It doesn't make me a bad person if I steal things sometimes, right? I mean nobody's perfect, right? And we all have our flaws, and we can still be good people even if we do things that are technically against the law now and then?

Okay I can admit that stealing isn't something a person would generally be proud of. Although I have gotten away with some close calls. And getting through that manor with Quen was pretty exciting. But I wouldn't go up to High King Emeric and ask for a medal for all the stuff I've stolen. It's just between me and the fences, and the occasional livid townsperson I have to run away from. But so far so good, and it all works out okay in the end.

Momentary crises of conscience aside, I've had some interesting experiences delving into the inner workings of the Thieves Guild in Hew's Bane. Since becoming acquainted with the organization some time ago, I haven't really paid it much mind, since I was kind of preoccupied with the whole saving the other alliances to learn about them thing. But, with my schedule recently opening up, I decided to head back to Abah's Landing and see what was shaking there. And there was quite a bit shaking.

I don't need to go too much into details, except to say that Walks-Softly was indeed a fun wedding date, and I'm not sure I've ever worn anything so skimpy, and it's nice that Quen was able to reconcile with her dad's new lady love, and sneaking around is a lot more nerve-wracking when you know that just being spotted could get you in a heap of trouble.

What I've been thinking about most since helping Zeira settle the guild's business is how disheartening it must be to trust in someone and believe in him and maybe even love him and then to discover he was wearing a mask for who knows how long. By the time I properly met Nicolas I already knew he was trouble, but hearing her talk about him, it wasn't hard to see how much she idolized him for who he was before he betrayed the guild.

How could someone like that just turn on his friends and the organization he had helped build up? Was he never really the good man that Zeira wholeheartedly believed he was? If so, it would mean she had been a gullible fool the entire time she had known him. But I have a hard time accepting that explanation.

Something made him change his perspective and just want out of the life he was living. And so he thought that faking his death would be the easy way to get out with no strings attached. But what he did brought everything crashing down around the guild, and led to hardships and even death for many of the people who had looked up to his leadership.

Maybe you could argue that he didn't expect all of that to happen just because he was out of the picture. But I don't really accept that either. He had wheels turning and strings to pull that went beyond just wanting to disappear. And I held him completely accountable for what he did to the guild. I didn't kill him for it, but in this case I feel quite comfortable letting the law do what needs to be done, and I hope that his new wife will do what she needs to do to protect herself.

He was a scumbag, no doubt about it. It's easy for me to see him that way, coming into the situation as late as I did. But it still bothers me, knowing how he was before, and knowing how the others looked up to him, especially Zeira.

What if it were me, looking up to a man I respected and trusted and believed in? I've already met more than one person who fit that description. And I even fell in love with one of them. To think that any of them would turn out to be... not the man I thought they were, is... well, chilling is a good word for it. I've been on the receiving end of more than my fair share of betrayals, even by people I thought I was fairly close to, but to imagine Darien or Raz or even Indaenir or Holgunn revealed as a backstabbing bastard is just too much to bear. I can't even force myself to picture that scenario happening. I have to believe, I can't not believe, that the man I fell in love with is truly who he seemed to be.

But that's what Zeira thought too. And though I can't know for sure how deep her feelings for him went, it's certain that the pain he caused her went just as deep.

Just please, Darien, even if you're only a memory for me now, don't ever let me down like that.

Oh my. If I ever thought that my life would be quiet and uneventful after settling down in my own little house...

I was chased down by a pushy Orc woman during a recent visit to Daggerfall. Apparently she'd been looking for me for quite some time. She didn't bother telling me what she wanted, but the letter she handed me led me to the mountains of Wrothgar, where King Kurog has been building a new metropolis for the Orcs.

I had heard of Orsinium, and of course I knew of King Kurog as one of High King Emeric's closest allies, but it has been quite interesting seeing them both up close. There's a lot going on here in Orsinium, and I have the feeling I've only scratched the surface of the tensions and machinations in play here.

The adventuring has mostly been pretty standard, the usual array of common folk, thieves, and werewolf hunters needing help. I did feel bad for the man whose beloved fiancee met her end in a harpy nest before I was able to rescue her, but hopefully he and his surviving partner will find success with their bookstore. (I also made the acquaintance of the fabled Narsis Dren, but that encounter could be its own story.)

Things... took a turn when I arrived in Frostbreak Fortress to assist King Kurog with his Winterborn problem. Meeting the King in person was quite the experience to begin with. I have to wonder what those dinner meetings were like between the boisterous and ravenous Orc and our staid High King.

And then we spoke to the siege commander, and he said something that gave me a shock. He said that his team was being assisted by a Breton alchemist... named Alinon. I remembered him. Darien's best friend, whom I had last seen in Camlorn so long ago.

Alinon... Darien's best friend... was here? As much as I should have come to terms with what happened to Darien by now, I couldn't help feeling that weight on my heart again. It became hard to focus on the commander's instructions. Mostly what I got out of it was that Alinon was somewhere in that fortress, and I needed to get in there and find him and his team and help them complete their mission.

I had to remind myself to keep my head together. This was no time to be dwelling on the past. Besides, it might not even be the same Alinon.

The battlefield was a maze. Somehow the King and I made it through and got the harpy aeries destroyed with the help of the plucky Wood Elf I had met when I first arrived in Wrothgar. (I could have made those shots too, but don't tell Eveli that.) The Reachmen were tenacious, but we pushed through.

We found the alchemist. It was him. He remembered me from Camlorn. He remembered everything we went through to cure the lycanthropy there. It made him feel better to have me clearing the way into the fortress to deal with the greater Reachman threat. I felt... relieved to see him, and to find him safe, but that weight in my heart never went away.

It got worse when we got inside the fortress. Once he identified the plants the Reachmen were using to grow their briar hearts, he sent me away to find more saplings to burn while he worked on a concoction to poison the main tree. I was immediately worried for his safety, but he assured me that he'd be fine as long as he had the Wood Elf guarding him.

I knew on some level that I was being irrational. But that sense of foreboding was there whether I liked it or not.

I hurried through the fortress, dispatching enemies and burning saplings. I got an earful from a testy Reachman who was waiting to have his own briar heart implanted into his chest. I had no idea how powerful Reach magic was, he informed me. He was looking forward to killing me and feeding my eyes to the harpies, once he got his precious briar heart. He only made me even more interested in putting an end to his wonderful tree.

When I returned to check in with Alinon, catastrophe had struck. The alchemist was gone, and Eveli had no idea what had happened to him while she'd been off collecting moss. He might have just gone off on his own, but the more likely possibilities were much more dire. And even if he had wandered off of his own free will, it would be far too easy for the Reachmen to grab him if he weren't stealthy enough. I had a horrible vision of them implanting one of those briar hearts into his chest, turning him into one of their vile killing machines. I even almost wondered how far his interest in their magicks might take him, and if he would ever allow himself to be tempted...

One thing was sure, there was no time to stand around imagining the worst. Eveli and I split up and went in search of our wayward friend. I raced through the fortress looking for him, not even bothering with the Reachmen I startled on the way by. Fortunately I found him fairly quickly. Unfortunately, he was trapped in a cage suspended over a giant bonfire.

It was almost as bad as I had imagined, except that there was still time to save him. If I could just find the lever, or whatever mechanism would let him out of that cage. But then the blockhead stopped me from searching the room, told me that it was more important to go and poison the tree while it was still at its weakest. He actually wanted me to leave, instead of rescuing him from those wretches who wanted to cook him for dinner - or worse.

This time I took even more convincing. If Eveli hadn't been there to handle things, I doubt I could have left him. I couldn't let him die. I couldn't let him be left behind. Not like... not like before. And even with Eveli's assurances, I still couldn't shake the feeling that things could still turn out very badly.

At least if I could kill the tree, maybe they wouldn't have any briar hearts to implant in Alinon. Maybe I would still have time to stop them if they tried using him for some sort of ritual. I could still save him and stop their foul plot. And so I went.

The tree I found was beautiful in a way, a burst of vibrant color amidst all the dull gray and brown of the frost-bound fort. But its color was drawn from the corpses that fed it, and its vibrancy was stolen and unnatural. Its keepers didn't want me anywhere near it. But I knew that it needed to die.

Alinon had already reminded me of the Bloodthorn vines from Glenumbra. I had more recent memories of the Reach's incursion into Shor's Stone in the Rift. This corruption of nature... it needed to stop.

Just as I was applying Alinon's elixir to the exposed roots, the alchemist himself appeared along with his able rescuer. So at least I didn't need to worry about him still being trapped. And it was a good thing too, because those Reachmen put up a desperate fight to save their tree. It was only through some fancy bow work keeping their healing efforts interrupted that we finally managed to buy enough time for the poison to do its work and the tree was finally sapped. Alinon promised to meet me outside, and the King and I continued on to finish the job we had infiltrated the fortress to do. King Kurog was delighted to have Urfon Ice-Heart's lifeless corpse under his foot and his fancy blade in his hand, but I couldn't be entirely at ease until I made sure that everyone had actually made it out safely.

Fortunately Eveli and Alinon were waiting outside, along with the one Orc escort who had made it all the way through the fortress with us. Alinon was drained but otherwise seemed fine. As I spoke to him again, I felt the heaviness slowly lifting from my chest, and I began to realize how silly I had been. Of course things were going to be dangerous breaking into an enemy stronghold, what was new about that? I'd taken risks with plenty of teammates before. And most of the time things worked out just fine, just like they had today. I didn't need to be freaked out just because this guy happened to be Darien's friend.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries before I departed. He didn't say anything about Darien being gone. Is it possible he still doesn't know? He said he did a lot of traveling after the werewolves were put down in Camlorn. Maybe he was too ensconced in his study of Reach magic to have heard about the Planemeld and Darien's role in ending it. Should I have told him? Could I bring myself to have that conversation with Darien's best friend?

He said he'd be in the King's Cornerclub once he returned to Orsinium, but I haven't seen him there yet. I find myself stopping in there to check more often than I probably should. I hope I'm not just getting myself worked up. I should probably just focus on taking care of the King's business. Maybe getting out and about will help to clear my head.

Well guess who else has found his way to Wrothgar? Skordo the ever-lovin' Knife. I'll get to the less gratifying circumstances in a bit, but man was it good seeing him again. I'm not sure why I reacted so differently than when I heard that Alinon was at Frostbreak Fortress, but learning that Skordo was serving as our ambassador's bodyguard kind of perked me up. It was hard not to laugh when I discovered him buried under a pile of furniture and had to drag him out from under it. He cracked a joke about not knowing who I was, and for a moment it seemed just like old times.

His mood turned more sober when I asked him how he'd been since Coldharbour. He tries not to think about that too much, he said, since it's hard for him to remember all the good people we lost. I could relate. Then he asked me if I remembered Darien. All I could do was nod and smile sadly. If Skordo never realized how I felt about Darien, then I couldn't exactly just come out and say that I've never stopped thinking about him. But for some reason, hearing Darien's name didn't send me reeling this time. Maybe I'd been primed by meeting Alinon. Or maybe my mood was just lighter after seeing Skordo. I count it as a good sign.

We set out to try to find the Breton ambassador, Lady Sovelle. I'd had my suspicions that there might be something shifty afoot, especially after finding the remnants of certain letters written between the ambassador's father-in-law and the captain of this doomed sailing fleet. Apparently strengthening economic ties between High Rock and Orsinium is less of a priority to certain people than it is to High King Emeric. And unfortunately, one of those people was able to lead our ambassador and the rest of her entourage straight into the ice storm that wrecked the entire fleet.

The good news is that we were able to find and rescue Lady Sovelle, and her trade mission will hopefully be able to continue. Unfortunately, her husband met his end after an admirable but perhaps ill-advised show of gumption in the face of the perfidious Captain Henrisa. I could have told him that it was a bad idea to rush at her when he could barely defend himself, but I suppose a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And I did have the final word with Henrisa herself.

Of course, not before she got in a few words of her own. "High King Emeric will hear of this." Yes, go tell High King Emeric that Ilsabet Menard had an issue with you trying to sabotage his trade plans because you don't think Orcs are people. See how that goes for you.

Oh wait, you can't, because you're dead. What a shame.

I mean really, do these people really think that the High King would be proud of them for being unrepentant racists? After he worked so hard to build his alliance, making a point of including the people these idiots now want to shun?

Maybe they think what they're doing isn't that bad, since they're not actively trying to kick the Orcs out of the Covenant, they just don't want to have to do business with them. I mean everyone knows that Bretons are the superior race and we only let those Orsimer ally with us so we could use them like beasts, right?

Gah. Even saying it sarcastically makes me want to punch myself. People are idiots.

I guess it's a wake-up call just in case I thought that pointless racism was exclusive to the Dominion and the Pact. At least I know that High King Emeric would be as appalled as I am if he knew about this. I just hope Skordo and Lady Sovelle are able to make it to the city in time to speak with King Kurog and his advisors before they make any decisions. If they can, maybe this whole incident won't have been for nothing.

That whole episode with the Shatul clan got me thinking about the greater social issues going on here in Wrothgar. From what I've seen, in many ways they are an embodiment of the ongoing conflict between Malacath and Trinimac - between old and new, vengeance and reconciliation, tradition and progress. I've been struggling to understand the dynamic between the two gods, and why they and their followers oppose each other so strongly. I mean, from what I've read, they may even essentially be the same god - but I've definitely learned not to say anything like that to an Orc. And I try not to spend too much time thinking about that unpleasant business with Boethiah and... um, the digestive process.

But the point is, we have these two deities, both claimed as patrons by the Orsimer, but not considered contemporaneous. If you believe in one, you have to disavow the other. If one is considered the true god of the Orcs, the other must be considered false. It's hard for me to understand, but aside from the few who just reject the whole dang thing, everyone I've met here has drawn sides one way or the other.

I think that religious conflict has a lot to do with some clans' resistance to accepting Kurog's rule. He has unequivocally championed Trinimac, and in doing so he directly challenges the traditions of Malacath and the old ways of the Orsimer. I've seen it countless times - even the idea of putting unity between the Orcs above clan distinctions is seen as revolutionary. Tradition is important to the Orcs. And the teachings of Malacath seem to emphasize remembering the past, keeping old grudges and drawing strength from long-standing resentment.

It seems like an angry way to live, but then I suppose the Orcs have been through enough over the centuries that that anger can be well-founded. But when presented with an alternative way of thinking, that emphasizes understanding and forgiveness the way High Priestess Solgra explains it, I can see the appeal for people who are weary of clinging to that anger. Young people who want to be free to marry their lovers instead of watching only chiefs take wives. Female leaders like Ushruka who would be denied the opportunity to assert themselves. Those who envy the economic prosperity and culture of other lands and are tired of being thought of as backward savages by the rest of the world. I can see why people would be ready to embrace the new ways, even as others insist on maintaining what has defined them as people for so long.

I'm not even going to try to say which side is right. I'm just an outsider, after all. It's not my fight. All I can do is hope that the two sides might at least be able to call a truce, find whatever common ground they can as people, and not let this be one more reason for divisiveness and hatred. We're already seeing in the Vosh Rakh what can happen when belief turns to fanaticism and people turn against each other in the name of their gods. Let's hope that the Orcs as a whole can see how self-destructive that path is and decide for themselves to choose another path.

There's another giant mammoth in the room that I've been tiptoeing around, and that's the unpleasant history between the Bretons and the Orcs. It's easy for me to see Orcs as equals and allies, but I am frequently reminded of the hostilities that have been going on for centuries - and, I hate to say, were often provoked by the Bretons. More than once I've had to wonder if the Orcs I'm trying to help actually feel some of that innate hostility toward me, simply because of my race. Honestly it's no different from what they - or the Argonians, or the Khajiit, or the "lesser" Dunmer - must face from those who look down on them, but it's unnerving when it's me. And even more unnerving when I can't know if I'm just imagining things or being paranoid. And even more unnerving when I can't really blame them for not trusting someone whose people have gone to great lengths to try to crush them for centuries.

I'm certainly not old enough to remember when the Bretons and the Orcs were at war, but we learned about the various sacks of Orsinium in our history lessons growing up. Officially we were on good terms with the Orcs after Ranser's War, but I always got the feeling from Ma Richard (Ian and Jacob's ma, that is - she's the one who gave us our lessons after the day's work was done) that she was proud of what our people had done. I guess I'd feel the same way too, if I were just looking at the accomplishments of my own people and didn't consider anybody else's position.

In a lot of cases that's just what we naturally do as people. We identify with a certain group, whether it's based on our race, or religion, or some other affiliation. And whatever our group accomplishes, we take pride in it. It's harder to see the perspective of those you consider enemies at the time, and even more complicated if those enemies at some point become friends.

I guess that makes what High King Emeric has accomplished all the more remarkable. Through his friendship with an ambitious and formidable Orc, he managed to get two groups of people to look past centuries of hostility and work together. Well, at least most of two groups of people. We already know there are those on both sides who would still prefer to beat each other up. And, as I think more about it, I guess that's to be expected, even if it isn't admirable or productive.

These thoughts have begun to crystallize more in my mind since I got a unique and insightful chance to see some of the history that was forged between our peoples, in the ruins of what's called Honor's Rest. The catacombs is something of a monument to the climactic battle between the Redguard hero Gaiden Shinji, who was fighting on the side of Daggerfall, and the Orc hero Baloth Bloodtusk, who stood against him during the first siege of Orsinium hundreds of years ago. Baloth is revered as one of the first champions of the Orcs, and I'm more familiar with the many tales - and proverbs - of Gaiden Shinji that have been passed down through the generations. (I also can't help remembering running into Darien and helping Clan Murtag at Shinji's Scarp in Stormhaven, before I fully grasped what that name meant.)

Speaking to the researchers outside Honor's Rest revealed the conflicting accounts of what happened when Shinji challenged Baloth to a duel over the fate of Orsinium. The Orcs believe that Shinji betrayed Baloth after luring him into a dishonorable duel, while Shinji's supporters find it impossible to believe that he would do something so duplicitous. And now the researchers believed that they had discovered the final resting place of one of these great men, but they had come to an impasse trying to sort out which hero's tomb it was.

And that's where I came in. I was able to get inside the catacombs, and what I found out, through visions of the event, was that there was betrayal involved - but not on the part of Shinji or Baloth. Their duel, and the bloodshed that followed, was instigated by King Joile of Daggerfall, who plotted to conquer both the Orcs and his apparent allies in Sentinel. The hailstorm of arrows that felled both Shinji and Baloth, after their duel had found them evenly-matched, was ordered loosed by Joile's commander from the Reach as a way to bring down two strong foes at once. It was a cunning move, but completely devoid of the honor that defined Shinji and his final duel.

It made me angry and a little bit ashamed that a Breton would be behind something so despicable. Maybe I'm lucky that the King I serve is a better man than that. And while the aftermath of the betrayal was a chance for those left behind to come together to honor both of the heroes - and a chance for me, in the guise of a Breton knight, to exact some justice on the treacherous Reachwoman - the bitter taste was harder for me to wash out.

As devoted as I am to my people, there are blemishes on our heritage that we can't be proud of. Maybe it's like that for everyone. Maybe it's all a matter of perspective. And maybe the lesson is for us to try to do better than our ancestors as we make our own choices. I only hope I'm doing a service to the honorable vision of my High King as he strengthens ties with honorable allies, and maybe we can avoid falling into those same traps from so long ago.

I'm... not sure I'm okay right now. What I've done... what I've just seen... People keep acting like everything will be all right, but... the King... the Covenant... King Emeric, I'm so sorry...

Maybe it had to come to this, once I found out that the King's mother was the one behind the Vosh Rakh. But it could have been just her, behind her son's back, while he valiantly and honestly strove to bring the Orcs together. But seeing him standing over me after the dagger plunged into my body... no...

I wonder if Razbela regrets dragging me out of there and helping me recover. I certainly regretted having to kill her and her sister. As I circled the throne room, looking for some way to open a secret entrance without having to engage them, I was begging them in my mind not to make me have to do this. But there was no other choice. They believed in protecting their beloved just as strongly as I believed in stopping him from murdering those chiefs. And it ended the only way it could, even though only minutes earlier Razbela had been sending me on my way to reunite with the man who most strongly opposed him.

Would I have gone through with it if I hadn't had Bazrag urging me forward? If he hadn't been telling me that this was the way to truly save the Orsimer people? Did I believe it, even as I was clashing blades with the King and his mother? Did it matter what I believed when I got to that point?

No, probably not. The King already believed I was a traitor, already saw me as an enemy. No matter how desperately I wanted to explain that he was mistaken, that Bazrag didn't attack his city, that it was all a conspiracy... it wouldn't have mattered. And not just because he already knew about the Vosh Rakh, and was the one who set it all up to begin with. I became his enemy as soon as I knew too much, as soon as I stood in the way of his glorious vision.

It's a bitter sigh that comes to my lips as I think of that vision. Didn't I travel all over this land in support of his vision? Wasn't I his emissary, encouraging the fractious chiefs to see that he wanted what was best for his people? Didn't I believe as strongly as he did that a united people could be stronger than disparate clans?

It's still true, really. I guess. To the extent that I know what to believe anymore. Or maybe it's just because that's what I'm used to. I serve a High King who rules over cities and provinces that were once and could yet be independent sovereign entities. Rivenspire could be its own kingdom if Ranser had won his war. If... if Kurog had not come to the aid of my King in his time of need. If... the seeds of my Covenant had not been sown.

Oh gods, what am I going to tell High King Emeric? Can I ever show my face to him again? I swear I've been forcing myself not to cry, even though that was the thing I wanted most to do as I stood there in front of Kurog and his mother, even past the point when weapons had been drawn. But I might not be able to stop myself now. And I even thought I had mostly pulled myself together after talking to everyone at the funeral, thinking things might actually be okay as I left the keep. I just wandered around the city for a long time after that, until I thought that it might be easier to get my thoughts together if I was sitting in one place. And the view from here is nice, might even distract me if I decided to concentrate on following the flow of the river instead of sitting here dwelling on how I may have just ruined everything we've been fighting for all this time...

I mean I am still the Hero of the Covenant, right? All that time I spent pretending to be someone else, fighting for other alliances, even getting sidetracked with thieves and Celestials... I'm still Ilsabet Menard, a Breton, champion of the High King of Daggerfall. If everything came to a head tomorrow, that's who I am, and that's who I'd be fighting for. The united people of the Covenant, fighting for right and truth and justice and all that other crap that everyone always talks about like it justifies whatever their side happens to want to do.

*buries head in hands*

Okay, I... I need to get ahold of myself. I...

I killed King Kurog. I killed one third of the Daggerfall Covenant. I killed High King Emeric's greatest ally. It wasn't something I wanted to do. I spent the entire time leading up to it wishing that there could be another way. But there wasn't. Not if I wanted to save those chiefs from being murdered. The chiefs whom I had led there, just as surely as if I had been an agent of the intrigue myself. Maybe I could have let the chiefs be a sacrifice, for a better tomorrow for the unified Orcs. If I had believed that that was the way for Kurog to achieve his vision and lead the Orsimer people to greatness. But even now, as regretful as I am, I can't reconcile the possibility of letting those chiefs die. Saving them is something I had to do, whether it was out of guilt over my role in the plot or not. Once I had accepted that rescuing the chiefs was more important than letting Kurog have his way, my path was clear. If it could have ended with a rational diplomatic discussion to convince Kurog not to kill them, then that's what I would have done. But that wasn't going to happen. It had gone much too far for that. Kurog had gone much too far. Was it really just his mother's influence? I couldn't say. Maybe he still believed what he was doing was right, was necessary. The only way to bring his people together if the chiefs wouldn't see reason and come under his banner.

And of course now the irony is that the chiefs do seem to be coming together - under Bazrag's banner. I'm not quite sure I understand it. I'm not sure I can understand it, especially in my current state of mind. But it was apparently their idea to name Bazrag as their new king. Apparently they see the value in having a ruler uniting their people, especially now that so much will be up in the air.

So did things work out okay in the end, as they so often do? I mean I've made lots of hard decisions and killed lots of people I'd rather not have killed. It's usually not a big deal if it works out okay in the end, right? As long as the chiefs are happy, and the people are happy, and the nation can rebuild and the city can keep growing and life can generally go on?

I... hope so. Maybe this is a case where the world is bigger than just me and the distress I'm feeling right now doesn't matter in the long run. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and just feel better. Maybe Bazrag will turn out to be a better ruler than Kurog ever could have been, and maybe King Emeric will come to consider him just as great an ally. Maybe I won't be responsible for destroying the alliance I've devoted myself to, and maybe my King won't hate me for murdering one of his closest friends.

...

I... should... really try to get back to that happy place I was in when I left the funeral. Okay, not happy, but at least less depressive. It really was a nice funeral. It was nice of Bazrag to want to do that for his friend. And all of those people who came, and remembered Kurog as he was before his ambition got the better of him. It seemed genuine, not like a publicity stunt or just paying lip service to keep up appearances. I'm not sure it helped with the regret over killing him, but it did help to put all of the emotions into perspective at least for a little while.

Afterward I had the chance to speak to some of the people who came. That was nice. I still can't believe Bumnog was an old comrade of Kurog and Bazrag. When I saw him coming to get his letter... it was almost like seeing Skordo again. I wonder if Skordo and Bumnog know each other? Maybe I should see if Skordo is back at the Greedy Gut and see if I can introduce them. I'd like to see what would happen if the two of them spent several rounds of ale together.

Alinon was there too. Bless his soul, he actually wants to believe Darien might still be alive - expected to see him rushing in here chasing adventure, or off in a brothel or tavern somewhere. The idea of it made me smile in spite of everything. Maybe having just talked to Rigurt made it easier to be amused. But that would be just like Darien, wouldn't it. Of course I wouldn't have the heart to say anything to Alinon. If that's how he's coping with our friend's death, I've got no right to tell him otherwise.

There were other people there too, the Vanos siblings snuck in for the booze and hobnobbing, Chief Ushruka is probably glad she didn't plan on showing up for the moot, and Eveli is still trying to cope with the emotional ups and downs of the whole hero thing. If I weren't such a wreck right now I might have some insight to share with her, but it's probably just as well that she wanted some time to find her own path right now. And Chief - no, King Bazrag is still adjusting to the position he's found himself in, but he seems to be handling it stolidly and dare I say optimistically. Which was in its own way heartening.

Lest I forget the last big shock of the day, there was one other visitor at the post-requiem reception, one that I suspect nobody else could even see or hear. I'm still not even sure that I was seeing and hearing properly. It was the Prophet, Varen Aquilarios, somehow returned only momentarily from Aetherius to give me an important message. What Meridia told me as I reclaimed my soul is apparently coming to pass, very soon. The Daedric Princes are beginning to move. Some conspiracy, some vague allegiances, and something about Sotha Sil and some city. He was one of the Tribunal, right? I wonder if Almalexia knows anything about it.

But anyway. All that can wait. It'll have to wait. The Daedric Princes aren't planning to launch their war right this very minute, are they? Because I'm only hanging on very precariously right now. At least I'm not on the verge of crying anymore. I'll keep walking around the city, maybe stop into some shops and stuff. Gotta keep taking my mind off of things. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

Author's note:


*flails*

I found someone to tell me what to do. Not how to save Darien. I don't know if anyone can tell me how to save Darien. But until I find a way... I've found something to do, and people to do it with. They would call themselves my new family. I'm... not so sure yet.

I was in Mournhold, fencing some recent acquisitions. A woman pulled me aside to speak to me. She was shifty-looking, had an eyepatch. But of course most people who frequent outlaws refuges are shifty-looking. She was excited about something, wanted to share what she knew. She picked me out because of the look in my eyes. Apparently I look like someone who has killed, a lot. I didn't see any point in denying it. At least she didn't say she could smell the blood on my hands.

She was all fascinated with the Dark Brotherhood. I was vaguely aware of them. An organization of assassins, kind of like the Morag Tong, except I'm pretty sure the Morag Tong don't like them very much. At least that was the impression I got from Naryu.

My new friend was sure that she'd found a new home for "people like us," who are no strangers to killing. A place where we would be free to do what we do without judgment or shame. Where fellowship, security, and copious amounts of gold awaited us. Where our "darkest urges" could be used in a controlled way, indulged but not allowed to overwhelm.

And maybe, I thought with some bitter amusement after she finished her pitch and left me to go about my business, where I would never have to worry about being the guiltiest soul in the room.

It seemed absurd. It was absurd. Why would a hero like me, the champion of Meridia, savior of Tamriel, defender of good and truth and justice... why would someone like that lower herself to the level of common murderers? This woman obviously didn't know who she was talking to.

But as soon as my self-righteous bravado faded, I came back to the reality of who I really was. The reality I'd been grappling with ever since I left Wrothgar. After a moment of sober reflection, my gaze found her again, and she smiled back at me. I realized then what I looked like. I felt it in my eyes, as clearly as if I had a mirror.

She was right.

Wasn't that weight on my conscience just as heavy as it was invisible to everyone but me? Didn't it stand to reason that the strain would eventually show on my face? I could hole up in that gloomy new house in Narsis, I could smile at the world and pretend that everything was fine, I could tell myself that someday I would just go back to Wayrest and explain everything to High King Emeric and surely he'll understand and all will be forgiven... But no delusion will change what I know in my heart of hearts, where the chains of guilt and helplessness remain, just hanging there, needing only to exist to do their job.

Even distracting myself with my frantic efforts to find a way to Darien couldn't change things, once I was forced to accept that there was nothing I could do. In the end, it's still just me, helpless to do what I most want to do, living with regret over doing what I didn't want to do but went ahead and did anyway. Some hero.

Maybe there was a reason to go to Anvil. Maybe it wasn't so unbelievably absurd. At the very least, a change of scenery might do me good.

I found a navigator in Davon's Watch who could take me to the Gold Coast. I spent the entire trip below deck, holed up in my bunk, fitfully sleeping in between bouts of trying not to think too much.

When I emerged into the warm sunshine and soft sea breeze of the port of Anvil, it was like waking up from the unpleasant debilitation of a head cold. It's almost comical how instantaneous the change was, and I must have looked like quite the doofus just standing there taking it all in, like I'd never seen a blue sky or felt warm salt spray before. Fortunately the sailors were in no hurry to leave port again, and they allowed me to just stand there at the rail while they began seeing to the supplies they'd need for the return trip.

Keeping in mind the purpose that lay ahead, before I disembarked I took the precaution of clothing myself in something that might be less likely to stand out among the crowd than my usual armor. I was immediately reminded of why I don't fight in a dress, but for now it was more important to blend in.

Once I reached solid ground, I started finding my way around the docks. Still kind of distracted by the sea view, I nearly stumbled over a figure leaning against the seawall behind some stacked crates. Just as I was noticing the eyepatch, she gave me a wry smile - and an approving nod, which I assume was aimed at the dress. Nodding silently and somewhat self-consciously back, I set out to acquaint myself with my new surroundings, remembering what she had told me back in Mournhold. Kill an innocent, get noticed. That was the way to the Dark Brotherhood.

I've never been to the Gold Coast before. I guess this is Imperial territory. I had to remind myself that here Imperials aren't invaders or usurpers. As I wandered the docks and admired Anvil's architecture, I almost forgot why I was really there. But even then, there were constant little reminders - books and notes that hinted at the shadowy fellowship, comments I overheard as I passed by.

There was also a journal carelessly left on the docks by someone known as the "Butcher of Bravil," that mentioned an Eye of the Queen being dispatched to the Gold Coast. I wonder...

Further along the docks, I saw a ship that looked vaguely familiar, and there on the deck of the Prowler was Captain Jimila. She recognized me as a friendly face. Before I had time to wonder how exactly she could remember me, she had tasked me with dealing with the local shakedown squad. Now pirates that have gotten too big for their britches, that's something I can handle.

It would have been easy to lose myself in nostalgia and sightseeing and helpful busywork. Isn't that what I usually do when I come to a new place? But this was different. I wasn't here to be a hero. I mean I'll help Jimila, I'll help whoever I come across who needs it. But right now, I was on a different sort of mission. And as long as I had the intention to follow through on that mission, I couldn't let my focus wander.

I started walking again, this time looking more appraisingly at the people I passed. I'm used to evaluating people as potential pickpocketing targets. I have an eye for guard locations and convenient hiding places. The risk assessment was similar here, but now there was a different kind of haze around the people I passed. A haze of potential... victimhood. A white halo of impending death. The awareness that any one of them could be my prey.

Of course, that's not to say that I was overcome with some sort of bloodlust. I still had the option of being judicious in my choice. It just needed to be an innocent, right? Wasn't there anyone in the city who would qualify, who was maybe a little less innocent than the others? Someone who was bullying his neighbors, abusing his wife, being cruel to animals? That would make it seem just a little more justifiable, wouldn't it?

But after making the rounds of the city at least three times, I was no closer to picking out a target than when I started. I saw people going about their daily business. People trying to get work done. People chatting and cajoling each other and complaining about things that seemed important to them at the time. But even the boorish man who wanted to turn the Chapel of Dibella into a tavern didn't seem like a particularly bad person. And I couldn't convince myself that killing a miserable beggar would be a mercy.

I began doubting why I was even there. What was the point of all this again? To join the Dark Brotherhood? To prove myself to them? No, just to get their attention. Killing an innocent would get their attention. Then they'd notice me, and then maybe they'd want me to join their ranks. The ranks of those whose hands are stained with blood, just like mine.

If that was all it took, then it should be easy. Killing people has become quite easy for me, hasn't it. One of the perks of becoming the Hero of Tamriel, I guess. Bandit or former friend or king, once my bow and my blade start doing their work, I'm always the one left standing. It suddenly felt silly that I was taking so long to do something that should be so easy.

I started roaming again. The thoughts in my head had begun to come into focus. Everyone is innocent, and no one is innocent. Don't we all have marks on our souls, even as we go about ostensibly doing the best we can? I can't be the only one.

Everyone and no one. If you thought about it that way, it didn't matter at all who I chose. It was all the same.

I ended up back at the docks. There was a passage below the boardwalk that I hadn't taken before. I ended up swimming under dangling nets until my feet met sand again. And then I spotted him, the Wood Elf who had been nonchalantly fishing there on the shore all afternoon.

I didn't really even need to think about it. I concealed myself against the seawall, shin-deep in the ocean. It was a clear shot. No one to see me, especially once I hid myself in the shadows. An easy mark. I barely needed two shots. And then it was over.

My heart was pounding more than it should have been as I pressed myself back against the seawall. Scarcely a second was all I had needed. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled out one of my counterfeit pardon edicts. You never know when one of those will come in handy.

Peeking back around, there was a High Elf woman nosing around from the town gate. I had seen her biding her time in front of the chapel earlier. She probably saw the body, but she didn't seem too concerned about coming closer to investigate. I briefly wondered if I should take her out too. But I decided to leave well enough alone, and just make myself scarce.

I slipped back through the water and went back to mingling with the folks on the docks. The chapel bell rang four o'clock, then five. I started wandering back through the rest of the city. Six bells. I began to wonder what was supposed to happen now, when I would be contacted. That's what Amelie said, right? I would be contacted by someone from the Brotherhood after making my hit? Maybe they hadn't noticed. Did I need to do it again?

Seven bells. I decided to head back to the spot where I had last seen Amelie. Maybe she could tell me something.

She wasn't there when I got back. I don't blame her for not wanting to spend hours just standing around. I glanced about, not seeing any sign of her, and it occurred to me that she had mentioned prospective recruits being visited after nightfall. Maybe I was just being impatient. I was just about to cut my losses and go find a room for the night, when a voice called out to me and I turned to see a friendly courier running up to me.

He brought me a sealed letter and passed along some instructions to go with it. I was to meet the sender at the lighthouse, just beyond the docks. I had passed by it earlier. A woman on the beach had cautioned me about the place, mentioning some dark rumors surrounding it.

The courier trotted off to continue his deliveries, leaving me to contemplate the folded letter. I had a rather ominous feeling about it. I opened it, revealing a wordless message: a large black imprint of a hand.

It wasn't a symbol I had seen before, at least not this distinctly, but somehow I knew what it meant. Perhaps my "visitor" wasn't going to make me wait until nightfall.

The lighthouse seemed to be deserted, and the door was unlocked. The first thing I noticed inside, sitting in a chair beside the crackling fire, was the still form of a woman. The two daggers protruding from her chest explained why she hadn't greeted me when I entered. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized that she looked eerily like me, except wearing a dress. Well... a different dress.

The journal I found on the table beside her provided clues as to how she had come to this gruesome end. Apparently the Dark Brotherhood is quite thorough when members of a family each get too close to secrets they shouldn't know about. And even making the effort to un-know those secrets isn't quite enough to remove the mark.

As I was returning the journal to its resting place, giving the woman another sympathetic look, a soft chuckle startled me. There was another chair there, being warmed by the fire, and until that moment I hadn't noticed its occupant. A man who seemed wrapped in shadows, his dark robes obscuring all but his keen face.

He bade me come closer, and my eyes revealed to him all that he wanted to see. Satisfied that he had been right to call me before him, he introduced himself as a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, an instrument of the Night Mother herself.

He unnerved me, but the more he spoke to me, in that shadows-tinged voice, the more he... got to me. He seemed to know, so much. He saw through my feeble protestation that I wasn't a murderer. He knew all of my justifications, and saw them for the excuses they were. Even if I had believed in them at the time, believed that I was doing the right thing, in the end it was really just about ending people's lives and going on my way. He saw that, and so did I.

He spoke of the Night Mother, and of Sithis, and of souls destined for the Void. These were all concepts I had heard of, and read about, but it was clear that there was a much deeper significance that I had yet to understand. There was a religious fervor there that was beyond my ken. Frankly the idea of the Night Mother and her cold, loving embrace kind of weirded me out.

But while the rabbit hole was beginning to stretch deeper than I had anticipated, I couldn't exactly turn back now. I had made the effort to get the Dark Brotherhood's attention, and I had succeeded. The doors were being opened to me. And Speaker Terenus was offering me one more task to consummate my initiation into the Brotherhood.

I accepted his charge, and with it the use of the Blade of Woe, the Brotherhood's mystical killing tool of choice. And then I set out to infiltrate an estate on the northwestern coast, and end the life of one Lord Quintus Jarol.

Along the way I made the acquaintance of the mother and daughter whose hostel concealed smuggling tunnels that would lead me into the estate. The daughter confided that she planned to sell the place and move to Daggerfall once her mother passed. A note I found in the cellar revealed that Lord Jarol had taken an interest in the young woman as she was "growing up." If I'd had any reservations about removing him from the picture, that note went a long way toward easing them.

Getting in wasn't hard at all. Then it was just a matter of snooping through the manor to find my mark. I had done this sort of thing before, in Abah's Landing. Just keep to the edges of rooms, peek up beyond the stairs to make sure no one is waiting -

Damn it. I didn't even notice the wire until it was sending me reeling onto my face. Damn dress and its damn too much fabric getting in the way. Honestly I'm lucky I wasn't tripping every time I crouched down. Fortunately there was no one in the room to see my nosedive. But as I returned to the shadows, I heard the stirring of guards downstairs. They had been alerted to the possibility that there was someone in the house who shouldn't be.

I was much more careful after that. Nobody saw me as I crept through the manor and its wine cellar and the tunnels leading toward the sea. I was even privy to some of the conversation between my mark and the two power players who had convened at his estate. One of them was Varen's nephew, who has been ruling Kvatch since the uprising against Emperor Leovic. I'm still not sure what his place is in all this. From what I read, he's been at odds with the Pirate Queen Fortunata since she began demanding that he relinquish Kvatch to her rule. But now here he was parleying with her and her toady. Apparently they've found a bigger problem that has led them to put their differences aside. Based on what I overheard, that problem involves the Brotherhood - but it also involves the vigilante killer who seems to have been going after the Brotherhood's members.

I didn't get to hear too many of the details. Unfortunately, news of the intruder in the estate moved faster than I did. By the time I reached the final chamber, Fortunata and Carolus Aquilarios had departed. But there was my mark, Lord Quintus Jarol, defiantly standing there waiting for me. He demanded that I come out and face him - or was I one of those Dark Brotherhood cowards who prefer to slink through the shadows?

I almost admired the fact that he knew I was there, and knew what I was there to do, but he didn't seem at all afraid. It might have been interesting to know more about him. But...

I do like the shadow thing, I thought, as I silently drew the Blade of Woe across his throat.

An easy kill. Once again. I headed out through the last sea gate and left his body there to be discovered by the hapless fire mage who hadn't even known I was there.

Speaker Terenus already knew what I was returning to report. He seemed pleased. But he also seemed to consider it a foregone conclusion, a formality to seal the deal of our covenant. And now that I was formally a member of the Dark Brotherhood, it was time for me to be introduced to my new "family" and the Sanctuary that they called home.

The entrance was well-hidden among the craggy rocks to the north. I would have passed right over it if I hadn't known what to look for. I was prepared to give the passphrase to enter the Black Door, but I wasn't prepared for the door's question to be asked in such a... chilling manner. When it asked me "What is the flavor of fear?" I could almost taste it myself. I'm not sure I would have described it as sublime, but fortunately I got the words out anyway.

Stepping inside the Sanctuary was like stepping into some kind of surreal dreamscape. It was like no other cave I've ever been in. The rock formations protruding from the floor reminded me of layers of wax drippings from centuries' worth of candles. Steam rose from pools of dark water. There was a pervasive murkiness to the place, but at the same time it didn't have the oppressive and claustrophobic gloom of, say, a Daedric enclave.

Once I got done gawking at the foyer, I ventured down one of the tunnels in search of someone I could speak to. The first person I spotted was leaning nonchalantly against a wall. I approached him and was halfway through introducing myself when I realized that I was speaking to a skeleton in armor... who then slowly creaked its head around to look at me. (I'm still getting used to meeting one of those guys coming around a corner. Whether it's silly or not, I still feel compelled to offer a deferential "Hello, sir" and get out of their way whenever I see one of them coming.)

Having made a great first impression, I next came across a Dark Elf man sitting alone in a room filled with books and swords and skulls. He introduced himself as the coordinator of the group's more mundane contracts, and apparently I'll be seeing a lot of him after I get settled in.

I finally wandered far enough to find the Matron, Astara, who is the leader of this branch of the Dark Brotherhood. She welcomed me, in her own authoritative way, and suggested that I get to know the rest of my "brothers and sisters" before heading back to Elam the contract-broker to get started on jobs.

The group seems like an interesting mix. There's a tight-lipped Argonian who seems to be very meticulous about taking notes and apparently already has a dossier started on me. There's a saucy Breton, Mirabelle, who had no reservations about hitting on me despite her lover standing nearby. There are a couple of Nords, although Kor was the only one who actually looked like a Nord - his young friend Hildegard was having one of her uncontrollable werewolf outbreaks at the time, so I didn't really get to speak to her. And Tanek the Redguard told a jovial tale of killing an abusive blacksmithing master before leaving his old life behind.

Elam, when I made it back to him, had also heard some things about me, and was eager to see how I'd do on a job. He had a contract already picked out for me, and sent me to the city of Kvatch to find and eliminate my target.

In the process of fulfilling that contract, I learned two valuable lessons: One, that the Blade of Woe may be a powerful and mystical weapon that can take down a grown man in an instant, but it apparently gets finicky if you try to use it from behind a lamppost. And two, that being hidden behind your target before striking doesn't prevent you from being seen by other bystanders if you shank someone in the middle of the street.

Fortunately my finely-honed fleeing skills and copious supply of pardon edicts stood me in good stead, and I was soon back on my way to the Sanctuary. Despite the inelegant nature of my kill, a kill it was, and Elam seemed quite satisfied with my performance. He pointed toward the creepily ornate book sitting on a stand nearby, the ledger that housed the contracts available to the Brotherhood's agents.

I tried not to look nervous, knowing that Elam was watching me as I opened the ledger and began to peruse. He was probably interested to see what assignment I would choose.

It was not a thin book, and each page contained a succinct note from a client describing what they wanted done. The pages fell open to a complaint from someone in Nimalten about a would-be skald with a terrible voice, whose caterwauling was driving the complainant to homicide.

Hmm. Aside from the fact that the situation seemed more like a nuisance than an actual justification for death, I wasn't sure I wanted to revisit Nimalten on such... dark terms.

I glanced at Elam and turned the page.

The next request was from the innkeeper at the Outside Inn in Elden Root, who was angry at loiterers making his establishment seem less respectable. Again, this didn't seem like all that serious a problem.

I continued turning pages, finding more personal grudges and petty complaints. Gossips who had ruined someone's reputation and cost her a cushy job. Spinners whose stories have grown boring. A purveyor of parasite-infested water who was angry at the former customer who was now trying to "slander" his name.

These were really supposed to be legitimate reasons for killing someone?

As I flipped through the pages, I almost forgot Elam's eyes on me as I read and rejected each contract. I looked back at him and he simply raised a single eyebrow.

Right. I was supposed to be proving myself here. I had to pick something.

A couple of pages later I found an entreaty from an exile who wanted revenge against those who had driven him from the land of his birth. This at least seemed significant enough to warrant action. Maybe it would bring peace to someone who had long suffered far from home. I accepted the contract.

Then I got the details of the assignment. It didn't seem to matter who exactly was killed, as long as there were three of them. Three targets, in... Nimalten.

Nimalten. Sigh. But it was too late. I knew, even without asking, that a contract accepted must be fulfilled. At least I'd have a comfortable place to lay my head that night.

But before I could even contemplate heading in that direction, the Matron summoned me with a bigger issue. An outspoken opponent of the Brotherhood, making trouble for them in Kvatch. And as you might guess, making trouble for the Brotherhood is a good way to paint a target on your back. I had read about the Grand Sermonizer, somewhere in the informational tomes about the city. It seemed like a big fish to be shooting at, especially for someone so new and untested. But maybe this was the test.

I hope Tanek doesn't mind if it takes me a bit longer than absolutely necessary to make it to Kvatch to meet him. A lot has happened since I've had a moment to reflect. And I have a feeling that the ride isn't going to slow down too much from here. It's a dark path that lies before me, I know that much. I just hope I'm not going to regret allowing myself to be swept along it.

I was right about that Eye of the Queen being on the Gold Coast. I had ventured into an Ayleid ruin to look into an issue with illicit traders, and there was Razum-dar in the process of interrogating a poor sot who couldn't quite withstand the cat's methods of coercion. He greeted me as a friend, and we teamed up to take down a brutal war criminal, just like old times.

It was good to see him, and work with him again, and for a moment it was a kind of respite from my current darker entanglements. But once the task was done, and we prepared to go our separate ways again, he remarked on how good it felt dispatching criminals and murderers.

I tried not to let the inner twinge I felt show on my face, but in that moment I had to wonder just how much he knew about my activities on the Gold Coast. Would he be regarding me as jovially if he knew that I was a murderer now too?

Maybe that's just my conscience talking, being paranoid. Maybe I'm still too weak to own up to the things I've done. But somehow I can't help feeling that it would be better if Raz never had an inkling of what kind of person I've become.

And now I'm off to continue my work in the shadows, once I find out what Fortunata wants from us. It'll probably be something appropriately bloody, and it'll be just as well that I'm not the same person I was before.

Oh, Mirabelle. How far were you going to let your anger and resentment push you? And was it all worth it in the end?

When I met with Count Carolus to collect the intel that he had promised us in exchange for the hit on Fortunata, I found that Mirabelle had already beaten me to him, even though the Matron had ordered her to stay in the Sanctuary. I wasn't surprised, really. She had been angry that the Matron had sent me and Tanek to follow up on Cimbar's job, as if Astara didn't expect Cimbar to succeed. And she certainly wasn't going to allow herself to be tied down at home while the upstart newcomer went to deal with the accomplice to Cimbar's murder.

When I came upon her outside the Order's Enclave of the Hourglass, I tried to convince her that she shouldn't face the Black Dragon alone. But she didn't want my help or my sympathy. I grudgingly watched her stalk away, reckoning that the best I could do was stick to my own mission and hope she didn't run into trouble along her way.

I snuck through the Enclave, keeping to the shadows until I found something that looked like it needed to be sabotaged. Despite the antagonism between the Order and the Brotherhood, I didn't really think it necessary to slay everyone I saw. There was only one target here that really mattered, anyway.

I was nosing around in a library area when someone started speaking to me. It took a moment for me to even realize that the person was addressing me, and to remember that I was supposed to be stealthed and no one was supposed to be able to see me. But somehow this woman was able to see right through my shadowy veil. She didn't seem inclined to attack me, and suggested that we simply speak rather than jumping straight to weapons.

Her name was Lyra. She had an interesting, philosophical nature about her. She had a lot to say about redemption, and asked if I had any regrets. Of course I wasn't going to go baring my soul to someone who was technically an enemy, so I simply asked her what if I did? Her advice was to leave this place, to flee the specter of regret that something told me she had personal experience with. She commented that the Black Dragon I was seeking was a lot like me, once an assassin who killed on command. Something about the way she described the Black Dragon's past and her search for redemption made me suspicious. She claimed that Order members were encouraged to speak of their pasts, but I was getting the feeling that this woman was more than she appeared to be.

Lyra suggested that we find a private place to speak further, and led me to the Black Dragon's chamber. She waited patiently as I made my way around the room rifling through dressers and sacks. She smiled at me as I reached for a journal on the Black Dragon's desk. I read it carefully, going over it twice without looking up, making sure I was interpreting it correctly. Yes, this woman Lyra was indeed the Black Dragon. I knew that as soon as I put the book down, there would be a confrontation.

But I didn't expect Mirabelle to call to me from a ledge behind me. Whatever Lyra - the Black Dragon - might have said to me went by the wayside when she sensed an impending ambush. Despite my readiness for action, I was incapacitated by some kind of dark magic as I helplessly watched the Black Dragon slink through the shadows and run a blade through Mirabelle's back.

I'm not entirely sure why she didn't eliminate me too. Perhaps she sensed that I was more prepared for battle than she was, and she preferred to bide her time until our next encounter. She warned me that the next time we met, she would be ready for me. And then she was gone.

Mirabelle was hovering between life and death as I knelt down beside her, but we both knew that there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing but add her to the list of people to avenge. She was looking forward to reuniting with Cimbar and the Dread Father as I watched her soul slip away into the Void.

I can't even say she shouldn't have done what she did. She was reckless and stubborn and she probably wouldn't have died if she had just stuck with me or stayed at the Sanctuary like Astara told her to. But she did what she had to do, for Cimbar. For the man she loved. How well do I know that feeling? The only thing keeping me from flying into Oblivion in a rage is the fact that throwing my life away without a plan would accomplish literally nothing. If nothing else, I have to stay alive long enough to find a way to do something meaningful for that man. And even then, I'm not sure I'd be brave enough to die for him without knowing that it made a difference.

But right now we have the Black Dragon to think about. She knows the Brotherhood is after her. And she'll be preparing for our next advance. Astara thinks we can find out more about what's going on if we investigate the assassin Lyra's old Sanctuary, which also happens to be Green-Venom-Tongue's old Sanctuary. Years ago, before Venom came to the Gold Coast, the Black Hand ordered a cleansing of that Sanctuary to snuff out a traitor. Venom had always assumed that Lyra had died along with the others. He has a hard time believing that that same Lyra could now be the Black Dragon, but maybe we'll uncover some useful clues in that old forgotten place.

It's been quite some time since I've been to Black Marsh. It should be an interesting trip, and I'll have plenty to think about on the way.

Venom... was not successful. I don't think it was because of any lingering sympathy for his old friend. He said she was just always better than him. Despite his determination and desire for revenge, she simply got the drop on him.

So of course I was left to continue down his path, following the trail of the Black Dragon deeper and deeper into Knightsgrave. I think by that point I had steeled myself for what needed to be done. It just needed to be over. I was still troubled, of course, but that didn't matter. This all just needed to be over.

The Black Dragon seemed to sense the impending moment of truth as well. She watched me as I made my way toward her, speaking to me through magical projections. Among other things she informed me that Primate Artorius was now aware of the secret location of our Sanctuary, thanks to a helpful confession from Brema.

Brema. That callous witch who didn't care that her Brothers and Sisters were being slaughtered. She said they deserved it for being weak. Of course she'd be the one to break before the Black Dragon killed her.

I still don't really know whether Lyra was taunting me, trying to make me lose my nerve, or reaching out to me in a way as she continued to struggle with her own inner demons. She certainly wasn't going soft, and even took a tactical approach to sizing up my abilities before she faced me herself. I finally saw for myself what made her so dangerous. And there was still just enough desperation left in her to come at me with everything she had once I finally reached her sanctum.

It was a difficult fight, to be sure. She had a lot of the same moves I use. But I think I had a few more tricks up my sleeve than she did. And unlike her, I wasn't ready to die just yet.

When it was over, she seemed relieved. But whatever repose she was looking forward to was preempted by the Wrath of Sithis that had been ghosting its way through the corridors as I passed. I shuddered hearing her screams as it dragged her soul away. And then I was left alone, with only the record of her final thoughts at my feet.

It was raining when I emerged from Knightsgrave. It seemed appropriate. It reminded me of another day, when I let the rain wash down upon me, as if it could wash away the feelings of regret over a death that I wished I could have prevented. But I'm not expecting Lyra to appear to me suddenly the way Raz did. I know that her end was absolute, carried away as she was by Sithis himself.

I resisted the urge to go fishing this time. There was more work to be done. The Sanctuary had been betrayed, and for all I knew there could be more bloodshed happening there at any moment. I had to do whatever I could to stop it.

Thankfully, when I arrived back at the Sanctuary the calamitous floodgates had not yet opened. There wasn't even a sign that the Sanctuary was under threat. But Astara knew that Artorius was only biding his time before he acted on the information that the Black Dragon had given him. He will act, once he feels that the advantage is on his side. But before that can happen, once the Speaker and the Matron determine how best to strike, strike we will.

Maybe there was a reason to come to Anvil. Maybe the gods don't hate me after all. Maybe I just needed to be patient. Yes, what I need is just to be patient.

I saw Gabrielle. I was in the Mages Guild, talking to a man about a cave, when I heard a familiar voice grumbling in the next room. There she was, standing in front of a huge pile of books, tossing a book onto a somewhat less huge pile of books.

She's looking for Darien. She believed, in a way I somehow didn't until very recently, that he survived the assault on Molag Bal and simply ended up in a different place than we did. And apparently ever since we left the Hollow City, she's been scouring libraries trying to find a way to locate lost souls in Coldharbour. Her exhaustion showed as clearly as the frustration she was feeling at not getting anywhere. The price of having too many ideas, apparently.

I told her about Darien's note. I almost pulled it out to show her, but then I had a flash of a mental picture of her ripping it out of my hands. But as soon as I mentioned it, and the Colored Rooms, it seemed to instantly revitalize her. If that's where he is, if I was reading his message right, then that tells her where she needs to look. And if she can narrow down her search, then all of the effort she's putting in is more likely to pay off.

I wanted to drop everything else and help her search, but she shooed me away when she saw me going for the books. "You go do what you do and let me do what I do," she told me. I made her promise to send for me the moment she found a way to get to Darien, and then I hovered there awkwardly watching her until she gave me a look that told me I wasn't helping.

I hope she realizes that I'm as dedicated to rescuing Darien as she is. If history tells us anything, it's that she and I make a pretty great team when you combine her cockamamie plans with my willingness to rush into pretty much anything. And you can bet that when the time comes, I'll be off like a powder keg to Coldharbour or the Colored Rooms or wherever else she wants to send me.

I just have to be patient. I'll go do what I do for now, and trust in my friend to find the path that I couldn't find on my own.

We're coming for you, Darien. We all just have to be patient.

What was I just saying about Vvardenfell? And not going there? Sometimes I wonder if I just set myself up for this stuff...

Things in the Sanctuary returned to a semblance of normalcy fairly quickly after Artorius was eliminated. It was kind of nice having some downtime, not really needing to concern myself with anything more than the Speaker's daily assignments and eavesdropping on my comrades' conversations.

Eventually, though, the dank shadows of the Sanctuary got to feeling a bit too stifling, so I left the Gold Coast in search of some fresh air and ended up back at my little house near Nimalten. While I was relaxing in the tavern there, listening to a bard singing and trying to fend off the friendly but annoying attention of a drunk Dunmer, I noticed a nervous-looking robed man standing at the bar who seemed to be sending preoccupied glances my way. At first I tried to ignore him, but when he proved too much of a distraction I finally went over to see if there was something he wanted from me.

He had a message for me, and had apparently been second-guessing whether he had the right person or not. I suppose upon reflection not everyone would peg a scrawny teenaged girl for the hero sort, and he was worried about the wrong people hearing what he had to say.

With very little actual information being shared, he urged me to hurry to meet with the oracle of Azura who had sent him. She was waiting for me, he said, in the inn in Wayrest.

Hoo boy. The one place in Tamriel I've been wanting most to avoid. But, I couldn't let this urgent need go unanswered, could I?

I arrived in Stormhaven in the early afternoon, and while part of me wanted to wait until nightfall to sneak into the city, curiosity and an internal pep talk convinced me to just go ahead and go. It wasn't far from the eastern gate to the inn, and how many people in Wayrest would recognize me after so long, much less run to report to the King that I was there?

The oracle, Rhea, was waiting for me in a private room upstairs. She had seen the moment of our meeting before. She had seen lots of things before, apparently. And she knew that I was the one who would help her Prince face her oncoming troubles.

Azura herself remembered the aid I had rendered here in Stormhaven, so long ago. And now she sensed a plot against her, and required that I act as her champion. She didn't feel like telling me too much about the drama she was about to embroil me in, but she was intent on keeping her Daedric rivals from getting the upper hand on her. And somehow, I was going to be the key to her success.

The whole thing was crazy. You would think I've had enough of Daedric Princes and their tomfoolery. Do I really need to be used as a tool by an imperious Daedric Prince who can't fight her own battles? Wouldn't it be smarter to just stay out of the whole thing and let their little petty grudge match play out somewhere far away from wherever I can find some peace and quiet?

Well sure. But that would have been... boring.

And so here I am in Vvardenfell. The letter that arrived from Canon Llevule inviting me to meet the Warrior-Poet Vivec seemed eerily timed after my meeting with Azura. I almost wondered if she had something to do with it, but the Princes don't seem to be on great terms with the Living Gods who sought to supplant them as the deities of choice in Morrowind.

There's been no shortage of danger and intrigue here so far. Both the wilderness and the political and social environment are pretty foreboding, and watching one's step is well advised. But so far I haven't run into anything I couldn't handle.

Meeting Vivec was an interesting experience in itself. I don't recall any particular ceremony in meeting Almalexia for the first time, aside from noticing her generally imposing (and floating, and pantsless) figure. Vivec, while similarly disdainful of both gravity and pants, struck me with what I can only describe as a certain aura of divinity and strength of personality. I had read some of his writings, and they were... pretty weird. I'm still not quite sure what to make of him as a person. But given the state of his weakening powers, and the greater ramifications if those powers should fail, it wasn't hard for me to agree to become his agent.

We'll see how it goes.

wow, just....wow!

Beautifully written and I have absolutely enjoyed reading your journal of your travels and adventures and look forward to reading more!

Well done!!

I was wondering if I'd see Naryu here in Vvardenfell. It didn't take long for me to run into her, and fortunately she seems to have gotten over being mad at me about that Fate-Bearer thing fairly quickly. I'm guessing she's had bigger things to think about and probably decided that one little would-be assailant wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

Her current troubles revolved around her apprentice in the assassin trade, Veya. The girl had gone missing, and we eventually got caught up in a swirl of family drama and Redoran politics. When we couldn't stop Veya from taking out her anger on her father, Naryu had to make a difficult choice. This time when I advocated the merciful route, she didn't scold me or insist on upholding the rules of her Morag Tong. Veya will atone for her crimes in exile, and Naryu will just have to hope that nobody notices her subterfuge.

It was interesting seeing Naryu in her native habitat, and even more interesting seeing her not completely in control of her surroundings. Veya was always headstrong, and I could tell it drove Naryu a little bit crazy that she could never seem to convince the girl to do the sensible thing. Veya definitely looked up to her mentor, though, and I could tell the two of them cared about each other a lot. So I'm glad for both of them that things worked out the way they did in the end.

A strange thought came to me as I learned more about their relationship, and thought back to the reason the Fate-Bearer had given for eliminating Naryu back in the Gold Coast. Something about a daughter, although Naryu insisted she'd never have children. But in the Morag Tong, having an apprentice is treated akin to having a child. Could it be that Veya is the "daughter" that will cause some future calamity? If that's the case, why not just go after Veya directly? Will sending her to Summerset avert whatever catastrophe she might have caused, or lead to it?

I had the chance to ask Naryu about the Fate-Bearers after things settled down. I was hoping she might have been able to deal with them on her own, but she hadn't run into them in person. They did, however, send her a cautionary letter, something about how fate might have been changed but the dangers lurking in the shadows have only grown. Ominous, but as Naryu pointed out, not necessarily something that needs to spook us. So I guess we'll see what comes of it.

I've been wondering about something else since going through all of this with Naryu, and speaking to her a few times in Vivec City in more recent days. The question embarrasses me a little to ask, and I don't think it's something I could ever bring up with her, but... I wonder... I mean, I know it's what she does, but... is it possible that Naryu doesn't realize that I'm not into women? Or... maybe she assumes she'd be the exception to the rule? I wonder, and I hope things don't get too awkward. It's probably just the same harmless flirting she does with everyone. Yeah, let's go with that.