was just starting to go so well, too.” Gabrielle murmured sadly behind me as I passed back through the purple barrier protecting the tomb.
I need to hurry. I decided as I raced down the next flight of stairs, barely pausing as zombies lurched into my path only to be slain by the rage I released from deep inside myself. They were barely a distraction as I searched frantically for the lost knights, every fallen body giving me a fresh spurt of fear until I saw the lack of armor, the vines sprouting from back or shoulders, and hurried on.
The sight of a small group of knights on a landing below me, Darien and Sir Lanis standing guard while Gloria crouched tending someone’s wound, sent so strong a wave of relief through me I almost stumbled on the stairs as I raced down to join them.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Darien called out, and I smiled at him in relief as I slowed to a halt between him and Sir Lanis.
“Wizard Benele said you'd gotten inside and were hunting Angof.” The older knight greeted me. “We wanted to help, but I hope we haven't done more harm than good.”
“What happened down here?” I asked, glancing over the injured knights gathered in the corner behind them.
“We met Wizard Benele outside.” Sir Lanis explained. “She said you'd use a binding stone to call us. Then suddenly we were down here, in the dark and surrounded by a horde of undead. The rest of the contingent must be somewhere nearby.”
“More knights?” I asked him, scarcely hoping they might still be alive. “Where?”
“My best guess?” Sir Lanis pondered. “Deeper inside the catacombs. If you find any knights, send them this way. I'll hold the passage with this overconfident fool and his crazy friend. When they aren't flirting, they both fight like a whole platoon of Orcs.”
“Tavern, I said!” Darien mock-berated me, eyes betraying his concern despite the glib words. “Meet me in a tavern. There's no ale down here, just zombies and tentacles. And where are the serving wenches? You promised me serving wenches! Ah well, at least your timing is perfect.”
“We do keep meeting in the most interesting places.” I drawled in response, relieved he hadn’t lost his sense of humour.
“Dear Gabrielle's spell seems to have misfired.” Darien sighed. “Luckily, a few of us were able to find each other. I also convinced a Bloodthorn cultist to tell me how to reach Angof. I can be persuasive when I put my mind to it.”
“What did you find out?” I asked him, almost irrationally happy at his implied offer of information.
“Three locks protect Angof's inner sanctum.” Darien recalled. “I doubt that even you can get in there by simply knocking. You need three shard-keys to open the locks. They're well-guarded, so you're going to have to kill a few things to get them.”
“I'll find the shard-keys.” I promised. Killing things will not be a problem, especially with how I feel right now.
“I wish I could aid you, but I'm needed here.” The knight continued. “Lanis is good with a sword, but I'm better. I'll protect the survivors. Let Lanis know if you run into anyone else.”
“Where can I find these shard-keys?” I pressed, wondering how much more information was available.
“I don't know exactly, but the Bloodthorn cultist told me about the guardians.” Darien elaborated. “Watch out for a summoned creature, an impassable trap, and a warrior spirit bound to Angof's service.”
“Tell me about the creature.” I demanded teasingly.
“All I know is that Angof drew on the collected power of his cultists to summon the creature.” Darien replied. “I hear that it's more plant than beast. And, of course, it's terrible to behold.”
“Tell me about the trap.” I continued, amused by his theatrics.
“Actually, I couldn't get anything out of the cultist about the trap.” He admitted. “Sorry. You're on your own with that one.”
“Tell me about the warrior spirit.” I sighed, rolling my eyes in mock frustration.
“It seems that when Angof first came to power, a certain knight took offense and tried to kill him.” Darien recounted. “Angof captured the knight's spirit and bound it to serve him. I understand he's extremely powerful and not at all happy about the situation.”
Gloria glanced up from tending the wounded knights, and I was surprised by her expression of concern. Flirting, huh? I pondered, recalling Sir Lanis’ comments. Well, if wanting to earn Darien’s admiration can inspire her to exert herself, I’m all for it. I just hope she's seen through his act, he deserves that much at least.
“This poor soul doesn't have much time.” She told me when I nodded to her in greeting. “His blood, it's boiling. That bite must have infected him. Even Faolchu wasn't capable of this.”
She turned her attention back to the stricken knight, while I spared Sir Lanis and Darien a brief nod and ran on, wondering which of the shards’ guardians I would encounter first. The passageway split and dead-ended in maze crawling with thorned vines and zombies, but moments later I saw spinning flames beyond an archway, and slumped against the wall nearby was a wounded knight.
“Stay back- this area’s trapped.” He cautioned me as I drew near. “Don’t get caught like I did. I’ve been watching to see how it works. The trap has guardians. They’re the key to disarming it, I believe.”
“What guardians?” I asked him, relieved to note his wounds didn’t appear to be bites. “Tell me what you’ve seen.”
“After each trap fires, there’s a brief moment when you can disarm it.” The knight revealed. “During this moment you have to defeat its guardian. It’s the only way.”
“You need to get back to the others.” I advised him, indicating back the way I had come.
“So I’m not the only one left?” His eyes rose to meet mine, the sudden hope dawning there almost painful to behold. “That’s good to hear. I’m pretty exhausted, but I’ll see if I can find them after I rest up for a few moments.”
I smiled reassuringly and headed through the archway into a short passage between two wider corridors. On either side of me were two orange glyphs glowing on the floor, four in total, and on each was a statue of a robed figure, hooded and holding an open book. Whirlwinds of bright flame swirled above the glyphs, and in the space between them all was a chest. Locked. I noted. It must hold the shard I need, and the only way to open it is to banish each of these wards…. I took a moment to watch and found that each whirlwind would die down briefly before reappearing. I counted off the timing, and just as the next one subsided I stepped onto the glyph and touched the statue. A burning skeleton emerged from the ground, and I tore into it in a fury, urgency driving my blades as the seconds ticked by, but to my relief the glyph disappeared without the flames reforming, and I was able to banish the skeleton without having to contend with the added danger. One down, three to go. I smiled tightly, and waited for the next break in the flames.
Once the fourth skeleton had been defeated, the chest unlocked with a blue glowing light, and I opened it to find a translucent, almost milky crystal, pointed at either end in symmetrical facets. I pocketed the shard key and emerged from the now much darker passageway into the next corridor, turning right. I ran, slowing only to deal with those who would bar my way, ignoring the ones who didn’t notice me.
The passageway became more tunnel than corridor, stone blocks and pavers replaced by rough-hewn walls and a rocky dirt floor, rooms and alcoves branching off before it began to slope downwards. Near the end of the descent a knight held a torch aloft, her shield strapped to her back and sword sheathed, and I slowed to a stop beside her, and she whirled to face me, clearly startled.
“By the Eight, never creep up on a person.” She admonished me. “You’re likely to get beheaded. You must be Wizard Benele’s friend.” Not by the torch in your sword-hand, I wouldn’t. I thought, then the rest of her words penetrated, and I felt a warm glow of pleasure. Friend? Does Gabrielle consider me a friend?
“You know me?” I asked the knight, tilting my head inquisitively.
“You’re the mad fool who went into the catacombs ahead of us, aren’t you?” She replied. “By the way, did the other knights make it? That binding spell seemed to throw me a bit short of the mark.”
“Sir Lanis and the others are nearby.” I assured her. “You should meet up with them.”
“I’ll head out as soon as I see a clear path.” She agreed. “A word of warning though. The lurcher in the chamber ahead is extremely tough. I’d keep it away from the totems surrounding it if you plan to challenge it.”
“Totems?” I repeated. “I’ll keep that in mind.” They probably supply it with some sort of power…. And if she wants a clear path back to find the other knights, she should move quickly. And maybe lose the torch. Some hint of my thoughts must have shown on my face, as she seemed to answer me.
“I’ll do that. With luck, we’ll regroup and follow right behind you. Good luck, friend.”
I nodded and continued down the tunnel, slightly disturbed by her response. Am I just that transparent? I wondered fretfully. Or did I say something out loud?
I rounded a bend and the narrow tunnel opened into a wide cavern, with water pooling in depressions as the floor rose and fell unevenly. Angof’s vines twisted along the walls, and a gap between the huge rocks far above allowed a glimpse of the sky, adding to the light cast by torches set in the totems. The Lurcher waited directly beneath the opening, as if the spriggan it had once been was soaking in the natural light, dreaming of better days before it had been corrupted into this monstrous form.
Poor thing. I felt pity stir in me, and resolved to finish this a swiftly as I could, flinging a blade as I leapt forward, lunging with both daggers in an overhead strike before rolling past. I popped back to my feet, slashing as I spun in place to face the behemoth once more, ducking its lumbering swipes and hacking at its joints in passing until the Lurcher collapsed, broken but released. I reached into the tangle of dried branches and pulled out a glowing crystal shard-key. This one was rougher than the first, a jagged uneven shape almost reminiscent of a leaf, and bright green.
I retraced my steps back along the tunnel, past the passageway where the fire traps had guarded the first shard-key, and down the steps of the left turn I hadn’t taken earlier. The first doors were a broad pair with a curved shape to fit the low ceiling, and securely locked. Angof’s sanctum? I wondered, moving on. Hopefully, and I’ll be able to check once I have this last shard-key.
Next was a raised crypt with a large brazier burning on the top step and its door chained shut, but at the end of the hall was a tomb with the translucent blue form of an armored knight, head bent in prayer over a body laid on top of a closed coffin, and one of the Lion Guard, cowering from it in terror against the far wall. The dead have patience and are able to wait, I reasoned, but the living? Often need more delicate handling than I’m capable of providing.
I scuffed my feet on the rough paving to alert the frightened knight to my presence, and he peered up at me before standing, arms wrapped across his chest as if to ward off a chill.
“That spirit.” He shuddered, rubbing at his arms. “His gaze, so hard and cold. He won’t stop looking at me. He looks right through me. Why? Why am I so cold?”
“The other knights are upstairs.” I replied soothingly. “You need to join them.”
“They’re here?” He exclaimed in surprise. “That’s great news. I’ll go find them in a moment. Be careful around this spirit. I think he’s cursed me already. My mind is blue with cold.”
I doubt it. I thought, turning to face the spirit of the trapped knight, and was startled to realise that it was his own corpse he was praying over, pinned to the coffin by a sword driven through his chest.
“You are the one who wishes to destroy my master.” He greeted me calmly. “I know what you seek. I would tell you if I could, but instead, I must thwart you.”
“I need answers.” I told him. “And the shard-key.”
“The shard-key is bound to my spirit, as surely as I am bound to guard it.” He replied, shaking his head in obvious regret. “But I wonder, will you listen to a riddle? A useful riddle?”
“How is a riddle useful to me right now?” I asked, hoping the spirit’s frustration at being controlled by Angof might mean he would work to aid me somehow.
“What cannot be said directly may be hinted at.” The knight’s shade replied, and I smiled. “Listen, then. 'Rot and death are Angof's guise; living flesh holds his demise.' I must release the shard to the one who brings me what the living flesh beyond this crypt holds.”
“What are you talking about?” I pressed, hoping for further details.
“I cannot say directly, only through riddle.” The spirit sighed. “Seek what differs in the next room. Take what the living flesh holds. Then unbind me with it.”
I nodded my understanding and made my way to the crypt I had passed moments earlier to find a Necromancer standing before the chained doors. Where were you when I came past? I wondered briefly as I drew my daggers. I hope you have what I need. And whatever it is, I really hope it’s still valid if I take it from your corpse.
But the Necromancer clearly had no intention of handing anything over willingly, as he raised his flaming staff and shot a fireball at me. I ducked the strike, flinging a throwing blade as I leaped up the steps to slash at him, less hindered by the small space than he was as I kept too close for him to aim his staff at me. In frustration he raised it above his head in a summoning pose, and I drove one dagger deep into his heart while opening his throat with the other, sidestepping the spray of blood while pinning him against the door. With a twist I withdrew my dagger from the Necromancer’s chest, allowing the body to fall, and checked his pockets. Some gold, nice. That dagger’s worthless, but…. oh, this must be it.
I retrieved an unevenly shaped dark stone, roughly flattened and inscribed with odd glowing runes and a brief message. I returned to the tomb and approached the spirit once again, perplexed to see the frightened knight still cowering in the corner. Well, maybe he’ll feel safe enough to leave once I free this knight’s spirit. I hope.
“You come to destroy my master?” The spirit queried blankly, as though it had never seen me before. “I know what you seek. I would tell you a simple riddle, yet you already have the answer in your possession. That rune you hold is the key to releasing me. The living flesh holds the riddle answer no longer.”
“Is this rune what the living flesh held?” I asked.
“Yes, but take care what you say.” He cautioned me. “The words must be repeated exactly as written.”
“Release from slumber!” I recited carefully. “Eternal darkness, come forth!”
“Ah, it's done.” The knight’s spirit sighed in relief. “Thank Stendarr. Here, take the shard-key. I am free to ascend at last. Destroy Angof. Avenge me and the others that have fallen victim to his crimes.” With that, the spirit vanished and I hurried to the double doors I had noticed earlier, relieved to find that they now opened freely.
I found Sir Lanis, Darien and Gabrielle waiting inside, on a stone terrace overlooking a large chamber. Angof’s thorned vines grew thick, enormous and twisting slowly as if seeking prey, but between them I could just make out an ornate, brazier-lit mausoleum opposite us, and Angof himself hovering a few inches above the ground in the centre of the room.
“We’ll do what we can to help.” Gabrielle promised me. “Just stay away from his vines.”
“Strike swiftly and without mercy.” Sir Lanis advised. “Angof will offer none to us.”
“Why thorns?” Darien’s wisecrack broke my tension, startling a smile from me. “Why not casks of ale? That's how I'd decorate my inner sanctum.”
I nodded silently, my eyes fixed on Angof. It was almost surprising to me that this was our first encounter in person. I had seen his projection so many times, defeated each of his plots the length of Glenumbra in my travels that he was almost familiar to me by now. I walked forward, down the first flight of stairs to where they split. Left, or right? I wondered, pausing on the landing above him for a moment.
“So you are the vain fool who seeks to pry Glenumbra from my grasp.” Angof sneered as he hung in midair. Vain fool? I recalled. Isn’t that what you called Faolchu? But I remained silent, drawing my daggers and spinning them in my hands while I watched him. When he remained floating in place, offering no further reaction to my presence, I vaulted over the low stone wall and dropped lightly to the floor beneath.
I heard a gasp behind me as I landed but didn’t turn or acknowledge Gabrielle’s concern, she wouldn’t have been able to see me from where she stood anyway. Instead I stalked forward, my soft boots almost silent, amazed by the sense of calm I felt. No fear. No rage, either, which should have surprised me. But in their place a contented, almost peaceful anticipation filled me, as if this was exactly what I was supposed to be doing.
Here, now, all was as it should be, and I smiled as I realised I was doing precisely what I needed to do.
Thank you, Varen. I thought, grateful for the blind prophet’s suggestion all those weeks ago, and flung a throwing blade at Angof to test his defences. He dropped to his feet, eyes narrowing at me, the small blade imbedded in one shoulder.
“After I kill you I shall raise you up and make you my slave!” He vowed, drawing his own dagger with one hand and casting a conjured crow towards me with the other. I leaned sharply aside to dodge the attack, then bolted forward before he could cast another, blocking his strike with one dagger and slicing into him with the other, turning my wrist and guiding our blades to slide against each other as I ducked and spun away to prevent his greater weight from staggering me. He’s strong. I acknowledged. But I’m faster.
I attacked in a flurry of flashing blades, using my speed to deny him any opportunity to press an attack. One of his crows left a slice on my cheek in passing, but I ignored the sharp sting and spun beneath his raised arm, stabbing at his kidneys from behind.
“You and your friends will all die.” He proclaimed as I slashed at the waving vines growing from his back, revolted by the grotesque melding of plant and flesh. I’m already dead. I reminded myself. I’ve died and died again, I just don’t seem to stay that way.
Zombies began emerging from the ground, vomiting their foul green bile, and I spun with my arms held wide, slashing several at once before returning my focus to Angof, who was bracing himself, a putird green glow building around him.
“Get to the light, before his magic destroys you!” Gabrielle called, and I noticed a shimmering golden circle forming on the floor nearby. I felled the zombies in my path, and was safely enveloped in her ward before Angof’s power exploded outwards. As he leaned forward to cast another crow at me I slid beneath it, popping upright beside him and stabbing deeply between his exposed ribs before he could drop his outstretched arm. I slashed my second dagger across his back as I withdrew the first, ducking his backhanded strike as he staggered away.
Before Angof could throw another crow at me, or generate another explosion of power, I darted forward. One. I sliced his chest from ribs to shoulder. Two. My other dagger blocked his, pushing his thrust wide and giving myself space to step in close. Three. I buried the first dagger to the hilt in his heart, twisting until I felt a faint pop vibrate down the blade, and met Angof’s widened gaze with my own.
The Gravesinger fell.
I stood over his body for a moment, then knelt and cleaned my daggers on the hem of his long kilt.
“You did it.” Gabrielle exclaimed, casting a portal nearby. “Now hurry! Through the portal you go!”
Sir Lanis and Darien ran past us into its pink glow, and I followed them, Gabrielle right behind me.
Gabrielle’s portal released me on the main terrace of the Redoubt, just in front of a large communal mess tent where Darien was sitting on a bench eating bread while Gloria stood over him. Gabrielle waited out front, next to a small campfire with a cooking pot and several spits holding roasting meat on a frame above the hot coals. Just how long ago did they get back? I wondered. And why does my delay not seem to bother anyone but me?
“Well, that was fun, wasn't it?” Gabrielle greeted me. “All right, maybe fun isn't the right word. But you were glorious! Angof is finally dead. We can't thank you enough for what you've done.”
“Where are the others?” I asked her.
“The others have all collapsed in their tents.” She replied. “They're exhausted! But I wanted to welcome you back. And Sir Lanis wants to talk to you. He's telling the Lion Guard commander what happened.”
“What does Sir Lanis want?” I wondered.
“Who knows?” She smiled. “Maybe he wants to give you a medal or something. Well, go on. We'll be fine. I promise.”
I glanced past her at Gloria’s back, and deciding that I should get this over with, wandered into the tent.
“I wish I'd been there when you killed Angof.” Gloria pouted, glancing sideways through her lashes towards Darien, who wisely took another bite of bread and said nothing. “I had to get the others back to safety. I think they'll all recover. But I must… well, congratulations.” She added abruptly. “You really are something.”
I offered them each a tired smile and left the tent.
“Come on back after you talk to Sir Lanis.” Gabrielle invited me as I passed her. ‘You know, if you feel like it.”
I just might do that. I decided. But first, I have a quick detour to make. I tracked down the wounded knight from Gabrielle’s abandoned camp who had lent me his sacred emblem, finding him sitting by a campfire on the lower terrace behind the mess tent.
“You return!” He greeted me warmly. “Have Angof's minions fallen before your wrath?”
“I did as you asked.” I replied evasively, returning his emblem to him.
“You've done good and holy work.” He assured me. “Troubled souls must be put to rest so they do not rise again. You have my thanks for taking care of this for me.”
I eventually located Sir Lanis standing on the upper terrace behind the command tent, staring out through the gap in the palisade towards the road leading south.
“The king will be grateful for what we've done here.” He told me when I joined him. “Some of Angof's minions are still running loose, but it's nothing we can't handle. Maybe things will finally return to normal now.”
“What about the vines throughout Glenumbra?” I asked.
“Without Angof's magic, hopefully the vines will wither and die.” The knight predicted. “If not, I'm sure the Mages Guild can conjure up a spell to clear them away. I'm not too concerned about them.”
“But something is worrying you.” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I can't put my finger on it.” He scratched his head distractedly. “We've heard rumblings that things up north aren't looking any better. Not necessarily vines and such, but there are whispers of other things out there that we need to be concerned about.”
“What exactly have you heard?” I asked.
“I hear there's trouble in Koeglin Village.” Sir Lanis told me. “Something bad is happening up there. But don't worry about that right now. We just saved the people of Glenumbra. We should be celebrating! Now where did I put it?”
“Where did you put what?” I asked as the knight peered into a nearby crate.
“The King set aside this armor for the champion who defeated Angof.” He announced, holding out an ornate cuirass. “It was a treasure of Daggerfall. And now it belongs to you. It's your reward for all you've done for this land and its people. May luck follow you wherever you go.” I took the heavy armour with a nod of thanks, wondering if I could build some sort of frame to display it in my room at the Rosy Lion. “Thanks to this successful campaign by the combined forces of the Dragon Knights and the Lion Guard, I suspect King Casimir will finally throw his full support behind High King Emeric.” Sir Lanis confided. “That will put the whole Covenant together.”
As I was turning to leave, a wounded recruit staggered towards us, gripping one arm with her opposite hand in obvious pain. “Sir!” She called to Sir Lanis. “Sir, I… they took him, sir-” I stepped forward as she staggered, collapsing. “The captain. They…. They came at night. We couldn’t….” She gasped, staring up at me, her face streaked with soot.
“Couldn’t what?” I asked as gently as I could. “What happened?”
“We were returning from Daggerfall when our caravan was attacked.” The recruit reported. “Bretons fighting with Daedra at their side. Killed most of us, but the captain, he…. They took the captain!”
“Calm down, soldier.” I reassured her. This definitely sounds like my kind of situation. “Did you see where they took him?”
“Stormhaven.” She panted, teeth gritted against the pain. “Ruins. Near the border. They took him there.”
“I’ll find your captain.” I promised her, nodding to Sir Lanis as I left him with the recruit and went to make my excuses to the others.
“We are in your debt, friend.” Commander Ales thanked me as I passed him. “I hope you made Angof suffer before you finished him!” Not deliberately. I thought privately. I may be a killer, but I do have my limits, and victimising my opponents just doesn't feel right to me. I think I can take some comfort in that.
I found myself almost saddened to be saying farewell to Gabrielle.
“We've been through quite a bit together, haven't we?" She confided. "If you ever pass this way again, feel free to stop by and visit. I can think of a few other rituals that you can help me with, if you're interested.”
“Maybe I'll go back out on the road." Gloria said when I turned to her next. "Darien and I used to get ourselves into a lot of trouble. I've sort of missed it.” I very nearly laughed at the look on Darien's face, out of her line of sight, when she said this, but somehow kept my expression bland as I turned to speak with him next.
“Well, now, wasn't that fun?” Darien exclaimed happily. “I'd fight alongside you anytime. But I'd rather carouse. You do carouse, don't you?”
At this I did laugh, but controlled myself enough not to turn and look at Gloria as I made my way from the tent and headed through the Redoubt towards the Wayshrine. It was time to collect my horse.
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