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.