Days 141 to 150

Day 141: The search begins

I rose before dawn. I wasn't sleeping anyway. I did not know for sure if the note was meant to lure me into a trap or leave me disturbed with my guard down. I am also afraid for my dear Ahnassi. I should never have settled in Pelagiad and exposed her to this danger.

I stepped out into the darkened streets. I was not simply escaping the confines of the house, though I had been waiting to go for some time. My weapons were honed to their keenest edge, and I brewed some fresh restorative potions. But what I was waiting for was the changing of the guard. Many of the guards would have breakfast at the Halfway before taking their posts. They know me well enough. I could talk to them.

"Dark Brotherhood? Scum, all of them. If they are after you you had better get some help. Or make a will..."

"What? Taken Ahnassi? Right here in Pelagiad? Why would they take her? The Dark Brotherhood don't kidnap, they kill. I'm so sorry Arvil, I didn't mean..."

"It's you they want? Whatever for? They don't operate on Vvardenfell, at least they haven't..."

Their reactions, their words; it was all meaningless chatter to me. Until someone said "What about Apelles Matius? He just arrived from Cyrodiil to inspect the defenses at Ebonheart. He has experience with the Dark Brotherhood." That was all I needed. I left my untouched breakfast cooling on the plate. I ran to the house and quickly gathered arms and armor, then teleported to the temple in Vivec City. The haze of magica still swirled about me and I did not feel quite completely solid when I was again running, casting my levitation spell as I leapt over the western battlement of the courtyard of the High Fane. I alit on the Ebonheart road without breaking stride. Somehow running myself to exhaustion helped clear my head.

I arrived in Ebonheart with no idea how to proceed. The huge castle loomed before me; two castles really, joined by a high bridge. Before the castle itself I entered a great plaza, over which a mighty statue of an Imperial dragon loomed. My breathless flight had cleared my head; cleared it enough that I regretted my haste. Had the Dark Brotherhood been arrayed in the plaza I was prepared; armed to the teeth, stinking of sweat, hair blown wildly. For gathering information in a Ducal court I was completely out of place.

Fortunately as I began asking for directions to an inn of some sort I met a Redguard. Though somewhat smoothed around the edges by life in the center of Imperial might in Vvardenfell his warrior heritage lurked close beneath the surface and he was not put off by my wildness. I checked in to the inn, gathered my wits and my civility about me, and ventured back out into the castle courts.

It took the day, a day I was loathe to waste on bureaucracy, but I eventually was allowed to meet with Apelles Matius. My patience was worn, and I leapt to the point far too quickly.

"I call no man liar, especially a man bearing the staff of a Mage Guild Wizard," he responded, "but there must be a mistake. If the Dark Brotherhood wanted your death it would be someone else reporting the crime. You would be dead."

I swallowed; to clear my throat, and my impatience. I opened the exquisite robe I had donned for the day, revealing the black chain tunic I wore underneath. From my pouch I drew the black hood of an assassin, still stained with his blood. "The Dark Brotherhood has sent as many of their members to their deaths as they are willing to do. Now they have taken...something dear to me. I must travel to Mournhold, they think to die in their trap. They may be right, or they may be wrong. Either way there will be death."

The general looked me in the eye as he fingered the black mask. "Again no offense, but only a fool would put his head in their noose. It must be something of great value they have taken from you." He turned to pace the battlements, inviting me to join him with a tilt of his head. The sun gleamed off of his polished silver armor. "There are no ships to the mainland. Because of the blight my inspection trip here would have been a permanent assignment, but I brought with me a powerful mage, Asciene Rane. She can teleport you to Mournhold. Meet her tomorrow morning in the antechambers of the Grand Council. Good luck."

Again I face a sleepless night. Is Ebonheart the path to the trap, or have I already entered the jaws? I cannot be slain. If I die Ahnassi will be of no value to them. For her sake I must prevail.

Day 142: Mournhold

This morning I crossed the bridge to the west fortress of Ebonheart. Asciene Rane knew I was coming, and met me in the antechamber. She was not happy to be teleporting me to Mournhold. She suggested that the capital city of Morrowind was no place for idle exploration, and I have seen that she is right about that. When I explained that my search for the Dark Brotherhood was no idle exploration she was even less happy about that, but she cast the spell.

I was welcomed to Mournhold by an Argonian mage who was surprised to see me. "Well, you aren't Apelles Matius," he hissed. "Yours to speak, ours to listen."

My wizard's staff came in very handy. Asciene Rane and this Argonian, Effi-tei, have set up a link much like the guild guides have between guild halls. Although it was intended exclusively for the general's use my own rank in the guild was sufficient to calm the guide. I am once again thankful for everything I learned about Argonians from Nine-toes. I could tell that Effi-tei had accepted my explanations even though he kept up what looked like a very agitated pacing. Though they consistently walk erect the Argonians' reptilian form is actually balanced better for running than walking, and hardly balanced at all for standing still.

Effi-tei could give me the basic layout of the city, but was not willing to speculate on or otherwise discuss the Dark Brotherhood. In fact it quickly became clear that it would be best for me to leave the palace. There is no guild hall in Mournhold, and the guide link was established inside the palace where it can be monitored by the guards. The previous king may not have insisted on that, but the recent ascension of Helseth to the throne has apparently stirred some twisting under the Imperial boot. Caius' advice to 'think locally' echoed in my head as I exited to the plaza.

I promptly got lost. The kind of lost that can only happen when, at root, there is nowhere to go. Mournhold is a huge city, with more buildings, alleys, plazas, shops, and people than I could begin to count. I had no plan, no goal, no idea where to seek the Dark Brotherhood, and in short order had no idea where I was. The guards were curtly dismissive, which was appropriate since I didn't really know what to ask. I suspect a lost stranger asking questions about the notorious assassins would get more attention than answers, so I wandered the plazas.

Eventually I found myself in a residential area that shared a large walled section of the city with a crafts district. On the edge between stands the Winged Guar, a comfortable hostel that I have taken as my base of operations here. Although it was still early I went inside. I wanted to continue the search, but could sense the futility. I need to find a source of information, and settled in an inn that is more likely to happen than it is wandering the streets. There is also the distinct possibility that the Dark Brotherhood will find me.

My first candidate for a source of information was the publican, an Altmer woman called Hession. Renting a room, implying a potentially long stay, buying dinner; these are frequently sufficient grounds for the proprietor of such an establishment to become talkative. Not so Hession. She was distracted; too distracted. Instead of getting information to further my own search I ended up being the end of hers.

Her bouncer, an Orc who had been surprisingly reliable to date, was late coming to work and the afternoon to early evening crowd included some customers who had already had too much to drink despite the early hour. To get on her good side I accepted Hession's request to settle things down. It seemed like it would be simple enough.

Simple enough until I got an education in what it takes to be a bouncer at the hands of a severely drunk Bosmer. I took an earful of abuse from the wood elf that to the best of my knowledge I and my fellow Bretons did not deserve. I kept my temper, which did no good at all, and told the miscreant that he would have to leave. He opted to sock me in the ear.

By then I had had my fill of his taunts anyway, and smashed him down with my staff. As I raised it to bring the ebony head down on the even denser Bosmer skull Hession leapt into the fray crying "Don't kill him, he's a customer!" The Bosmer took the opportunity to launch another roundhouse blow.

I will never try to hire myself out as a bouncer again. I subdued the Bosmer and threw him out into the street, but only after taking a massive pounding. Fortunately the restorative brews I carry were sufficient to carry the day, as my skill at unarmed combat is sorely lacking. By whatever means I did prevail, and succeeded in befriending Hession, as was my intent. In the morning I will see what information that is good for.

Day 143: Gambling and good fortune

Good fortune smiled on me this morning, and also smiled on a gambler by the name of Dilborn. The kind of good fortune that comes to those who make friends. In my case it seems that friendship invariably involves some sort of favor, frequently dangerous favor, but such is my lot.

When I emerged from the Winged Guar this morning I still had no real ideas about where to look for the Dark Brotherhood. My best intention was to wander the streets of this quarter of the city, which is known as Godsreach, making myself known to the locals. In the street directly in front of the inn I found out that I am already known. One of the Ordinators, which I found out are called High Ordinators here, was in an animated discussion with a shabbily clad Nord. I am a member of the temple in good standing, so I did not waver when the featureless Ordinator mask turned towards me, but my status in the temple did not explain the man behind the mask greeting me by name.

As luck would have it this High Ordinator was only recently promoted, having served with distinction among the Ordinators in Vivec City. He knew me well from my involvement there with the Dreamer Prophet incident. After a brief exchange of greetings he turned back to the Nord. "Thrud," he said, "Arvil Bren here is a bit of a hero back where I come from. Perhaps he would be willing to help you." He turned back to me and said very quietly "We need to get him off the streets. I should be just taking him into custody."

It is not like an Ordinator to go lightly on a miscreant, but the tenets of the temple are their guides and some follow them more than others. When Thrud turned his simple gaze on me I could see the reason for charity. "Thrud has lost his only friend. Cannot find Dilborn. Dilborn reads to Thrud. But I cannot find Dilborn."

"Let's all step inside here and talk about this Thrud. What do you say?" I said, turning back towards the Winged Guar.

"Come along Thrud. Arvil Bren will be your friend. He is a friend to many, and a good friend to have." The words of the High Ordinator struck an exposed nerve. I had not been a good friend for my beloved Ahnassi to have.

I turned back to the Ordinator. "You know me, and you know I will help this fellow if I can, but I need some help myself." We all got what we needed. I agreed to take Thrud in search of his friend, who was last seen entering a nearby sewer; the local sewers being a known hangout for the poor and ill willed of the city. In return my Ordinator friend agreed to check among the other High Ordinators who have been in the capital longer regarding the whereabouts of the Dark Brotherhood. How long that took him I don't really know, but I got his message when I returned to the Winged Guar. My part took the rest of the day, and nearly my life, as well as Thrud's.

The deal struck we all left the hostel. Thrud led me to a sewer grate, through which we entered the shadowy underworld beneath the 'city of light and magic' as Mournhold is frequently called by the natives. The modern city may be a city of light, but underneath are the ruins of the old city, where darkness reigns. We dropped into the sewer tunnels beneath the grate. I had to ask Thrud what his friend Dilborn had gone down there for, but got little information. "To meet some friends" was as much answer as the Nord could produce. We glided quietly through the tunnels. I was not sure what to expect, so I prepared for the worst. My quiver is loaded with not only regular arrows but flame arrows recovered from the skeletal archers of Sud. I held one loosely nocked in my steel longbow. The Nord held an ebony axe at the ready.

Having a Nord for an ally is not the safest way to conduct a battle. They are quickly overcome with blood lust and don't hold well to a strategy. Thrud in a sense is better than most. At least it is clear from the start that any strategy more complex than 'Thrud kill with axe' is beyond his capacity. Simple of mind but strong of arm, Thrud could manage that quite well.

Living in the sewers is a species of small hopping humanoids that Thrud called goblins. I didn't know for sure if that was an accurate name or just a generic term, but either way the little monsters are dangerous foes, and well armed. My preference would have been to deal with them through stealth and archery, but my companion took a more direct approach despite my repeated demands. I could, and did, at least wound our opponents with a flaming shaft before they closed for combat, but any attempt at a second shot would have likely ended up in the broad back of Thrud as he charged into whatever odds. One shot and rush to his side was the only option available to me. Fortunately the great oaf is durable, and the goblins, though tough, were no match for his axe and my spear in concert. After each battle I spent my magica on healing spells to bring him back up to par, telling him all the while that the next time he should wait until I had fired as many arrows as the charging goblin's distance allowed. Wasted words.

Eventually, deep underground, we found a lighted alcove, closed off by a wall of iron bars. A door of similar construction stood open to allow access. A strong voice shouted from within, "It's about time." We entered.

Three Dunmer were inside, two of them holding a somewhat scrawny shackled man by the elbows. "Dilborn!" Thrud cried, and raised his axe as he leapt forward. I grabbed the fool as blades flew into the hands of the Dunmer.

"My men will kill your friend before you cross five feet," the third Dunmer shouted. "The bracers have drained his magica and he is defenseless. Did you bring the money?"

Thrud stopped and stood dumbly, axe hanging at his side. "Ransom?" I asked.

"Ransom. Yes, I suppose you could call it ransom. I saw the note delivered myself," said the leader.

Thrud drew a crumpled paper from his tunic pocket. "This note? I need Dilborn to read it to me. He reads to me." I breathed a quick prayer for patience and took the note. It demanded three thousand septims, not as ransom but as payment of gambling debts. It included directions and a password for getting past the neighboring goblins. I paid. I needed Dilborn to take his friend off my hands.

My good deed did not go unrewarded. Thrud was carrying a rare book for Dilborn, which the grateful wizard gave to me, and on my way out of the sewers I gathered shields and weapons from the fallen goblins which will certainly fetch something from an armorer. I suspect I will be collecting more. The Dark Brotherhood is apparently headquartered in the tunnels beneath a section of the city known as the Grand Bazaar.

Day 144: Old Mournhold

The city of Mournhold was almost completely destroyed in ancient times during a battle between Almalexia and Mehunes Dagon. The current city was built over the ruins. The twisting sewers connect pockets of these ruins in a complicated warren of underground passages. A warren that provides shelter to all sorts of fell creatures and evil men. Evil men like the Dark Brotherhood.

Starting my search from a sewer grate in the Great Bazaar before dawn gave me the opportunity to drop into the tunnels unseen and unquestioned. Immediately I could see that the worked stone of the sewers intermingled with natural caves as well as passages that wormed through the compressed mass of rubble that in many places is all that is left of the old city. My water breathing spell was required in many of these passages as they dipped below the water line. The first I explored in fact dead ended in a small flooded chamber where a previous explorer had met an unfortunate end. He must have died from wounds, as he had a potion in his possession that would have allowed him to draw air from the water long enough to get out.

I returned to the sewers and continued my explorations. Any time a long passage seemed to lead too far from the entrance I turned back. The Ordinator had said 'under the Grand Bazaar', and I resolved to thoroughly explore the limited area before moving on. This strategy met with success, unless the assassin I found had taken a liking to the particular cave he was in. It seems more likely that he was posted there as a guard, and that the headquarters of the Dark Brotherhood lies beyond. I will find out tomorrow. Unfortunately by the time I had found this possible lair the long day of creeping through the sewers and tunnels had spent my time as well as my energies and I was forced to retreat unseen.

The approach to the guarded cavern is flooded, and I walked carefully along the bottom breathing water. Numerous boulders and broken blocks of ancient stonework allowed me to climb close enough to the surface to slowly raise my head, obscured by the chameleon spells of my amulet. Had he remained immobile the black armor of the assassin would have rendered him nearly invisible and I may well have emerged from the water directly into his blade, but he was unwary. His movements were definitely the movements of a man on a guard post; at a guard post with no expectation of assault. I slipped slowly back beneath the water and left as I had come. Hopefully they will be no more wary tomorrow.

They probably do not feel a great need to be alert, as this part of the vast underground network teems with the restless undead of old Mournhold. I was continuously beset, on my way in and on my way out, by skeletal warriors, spirits, and gruesome bonelords. I had thought the spells of the bonelords would be the worst danger I would face from these undead monsters, but I found that I was underestimating the dangers.

At a sharp corner in a passage I was beset by two skeletons. The first leapt forward swinging a great silver sword with both bony hands, and I was momentarily glad to see it. The mighty blade drew sparks as it glanced off the wall, and in the narrowness of the passage it seemed I would be able to face them one at a time as the second could not pass the claymore's great arc. The creature had no desire to pass. The second skeleton was the animated remains of a great wizard, battling beyond death, a lich.

The bony frame of my sword wielding foe offered little obstruction, and targeted bolts of elemental fury burst against my shield, or worse, directly against my armor. Although it did not stop them all I could not do without the enchanted protection of the shield, so I could not manage my spear and was forced to draw the Daedric longsword. I have been practicing, but it would certainly not be my weapon of choice. The heavy blade gave a great accounting though, and I may have to practice more and get comfortable with it. While a jabbing spear is perfect for holding an opponent at bay, and frequently out of reach with their own weapons, it is not overly effective against the limited target of a skeleton. Not so the sweeping longsword, particularly a keen edge backed by the tremendous Daedric mass. A bone-shattering pass or two through the undead warrior and it was reduced to fragments and dust. I charged towards the lich.

Being basically raised in the thieves guild I had a lot of opportunity to learn lessons from the mistakes of others, so as not to have to make those mistakes myself. The urge to flee the powerful magic of the animated dead is very strong, and automatic. With a sword champion such as I had dispatched that may even be for the best, but to flee from a lich is death. Their mastery of the elemental magics of destruction can strike accurately over a great distance. Being in close invites no more damage, and with luck the lich can be struck down before too much is done. Luck was with me. I found myself charred but alive, lying atop the moth-eaten robes that had hung limply over the bony shoulders. My weight, my armor, and the momentum of the charge had carried the spellcaster over backwards to a crushing end against the stone floor. The skull, separated from the neck by a smashing blow from the flat of the sword that had also torn away the lower jaw, rocked slowly back and forth. An eerie glow in the eye sockets faded ever so slowly, flickered, and went out.

Tonight I am assessing the wide array of scrolls that I have picked up in my travels. Frequently I have traded enchanted or enchantable goods for these icons of controlled magica. The spells scribed upon them are intended to burst forth quickly, and reliably, in the face of rapidly approaching danger, and without consuming the resources of the spell caster. I suspect that to reach and invade the Dark Brotherhood stronghold will take all that I have.

Day 145: Reunion

The trek through the sewers was easier today. Knowing where I was going helped. I only had to fight my way through the undead legions when they were directly blocking my path, and even then I could avoid some of them. If there was a way to sneak around them and get out of sight using only a single charge of my amulet of shadows I opted for that rather than a fight. I wanted to have all of the magica I possess available when I reached the Dark Brotherhood stronghold.

The guard posted in the entry chamber today was more alert, perched immobile on a boulder and scanning the water. I matched him, with only my eyes and nose above the waterline. I knew there had to be a guard, and I was patient enough to carefully scan every inch of the cavern until I made him out, a dim outline in the darkness. Then I scanned some more, making sure he was alone.

Ever so gently I raised one hand above the water far enough to flick a small stone. The pebble struck rock, then clattered down. The assassin had his sword in hand before it splashed gently into the water. I maintained a frozen immobility. The guard studied the water in an obvious quandary. Clearly calling for help for nothing would be an embarrassment. I waited. As the guard slowly sheathed his sword I flicked a second stone.

The second time he was quicker, and didn't distract himself with the sound of his own sword. He locked onto the spot where the stone hit the water, and carefully studied the face of the cavern wall. When he slid down from his perch and approached the water I slipped beneath the surface and cast my water breathing spell once again. Held to the bottom by my heavy armor, I slid on my back into the shallows. Though his image was broken by the shimmering surface I could see the guard standing at the water's edge peering into the dimness. He began to back away, then turned to return to his post. With two fingers I tapped the top of my watery shelter.

The guard spun at the sound of the splash, again drawing his blade. The tension took him, and this time he stepped into the water, still seeking the lurking foe at the far wall of the cavern. My spear took him in the throat as I hooked him behind the knees to drag him down. Blood spread in a crimson stain across the pool. The black armor was barely heavy enough to hold him under. I pulled the corpse into deeper water, stripped off the valuable armor, and placed a rock on his chest.

Ever so cautiously I crept to each twist in the passage, peering around corners interminably before moving on. The rest of the path was clear. Soon a large cavern opened before me. Two great buildings flanked what had been an avenue, which was now roofed over with a mass of stone frozen in a great wave. The once molten rock gave mute testament to the furies unleashed in the ancient battle. Great droplets had struck the buildings, but they had stood, only to be entombed beneath the surface.

Deeply hidden from the light of the sun the once fine manor houses now served as the underground headquarters of the vile assassins. I watched the activity as the black armored villains went about their business. Like any headquarters most of the activity revolved around waiting. Assassins are accustomed to taking their battles to their prey, and here they mostly idled, though occasionally one would emerge from one of the buildings moving in the hurried officious manner that is common to the carriers of orders anywhere.

Despite my gnawing worry for Ahnassi I remained patient. Though they waited in idleness I knew they would respond quickly to any attack, and my experiences with them left me uncomfortable with their vastly greater numbers. Taking them on in their own place also gave them an advantage, an advantage I set out to nullify through careful examination. An ornate ledge on the crumbling face of a building, an outcrop from the wall of rubble filling the far end of the street, a ladder leading up to what could be a chamber in that jumbled mass; I took these things in as I lay unmoving on the stone floor. I also counted my enemies. Between five and eight seemed to be lurking among the ruins. How many were in the buildings I could not guess. I hoped that however many there were they would not hear anything through the thick stone walls.

Like any battle a well formed plan was key, and like any plan of battle it had to be adapted as soon as the battle began. Overall though it went well. I slid back out of sight, rose to my feet, and prepared myself. Spells to fortify my speed and agility as well as augment my armor swirled around me, and I drew a handful of thin clay tubes from my pack. The parchments inside these tubes crackled with magica, magica that could be released in a torrent simply by reading the incantations. With a word I activated my amulet of shadows to disguise my movements, then read the first scroll I had selected. With a crackling sound and a smell of brimstone an atronach burst forth through a brief gap in the barriers of the fiery elemental plane, summoned to do my bidding. I activated my levitation boots and flew into the chamber, my flaming minion charging behind.

As one would expect the great flaming monster suddenly bursting into their midst commanded the attention of the enemy. The wisest among them no doubt knew that a wizard was responsible, but no amount of wisdom could allow for much of a search in the face of the atronach, which began casting spells of its own as soon as it turned the corner and saw the scurrying black clad forms. Balls of elemental fire flew from the outstretched arms to burst among them. I sped to the ledge I had selected as my first perch and cracked open the next of my chosen tubes. The atronach must have felt almost at home. Its own gusts of elemental fire were quickly supplemented by my own. As fast as I could read the scrolls they would erupt into flames and streak towards my targets to burst in mighty flares of scorching heat. My vantage point served well. Assassins who dove for cover trying to evade the blasts from my summoned ally had no opportunity to wonder where the devouring flames that enveloped them had come from.

With the initial fury of its connection to its own plane spent the atronach could no longer launch its flames across the distance, and it rushed forward to engulf survivors in its scorching embrace. I had planned to continue the barrage with flaming arrows, but circumstances dictated otherwise. I leapt down from the ledge to block the door to the building as a badly burned assassin hurried towards it, no doubt expecting to raise the alarm within. My spear made short work of him, but I was quickly assailed by another. This one had avoided the fiery assault, and from the way he barked orders at his fellows he was clearly of a senior rank. "The atronach will burn out, just keep it at bay," he shouted. "The wizard is here!" He circled, using his blade to swipe aside the jabs of my spear, looking for a chance to leap in close that would neutralize my weapon. I backed against the wall as the sound of assistance joining my opponent came ominously to my ears.

I flung the spear crossways, waist high. It would do no damage, but it gave me a precious second. Not long enough to read a scroll, or even weave a spell of my own, but long enough to activate my boots. I took a vicious cut on my leg as I rose, but escaped to my ledge. Two badly burned assassins had joined their superior, and that worthy was scrambling to gather my own spear to use against me. I quickly drew out a final scroll and read. The summoned atronach was a bit surprised at appearing in mid air, and roared with fury as it fell amongst the startled assassins.

Being driven to its knees by the fall did not deter the elemental monster, and with one backhanded swipe fire consumed the last remaining life from one badly charred foe. The lead assassin roared with anger at the other fleeing apprentice and lunged forward to drive the spear into the chest of raging flames that rose before him. The atronach bellowed as it swung both blazing hands together in a mighty clap that sent an eruption of flame along the spear's shaft. I don't know if he was already dead or if the shot ended his misery, but I put a flaming arrow into the leader's head as it shriveled in the heat. The atronach, though badly wounded, bounded after the last fleeing opponent. I didn't know if the conjuration would last long enough for the monster to catch up, so I brought him down with another arrow. When the spell expired the atronach disappeared, leaving behind the smoking corpse of the man it had dove upon.

I stood on the ledge surveying the carnage. I considered which of the two buildings to enter first, then I looked up at the opening high above the street. A beautifully striped face smiled down at me. Ahnassi! I could not take time for ladders. My boots lofted me directly to the lip of the opening. Magica draining bracers were locked to her arms, and she was shackled by just enough chain to reach the opening she peered down from, but she was unharmed. I threw my arms around her.

"We must flee! There are many more evil men here!" she said in my ear. "They are skilled, and silent, and carry darts that dragged me down into sleep. We must get out of here while we can."

Reluctantly I released my embrace. "We are on our way dear one," I said, as the razor edge of the Daedric longsword parted the chain. Ahnassi is a master of stealth, but what was called for was a rapid departure. I took her in my arms and activated my boots as I leapt off the ledge. She clung to me and I took comfort from her arms, as well as her darting eyes. I knew she would spot any danger of pursuit, which allowed me to focus on getting us clear as quickly as possible.

Our reunion was sweet, but brief. I led her directly to the palace. When we entered, wet and bedraggled, with Ahnassi still trailing a short length of chain, I was afraid we would be turned away by the guards, but fortunately the mage Effe-tei was not far from the entrance and came to my call. "You are ready to return to Vardenfell Arvil Bren?" he said. "It will be our pleasure to transport you."

"Not me Effe-tei, only Ahnassi." Her eyes flew wide, and I could see an argument forming. I took her by the shoulders. "The Dark Brotherhood will be right after us. I can't keep being a danger to you..."

"But you cannot leave me. You are my mate, by Khajiit tradition. I do not release you. We will face this danger together." Her eyes narrowed and the hiss in her voice spoke of a bad end for any who tried to come between us.

"I'm not leaving you Ahnassi." I pressed a bag with a full set of black chain armor into her hands. "Take this to Wyan, the smith at the fighter's guild in Balmora. He'll get those bracers off of you. Then I want you to hide, the Balmora Khajiit are my friends, and I'm sure you know them. They can tell me where to find you."

"When will you come for me? Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to finish what I started. This is the end of the Dark Brotherhood." I turned away from any argument as Effe-tei cast the spell to send her home.

Day 146: Final subterfuge

I am sure the Dark Brotherhood is watching me. You can't kick the kagouti without expecting the tusks, as the saying goes. So today I gave them everything they could want to see. I didn't hide. In fact I'm probably among the best known faces in Mournhold right about now.

I sold their black mesh armor, their poisonous weapons, and their Jinkblades all over the city. Most of the merchants will remember me for the easy bargains I gave them. I barely negotiated, saying things like "no problem, there is more of this for the taking," and "I walked in once I can walk in again." It doesn't take many comments like that when talking about the notorious Dark Brotherhood to really bring attention to yourself. By the afternoon armorers were greeting me at the door of their shops. Probably hoping to get in on the deal before I meet an abrupt end.

I also made no secret of staying at the Winged Guar. In fact I tried to negotiate a weekly rate on my room, but as is the case throughout Morrowind tradehouses and cornerclubs can only let a room for one night at a time. The impression was clearly given that I would be sleeping there for several nights at least, which is the impression I wanted to give. I am actually not sleeping there at all.

Late in the evening, as traffic in the bar of the Winged Guar dwindled away, I entered my room and cast a powerful locking spell on the door. I removed the ornate sleeves and gauntlets of my armor, and my boots, and placed them in my pack. Then I pulled a common robe and hood over the rest of my armor, and painfully completed my disguise by slicing open my forehead above my right eye. I let the blood flow briefly, then held an old shirt to the wound as I cast a teleportation spell. All anyone saw enter the temple is a drunken acolyte injured in a bar fight. I checked into the infirmiry with a minimum of fuss, apologizing profusely for the embarrassment to the temple that I had proven to be.

Galsa Andrano, who runs the infirmiry, of course knows better, but I trust her. I cast a healing spell to stop the bleeding and thanked her for providing me a safe bed for the night. If the Dark Brotherhood enters my room at the inn I hope they enjoy the decor. I left nine of their hoods in an impressive display on a table with a note of my own.

"Ahnassi did not enjoy your hospitality, but I did. Bar your doors."

Hopefully they will add extra guards to the access tunnel in the morning, and perhaps even send patrols out into the sewers. The fewer there are in the cave when I teleport myself in, the better. When I cast my mark spell in the cave she was held in Ahnassi had worried that I would not be returning home. I will go home, but when I do I will be able to walk openly into Pelagiad. There will be no more assassins dogging my footsteps.

Day 147: No wizard returning

I woke this morning before dawn and left the temple, again shrouded in robes. I discarded the robe in a canal in the Godsreach district before I approached the Winged Guar, in case it was being watched. I assume that it was. My door had been expertly opened, and a silver dagger skewered my taunting note to the desk. "We knew you would hide, but not forever" was scrawled across the bottom. I think they were hoping I would hide. Assassins thrive on the fear and extended tension. If I hid I would eventually get complacent again, and be found. That I could not risk.

I ate breakfast and thought carefully of strategies. In a book that I read an army gets mislead about the tactics of their opposition. Anticipating a barrage of spells they assault under cover of reflective spells of their own, expecting the enemy to be destroyed by their own reflected magic. The defenders rely instead on a hail of arrows, and the reflective spells prevent healers from restoring the attackers to fitness. The Dark Brotherhood could make the same mistake. Again I was thankful for my father's advice. Although we Breton's are reknowned as magicians and wizards he always demanded that I be well versed in combat. I revisited one of the smiths and purchased a half dozen spears.

Before teleporting to my mark in the depths of the Dark Brotherhood stronghold I activated my amulet. I expected little traffic, and had selected a spot where my appearance would be sheltered by the twisting passage, but it was critical that I not rouse any alarm. I could do nothing about the swirling mystical energies of teleportation except hope. As they dissipated my hopes were weakened. Voices came from the chamber that had been Ahnassi's prison. The first one saying "what was that?" I pressed my back against the stone wall.

"What was what?" came a second voice, somewhat dulled from sleep. "It was a long night. If you are gonna chase shadows go join the patrols out in the sewers."

"It wasn't a shadow, it was a light. I'm just going to make sure that wizard isn't lobbing magica around the main cavern." Footsteps scuffed on the stone floor.

I cast a silencing spell and charged the corner. Of course the swirling magica gave him another light to chase, but he never had the chance. There is a trick to holding two spears. The head of the second has to be far enough back that it doesn't touch the target. The first spear I left buried in the curious one's chest. The second was ready as I burst into the chamber.

Although he had sounded sleepy and complacent the second assassin was more skilled and rose well to the challenge, but I had the passage behind me. I could jab and back away, staying out of range of his shortsword. Assassins need to be discreet, they are not well versed with spears, which cannot be hidden. His best hope was that in backing down the passage I would stumble over the body of his cohort. I didn't, and he joined him in death.

These two were coming off whatever duty had kept them through the night. It seemed unlikely there would be any disturbance from the main cavern below. I set out an array of spears and crept to the lip of the steep drop to the cavern floor and peered over. Despite their casualties of the prior day the cavern was thronged with black clad assassins. Likely not the entire Dark Brotherhood organization, but enough.

Once again I took on the concealment of my amulet and a silencing spell, then slipped over the edge. The door to one of the ancient manor buildings was not far down the rubble slope and I gained it undetected. There was no immediate guard within, but the voices of many assassins muttered down the hallway. I cast a locking spell on the door to bar any assistance, or at least delay them, cast an array of protective spells and swept down the hall.

Even with their numbers the advantage of my longer reach could not be overcome, though I was briefly in trouble when the opposition was joined by their leader. He emerged from a private chamber through a heavy metal door. He was wary, bending low and then coming into the hall in a diving roll that gave him opportunity to survey the situation. He came to his feet sheltered against a wall and immediately began casting a spell. Backing away as I was there was no way to stop him, and his minions kept pressing despite all the wounds I had inflicted on them. I backed around a corner as my questing spear found a throat, eliminating another opponent. The leader pursued, and I could see that the result of his conjuration was a great Daedric longbow. I added more lateral movements, using the two remaining assassins for as much shelter from the bow as I could until they too fell before my point.

Now the matter of range was working against me instead of for me, with the archer skittering backwards between volleys of arrows that burst into flame as they sped toward me. I dropped my spear. To wield the spear I had kept my Daedric shield strapped high on my arm, but I needed it more accessible. Grabbing a short blade gleaming with venomous magica from one of the corpses I sprang to the attack.

I took some hits before I managed to corner my enemy, but behind the shelter of my shield I gulped magical restorations that overcame not only the wounds but the burns from the enchantment as well. He dropped the bow and drew his own blade. Skill? Purity of motive? The will of the divines? Who can really say what carries the day in a swordfight between evenly matched opponents? For whatever reason, on this day it was mine to prevail. Dandras Vules, holder of the Dark Brotherhood contract on my life, collapsed at my feet. I found the contract and pocketed it, but any further investigation had to be deferred due to an incessant pounding at the outer door. I cast my recall spell once again.

Looking down into the main cavern I had a clear view of the numerous assassins. When they looked up they had an equally clear view of me, but they were scurrying about like kwama with a fire in their nest. It would not be long before they got through the door to the manor if they kept trying. They stopped trying when I opened fire with my bow. The approaches to my position were long, narrow, and steep, and offered scant cover. When some managed to get close I would drop the bow and grab one of the spears I had placed near the final ladder to be climbed to reach the lip of rubble where I stood. I could have held off an army, and basically I did. Twenty-six assassins died today.

I expect there will be more. Tonight I am sleeping in a darkened room behind a metal door. Not Dandras Vules room. Any assassin that returns to the headquarters and sees the carnage will likely go there. I am in a room not far away, perhaps the chamber of some leutenant. My door is locked tight, Dandras Vules' door is rigged with an array of swords that will clatter loudly if the door is opened. I feel as safe as I ever have since arriving in Vvardenfell.

Day 148: Bloody work

It has been a long day. I have been providing hospitality to Dark Brotherhood assassins returning to their headquarters and have added another twelve sets of their black chainmail to my collection. The crates in the high cave overlooking the main cavern are nearly full. Even the wealth of the smiths and traders here in Mournhold, who are generally much more prosperous than those in Vvardenfell, will likely not be enough to buy it all. Hopefully they will at least buy enough that I will be able to carry the rest. I used a teleportation spell to get above ground and visited a few merchants and smiths. Some refused, but after my previous round selling the armor there was more than enough interest. Many of them will meet me on the temple steps tomorrow.

The ancient manor house offered up some secrets and treasures of its own. The courtyard, though badly marred by fallen stone and sealed from above by a dome of slag, is still beautiful. A mighty fountain flows in the center, towering nearly to the top of the chamber. I can only imagine it in better days, outlined against the sky. I climbed the many ledges and waterfalls, and the flowing water was cleansing. Stripping the armor from the numerous bodies was gory work, and the falls would briefly flow red, but the great volume of water would soon be restored to freshness. The assassins brought their fate upon themselves, and I do not mourn them, but I have done so much killing. Somehow seeing the fountain restore itself as the blood washed away made a difference.

In my exploration of its many ledges I found that I was not the first to be deeply moved by the fountain. In some ancient time a scorned suitor chose to die on the lofty heights. I'm sure the young lady of the manor could not have helped being moved by his final words, but apparently his timing was bad. The destruction of the city must have claimed the residents of the manor before they even noticed his emotional end. His note lay unrecovered. As I gathered the adamantium armor he left on the ledge before his final leap I wondered at the irony. Had he waited on the ledge a while longer he may have survived the cataclysm that destroyed so much of the old city. In the wake of such fortune would the young man have leapt to his death? With his love lost to death rather than the arms of another would he have still chosen to die for her? If he had known that his dramatic exit would only be noticed by a passing wizard sick of killing, and then only after millennia had passed, would he have opted for life?

I cannot dwell on the deaths of others. My own life hangs too precariously in the balance. The Dark Brotherhood is smashed, but the patron who contracted my death will likely not be put off. I expect a respite, but not a reprieve.

Day 149: Home with my lady

I am home. Wealthy beyond imagining, but that makes no difference. What matters is that I am back with my Ahnassi. We have not returned to our own small house, but we are together. Hidden by the combined skills of the mage's guild and the thieve's guild, and with the Dark Brotherhood shattered, I feel safe.

This morning, as promised, I appeared on the steps of the Mournhold temple surrounded by stacks of finely crafted Dark Brotherhood armors and extraordinary weapons. For their part, many smiths and merchants were waiting. The sale went quickly, as I was more concerned with time than money. In fairly short order I had reduced the load to a manageable burden. I took payment in gold, as well as darts and throwing stars of silver, ebony, and adamantium. Some enchanters thinking of enhancements their magica could induce in the armor paid in scrolls that replenished my stocks.

I took transport from Effe-tei and appeared once again in Ebonheart. From there a brief hike took me to Vivec City, where I expected to use the guild guide's services to reach Balmora. I did get transport, and I brooked no delay, but nearly at cost of my plans. Trebonius obstructed my progress, but only briefly.

"Bren!" he roared as I sped through the common chamber. "You! Where are the translations? The great Archmages of the guild have heard that the mystery of the Dwemer is solved. They want answers and they want them from me. So I need them from you, and you disappear! They hear from all quarters that there is a Dwemer alive and I know nothing about it. A Dwemer here in Vvardenfell and the Archmage of Vvardenfell knows nothing about it. You've made me look the fool!"

I nearly told him he was a fool when I met him, but bit my tongue. "I will be picking up the translations soon, if they are ready. Or I could bring you the books which hold the answers immediately, as the Archmage wills." The spells of the school of destruction would be no help to him in solving the riddle for himself, and he knew it. He could not confront me directly, since only I knew where the translations were. He was angry, but he stood aside.

When I arrived in Balmora I found that my sweet Ahnassi had been hidden away by Khajiiti women who at one time had apparently considered me for their own. Ajira and Habasi were not pleased that I had been taken to mate by another Khajiit without informing them, but they had united with their sister in our time of need. I found her here, in the Southwall Cornerclub.

Translations, the Archmage, the Sixth House, Blades, Nerevarine...tonight they all wait.

Day 150: Do I go on?

Strange that I am a Breton. Strange, as it seems today I was more the Khajiit, and the Khajiit who surrounded me sounded more like the Bretons. For a Breton it seems the lure of being Archmage of Vvardenfell would be insurmountable, but when I rose this morning from a late sleep I was more than ready to spurn it. Ahnassi, Ajira, and Habasi would hear none of it.

The higher ranks of the Mage's Guild would likely not have swayed me, but Ajira does. The Khajiit are not numerous or well represented in the guild, and Ajira has at times suffered for it. Trebonius, of course, is of no use in providing equity or solution. To Ajira it seems that any new Archmage would likely be cut of the same cloth; any save for me. This very reasoning would have me resign the guild and retire to some distant corner of the empire. To be the Archmage would call me to stand against the dangers that threaten the guild. To be the Archmage that Ajira wants is to set myself as a bulwark against the way things are within the guild as well. Do I not have enough enemies?

I did not discuss the Nerevarine prophecies with them, but Ahnassi knows. She knows that the Nerevarine is expected to drive the outlanders from Morrowind. The time of the Nerevarine is at hand. The new king in Mournhold is strong, and the Empire's grip is weak. If I do not become the Nerevarine, who will? Some bigoted Dunmer that will demand an exodus, and enslave any who don't move fast enough? Imperials and Bretons, high elven Altmer and even the wood elves would likely have grace to make their exits, but Argonians and Khajiit have been taken as slaves by the Dunmer throughout history. I looked at the beautifully striped faces, every one so unique, and could not turn away from the questions.

But what I want is to take my dear one far from Morrowind. I hold the Dark Brotherhood's writ for my life, but I do not know in whose name it was issued. Although I destroyed their power in Mournhold the Dark Brotherhood has operated for millennia. I cannot rest as if this setback has made me safe; me or Ahnassi. She says she will not leave, but I know that she would. She knows of a security expert who can make our house safe, or we could take another house and have it secured. I do not think that enough.

I have made promises; to Ashlanders, to slaves, to free citizens who choose Vvardenfell as their home. Those promises haunt me now. There would be so much left undone if I fled now. I listen to my Ahnassi softly purring in the night. The sleep she sleeps with me in the room is secure, as I am here to face the dangers that I bring into her life. Do I allow any other security to take my place? The sun will rise. It pinks the eastern sky already. Though it would disappoint many I may never leave her side again.