Part one

The Trail of The Archmage

My previous journal began 'I am Arvil Bren, a wizard of Breton descent.' Though I possessed some command of the magic arts I was hardly a wizard, then. Since, I have joined the guild of Mages and have risen through their ranks. Now I am acknowledged as a wizard among them. On the opposite note, though I cannot change my Breton heritage, I no longer consider myself a Breton, really. I could not take my mate Ahnassi home to Bretonia any more than she could take me back to Elswyer, land of the Khajiiti cat people. Vvardenfell is our home, and by default so it shall remain. With Vvardenfell our lives and fortunes shall rise or fall.

The fortune I have, which could fall, is vast. I have accumulated a huge trove of treasures, and the call to retire and leave the problems of this isle to others to solve has been strong. I bowed to it briefly. But if the problems are left to others to solve then any consequences that befall me, or Ahnassi, or my friends will weigh directly on me. This isle, huddled in the path of war, is my home. I cannot rest while this war looms, knowing that my fate may be to avert it. Or my fate may be to win it.

My mentor, Caius Cosades, the spymaster of the Blades, told me to 'think locally'. The Emperor sent me to Vvardenfell as a ruse, a false fulfillment of the Nerevarine prophecy. A ruse that would likely lead to my death or imprisonment, a fate reserved, not exclusively, for such false prophets. I owe him no allegiance. I will think locally, and if I pursue fulfillment of the prophecy it will be under legitimate terms. If I am the Nerevarine I will restore the Dunmer to their own rulership as prophesied. With or without the Nerevarine the power of the Empire wanes with the Emperor's health, and the far provinces of the east could soon be cast adrift even if they do not rebel. The new king in Mournhold does not seem inclined to wait long.

Over the short span of my retirement I have seen things worsen. I can stand against the occasional ash minion of Dagoth Ur who tracks me down, and I am immune to the blight and disease that spreads from the dark stronghold under Red Mountain, but what of the rest of the inhabitants of my chosen homeland? Their plight weighs on me.

The plight of the multitudes and the machinations of Dagoth Ur would perhaps not be enough to bring me back into the fires of public life. The plight of friends, good friends, whose troubles stem directly from my own ambitions; that is the call that cannot be ignored. The mage's guild is in complete disarray. The council in distant Cyrodiil maintains support of the Archmage Trebonius. With the imminent possibility that Imperial troops could be withdrawn none of their number would take his place, so their support is unshakable despite Trebonius' obvious failings. To be Archmage of Vvardenfell on the day the legions are withdrawn would be a death sentence, as the ancient wizards of the Telvanni house will likely fall upon the guild immediately.

Even without the withdrawal of the legions the guild is in danger. Internal strife under Trebonius could allow such an opening that the Telvanni will act. That internal strife has been brought very close to a head, not only by me, but for me. The guild stewards who backed me were left hanging when I raced to Mournhold after Ahnassi was kidnapped. Even without the Telvanni Trebonius could find himself with no guild to preside over. If the local in Balmora could survive on its own Ranis Athrys would likely have renounced the guild and led her group to its own path. I met with her today.

"I'm ready to get back to work Ranis," I said as I entered her office.

"Working for who?" she asked bitterly. "Trebonius send you to stick a spear in me?"

"You know better than that Ranis. The guild in Vvardenfell needs you. It needs you a lot more than it needs Trebonius."

Ajira burst into the room hissing like netch with a slow leak in its gas bag. No doubt she was about to complain about something but she stopped when she saw me. "Good friend Arvil Bren! Ajira is always glad to see you!" Suddenly she saw the intensity in Ranis' red eyes, which were narrowed to murderous slits. "We will talk later!" she said quickly as the door closed behind her.

"I could have joined house Telvanni," Ranis sighed. "Instead my fortunes are tied to a bunch of outlanders. Trebonius is a half breath away from having me removed from the guild, if not killed outright, and you are living the life of leisure with your cat people."

"He can't have you removed Ranis. Most of the guild knows you are our best defense against the Telvanni."

"The guild here knows that," she said, "but the council is far from here Arvil Bren."

"Too far by half to make important decisions Ranis. It's time we start planning for the withdrawal of the Empire."

"Withdrawal?" Her dark Dunmer skin actually paled. "Without the legions the Telvanni would fall on us in an instant."

"That's why we need to come to terms with them Ranis. Not the council in Cyrodiil, us; the Mage's Guild of Vvardenfell."

There were a lot of points that had to be worked out. Some mages will know our plan immediately, others will be brought along as we go. Some will be kept in the dark until the legions are sailing for the mainland. A few will likely not join us even then. Trebonius is one of them. He will be my problem, personally.

Two: The lonely cave

Tonight I see how my life could have gone. Vvardenfell is pocked with caves; hideouts for smugglers and bandits, or those who otherwise don't want to be found. Months ago I claimed such a cave for myself, near the Vivec-Balmora road. It was a refuge from the Dark Brotherhood; safe and comfortable. When my involvement with Ahnassi endangered her life I wished that I had stayed there. Today I saw what a trap that would have been.

Telura Ulver put herself in such a trap. Skink-in-trees-shade, the guild steward in Sadrith Mora spoke fondly of her, and respectfully of her abilities; but he had no choice but to order her death. If we are to establish a viable independent guild on Vvardenfell in the wake of an Imperial withdrawal we cannot harbor necromancers, and Telura Ulver chose the path of necromancy.

It's strange. The Dunmer ancestral rites have many similar effects to the spells of necromancy. So similar in fact that Telura may have been well beyond the limits of acceptable magecraft before she even realized it. A Dunmer of good family like her must have been shocked to find herself in those swirling currents of powerful but unsanctioned magica. That may have begun the unhinging of her mind. To be exposed by the Telvanni no doubt pushed her further towards madness as it forced her to flee their territory, and effectively condemned her to leave her homeland.

Unfortunately she could not leave. Fear of Dagoth Ur's blight has led to a nearly complete quarantine of Vvardenfell. The Temple, the Telvanni, any great house really, would put her to death and she had no escape. Even though she violated no Imperial law the guild cannot condone defiance of local law, nor can the legions. The only course available to her was hiding.

She chose a cave in the Bitter Coast region. The dank tunnel leading into the darkness opens onto a typical muckpond, its surface choked with the green growth. From the mushrooms growing in the tunnel she brewed potions that gave her breath beneath the layer of slime that hid her as she came and went, leaving no tracks. Her fine clothes reeking of the swamp, she became as one of her conjured spirits; a ghost of the marshes, unknown to men.

She may have traded potions and spells for supplies from an Orc band who dwell in the nearby ruins, hiding themselves also as they follow the arcane rituals of the bad Daedra. Or she may have relied on her undead minions to provide meat and forage from the swamp. In any event she had no interaction with her own kind; only savages, or worse. Alone in her cave she continued her descent, a descent into the depths of madness.

In a way it was a kindness for me to track her down here. She did not even emerge at the sounds of battle as I dispatched her skeletal minions to their wickedly delayed rest. As I forced the door to the interior chamber she lunged, gibbering, to lock a large chest. By magic, the key vanished into thin air. "No one must see, no one must know. No one can ever know," she muttered, then interrupted her rambling with a word of command that launched an icy blast from her enchanted ring.

My heart lurched with sorrow. Later I found, as expected, that the chest contained the profane texts of the necromancer. Her last thoughts were to hide what she had done. I ran her through with my spear. To have taken her alive would have been a further cruelty.

Tomorrow I will report back to Skink, taking the body to be turned over to the Telvanni authorities. Iwill leave the desolation of this cave behind, and be thankful that that other cave did not claim me as this one claimed Telura Ulver.

Three: Politics of Sadrith Mora

Skink-in-trees-shade was saddened, but satisfied with my report. Managing the guild chapter right in the Telvanni capital is a daunting task, and being able to pass on that the necromancer Telura Ulver had been tracked down and killed would purchase him a small amount of good will. He has cultivated as many good personal relationships among the Telvanni as he can, and mostly keeps guild members from antagonizing the situation fairly well. However, we both agreed that if the legions withdraw from Vvardenfell the Imperial fortress at Wolverine Hall will be a very dangerous place to be.

"It is a question of timing Arvil Bren," he said. "There are some among the younger Telvanni who would be less difficult if they were in charge, but these Dunmer live so long. The council is almost entirely ancient wizards who still live in the days of Dunmer glory. We have planned for the escape of our mages..." It took a moment for me to sort out the pronouns. Like all Argonian's Skink refers to himself in the plural. It was his plan. "They will transport out by guild guide, and she has cast a mark for herself in the hall at Balmora. Once all are safely out we shall examine the situation, and if needed take our leave by water."

I acknowledged the need for such a plan, but I was loath to think of the guild hall abandoned without resistance. I also was concerned for Skink. "You are a master of illusion, and the people of the root obviously are well suited for this departure by water, but you can't take chances Skink." He rolled an eye at the reference to 'people of the root'. That is what the Argonian lizardmen of Black Marsh call themselves, but few others know the term. The single eye moving while the other held unblinkingly to mine was a bit disconcerting. "If we are going to have a viable guild after the Empire withdraws we are going to need your skills and your contacts."

The translucent membranes flickered over both reptilian eyes. "Viable guild after the empire withdraws? Are we not the Imperial mage's guild? Surely the intent is not to withdraw the legions and leave the citizens?"

"I don't know what the Emperor or the guild council would intend. What I do know is that Vvardenfell is my home, and I am not leaving. If the Empire leaves they leave without me. A lot of others agree. We will be a guild, a guild for Vvardenfell."

"Bold words Arvil Bren, but almost treasonous." It took some persuasion, but by the time I stepped onto the guild guide platform Skink could see the beginnings of a working plan. He could see the beginnings of it, but I could see the end. If the longevity of the Telvanni councilors is a problem steps can be taken to shorten their spans.

Four: High Council

It is official. Odd word to use to describe what others might call treason. Edwinna, Skink, and Ranis are in agreement, and I have deemed them the High Council of the future Mage's Guild of Vvardenfell. The High Council of the Imperial Mage's Guild would no doubt call it treason. However, we are far away in distance and condition.

Reports are coming in from all over Vvardenfell. The blight worsens day to day. The Ashlanders get more hungry, and more dangerous. The highest orders of the Tribunal Temple hold that the ghostfence contains Dagoth Ur as it always has, which does more to damage their credibility than it does to reassure the people. Even the devout are starting to openly question. The strange madness called 'soul sickness', characterized by the disturbing dreams sent by Dagoth Ur grows ever more widespread. My own experiences with these dreams I keep to myself.

I could not keep everything about the Nerevarine prophecies from my advisors though. For one thing, they needed to know fully how their chosen Archmage could be embroiled in events outside the guild. For another the protection of the Nerevarine may, in the end, be the only way to preserve the guild. Despite our brave stance we knew as we embarked on this conspiratorial path that we could be 'baiting the mad kagouti', as the saying goes.

I explained what I know of the Nerevarine prophecies. The Ashlanders expect a reincarnation of the hero Nerevar to unite the Dunmer and lead them to victory over Dagoth Ur, as well as throwing off outlander rule. Though it seems absurd to think that this prophecy could be fulfilled by an outlander there are certain aspects of the prophecy that I have already been found to fit. The most critical being that I have been restored from the corprus, known to the Dunmer as 'the divine disease'. According to Divayth Fyr, the wizard who provided my cure I still have the disease, but no longer suffer the ill effects. The corprus grants me immunity from other disease, and I can expect to match or better the Dunmer in longevity. This revelation made it easier to launch our conspiracy. There will be no concerns of succession for a long time unless something happens to suddenly end my extended life.

"The power of Lorkhan's heart," Edwinna said with a nod of her head. We all looked at her. She flushed and looked down at her hands.

"Edwinna, this isn't the guild of Trebonius the flathead," I said gently. "Your research is of tremendous value to me; to us." I met Skink's reptilian gaze, then stared down Ranis. "Not every wizard is a battlemage, nor should they be. It is a fact that almost all positions of authority in the Imperial guild have gone to those with demonstrable mastery in the school of destruction, but that isn't this guild, and it isn't going to be."

Edwinna brightened. For her to have risen to the position of guild steward, even in what the guild considered the far backwater of Vvardenfell, is a testament to her incredible brilliance. I could not afford for her to be cowed by the more warlike natures of Skink, Ranis, and myself. "Well," she said, "I've been examining those texts you had translated, and of course talking to Yagrum Bagarn." Yagrum Bagarn is the self styled last surviving Dwemer. "It seems the source of the Dwemer's power, and likely the source of their ultimate undoing, is a stone buried deep in Red Mountain. The stone they believed to be the heart of the banished god Lorkhan."

"So this 'Heart of Lorkhan' would be what Kagrenak tapped for the power that he thought would transform the Dwemer into godhood?" I prodded.

"Right," she said. "And make no mistake Kagrenak was brilliant. His ego, or the immediate needs of the war, may have caused him to reach too far too fast; elevating an entire race. It seems likely though that he would have understood the essential core of the stone's power. That power lying unharnessed beneath Red Mountain could be a contributing factor in the Dunmer's longevity to start with. And it would certainly account for the apparent immortality of Dagoth Ur. Then Dagoth Ur's power that lies at the source of the blight has the effect of passing that longevity to you."

Skink gave a sudden hiss of indrawn breath. "We have had many conversations with Minabi," he said tentatively.

Seeing the question cross the other faces I filled in background. "Minabi was an apprentice wise woman of the Ashlanders. Her mistress let her go to Sadrith Mora to meet with Skink."

"Yesssss." The drawn out hiss was unusual for Skink, but he was clearly deep in thought. "The Ashlanders say the immortality of the Tribunal is not a gift from the gods as they claim. Ashlander tradition says that the Tribunal stole the profane power of Kagrenak."

"That would make sense," Edwinna agreed. "Not to say the Tribunal is definitely lying. It just makes sense, given that immortality seems to lie in the power of the Heart of Lorkhan, and there would certainly have been opportunity for them to tap that power."

Though I am glad to have the brilliant Edwinna for an advisor it is valuable to have a balance. Ranis brought our flight into the magical realms of speculation back with her usual pragmatism. "Immortality can still come to a bad end. This conversation would bring the Tribunal down on our necks, and whatever the source of their power we really can't afford that right now. We must guide the guild against the craft of the Telvanni." We all nodded agreement. "But of even more immediate concern," she continued, "it has taken all my political capital to block Trebonius from getting the High Council's approval to expel you from the guild. We can plan for the eventual withdrawal of the legions and the end of their authority. We can name you the next Archmage of Vvardenfell, and the Council will accept it for as long as their authority lasts. But there is one insurmountable obstacle that can easily portray this whole meeting as treason."

"She is right Arvil Bren," Edwinna concluded. "This involvement in the Nerevarine situation may make you immune to many forms of death and decay, but that doesn't change that Trebonius wants your head. While you were retired we could get away with leaving you alone, but when he hears that you are active again; running down necromancers for Skink and meeting with us, he is going to demand that we help him get it. Since we have blocked him from expelling you he can't order us to kill you, but he will demand that we send you to him, and not doing so would be an open defiance that would shatter the guild."

"Well then," I said, "it seems the blade is in the forge. Trebonius wants my head. Let us see if he can take it."

Five: The bitter end

Flacassia's eyes flew open wide when I appeared on her platform. She is an Imperial from Cyrodiil, and the guild guide in the guild headquarters in Vivec City. If there were only one mage in the guild still loyal to Trebonius it would be her. "You need to go back where you came from," she said, "or somewhere else." Mystical energies started to coalesce around her fingertips as she readied the spell. "Where to?"

"I'll be staying," I replied. I listened to my calm voice with a curious detachment.

"Do you want your retirement to meet a sudden end?" she asked. "Ranis was here a few days ago and said you were in seclusion, and I thought Trebonius was going to kill her. When he sees you he is going to explode!"

Craetia the alchemist chose that moment to appear around the corner. Craetia is of Imperial descent as well, but I was fairly certain she would be inclined to stay on in Vvardenfell, and completely certain she would be glad to see the last of Trebonius. "Flacassia who are you...oh! Arvil Bren!"

"Quiet!" Flacassia hissed at her. "Tell this fool Breton that he needs to get out of here before Trebonius sees him."

The ebony foot of my staff struck the floor with a distinctive sound, and I let a trickle of magica gather around my own fingers where they gripped the shaft. "Flacassia I appreciate your concerns, but remind your tongue that Trebonius is not the only master wizard in the guild. Nor is he the only one that is dangerous to offend."

Craetia's jaw dropped slightly, Flacassia's nearly hit the floor. In their experience I was the cheerful errand runner of the guild, popping through the dimensional doors of the guides, bringing rare ingredients to Craetia's lab, always with a laugh and a smile. As I surpassed the others in ability and rank I had always brushed it off, and thanked them for maintaining the halls at the expense of their own practicing. Today called for something more stern; alien to me, shocking to them.

Sirlonwe the Altmer mage, whose apartment lies close to the guide platform, arrived at the head of the nearby stair in the moment of surprised silence. "I heard that he was in seclusion, but surely you girls can't be that surprised to see Arvil Bren," she said. Her voice struggled to be light, but anything less than serious comes difficult for the Altmeri. Then she recognized the crackling magica dancing on the ebony staff in my hand and lapsed into more familiar gravity. "It is good to see you Arvil Bren. Perhaps these two have been carried away in their excitement."

"More than a bit," they agreed, almost in unison. "No disrespect intended Master Wizard," Flacassia concluded quietly.

"A bit unusual to hear ranks and titles in a conversation with Arvil Bren," said Sirlonwe. She had chastened me more than once about what she considered a frivolous attitude.

"Today is an unusual day, Sirlonwe, and I am feeling the weight of my rank," I replied. "No harm done ladies, or intended." The angry red glow receded into my clenched knuckles and I eased my grip.

"Weight of a rank you have neither earned nor deserve you squeezing of a mucksponge!" boomed an irate voice from the stair. "A rank I would gladly see stripped from your name over your scorched remains!" The junior mages scattered like leaves in the tornado of Trebonius wrath.

Again my staff struck the stone with an ominous crack. "Have a care Archmage. I respect your position, but I am a master also. I've earned that rank, and proper respect, even from you."

"Earned? You have the rank true enough, but to earn it calls for serving the guild. You serve nothing but your own ambition!" he roared. "Do you think I don't know how you've maneuvered behind my back? Do you think I don't know you covet my office? Do you take me for a fool?"

"I covet nothing!" I let my voice match his volume, but kept a note of respect. "I would not choose to lead the guild through the coming wars. That is a responsibility I would rather avoid. You might consider the weight of failing in that responsibility before you think about who might be wanting to take it off your head."

"Failing?!" he roared back, foam flecking his lips. "Are you saying I'm failing?"

"I'm saying nothing Archmage, but answer yourself. The Telvanni move against us almost openly. If the legions are withdrawn to Cyrodiil whose power will guard this hall? You are at the helm of the guild. Are we on a safe course?" I had lowered my voice to a level of reasonable discussion. "I would rather retire. Will you keep me safe?"

"You don't need to worry about the Telvanni," he grated back. "I will kill you myself." Flames and sparks coursed the length of his staff.

"Fool!" I shouted. "I accept your challenge, but battle here would destroy the hall you are supposed to be guiding to safety."

"The arena then." The destructive energies winked out as his voice dropped to ice. "I should have tracked you down and killed you before." He spun on his heel and stalked down the stair.

I went to the arena fairly directly, but could not outpace the rumor. I knew there was a lot of betting going on. I didn't ask who bet which way. I hope to never know. The stands of the arena were filling quickly, and arena officials held me in a small room below the arena floor for an hour before ushering me to a door.

This was no gladiatorial game. There was no pretense of handshakes. The doors on opposite sides of the arena floor opened simultaneously. I dove through and rolled quickly to my right as a bolt erupted into a raging ball of elemental energy that scorched the page who had opened the door. "You would be Archmage and you do not even bring your wizard's staff!" Trebonius taunted as he launched another bolt. "What sort of wizard are you, muckscum?"

I had to drop my spear as I quickly drew an egg of electrical energies about myself that protected me from half the blast. "I'm an effective wizard Trebonius. What Vvardenfell needs, not a pompous preener like you. I enchanted this spear and it serves me well, and it will pop your useless heart." The frosty energies of the Dwarven Icepick spear coursed along the shaft as I gathered it back into my hands. I was only slightly damaged by his previous spell, and calculated that with all my protective spells and the shelter of my heavily enchanted Daedric shield I could actually withstand a direct hit. I charged.

I did take that direct hit. The bolt exploded directly against my shield, but did not break the momentum of my attack. There was no second spell. I had taken away Trebonius' favorite spells by drawing too close. His huge blasts require some range, for his own safety. Our weapons crashed together in a fountain of elemental energies. Frost, flame, and great sheets of lightning danced and swayed over our heads.

Trebonius is a master of destructive magic, perhaps the finest in the guild, but he lacks diversity. Though his staff is powerful it merely duplicates his own elemental spells. I have seen him scoff at enchanters and alchemists. Today he saw first hand what skillful enchanting can do. My shield protects me constantly, and not just from physical attack. And while I knew that could not quite match his unarmored quickness he badly underestimated how quickly I would be able to move in my heavy ebony armor. He did not know that underneath the ebony leggings pulsed the enchanted energies of my pants of strongleg. They give me the strength to move the ebony as if it were the lightest mesh. He did not know, and he never will.

When Trebonius had fallen there was a hush, then an eruption of cheers. He was not popular in the guild, and certainly not outside of it. As the Archmage it will be my first task to mend some of the relationships he left torn asunder.

Six: Day of the Archmage

Well, I clearly have a job to do. Trebonius did not trust his staff, so he involved himself in managing the tiniest details. It may take a while to get them settled into a new pattern. We started today.

I walked into the dining room for breakfast and the chatter immediately died. I sat at the head of the table in the oppressive silence. I slowly spread scrib jelly on a roll, eyeing the staff with what I hoped would be taken for amusement. Their furtive glances told me that hope was in vain. "Since I got the roll out of the common basket I assume it is safe, but I suppose someone may have poisoned my knife. If I keel over, throw out the rest of the Jelly," I said, then bit in with gusto. The silence was deafening.

I put down the rest of the roll. "Listen," I said, "I know I came through here yesterday like a bull kagouti. Flacassia, I said some harsh things to you in particular that I'd rather you would forget were said. If I had seen another way to move Trebonius aside I would have taken it."

"Trebonius was right!" she snapped. "Everyone else said he was just paranoid, but you were maneuvering to kill him all along!" Her eyes flared with anger.

"Well, not all along," I replied quietly. "Just from the moment it became clear that he was endangering the guild."

"You say he was endangering the guild! You say it so you can justify killing him! No one else says so!" Tears glistened in her eyes. Flacassia had clearly been Trebonius' favorite, and I was doubting that anything I could say would make any difference. Fortunately someone else could.

"Arvil Bren is not the only one Flacassia," came a calming voice from the doorway. "I saw it also. Even sooner. Arvil Bren put off seeing the obvious because he knew it would fall to him to do something about it." As she completed her speech Ranis took a seat at the table. "Edwinna and Skink should be here soon," she said, turning to me.

"That is good," said Malven Romori the Dunmer wizard. She turned to Flacassia. "It is not just Arvil Bren, and not just our members in the outer halls who saw the danger Trebonius was leading us into. Do not stand against the transition of power Flacassia. We need an Archmage now, and we need one who can stand against the Telvanni."

"There is no standing against the transition of power," hissed Skink from the doorway. "The only other Master Wizards in Vvardenfell are behind Arvil Bren. We see in Sadrith Mora that there is no time for..."

I interrupted. "Wait." May the nine divines bless his political soul, Skink fell instantly silent. "Skink, Ranis, I appreciate you backing me, and I appreciate you being here today as we do have a lot of work to do. But the staff here is going to have to accept that or not on their own terms, and at their breakfast table is not the time to force anything down their throats. Flacassia, I think it is clear that no matter who likes it, and to be honest I really don't, I am the next Archmage. There are a lot of ways that people expect that to be a change for the better, and I plan to make sure that is how things go. One thing that will be very different. I cannot do what I do best if I am sitting here in the headquarters, so Malven, as the ranking member of the staff you will assume the duties of a guild steward." I got out of the chair. "So this is your seat." I waved to include the entire staff, "If you choose to have my company at meals I will be honored, but not as a formality, or to manage the business of the hall. If there is business for the Archmage, it will be handled in my offices, not at your table." I swept out of the room. "Ranis, Skink. Malven, finish your breakfast and join us please."

"Excellently handled Archmage," Ranis said as we settled in downstairs.

"Malven may want to trade Flacassia for another guild guide," I said without acknowledging the compliment. It remained to be seen whether or not it would work. "If so I want her handled delicately wherever she goes. She can't go back to Cyrodiil because of the quarantine, but I don't want her to look at it as being trapped here."

There was a brief flicker in Ranis' red Dunmer eyes. Not dissatisfaction, just the clicking realization that her former apprentice really was the Archmage and could give her direction. "As you see fit Archmage," she said. We looked at each other silently for a moment, then burst out laughing. Edwinna entered at that moment and shared a puzzled frown with Skink.

"Okay, now that that is out of the way we need to get on with the business of waiting," I said. "I for one need to eat." I crossed the hall to my chambers.

"Waiting for what?" Edwinna asked. "I thought I was late."

I let Malven have some time with the experienced guild stewards while I cooked my own breakfast, frying kwama eggs on the back of my shield. When I returned the four of them seemed to have settled any issues that needed immediate resolution in the headquarters. "Malven, I am counting on you," I said. "Not only as a guild steward here in Vivec, but you are now in the council of my closest advisors.

"Thank you," was all she said in response. Without consciously realizing it I had done exactly the right thing. Of all the mages assigned to the headquarters the highly qualified wizard had certainly chafed the most under Trebonius intrusive management. I had actually promoted her into the position she was probably assigned here to fill in the first place.

The brain trust met through the morning. Then our plans went into motion. Ranis drafted the necessary dispatches to the high council, and I got out of the hall. I wanted to get on with pursuing the lost prophecies of the Nerevarine and give Malven an opportunity to establish herself in the hall, but in the immediate wake of Trebonius death I had to agree that I could not go far. I spent the afternoon roaming the foreign canton halls and businesses, letting everyone get accustomed to the idea of a new Archmage.

I was delighted when I returned to the hall and was invited to dinner. I sat at Malven's right hand, the seat of an honored guest. The conversation was light and lively, free of the business of the guild. This will work out.

Seven: No simple shopping

Skink's early indications from the Telvanni capital indicate that they are not making any sudden changes in the wake of Trebonius' death. The Telvanni council does not actually meet in person. Each member is represented by a 'mouth'. With the mouths having to get their master's position after such a sudden turn of events it will likely be some time before the Telvanni themselves know how they will respond. As the only Telvanni council member who knows me personally Baladas will probably have to be consulted heavily, and given his isolation in distant Gnissis that will certainly take time.

Malven is managing the guild hall quite well, and my hands off approach is beginning to show signs of acceptance. There is a vast difference between an Archmage who you bring trouble to and one who brings problems to you. The staff here is starting to recognize that. At dinner I said, lightly, that I was getting slow from inactivity and suggested that there must be problems plaguing the ranks here in Vivec that I could lend my attentions to. We shall see if anyone comes up with anything interesting.

Left on my own I can find trouble anywhere. After breakfast I told Malven that I would be out of the city for a while and transported myself to Ahnassi's house. Upon inspection of the door seals and other security measures I believe it is safe for her to return home, and I set out for Balmora with a light heart. The lightness of my heart did not, however, counter the weight of my pack. I took the opportunity to load myself with another bundle of loot from the Dark Brotherhood's stronghold to sell to the armorers of Balmora.

Too much of a load as it turned out. The armorers gladly emptied their tills for the fine black mesh armor and adamantium swords I delivered, but among them they could not muster a fair price for it all. The thought of the pile still left in the house had me briefly considering giving them a ridiculously good deal, but Wyan provided what seemed an excellent alternative. I returned to Vivec City by guild guide, had lunch, then crossed the foriegn quarter plaza to meet Wyan's friend Alusaron.

Alusaron, like Wyan, is a Redguard, and a very skilled armorer. Unlike Wyan, who has cast his fortunes with the fighters guild, Alusaron has opted for the greater risks and rewards available to an independent merchant. He does not have the sure business that a guild armorer has, but his great skill should be enough to draw clients. He must rent his own shop space rather than just setting up his forge in the guild hall, but he does not share his profits. A difference of style more than substance I suppose. But a difference that made a big difference to me.

Alusaron could not just empty his cash drawer. Expenses must be met, and even a good opportunity to profit on the items I had to sell could not sway him. There was just no way he could be sure of sales replenishing his gold in time. I got the feeling that business was not going as well as he hoped.

"No Arvil Bren," he said when I asked,"it is not going well of late. I have a competitor; a Dunmer. He does not have my skills at the forge, but he is a shrewd businessman. He uses his 'connections' to land the large contracts with the temple guards and Dunmer great houses, then sells individual pieces for too little for me to compete. And I have to pay for this guard," he tilted his head towards the Ordinator who stood patiently by the door, "or his 'contacts' could put me directly out of business. Truthfully I think they will anyway. Since he moved his shop in next door I am barely making the rent."

It certainly wasn't something an Archmage should get involved in. Alusaron is Wyan's friend, and Wyan is my friend. A friendly armorer in Vivec City with a strong business will be of value. That is not what got me involved. The way this Dunmer smith, Ralen Tilvur, did business sounded too much like the style of my old nemesis, the Cammona Tong. That is what got me involved. Fortunately we came up with a plan that would work without any public involvement on my part.

I visited Ralen Tilvur's shop a while later. I wear a robe appropriate for the Archmage, but underneath is the ebony mail that has seen me through many battles. As I examined the armors and weapons in Tilvur's shop, mostly cheap items of fur and hides and sharp plates of chitin I had to agree with Alusaron. I would not let Tilvur work on my armor with a polishing cloth, much less the tools of the armorer's trade.

I made a cheerful exit and lurked in the plaza chatting with the Ordinators and passers by, watching for Tilvur's next customer. It did not take long. As I saw that the tall Dunmer was heading towards the shop I disengaged from the conversation I was in and ducked into the doorway of the guild hall. In that shelter I activated my amulet of shadows, then scampered unseen across the plaza to slip through the closing door of the shop.

Tilvur was certainly more cordial with the Dunmer customer than he had been with me. If I had had any lingering doubts about my actions they would have been dispelled, but I had none. At an opportune moment when their conversation would mask any sound from the tumblers I cast my unlocking spell on the locked door to Tilvur's office, quarters, and workshop. When Tilvur saw the man to the shop's front door there was no way for him to hear the other door that opened and closed. I relocked the door behind me and sped down a stair.

It did not take long to find the latest contract. I slid it up my sleeve and cast my intervention spell, appearing in front of the temple on the High Fane at the southern end of the city. Without the contract it is beyond doubtful that Tilvur will hit upon the right combination of blades, maces, shields, and armor to fill the ten thousand septim order. The buyer will not be harmed. Alusaron will have the needed pieces in stock on the date of the expected delivery. There will be no missing the superiority of his wares. He will pay handsomely for the pieces I provide then.

Eight: The business of alchemy

Craetia the alchemist was the first to test my willingness to help with problems rather than cause them. She raised it at the breakfast table, hesitantly. I eagerly started asking for details of the problem, as I really was wondering what to do with myself for another day in Vivec. Malven smoothly interceded. "The Archmage is our guest at meals, so his business needs to be conducted elsewhere Craetia. From his eager response I'm sure he'll be looking for you in his office shortly." I stuck a forkfull of kwama egg in my mouth to hide my grin. Before the plates were cleared I clattered down the stairs with Craetia in tow.

Aurane Frernis is an alchemist with a public shop in the waistworks of the foriegn quarter. Craetia told me that she is a member in good standing, though not active in her involvement with the guild. She also told me that Aurane Frernis is highly skilled, and very diligent. Then she produced a folded leaflet. I was glad that she had briefed me ahead of time. From what the leaflet says one would think Frernis a pretender at best, more like a dangerous fraud.

"Where did this come from?" I asked. She explained that she had found it in the plaza, and that apparently they were being handed out by a Redguard on a regular basis. She had tried to bring it to Trebonius' attention, but his response had been that he was far too busy to meddle in the business of alchemists. "He may have been busy," I said, "but this is a smear on the reputation of the guild, one way or another. It definitely needs to be taken care of. It also is something that would normally be brought to the attention of a guild steward, so let's go talk to Malven."

I let Craetia deliver the same report to Malven as she had delivered to me. Malven lightly suggested that this would be something a guild steward would handle without the Archmage in any other guild hall, and the two of them set out a course of action. I was a bit disappointed not to be in the thick of things, but pleased with the rising level of accountability in the staff. Craetia was astonished at being tasked with further investigating. As she went out into the plaza Malven chuckled. "The apprentices here are not accustomed to being assigned any duties that can actually be done. Trebonius gave them duties, but since they were clearly impossible no one ever really thought to actually do anything." Since it was her first foray into the duties of a mage I decided to keep an eye on Craetia's progress. As it turned out I have the chance to contribute something of my own as well.

When I went out into the plaza I could see Craetia in animated discussion with a Redguard, who held a stack of the leaflets in his hand. He was a burly sort, as Redguards often are, and I nodded to myself thinking 'he will present a good challenge for her'. I struck up a conversation of my own with an Ordinator. He was pleased that the new Archmage is a follower of the temple, and remembered me from the business of the Dreamer Prophet some months ago as well. My good standing with local law enforcement serves me well, I am glad I made the effort.

I was pleased to see Craetia depart with the leaflets, the crestfallen Redguard seething in her wake. As she left the plaza I approached and introduced myself. Domalen the Redguard was not a happy man. "There is hardly any work in the city if you aren't a dark elf, and what there is always seems to lead to trouble," was the gist of his complaint. It was challenging for me not to probe further into the origin of the leaflets, but I wanted to build my trust in Craetia. Whatever she had learned about the situation would suffice. Instead I directed my attention towards affairs outside the sphere of the guild.

"Domalen, I have Redguard friends, and it seems to me that Redguards are raised to be at the least a fair smith, and usually quite skilled," I said. He agreed, and claimed to be a fair hand himself. "Well," I suggested, "whatever work you've been getting in trouble with, perhaps you'd be better off working with Alusaron." I pointed towards the shop across the plaza. "I have it on good authority that he has fallen upon a substantial contract and could use some help, and that a new supplier has offered him such favorable terms on premium merchandise that he can afford it." The man's eyes fairly lit up in his head. Passing out leaflets is no job for a man-at-arms. "Let me introduce you," I said and headed across the plaza. The terms I gave Alusaron will certainly not break me, since I paid for all the armor and weapons I have to sell with blood, and most of that not mine, and it is good to have friends.

When I got back to the hall Craetia was already there, excitedly giving her report. The confrontation with the Redguard had done wonders for her,and she certainly got all the information that was needed. The subsequent meeting with Aurane Frernis had also gone well, and our staff alchemist now had a valuable contact that could, perhaps, be brought more actively into the guild; although running an apothecary shop is a fairly demanding pursuit. Craetia gave me a beaming smile and went chattering back to her lab. "She is a skillful alchemist," Malven said quietly. "A few more successful little duties like that and we can promote her."

"You can promote her," I smiled back. "As the Archmage I think my duty lies more in the direction of promoting you. I'll cheer for her though, you can be sure."

She laughed; that quiet Dunmer laugh that was so familiar to me from being with Ranis. Even the Dunmer of the great houses are not so far from the harshness of the Ashlands. Their humor tends to the ironic, and they can give that quiet laugh even when the fate being dealt harsh blows is their own. Today it was full of good humor. Malven is pleased with the way things are playing out in the hall, as am I.

"Archmage there is something more here," she said, turning the conversation on another tack. I nodded for her to continue. "The source of the leaflets; the Redguard told Craetia they came from a competitor."

"That makes sense," I said. "I hope the competitor isn't one of ours too."

Again the laugh, only this time it had the familiar coldness behind it. "No, not ours. Galuro Belan. A Telvanni. I didn't think that sending Craetia would be appropriate, but I think someone should speak to her about her slanders. I could go myself..."

"Ah, but is that what a guild steward would do?" I asked.

"No," she replied immediately. "A guild steward would assign the task to someone appropriately skilled for the job. Unfortunately this hall is in such a state that I don't have the options that another hall would have. Perhaps I should contact Ranis, she undoubtedly has someone available for this sort of thing. And I will get this hall up to par, count on it."

"I have no doubt about that. And actually Ranis might be a little harder pressed than you think. She relied pretty heavily on one person to do this kind of dirty job, and he isn't as available to her now," I explained.

"What happened to him?"

This time it was my turn, and I gave a passing impression of the dry Dunmer laugh. "She pushed him into becoming the Archmage. I'll pay this Galuro Belan a visit. High time the Telvanni got a taste of the new order."

Nine: A complaint put to rest

I rose before dawn and slipped quietly out of the hall, and the canton. Though the great skylights let plenty of light into the plaza it is still indoors, as is the entire city of Vivec. It always surprises me how few people I see on the walkways and bridges between the cantons. I suppose it is possible for many people to live their lives completely inside their home canton, but why would they? The air was brisk, with a hint of mist rising from the bay. I strolled down the ramps, whistling to myself.

Of course, saying that I seldom see people out and about leaves out the Ordinators. They patrol the ramps, decks, and causeways, constantly on the watch. With the three great houses maintained in separate cantons, and the foriegn quarter in another it is often useful to know who is moving about I'm sure. For example, me, the Archmage of the Mage's Guild, making an appearance on the decks of the Telvanni compound was a noteworthy event. I made sure I was noticed.

The Telvanni have the easternmost canton in the city, and I leaned against the railing of the upper deck watching the sun rise. It didn't take long for me to be questioned. The Ordinator took a casual stance leaning on the rail next to me. "Good morning Archmage," he began. When I returned his friendly greeting he continued. "Enjoying the sunrise?"

"Yes indeed. I like the view here. From the foriegn quarter this canton obstructs half the horizon. I'm glad you are about. Having my back turned to the Telvanni does make me a bit nervous. With my new position they seem to not like me much."

"Wizards," he snorted. "Oh. No offense." I nodded with a grin. "It's just that not many wizards seem to have much respect for the law. The Telvanni usually settle their differences with a duel, and their council takes no action at all. You are right to be nervous about them."

"Well, I did pick a spot as far from any exit doors from the canton as I could."

"Wise choice. Not much stirring at this time of day either. No fights on my watch," he said with severity. I agreed again, and he resumed his patrolling.

As soon as he turned the far corner I was over the edge, cloaked in the chameleon spells of my amulet. I landed on the waistworks deck is a crouch and scurried to the door. No way to check the corridor inside. I cracked open the door and was relieved to find it empty. I hid the spare robe I was carrying in a planter and made a hasty exit, levitating back to the upper deck and returning to the rail. Once the sun was full up I strolled back to the foriegn quarter, arriving just as the businesses began stirring to life for the day.

In the afternoon no one questioned my wanderings through the foriegn quarter. The Ordinators might have had they seen me dropping into the sewer tunnels beneath the canton, but they didn't see me. No ebony mail today; I stripped off my robes to uncover the thin black mesh of the Dark Brotherhood and dropped into the murky water protected by alteration magic. The gratings gave way easily, and I was soon in the clearer depths of the bay. I weighted the robe with a rock and made my way to the Telvanni compound unseen.

Finding a grating loose enough to be worked open took some time, but soon enough I stood dripping on the edge of a channel with the Telvanni canton looming overhead. I climbed a nearby ladder and cautiously lifted the trap door. The way was clear and I slipped over the lip into the canalworks level. I used my amulet sparingly, slipping quietly through the corridors and stairs. As expected, Galuro Belan's shop was on the waistworks level. Fortunately it lies at the end of a lightly trafficked side passage. I retrieved my robe from the planter and stopped outside her shop to put it on.

"The Archmage of the outlander guild," she sneered as I entered the shop. "Get out."

"But what if I need a potion?" I asked. "Surely you would expect me to use nothing less than the best, and I hear the alchemists in the foriegn quarter are...lacking." I dropped one of the leaflets on her worktable.

"They are certainly not up to Telvanni standards," she hissed. "That's too bad for you though. Your business I do not need. I'm surprised you got this far into our compound without being run out."

"Not so surprising," I said. "No one saw me." I cast a locking spell on the door. "No one will ever know I was here."

Her jaw dropped. "This is no business of yours!" she cried, snatching up the leaflet.

"But it is. Frernis is in the guild; my guild. So her business is my business. Slandering her you slander me. If you were in my guild also then I would have a problem figuring out what to do, but if you slandered another Telvanni we both know what would happen. Honor is very fluid in your house, but they would kill you if they could. I can." I brought my staff ready as she saw the inevitable and rushed towards me with magica gathering in her hands.

Telvanni are highly skilled in the ways of magica, but Belan was, after all, just a shopkeeper. Her spells scorched, but did not char; chilled, but did not freeze. Two blows from the Archmage staff and she was reduced to a smoking heap. I burned the leaflet, dropping the ashes to mingle with her remains.

A quick intervention spell and I appeared, the composed Archmage of Vvardenfell, before the entry to the High Fane temple. I greeted the watchful Ordinator cheerfully, then entered the nearby Hall of Justice. I was visiting with Elam Andas, the officer of the watch, when the report of the murder came in. "Looks like you are suddenly busy my friend," I said. "I'll leave you to it."

He sighed. "Telvanni roast each other on a regular basis," he said.

I enjoyed the walk back to the foriegn quarter.

Ten: Act and react

Malven was very quiet at breakfast this morning. Craetia chattered merrily about her adventures, and I thought it wise to put in a word. Not to dampen her spirits, just to keep her from letting her light brush of experience turn dangerous for her.

"Don't count on a Redguard backing down regularly. Handing out leaflets is not their business, his heart wasn't really in it. Had his mission been to guard those leaflets you would only have gotten them if you killed him," I said.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to kill him," the alchemist replied. "I wouldn't want to kill anyone." I noted the intent look from Malven and let it go. The rest of the staff quickly had Craetia's excitement restored, but hopefully she will not underestimate the next Redguard she meets.

Malven followed me down the stairs to my office. "I had no idea you were going to kill her," she said. I looked at her, keeping my face a blank. "Galuro Belan. You said you were going to talk to her, now she is dead. I had no idea that is what you had in mind."

"That isn't what I had in mind," I said, "but what I had in mind makes no difference."

"Did you kill her?" she asked.

"Yes I did. That's why what I had in mind makes no difference."

"Well just what did you have in mind?" she asked with a trace of bitterness.

"I don't know," I said. "An apology with a public acknowledgement of our alchemist's skill, then the Telvanni having her executed for treason maybe? Like I said, whatever I had in mind would make no difference. Malven, this is important, and it was a hard lesson that I had to learn. It's also imperative that you learn it right now, because if you don't teach it to Craetia and the others we will have losses that I will not tolerate. Losses your conscience would find much heavier weights than others it will have to bear." I could not tell if I was getting through. I have yet to get comfortable with reading the red eyes of the Dunmer. All I could do was plow ahead.

"So here it is. We are at war with the Telvanni. Maybe not the kind with the armies marching out the gate with trumpets blaring, but a war; and in war there are soldiers. After a war there are two kinds of soldiers; heroes and monsters. The monsters faught for the losing side, because history is written by the winners. They were remorseless killing machines unfettered by conscience. The heroes faught for the winning side. During the war there were also two kinds of soldiers," I continued. "Those who left their conscience at their commander's feet and went on to be heroes, or monsters; and those who died."

Malven sat silently, and I still didn't know if I was getting through. "A lot of the time I am the Archmage, Malven, but yesterday I was a soldier. A soldier that you and I sent into a skirmish. Now, you didn't give any clear instructions, which I would hope that you would if you had sent someone else. I gave the instructions myself, because I knew that when I got there I would not want to take the time to think. My instructions didn't include 'do not kill her'. I would also hope that you would think long and hard before you tied someone's hands that way and sent them against the Telvanni." I stopped, and looked at her. I'm sure my face was hard. She nodded slightly.

I said, "It used to bother me a lot that Ranis seemed to end every assignment she gave me with 'or kill them'. Now I understand. She took the limits off of her soldier, and I'm likely alive because of it. I didn't kill everyone, in fact I usually found a way around it, but if it came to a fight I never hesitated. Soldiers can't be deciding the right and wrong of the battle, they have to fight it with everything they have. It's up to you to send them into the right battles; you, and ultimately me. We have to be the ones with conscience, but if you end up facing the Telvanni yourself leave your conscience at the door and be a soldier."

It was harsh, and looking back I think there must have been a way to make it easier for her, but she needs to know the true weight of her position. In the end she seemed to have shouldered that weight. Hopefully she talked with Ranis, or Skink, or even Edwinna while I was out. I thought it wise to give her time and space so I spent most of the day out of the hall. As fate often has it after a speech like that I had to confront my own demons.

Aurane Frernis, the alchemist who was unknowingly at the center of this object lesson, is a dues paying member of the guild. Her shop directly competes with services the guild provides, but since she is a member this is not a problem. The enchanter Muin-gei, on the other hand, is not a member.

In keeping with the theory I had presented to Malven I gave myself a clear assignment; persuade him to join, by either showing some benefit or just making him feel good that the Archmage himself had requested his membership, but do not get into any sort of conflict and certainly don't kill him. It was the 'showing some benefit' part of the assignment that ended up testing me.

Muin-gei turned out to be a very personable Argonian, with a stock of quality items at fair prices. Unfortunately his response to my suggestion that he join the guild went directly to the typical businessman's defense against expenses. His business is down; plagued by a recent turn that makes paying dues out of the question. Naturally the conversation goes directly from there to 'what if being a member of the guild solves the problem?', which led directly to me being outside his shop looking for some trinket selling street vendor that Muin-gei said was to blame for his current downturn.

When I met Marcel Maurard I couldn't help but agree. If I were shopping for enchantments, or anything else, I would shop elsewhere rather than have a second meeting with this foppish pretender. His 'lucky charms and gifts of splendor' are of no particular value, but getting away without an endless description of each and every item was on the verge of impossible. The demon I fear most rose up inside and hissed in my ear, "you could just kill him." With all the deaths on my hands it is a constant battle to keep my conscience active when it really is called for. Ultimately the lengths I went to to get him to move on were a proof that my conscience is intact, but he was no help.

Marcel Maurard claims to be an actor, and from the drama he added to selling his wares I suppose he is; a bad one. Tonight I am looking through a play written by Crassius Curio, a member of the council of the Hlaalu great house, and I think they are made for each other. Fortunately, as the Archmage it was not hard for me to gain access to the worthy playwrite and suggest the actor Marcel for a part in The Lusty Argonian Maid. I graciously accepted this copy, but it is a bit of drivel I will be happy to avoid. Hopefully I will never see the star again either.

Eleven: Away from the city

It was time to give let Malven have her hall to herself. I don't know how much the reality of our war with the Telvanni has gotten through to her, but staying and arguing about it would not help. It also would not help me. Holding myself too long against the knife edge of readiness where killing is the norm does not serve me or the guild. Those I killed today will not weigh on my conscience. In fact their deaths could be looked at as a kindness.

I had just arrived at the conclusion that I needed to get out of the hall for a while when Flacassia brought me a message from Skink. The worthy Argonian steward of our hall in the Telvanni capital helped me greatly, probably without knowing it.

"Arvil Bren," the message said. "We are continuing our research into the natures of Dagoth Ur's minions. As our council expected the Telvanni are not quickly forming a consensus, and we believe we must take this opportunity to focus on the greater enemy. Our research requires a sample; the soul of an ash ghoul. There is rumored to be a base of the Sixth House not far away, but we think it unwise to send any of our mages on this errand through Telvanni territory. Our request is that you assign this task to another hall. The soul gems and soul trap scrolls enclosed should suffice to complete it."

I considered the options. Who could Malven assign, or Ranis in Balmora? My own first experience with the cult came to my mind. A harrowing nightmare of red candles and stench, with the shocking recognition that came from seeing a corprus stalker devouring its own flesh that it tore free in chunks. I had fled that base so many months ago. Since then I had been in others; others that I had left with their evil bell stands smashed, silencing the dreamer calls. A mage could be assigned to find a base and capture an ash ghoul soul, but I opted to do it myself.

I found the island as I remembered it, not far south-east of Seyda Neen. The cavern mouth yawned open, waiting ominously. I crept inside. This time the guttering red candles and the wafting stench of rotting flesh were familiar rather than mysterious. More than just my conscience has been hardened by my time on Vvardenfell; my stomach lay in relative ease. I met the creatures of Dagoth Ur without fear or disgust, and released them from the horror their lives had become. Fulfilling the task that had brought me there I charged one of Skink's gems with the first ash ghoul that I dispatched.

In the depths of the shrine huddled the Dagoth; an ascended sleeper held directly in the sway of Dagoth Ur. This benighted creature was dwelling in the bell chamber on a ledge above a pool of seething lava. I approached, crossing a great stone arch from the larger ledge where the huge bells hung from their frame. "I have a message for your master, Dagoth," I shouted.

"I will deliver no words outlander. I will be crowned in glory when I bring him your head," was the monster's response.

After an exchange of spells the beast was staggered, in danger of falling to the lava below. I conjured a mighty Daedric spear as I leapt forward. The supernaturally keen point pierced through the Dagoth and pinned it to the offering trough filled with chunks of corprus meat. As its life hissed away I explained. "No words to deliver Dagoth. Your death, the destruction of the bells, the end of this base; that is all the message I would send to your master."

The mighty bell hammer quivered with resistance when turned on the framework of the bell stand, but could not but land where it was swung. The stand collapsed, dropping the great iron bells to the floor with a final cacophony. I wedged them one by one among the wreckage and hammered them into shapeless lumps.

The sun was lowering in the west when I emerged again into the muggy air of the bitter coast. I made my way around the bay and arrived with the night at Seyda Neen. If I needed further reminding of the true enemy I found it here. The embargo has brought the legitimate transport of goods to a stand-still, and the little town with its mighty harbor has suffered. The excise office is now manned by harshly roughened pirates who wage a constant battle with the smugglers, who have erupted like the fungus that thrives on the swampy coast. In his hunger to consume the island and its people Dagoth Ur is bringing it all to ruin.

With the Telvanni not actively moving against us, at least for the moment, I must turn my own attention to the Nerevarine prophecies. Dagoth Ur must fall.

Twelve: Skink's research

I took the familiar walk from Seyda Neen to Balmora. Even in the swamps of the Bitter Coast far from Red Mountain there are blighted monsters. I do not see how anyone can claim the ghostfence is working to contain Dagoth Ur. Containment is not a solution. Perhaps in the security of the High Fane the leaders of the temple cannot see that, but out in the countryside it is painfully obvious.

When I arrived in Balmora I went directly to the Southwall Cornerclub. Ahnassi was not there. Habasi told me that she was on an 'errand' for her. An errand in the thieves guild no doubt involves stealing something. Something that the guild believes it will put to better use than its former owner. Better use than Ahnassi would, no doubt. The challenge of opening locks and secret passages draws her, not the resulting gains. I have seen her take some prized possession, wait a week or two, then defeat the improved security measures to return the loot to its place. Habasi promised to tell Ahnassi that our home appears to be safe and that I am looking forward to seeing her there.

I was disappointed, and wandered into the guild hall obviously downcast. I will have to be more careful. The manner of the Archmage can have too much of an effect on the guild; another weight on my shoulders. Fortunately with Ranis running the hall in Balmora I had some room for error and learned this lesson with no damage done. I ate lunch with my fellows, then met with Ranis. She agreed that the situation with the Telvanni is stable, and that confronting the problems of Red Mountain holds the greatest promise for resolving everything.

She listened as I recounted my experiences with Malven, then nodded gravely. "In the shelter of Vivec City it is harder to see certain realities Archmage. She is no fool though, and I'm sure you got your point through. I will follow up with her in your absence." With that assurance I took transport to Sadrith Mora.

I delivered the charged soul gem into Skink's hands. "This will help, Archmage. Our research continues." The hardy Argonian looked tired.

"Do not wear yourself down in your studies, Skink," I cautioned him. "We need your eyes on the Telvanni. Finding Dagoth Ur's weaknesses may lie down a path that I must travel, not in your lab."

"Perhaps so," he said. "But perhaps this can help." He handed over a badly eroded bit of a letter. I read what could be made out, and consulted his attached notes. "It is a report describing a manuscript," Skink elaborated. "You can see that it refers to the manuscript as 'the vampires notes' here." He pointed out the reference. "Then it suggests here that the writer of the manuscript was cured. It is not clear whether this vampire was a blood vampire..."

"Or one of Dagoth Ur's ash vampires," I finished.

"Right," he said.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"It is an ancient temple document. The cured vampire would have been one of theirs. Perhaps an Ordinator. They suppressed the manuscript and hid the writer. That doesn't tell us anything, either form of vampire among their ranks would be an embarrassment."

"Suppressed," I mused. "But does the manuscript still exist?"

"We have sent our mages to make discreet inquiries. Jobasha, the rare book dealer in Vivic City may know something of this book," Skink said.

Jobasha is the most prolific collector of books in all of Vvardenfell, but is under constant scrutiny from the temple because of his outspoken opinions against slavery. He can be difficult to get information from. "May know something?" I asked.

Skink nodded. "Malven spoke to him herself. He said he does not have such a book, which we tend to believe, but she thought there was something left unsaid."

I took the opportunity to explain my concerns about Malven, though in this case I was glad she had accepted Jobasha's claim and backed off.

"We are sure Arvil Bren that if you were on the trail of this information you would not have left without it. Malven is perhaps more diplomatic than you, but she will serve well. She is a balance for Ranis in your council," he said. I turned that over in my mind. "Which leaves us with Jobasha and the book he may not have heard of," he finished.

"Jobasha is an old friend, and I stand differently with the Khajiit than Malven would. In this case diplomacy was certainly correct. I'll talk to him. If he knows anything of this," I motioned towards the scraps of message, "I'm sure he'll tell me."

"It is a slender reed in the marsh," Skink concluded, "but even a slender reed can mark the bank."

Wisdom from Black Marsh; I do appreciate the diversity of my friends.

Thirteen: Lost day

I used my recall spell to come home to Pelagiad this evening. Ahnassi is still not here, but the comfort of our house is settling my spirits. I levitated to the uppermost battlements of the fort and watched the sunset. I am proud that I resisted the desire to conjure a bow and shoot something... anything.

This morning I returned to Vivec City. Malven has done well at establishing her position in the hall. I was greeted respectfully, but not as the direct authority to give orders, or be feared. I left the hall with my morale high. The crowds in the plazas of the foriegn quarter closed pleasantly around me.

Things continued to go well at Jobasha's Rare Books. I browsed the shelves after exchanging a friendly greeting with the learned Khajiit proprietor and the Ordinator assigned to his shop. The Ordinator is there because Jobasha is outspoken in his decrying of slavery, and his shop is reputedly a meeting place of the Twin Lamps. Jobasha considers it a convenience, having free security services. He has a great many valuable books in his inventory.

In due time the Ordinator gave us an opportunity to share a few words. Jobasha chuckled at my mention of Malven's questioning. "Yes good friend Arvil Bren, the Dunmer asked questions. I was glad the guard was here. She did not seem to wish me well."

I laughed myself. "Well, she did think you were keeping something from her. By the way my good friend I need to know if you were."

"I was, of course. You know we Khajiit love our secrets," he said.

"How well I know good friend, but this is a secret I need you to share," I said.

"Oh, this I will gladly share with Arvil Bren, this secret and another, a secret place." The twitching tail I recognized as friendship, and the excitement of secrets. "I do not have the book you seek, but I have heard of it. I can guess where it may be found. A very secret place indeed, a place I cannot guess how to go."

When I left Jobasha I thought I had made progress. When I reached the offices of the Ordinators in the Hall of Justice I was beginning to have doubts. It did not take long for me to conclude I was against an insurmountable obstacle. The Ordinators have a secret library beneath their offices. There are trapdoors, kept locked. I am well enough liked by the Ordinators that I could invent a pretext to visit their offices. To try opening those trapdoors would lead to death for someone. I could see no way around it.

I spent most of the afternoon in the guild hall. Malven spoke to me briefly, but could see that I was distracted. There was really nothing she needed from me. There was nothing I could think that she could do for me. I transported back to Sadrith Mora and told Skink the situation quickly, then had dinner with the mages there. After dinner I teleported home.

I could walk into the Office of the Watch, concealed in magecraft, and kill everyone in my path. Then I could teleport to safety and offer my services, and the services of the guild, in investigating the hideous crime. I could even, perhaps, justify this as some necessary act in the war on Dagoth Ur. I could be no better than my enemy.

This may be a long night.

Fourteen: My own part

After a fitful night I rose this morning with a somewhat clearer head. Mostly I think a head cleared by necessity. There is just nothing to be done about the library. There is also no need for me to wait for Skink's research, or Ranis' plots, or Edwinna to find a solution in some dusty Dwemer artifact. If I become the Nerevarine that will clarify so many things. If I don't I suspect I might die in the attempt, which is a clarification of a different sort. By the time I walked back to Vivec I was settled; not comfortable, but committed.

Having determined my course I spent the day setting things in order. I will be gone for some time, and cannot really predict how long. The only thing I really knew this morning was that the direction I had to follow was to find Mehra Milo and the dissident priests. All I could tell my advisors was that my path led to Ebonheart. They had answered my call and gathered in my offices.

"There will be affairs of state where your presence is expected," Malven said. "There are times that the Archmage represents the guild. Times that your absence may be hard to explain."

"It's a big guild that extends beyond Vivec City," Ranis put in. "The succession of the Archmage requires his involvement throughout Vvardenfell. Evade the requests, confront the demands. If the Duke requires his presence we will find him."

Malven nodded. I count on her diplomacy to temper things with the intrigues of the city. Ranis would probably have someone killed. "Malven," I encouraged, "I will be in contact, frequent contact. There shouldn't be any demands that can't be put off for a few days."

There was no way to cover every aspect, but we pursued everything we thought of to a solution that at least seemed workable. By the serving of the evening meal I had the grudging agreement of all four stewards that the guild was as prepared as we could make it. I spent the evening laying out my familiar gear.

Light armors, for ease of travel. The Archmage staff, which is good for walking and potently enchanted. Restoratives for healing, endurance, magica. Extravagant robes for meeting dignitaries, common robes for moving without drawing attention, the black mask of the Dark Brotherhood for clandestine activities that may become necessary.

The power that came to me with the mantle of the Archmage seemed like it would provide answers, but in the end the imperial guild cannot bend the ancient structures of Morrowind. Surviving the clash of those structures is going to require using those structures. My origins are in the Empire, but my fate lies with the Dunmer. After my sleepless night I am tired, but it will be easy to sleep well tonight. Before dawn I will be on the docks of Ebonheart.

Fifteen: Travel to Holamayan

I am in the hidden monastery of Holamayan, shelter of the dissident priests. If there were any doubts in my mind about the favor of Azura this place would dispel them Through the power of Azura the entrance is completely hidden except for brief periods at dawn and dusk. The remoteness of the island supplemented by that enchantment could allow this base to operate in secret forever. It was an honor to be allowed in, but the real test will be whether I am allowed to leave.

Blatta Hatteria, who provided me with passage to the island, took great pains to keep her secrets. I found her on the docks, preparing her fishing boat to sail with the tide. As Mehra Milo had instructed I asked her for a charter.

"Do you know where you would like to go?" she asked.

"No," I replied, continuing to follow the instructions. "I just want to fish, and I was told the fish keep no secrets from you."

"Very few, sera, very few. Is your name known to the fish? They may have whispered it to me."

"Arvil Bren."

"That's the one. Come aboard, we sail in five minutes."

She hurriedly finished preparations and cast off; too hurriedly it seemed. We had barely cleared the harbor when the sail came down in a heap as a line parted near the top of the mast. Other boats sailed by, the fishermen jeering good naturedly. "We will leave you a fish or two Blatta, the skinny ones!" came through the thin morning mists.

"I'm not worried Gorla, without me leading you to the fish you will likely return with empty nets!" she returned. She seemed in no great hurry to make repairs. "That one, with the red stripe on the sail Arvil Bren, that is the one that would follow us," she said.

"You think you are being followed?"

"Not me. You." She motioned with her eyes while staying bent over her work. I could see two men on the distant deck in animated discussion. "Arkeg will not long tolerate that n'wah making demands."

"What demands do you think he is making?"

"Arkeg is no fool, he continues towards the fishing grounds. He knows that to heave to immediately when our sail came down would reveal the pursuit. The shirtless one is not so wise. I saw him rushing to charter a boat when we set sail so quickly, and now he is clearly worried about losing sight of us. Arkeg will circle with only the tip of his mast on the horizon, and he will watch ours." With a yank the sail sped up the mast, popping loudly as it billowed open. "I've see enough." She laughed at my surprise. "You didn't really think we stopped accidentally did you?"

Arkeg was also taken by surprise and hard pressed to get turned around in time. The tip of his mast was frequently obscured by the waves as we sailed into the rising sun. Ours was no doubt completely lost in the glare. "So we have shed our pursuit. Well done captain," I said.

"Not really. Arkeg can't see us, but he will know where we are simply because he can't. He will sail directly into the sun, just like we are."

"You seem unconcerned."

"We have enough lead that he will not share the winds." I looked out at the surface of the water. In our immediate vicinity the tell-tale rippling revealed the strong wind that sped us along, but not far astern the sea fell glassily calm. "By the time the sun is high enough that he will expect to see us we will be far beyond his vision, Azura will see to that."

It was afternoon when Blatta dropped me at the rough dock. Blatta did not tie up, touching the freeboard gently to the decrepit wood only long enough for me to jump. "I don't know what happens next Arvil Bren. Stay near the dock." The little ship heeled as the wind shifted direction and she sped away.

Her sail had just disappeared on the horizon when a voice at my elbow surprised me. "Holamayan lies at the top of the trail, but the door will only be visible in the twilight." The monk who stood watch had been concealed by a spell of invisibility, and once he had spoken he again winked out of view. I climbed the steep path.

The monks of Holamayan have treated me with a strange deference this evening, and have provided quarters that seem outfitted for a long stay. The robes are serviceable, and though there are no luxuries the sparsely furnished room is comfortable. Most who come here come seeking refuge, they seem to assume that I will be staying.

Part two

Sixteen: Master Barelo

I spent most of today reviewing what I know of the Nerevarine prophecies and comparing it with texts maintained here in the monastery. Most of the Heirographa, the writings of the Tribunal Temple can be found here. One of the critical differences that has led to the casting out of the dissident priests is their belief that the Apographa, writings the hierarchy have kept secret for millennia, should be open to study. Much of the Apographa is also available.

I found texts of the critical prophecies of the Stranger and the Seven Visions of the Seven Trials, which I heard from Nibani Maesa the Wise Woman of the Urshilaku. It is impressive how the oral traditions of the Ashlanders have preserved the legend. Texts transcribed by temple scholars many generations ago match the notes I took when Nibani described the trials to me almost perfectly.

The first trial reads;
On a certain day to uncertain parents
Incarnate Moon and Star is born.

This is what got me into this in the first place. The 'certain day', by tradition, happens to be my birthday. When the Emperor got that piece of information his agents found me in the Imperial prisons. Parents unknown, born on the correct day, the perfect pawn in the game of creating a false Nerevarine...or a true one. In any event, Nibani agreed that I do meet the test of the first trial. She was, however, quick to point out that a great many people share my birthday.

When I met Nibani that was a deciding factor. The only factor that went my way in fact. Now the second trial has taken on great significance. It reads;
Neither blight nor age can harm him
The curse of flesh before him flees.

The 'curse of flesh' is a common reference to the corprus disease, and Nibani suggested that this could mean that the Nerevarine could cure that dread disease. I cannot cure the disease, but I have been cured of it through the wizardry of Divyth Fyr. Through that disease and curing I have taken an immunity to diseases, including the blight. Divayth Fyr also speculates that I will not age normally, if at all. While it is not exactly what Nibani expected it does seem to serve, especially since Edwinna tells me Fyr has not been able to cure anyone else.

I discussed this today with Master Barelo, leader of the dissidents. He agreed that this second trial could be seen as fulfilled by my condition. He seemed easily convinced in fact, more easily than I am myself, and I'm afraid more easily than Nibani would be. To her the Nerevarine being an outlander is absurd, and it seems easier to agree with that than anything else. When I suggested that to Master Barelo he stopped, pondering, and suggested we move on to the third trial.

The third trial reads;
In caverns dark Azura's eye sees
And makes to shine the moon and star.

This appears to me to be the definitive trial. Nibani hinted at knowledge of a 'cavern of the Incarnate' when I asked about this, but she said she could not reveal anything more than that there is a shrine to Azura there. If I can convince her that I have passed the second trial she will perhaps tell me more.

Barelo nodded at that and excused himself to do some research. I suppose he may be able to locate this shrine, or perhaps he can find the 'lost prophecies' that Nibani is seeking. Despite the uncanny consistency of the oral traditions handed down by the Ashlanders, Nibani knows there are pieces that have been lost. If those pieces were recorded by temple scholars before they were lost Barelo may be able to find them.

I continued my own search through the ancient texts for a while, but must admit that the task is too much for me. When Mehra Milo came into the chamber in which I was reading she apologized for the interruption, but I thanked her. "I will have to rely on the scholarship of others to sort what I need from the wealth of documents here Mehra. I hate to do that, but to do anything else is a life's work."

"Yes, it is. Master Barelo knows a great deal about where to look. Have faith that Azura will guide him to what you seek."

"What I don't understand is his interest in helping me. I read Progress of Truth, and I honor the stand your order has taken against the persecution of the Nerevarine cult by the Ordinators. But it seems like that was a stand against the injustice of it. It doesn't ring of any great belief in the prophecies."

"I'm not sure there is any belief in them Arvil Bren, and there certainly wasn't at the time that Progress of Truth was written. But times have changed. At that time the ghostfence and the power of the Tribunal seemed to be keeping Dagoth Ur safely contained, and the good works of the Tribunes was openly and obviously visible, and on going. Now things are...different." She looked like she was about to cry.

"The blight," I said.

"Not just that. There's the tools of Kagrenak."

"Kagrenak. The Dwemer master enchanter."

"Yes," she murmured. "Accursed Kagrenak. His efforts to create a God to do the Dwemer's bidding destroyed the Dwemer."

"So I understand. Not really a bad thing though, considering that the Dwemer were at war with the Dunmer at the time. It could have gone much worse for the Dunmer."

"Yes, it seemed good in the short term. The Dwemer were destroyed, their outlander allies scattered. But the Heart of Lorkan, and the tools Kagrenak used to tap its power remained. Nerevar decreed that the tools were too dangerous to use, but Lord Dagoth fell to their temptation and became Dagoth Ur. So did the Tribunal after the death of Nerevar."

"They used the tools? So they are like Dagoth Ur?"

"Not entirely. Dagoth Ur tapped directly into the power of the heart, driven by greed and fear. The tribunes were cautious, and at heart wanted to do good. Dagoth Ur was immediately driven mad...with them it has taken longer..."

"But they are mad all the same," I concluded.

"Yes." She nodded sadly and her eyes brimmed over with tears. "I don't think we believe in the Nerevarine prophecies Arvil Bren. It is just that they hold out our only hope."

Seventeen: Lost prophecy

I am hard pressed to sleep tonight, or even lay down. The inactivity of a day spent toiling through dusty scrolls has left me with too much energy, and the revelations of Master Barelo have my head in a whirl. Around midafternoon he brought me a parchment.

"This is the work of an elder priest thousands of years ago. His transcriptions of conversations with an Ashlander Wise Woman are what we consider the authorative source for much of the Ashlander's history. There are bits and pieces of prophecy scattered through it, including one of the oldest written records of the Seven Visions. Read this part." His finger ran carefully along seven lines of graceful script on the the aged hide.

From seventh sign of eleventh generation
Neither Hound nor Guar nor Seed nor Harrow
But dragon born and far star marked
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain
Blessed guest counters seven curses
Star blessed hand wields thrice cursed blade
To reap the harvest of the unmourned house

I read carefully, then again, though certain words seemed to leap from the page. 'Outlander Incarnate', an outlander Nerevarine. Me.

"Not of the four clans," said Master Barelo. "A guest. Dragon born; born of your Empire." He shook his head. "Not hard to see how this would get lost. It isn't something an Ashlander would want to remember, or admit. Even the scholars of the temple born of their great houses would just as soon pass that over. I did myself in my youth."

"What about the rest?" I asked. "The seven curses? Star blessed hand?"

"The seven curses rings familiar. It may be more prophecy. I have a few places to look, but I wanted to bring this to you. Give you a chance to... get used to it. The star blessed hand would no doubt refer to the ring Moon and Star. You have heard 'journey far neath Moon and Star' I assume?"

I nodded. "The mark of Nerevar."

"Mark; yes indeed. A ring which Nerevar wore that clearly identified him, since its enchantments would kill any other that tried to wear it. The thrice cursed blade is likely Keening, one of the tools of Kagrenak. Instrumental in tapping the power of the Heart of Lorkan, and probably required to undo that as well. Nerevar and the tribunal believed they had slain Dagoth Ur, every sense told them he was dead, but he survived. The tools that made him what he is will no doubt be needed if he is to be truly undone; reaping the harvest that House Dagoth sowed so long ago."

"Seven curses," I muttered. "Seven curses faced, then use a cursed blade."

"There is another possibility," he said. "Lord Dagoth had seven close kin, powerful wizard-lords in their own right."

"His kin would be long dead though, right? They didn't all tap into the stone."

"They didn't have to tap in directly themselves, they have been preserved by Dagoth Ur. They are the ash vampires." He went to continue his search through the prophecies, leaving me with a careful copy of the prophecy of the Outlander Incarnate. He was apparently out of bad news, at least for the moment.

Eighteen: Departure

I had to wait until evening to leave Holamayan. The protection of Azura prevents teleportation in or out, and Master Barelo demands certain precautions. Waiting until the twilight allowed a monk to come out and verify that I did indeed teleport away so that no backtrail would be left leading to the refuge. Since I had to teleport away I chose to use my recall spell and come home. I did not know where the nearest temple or Imperial fortress would be, and did not want an intervention spell to land me in an unknown city.

I was not sure that Master Barelo was going to let me leave at all. It weighs hard on him, being the leader of such a persecuted sect. The greatest weight being that he finds the prophecies hard to believe himself. While he clearly disagreed with the Temple's doctrines of persecution I don't know that he wouldn't describe the Ashlanders as superstitious rabble himself. Not justifying persecution, but certainly not worthy of actual belief. He could not ignore my experience with the corprus disease, and ultimately had to let me go to face further testing.

That testing looms more impossibly at every turn. While he was preparing to send me on my way Master Barelo sent Mehra Milo with another snippet of prophecy. These are, perhaps, the seven curses which must be countered. It looked bad enough when it was the seven ash vampires. The first two curses are fire and ash, obviously referring to the great volcano of Red Mountain itself. Am I expected to extinguish its mighty furnace? The curse of flesh is, of course, blight and corprus diseases that spread from the halls of Dagoth Ur. I am immune, but does countering the curse mean stopping their spread? Curing the afflicted? The final curse is the curse of dreams. The rising incidence of 'soul sickness', people driven mad by sleepless nights and tormented by dreams of Dagoth Ur's vengeance would suggest that this curse is at hand, and the time of the Nerevarine is as well. This more than anything else I believe led to my release. But there are three more curses; the curse of ghosts, the curse of seed, the curse of despair. I am expected to counter them, and I do not know what they are.

I say I am expected to counter them as if I were the Nerevarine. I would hope that I am not. The first two trials, and the prophecy of the Outlander Incarnate are compelling, but far from certain. My next task is clear; to present that case to Nibani Maesa so that she will confide the location of the Cavern of the Incarnate. There Azura herself will mark me as the Incarnate, or I expect that I will die. To die seems the easier path. The remaining trials seem impossible.

A stranger's voice unites the houses
Three halls call him Hortator.

Hortator; an office that has been vacant since Nerevar himself, a warlord who can command the united forces of the Great Houses of the Dunmer. The Great Houses could not unite behind their king in the face of Imperial expansion. They are locked in seemingly eternal strife, having replaced the devastating house wars with legalized assassinations and vendettas. For anyone to unite them seems impossible, but for me? The Redorans with their stiff codes of honor are staunch supporters of the Temple; the temple who would have me killed immediately at the first breath that I could be the Nerevarine. The Hlaalu are not so concerned with the affairs of the temple, but their council is under sway of Orvas Dren, who would have me slain out of hand if he ever traced responsibility for the setbacks his Cammona Tong have suffered. That trail of responsibility leads to the tip of my spear. Even further into the realm of impossibility is House Telvanni, sworn blood enemies of my guild. As the Archmage I am further down their list of prospective Hortators than Dagoth Ur himself would be.

A stranger's hand unites the Velothi
Four tribes call him Nerevarine.

The four clans of the Ashlanders; they are looking for Nerevar to return and sweep the land free of outlanders, Great House Dunmer, and the Tribunal Temple. A scrap of lost prophecy is not going to suddenly change their expectations and make a Breton acceptable, particularly if that Breton has somehow become the Hortator of the Great Houses. The fourth trial pushes the fifth even deeper into impossibility.

He honors blood of the tribe unmourned
He eats their sin and is reborn.

The tribe unmourned is no doubt House Dagoth, and to 'eat their sin' is to atone somehow, but after studying histories and prophecies and fantasies and fabrications I don't think anyone even knows what their sin actually was. What happened an age ago under Red Mountain? What is it that is to be atoned for?

His mercy frees the cursed false gods
Binds the broken, redeems the mad.

And that makes a clean sweep. The Great Houses, the Ashlanders, House Dagoth, and the Tribunal; all the Nerevarine has to do is make friends of every enemy, which is to say everybody. The only question, really, is who is going to hate me the most, they are all going to hate me.

The house is quiet. Ahnassi has not yet returned. I read, I write, I touch the armors and weapons of my collection. I look at my fate looming before me. I await the dawn.

Nineteen: Juggling

I awoke this morning from a fitful doze. The brief sleep did little for me, and I had to rely on restoratives that I brewed in my lab. Fortunately I have learned well. I have also learned that there are times that call for walking alone. By the time I crossed the double bridges over the Odai and turned in the south gate of Balmora I had restored my spirit, the part that is beyond the reach of any alchemist's brew. Then I put aside the questions of trials and prophecy that are the lot of the Nerevarine. As the Nerevarine, if I am, I will shape the future of Vvardenfell, but today I needed to be the Archmage of the Mage's Guild.

Under Trebonius the mages were in some ways sheltered, and in other ways restrained. For me to be out of contact for the last few days was a trial for them; on both counts. While Ranis is among my most trusted advisors it was good to appear unannounced in the hall in Balmora and put things into perspective. My best friends in the guild, in all of Vvardenfell actually, needed to see that me being the Archmage was going to change some things...and that it was not changing some others.

I came in upstairs, through the enchanter's shop. Galbedir was momentarily shocked, and I laughed at her expression. It took a minute to sort out that I was her friend, her customer, and the Archmage, all in one untidy package. I dumped a bundle of various weaponry that I had claimed, some already enchanted and some ideal for enchanting. Our opening round of negotiation was strange. Her opening price was absurdly high. "Galbedir, what are you doing?" I said.

"You could demand whatever price you wish Arvil Bren. I know that."

"And you might think that since I'm your friend your shop doesn't have to be profitable, but it does. I'm not going to stop Ranis from seeing to that." At the mention of Ranis' name her eyes widened. "Tough spot." I grinned. "It would be best if at times like this you treated me as a customer, not the Archmage, and not your friend."

Ranis was a bit more difficult. The hall in Balmora has been her personal turf. I don't think Trebonius ever set foot there. When she saw me coming down the stairs her mouth fell open. I had never imagined Ranis at a loss for words. "Let's go in here a moment," I said, opening the door to her office. She recovered well, but it was a defining moment. It had always been her that used those words.

Ultimately the resilience of the Dunmer won through, and I took something from that. Ranis did not expect to have an Archmage who would just walk into her hall. That is what she has. When her expectations turned counter to reality she moved on; the Dunmer way. "Our lives are long Arvil Bren, we see the world change around us, and we adapt." Will that help the Great House councils accept me as the Nerevarine? The Ashlander clans? I can hope.

Our new relationship was reflected in the way she responded to my needs. It is necessary that any hall can serve as a base for me. Ranis left her office and gave a flurry of instructions. In short order word had gone out through the guild guides to every hall that I was available in Balmora. Hopefully that not only gave them a chance to report anything I needed to resolve, but also will have them all better prepared for my possible arrival.

By the end of the day I had heard from Ald-ruhn, Sadrith Mora, and Vivec City, and given a handful of decisions and opinions. There was nothing critical, but it made clear that I expect to keep my hand on the direction of the guild.

At the dinner table everyone was a little uncomfortable. I tried to imagine what it would have been like if Trebonius ever had visited the hall. His demands would have revolved around the show of false respect that fed his pompous ego. It gave me an inspiration. "My work is over for the day," I said. "I assume my usual bunk is open." To sit here at the library table, where I have sat so often, writing in my battered journal as I always have; it's a comfort to me, and to my friends.

Twenty: New hall

Keeping things in balance is going to take some work. Yesterday I was very resolute that the business of the guild had to be taken care of. The fact that I only made it from Pelagiad to Balmora in my journey to the Urshilaku camp seemed like acceptable progress. As I sit here at this same table, prepared for sleep in the same bunk, it is harder to see myself as moving to meet my destiny. While the other trials of the Nerevarine are still looming ominously the possibility of not being the Nerevarine and dying in the Cavern of the Incarnate is now slowing my steps. I do not want to die.

It would not be too difficult to claim today as great gains made for the Archmage though. I again set out walking. Not just to clear my head; and not to knowingly slow my progress though now I see that may have been underlying my choice. I wanted to arrive at the guild in Caldera by walking in the door, not appearing on the guild guide's platform. As I followed the pleasant trail northwards past the headwaters of the Odai I formed a plan that would only work because I had chosen to walk.

When I reached Caldera I did not go directly to the guild, but went instead to Surane Leoriane's house. Surane is a Blade, a member of the organization that collects information directly for the Emperor; in short, a spy. Unknown to the Mage's Guild I am also a Blade, in fact the ranking member here in Vvardenfell as far as I know. That is what I was told by spymaster Caius Cosades when he returned to Cyrodiil, but being a secret organization it is hard to tell. In any event I must admit my own loyalties do not lead directly to the throne of the Emperor, but since his instructions for me are to fulfill the prophecies of the Nerevarine it is easy enough to maintain at least a fiction of being at his direction. Being 'senior' in the Blades certainly does not put Surane under my orders, but it does provide opportunities.

Surane is posted in Caldera to monitor and investigate the Caldera Mining Company, and she is a very proficient mage. The Caldera Mining Company is an Imperial charter granted to House Hlaalu to exploit the local ebony deposits, and is the economic engine that allows Caldera to exist in the first place. Since House Hlaalu is in many ways a thrall to the Cammona Tong and the awarding of the charter stinks of graft there is definite cause for investigation by the Empire. Since the Cammona Tong has a huge price on the head of a spear wielding nemesis that they fortunately don't know is me I have my own reasons to be interested. All of these parts were clicking together in my mind as I walked, eventually forming a very cohesive whole.

"Hello Surane, it's good to see you again," I said as she answered the door.

"Hello Arvil. You are looking a little more wizardly these days. Unless I am sorely mistaken that staff is the badge of office of an Archmage. Come in, please." It was certainly simple to fit this visit into my cover story. My previous visits as a ragged spearman were a bit less obtrusive, because they would be much harder to explain. The time of day was in my favor, and I got to enlist Surane in my plan over an exquisite lunch.

Then I went to the makeshift guild hall, where they were just clearing away the plates following a hearty but plain meal that I was glad to have missed. Madila Indaren, a Dunmer mage who I think might be a distant relation of Ranis is the ranking member of the guild in Caldera. As I walked through the door she nearly collapsed, then erupted in a flurry of orders, all of which were intended to somehow relate to 'making me comfortable', most of which were contradictory. I had intended to shift the course of this fledgling hall gently, but this start left me no choice but to use a heavy hand.

I crashed the butt of my staff against the planking of the floor, which unleashed a shower of sparks and curling flames. "Stop!" was all I could think to say. Everyone froze in their places. At least the incipient chaos was headed off. "I didn't come here to test your furnishings or hospitality, so most of what you have all just decided to do is uncalled for. This hall is not getting done what really needs to get done already, so that would be a much better direction for your efforts. Assuming that you have regular tasks that forward the mission here, get about them while I consider what will have to be done for Madila here to get promoted." I looked around, taking in each startled face in turn, ending with the piercing red eyes of Madila. "You have an office?" She didn't. To have any sort of private conversation required Ernand Thierry the alchemist to disappear into his tower laboratory and the rest of her crew to retire to a common room upstairs.

"That is the first of many problems that need to be resolved," I said as soon as this was established. "I am here as the Archmage to get you set up as a guild steward in a proper hall, and having this meeting leaves no one but you and me to answer the front door. That really doesn't work Madila." She nodded, and wisely didn't say anything. Any trail of explanations she started would curl inevitably back at her and she knew it. That was what I was looking for. Had she not seen that the responsibility ultimately landed on her she would be difficult to mold into a Steward.

Caldera had been established under Ranis' supervision, mostly I suppose because it is Hlaalu territory and Ranis runs the hall in the Hlaalu capital of Balmora. A totally unworkable plan whose only real selling point had been that it didn't involve Trebonius in much of any way. Ranis has done a commendable job under the circumstances, but operation as a distant annex is not going to accomplish anything for anyone in the long run.

The crux of the problem in Caldera is that it operates at a loss across the board. Folms Mirel is a skilled enchanter, but in the 'business first' environment of a Hlaalu town he isn't in a position to provide services competitively. The local traders, pawn shops, and street corner hucksters all peddle enchantments and are overwhelming him. The alchemist Ernand Thierry gets much the same results. The guild guide does not do any thriving business. About the only place people in Caldera need to go is Balmora, and it is not a prohibitive walk. Ranis managed to assign Eraamion, an accomplished nightblade, as the spellsmith, but never quite handed his control over to Medila, and Ranis is too far removed to direct him.

"The Altmer, Eraamion," I began delicately, "to be a guild steward and have a successful hall you need to learn to use his talents."

"There is not much call for a spellsmith here Archmage."

"His other talents." A nightblade is the magically inclined version of an agent or an assassin. They use their spellcraft to conceal their entries and speed their escapes. Judiciously assigned they can tip the scales of commerce in favor of the guild, or against it. I knew that House Hlaalu had one of their best assigned in the governor's manse. "To begin with at least his eyes and ears. You have a very capable mage two doors away..."

"Surane Leoriane. She seems to do more business than we do."

"Seems to? She does. That's the sort of thing you need to know, and do something about. And you aren't in any position to do anything about it because you really have no idea what it is she is doing. She had a visitor for lunch, do you know who?"

"No."

"You should have. Sometimes important business gets done over lunch. In this case it would at least have given you a couple hours to get ready for me walking through your door. Madila I count on this hall to keep me apprised of the comings and goings of important people. That's one of the great benefits of having the guild guides sell their services to the public, but you still have to keep up with other transport. A master wizard shouldn't be able to walk into town and have lunch without you knowing it." Medila went back to nodding.

"Listen. I'm not here to crush you, and this isn't a reprimand. In fact Ranis is going to pop up on the guild guide platform shortly and we are going to formally turn this hall over to you as a guild steward. But by the time that happens I need you to be on top of what it is going to take for you to grow into that. We can call you one, but it's up to you to make yourself one."

"I will not disappoint you," she said. My turn to nod, deliberately.

"So here's the first big step. Surane Leoriane is ready to join the guild. A visit from the Archmage can be persuasive. In this case it may even have been required. Do you know why?" I hoped that she would not sidestep the reality that question represented.

She did not disappoint me. "Surane Leoriane is more skilled at magecraft than I am, or anyone else in this hall."

"Yes, she is. Truthfully in some schools she is probably more skilled than I am, but that doesn't keep me from being Archmage, and it doesn't keep you from being her guild steward. We need the best, and they have to be recruited. Now, you might be thinking that with her skills if she sets her sights on your position she may well take it from you. If you are thinking that you may even be right. If you let that thought get in the way of recruiting and training our members then you will get replaced, fast. Even if we don't have someone more talented a guild steward cannot let that thought get in their way for an instant." She nodded again. I was beginning to recognize her nods, and was pleased that this one showed grudging acceptance, not just mindless agreement. It's never easy to put yourself aside, I was glad it wasn't easy for her to say that it would be.

"What you need to do is give her assignments that will give her a chance to establish her loyalties. At the same time you might be able to improve everyone else's skills, even your own. I have learned a few things from her myself; no embarrassment in that." Surane is an established trainer in the Blades. "So, between her and Eraamion you need to get a handle on what is going on in this town. I am particularly interested in the relationships between House Hlaalu, the Caldera Mining Company, and the Cammona Tong."

"I'll get on top of it Archmage, you have my word."

I smiled my satisfaction. No need for her to know that she would be assigning Surane to do what she was already doing for the Blades. It would provide an extra layer of cover for Surane, get me direct access to the information she was sending back to the Emperor, and improve the standing of the guild in Caldera, all at the same time. Perhaps with Eraamion involved Surane's investigation would go even faster.

Ranis arrived as planned, and we announced the change to the guild members. Medila will have her hands full, certainly, but I think it will work out. Ranis and I were agreeably optimistic as we arrived back in Balmora on the guild guide platform. "I assume you set up enough of a cut from Surane's profits to balance their books," Ranis said as we walked into her office. "I don't know if Medila will be able to push her far enough herself. She will be good, but she isn't that good yet. Surane is formidable."

"I know. She will push Medila just by being in the guild. And yes, she will be generous in her contributions financially." That had been easy to manage. As soon as Ranis and I concluded our conversation I slipped invisibly through the streets of Balmora to the house of a Blades courier and dispatched two thousand gold septims to Surane to cover the expenses of her additional cover.

I ate a cheerful dinner here. In Balmora at least there is beginning to be a distinction between the work of the Archmage and the life of Arvil Bren. It was not until I sat down to write that I really had to face being not one step closer to the Urshilaku than I was yesterday.

21: Surprise, I'm just passing through

The guild guides provide transport from one guild hall to another. This service is available to guild members at a very inexpensive price, and the public at a fair price as well. Transportation is via teleportation spells and is instantaneous. Gossip, of course, travels even faster.

I appeared on the guide platform in Ald-ruhn right after breakfast. Erranil, the mage who operates the system nodded gravely. "Good morning Archmage. We were not expecting you so early, but Edwinna is in her office. I'm sure she will be pleased to see you." I suppose having appeared at two halls in the last two days I would be expected in Ald-ruhn next.

Erranil reached into a drawer and drew out a pack of small parchments. "These are to notify the other halls of your arrival. Do you know how long you will be staying?"

I laughed. There would not likely be much for me to do. "Not long Erranil. I have business in the north. This is your idea?" I took one of the notices and looked it over.

"Yes, Archmage. Edwinna wanted a system for keeping track of your location."

"Excellent." I handed it back. "Note that I will be in the northern Ashlands for three to five days and send them along."

As expected there was little to say to Edwinna. In her low key way she had her hall completely prepared to serve as my headquarters should I require it. I left after a brief visit, jogging northward at a strong pace that I maintained with my flask of restorative potion.

I had planned to eat lunch in Mar Gaan, but the early start made me think I would be well past that Redoran outpost. I was not. The rugged flank of Red Mountain did not slow me greatly, but the swarming blighted monsters did. There were many that I could easily have run past, as they were swollen into bloated masses of muscle that could barely move. I can't say that I gathered much information from the charred corpses my fireballs left behind, but it was a kindness to free these creatures from their horrific existence. Unable to hunt, they are reduced to gnawing on their own useless extremities. For every one that could not move though, there was another that could. Hugely overgrown muscles, blind unthinking fury; the blight monsters ravage the land. I noted the scars on the walls of Mar Gaan as I ran through the gates.

I had lunch at Aldur's Tradehouse. I considered making an inconspicuous entrance and moving on quickly, but opted instead to test my rank and privilege. It was not really out of line, as the Archmage of Vvardenfell, to command the main table in the dining hall, and send for the great warrior Miles Gloriosus to join me. The Cyrodiil has battled in every corner of the Empire, and he is the central pin in the defense of Mar Gaan; a defense that he tells me is failing. While the heroes and mercenaries have rallied to the cause from near and far the tide from Red Mountain batters inexorably against them.

I could not offer any long term hope without bringing up the Nerevarine prophecy, but I did the only thing I could to support the resistance. Mages and healers from all the halls will rotate through Mar Gaan, and they will bring scrolls and potions from the enchanters and alchemists, a tenth of their production. Gloriosus was exuberant in his gratitude, but concerned at the cost. I told him to be sure that all those who came to the outpost knew that the Mage's Guild is a part of Vvardenfell, and we will defend it. In the long run we will make back our costs.

Lunch was longer than anticipated and I had to draft a message to be delivered to Ald-ruhn. I opted to stay in Mar Gaan for the night. The harsh conditions of the Ashlands and the heavy flow of monsters from Red Mountain make it rash to risk being caught out at sunset.

22: Among the ancestors

Nibani Maesa met me eagerly when I arrived at the Urshilaku camp. When I showed her the lost prophecies that I had brought she laughed. "Arvil Bren, you have done well, but you are thinking like an outlander, not an Ashlander."

The clan gathered for a feast, and I was honored to participate as a clan friend. During the feasting there were ceremonies over every dish. I did not immediately understand the significance, but as the meal wore on it became apparent. The night air swirled with spirits. By the final course the Urshilaku clan was truly gathered; the living at the tables and the ancestors above.

Nibani Maesa and her apprentices disappeared promptly into her tent, accompanied by the swarming spirits of wise women past. Minutes later I was ushered inside.

"You will read the prophecies Arvil Bren; the mysterious writings of your Great House priests. The ancestors will recognize the truths, or the falseness. You will read them until we have the truths added to our lore."

As I read the ghosts of the ancestors clucked and chortled. They could not have restored the words of the prophecy, but they clearly verified it. As Nibani and her apprentices stumbled through the words it was obviously a huge shock. I was impressed and surprised at how quickly they overcame the difficulty of accepting the prophecy, and settled into committing it to memory. Like a drip of water wearing away a stone the words 'outlander Incarnate' pounded away at the wise women, and the ancestral spirits gathered over me to strengthen my words.

Time passed unnoticed. Eventually Nibani could repeat the prophecy as written, and her apprentices were close. The ancestor ghosts began to dissipate through the tent into the night sky.

Nibani dismissed her apprentices. "Practice these words, this is our lore," she told them. "Arvil Bren you have served our clan, and our people. I must consider this, and dream the dreams of the ancestors to seek the meaning here. You are an outlander, but there are many outlanders."

"Nibani, we need to talk about the trials."

The second trial, 'the curse of flesh before him flees'; I had to explain the entire series of events. I started with my mission to the Sixth House base. I told her about the curse of Dagoth Gares. I told her the message that had been delivered to me from Dagoth Ur. I wished the ancestor spirits would return to verify the truth of my words, but all I could do was tell her and hope she would hear the ring of truth in my words.

"This too I must consider Arvil Bren. I must sleep, and dream. You must wait. Live as an Ashlander. Hunt. Stay among us. As the ancestors confer with me the clan must confer with you. They will accept the words of the prophecy, an outlander Incarnate, but it will be up to you to sway them to accept it willingly."

Tonight I will sleep in a communal hut, shared with other hunters. I don't know how long the ancestors will take to confirm the prophecies. I have to wait.

23: Hunting

The Ashlanders are solitary hunters. After a coarse breakfast I set off into the wastes alone, as did the other members of the clan. I hunted alone, but not unobserved. Through the early part of the day I was well aware that the other hunters were watching from distant ridges. I rose to the challenge.

Stealth plays a large part in the hunt. With my conjured bow I could bring down a cliff racer from a fair distance, but that would not have impressed my clanmates. I watched. I followed the patterns of the great soaring creatures, learning the air currents that enabled their flights. When I had isolated a promising site I approached, slithering along the sand. The racers were bound to return to ride the rising air current. A hidden blind among the trama vines, a deadly shot from close range, and I passed the test.

By the late morning I had brought down three racers, and tracked a kagouti into a canyon where I could slip to an elevated spot and fell the great beast without allowing it to charge me. My distant monitors seemed to be satisfied and had gone about their own hunting. I had covered a significant distance to the south-west by then, and set off on a little hunt of my own.

Dividing the northern Ashlands of the Urshilaku from the western foothill region of Mar Gaan there is a deep foyada that cuts down the northwest slope of Red Mountain. This canyon may well run all the way to the shores of the Sea of Ghosts; I don't know. I do know that crossing that canyon involves following a very sketchy path through the wastes. I have found that path on some crossings, but more often I've resorted to a levitation spell. Yesterday was no exception.

When I crossed yesterday I passed directly over an ancient Velothi tower in the bottom of the foyada. There were ample signs that the tower is occupied. I wanted to know by whom. Who would be taking this remote outpost, so near Red Mountain? I expected to find the Sixth House cult.

With the threat of Dagoth Ur looming over all of Vvardenfell it seems to me the Great Houses would be setting their differences aside, or at least not openly be antagonizing each other. That would make sense, but I suppose over the long lives of the Dunmer they accumulate too much bitterness to set aside.

I crept to the door, and was surprised to find it ajar, partly torn free of its hinges. I slipped cautiously inside. The entry chamber held decorative columns that cast deep shadows in the light from the doorway. The torches hung askew on the walls, extinguished. In the broken light a battered corpse lay in a crumpled robe. I listened. There was no sound. I crossed the chamber.

In the hallway beyond I stopped again. A sound? I wasn't sure. To the right, or the left? Or no sound at all? I drew in magica, shaping it through the school of mysticism. The walls around me grew hazy, shimmering, and faded from my reality, leaving an undifferentiated grayness. Then to my left dim lights took form, like distant fireflies. I focused, and the lights, the energy of trapped souls, became more distinct. Enchantments, enchanted swords, and one was moving, coming towards me.

The mist cleared in the blink of an eye. I slipped quietly but rapidly down the hall to my right. The signs of battle were everywhere. The hall opened into a chamber. Typical of the quarters of retainers. Scorch marks marred the walls. Beds overturned, one burned. Another body, stricken down by a mighty blow from an unknown sword. Unknown, but quite possibly one of the enchanted blades I had detected.

Secure that I would not be attacked from this side I returned to the entry. Though I could no longer sense the enchanted sword I could hear the bearer approach. The tread of boots, bonemold boots by the sound of it. I blended into the shadows among the pillars.

The distinctive armor of the Redorans swept around the corner, a glowing blade leading the way. He approached the door, the visored helm sweeping the chamber. He could not see me. As he prodded the door, obviously looking for a way to secure the portal, I slipped into the passageway. Again the surge as magica flowed through me, creating a barrier of silence that filled the hall.

"Who are you, and what happened here?" I asked the back of the armored figure.

He spun, dropping into a warrior's crouch. The blade gleamed wicked in the dim light. "Back mage!" Then his voice raised to a shout. "Another! Here!"

"They can't hear you. For the next minute it's just you and me. I don't want to fight." Though I didn't want to fight I did not want to underestimate the warrior. House Redoran harbors the most respected warriors of the Dunmer. I conjured a spear. "What happened here?"

"This is Redoran territory. You may think that having yourselves declared as rogues by House Telvanni gives you free reign to settle anywhere, but it does not..."

"Telvanni? Trust me friend I am no Telvanni..."

"A mage, in this tower of magery. Where is your mage lord?" He prodded the robe clad corpse with the toe of a bonemold boot. "Like this one, you are a Breton, a retainer. Where is your master?"

"Once more, I am no Telvanni. If there was a Telvanni here alive I'm sure that would be painfully obvious."

"Enough lies!" he roared as he leapt to the attack.

His sword was powerful, as was he, but the Daedric spear struck through the bonemold easily. Blood flowed freely, and the spear lodged in his chest. I left it there, hampering his movements. I released the bonds of magica, and the shaft of the spear separated from the staff it had taken shape around. I spun the staff in a blurring arc and fended off a wild swing of his blade. Loss of blood began to take its toll and he struggled to keep his feet.

"I wish you had listened Redoran. I am no Telvanni. In fact these Telvanni would have been more inclined to kill me than almost anyone else that could come through that door." I hoped that I could reason with the wounded warrior, and perhaps use my restoratives to keep him from death. Instead, his final charge drove the spear completely through his body. He got close enough that I could see the red eyes glaring through the slotted visor as the life winked out of them.

I used my amulet to conceal me. At the end of the left hand passage I found the main tower. Stairs led to an upper level. I crept to the top. Two Redorans; one standing, the other seated at a desk; they did not see or hear me. I slipped past, away from the stairs. They continued to speak, agreeing on the content of the report that lay on the desk. This was the chamber of a Telvanni mage. Another slain retainer lay on the floor in a pool of blood.

The Redorans were drafting a request for reinforcements. The tower is in their territory. I certainly saw no reason to interfere. I left as quietly as I came and returned to the hunt. The enchanted sword of my opponent made a fine gift for the Ashkahn.

24: To trap a soul

This morning I rose with the rest of the hunters. It seemed clear that I earned some respect yesterday. Over breakfast I was included in the conversation more than before, but it didn't take long for that to get difficult. They trust their Ashkahn and their Wise Woman, but it is difficult for them to consider an outlander as a possible Nerevarine. I did not press the claim, but I did not back away from it either. Truthfully I just wanted to change the subject.

The opportunity to turn the conversation came from a hunter named Tussurradad. He said something about a golden creature that he saw yesterday. I pressed for details, and he gladly became the center of attention.

His description was concise, and as I asked about specific details it was clear that he had seen a golden saint. These rare constructs are summoned from a distant Daedric plane. They are basically nothing but an intangible spirit animating a gilded shell of pure enchantments. They are the most potent charge that can be contained in a soul gem, allowing the enchantment of the most powerful items. I asked where he had seen this creature and was pleased that it was not far away.

"But," he said, "the ruins of Assurnabitashpi house a shrine to Mehunes Dagon. They are horribly accursed. Hunters circle wide to avoid it. It is a very dangerous place outl...Arvil Bren."

I let his slip pass. "A dangerous place for a dangerous creature, clan brother. But a reward of great power to the bold."

Kurapli, the clan's armorer spoke up. "I have heard these creatures are often armed with great Daedric weapons; weapons of inhuman sharpness, like the summoned weapon of a conjurer."

"They are," I agreed. I put the Daedric shield I carry on the table. "Their weapons are like this shield. It is bound over from the Daedric plane permanently. It can turn the edge of the deadliest sword. It is an artifact of another plane that would rarely be found in an armorer's shop, and then would likely not be for sale. There are few opportunities to own a thing like this. I cannot turn from this one. Where is this ruin?"

I set off to the west as the other hunters conferred. There was little doubt that the morning's hunt would be delayed. They did not go their solitary ways, but climbed to a hilltop where they apparently had a view of the ruins. I would either impress them, or die.

The ruin of Assurnabitashpi is vast, and would be a source of great wealth to a hardy adventurer who dared to enter the shrine. I may be willing, but today it was not neccessary. It also would not have been ideal to leave my clansmen watching an empty ruin and a closed door. Instead I stood challengingly in the open, calling down the guardians of the cursed ruin.

First to catch sight of me were two great ogrims. They lumbered out of the ruins on their great legs, like the trunks of twin trees. Ogrim are not fast, and these two charged with the half hearted gait of monsters that are accustomed to being outrun by their intended victims. Ogrims are also not very smart, and they had covered half the distance between us before the recognition showed on their huge grey green faces that I was not taking to my heels. They faltered a step in their surprise, then accelerated their charge with a great gleeful roar. I'm sure my observers could hear it from their distant vantage.

The staff is far from my favorite weapon, but the powerful destructive spells woven into the fibers of my staff of office make it serviceable. It serves me well because the spells are unleashed on impact. A jab with the head or butt of the staff, normally a weak blow doing little damage, will unleash a storm of elemental energies on my enemy. The explosions provided a good showing for my observers.

The ogrim tried to use brute strength, which they have in abundance. To be caught in their grip would have been a terrible death, but the same lack of speed that has them so often outrun makes them vulnerable to a quick footed opponent. My time in Vvardenfell has honed me to a fine physical edge, but I wanted to push myself as far away from risk as I could. When their charge was within moments of completion I called upon a spell of the school of restoration to fortify my speed even further, making my advantage over my lumbering foes insurmountable.

I danced lightly aside as great arms slowly gathered air. The scaly green titans seemed to be wading through water they were so slow in comparison. I struck a huge round foot with my staff as it passed, and the explosion of magica sent the ogrim sprawling on its great belly in the dust. I released one hand and let the force of that foot kick the staff in a blurring whirl around my other hand, grabbing it again very close to its silver shod tip. It had just enough length at this full extension to rap the other ogrim lightly across the back of the neck as it lumbered past. The resulting fireball streaking from the tip of the staff sailed wide and exploded against a distant block of rubble, but the ogrim's head was shrouded in a cascade of elemental sparks. He howled in agony and rage as he dragged himself to a skidding halt.

As I said, I am not overly skilled with the staff, and without its enchantments neither of my foes would have been badly hurt by those initial blows. However, even without great skill the broad back of the fallen ogrim was an easy target. With my enhanced speed I was on him before he could gain his knees, much less his feet, and I brought the staff down with both hands in a whistling arc that went straight over my head. The stout steel shaft is very resilient, and reinforced by the enchantments woven through the essence of the metal. Even so the force of that impact brought the weapon into a great bow as it fell across the scaly green back. It sprang straight, driving the beast face first into the ground in an explosion of fire and sparks that ended its life.

Confusion flickered across the face of the other ogrim as it turned to find its partner already slain. I brought the staff to the ready, gripped in both hands across my body, head to my right and slightly raised. "You are going back to the plane of the Daedra, foul beast," I challenged. The creature had learned not to charge, and it stalked forward with its arms outstretched. Though certainly not nimble it could lunge from side to side, and clearly hoped to sweep me up in the crook of a great arm and crush me. Many of the green scales of its head and neck were blackened, and cracked as it moved allowing a thick grey blood to ooze through.

I spun the staff. With my heightened speed the ogrim seemed to be motionless, viewed through a gleaming disk. With a lunging step and a move that I learned from Wyan the smith I turned the staff from its vertical spin, bringing all of its velocity into one sweeping blow to the outside of the opponent's knee. The attack was designed to come in below a swordsmans shield and strike the vulnerable joint between his armor and his boots, but it was an effective way to keep my staff and myself out of the beasts grip. The blow fell lower on the huge ogrim, crashing against what could be called a shin. It was like striking a stone column. The impact rang through the shaft like a great gong, and the staff fell from my numbed grasp. The ogrim crashed down to one knee, engulfed in flame and again wreathed in huge sparks of elemental energy. I conjured a spear and rammed it through the titanic neck.

The ogrims lay dead. I gathered my staff and shook the dust from my robes. Fortunately the battle had not lasted long. Drawn unerringly to the clash of arms the golden saint emerged at a trot from the ruins. It came on quickly, but with control, a huge Daedric axe ready in its hands.

The enchantment of my staff was nearly spent, and a golden saint relies on great skill rather than the clumsy strength of the ogrim. I felt that I needed my best to match that skill. I dropped the staff to the gritty sand and conjured another spear. The mighty axe sped in great whistling arcs, but I kept just out of reach, backing and dodging. At one point I took a fierce blow that rang off the shield strapped high on my left arm that spun me sprawling to the ground, where only a frantic roll evaded the overhand blow that would have split me in two. But while my defenses were seldom breached the great reach of the spear allowed me to prick away at the misnamed saint. "You are more of a demon, spawned from the plane of the Daedra, nothing but a curse in this world," I jeered at one point when my spear had struck a particularly telling blow. The creature fought on in silence. The only sound it made was a sort of hissing sigh when it finally collapsed to the ground.

As it struggled to rise I cast the spell it dreaded most. Mystical energies coursed around it in a purple cascade. That broke its silence, and a searing howl of despair erupted from the golden helm. I drove the spear through, pinning it to the ground, a deathblow that would have dispatched the spirit back to the plane from which it was summoned. Would have, but did not. Instead its life force was channeled by the spell surrounding it, channeled into the soul gem glowing hot in my hand.

My clan marveled at the Daedric axe. It is a great prize. A prize that can be made all the greater if enchanted with the powerful soul of the creature that wielded it.

25: Another test, another quest

Today I did hunt alone. The other hunters of the clan have apparently seen enough to accept me among them. Hunting today was a joy. I returned to the camp with meat, hides, and racer plumes. There is a comfort in this primitive life; a comfort that is now over for me. Accepted as a hunter and clan member is far short of accepted as the Nerevarine.

When I returned to the camp I was immediately summoned to the Ashkahn's yurt. Sul-Matuul bid me welcome. The wise woman Nibani Maesa was already there. I sat and listened as these guardians of the Cult of the Nerevarine explored my future.

Nibani has studied the portents of her dreams. "I am to be your guide. You are to complete the Seven Trials to fulfill the prophecy. That which is done shall be done, that which is undone shall also be done."

The three of us discussed my date of birth, the mystery of my parents, and my experience with the corprus disease. Nibani agrees that I have passed the first two trials, and seemed to be pressing Sul-Matuul.

"I do not doubt or dispute the Wise Woman," said the Ashkahn. "The ancestors give their favor, and the first two trials are her province. She shall be your guide. But the cavern where Azura's eye sees is my province. My warriors are impressed with what they have seen from you. You passed my test, and I called you clanfriend. They opened their hearths on my order, now you are welcomed freely. But there is more that I know to being the Nerevarine than the hunters or even the Wise Woman. I will keep my own council, and assign my own challenge to test your strength, courage, and cunning."

There was no argument. Sul-Matuul's word was final. "As you direct. Name this challenge Ashkahn."

"Here is your task," said Sul-Matuul. "There is a place of trial for our people. It is an ancient Dunmer stronghold, a hall of the lost house, House Dagoth. Corridors wind deep into the heart of the mountain below, only ending their ever deepening quest when they reach pools of molten lava. The fortress has become the home of all sorts of blighted and otherwise cursed creatures, including men. You may be safe from the ravages of their disease, but you still could fall prey to its victims. I have faced these creatures myself, and I admit that I was afraid."

"I will face them, and my fears Ashkahn."

"Good. As a token bring me the weepings that ooze from the flesh of a corprus stalker," he said. "Of course, in these dark days there are many places to find a corprus stalker besides Kogoruhn." Nibani did not gasp at the name of the cursed place, but she was definitely shocked. "The second token I require is a cup, marked with the mark of House Dagoth. I have seen them myself. These cups are rare, but again they may be found somewhere else that I do not know."

I thought of the collections of artifacts that I have seen, particularly in Mournhold, and nodded. "I will bring these tokens from Kogoruhn Ashkahn, nowhere else."

"I do not doubt your word. Azura would not welcome you if you falsely passed this test. But to be sure, you will bring a third token, a token which has no duplicate. Deep beneath the ruins is the ancient tomb of Dagoth Morin. There you will find the Shadow Shield."

The Ashkahn marked my map and gave me directions to the ruin. I took my leave. The rest of the clan eyed me curiously as I left the Ashkahn's tent. I ate dinner quietly, enjoying their company, ignoring their curiosity. After dinner I said good-byes, emotional good-byes to the clan that has taken me as one of their own in such a short time. I showed great confidence that I will return. Perhaps more than I was sure that I felt.

I teleported to Pelagiad. I do not want to carry the weight of the Daedric axe and some other items I've collected. Also, the light armor appropriate for traveling and hunting in the wilderness is not what I would choose for delving the ruins of Kogoruhn. Most importantly, it is not yet certain that I will be the Nerevarine, and there is grave danger in this quest. Before I embark I will enjoy this night; this reunion with Ahnassi.

Part three

26: Prison of Kogoruhn

Deep inside the fortress of Kogoruhn there is a prison. A dank, winding passage leads to three stout locked doors. Behind the doors are small cells; dirty, cold, and cramped. The Sixth House Cult does not provide much for prisoners, and the stench of death and decay hangs heavy in the stagnant air. I will get little sleep here. I woke this morning in my warm bed with Ahnassi curled against my side. I have traveled far from hearth and home today, in many ways.

I donned my heavy ebony armor as the dawn brightened the sky. My robes conceal the bulk, and throughout the day I left my foes surprised whenever their weapons struck home. I'm sure many of them died wondering what had blunted their blades when they expected only the light armors of a mage. I did dispatch numerous foes here in Kogoruhn before coming to this cell.

I avoided traveling by foot as the ebony is a heavy armor. I used my own spell to teleport from Pelagiad to Balmora, then the guild guide to reach Ald-ruhn. There I hired a caravaner to carry me to Maar Gan on his great silt strider. The mighty insect sped across the ashy wastes on its six towering legs. By mid morning I stood atop the ramp looking down on Mar Gaan. Redoran architecture is spare, and the strider ports of their towns generally consist of little more than a straight, narrow ramp climbing steeply up to the great height of a standing strider. The walk up or down can be a bit nerve racking actually. I did not bother with the decent.

To reach Kogoruhn I used a specially prepared scroll. The top of the strider port seemed as good a place for the casting as any. I read from the scroll, unbinding the magica it contained. The parchment smoked and fell to dust in the wake of my passing eyes. The intertwined incantations shaped the released energies and infused them into my body, hurling me into the air and blurring my form into invisibility. I streaked across the skies, but left no trace of my passage.

The spell was just beginning to fade when the ruined fortress flashed under my headlong arc. I swung around, using the last of it to completely circle the great structure. It is now nearly buried in the shifting sands and ash blowing down from Red Mountain. The huge stone base is almost completely buried, and drifts piled against the buildings on the top spill off the edges to join the rising tide. I chose the roof of the large fortress itself and lightly touched down.

A Dunmer in a loincloth patrolled the roof, and I alit invisibly behind him. He had the somewhat dazed shuffle of a dreamer and his heavy muscles indicated the earliy stages of corprus disease. I quaffed a potion to augment my own strength and grabbed him from behind in a hold I learned from Caius the spymaster, snapping his neck quietly. I pushed the corpse against a heaping drift of sand and collapsed it over him.

This prison lies on the third level down in the fortress. It is near the base of the stairs that descend from above, far from the doorway to the vaults below. I reached that doorway but did not explore beyond this level. Battles with the minions of Dagoth Ur took their toll and I could go no further.

The stairs from the rooftop entrance descend into a large square room on the uppermost level. The ruined furnishings are heaped in the corners to make space for the arcane rights of a Dagoth. The horrid creature, transformed to ash by the profane power of the amulet hung from its neck, was inscribing runes on the stone floor with the butt of an ebony spear dipped in the sooty ash of a blood crusted brazier. I slipped quietly into the room and pressed my back to a great central pillar. Incantations spilled quietly from my lips.

The Dagoth went past me unknowing, and dipped the butt of the spear once again into the ash. It cocked its head, puzzled, as ashes swirled in a sudden puff of moving air. The advantage of area spells is that their first flush of effect doesn't necessarily point to the spell caster. The summoned storm lacked the mass of a true thunderstorm, being contained in the room, but as the bolts crackled down on the Dagoth I was quite satisfied with it.

After the initial surprise the beast whirled, seeking the source of the spell. I could have hidden and let the spell run its course before taking any other action, but I was afraid the Dagoth would dispel it given a chance. Instead I added to the ongoing barrage of lightning and triggered a blast of flames as well by lashing him with my staff as he turned. The monster clutched its amulet and I was sickened by vile magic, but only briefly. The spell collapsed with the death of the Dagoth.

I took the spear. Its weight helped drive the finely sharpened point through the dreamers and lesser ash creatures that I encountered, which allowed me to conserve the magica charged within my staff.

The main feature of the second level down was the doorway that exited out to the surface of the base. I did not go out. It served more as a landmark, denoting the last chance to exit without having to climb back up out of the warrens of lower passages. Throughout the halls braziers burn, and the ash minions sprang forth behind me as often as ahead. I did not relish facing the return trip, which grew with every step I took deeper into the depths, but I had no choice. I slipped down the next stair.

The first large chamber I found on this third level down is hung with tapestries and large pillars support the vaulted ceiling. I used this cover to skulk around, making sure that the ash slave who paced near a door set in the further wall was the lone occupant. Once I was certain I plunged the spear through him, then opened the door to see what he was guarding; this prison. I hardly needed to enter to know what it was, but I did.

The three prisoners were proof of the horrors I would suffer if captured. Two had starved to death, and the third was too weak to move, or offer any hope of recovery. They had not even been disarmed; a sure sign that once their cell was shut they could not expect the door to open again. The cell doors show the deep scoring left by not only these prisoners but numerous predecessors as their hunger drove them to clawing madly at the door that barred their exit.

I pressed onward, battling the creatures, trying to marshall my strength, my reserves of magica, and the reserves held in my staff and other enchanted items. The fortress is too extensive. To continue downward to the next level would put me beyond the point where I could count on battling my way out. To teleport out would put me so far away that by the time I returned the fortress would be even more heavily defended. I saw no choice.

I moved the body from this cell to one of the others. The stink in here is terrible, but I will bear it. The doors to all three cells are locked, and there is no reason to think the cult will look in on their prisoners as they search for their attacker. In the shifting ash and sands outside they have no way to tell that I have not left. No way to tell until tomorrow.

27: Depths of Kogoruhn

I should say depths of Red Mountain. I have been underground all day and I am sure that I am far from Kogoruhn. A vast canal system carries water from the Ashlands into the heart of Red Mountain. For what purpose I cannot guess. The Sixth House has no doubt found this useful though. The passages are thick with ash monsters and other conjured minions of House Dagoth. The purpose of the canal system is just one of the unanswerable questions of the day. One of many, actually. The questions began shortly after I let myself out of the cell I spent the night in, and have come frequently throughout the day. Answers, unfortunately, are more scarce.

As I had hoped, the Cult stiffened their defenses on the levels above but not below. They had no reason to think that I was lying right in their midst. Hopefully they too will be struggling with questions tonight. I returned the body of the previous occupant to its cell and locked the doors, so there will be no obvious answer found there. When they find the ash slave who was guarding the outer chamber of the dungeon they will have no way to tell that his assailant came out of the cells rather than the corridor.

I slinked through the halls trying to avoid leaving a trail of blood and death to mark my passage. I was mostly successful. Hopefully the monsters I could not avoid were sufficiently scattered that their bodies will confuse any pursuit. I entered the waterways through a locked door, locking it behind me. The passage led steeply down, leaving me far below even the base of the fortress. At first I did not realize how extensive the canal system would be. I crept along, watching and listening at every corner. Eventually I recognized that there could be miles of tunnels. I maintained caution, but picked up my pace.

In the tunnels I found another mystery. I had turned up a side passage to investigate, finding only a dead end. When I returned to the main canal I could hear shuffling feet and murmured voices, so I melted back up the passage to let them pass. A group of sleepers and ash slaves tramped past the opening. They were moving with more purpose than is typical, and I wondered where they could be going. I think I know. I started out following them, which would have let me be sure, but I was torn by doubts.

The canal is patrolled by wandering atronachs as well as the ash minions. I had already encountered a few before the group came along. These personifications of elemental energy are powerful, but they can be countered with opposing elemental energies and their energetic nature makes them visible from a distance. It had not been difficult to either evade them, or lay them low with spells. However, the thought of meeting one with this group of enemies in the vicinity was a different concern. It did not take long for that concern to push me into action. I lurked at a corner, letting the targets get quite a distance down the straight passage beyond.

When they had reached what I thought was enough range I conjured a great Daedric longbow and leaned it against the wall, then stepped out into the open. The spell I cast after them is from the school of alteration; my chosen school, the school in which I hold the greatest mastery. The magica chorused around me and gathered into a great ball of shimmering purple. The ball hung between my outstretched arms, then compressed as I brought my hands together. When the gleaming sphere had condensed to a near solid mass I released it to streak down the passage. I'm not really sure who it struck. The blast of purple light as it burst was blinding. It didn't really matter who it hit anyway.

I grabbed the bow and started firing as fast as I could draw the arrows. A couple of the ash slaves were still on their feet and drew my first shots. As soon as they were hit they went down as well, writhing under the great weight the spell had dropped on them. I trotted towards them, pausing every few steps to fire at a squirming target. One of the dreamers in particular was trying to roll off the edge into the canal. I don't know if he had some vestige of magecraft that made him think he could cast a water breath spell, or if he hoped to hold his breath until the spell wore off. I took no chances, piercing his ribs with arrows until he stopped in a pool of blood. The deadly hail of arrows continued until the struggling targets had all stopped moving.

Unfortunately the great weight they had died under did not accompany them into death. The ash minions were no problem, their corpses collapsed into ash that disappeared into the dust of the ages once it was scattered far enough over the floor. The bodies of the dreamers though, they required some thought. In the end I was not completely satisfied with the results. The dreamers scant and ragged clothing did not give much to work with, but I did manage to tie the corpses together and weight them slightly with clubs they and the minions had carried. When I tumbled them into the canal they did sink, but I am afraid they will tumble with the current and possibly separate and bob to the surface.

I continued along the canal and found where I believe the group was headed. Solving that mystery only led to another though. A large pile of crates was stacked against the wall. The contents of the crates certainly serves no purpose here in the depths. What the Sixth House cult is doing with crates of moon sugar I have no idea, but I'm sure the group I stopped was meant to carry these crates somewhere. Instead, my friends among the Khajiit will welcome a couple pounds of the contraband crystals.

Fortunately, with the packing in the crates I was able to lash them together after pushing them into the canal. I towed them up this dead end passage and anchored them to a grate. Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to teleport myself out of this oppressive place.

28: Failure

My suspicion was correct, the waterway led under the ghostfence and deep into Red Mountain. It connects to a series of caverns that are filled with the stench of brimstone where the oppressive heat saps the will. I found an exit from the cave, hoping that I could step out for a breath of fresh air. I emerged into the torrid crater of Red Mountain. The ash swirled, blotting out the sun, lit by a lurid red glow from the steaming lava flows. I returned quickly to the cave. All I could do was complete my task and get away as soon as possible.

I followed every cranny of the caves, searched every altar raised by the Dagoths to their malignant elder. I battled ash minions, conjured creatures, and blighted beasts that dwelled among the smoldering lava pits. I gasped for relief from the blazing heat that turned every breath into a scorching agony in my throat. I found the Shadow Shield. I did not find a cup. Eventually, completely demoralized and bedraggled, I sat on a stone with my head in my hands.
The small buildings among the ruins came to my mind as I sat. Sul-Matuul said that he saw the cups marked with the sign of House Dagoth. He saw those himself. But he only said that the Shadow Shield would be deep beneath the fortress, he did not say that he had seen that artifact. It finally gelled in my exhausted mind that Sul-Matuul had likely not descended into the misery of these caverns. He saw the cups in the ruins above ground; the ruins I did not explore.

The shipment of moon sugar that I hijacked was a weight in my pack. There would be a search for the lost shipment and the lost party of porters. The fortress would be a hornet's nest of activity. By now they have likely realized that I spent a night in their own dungeon. Trekking back along the waterway to the depths of the fortress would be returning to that hornet's nest; a nest that I myself have kicked open.

If I left the cave I would be deep inside Dagoth Ur's territory and confined within the ghostfence. If I succeeded in crossing that blasted and tortured landscape to reach Ghostgate I would not be allowed through. The Ordinators diligently record every pilgrim that enters, and only they are allowed to leave. I found myself sinking further and further into black despair.

I woke with a start. Exhaustion and the heat had taken a toll, and I had dozed there on the stone seat. I had dozed in a cavern in the crater of Red Mountain, haunted by the ghosts of the annihilated Dwemer, prison of Dagoth Ur. My despair had fouled my dreams, in which I had been on the brink of madness. I do not know if it was my own dreaming, or the invasive murmur of Dagoth Ur, but I woke with another course of action in my thoughts. I was in the crater of Red Mountain, I could find Dagoth Ur and confront him, now, and put an end to this. Madness. To confront Dagoth Ur before completing the prophecies would be utter folly. But I could feel the grip of this idea tightening on my mind, twisting in like taloned fingers.

It took a great effort of will. I drew myself inward, pushing away the heat, the gritty ash that had crept inside my armor to grind my skin raw, the aching soreness of my exhausted legs. I pushed away the voice of failure, the voice saying that to leave without the cup was to doom the Dunmer, and myself. I drew on Mentor's ring, and the sorcerer's amulet that clasped my robes, and the staff of my office. I brought the beautiful face of Ahnassi into my inner vision and cast the spell of recalling, then collapsed against the wall.

Ahnassi's face swam before me, and it took a moment for me to see that it was real. I was home. The grasping tendrils of Dagoth Ur's will still twitched against my faculties, but distance and the ghostfence reduced their razor talons to mere nettles. As they faded away a howl of rage echoed in their wake, the howl of the beast whose prey has been snatched away.

29: Nerevarine and the Tribunal Temple

I am making my way back to the northern Ashlands. Fate has left me little choice but to report to Sul-Matuul with two of the three tokens he requires and then return to Kogoruhn for the third. I am sure that I must fully complete the challenge. He did not set a time limit for my performance, but I want Sul-Matuul to know that I have been to Kogoruhn rather than just wandering the island.

I checked in with all the guild stewards. The guild guides made that a simple matter once I arrived in Balmora. Things seem to be progressing smoothly with the guild. The Telvanni are quiet, at least for the moment. There has been no further deterioration in the health of the Emperor, so the concern about the legions being withdrawn is not pressing.

I ended my tour in Ald-ruhn, thinking that I would catch a strider to Mar Gaan. Unfortunately that will have to wait until morning. Ash storms, blighted monsters, loss of trade due to the embargo; these things are taking their toll on Vvardenfell's economy, and its people. Caravaners are finding that the dangers of their routes are hardly justifying their profits. I could probably have made Mar Gaan on foot by sunset, but my attention went to the Shadow Shield that I am carrying. I went to the temple rather than press on today.

Tuls Valen was happy to see me. We caught up, since I had not seen him in several weeks. He had heard about me becoming the Archmage. "Congratulations Arvil," he said. "When you said that you needed a break from the pilgrim's trail to attend to your duty to your guild I didn't realize you meant to take over!"

I laughed. "I don't know if that was really in my mind then Tuls. As I remember it I was mostly wanting to rest my feet and it seemed a good excuse."

If you hadn't done so much to prove yourself in the temple that wouldn't be funny," he said. "Few acolytes complete the pilgrimages that you did in anywhere near as short a time. Perhaps the long lives of the Dunmer make us complacent."

"I can understand that," I said. I can understand long lifespan now better than Tuls could possibly guess, but I left that unsaid. I have a strong friendship with the leader of the Ald-ruhn temple, and I planned to put it to a strong test, but I wanted to ease into it.

We chatted on, and in fairly short order the schedule of the silt striders brought us around to the blight, and the ghostfence. "Tuls, you are here in Ald-ruhn. This is sort of the front line in the battle, being in the Ashlands. The hierarchs in Vivec City aren't seeing what you see."

"I make my reports," he said. I could see his defenses starting to rise.

"No doubt, no doubt at all. But I don't know if a report can carry the first hand experience of the ash storms, or what it's like out in Mar Gaan."

"True enough," he agreed cautiously. He thought he knew where I was headed, and it was making him uncomfortable. If he had really known we would likely have come to blows. I kept going, slowly easing deeper.

"You sent me to Gnissis to see the ash mask. Vivec himself would recognize the urgency the ash storms should bring to us, don't you think? He wept for his people, choked by the ash. He would surely not want us to stand around as if nothing is happening here."

"The Tribunal created the ghostfence to contain the terrors of Red Mountain..."

"Yes they did," I interrupted, "but did they mean it to work forever?"

He stopped to consider that a moment. "I would think so," he finally said.

"Well, we know that is what the doctrine has become, and I'm not trying to line either one of us up for persecution, but really I haven't seen anything in Vivec's writings that says they did, or didn't."

He thought, then sighed. "Neither have I, really. The ghostfence was built to contain Dagoth Ur, and it has..."

"But here in the Ashlands we know that it really isn't any more," I finished for him. "Tuls I have something to show you." I drew out the Shadow Shield. The gleam of the Dwemer metal shimmered through its haze of enchantments. "Do you know what this is?"

"I might," he said. "If it is what I think it is you should not have it."

"That suggests to me that it is exactly what you think it is. The Shadow Shield; an artifact of House Dagoth."

"Where did you get this?" he asked. "The Shadow Shield was forged by the Dwemer for Dagoth Morin in the ancient times, before the wars."

"I know. I got it from the tomb of Dagoth Morin, in the crater of Red Mountain."

"They let you bring this out through Ghostgate?"

"I didn't come out through Ghostgate Tuls. I didn't go in that way either. I went in under the ghostfence, through a tunnel complex the Sixth House is using for the same purpose."

"They have tunneled under the ghostfence!" His eyes narrowed. "Arvil, there are those who would say this whole conversation is blasphemy." I didn't suggest that the canals between Red Mountain and Kogoruhn were there all along, but I suspect they were.

"I know Tuls. Listen, it was not my intention to prove anything. I didn't want to go to the crater of Red Mountain, believe me. I didn't actually know that was where the tunnels led until I got there. But I did get there, and that really can't be undone."

"And you have told me. And I believe you. And that really can't be undone either." He took a deep, sighing breath, coming to grips.

"Tuls, the ghostfence is not containing Dagoth Ur. We can see that all around us. The hierarchs in Vivec City may have reasons for not wanting to believe that, but it is the truth. And the temple owes it to the people to deal with what is, not necessarily what the hierarchs would prefer to believe. That would really be the will of the Tribunal."

I didn't press him any further. I had already shaken my friend to the very core. There was no doubt that he could have branded me a heretic, but he let me go.

30: Zabamund

The early silt strider ride left me with a long walk. Hiking across the Ashlands to the Urshilaku camp gave me time to think; too much time probably. In the early afternoon I brought down a nix-hound and stopped for lunch. I was grilling the meat over a small fire when Zabamund slid down a nearby hillside and strolled up to the corpse. "Spare some of these chops for a clanmate Arvil Bren?" he said. I nodded. "Easiest place to carry meat is in the belly, eh?" He held a large chunk over the fire on the point of a shortsword. We sat in companionable silence, listening to the sizzle of grease dripping onto the coals.

Zabamund is A Gulakhan; Sul-Matuul's champion and trusted advisor. "I was on that hilltop when you took down the hound Arvil Bren," he said. "There was little joy in your hunt. You are a skilled hunter, and bring honor to our clan even though you are an outlander, but you did not seem yourself."

"My mind was elsewhere I suppose Zabamund."

"Well, with that great bow that you conjure I suppose a nix-hound is not a really challenging target, but there is still the simple pleasure of a well placed shot."

"I've always enjoyed the hunt, even before I joined the clan," I said.

"But today you carry the weight of prophecy on your shoulders, and it is bending your back." I looked into the red Dunmer eyes. "Sul-Matuul keeps few secrets from me Arvil Bren."

"Did he tell you of the quest he has given me?"

"To Kogoruhn? Yes, he spoke of that. Kogoruhn is dangerous. I was with Sul-Matuul when he visited the ruins centuries ago, in our youth." A far away look came over the dark skinned face. "House Dagoth was much less active then, but Kogoruhn was still a bad place. It is an honor that he chose to send you there."

I grimaced. "I haven't been looking at it that way Zabamund."

He laughed. "I could see that. I also see the Shadow Shield of Dagoth Morin on your shoulder so it is hard to understand your sadness."

"I didn't find a cup. That was one of the tokens Sul-Matuul wanted."

"Ah." He looked into the fire. The far away look came back. "He liked those cups. I'm surprised we never went back for them." He sighed. "It was the first time I ever saw an atronach. We were in a small room with a man we thought was asleep. Sul-Matuul was reaching for a cup on the table when it seemed like it burst into flame. The old man summoned an atronach and it landed right on the table."

I couldn't help but grin. "That would be a shocker no doubt."

"We ran like Dagoth Ur himself was behind us, which for all we knew he was. We jumped over the parapet and tumbled down the side of the fortress...the ash wasn't near as deep then...and the old man stood at the parapet and roared with laughter."

I looked at the hardened warrior, and saw the young aspirant that he had been. We both erupted in laughter, eventually holding our sides and gasping for breath.

"Arvil Bren...I was young then. Rash. Full of fire. And I ran like a s'wit. I was older than your people ever get. Don't be too hard on yourself, and don't think that Sul-Matuul is going to rush you."

Zabamund and I climbed opposite ridges and followed them towards the camp, hunting the valley in between. My Daedric bow gave me greater range, but his eyes were sharpened by centuries of spotting game in the Ashlands. He beat me by two kills. As we carried the hides and meat into the camp we were both laughing. "Let that be a lesson, Arvil Bren. Respect your elders." He turned suddenly serious. "We respect you, probably more than you know." He reached up and touched the rim of the Shadow Shield. "Definitely more than you know."

31: Third token

I am home again. The warrior's test is completed. Now I face wisdom's test. As Zabamund said, Sul-Matuul is in no hurry to have a Nerevarine. I cannot complain. He is just playing his part in the fulfillment of prophecy. In fairness to the Ashkahn he might not know any more about the location of the Cavern of the Incarnate than the riddle he told me.

The Gulakhan and I woke early this morning, ate a cold breakfast, and left the camp sleeping in the darkness. With his guidance I made my return to Kogoruhn. The dawn found us on the northern slope of a steep ridge. Great fangs of stone rose from the crest above. "Kogoruhn is just beyond this ridge Clanfriend," Zabamund said. "Prophecy does not allow me to assault the fortress with you, but from among those rocks you should be able to see any defenses the Dagoths have in place. It should be within range of your great conjured bow." I saluted my friend in the way of the Ashlanders and began to climb.

From the top of the ridge the ruin of Kogoruhn spread below like a map. Like evil creatures everywhere, the Dagoths prefer the dark. With the rising sun I watched the final flurries of activity as they settled in for the day. I waited. One guard patrolled the top of the great stone base, another the top of the fortress. At regular intervals they would make contact. After a brief exchange the lower guard would go to the small square structure directly below my vantage on the ridge and the mournful bells of the Sixth House would toll.

In mid-morning the guards had settled into a smooth routine. As with guards everywhere, routine is the enemy of wariness. I slipped off the crest of the ridge out of sight and moved to the west. I climbed back to the summit at the closest point to the fortress itself and waited for the tolling bells. In the shelter of a towering stone spire I conjured my longbow, nocked an arrow, and called upon the Shadow Shield to make me invisible as I stepped out onto the ridgeline.

As expected, the guard on the fortress top was pacing desultorily along the nearest parapet, and the lower guard had not yet reappeared from behind the smaller structure that housed the bells. I drew, and called on the ancestors of the Urshilaku to guide my arrow's flight. Straight and true, the shot struck in the hollow just below the guard's ear and he crumpled. I dropped back down behind the ridge and sped to the east.

I did not have much time. I returned to the crest just slightly east of the ruins, verified that the lower guard was crossing the plaza as expected, and slid down the ridge. The eastern end of the ruins are dominated by matching domes that rise above the corners of the great base. Between them a low wall marks the edge of the structure. When the fortress was built that wall was no doubt intended to shelter archers as they laid waste to any force trying to climb the steep eastern face of the base. Now the ash and sands have drifted so far up that face that the wall served exactly the opposite purpose. I scuttled up the shallow slope and crouched at the wall, listening.

The lower guard's first call to his partner atop the fortress was quiet, hardly even curious. He had not yet begun to think of what might have delayed the upper guard, or even that there was such a delay. He may have been a step fast on his own round. How long he would have waited to call out again is an unknown, as is whether it would be a more insistent cry. He looked down stupidly at the arrow that had burst out through his chest and slumped to the flagstone. I leapt over the wall into the plaza and ran to the door of the northern dome.

I paused at the door and focused briefly, drawing a shroud of elemental magic around me in a sheet of flame. There was no time for stealth so I wanted the protection. I burst through the door. The Dagoth whirled in surprise, abandoning the arcane rites he was in the midst of performing. I caught him flush with a blast of lightning and dove away as a wave of his hand painted the wall behind me with glowing magical venom. I rolled, using the central column for brief shelter, and came to my feet with a conjured spear in my hands. A blast of icy frost crashed against my fiery shielding, the powerful spell driving needles of cold into my flesh. Had I taken the full brunt of that I would have fallen to the floor a brittle husk. Instead it was the Dagoth who fell, with the great spear shredding through the ashy flesh.

It took only a couple minutes to search the sparsely furnished dome. There was no cup. I had neither time nor concern for anything else. I raced for the southern dome. As I crashed through the door the count in my head was telling me that the fortress would just be anticipating the toll of the bells. My time was almost up.

The Dagoth in the southern dome was gathering a blast of searing flame as he turned towards the door. I dove into the room and called upon the Shadow Shield once again. The sphere of raw elemental fire hung poised in the clawed hand, ready to strike, but I had shimmered into invisibility. I quietly raised the staff of the archmage and crept to the side. The long snout of the inhuman Dagoth twitched as it snuffled , trying to gain my scent. The staff smashed down across the monster's shoulders and drove it to the floor in a haze of elemental enchantments. The fireball rolled from its claws, sputtered, and died. I quickly struck again, and yet again, and the beast crumbled to ash.

The bells suddenly began ringing. Not the solemn sound that had been marking the passage of time, but the strident clanging of alarm. I grabbed an ornate cup from the table and ran, once again blurring to invisibility with the shield of the Dagoth's own ancestor. I leapt the wall, slid down the slope, and fled into the Ashlands with my prize.

Sul-Matuul declared that I had passed the warrior's test as soon as I presented the shield, cup, and corprus weepings that I had gathered from Kogoruhn. I thought that he would send me on to the Cavern of the Incarnate, and I was once again concerned for the possible outcome when I face the tests of Azura herself. But yet another challenge must be met first. The location of the cavern is locked in this verse:

The eye of the needle
Lies in the teeth of the wind

The mouth of the cave
Lies in the skin of the pearl

The dream is the door
And the star is the key

I did not immediately write the verse down, but repeated it back to Sul-Matuul until it was committed to memory as is proper for the oral traditions of the Ashlanders. I'm sure that he could see that the meaning was lost to me. "This is wisdom's test Arvil Bren," he said. "You are Clanfriend, welcome at our hearths and a brother to us in the hunt, but you are still an outlander. You more than anyone else must take counsel with the wisdom of the tribes to meet this challenge. I can say no more."

I sat at the communal fire and wrote out the verse in my journal. Seeing it in front of my eyes gave me no idea of its meaning. I was staring at it when Zabamund clapped me on the shoulder. He was dusty from the hunt, and had a stack of field dressed kagouti hide slung over his shoulder. "I hear that you have passed the warrior's test. Well done."

"Now I have another test." Suddenly I had an inspiration. "But with this test perhaps I can get your help. Sul-Matuul said I should take counsel with the wisdom of the tribes."

He grunted. "That does sound like I would be allowed to help you, but I am not likely to be able. The wisdom of our tribe lies with Nibani, not with me." He laughed. "I see again the impatience of the outlander flashing in your eyes. Go to her tent Arvil Bren. I need to take care of these hides anyway."

Nibani was waiting. "I cannot tell you of the cavern, that is the Ashkahn's part to tell, but the wisdom of the tribe is mine to share with all of our tribe. The ancestors have passed to each of us what they have. My part is the star that is the key; Azura's star. Azura's star is holy to us, and marks the twilight times of dusk and dawn. "

Like the monastery of the dissident priests! "The door will only be visible in the twilight!" I said. I looked again at the verse. "Can you tell me any more?"

"I cannot."

That was her part. I need to seek the wise women of the other clans.

32: Indecision

Wisdom's test is trying me. I am in a tradehouse in Suran, a city that I do not like. I am headed into the region of Molag Amur, the most inhospitable terrain in all of Vvardenfell. I cannot sleep. Zabamund said that Nibani holds the wisdom of the tribe, and she gave me the solution to part of the puzzling verse. I set off to find the wise women of the other tribes, but as I walked today I was plagued by regrets.

Where is the Cavern of the Incarnate? If it is on Azura's Coast the nearest tribe would be the Erabenimsun so I am headed towards their camp. But is it the wisdom of the Wise Woman that I need? The eye of the needle, the skin of the pearl, the teeth of the wind; these are landmarks. The lore handed down by the wise women may very well name these places, but I wish I had told Zabamund the verse. Nibani knows the history of the tribe, but the hunters would know the landmarks. And if the Cavern of the Incarnate is in Urshilaku territory then I am wasting my time.

After all the preparation I made for this trek it will be a sore disappointment if it is not necessary. The Zainab and Ahemmusa tribes are camped deep in Telvanni territory. That was the main concern that guided my actions. My first thought was that I would not be welcomed in Telvanni territory, but then I realized that was not true. The opportunity to kill me would be more than happily received by the Telvanni wizards.

Rather than fight the entire Great House I would choose to go unnoticed, or at least unidentified, so I left the distinctive staff of the Archmage behind. In fact my intention is to travel as a barbarian rather than a mage at all. My light armor of rare volcanic metals and hardened glass is not shrouded in robes, and I have never been seen in this exotic attire. I have abandoned my preference for open faced helms and gone behind a mask of gleaming Dwemer metal. The longsword at my hip is a barely familiar weapon. I left home confident that I was not recognizable, but immediately made a mistake.

Before setting off again into the wilderness I wanted to check in with my guild stewards, so I left Pelagiad by teleporting to the temple courtyard in Balmora. It was encouraging walking down the familiar street to the guild hall without being recognized. I was passing the fighter's guild hall, which is right next door to my own, when it suddenly dawned on me that the Telvanni would likely be watching the hall. Even if they didn't recognize me as the Archmage the distinctive glass armor and Dwemer helm would no doubt be noted. And when it turned up again in Telvanni territory that would be noted as well, and I would likely be questioned.

I walked past the hall, going on to the Southwall Cornerclub, den of the local thieves. Habasi, the Khajiit who heads up the gang is a friend, and a close associate of my mate Ahnassi. She could be counted on to help. She sent a messenger to the guild hall to set things up. I met with Ranis in the small house left at my disposal by Caius Cosades. I was safely inside before Ranis ever left the guild hall, and I teleported myself out after our meeting, using an intervention spell that delivered me to Fort Moonmoth. Anyone who followed the guild steward into the poorest quarter of Balmora will no doubt be wondering why, but they won't be connecting me to the guild.

So my morning went, and I am confident that no one recognized the Archmage, and no one followed the beginnings of my journey. I waited near the ruins of Arkngthand and watched the great bridge over the Foyada Mamaca after I had crossed to be sure. I am well disguised, at least in that I have no doubts. If only I could put the nagging feeling that I am on a fool's errand to rest as easily.

33: The scholar's surprise

The last time I passed through Molag Amur I actually passed over it. That was easier; a lot easier. That time I flew from Vivec City on the blessing of Vivec's shrine of generosity and reached the Dwemer ruins at Nehuleftingth in a matter of hours. Today I started from Suran; much closer, and trudged all day to get here. Molag Amur is not a trackless waste; quite the opposite. It is cross hatched with trails, curving between sharp ridges of rock and steaming lava pools. Frequently they curve back on themselves, leading nowhere.

As the sun settled behind a ridge I arrived at the ruins. Senilius Cadiusus did not welcome me as warmly as he did before. My last visit here did not end smoothly, and he remembers it well. He is apparently still suffering ill effects, and holds me responsible.

At first he did not recognize me. "Hail traveler," he said as I entered the ruin. Then I raised the Mask of Dwemer metal that protected my head. "You! I have sent my report to Edwinna. There is nothing for her to have sent you here for, so move along."

"Edwinna did not send me, I am just here for shelter."

"You took the book! The fruit of my labors! Now all I hear is that the Breton wizard has solved the riddle of the Dwemer. And I don't even have enough of a crew to continue my excavations here."

"You lack a crew because you get them killed. Anes Vendu found that book. It was the fruit of his labor and his life that was given." I stepped close to the Cyrodiil. He is a scholar, and a coward, and I fully intended to intimidate him. It worked.

"Well," he blustered, "Edwinna has clearly been mislead by the report of a scaliwag adventurer, but that doesn't mean everyone will. Trebonius certainly wouldn't, and even though I hear there is a new Archmage I'm sure they won't be either. I sent a message to him already."

"Is that so," I hissed. "Well, the Archmage isn't in Vivec presently, so I wouldn't count on him overruling Edwinna. As a matter of fact he pretty much counts on Edwinna's advice in research matters."

"Advice from Edwinna! What sort of Archmage is that? Trebonius would never let that bookworm make an important decision that stands between me and my research."

"Trebonius was a pompous arrogant fool. That seems to be common among you Imperials. Before you say something really regrettable I want you to know the new Archmage is not from Cyrodiil. He is a Breton."

"A Breton? So you have his ear. We are ruined. I will never get the lower levels mapped out without a crew." He hung his head. "We may as well leave."

"No. You will continue exploring, slowly, carefully. Take no risks. I'm sure that won't be a problem for you."

"What for? What we came here for has already been done. Some Breton is the Archmage. We should just go back to Cyrodiil; to civilization."

"Vvardenfell may not meet your standards of civilization, but it's all you have. There is an embargo. And the Breton Archmage may not meet your approval either, but as you said I have his ear. These ruins are close to Telvanni territory, and they are likely to move against you early in their campaign against us when it comes."

He exploded. "You would leave us out here as bait!?"

"More like an early warning system. I have a message for Edwinna." I turned on my heel and stalked to a table littered with papers.

I handed him the message, more for the pleasure of watching his face as he read than anything else. He read:

Edwinna,
Send a couple apprentices adept at destruction magic to Nehuleftingth to support the work here. Make sure that they have recall scrolls, and place their marks at a guild hall. Also, hire a band of reliable fighters to escort Senilius Cadiusus and his daughter to a guild hall so that they also can place their marks, then have them escorted back. All of our members here need to be prepared to evacuate when the Telvanni attack.
Arvil Bren, Archmage

It wasn't quite as dramatic as I had hoped, but the signature did demolish the flathead's smugness.

34: Reeh-Jah

I have the answers I need. I know where to go to seek the Cavern of the Incarnate. I also have a new excuse for not going. The possibility of my lengthened lifespan coming to a sudden and sorry end is again on my mind. Will Azura call me Nerevarine, or slay me? It will be a while before I find out. Delays and distractions fall into my path like leaves.

The latest distraction is my slave, Reeh-Jah. I am calling him my slave. It keeps him safe.

Reeh-Jah is an Argonian. I met him at dawn this morning. The arid wastes of Molag Amur are the last place I would have expected to find an Argonian from the Black Marsh. The last place anyone would expect. That's why he was there. It was his best chance to avoid his pursuers. Unfortunately the unarmed runaway slave would have little chance to survive in the wastes. With the slave bracer on his arm draining away any magica he might harness that little chance would be reduced to none. I could not just let him go to his death.

I didn't have time to hear the story of his escape from Tel Aruhn before we were interrupted. We had to explain ourselves on the fly, and claiming Reeh-Jah as my slave seemed the easiest thing to do. Kummu is a scout of the Erabenimsun clan. She came over the hillside out of the sun and was right on top of us. I know that the Erabenimsun would be happy to claim the runaway. Returning runaways is profitable, and times are hard.

Kummu was reasonably friendly, considering. One of the considerations I got from her own mouth. "You would not be welcome in the camp outlander. You may be clanfriend to the Urshilaku, but we are not as worldly." Fortunately there was no need for me to enter the camp.

She completely understood the descriptions of the cryptic verse. I told her the first line. The eye of the needle lies in the teeth of the wind. That one line was actually enough for the highly skilled scout. The valley of the wind lies on the northeastern flank of Red Mountain, and at the head of the valley there is a tall spire of stone known as the needle. The opening of the valley is marked by a pair of formations known as Airan's Teeth. It seems a perfect fit just on that one line. Then I asked her about the second line. The mouth of the cave lies in the skin of the pearl. "Is there anything in that canyon that would fit that?"

"Skin of the pearl. There is a layer of light stone on the needle. It isn't pearly white, but it would be close enough."

I know where to go, but the first thing I needed was a safe haven for myself, and much more difficult, the Argonian. We came here to Tel Fyr. Divayth Fyr is not a typical Telvanni by any means, and as the first success of his pet project I assumed I would be welcomed. He was even friendlier than I expected. It turns out I am not just the first success, I am his only success.

Divayth Fyr developed the potion that arrested the negative symptoms of the corprus disease in me. I was angry when I found out that he expected the potion to kill me. I chose to take it knowing that there was a possibility, but he didn't tell me that the possibility was almost a certainty. Now he has told others that it did work, once. Unfortunately it has killed everyone else that has tried it.

Fyr suggests that it is the sign that I am the Nerevarine and that I should face Azura with confidence. I will keep that in mind when I return to the north. For now I will get a good night's sleep. My companion fell immediately into exhausted slumber. I still don't know how long he has been on the run, or how he survived in the dessicating desert. I need to find a way to get him to the Argonian mission in Ebonheart.

Left to myself I could and obviously would just teleport home. Failing that I would hike back across Molag Amur. Neither of those will serve now, and even though we both have the best reasons to do otherwise we will have to continue deeper into Telvanni territory before we can make our escape. It may be time to abandon my guise as a barbarian and unleash my command of the school of alteration. Reeh-Jah is a natural swimmer. I can be better. Skirting the outermost islands and making our way to Wolverine Hall seems the only choice.

35: Deliverance

Reeh-jah is safely on his way to Black Marsh. Im-Kilaya at the Argonian mission in Ebonheart assures me that the Argonians have a way to get the runaway off of the island despite the embargo. I'm sure it will involve a sustained swim, but Reeh-jah has proven to be more than capable in that regard. Naturally.

We took our leave of Tel Fyr at first light. Although Divayth Fyr has told me on at least three occasions that he considers tempting thieves to be a hobby and that he doesn't take it personally when they succeed I thought it would be wise to put some distance between myself and the ancient wizard before he notices the closet I looted in his own chambers last night. He had boasted so much about the enchantments upon the hide breastplate that he had secreted there that I really couldn't resist.

I spent most of the day under the effects of a spell that provided me sufficient buoyancy to swim with my armor and weapons. I am certain I presented a strange sight to the slaughterfish and other denizens of the coastal waters. Reeh-jah looked much more in his element. The sinuous lizard body with its broad powerful tail is obviously made for swimming. Even with my spells I was hard pressed to keep up. Of course he had no desire to leave me behind. In fact he was clearly reluctant to follow our course at all.

I can't say I blame him. I don't know who it would have gone worse for had we been caught swimming into the Telvanni capital. As an escaped slave the best Reeh-jah could hope for was a return to his masters in Tel Aruhn. More likely he would be put to death. For me there was nothing else to expect but a swift demise. Needless to say we approached Sadrith Mora with extreme caution.

We emerged on the dock at Wolverine Hall. The guards on the battlements watched us crawl out of the water with interest...and with drawn bows. We waited patiently for the inevitable questioning. As soon as I could I requested that the guards get Skink-in-trees-shade from the guild hall to vouch for me. I didn't bother trying to tell them that I was the Archmage of Vvardenfell, the highest ranking member of the Imperial guild. In my wet and bedraggled state it would have been pretty unbelievable.

Skink arrived in short order and got us straightened out. Even being the steward of the local guild hall did not incline him to make any claims as to my official standing. He merely told the guards that the ragged adventurer and his Argonian slave had indeed been on a mission for him and requested that we be given access to the keep. The guards huffed a bit about the hospitality papers that the Telvanni require of visitors in Sadrith Mora, but they agreed to let Skink take responsibility for us after he promised to have his guild guide teleport us out as soon as we had made our report.

I suggested to Skink that we go to his private chambers rather than the Guild Hall. I did not want it widely known in the guild that I was assisting an escaped slave. I have no doubts about anyone's loyalties, but slavery is a very sore issue between the Dunmer and the Empire. Although it is outlawed throughout the Empire the Dunmer received an exemption in the peace treaty that brought their ancestral kingdom in as the imperial province of Morrowind. Slavery being allowed by local law puts the Imperial Legions in the unfamiliar position of maintaining 'justice' by capturing runaways such as Reeh-jah and punishing criminals who assist them such as myself. The legion's demonstrable and obviously intentional lack of success in these pursuits is a constant thorn in the side of the Dunmer, a thorn that is being regularly twisted by the more rebellious factions such as the Camonna Tong.

Skink offered one of his specially made robes to Reeh-jah and we passed him off as a visiting mage. The robe had the necessary modifications to accommodate his tail, and the voluminous sleeves hid the slave bracers that we had not had an opportunity to remove. We entered the guild hall quickly and had the guild guide transport us to Vivec City.

I introduced Reeh-jah brusquely and led the way out of the hall in Vivec City with no stops, pausing just long enough to let Malven know that I would be returning directly after seeing my guest to his destination. I was deliberately vague about where that destination was. I find myself appreciating my father's golden rule; the fewer facts left in your wake the better.

I delivered Reeh-jah safely into the reptilian hands of his kinsmen at the Argonian mission and returned to the guild hall to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening plowing through the accumulated paperwork that my absence generated. Even with my council prioritizing it for me there is a lot of paperwork to being the Archmage. Small wonder that Trebonius was so out of touch with events, since he had no inclination to delegate even meager authority.

I will sleep well.

36: Stormy path

I started the day knowing, or at least strongly suspecting, that the Cavern of the Incarnate lies on the remote north-eastern slopes of Red Mountain. I could not have been further away without leaving the island. Typical. In retrospect I wish that I had taken an offering to the shrine of daring and used the powerful flight spell of Vivec's blessing. I just didn't want it sputtering out and landing me on the barren wasted verge of the volcano. Instead I am camped on the barren northern shore, far from my destination, wondering if Dagoth Ur is intentionally disrupting my travels.

I handed off a bundle of documents for Malven before leaving Vivec City, and gave Flacassia packets to be sent on to the other guild stewards as well. Then I had her teleport me to Ald-ruhn. My plan was to catch the silt strider to Mar Gaan, hopefully arriving there in time for a quick lunch. The first hints that my plan was astray came to me even before I got outside. The plates of the great shell that house the hallin Ald-ruhn were groaning mightily as the wind pounded at them. I emerged into the dust storm and cursed Dagoth Ur roundly.

The caravaner said that taking the road to Mar Gaan would be heading directly into the worst of the storm and asked if the small port city of Khuul might be as close to my final destination. He hadn't come right out and said that he would not go to Mar Gaan, but if I had pressed I was pretty sure he would. I took the ride to Khuul. We swung far to the west to skirt the worst of the storm and did not arrive until midafternoon.

Following the coast will keep me as far from Red Mountain and the source of the storms as possible, but it is a long trek to get where I am going. Too long a trek to languish for the rest of the afternoon in Khuul, especially since I think I saw all there was to see before I had climbed down from the strider. 'Small port city' was a pretty brazen exaggeration. At least having gotten a couple hours travel behind me has brought me to the edge of Urshilaku territory, which will hopefully make tomorrow's travel uneventful. Although brief, today's trudge was not uneventful.

As the sun was setting behind me I began seeking a good campsite. Clearly I have learned a lot about the Ashlands from my hunting forays with the Urshilaku. I read the terrain and guessed that a certain ridge would provide shelter at a few critical points along its base. I made for one of the most likely, as I read it. I was vaguely pleased when my understanding was proven correct. The spot I had chosen was already occupied by a small Ashlander camp.

I got close enough to hail the three Ashlanders who were actively going about setting up for the evening. I hoped that my status as a Clanfriend of the Urshilaku would make for peace if not downright hospitality. Not so. Their leader replied "Clanfriend? Only if their Ashkhan was blinded by dust, or had the brain of a kagouti. Fortunately I am my own Ashkhan. I will see if their Ashkhan recognizes your head next time I trade in their village."

Their camp is comfortable, and their corpses lie far enough away that any beasts drawn to the smell of blood in the night will have no need to disturb me, nor fear that I will disturb them.

37: Blind canyon

I am puzzled. Azura's star has set, taking the last of the twilight with it, and I am making a cold camp by the light of the moon. I was here at the head of this canyon in time to see the cavern's entrance. At least I thought that I was. But I found no access.

I traveled hard and fast today. I did not even stop to hunt, merely activating the Shadow Shield and disappearing when the creatures of the wastes crossed my path. When I grew fatigued I drew on my flask of restorative and hurried on. Miles of sand passed under my boots. All day I was driven by the impending dusk.

Were the blocky pillars at the mouth of this canyon the teeth of the wind? The wind howls down the canyon. The canyon floor was shrouded in late afternoon shadow, and murky with dust. Is that light strata high on the cliff face the skin of the pearl? Or have I taken a wrong turning, seeing what I wanted to see? There were scant moments when I reached the canyon's head. I must await the dawn.

Am I on the threshold of destiny, or death?

38: Cavern of the Incarnate

The day dawned disappointing. Azura's star shone down on...nothing. The more I looked at the dome of rock rising over the head of the canyon the less it looked like a needle. Eventually I had to concede that I was in the wrong place. The howling winds as I strode down the canyon was made even more irritating when I considered that it was really the only accurate landmark.

The mouth of the right canyon was not far from the canyon I was in, much to my chagrin. Seeing the actual formations of Airan's teeth made me wonder how I had looked at the two blocky outcrops I saw yesterday and thought they were the landmark I was looking for. Then I found the actual needle, which made the mound that I spent last night in front of look more like a haystack. The final slap in the face came when I stood at the head of this canyon in front of a huge iron door! I assumed that 'the star is the key' would mean that, like Holamayan, the door would only be visible in the light of Azura's Star, but actually it is plainly visible, it just won't open.

So I spent the day sitting with my back against the doors. The wind howled, but I was sheltered. The beasts of the Ashlands did not have any interest in fighting the winds blasting down the canyon and I was left alone. By dusk I was ready to enter the cavern. Ready, or resigned.

The Cavern of the Incarnate is a hall of ghosts. The voice of Azura rang through me, and was joined by previous claimants to the mantle of Nerevar. I took the ring, Moon and Star, and placed it on my finger. I still live. Azura has declared that I am the Nerevarine. Conversation with the shades has convinced me though that my trials have just begun. These ghosts bore the Moon and Star also, but failed in later testing. Only success will keep my spirit from spending eternity here, in this bleak cave. The others also long for my success. Perhaps they will then be able to rest as well.

Part four

39: Cult of the Nerevarine

The Ashlanders all believe in the legend of Nerevar's reincarnation and return, but some believe more than others. The strongest core of belief is the Nerevarine Cult, focused here among the Urshilaku. When I made my way into the camp wearing the glowing ring Moon and Star it was immediately recognized. Here they were not just expecting the Nerevarine someday, they were waiting for me to return from the Cavern of the Incarnate. Perplexed that a Breton would even be going to the cavern, but still hoping beyond hope that Azura would send them the hero they are counting on to defeat Dagoth Ur. As the hunters returned one by one the excitement grew into a wild celebration.

Sul-Matuul and Nibani were more sober. "Azura has spoken. I am to be your guide, Nerevarine, said the wise woman of the clan. "You are the Nerevarine, but the trials are far from completed. You must be called Nerevarine not just by the hunters of our clan, but by the Ashkahns of the four clans. In this I can offer you knowledge of their camp sites and their ways. Hopefully the Moon and Star will convince them."

"I am satisfied Nibani," said Sul-Matuul. "I would declare him Nerevarine tonight. However, by your leave Nerevarine I would prefer to wait. The rumor will spread among the hunters as it is, but if I speak that will add fuel to the blaze. Being the Nerevarine of the clans will not help with the great houses. The more you are known as the Nerevarine the harder it will be to approach the trial of the Hortator. The Tribunal Temple will be against you, and those of the house people who listen most strongly to the temple will be your enemies, even those who were your friends."

The words of the ghost of Peakstar came back to me. Her spirit had stood in the cavern as the most recent failed incarnate and said that it was the ways of the great houses that had defied her understanding, and the trial of the Hortator had been her undoing. Sul-Matuul's counsel was true, and I appreciated his wisdom. "How should I approach the house people?" I asked my advisors.

"The ways of the house people are strange to me," said Nibani. "All I can offer is that I will seek Azura's guidance. Sul-Matuul's words make sense to me though."

Sul-Matuul looked pensive. "The house Dunmer are strange to us all. We must seek the guidance of Azura, but we must also help ourselves as best we can." With that he excused himself and left the tent briefly, returning with his Gulakhan Zabamund and the clan's trader Kurapli. "Of our clan Kurapli has the most experience of the house people, and Zabamund's words are always in my ear." I accepted their congratulations and their professions of loyalty, and we laid out the challenges ahead.

"There is no question that the trial of the Hortator must come first," Zabamund agreed. "Declaring you the Nerevarine would have the Ordinators on your neck immediately, and they would likely attack our camp as well. You must have the support of the house people to hold them in check. The Velothi know the legend, they know you must be both Nerevarine and Hortator. They will not be troubled that you are Hortator the way the Great Houses will reject the Nerevarine."

"So how do I approach the house Dunmer?"

"Start with the Redorans," Kurapli suggested. "They are warriors, they will be honorable in their dealings."

"They are also the greatest supporters of the temple in Vvardenfell though," Sul-Matuul added.

"Good reason to get to them first," said Zabamund. Sul-Matuul looked at his lieutenant with some surprise, but then he nodded.

I looked back and forth between them. "Okay. Explain please."

"When you start this task the temple will be try to stop you. If the Redorans have not declared you Hortator they will be added to the resistance of the Ordinators. The Hlaalu may not answer their call, and the Telvanni certainly won't," Sul-Matuul said.

"Okay. The Redorans first then. They have a council. I can't just walk into a council meeting and tell them I am the Hortator. What do I do?"

"On any council there are leaders," said Sul-Matuul. "First you must know who those leaders are."

"Much more importantly that will tell you who are not the leaders," said Kurapli. "The leaders have power. They will be the least interested in a change. Any who are not happy with the leaders will be the best to approach."

"Once you have a friend on the council you will be able to proceed," Zabamund concluded.

"So that is the plan," I said. "There's another advantage to approaching the Redorans first. I think their councilors are all in Ald-ruhn."

"That seems to be the plan Nerevarine," said Sul-Matuul, "but I suggest you wait until Nibani has consulted Azura."

"Of course," I said. "In the meantime I need to lay low. Rumors are going to spread."

"Kurapli, this is an opportunity you should not pass," Zabamund told her. "Even though he is now the Nerevarine, Arvil Bren is still our clanfriend. I know he will stand for the honor of our clan, and yours as well."

"Ah," said Sul-Matuul, "and that would get him out of the camp, which will make it easier to quiet the rumors."

"What?" I asked. "What is the problem Kurapli? I will help if I can."

Tears glistened in her eyes, something I did not expect from an Ashlander. "My husband was slain clanfriend."

"By who?"

"Renegades. Outcasts. They came to trade, and the Urshilaku gave our hospitality. In return they stole from us. My husband challenged them, and they made as if to return what they had stolen, but then Zallay Subaddamael surprised him. The thieves fled as he died in my arms. They have no honor."

"Outcasts. Where would I find them?"

"They have a camp at Aharasaplit, in Sheogorad," said Zabamund. "It is remote, and the Ordinators will not hear of you from there."

"My husband said that whoever avenges him is to get his spirit spear. It may serve well in your trials."

"I would have many nights to dream the dreams Nerevarine, " said Nibani. "Azura will reveal whatever she must reveal."

I don't know if I am motivated by the clan's honor, the convenience of a distraction, or my own outrage; but Subaddamael will have to go further than Sheogorad to escape vengeance.


40: End of the world

The End of the World tradehouse is appropriately named. Dagon Fel is as remote as I would want to get . The Nords who live here seem to barely recognize that Sheogorad is considered by the empire to be part of Morrowind. They would have it as a distant branch of their own province. I spent the evening here in the common room, surrounded by hard drinking Nords, and did not see a single Dunmer face.

Most of my time was invested in conversation with a thief called Hreirek the Lean. While I have left my own theiving days behind me, my relationship with Ahnassi has kept me on the fringes of the guild. It was not hard to get her to accept me.

My arrival as a passenger from Khuul and my obvious Breton heritage would not have gotten me much recognition. The glowing ring Moon and Star may have if I had left it on, but the Nords were not on the same side of many ancient battles with Nerevar, so if it had been recognized it would likely not have done me much good. I suppose I could have identified myself as the Archmage of Vvardenfell and gotton some begrudged cooperation, but that would not have served for keeping a low profile.

My position with the Mage's Guild, in fact, looks to lead me into yet another delay. Hreirek did recognize the name of the camp, Aharasaplit, and tells me that it lies on the southwest coast. Were I not the Archmage I would head there directly in the morning. But I am the Archmage.

I admited to Hreirek that I am not in her guild, being a member of the Mage's Guild instead. She accepted my connections in place of membership, but bristled at the mention of the Mage's Guild. I could not help but notice, and naturally had to explore the source of her disaffections. Usually the Imperial guilds hold each other in reasonable regard. The mercenaries of the Fighter's Guild are frequently hired to guard things or otherwise interfere with theives, so there is often friction there, but the Theive's Guild is often called on by mages to acquire items that may not be available through conventional means, and theives are regular customers of the enchanters and alchemists. I probed gently, trying to find what could have soured my new friend on my guild.

"The local mage, Sorkveld the Raven." My attempt at subtle questioning brought a typically direct response from the Nord. "The local Dunmer hate him. Necromancy really offends them. He even gives me the creeps."

"Necromancy is against local law, and the Mage's Guild doesn't condone it. In fact I've at times been assigned to convince necromancers to change their ways."

"Well, I don't know if Sorkveld is even a member of the Mage's Guild," she said. "If he is I doubt that he is in good standing. He isn't the type, but he claims that since the Empire doesn't outlaw necromancy the locals just have to put up with it."

"That certainly isn't the position of the guild." I considered. I don't really even know which of my guild stewards would be responsible for this remote corner of my territory. "How skilled is this Sorkveld?" I asked.

"Deadly. He and his minions have a reputation for providing their own corpses, if you know what I mean."

I sighed. Sorkveld is clearly a problem. A rogue necromancer turning people against mages in general. It could be months before anyone can be sent up here to demand dues from him and make him comply with local law. And of course there is the question of just who could accomplish the task.

I took to my room and honed the point of the spear I was given by Erur-Dan. It served me well on the trek to Khuul this morning. At one point I waded around some rocky headlands rather than levitating over them or wasting time trying to climb them, and encountered a dreugh. There is nothing better for battling the aquatic decendents of the Ruddy Man than a stout spear, and I was glad to have it. It will likely be pressed into service in my negotiations with Sorkveld and I want its edge keen.

Erur-Dan is a failed Incarnate. His motives, I think, had little to do with battling Dagoth Ur. He was more interested in the part of the prophecy that says the Nerevarine will drive the outlanders from Morrowind. His era spanned the surrender to the Empire, and his hatred of the Cyrodiils is only matched by his disgust with the Tribunal. A few centuries lingering in the Cavern has mellowed him somewhat I suppose. Either that or seeing me be accepted by Azura left him little choice. At any rate, he is clear that his own path as the Nerevarine was a course of folly that ended in his singlehanded assault on the blighted monsters of Red Mountain. He must have had great courage, and I am honored to carry this spear.


41: Sorkveld the Raven

I am somewhat of a hero here in Dagon Fel. The innkeepers and customers here at the End of the World are in universal agreement that no one will mourn the necromancer and his minions. At every opportunity I have explained that the Mage's Guild does not allow the necromancy that was Sorkveld's specialty. I think I can expect our members to be greeted with a bit more hospitality from the Nords of this remote village in the future, should any have reason to come here.

Sarnir, the clerk who runs the End of the World, has given me more information about Aharasaplit camp. He also has given me a room that I can use for the duration of my stay in Sheogorad. Sorkveld's tower was rich with artifacts. Some from its origins as a Dwemer stronghold and others no doubt accumulated during Sorkveld's unsavory activities. Another that is wrapped in a blood red cloak and hidden deep in a chest, locked with the most powerful locking spells at my command.

I arrived at the tower unannounced and uninvited, so I did not expect a joyful welcome. I was not disappointed. The round iron door was opened by a burly Nord clad in bonemold armor, including a closed face helm. In his meaty fist he held a great mace of Dwemer metal. He held it ready, not raised threateningly but still clearly letting me know that I was not welcome. I could not complain since I was using the spear of Erur-Dan as a walking staff, but I had at least pushed my helm of Dwemer metal up to reveal my face. No light banter would create any comfort between us.

"Hail bold warrior. I come from the Imperial Mage's Guild, and seek counsel with your master."

"But he seeks no counsel from you stranger. You would be best served to leave Sheogorad and crawl back to wherever you came from."

"Ah. That doesn't solve the problem though. The Empire considers Sheogorad to be part of the Vvardenfell District, and the new Archmage of Vvardenfell has taken a personal interest in Sheogorad, specifically in Sorkveld the Raven."

A Dunmer woman in glittering robes spoke from the bottom of the stair. "The Raven has no interest in your Archmage that I know of. If he does he will pay a visit I'm sure. Right now he is not to be disturbed."

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "How have you appeased your ancestors, who know you serve a necromancer?"

"I study the ways of the outlanders. My ancestors honor knowledge, knowledge that may be needed to defend our land from your Empire. I use only outlander bones and ghosts."

"Well, that seems very noble of you sister mage, but I think very few of your race would approve. Necromancy is prohibited by your people, and the guild in Vvardenfell supports them in that."

At the mention of necromancy the warrior had shifted his shield and his stance, drawing himself ready for battle. "Mage, it is time for you to leave," he said.

"Recognizing that there is no solution, friend?" I said. "Dagon Fel is too remote for a simple promise. The only way I can be sure there will be no necromancy practiced here is if your master takes ship, or dies. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't capable of matching his skills." I lowered my spear point. "You," I gestured to include the Dunmer woman, "do not have to die for him. You are free to leave with him, or without him."

"You've chosen the wrong opponent, mage," said the armored Nord, hefting his mace. Magica began to coalesce in the Dunmer woman's hands. I sighed.

With the door at my back I had no room to back away, and the mace wielding warrior would quickly be too close for the spear to be effective. I struck the woman and a cascade of venomous magic spread over her from the wound, disrupting whatever spell she was crafting. I released the spear, hoping that it would stay lodged between her ribs and disrupt her control. The Nord's mace crashed against the shadow shield, driving me back against the door.

I drew my stormsword. The razor sharp edge of volcanic glass sliced across the Nord's bonemold shield, hewing away part of the resinous material. Glass on bonemold does not draw sparks like a steel sword striking a metal shield would, but the stormsword's enchantment does not care what it strikes. Huge sparks leapt from the impact and the Nord howled in pain as he dropped back down the stairs. The stair gave me the advantage of height. I crouched, so that my shield could deflect his mace away from my legs, and rained blows of the stormsword down on him.

Things were going well until I suddenly sagged under a great weight. All of my equipment was glowing with a light purple haze of magica, and I immediately recognized that the Dunmer woman had struck me with a burdening spell. The Nord whooped a savage war cry and leapt to the attack. I fell back, sitting heavily on a higher step. Fortunately, the Dunmer had chosen to confront me using alteration magic, the school in which I am the master. The stormsword fell at my side, but with a few quick gestures I countered her spell with my own, a feathering spell that reduced the weight back to normal and beyond, and I took it back up.

The Nord took advantage of the opportunity and his heavy mace smashed into my shoulder. Typical of the Nord he was gripped with battle lust and over committed to the attack, thinking to quickly finish a fallen foe. Being sprawled on my back on the stairs was certainly not my preference, but any circumstance can be turned to advantage against a sufficiently unwary opponent, and the Nord was just such an opponent.

For a long time I have worn a special pair of pants under my armor. They are exquisitely crafted, and that workmanship allows them to hold a significant level of enchantment, powered by the spirit of a golden saint. I call them the pants of strongleg, and they have allowed me to carry the heavy loads of armor and loot that I have often gathered in my travels. All of that enchantment focused in my left leg as it folded under the weight of the Nord, my foot planted firmly against his bonemold encased torso. With all the strength and enchantment I could muster I straightened that leg and launched my adversary into an arching trajectory that cleared many of the steep steps before he landed, tumbling into a broken heap at the bottom of the flight.

"Your turn," I snarled as I sheathed the stormsword and bounded down the stairs. Alteration magic chorused around me, and a blasting purple bolt struck the Dunmer, crushing her to the floor. She began gesturing frantically, drawing together her own feather spell. "Alteration is my field, not yours, necromancer." Another blast of purple light and her hands fell at her sides, pinned by the now insurmountable weight of her sleeves. I took up the fallen spear of Erur-Dan. "I wish I could count on you fleeing this place when that spell wears off, but you are too dangerous and you made your choice." Hatred glared from her red eyes as I raised the spear.

Suddenly the cuirasse of the savior's hide that protects my body was pierced and an ebony shortsword slid between my ribs. Bloody froth spewed from my lips as I gasped in agony. I turned , swiping with the spear, and a crouching Bosmer clad in chitinous armor of insect shells leapt away. I choked out the shadow shield's word of activation and shimmered into invisibility. "Not fair!" raged the Bosmer. I hid from you fair and square, mage! No magic required. But how long can your spell last, eh?" He backed against a wall, his ebony blade still dripping with my blood weaving in front of him.

I collapsed onto the stairs, trying vainly to make as little noise as possible. "Is that the sound of a fall?" asked the Bosmer gleefully. "Will your spell wear off so I can finish you, or will it just expire with your life to reveal your lifeless husk? Don't worry, our master will have you on your feet and hulking about in no time." The problem with invisibility spells is that they are broken by almost any action. I could not just lay there on the steps with my lungs filling with blood, but gulping a healing potion would bathe me in the blue light of restorative magic. I had no choice.

"More spells?" screached the Bosmer as he leapt forward. I scuttled, crablike, up the stairs on my back, trying to give the healing magic time to bind my severe wound. His ebony blade rang against the shadow sheild. Drawing on my last reserves of magica I drew a fiery shell of elemental energy around myself, scorching my enemy and giving me precious moments to gather myself.

I had dropped the spear when the stealthy blow struck. I drew the stormsword and held off his furious assault as tissues continued to knit under my right arm. Second by second my sword got more mobile, and the Bosmer got more desperate. Eventually I was fully recovered, and the Bosmer fell with his breastplate shattered by a slashing blow from the keen glass edge. Lightning played over his corpse.

Time was of the essence. The Dunmer mage was beginning to stir as the burdening spells that held her down ran out their course. A sweep of the stormsword severed her head.

A ladder led into the upper level of Sorkveld's tower. I did not want to face the necromancer with my own reserves completely depleated, so I quickly drained a flask of magical elixer refined from the heart of a daedric monster, carried in a base of comberry juice. Brimming with magical energies I cast a chameleon spell and a levitation spell, then threw open the trapdoor. While not as effective as invisibility, the chameleon spell is not disrupted by action, and made me difficult to see as I hurtled up through the trapdoor, continuing upward until I was pressed to the ceiling of the tower room.

"You interrupt me?" roared the necromancer. He wore blood red robes and a helm of adamantium that included a strangely calming mask. "Look! Gaze upon the features of Clavicus Vile; the greatest necromancer of all. See your doom!" He brandished a steel axe that glowed with elemental energy, sparks dancing along the wicked edge.

I dropped to the floor. "Necromancer," I said. "You defy the law of the land, and the rules of the Mage's Guild. You defile the dead, and the living. The tortured spirits that you have bound and betrayed await you."

"They may be waiting for this Nordic husk, but they will wait forever for Clavicus Vile." The necromancer gestured and a partly decomposed corpse rose from its slab. I struck quickly with the venomous spear before the horrific stench of the bonewalker could sap my strength. "Nicely done. You may be more worthy of my mask than Sorkveld. Perhaps you will slay him." The axe crashed against the shadow shield and elemental lightning splashed around me. Clavicus Vile may have professed unconcern about the demise of his host, but he wasn't going to surrender.

Eventually the greater reach of my venomous spear carried the battle and the Nord fell, his sparkaxe clattering to the floor. Eerily, even after he had fallen dead he continued to speak. "Victory. Now claim your prize; the power, the glory...the mask of Clavicus Vile." The voice was strangely compelling, and I found myself on my knees next to the body. Clasping the helm in both hands I lifted it off the fallen Nord's brow. The corpse stopped speaking, but the voice droned on. "Yes. Yes. You are powerful! Only one such as you could safely wear the mask and harness its power. The mighty spirit of Clavicus Vile would be yours to command."

I turned the helm and raised it in both hands. "Yessss," hissed the voice. Magical energies swirled over the inner surfaces of the mask, and through the eyeholes I could see that the interior of the tower gleamed with exotic energies. I began to lower the helm. "Yesss"

"No!" I flung the helm aside with a shudder. "No." The spirit of Clavicus Vile, bound into the mask for eternity, shrieked in rage. I fumbled into my pocket and slipped the Moon and Star onto my finger. "You are an ancient evil Clavicus Vile, but Arvil Bren belongs to me, and I am just as ancient." I seized a skull from a skeleton lying on a shelf and shoved it into the helm.

Red light flickered in the empty eye sockets and glared through the mask. "Nerevar!" The voice was disjointed, whispering above the chatter of teeth as the bare jaws clattered together. Guided by the Moon and Star I reached out, and tore away the lower jaw. Bound forever to the silenced skull, the mask of Clavicus Vile will never threaten again.


42: Ashlander honor

Aharasaplit was not hard to find. As I had been told there were plenty of paths to choose from heading roughly towards the southwest coast. I proceeded cautiously, skirting the roving bands of Orc barbarians. The Nords of Dagon Fel cursed these marauders, but suggested that it would not be worth the effort to eliminate any that I ran across as there would just be more to take their place. The barbarians live off the land, which keeps their numbers small, but consistent. Once I reached the coastal path I climbed over a final ridge to reach the beach. At the western end the small camp stands on the sand under the looming ridge.

I approached the camp openly. Without being certain that Zallay Subaddamael would even actually be at this camp I hoped to avoid any unneccessary bloodshed. I was successful I suppose.

Three Ashlanders lived here in this camp. Their backgrounds varied, from being cast out of the major clans to being born in the wilderness to outcast parents. They all accepted their lot, though they could not have been called happy. Zallay was their leader, older, and familiar with the ways of the larger clans. In fact his knowledge was vast, from having traded and raided in all corners of Vvardenfell. His experience and wisdom has given me a great confidence in the Ashlanders, and hope for the coming dark days. It is unfortunate that the qualities that gave me that confidence are the same qualities that made his death inevitible.

Yesterday I donned the ring, the Moon and Star of Nerevar. Though it is beautifully crafted and glowing with enchantments it did not draw too much attention. Magical rings on the fingers of mages are not that unusual, though this ring certainly is. The Nords of Dagon Fel did not seem to notice, and I left this morning with the ring still on my finger. To my surprise even the outcast Ashlanders recognized the ring immediately.

"You are the Nerevarine," Zallay said as soon as he came out of his yurt. He turned to Shanat, who had gone in to get him. "You were right, that is the Moon and Star." He turned back to me. "The Nerevarine, in distant Sheogorad, looking for me. I am honored, but very much concerned."

"He is raising the army! The time has come to sweep the outlanders from our lands." Tibdan Shalarnetus is young, by Dunmer standards, and his eyes flew wide only after everyone else had looked at him. "I mean no offense," he murmured with his eyes turned down. Obviously the idea of Nerevar returning as a Breton is going to take some getting used to.

"I understand," I said. "I have seen for myself that some outlanders do not respect the ways of the Velothi or even the great houses. I also know though that Dagoth Ur respects no one, and no life; Outlander, House Dunmer, Ashlander clans, or Velothi nomads such as yourselves. Dagoth Ur and his minions are the enemy."

"But Nerevar did not come here to recruit the three of us," Zallay said. The certainty in his voice gave me pause. I wondered what insight had prompted it. He continued. "The Nerevarine would start recruiting with the four clans. If he ever got around to us in Sheogorad it would only be after nearly every Ashlander had been rallied. None of that has happened, so that is not why he is here. So again, why have you come seeking me Nerevarine?"

I hesitated. He read my hesitation, the red eyes missing nothing. "Ah," he said, "I see. The Urshilaku have obviously recognized you, so you are a friend to their clan...including Kurapli no doubt."

"Yes," I said. My hand slipped to the hilt of the stormsword.

Shanat said "He is here to kill you Zallay!"

"Yes Shanat, he is." I could not believe how calm he was. "Draw no weapons!" His eyes flicked from one of his men to the other. "You will not draw swords on the Nerevarine!" His voice cracked like a whip. They actually flinched. Truth be told I suspect that I did too. "What it took for this Breton to get that ring is beyond even your wildest imaginings of honorable combat Tibdan. Safe to guess that he would slay all three of us like scribs."

"So Nerevar has returned, and I am to die for my 'crimes'."

"You violated the hospitality of their hearth..."

"I raided the camp of a rival! That is our way. It has always been our way! The four clans grow soft, like the house people." Then he grew quiet. "My methods were perhaps not traditional, but they were not dishonorable. And it is a great honor that it is you they have sent to have vengeance." He turned again to his followers. "My friends, it is time for you to return to the clans. The Urshilaku know the coming storm, they will welcome your blades. The Nerevarine will vouch for you with them." He turned again to me. "I cannot go back, and you have no choice but to kill me, but these are strong blades that will serve your cause."

"I welcome them."

"Then I welcome my death, if you can indeed deliver it." He motioned his men back and stepped back himself. "Come Nerevar let us get this over with." He drew a huge iron claymore from the scabbard on his back. "I see that you wish this were not so, but it is as it must be. I could not serve in your army without offending every Ashkahn of the clans, and if I live it could only be to serve. They could only accept me if I came under the Moon and Star, so my hope for life is that Azura chose you only to bring the ring here to me. If that is so then you will die."

The stormsword hissed from its sheath. "You have made this easy. I thank you for that."

"It is always easy to do the honorable thing," he said.

It wasn't easy. He was a magnificent swordsman. Eventually he fell, and his spirit will no doubt be welcome among the ancestors. His men will leave in the morning to make their way to the Urshilaku camp with his ashes.


43: Barbarian shrine

In returning to Dagon Fel I tried to avoid the Orc barbarians that plague the trails of Sheogorad. I found that the ridgelines provide as good a route as the paths. I avoided many Orcs at the expense of having to battle innumerable cliff racers. Then my intention got sidetracked.

Orcish smiths are among the best in the Empire. In fact there are some people who think the Orcs have only been accepted as citizens because of the armor their smiths produce. I think they might be right. They do not have many other good qualities. Among the worst is that they refuse to give up worshipping what all the races of men and elves have come to know as the 'bad' daedra.

I hid on the ridgeline above the statue of Molag Bal that the Orcs had raised. Roving bands of barbarians I could pass by, but this was a presence that was impossible to ignore. I was also considering the need to outfit an army, and the gleam of Orcish armor triggered my deeper tones of avarice. Even though one Orc was clad in steel plate there were at least three full sets of Orcish mail in the valley below.

Four Orcs, or possibly more, would not be easily overcome if I just charged up the path into their valley. I pondered the terrain. The sides of the valley rose steeply, more like a canyon; a box canyon with their statue rising at the head. Cold rain drizzled from a low grey sky. I crept around both sides of the canyon, cautious about loose rocks which might roll down and reveal me. I took particular note of any places where the Orcs might gain access to the ridges. There weren't many.

I chose my first site carefully and drew the Bone-biter bow. I have made little use of the enchantments of this artifact of the Urshilaku, but today it was invaluable. My experience as a target of the Bone-biter, when it was in the ghostly hands of Sul-Senipul, reduced me to stumbling to my knees. Orcs have a tendency to fly into a berserk rage, which can leave them a bit clumsy to start with. The opportunity was perfect.

I drew back an enchanted arrow and aimed carefully. I expected the first shot to be the only easy one and I wanted to make it count. The arrow flew true, dissolving and lengthening in flight into a small but effective bolt of elemental lightning. The target crashed to the ground, providing some confusion about the source of the attack. The Orcs provided even more confusion. They might have thought the bolt had fallen naturally from the overcast. When the second struck they looked around dumbfounded. With the third they finally recognized they were under attack and scattered.

At first they were not sure where the shots were coming from and were not very effective about seeking cover, but fairly soon they were all sheltered by boulders in the bottom of the canyon or spires that rose from the walls. I watched for movement as I crept along the ridge. Two of them broke from cover, racing towards one of the steep scrambles that could get them to the top of the ridge. A streak of magic blasted down on them from the bow and the one in the lead tripped, sprawling full length on the muddy slope. The other I hit in stride with a spark arrow, then dropped slightly down the far side of the ridge to get fully out of sight and ran.

I came back to the ridgetop some fair distance from the slope they had rushed to climb. A second bolt drained away the coordination from the Orc who had made the most headway at a critical point in his climb and he tumbled down the slope. From the bottom of the canyon one opened fire with a crossbow. I sent her scurrying for cover with a hail of arrows.

I continued working my way around their position. Blasts of tangling magic from the bow kept them off the more climbable slopes. Lightning struck them in swarms from each new vantage until they could find new cover. Eventually they all lay dead somewhere near the feet of the statue of their blood thirsty god.

I left them on the base of the statue after I stripped off their armor. It took two trips to bring all the finely crafted weapons and armor here, to the End of the World. I crated it up to leave with the clerk until I send someone to get it. My pack is loaded with Dwemer artifacts, some beautiful limeware pieces for Ahnassi's table, and the mask of Clavicus Vile. Even neutralized as it is I cannot just leave an item of such dangerous power behind.


44: Outcast

Of course I wasn't really an outcast. I really just went to Sheogorad looking for outcasts, but there was an element of staying out of sight. It did give me a sense of what life is like for those who choose or are stuck with the nomadic lifestyle of the clanless Ashlander. When Tibdan and Shanat arrive I hope they can make the adjustment. I expect they will get here in a few days. They are traveling overland, moving their camp. I took the boat to Khuul and made the short hike to the Urshilaku camp.

I could have made the overland trek. I'm not anxious to get on with the next trials. Nibani has had time to consult with Azura in her dreams, though she has gotten no more guidance. With nothing further from the goddess we are agreed that the Redorans will be my first objective. I will travel to Ald-ruhn tomorrow and get started. I did not travel by sea for the speed, or even the convenience. The crossing of the sea of ghosts gave me an opportunity to wrap up a dangerous loose end. An opportunity that I took, but do not relish.

Ships are a mystery to me. Even though I know that the forest of winches and bollards on the deck are there for the sailors to use in raising and lowering sail, it always seems strange to walk the orderly but crowded deck when the ship is under sail, and all that equipment stands idle. It gave me a place to think. And act.

I made a few trips down into the hold. A sailing ship needs to be heavy in the depths of her keel to keep the sails from laying her over, and I took a few of the heavy stones from the ballast and brought them onto the deck. Not enough to affect the ship, but enough for my purposes. The sailors looked diligently the other way. The captain had warned them that I was the Archmage of Vvardenfell and had some unusual business to take care of so I should be left alone. The rumor circulated that I planned to throw something overboard, and that anyone who took too much note of exactly where that happened would go over with it.

I went to the port railing and untied the rope barrier that filled the gap where the gangplank would be run out. Then I balanced a chest carefully on the edge of the deck and loaded it with the stones I had gathered. No man or monster could bring up such a weight. The chest can't be recovered without opening it and unloading the stones.

I unwound Sorkveld's red cloak from around the mask and placed it on the stones. Even with only the skull's empty sockets there seemed to be eyes behind the mask; eyes that burned with hatred. "Clavicus Vile, there seems to be no way to remove your evil spirit from that mask, and no way to destroy the adamantium of which it is made."

"You are very persuasive, which is why I have stolen your voice." The broken skull inside the helm could make no reply, but the features of the mask twisted bitterly. "But even without a voice leaving you in my room at the inn was a risk. I'm sure you could dim the glow in your eyes, and some poor thief would have no idea of the danger. They would not suit you as well as Sorkveld the Raven, but it wouldn't take you long to betray your host to some necromancer and be loose again in the world. I thought about that quite a bit while I was away. I don't know if there is really anywhere completely secure from theives." The mask seemed to be smirking.

"But I can't just carry you around in my pack forever either. I am possessed by the spirit of Nerevar, and the corprus disease has extended my span. I will live a long, long time unless I meet a bad end; but I could easily meet that bad end. It may even come at the hands of Dagoth Ur. I don't know who would end up in control, but your spirit bound up with that demon is not to be allowed, or even contemplated."

"My circumstances scare me. I'm not an elf. I wasn't raised to think about life lingering on for centuries...millenia...forever. Now I confront that it might. Confronting that myself makes it hard for me to do what I must. But it was you who chose to bind yourself to that mask. You have cheated death. You chose eternity."

I closed the lid. I could not bear to see the mask as it contorted with horror. I gathered all the magica at my command and wove it into the plain, sturdy chest. The locking spell is complex, multi-layered, and permanent. The surrounding waters will be venomous. In fairly short order it will be buried in the bones of passing sea life. A metal pick in the lock will release a devastating blast of lightning. Even the insulated probe that a good thief would normally use will be useless. The salty waters of the Sea of Ghosts will carry the charge.

In a small box at the bottom of the sea eternity will be a very long time. I spent the rest of the voyage in my cabin, shaken by what I had done.

45: Missed by miles

Extensively drawing on the forces of magica leaves a swirling residue of power. This is the foundation of the guild guides teleportation system. The activities of a guild hall create a focal point that the guides can target. Temples and shrines have a comparable effect, though the residuals could be described as having a different 'flavor'.

That difference is the key to intervention spells. Almsivi intervention targets the residual signature of a Tribunal temple. Divine intervention targets the residual of an Imperial Cult shrine. Without the focusing of a guild guide it isn't safe teleporting blindly into a building, but an intervention spell is a great way to travel, depositing the caster in the courtyard of the nearest target.

Yesterday I said I was not anxious to get on with the next trial. Today my error proved it.

I had breakfast with the Urshilaku hunters, and watched restlessly as they slipped off into the wastes. In the absence of Dagoth Ur and the evils he has released upon the land they would be leading a simple life; a life I think I would gladly join them in. Of course in the absence of Dagoth Ur there would be no Nerevarine, and I would likely never have been welcomed among them.

Once they were gone I considered my options. The nearest temple would be Mar Gaan, about halfway to Ald-ruhn. Just south of Ald-ruhn stands Buckmoth Fortress, the Imperial legion's headquarters in Redoran territory. That seemed the better choice. I cast my divine intervention spell.

I appeared outside of Fort Darius in Gnissis. Gnissis, on the far west coast, is a long way from anywhere, but apparently it is closer to the Urshilaku camp than Ald-ruhn is. Since it has a temple in addition to the fort there was no way to teleport away other than using my recall spell to come home to Pelagiad. Once here it was impossible to motivate myself to leave.

I had lunch with Mebestian Ence after selling off another load of Dwemer artifacts that had accumulated in my pack. Mebestian has become a good friend as well as a business partner. I felt safe talking to him about the coming trials. Being who he is he had a different view. "You should approach the Hlaalu first," he said with simple conviction.

"Why?"

"Arvil, you are one of the richest men in Vvardenfell. The Hlaalu can be bought. They have a Cyrodiil on their clan council. How do you think he got there?"

He has a point.

It occurs to me that for the first time there is actually a choice in the path of the Nerevarine. I hope I choose wisely.


46: Decision

Although they are wise, my clanfriends and advisors among the Ashlanders admittedly don't know much about the ways of the great houses. I was haunted by the voice of Peakstar's ghost. She had, no doubt, advisors. She failed this trial. The politics of the great houses confused her, leaving her as bewildered prey for the forces of the temple. I awoke this morning with her story ringing through my mind.

My father taught me about something he called the 'circles of trust'. Like me, he had no family. He was respected in the local guild of thieves, even followed. Perhaps a guild of thieves is less reliable than a guild of mages, but perhaps not. Everyone in a guild has some agenda of their own. He always considered the guild his 'second circle'. His friends were the first. I never really understood how that strange mix came to be his trusted friends, but I am beginning to understand. My own inner circle is just as eclectic.

Nelos Onmar is a Dunmer, and a pure rogue. The beautiful Breton woman who stole his heart has settled him in many ways, but I'm sure few would consider him trustworthy in any sense of the word. I was the key instrument in bringing them together. I would trust him with my life, and perhaps more tellingly I would trust him with my fortune. Ahnassi left word at the Halfway tavern, and Maurrie and Nelos joined us for a late breakfast. In the guild halls it would have been lunch, but I get lazy at home. I fit in better that way, since Ahnassi continues to follow the ways of the Khajiit and prowls at night.

"The great houses," Nelos mused. "I don't know how I would approach them Arvil. My own clan tends more to graft than greatness so it wouldn't be any easier for me than you, even though you're an outlander. I will say though that you are a good candidate to be Hortator though."

"How? I'm no general."

"Neither is the Hortator actually," he said. "We don't really think the same as the Empire, and some things don't translate well. Look around Arvil. How many Dunmer are there, really? When we talk about an 'army' we don't mean the same thing that you do in the lands of the Imperial legions. The Hortator would probably be better described as a hero than a general. When the prophecy says the Nerevarine will lead an army against Dagoth Ur it probably means a ragtag band of adventurers, if that."

"Great. Nelos you are not making me feel better here."

"Well, I mean to," he said. "You were worried about convincing the councils that you are a general, which you aren't. It should be a lot easier to convince them you are a hero. All you need to do is get the great houses to pay a little attention to you and they will notice that you are a hero. You can't help yourself. Trouble comes to you like a magnet."

He's right, of course. The Sixth House cult sends ash minions after me constantly, and buried in the ravaged vestige of a mind of every blighted man or beast is Dagoth Ur's hatred of me, so they invariably charge me on sight. Most smugglers who aren't working with the Sixth House are working with the Cammona Tong, which also has a price on my head. Overall it is hard for me to get through a day alive without killing some adversary or another. "So how do I get their attention Nelos?"

"They adopt kinsmen Arvil, sometimes even outlanders. They'll probably send you on some minor errands to test your loyalty, but knowing you they will have you off scalping their enemies for them in no time." I sighed. If my every experience in Morrowind politics hadn't supported what he said it would probably have made me mad.

I walked to Balmora. It gave me time to think over Nelos' advice before I continued around my circle. By the time I arrived I had pretty well concluded that joining a house would be a necessary first step. Mostly I just couldn't see any way to approach a Great House Council and raise the subject of a Hortator, much less propose myself as one. I still don't, but being a member of a house seems to at least give me a chance of finding one. That settled in my mind I arrived in Balmora with two questions: which house? And: how to join them?

Ranis helped me resolve the first question. She is a native born Dunmer, from a good family. Being magically inclined her kin are mostly associated with the Telvanni. Joining the Imperial guild was an act of rebellion that they have never forgiven. I have never really gotten to the source of her hatred for the Telvanni, but I have come to think it is bottomless. She is brilliant about all things political though, and can set that emotion aside from her reasoning in a most amazing way.

"You could join any of the houses Arvil Bren, but your Ashlanders are correct, you must join the Redorans."

"Why?"

"You can be a member of only one house, but eventually you must be Hortator of all. As a Redoran Hortator you can still buy your way with the greedy Hlaalu, and the Telvanni will accept you once you kill enough of those who would reject you. They are...pragmatic. A Hlaalu or Telvanni Hortator would likely have to kill all of the Redorans. Those stiff necks take their honor far to close to their hearts."

It took the rest of the day to catch up on the business of the guild. I teleported home. In the morning I will resume my interrupted trip to Ald-ruhn. It has taken a couple of days, but at least I feel comfortable with my choice, and I have a manageable first step.


47: Refused

The Redoran Council has entrusted an outlander with their highest post. Of course, the outlander is a Redguard, a race known for their prowess in combat. The Emperor's personal guard consists of Redguard warriors. I'm sure Neminda has the skills to do the Redorans proud.

When Edwinna, my guild steward in Ald-ruhn, told me that the person to see about joining the Redoran house was an outlander I made a mistake. I thought that finally something was going to come easily; at least one small thing. How wrong I can be.

I went to the Council Chambers, in the district of Ald-ruhn known as 'under Skar'. The immense shell of the long dead emperor crab arched overhead. The Council Chambers are directly across from the main entrance, and I crossed the long bridge to the central spire, then the equally long bridge to the opposite side. The creaking catwalks of rope and wood swayed underfoot, both mine and a number of Redoran guards. No more than usual, but for some reason today they made me uncomfortable. I could not see them through their closed face helms, but I felt like they were watching me, and I reviewed my levitation spells silently in preparation for leaping over the side.

The source of my discomfort was obvious once I had spoken to Neminda.

"You want to join House Redoran?" She laughed. "You are an Imperial spy. Berel Sala, the Captain of the Watch has told me all I ever want to hear about you."

"I am, admittedly a member of the Imperial Mage's Guild, Archmage of Vvardenfell in fact," I protested. "I don't deny that, but that hardly makes me a spy. I would think your council would leap at the opportunity to have that position filled by a member of their house. Redoran skill at arms and the guild's magecraft seems a powerful alliance for these troubled times."

She paused, weighing my words. "It isn't your guild that concerns me," she said finally.

"The Blades. The Emperor sent me here to work for the Blades because my birth and parentage seemed a match for the Nerevarine prophecies. That was how I got here, but the Blades have nothing to do with why I want to join your house. I never plan to leave Vvardenfell. This is my home. But the blight of Dagoth Ur is going to have to be overcome. I am a member in good standing with the temple, and I'm organizing my guild to fight the Sixth House, with or without the backing of the Empire. But clearly the power on Vvardenfell lies with the great houses of the Dunmer. I would join the most honorable of those."

"The only honorable of those," she said. "You speak cleverly Breton, but I only care for actions." She turned away dismissivly.

"Could I appeal your decision?" I asked.

She handed me a red bound book. "That is the red book for this year. It has the names of the current councilors, among other things. If any of them tell me that you have performed some actual service for them I will overturn my own decision. The fact that you did not try to lie about your origins speaks well of you."

I returned to the guild hall to leaf through my journals. Surely there must be people in the Redoran territories who would vouch that I have done some good.


48: Character witnesses

I drafted three messages this morning and tasked Edwinna with getting them delivered. A simple duty for one of her apprentices that will have them out and about. They should have no trouble finding those who I hope will speak for me.

Hassour Zainsubani they should find at the Ald Skar Inn. The wealthy merchant is semi-retired, and maintains a permanent room there. Having rescued his son from the clutches of the Sixth House I am fairly certain that he will be willing to take the time to speak to Neminda. He may have connections on the council as well.

Their next stop is at the local temple. Young Ienas Sarandas is a novice there. He donated his family home to the temple after a fit of gambling and wild spending left him sorely in debt. I bought all the goods that he had purchased on credit from him and returned them to the merchants, leaving only the gambling syndicate to feel the loss. His parents, before their untimely death, had made the Sarandas family a pillar of Ald-ruhn society. I am sure that his good word will reach the right ears.

Once they have completed the local tasks the apprentice will need to catch a silt strider to Maar Gan. With the uncertainty of caravan service this might take them some time, but it should not be too taxing. I contributed some gold to cover expenses, but made clear that they were not to travel on foot to Maar Gan. They can walk back if they like, after my message is delivered. I don't want it lost to some blighted monster on the road. I trust Miles Gloriosus to send his response, hopefully a report direct to the council detailing the support I have contributed to the defense of Maar Gan.

My last witness I had to collect myself. Sending an apprentice to wander the myriad trails of the West Gash leaves too many opportunities for delay. Even having been there before I got lost following my own directions. Fortune seems to be smiling on me though. In getting lost I was able to help a merchant whose escort had deserted her, and was rewarded with a truly wonderous artifact.

I saw her standing by the road. She was a Redgaurd; richly dressed, and wearing boots of netch leather that glowed brilliantly with contained magica. I asked her if she needed any help, and was surprised when she offered to give me the boots in return for guiding her to Gnaar Mok. Since I was fairly well lost at the time anyway and knew it would be easier to find my way to Gnaar Mok, and from there to here, I would have taken her for free. As it turns out the boots were a tremendous help to me.

When we reached Gnaar Mok I was considering. I was not sure I could reach the farm before sunset, and fairly certain I would not find it in the dark. I was almost resigned to seeking the hospitality of the Dreugh-gigger's rest for the night. Then Pemenie gave me my reward, which she called the boots of blinding speed. I think she expected me to return them, as they are clearly cursed. 'Blinding' indeed. Fortunately my brestplate has potent resistance to such deviltry and countered that part of the boots' enchantment. I could run like the wind!

And I did. All the way here, to the house of Drulene Falen. Tomorrow I will escort her into Ald-ruhn. As it turns out she knows Neminda herself. She will tell her not only of the services I freely rendered to her the last time I passed this way, but will refer her to a couple of the local guards. The tomb of their ancestors had been desecrated by the bandits that were plaguing the area; bandits who felt the swift justice of my spear. With Drulene, this family, Telvayn by name, and my other witnesses, I am sure that Neminda will relent.


49: Hireling of the Redorans

Neminda has relented. She has accepted me into the house, but as predicted I have been given a task that clearly serves little purpose but to test my loyalties. Tomorrow I will depart for Ald Velothi to deliver a simple potion; a potion to cure a disease that I could very likely cure myself with a spell. Clearly I could task Edwinna's able apprentice with this delivery, but the opportunity is to present myself to the Redorans throughout the district as a member of the house.

Hassour and Ienas had apparently already spoken to Neminda before we arrived, but I think it was Drulene who really changed her mind. Listening to the Dunmer herder praising me for my efforts on her behalf brought back memories of the Bosmer bandits and the tomb that they had taken shelter in. When a Redoran guard came in, removed his helmet, and thanked me for dispatching the bandits and ending the desecration of his family's ancestors it brought tears to my eyes, and all I could choke out was "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner."

"You should have seen him that day, Neminda," Drulene said. "You have proven yourself time and again as a kinsman to the Redorans, but that day Arvil Bren could have been a Dunmer himself. I never thought I would see anyone who did not have Velothi blood understand us so well. I would think it an honor that he wishes to join your house."

"Our house?" said the guard. Then he turned to me. "You are joining House Redoran?"

"I hope to. The circumstances of my arrival in Vvardenfell are casting some doubts."

"Neminda," said the guard, "I am the eldest of four surviving Telvayns. Our family has served honorably with House Redoran for generations, and my brothers and I are all serving with the guard now, and renowned for our skills. I have seen this man wield a spear. He would be a credit to the house." Seeing my puzzled expression he continued quietly to me "I was coming to your aid one day as a cliff racer glided silently to the attack over the temple rooftop. My assistance was clearly not required. I actually spent many days learning the spin move you used. Skill with the spear is highly valued in our house."

The Redguard sighed. "Arvil Bren, you have obviously made quite an impression. Will you take the oath as a hireling of House Redoran? Know that you will be watched, and Berel Sala in particular will be very sensitive about any contact with Imperial spies."

"I will take this oath, and henceforth I will consider the benefit of House Redoran in my every action."

"Too much talk Arvil Bren," said Neminda. "Here you shall be weighed by your actions, not your words. Welcome to House Redoran."

The guard, eldest of the Telvayn brothers, clapped me on the back, said a hasty good-by, and went back to his duties. Neminda handed me the potion and gave me my instructions. Then Drulene set out to do some shopping. I got her a room at the Ald Skar Inn. The apprentice, Orrent Geontene, will meet her there in the morning to escort her home.


50: Return to Ald Velothi

It has been months since my first visit to Ald Velothi. My new boots certainly made this trip easier. Ald Velothi is remote, best reached by foot from Gnissis. The maze of trails flashed underfoot. Even the cliff racers, always belligerent, allowed me to speed past uninterrupted; too fast to be preyed upon. I could have run all the way from Ald-ruhn I think.

I was, in fact, considering making the trek on foot, but a compelling argument landed in my hands before I got out of the guild hall. Edwinna handed me a bulky packet; reports from all five guild halls. Taking the silt strider to Gnissis gave me a start on wading through them.

Just south of Ald Velothi itself I recognized the yurt of Abassel Asserbassalit, the self styled Ashkahn of the local Ashlanders. I slowed to a walk and entered the camp.

"Arvil Bren!" Abassel boomed as I ducked through the heavy flap into the shadowy interior of the tent. "Welcome back to my hearth."

"Abassel! I trust your people have not been preying on the soft house dwellers."

"No, no," he laughed. "They are not so soft really; clever traders."

"Your people are fed though?"

"Yes, and we still have gold. We hunt, and the house people trade for hides and plumes even from blighted beasts that we could not use for meat."

"Excellent," I said. "I am glad that there is peace among the people here in this small corner of the world, and that the blight is being pushed back, but the time is at hand to take that battle to its source."

"Source? Red Mountain?"

"Yes, Red Mountain," I said.

"You should tell that to Sul-Matuul. We are Urshilaku, but we have left the clan camp. The Cult of the Nerevarine leads the clan. They wait, we take care of ourselves. Tell him that it is time to attack Red Mountain, maybe he will call you Nerevarine." He laughed.

I raised the ring, Moon and Star. "He already has, as has Azura."

His red eyes flew wide. "Nerevar?" His voice had dropped to a shocked whisper. "You are the Nerevarine?"

"Yes."

"When you said the time is at hand...you are leading an attack on Red Mountain?"

"Not yet. Perhaps not at all. I may face Dagoth Ur alone. It is time though to gather the clans. Sul-Matuul will need your swords, and what you have learned about living in peace with the house people."

"As you wish. We will rejoin our clan." His eyes never left the ring.

I was also warmly welcomed at the outpost itself. I congratulated the Redoran hetman, Theldyn Virith, for having kept the peace with the Ashlanders. I also let him know that Abassel would be leading his people back to the east. "They are rejoining their clan. You will have even more Ashlanders to trade with."

"We will be fair, and happy to trade. Keeping the peace has not been too hard...and we are grateful to you for making it in the first place."

He was also grateful for the potion I delivered, and glad that I had joined House Redoran. He is drafting a report to Miner Arobar, Lord of the North Gash, detailing the situation with the Ashlanders. I will pick it up tomorrow to take it back to Ald-ruhn.

I considered taking his offered hospitality and staying at the outpost, but there was enough daylight left to return to Gnissis. The Madach Tradehouse is far more comfortable, and gives me the privacy to continue the seemingly endless task of managing the guild.


51: Mad legionnaire

I expected to be back in Ald-ruhn tonight. The run up to Ald Velothi to pick up Theldyn Virith's report should not have taken long, and the silt strider back to Ald-ruhn should have been available. The world, of course, does not operate based on how I think it should.

As it turns out I made the run to Ald Velothi and back twice, almost. The first trip came up just short when I met Din wandering down the trail.

Din is a Redguard, and was clad in the distinctive steel breastplate of the Imperial Legion. I was surprised. The Redguard people are the most respected soldiers in the Empire, usually completely devoted to their craft. Din's breastplate hung askew, unevenly buckled, and his sword was darkened with dried blood that had not been wiped clear. I have heard of Redguards who died caring for their weapons before tending to their own wounds.

It did not take long to figure out how Din came to be so unkempt. He was raving with fever. I gathered that the source of the fever was a horribly infected gash in his leg. It was so swollen and contorted that I would not have recognized it as a bite, but in his raving Din identified the culprit as a slaughterfish. Unfortunately in his raving he also identified me as a slaughterfish. The gory sword grated out of its scabbard.

Fortunately with his leg so badly injured he was not very mobile, and his fever prevented even the slightest concentration. Once I had skipped back out of reach of his sword he lost interest in me. I slipped up behind him and rapped him on the head.

It took some time for my magic to cure him, and then more to heal him enough to travel. Then it took even more time, since he insisted on cleaning his weapons and armor. I could not leave him to fend for himself in his weakened state and escorted him back to the garrison at Fort Darius in Gnissis.

I eventually made it to Ald Velothi in time to have lunch with the hetman. Humility almost made me ask him to reconsider his report to Lord Arobar of the council. He attributed far too much of the cooperation between the settlers and the Ashlanders to me and not near enough to their own efforts. However, I need to move up quickly in the eyes of the council, and Lord Arobar may become a valuable patron.

I took the report and trotted back to Gnissis. I was gathering my own papers and preparing to check out of the tradehouse when the proprietor knocked discretely on the door of my room. "You were planning to take the silt strider to Ald-ruhn?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. Something in his expression made me add "I was."

"The caravaner has just arrived," he said. "He is a bit late. He just got out of Ald-ruhn ahead of an ash storm. A very severe storm, he says. He will not be going back today."

I thanked him. He had saved me the effort of getting all packed and then having to unpack again. I sat down glumly and went back to my own reports.


52: Patron

Today felt like it would never end. I have been to every corner of Vvardenfell, and have no actual accomplishments to show for it. I suppose that given the way my life has gone since arriving in Vvardenfell getting through an entire day without drawing a weapon is an accomplishment in itself. Unique anyway.

I visited each of the halls today, reviewing the reports with my stewards. Released from the petty assignments of my predecessor the guild is prospering. I am hoping that our growth in numbers and influence will keep the Telvanni in check until I can get myself settled as the Redoran Hortator. It will be difficult to approach them if open conflict has broken out between them and the guild. Skink in Sadrith Mora is keeping a sufficiently close watch and I believe he can give sufficient warning should things boil over with them.

I took this tour by use of the guild guides and kept Edwinna apprised of my whereabouts so that Neminda would be able to find me. When the silt strider arrived this morning I went to her first. Upon scanning the report I delivered she suggested that I be prepared to meet with Lord Arobar.

She was very pleased that I had gotten the potion into Theldyn Virith's hands so quickly. Apparently, it was for a member of the Arvel family. I gather that most of the Arvels are loyal to House Hlaalu, and the branch in Ald Velothi gives some occasional insight into what the Hlaalu might be up to. Taking care of them is important for the information they provide, and the hope that they can sow dissatisfaction among their Hlaalu kin.

Being a member of the Redoran house, though not of any great rank, I have begun to hear rumors that I'm sure would be kept much quieter otherwise. The council is clearly considering a movement in force to take Caldera. They are looking for evidence of some sort of mismanagement that they can provide to the Empire. Without that it is possible that the Imperial Legions could be involved, which would be a serious problem. Though Redoran warriors are widely respected for their individual skills, the cooperative combat style of the legions would likely overwhelm them. I should get used to saying 'overwhelm us'.

Finding such evidence would obviously be a great service to the house. It would also be a great boost if I can say that the information came courtesy of the guild. Madila Indaren in Caldera could not offer any glowing success, unfortunately. There are leads being followed though, that I hope will bear fruit soon.

As the day wore on I kept checking back with Edwinna. Late this afternoon as I stepped off the guild guide's platform in Ald-ruhn I could hear Edwinna saying "That's probably him now." The main room of the guild hall lies below ground level, and has a balcony all the way around on the ground level. I looked over the railing to see a distinguished looking Dunmer in the rich red jacket of a council page.

I followed the page into the manor district, under the great shell of the emperor crab. Lord Arobar's manor is apparently like most Redoran construction, mostly below ground. The great arched entry chamber is, I suspect, the only room that is actually 'under skar'. It is magnificent. Lord Arobar greeted me warmly. His luxurious red robes were topped with fearsomely spiked shoulder plates of bonemold armor.

The first topic of our discussion, of course, was the Ashlander situation in Ald Velothi. After balancing the realities against some of the hetman's overly optimistic reports the discussion turned naturally to Red Mountain. "Eventually the Ashlanders will want to get back to their own lands, their own lifestyles," I said.

"How? The blight gets worse every day it seems. The ashstorm while you were gone was the worst I've ever seen."

"Lord Arobar," I said, "I am proud to have been accepted in this house, and I know that I have to prove myself, but I'd like to suggest something. The temple is going to need help. We, all of us, will have to face Dagoth Ur...and defeat him."

"That is...Inevitable I suppose. Not something you should suggest too widely though Arvil Bren. To suggest that is to suggest a hero to lead us, and in suggesting it you are suggesting yourself as that hero. There are those on our council who are...possibly...open to such a thing. But others will not be...they will accept no leader but themselves."


53: Lost in the ash

The Redoran council may not be ready to name a Hortator, but they must be getting close. The blight, the ash storms, the Sixth House cult, the ominous threat of Dagoth Ur; all are taking their toll, and our territory is the most exposed. It won't be long before they see that there is no choice. I just need to make sure that when the choice is made it is me that they choose.

This morning made me think that I have made a good start. Neminda sent for me before I finished breakfast. The scarlet clad council pages are going to wear a track from Skar to the guild hall.

"Are you available, or do your guild duties prevent you leaving?" she asked as soon as I walked into her office.

"I can balance my guild duties, they will not interfere with the house."

"Relax Arvil Bren. I am a Redguard, and a Redoran. I understand duty. I would not expect you to neglect your guild. It would be appreciated though, if you have time. Dalobar is important. We need him found."

"Found? Where is he? Who is he?"

"He is a trader. One of very few left who transport goods through the ashlands. Without him I doubt that the outpost at Maar Gan can be supplied sufficiently to support the crusaders and mercenaries who keep it from being overrun."

"What happened to him?"

"He was trying to beat the ash storm into Maar Gan. The silt strider came in from there late last night. They say he never arrived."

So here I am at Aldur's Tradehouse in Maar Gan, too drunk to think. I should know better than to spend too long in a common room with warriors...many of them Orcs. It was nice to be remembered from my last stay here, but really I might have been better off forgotten I think.

The boots of speed made the long trail shorter, but searching for signs of the lost trader more than made it up. The search, unfortunately, was pointless. Any sign there might have been was buried under inches of gritty ash. The encouraging thought that came to me was that a trader and a string of pack guar would leave remains of some kind if they were dead, so I assume they are alive, somewhere.

I got to Maar Gan exhausted and covered with grime. I fit in well enough with the crowd here. Most customers sported thick coatings of gore, from slain blighted monsters and from their own wounds. They underwent a slow transformation as the evening progressed. One by one the weary warriors took their turns for hot baths and the ministrations of Sharn gra-Muzgob, taking her turn as the healer. Miles Gloriosus and the rest insisted on buying me drink after drink in appreciation of the support from the guild.

I was happy to see the Orc from Balmora. I might avail myself of her services in the morning myself. I expect I'll be too hung over to make the early start that I plan to make otherwise. Somewhere in the fog of sujamma I managed to hear a rumor that Dalobar might have been seen near a tomb right before the storm hit. He might have taken shelter there.


54:Lady of Maar Gan

Mathis Delobar was indeed in the Rothan family tomb. I found him this morning. The entry door was blocked by a drift of ash, leaving the trader trapped on the entry stairs with his train of pack guar. He was, of course, well supplied, so he was in no great distress, and if worse came to worst he would have used an intervention scroll to escape. He did not want to abandon his guar. Obviously he is a stronger man than I. The stench of guar that wafted out when I pulled open the door would have long since had me teleporting out of there. He promised to hire some locals to clean up the tomb and led his train towards Maar Gan.

I considered going on to Ald-ruhn, but opted to take the silt strider instead. Sharn's potions took care of the lingering effects of the sujamma, but I still felt a little unsettled. I ate a light meal at the tradehouse while I waited for the silt strider to arrive. As it turned out coming back here was the perfect thing to do.

When the strider arrived I headed to the port to see when the caravaner expected to leave. The schedule has become very irregular as storms and monsters have gotten more and more frequent. Maar Gan, like most Redoran settlements, lies on a flat area of ashland plains, so the strider port consists of a towering narrow ramp reaching up to the height of the great insects. As I approached I could see passengers coming down the ramp, led by a Dunmer woman. Her beauty and regal air complemented the rich red jacket she wore, and identified her as a member of the Redoran council.

Somehow I let myself be distracted, and barely ducked in time as a miner's pick whistled over my head. Reflexes honed to a keen edge by the dangers of Morrowind took over, and a sweep of the stormsword sheared the unarmored attacker in two. My first chance to meet Lady Brara Morvayn, Mistress of Maar Gan, came over the bloody corpse of one of her subjects sprawled in the dust.

She looked at one of the guards. "There is good reason he has not been disarmed?" she asked archly, motioning towards the stormsword still dripping blood as it hung loosely in my grasp.

"Arvil Bren is an Oathman of House Redoran and is well respected here my Lady," he responded.

Another added "I saw everything my Lady. Assi attacked him, unprovoked. The Oathman defended himself."

"Assi Serimilk has been a loyal follower of the house for centuries," mused the councilwoman. "Why would she be attacking you in the street?"

Unfortunately I knew the answer. "As my sword struck home my Lady she was shouting 'sleepers awaken'; a familiar curse; the Sixth House cult."

A senior member of the guard had arrived. "Sixth House cult? Assi? Hard to believe," she said.

As is often the case in a group of people a decision was reached unspoken and we all started drifting towards the north, except for a couple of guards who began making arrangements of the body. I was pulled along, though I really had no idea where we were going until we arrived at a hut close to the tradehouse. A guard rattled the door. "Locked," he said.

"This is her house?" I asked. More than one voice confirmed that it was. I cast my unlocking spell and we went inside.

The hut was small, sparsely furnished but serviceable. The guards efficiently rifled through baskets and urns laden with routine household goods. "Looks like she didn't really plan her attack," said the captain as she bent over an open chest. She lifted out a steel axe. "I've seen you fight. I'd have brought this instead of that pick. Actually I'd have brought the whole shift of the guards."

Lady Morvayn raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like we should be glad you are a member of the house Arvil Bren," she said.

"His guild also provides healers and wizards to support the defense of Maar Gan, my Lady."

"Your guild?" she asked.

"Yes, my Lady. I am also the Archmage of the Mage's Guild."

"I don't see any evidence of the cult here," the captain said.

"Surprising," I agreed. "I expected to find the place full of red candles, at least."

"Red candles?" echoed the councilwoman.

"Red candles. I've been in a few Sixth House bases. They burn red candles to Dagoth Ur."

A deep concern flared on her face, but I don't know what it was about. My own concern is that someone who showed no sign of being a member of the sixth house could suddenly turn to wild unplanned violence, as if possessed.

The rest of the day was spent discussing the defense of Maar Gan. Lady Morvayn balanced carefully between my role as an Oathman of our house and my position as Archmage. She is a skilled leader. I hope she is as impressed with me as I am with her.

55: Morag Tong

Today I learned a lot about the Morag Tong, the ancient and honored assassins guild of Morrowind. Unfortunately I might also have put myself among their targets.

I rode the silt strider back to Ald-ruhn, accompanying Mistress Morvayn. Our conversation was odd at times, but I think effective. When I am ready to present myself as Hortator I will have a good chance of receiving her support, I think. My efforts in Maar Gan have proven the value of the guild, at least to her. The difficult parts of our talk were about the Sixth House. I am not ashamed of the various battles I have had with the Dagoths and was willing to share them with this charming lady, but her interest was strangely intense. She probed constantly for details; comparing the color of the candles to every red thing we could see, having me trace the shape of symbols from the filagree on the cup with my finger. It was uncomfortable.

Lady Morvayn is the only member of the council that does not maintain her home in the manor district under the great shell of Skar. I escorted her to her door, then took my leave to report to Neminda at the council chambers.

When I passed through the portal into the great vaulted space of the manor district I was immediately taken by the absence of guards. The manors and the council chamber itself are entered through doors in the rim of the great shell, while some merchants have shops burrowed under the lower part of the shell. To reach the doors in the rim the Redorans maintain a series of catwalks constructed of rope and planks. Every time I have been in Skar these catwalks have been populated with the bonemold clad house guard; but not today.

The catwalks form a ring around a great central pillar, and radiate out to the rim from there. I had just stepped onto the long span to the council hall when Neminda burst out of the door. "Thank Almsivi! Arvil Bren! Sarethi manor, quickly! There!" She pointed to a door on the rim to my left, drew a sword and came barreling across the catwalk.

I had no idea of the problem, but drew my own sword and charged towards the indicated door. The boots of blinding speed revealed themselves, and the fleet footed Redguard warrior gaped in astonishment as I reached the door before she had taken more than a few steps. "Go in! Go, go, go!" Bursting unannounced into a council member's home is unheard of, but I obeyed.

The scene inside needed no explanation. A guard, easily identified by the distinctive bonemold armor, lay sprawled in a spreading pool of blood. A crimson robed gentleman with graying hair and distinguished features was vigorously defending himself, but was hard pressed by two lightly armored assassins who worked their daggers coolly, weaving a net of death that was drawing rapidly closed around him.

I cast a shielding spell as I crossed the room, enveloping myself in a shell of elemental energies, then fell on the assassins with heavy swipes of the stormsword. Their light armor and short bladed daggers offered the mobility and subtlety to perform their clandestine attacks, but were no match for my direct assault. They fell, dishonored by their failure to slay the councilman.

Neminda burst in after the fight was over. "Athyn! Are you all right?"

"Yes Neminda, I'm fine. I assume you sent this timely rescuer." He indicated me with a wave of his hand.

"Athyn Sarethi, Lord of the South Gash, Senior of the Council of House Redoran; Arvil Bren, Oathman of the House and Archmage of the Imperial Mage's Guild," she said.

The formal tone of the introductions faded. The odd interplay of non-elven retainers in Dunmer society quickly made itself apparent. Athyn Sarethi is a fixture in Neminda's life. He was her patron when she entered the service of House Redoran, just as he was her father's patron, and her grandfather's, and despite his graying hair he would be the patron of her children and grandchildren as well should they desire, which they no doubt will since they would be raised in the house just like she was. To her he is a fixture, but he congratulated her father on her birth and will comfort her children on her death.

"The guards were all called to a surprise inspection," she said, "and then I realized what day it was. I should have seen it sooner."

"You saw in time Neminda, don't fret so," he said. "In time since you had this fleet footed warrior available. Those are the boots of blinding speed I believe. You seem to have overcome their curse."

"Yes," I said simply. I have learned that there is no point asking how someone like Sarethi knows something. Over centuries, even millennia, there is no surprise that his path crossed that of the boots.

"Well I'm better for it. Now I have another year."

"Another year?" I asked.

"The Morag Tong will not act on a writ more than once a year. This is their third attempt on my life. The fact that they came exactly one year after the last indicates that they are under extreme pressure from whoever issued the contract."

"The Dark Brotherhood observes no such limits," I observed.

"They are an abomination! What do you know of them?" Neminda demanded. I told them the entire story, observing that I had been attacked at times on a daily basis.

"Tracked them to their source and slayed them all," mused the councilman.

"Not likely," I said ruefully. "They are a multi-headed beast, but their cell in Mournhold won't be troubling anyone for some time."

"Now you may be a target of the Morag Tong," Sarethi warned.

"For stopping them?" I asked. "That doesn't seem to fit with what I've heard of their professional honor."

"You are right, but the one who took contract on me may not be as honorable, he may want vengeance...or he may feel threatened by having you involved. You are a member of a great house, an acceptable target. The Morag Tong would take the writ, and they are a vital part of our society, you can't just track them down and eliminate them."

"At least I only have to worry about them once a year."

"Yes. And I don't have to worry about them for another year. I can continue my investigations."

"Do you know who sent them?"

"Not yet, but I believe I am getting close. It may be wise for you to leave the city for a while."

"Lord Arobar has requested that you return to Ald Velothi," Neminda suggested. "The hetman there apparently has some problems you are well suited to resolve. Nothing very serious, as I understand it."

So I am headed back to Ald Velothi, but for the rest of the day and tonight I have enjoyed my home. Seeing Neminda against the backdrop of Sarethi's vast lifespan has shown me that I need to treasure every moment with my Ahnassi.

Continued...

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