Days 31 through 40

Day Thirty-one: Triumphant return
Today I began the search for Hasphat's puzzle box. I cannot say it has been a great success, but it is a beginning. It also appears to be an opportunity to line my pockets. The ruins of Arkngthand are apparently rich with ancient Dwemer artifacts. Rich enough to have attracted a band of looters.

The ruins crown the mountain just east of the Foyada Mamaca, looming ominously over my campsite at the bridge. Numerous towers jut into the sky, and a huge statue of a Dwemer sorcerer gazes balefully down over the road. On the surface the ruins are buried in ash and dust from the explosive Red Mountain volcano, and overgrown with brambly trama vines. These hardy plants seem to thrive in the harsh ashlands of Vvardenfell. They have little competition.

As Hasphat had said, there is a crank on a pipe near the entrance to the underground halls. The magic and engineering of the Dwemer is astonishing. When I turned the crank a huge stone sphere set in the nearby mountainside split asunder, revealing a metal door inscribed with Dwemer runes. I entered cautiously, and gazed in awe at the entry cavern spread out below me. From the cavern floor great towers rose. Some pierced the ceiling, perhaps continuing on the mountaintop above, while others were completely contained in the great expanse. I stood gaping on a platform of Dwemer metal perched high on the northern wall. The cavern was lit by a combination of glowing tubes that appeared to contain some sort of magically lighted fluid, flames endlessly flickering about the broken ends of ancient piping, and a series of torches burning far below. I wondered at the torches, and who had placed them.

The Dwemer apparently had no concerns about levitation. The entry platform was not their only construction that came to an abrupt end. From where I stood I could clearly see two more. One far below, about halfway to the floor, could be reached using a series of rough ledges. Another was near the roof and attached to one of the great towers. I saw no way to reach it without using my enchanted boots or a spell. With my boots ready to save me from an unexpected fall I began carefully scaling down the ledges. As soon as I was clear of the entry platform the eastern side of the cavern came into view, and again I stopped to gape. A huge metal building loomed, suspended against the native stone. The two levels were open to the cavern, and on the lower level a Redguard paced, obviously in conversation with someone who remained out of sight behind a huge pillar. Broken stones and scrap had been heaped into piles on the cavern floor to provide access to both levels of the building as well as the platform towards which I continued creeping.

I arrived on the platform and slipped into the mouth of a tunnel, which promptly opened into a room. The dust of ages had been swept haphazardly. Obviously not in effort to clean up, merely to reveal the floor and any artifacts of value that may have lain there. Trafficking in Dwemer artifacts is a crime, but is sufficiently lucrative that it is not uncommon, and those who participate are seldom targets of Imperial authority. The biggest hardship faced by artifact raiders is the sheer weight of the goods. The Redguard and his unseen companion were obviously not deterred. I wondered if they were alone, or part of a larger operation. Either way, I suspected they would not be leaping at the chance to share the spoils with me. I peered out through the tunnel and across the cavern to where the conversation continued. The Redguard seemed to have made his point, and now stood listening, nodding occasionally.

The room provided a second exit, a winding stair that lead deeper into the ruins. I grabbed a lantern from a heap of supplies that had been left by the looters and headed down. In the light of the lantern the stairs revealed dismaying evidence of passing feet; far more than two pairs. Although the tracks often obscured each other I identified at least six different shoe prints. I climbed back to the top of the stairs and returned the lantern. The supplies and empty crates seemed to indicate that the looters were undertaking an extended operation. Any interruption and they could flee, taking the cube with them if they had found it. I was not ready to confront half a dozen potentially dangerous criminals today. I slipped out the way I had entered and left the looters to their work.

Abandoning the riches of Arkngthand, even temporarily, cut against my grain. I have to keep my eye on larger pictures though. Such a large band, and they are obviously planning on spending many days in the ruins; searching for the cube myself could take weeks. I do not have the time. Following through with my plans is imperative to avoid suspicion. Hiding from the Dark Brotherhood is a big enough problem; if the Cammona Tong gets an inkling that I am responsible for the massacre at the Council Club my life in Morrowind will be brief and bloody.

As evening set I entered the gates of Moonmoth Fort; roadweary, overburdened with hides and tradegoods from Granius' camp, and moving very slowly. I complained to the guards about the distance from Sulipund, shared a jug of sujamma, and entered the main building having firmly established my whereabouts, in their minds at least. The tales they told of the 'bloodbath at the Council Club' I met with appropriate horror and astonishment. I sold off hides and goods to the traders who frequent the fort's main room, and managed a brief encounter with Larrius Varro as he passed through. He was jovial at the turn of events in Balmora and shrugged off even a pretense at being interested in finding the killer. I compared my encounter with Snowy Granius to that other toll-taking bandit Fjol, and he openly gave me another reward. No one needs to know that the ring he gave me is worth far more than one old bandit's life. I never expected to share a bond of conspiracy with a Champion of the Imperial Legions.

I arrived at the guild hall in Balmora late, and tired. I will sleep well. Tomorrow at breakfast I will report to Ranis that her tasks are completed, and settle for good any consideration that I might have had anything to do with recent events in Balmora.



Day Thirty-two: Dwarven tower
It's good to be home. This shack offers so little in the way of comforts, but it is so secure. I slipped in from the south, walking across the water unseen in the dark. I left Balmora this morning by levitating over the mountains west of the city, dropping rapidly into the swamps of the bitter coast. I would be very challenging to follow. Now my mark is reestablished here, so I will again be able to teleport directly home. Dark Brotherhood, Cammona Tong, any other enemies I might make; Arvil Bren will not be easy prey.

I like my home, but waking up this morning in the guild hall was a comfort as well. Tensions among the apprentices have eased, and the chatter at the breakfast table was lively. I reported to Ranis, and true to her word she split Manwe's back dues with me evenly. While my mastery of magic is probably only average, Ranis unquestionably has a high demand for my skills with the spear. She seems quite devoted to 'join or die' as a promotional system for the guild. We spoke briefly about someone offering training in the restoration arts who does not have guild sanction. I'll probably end up taking care of that for her when I get back there.

For now I am settled in after the long walk. I have become quite comfortable with the swamps of the bitter coast, and enjoyed exploring along my path today. An old Dunmer fortress, a small Dwarven ruin, abandoned ancestral tombs; the marshes abound with secrets, and I thirst to know. Of course the likelihood of plunder and riches does have a certain appeal as well. After my brief foray into Arkngthand the Dwarven ruin I discovered today was irresistible.

It was also convenient. In the mid afternoon I was getting fairly close to Gnaar Mok, and was just beginning to think 'too close'. I wanted to arrive under cover of darkness. With an eye half open to seeking shelter for a few hours I began to follow a more meandering path through the marshes. The ancient metal towers and unmistakable piping systems rose ahead of me like a gift. A gift with a steep price of danger attached. I now have a high regard for those who make their living looting Dwemer artifacts.

The ruin was small, just a couple of towers with a large subterainnian workspace underneath, nothing like the massive Arkngthand. What a testement to Dwemer engineering though. The Dwarves disappeared so long ago that they don't exist in the written records of the Empire, but their legacy lives on. The place was alive with constructs; centurions who have been on guard for an age. Gleaming metal spiders clattered about on six jointed legs. Rolling metal spheres erupted into sword armed warriors like the hatching of a mechanical egg. I felt some remorse at destroying these ancient machines, but the piercing legs of the spiders and the vicious cuts from the swords of the sphere centurions left me little alternative.

Any guilt that might plague me will be assuaged by the loot. There were actually very few artifacts in what was clearly a working shop rather than a luxurious home; a few bowls, a pitcher, some cups. What was lacking in artifacts was made up in material though. Stacks of gears made of gleaming Dwemer metal; metal which has never been duplicated since the disappearance of the Dwarves. Precious gems, raw glass, ebony, all in locked chests that also held an abundance of shining Dwemer coins. I will have to return for the metal and artifacts now that I have replaced my mark here. They are far too heavy to carry any distance. A couple days for the looters in Arkngthand to do their work and I will teleport their entire collection here also, hopefully including Hasphat's cube. First though I will return to my own little ruin, and also clear out the storage area in Shurinbaal. It would be better just to have everything here rather than be seen coming and going.


Day Thirty-three: Daedric shrine
Vvardenfell is certainly consistent. I find a new danger to life and limb on a daily basis it seems. Today I found out that the Dwarven ruins are even more dangerous than I thought, and I found a Daedric shrine where I barely survived. It is good to be home, and for tonight at least I wonder if I will ever go out again.

I rose early this morning, waded across to Shurinbaal, and ambled down to the storage area. I put all the remaining goods in a pile, then gathered them up and teleported myself home. A couple hours work and I had everything sorted and stowed. I think I will set up the armorers of Balmora to meet me in the Temple courtyard tomorrow and teleport myself there with all the spare armor and weapons that I have acquired. I could outfit a small army, but I would prefer to have their gold.

That task complete I set off for the Dwarven ruins to gather my artifacts and metal. I call it mine since I had eliminated all the guardians yesterday. I learned a valuable lesson about the Dwemer when I strolled casually into the ruins today. Safe yesterday means nothing today. I was immediately swarmed under by a centurion spider, a sphere warrior, and two ancient ghosts which I took to be the Dwemer themselves. How all these creatures appeared in the ruins overnight I will never know, but I will always be on guard entering such places in the future. I was forced to consume my last restorative to heal my wounds during the battle, but did dispatch all of my opponents and successfully return home with the metal and artifacts I went to retrieve.

I was down to my last restorative because I had used most of my supply shortly before. Coming at the ruins from a different direction gave me a different view, and as I approached I saw a towering structure on another nearby isle. Curious, I turned and swam ashore there. No sooner had I climbed out onto the stones than I was struck by a scorching bolt of magical flame, launched from somewhere amongst a cluster of pillars. I rolled frantically for cover with seawater steaming from my clothes, gulping the first of many restorative potions. I gathered myself behind a stone platform and peered cautiously towards the center of the structure. To my horror a flame atronach burst forth, waving its fiery arms. Burning eye pits fastened on me, and I ducked as another bolt of flame roared out to lick the stones where I had sheltered.

With spear in hand I held my ground at the corner of a large stone block. I could hear the crackle and hiss of the atronach approaching, and timed a ripping thrust that tore through its burning chest as it turned the corner. Gouts of flame leapt with the point as it tore through, but the atronach did not fall. One swipe of its flaming hand and I was again scuttling out of reach gulping restoratives. The monster bounded after me, intent on finishing me before the restoratives could take effect, and it nearly succeeded. Curative magic from within battled the flames that threatened to consume me from without, and I writhed in agony. Though half blinded with smoke and sickened from the smell of my own charring flesh I held on to the devil spear and entrusted my life to its enchanted point. My vision cleared to find the atronach, still smouldering, stretched on its back with my spear pinning it to the moist earth. I retrieved some of the crystals left from its rapidly disintigrating substance and used numerous charges from my belt to complete my own healing process.

Once healed I ventured into the center court of the Daedric shrine. It was indeed a Daedric shrine, a place where evil people gather to worship the evil Daedra. I had been told that in the troubled times currently besetting Morrowind the Daedric cults had gained a foothold and begun restoring such shrines. I had also been advised to avoid them. Now I know why. The atronach was not the only creature summoned from distant planes of existence to defend the site. A powerfully built Nord woman in elaborate bonemold armor stood on an elevated platform and watched dispassionately as I was beset by three two legged lizard creatures.

The lizards, which the Nord barbarian woman Holmgeira later identified as clannfears, delivered powerful strikes and bites with their beaks while fanlike structures spread from their skulls to protect their necks and bodies. I found myself once again gulping restoratives, and barely able to sustain myself against the rain of blows. Sustain I did, and eventually my spear took its toll and one of the creatures collapsed in a heap. With only two opponents
the steady stream of restoratives began to carry the day, and I soon dispatched the two remaining clannfear. As each one fell Holmgeira raised an insincere round of applause, except for the last. When I looked up at her it was plain to see why. She held a bow loosely, an arrow nocked, ready and willing to draw and fire. I spoke quickly, in honeyed tones.

It was not easy to convince Holmgeira that I had no quarrel with her, or anyone else inside the shrine she called Addadshashanammu, but she did relent to letting me leave peacefully once I had promised not to make a quick move for the door. Holmgeira has fiery red hair, and a temper to match. I was happy to leave her cult's shrine behind without having to test her mettle.

Having teleported home with my load of Dwemer metal I set out to brew some new healing potions. I have worked deep into the night sifting through mountains of ingredients, and have found no new formulae. I will either have to buy more potions, or buy the ingredients that I know I can use. I settle into my bed disgusted with the entire field of alchemy.



Day Thirty-four: Armorer's fair
I am beset by doubts. Today I clung to safety, but I have no confidence in my grip. I have friendships. I have wealth. But whatever glimmers of security I have built for myself are just that, glimmers. The false lights that shine from baited gold, and lure men to their deaths. Men like my father.

The man I called my father would have been proud of me today. I teleported to the Balmora temple at first light and gathered all the armorers together. Like a carnival barker I made promises that had their eyes glowing with anticipation. They knew they would be bidding against each other when I reappeared, but I had built their spirits over a cheerful breakfast and they stood joking amongst themselves as I cast my recall spell to return home. I reappeared minutes later, laden with bundles of swords, stacked breastplates and greaves, and bags brimming with odd bits of armor. The auction went well, fulfilling my father's strongest guidance; "take their gold and leave them happy." If only I had followed that advice more often. The armorers bought me lunch at the Eight Plates, each claiming to have gotten great deals while jokingly ridiculing the others for their purchases. In truth they probably all overpaid, but such a good time was had by all that they are eager to do it again.

After lunch I ran to the ruins of Arkgnthand and slipped quietly through the massive portal. From high up on the cavern wall I watched. The Redguard I had seen before was again in the main cavern, with a companion. They were overseeing the operation, talking to others who came and went through massive doors on the lower level of the building. Occassionally they would take some item of particular interest to the upper level and through another massive door. From snatches of their conversation I gathered that they in turn were reporting to their boss, Creto, who was apparently beyond that door. I am comfortable that they are nowhere near moving on from the ruins. There is no rush to claim the cube from them, if they have found it yet.

They are looting a Dwemer site, and clearly criminals, but they are no worse than I used to be. They are working hard, and as I now know they are facing extraordinary risks. All in pursuit of wealth. Again my mind wandered to my father as I clung on the ledge. He took me in when my unknown parents left me abandoned in the streets of High Rock. I saw the good in him every day, but under that good was the heart of a rogue, and he met a rogue's end. Gold he really didn't need but couldn't resist, ambushed by townsmen who honestly wished it had been someone else they caught, and a jail cell that could not confine his roving spirit without killing him, which it promptly did. Now here I am. Prison contained me without killing me. I have enough gold that I could easily spurn any bait that is presented. The townsmen of Balmora call me friend. Father laughed off the oracle who shreiked that I was a child of destiny, congratulating her on the drama of her presentation, but I seem destined to meet my own rogue's end.

I left the ruins and walked back to Balmora in time for dinner at the guild hall. Good company can purge memories, and I enjoyed the evening, but as night closed in and the quiet settled I resolved to transport myself home. My melancholy seems unshakable tonight. The bait that lures me is security, but for me the only security calls for continuing forward, further into danger


Day Thirty-five: Ruined at the Daedric ruin
Today I hid from destiny and returned to the simple life; mapping the coast and hunting in the swamps. That was the plan when I arose this morning anyway. The islands that the Dwarven tower and Daedric shrine lie on are part of a chain that arcs out into the sea to the southwest, and I put all my concerns aside and set out to explore that chain. I did not get far.

By mid morning I had passed the familiar ruins, skipping from outcrop to outcrop using my spell of water walking. I came ashore and began my explorations of the larger islands of the chain. Sketching maps, watching the netch float peacefully about, skewering the occasional cliff racer, gorging on mudcrabs; I let my cares drift. Not like I stopped thinking about them; the Dark Brotherhood, the Cammona Tong, my responsibilities to the Blades, Ranis Athrys persistent use of me as a thug for the Mage Guild. In little over a month I have become thoroughly embroiled in the swirl of Morrowind events. Such were my thoughts as the twisted towers of another Daedric site rose ahead of me. I am not alone in being affected by these troubled times. Like Addadshashanammu this site has been revitalized by a new Daedric cult, gathered in secret to worship and empower the bad Daedra.

A Daedric shrine, with a cult of worshippers, provides a powerful portal between planes of existence. This access allows the Daedric servants who are normally only seen when summoned by conjurers to roam freely into our plane. Fortunately this particular shrine seems to have only attracted the relatively weak scamps rather than the voracious clannfears and fearsome atronach I faced before. Scamps can be dangerous as they do have sharp claws, but they tend to panic when struck solidly which makes them easy to finish off. Much easier than the high Elven conjurer who I encountered near the entrance to the shrine. I suppose I should have known from Holmgeira's initial hostility the other day that I would not be welcomed with open arms by a Daedra cult.

Before I could even say hello, the Altmer conjured a horribly misshapen creature. It was familiar, similar to the creatures I encountered in a tomb, but seeing it with the bright sunshine reflecting off of its oozing flesh made it all the more horrifying. The conjurer called it a bonewalker. Gasping sounds that may have been words tore from the beast's ragged throat, and I could feel my own muscles sag with decay. Desperately I hacked at the creature with my spear as the conjurer scrambled to a safe distance. The bonds that held the monster in pseudo life failed quickly under the onslaught of the devil spear, but the ill effects it had had on me remained. My spear was a terrible burden in my weakened hands as I charged the Altmer. Had he fled I am sure I could not have endured a chase.

Rather than flee the villainous Altmer opted to conjure another bonewalker. This time I would not allow myself to be distracted. Knowing that the spell would be broken with the fall of the conjurer I drove my spear with all my remaining strength into his unarmored chest. He jerked violently, like a gaffed fish, but clung to life. The bonewalker struck, and my limbs weakened even further. The devil spear which had served me so well became too heavy to hold and slipped from my desperate grip. I lunged forward onto the collapsing Altmer, praying that as we fell the spear lodged in his chest would twist its way into some vital organ and end his life. The ragged gasping of the bonewalker sounded in my ears like eerie laughter. Then it faded off as if to a great distance. The Altmer was dead.

I pulled myself across the corpse to get a grip on my spear. The effort left me near exhaustion, and I could not escape the sickening stench of the blood that had welled from the conjurer's shattered heart. With weakened gestures and shuddering incantation I cast my recall spell. When I appeared on the deck of my shack I abandoned my spear, and rolled free of my bow and quivers as well. Exhausted legs struggled free of my bonemold boots, and I dropped my bloodied clothes into the sea. I struggled to my feet and dragged my pack inside to be left at the door. I could not trust my strength for a cleansing dip in the ocean, and struggled into a rough robe and light sandals with only a cursory wiping off of the gory mess. My brain fogged with exhaustion and I could not trust myself to cast the spell on my own. I drew a scroll from my pack and read, unleashing the mystical energies that would sweep me across the distance. As I appeared once more in the courtyard of the Balmora temple I collapsed in a heap.

Although Feldrelo Sadri, Mistress of the Temple, has taken a strong disliking to me, she did not refuse me when some of the other temple priests half carried me to the Tribunal Shrine. I made a humble offering and the power of the Tribunal was invoked to restore my strength and endurance. I tried to press some additional gold on the priestess in gratitude, but that was clearly a mistake. Judging by her strident rebuke I would be well advised to stay clear of her presence. I suspect nothing short of joining the Temple as an initiate will appease her. Fortunately I have made friends among the lesser priests on my various forays to the city, and Feldrelo's ire did not keep them from assisting me once we were safely out of her sight. Their assistance was of course not free; they clearly do not share their leader's distaste for 'ill-gotten adventurer gold'. I learned an array of spells which will allow me to recover my strength, endurance, or any other attribute lost in battle with undead or Daedric monsters I may encounter. The spells are a bit complicated. I may have to spend some time improving my restoration skills.

When the dinner gong rang through the Temple I thanked my benefactors and headed for the guild hall. I immersed myself in the camaraderie with a sigh of gratitude. I don't think I could live there, but it is so nice to be a welcome visitor. Galbedir has apparently forgiven me and we had a lively conversation about charging soul gems. She has ambition, but it is tempered by her taste for fancy robes and the comforts of the guild hall. She does not seem inclined to the dirty work. The way she listened to my tales of cliff racers and netch I had faced, with ooohs and ahhhhs and her small hand gripping my arm...well I clearly understand how men fall prey to the charms of the wood elves. She made me feel heroic.

After dinner Ranis called me aside. She is so protective of the guild. She had mentioned the unsanctioned healer who was offering training before, and had obviously gnawed at this problem continuously in my absence. In her office she got right to the point; "Bren, what's your status with the thieve's guild?"

I stammered a vague reply. I haven't been a member of the Thieve's Guild since leaving High Rock, and even there I was just a token apprentice registered by my father. "Ranis, I would not join another guild!"

"Relax, relax, I'm not trying to find a reason to purge you from the Guild. There is an Argonian offering training at the South Wall Cornerclub. I know you have frequented the South Wall, and I'm sure you've noticed that many of the patrons there are...a bit unsavory."

I could see where this conversation was headed. "Yes. The South Wall is clearly the local hangout for thieves. I think I know the Argonian you mean. Quiet, like most of his kind. His name translates as Only-He-Stands-There. Ranis, I've made some friends at the South Wall. I don't want to go in there and kill this Argonian."

She looked a bit irritated, but shrugged. "Who said anything about killing the lizard? We aren't a band of thugs." I couldn't help replaying in my mind the numerous times Ranis had said 'or kill them' at the end of her requests. "You say you have friends there. Talk to them. Talk to this Argonian healer." I was familiar with her expression as she said this. Whenever Ranis mentions anyone with any skill in the mage's arts who is not in the guild she looks like she just bit into a piece of spoiled fruit.

"I'll talk to him. I'm sure this can be worked out." I scampered out of her office before things could get any more strained.

When Ajira heard that I was headed for the South Wall she invited herself along. I was happy for the company, and the South Wall usually has an abundance of Khajiit. The cat people are often skilled in the thieving arts, so a hangout for thieves can usually be identified by looking for them. I thought of the taciturn Wadarkhu in Gnaar Mok, obviously a ranking member; and from what I had gathered a Khajiit called Habasi runs the guild in Balmora. Ajira seemed sympathetic, and I found myself telling her about feeling like Ranis was using me as a thug more than a mage.

"But good friend Arvil Bren," she purred, "you are so brave, and face so many dangers. Ranis can not help but be impressed." She laid her paw on my shoulder, extending her claws to very gently rake my skin. Suddenly I had a twinge of foreboding about what Ajira and Galbedir might be betting on now. She did give me a valuable suggestion. Her friend Edwinna is the guild steward in Ald-ruhn, and Edwinna is more interested in research than the recruiting and politics. I could probably improve my standing by assisting her without having to browbeat anyone into the guild.

Overall the evening went well. Only-He-Stands-There was agreeable, after a few drinks, and will curtail his training. I'm sure he isn't really going to stop, but will be far more circumspect and probably limit himself to members of the Thieve's Guild. Arriving with an affectionate Khajiit on my arm raised my status with Habasi, who I am now certain is in charge around here, and she directly offered me an opportunity to join the Thieve's Guild.

On the way back to the Guild Hall Ajira was again embarrassingly admiring, this time praising my diplomacy with the Argonian. She also commented on Habasi, but lapsed into the gutterals and hisses of Khajiiti. I caught a bit that might have referred to 'scratching her eyes out'. We had both drank a fair quantity of sujamma; Galbedir was glaring again when we boisterously returned; and Ranis was satisfied with my brief report. Discretion is the better part of valor. I transported home rather than risk the sleeping chambers of the hall.


Day Thirty-six: The puzzle box
I rose with the dawn this morning and again transported myself to Balmora. I could no longer ignore the call of duty and destiny. The time had come to return to Arkngthand in search of the puzzle box. I hoped that the looters had found it, and even more wildly hoped that they would just turn it over. While I was at it I might as well have hoped that a cliff racer would glide down from the skies and clarify the mysteries of my life for me.

I jogged to the ruins and turned the crank to reveal the doors. I crept inside. My goal was to meet the looters from the head down. The layout of the main entry cavern favored me. Lying on a ledge I watched the building which forms the east side of the huge hall. The main operatives continued their work on the lower level of the building, occasionally climbing to the second level to disappear through a round iron door. Behind that door, I believed, would be the head man of the group. I used my levitation boots and floated down to that upper platform, completely avoiding the sight of the operatives below.

I quietly explored before venturing through the door. The Dwemer built everything with metal it seems. A desk, which would have been stout and sturdy in any material, stood here placed for the ages. Tables, chairs, a small stove; all in the same grey steel. The mundane metal of the furniture served as background for the intricately worked cups and pitcher which graced a shelf, and a gleaming spear which leaned against the desk. The keen edges and delicate balance of the spear were a joy in my hands. Exploration complete I took a brief admiring look at the view out into the cavern, then turned to the round steel door.

I entered as quietly as I could, but immediately drew the scrutiny of a large man in an iron breastplate. The expression on his face left me little hope of a peaceful settlement for the cube. "There is an artifact here that I need," I told him. "Barring that single item you can loot these ruins to the last scrap of tin for all I care."

"I can loot these ruins to the last scrap whether you care or not," he replied. "Imperial law, Dwarven specters, ancient machines. None of those have stopped me. Who do you think you are, Breton?" Whoever I might have thought I was, I was sure the axe he wielded was meant to change my mind.

We circled warily as we spoke, and I worked my way far enough into the room to see that it was stacked with crates. Nearby a shelving unit of stout Dwemer construction held an assortment of artifacts. On the lowest shelf gleamed a perfect cube, intricately carved in ancient runes. I considered a lunge for the cube and a quick teleport to safety. "Listen," I said, "I really want no quarrel with you." I flashed a hand signal, a sign of recognition used in the Theive's Guild in High Rock. I had seen it used and accepted in the South Wall Cornerclub. Though not an active member I hoped it would buy me some favor, but it passed unnoticed. Perplexed, I had to ask "Where are you from, Creto? You don't seem a regular thief."

"I am no thief, Breton scum." He lunged with the axe, and I dodged aside. "Though the Emperor has declared all newly recovered Dwemer artifacts to be Imperial property, Orvas Dren, brother of the Duke himself, holds prior claim to this site. I am under his orders, and you will die for your interference." I ducked under a broad roundhouse swing of the huge blade, spear limber in my hands. My inclination to take the cube and leave the looters to their work was rapidly boiling away. Rumor around the South Wall had it that Orvas Dren was the real power behind the Cammona Tong.

"So you are no thief, but you are clearly no native Dunmer. How did Dren choose you as a footstool for the Cammona Tong? Or were you just cheerfully kneeling when he came along looking to wipe his feet?" The conversation ended there, as there was no longer a question that only one of us would survive the day. Creto was weighed down by a pack laden with artifacts. His great strength may have carried the day against some, but life in Vvardenfell has honed my skills with the spear to a razor's edge. He died groveling and exhausted. I took the cube, and some other artifacts, and transported myself once again to Balmora.

Hasphat received the cube gleefully, turning it over and over in his calloused hands. He gave me a compilation of his information on the Sixth House Cult to give to Caius, and suggested Sharn gra-Muzgob, the Mage Guild's own orc healer, would know far more than he about the Nerevarine Prophecies. The sixth house, House Dagoth, was destroyed and dispersed in the first age after betraying the other Dunmer great houses in what he called the War of the First Council. I don't know what connection this ancient house could have to a dangerous cult in modern day Morrowind. Neither did Caius, but he wants to know, so it appears I will have to find out. While he studies the references that Hasphat provided, Caius has sent me to find out what Sharn knows about the Nerevarine.

Sharn gra-Muzgob is always a surprise to me. She is so smart for an orc, but has all the charm that one might expect from those greenskinned folk. That would be none. I have gotten along with her, well enough to buy potions anyway, but she is always disgruntled when disturbed and today was no exception. And when I mentioned Caius she didn't break into smiles, but did show a flash of cunning. "Ah. So it's Caius that is behind you interrupting me with your questions. Well Arvil Bren, doing research for Caius isn't exactly part of your duties here in the guild, is it? So there's really no good reason for me to put my own research aside to help you, is there?" She turned back to her books, but paused. "Of course, you could perhaps help me with something in turn, so I would have time to produce a report for Caius."

Caius clearly sees no sense in just paying for information. The Blades budget is apparently balanced on my time and risk of life and limb. Now I am headed back to the Bitter Coast to delve into yet another tomb. This one I suspect not the long abandoned variety with which I am familiar. Sharn would have me retrieve the skull of a most revered individual from its entombment. She provided me with some useful equipment for the journey, but her warnings about upsetting the locals leave me feeling very uneasy. The skull has to be returned quietly, as Sharn worries quite a bit about the temple suspecting she is a necromancer. Where there's smoke there's fire, and I hope Sharn doesn't find herself stuck in one by the temple ordinators.

I teleported home for a good night's sleep before setting off on this next task, but it was denied me. I unloaded my pack on the deck of the shack, as usual, but things were not as usual. My pile of Dwemer cogs was shifted slightly, but noticeably, and when I looked closely I found a long Khajiit whisker sticking out from under them. I could think of no explanation. How could a whisker end up under the heavy stack unless it had been moved? I scanned what I considered to be my island carefully, and turned a wary eye to my own door. Slowly I began shifting the stack of heavy cogs. Underneath I found a note from Wadarkhu:

"Wadarkhu knows you are careful Arvil Bren, so I think you will find this note where no one else would look. There is an outlander looking for you. We tell him nothing, but the Cammona Tong will sell their mothers for a bit of gold or a sharp sword. Watch your back."

The gruff and surly Wadarkhu had given me a fair warning. Apparently he had more of a sense for where I stood in the gang war than I had let on. As Calislahn the Dryad would say, fore-warned is fore-armed. I used the tip of my spear to pull open my door, and ducked as a deadly dart shot over my shoulder into the marsh.

The assassin followed, armed with a heavily enchanted Dwemer shortsword. Had I walked in unsuspecting I would have surely been slain. Poison coursed through me at every prick of the blade, but having reversed the surprise gave me a strong advantage, enough to dispatch yet another hired killer. The Dark Brotherhood has raised the standard in what they are sending after me. Once again I have escaped, but I am tormented by a question. Where am I to escape to now?


Day Thirty-seven: Where the heart is
As they saying goes, when a door closes another opens. Tonight I feel as much at home as I have since being thrown into an Imperial prison in the wake of a misguided burglary. The village of Pelagiad could be plunked down in the middle of High Rock somewhere and no one would guess it came from the far reaches of Morrowind. A day that started out so miserable has come to a fine end!

Early this morning I went into Gnaar Mok to visit Wadarkhu. I wanted to thank him for his warning, and I did, but in turn got an even grimmer warning. Wadarkhu has been getting a lot of pressure from the local authorities. The disappearance of a minor coast guard officer has raised the stakes by drawing the Imperial Legion into the mix. The Cammona Tong, with it's connections high in the great house Hlaalu, has laid the blame squarely at Wadarkhu's feet. The Theive's Guild, reknowned for operating with finesse and subterfuge, is beginning to melt under the close Imperial scrutiny, while known members of the Tong walk the streets openly longing for the day the outlanders are driven from Morrowind. It is madness, but it is clear that my activities have done at least as much harm as good.

With a heavy heart I loaded my armor, weapons, and Dwemer artifacts into crates and sunk them under the shack. I picked a few ingredients of known value to leave behind for now, and loaded the rest of my alchemy supplies into sacks. I will be back to reclaim my possessions, probably coming and going rapidly in the night. Gathering the sacks of hides, plants, crystals and other miscellany I transported myself to Balmora. The local alchemists had a field day filling their larders with rare ingredients. The gold in my pouch did little to ease the ache in my chest as my highly prized lab dissipated away.

From Sharn's directions I have a very good idea where the tomb is located, and rather than follow the roads she recommended I set out across the mountains. Some places were too steep to climb, but my levitation boots made them passable. Passable for me. Difficult for anyone trying to follow. I paused frequently, on hilltops, outcrops, and ledges. It gave me opportunities to take down game, but more importantly I carefully scrutinized my backtrail. After a long afternoon winding through and over the hills I descended into Pelagiad, certain that I had not been followed.

What I found when I entered the village was a town straight out of High Rock. The Imperial Fortress dominates the view to the east, and were it not there there would be no village. Soldiers leaving the legion here took land for their mustering out pay and started the village. Their way of life and architecture attracted others, and the village grew. Though there are Dunmer here, they are not the overwhelming majority they are elsewhere, and even most of the Dunmer are not native born. It really is a piece of home.

I checked myself in at the Halfway Tavern, getting a good meal and a room for the night from Drelasa Ramothran. She is a magnificent cook and runs a well stocked bar in the common room downstairs. Though she is a Dunmer her accent gives her away as having come here from somewhere; possibly Cyrodiil or even my own native province of High Rock. As I was enjoying my dinner I surveyed the rest of the patrons. I am comforted to have once again found myself at the informal meeting place of the Thieve's Guild.

While I was unobtrusively studying the locals they were studying me, some with far less subtlety than I was exercising myself. As I finished my meal a striking Khajiit slid into a nearby seat and purred a greeting. Her name is Ahnassi. Even with the attention I have been getting from Ajira, and to some extent Habasi, it had not really occurred to me that a Khajiit woman could have any kind of amorous intention towards me, but as Ahnassi says, we are all outlanders here. A bard struck up a merry tune, and we danced. She commended me for my smooth moves, and when I protested that I was no acrobat, and in fact felt clumsy next to her incredible feline grace she hushed me, saying that if I wasn't I should be. The way she moved, her open affection, my long imprisonment, and the sujamma combined to work some sort of magic. By evening's end I had looked past the soft downy fur and slitted pupils, and was seeing a lovely woman. She pressed, and I promised to visit Pelagiad frequently. I did not tell her that I currently have no place else to call home.

While we danced Ahnassi told me about the others. The music was provided not by an actual bard, but a dashing Dunmer rogue named Nelos Onmar. She was not anxious to introduce the conjurer Samia, a Bosmer. Without offending the woodelf I made clear to Ahnassi my growing preference for women with stripes, and the tension eased from her lithe shoulders. In talking to her there were mentions of extensive time training in secluded monasteries, and I suspect that in unarmed combat Ahnassi would be a startlingly dangerous foe. Samia definitely showed no inclination to cross her, but of course she probably wasn't interested in me to start with. Same with the Cyrodiil, Ladia. While she was charming, she really couldn't have distracted me anyway. The only really difficult moment for Ahnassi came when a red haired Nord woman swept through the room and up the stairs.

"That one is Hrordis", Ahnassi hissed gently in my ear. "My new friend Arvil Bren should stay away from her."

I protested my lack of interest in the Nord woman, but that was not Ahnassi's actual concern. Being the smooth gliding thief that she is, Ahnassi lets no secret go unexplored, and apparently Hrordis is secretly a worshipper of the bad Daedra. Ahnassi has slipped into her room and seen a belt which is inscribed with Daedric runes. Hrordis frosty air made it easy for me to agree to steer clear of her, especially with this beautiful woman purring in my arms as we danced far into the night.


Day Thirty-eight: Depths of the tomb
I woke this morning and had an excellent breakfast. The comforts of the Halfway Tavern are alluring, and I somehow doubt I will miss the shack. There is definitely something to be said for having a place to call my own though. I am considering exploring the hills nearby for a cave that I can use for shop and lab space. But for today there was work to be done.

The Andrano family tomb is not far to the south, and it was not hard to find. Well before noon I stood at the entrance bolstering my courage. I remembered my previous experiences in similar tombs. I told myself that I am better equipped, more skilled with spear and bow, and much better versed in the arts of magic. Gripping my spear with whitening knuckles I ventured into the dimly lit tunnel and started down the long narrow stair into the depths. Letting me know how welcome I would not be here, a fresh corpse sprawled at the base of the stair.

I cautiously approached the foppishly dressed body, and was startled to recognize the young Dunmer face. I had seen this man, barely a week earlier, at the guild hall in Balmora! With my heart in my throat I realized that I was not the first to be sent here by Sharn. Only time could tell if I would be the last. I Edged around the dead man so as not to stir up a cloud of flies and rounded the corner into the first burial chamber, clinging to the shadows , barely breathing. I have become fairly confident in my skills with the longbow, and held my enchanted bow in my hands with an arrow charged with magical electricity ready to draw.

Down a hallway to my left I saw a wandering spirit swaying, translucent in the torchlight. I drew and fired, counting on the enchantment of the arrow to carry across the dimensional barriers. There was a flash of lightning and the arrow clattered to the floor covered in green ectoplasm. The ghost was dispatched completely back to the land of the dead. As I crept down the hall I smiled at the faint whiff of ozone lingering in the air.

I followed the long curving passage until it came to a right hand corner, which I peered cautiously around. Wasted caution. I found myself looking down a flight of stairs, directly into the blazing eye sockets of a skeletal archer. I jerked backwards and a blazing arrow shattered against the wall behind me. I ran noisily a few feet up the passage, then turned and drew my spear. Stealthily I leapt back to the corner, any noise I made lost in the clatter of bony feet charging up the stairs. As my nemesis reached the corner I caught him with a shattering roundhouse blow that scattered bones and arrows like straws in a high wind. I gathered the flame arrows. Their enchantment is even stronger than my shock arrows. I am happy to have them added to my arsenal.

The guardian from the bottom of the stairs safely dispatched I considered going down to the chamber below, but there was a door on my right at the top of the stair. I paused to listen, fearful that something within could emerge behind me. Although there was no sound, I could not take the risk. Easing the door open a crack I looked in; a burial chamber with another skeletal guardian. The skeleton stood unmoving at the far end of the room, near a slightly raised pit which had obviously been well used; it nearly overflowed with the ashes of the dead. In the bony right hand an iron saber hung ready, on the left arm a round iron shield. I eased back and brought an arrow to full draw, then kicked open the door. As the skeleton spun to attack the spark arrow caught him full in the exposed ribcage. A flash of lightning and the shield and saber clattered to the floor among the charred bones. On the edge of the ashpit lay a heart, still beating. I could not resist taking this ghoulish souvenir.

Stealth and enchantment continued to carry the day as I entered the chamber at the base of the stair. Another skeletal guardian peered down a passage at the far end of the large space, apparently unconcerned by the earlier departure of his companion. Nothing was coming from the portal it was responsible for, and it never saw me enter and release the shaft that reduced it to a smoking ruin. In a place of honor a sturdy wooden chest held a mighty Nordic axe, scribed with runes. It was obviously a prize claimed in battle by some long dead Andrano family ancestor, and I elected to leave it undisturbed.

Continuing through the large room I found myself in a short passage, which ended at a door to yet another burial vault. The Andranos have obviously prospered through the centuries. This vault was also well used, but unguarded. I let myself hope that having passed the main chamber I had passed the guards. The short hall offered a side door, and I opened it to find another hall curving deeper still. I hugged the wall, bow in hand, and descended. The builders of the tomb could not get deep enough with the sloping path, and when the tunnel straightened I stood at the top of yet another flight of stairs. How deep below ground was I, I wondered; and how deep would I have to go?

By good luck and good timing I came down the stairs behind another skeletal warrior, this one carrying a vicious halberd at port arms as he paced away down the hall. I crouched on the stairs to see his heels turn around a distant corner, then scuttled quickly down the remaining steps. On my right at the bottom was a door, and I could hear the tortured gasping of a bonewalker. I wedged the edge of the iron shield I had claimed under the door, and lay in wait. As expected, the halberd wielding guardian eventually returned, and seeing me began a doomed charge down the hall. Despite the limited space it did try to avoid my arrows, and even succeeded, once; but long before it could reach me this undead warrior joined its fellows in a flash of lightning and a puff of ozone. The huffing and chuffing of the bonewalker grew very animated, but the door seemed proof against its best efforts. I went to see what lay beyond the distant corner.

Following the narrow stone hall around the corner and to its end led me to a door, which opened into the crypt's chapel. A lectern held a book, no doubt holy to the Dunmer, and the rows of kneeling benches made the room's purpose clear at a glance. A glance being all I spared it as my attention was drawn to a high gallery that encompassed the room. Looking up to the heights of the ceiling I wondered if this chapel could save me the long climb to the surface. I activated my boots and floated up the central open well. A door on the gallery level looked like it would lead back to the entry chamber, and the bonewalker who stood guarding the door was completely unaware that I had risen from the depths behind it. I drew my bow and nocked an arrow, expecting a clean kill.

As I began to draw a sudden impact just below my right shoulder threw me forward onto my face, and blazing agony engulfed my back. Writhing in pain I could not respond as the levitation charge wore off, and I hurtled to a bonebreaking fall on the stone floor below. I rolled, shrieking as broken bones ground against each other, and saw a grinning skull peering down on me from the gallery above, the end of a longbow peeking over the parapet alongside. The skull was quickly withdrawn. I assumed it was satisfied that I would soon be dead. I dragged a mangled hand to my healing belt, and forced the short incantation past my bloodied lips. My bones knit as I sent charge after charge of restorative magic through my broken body. Eventually I was able to reach behind my back and yank the spent flame arrow free, allowing yet further charges from my belt to heal the charred flesh and the deep wound. Soon I was completely healed in body, left with only my pride to be recovered.

I cast my levitation spell. It allowed for a much faster rise to the gallery level, and would sustain far longer than my boots. I rose fast, spinning and weaving, only to find the gallery abandoned. Spell still active I floated out the open door, along a short hallway, and through a second door which did indeed open into the entry chamber. The skeleton archer was not satisfied, it was obviously racing down the long flights to finish me off! I rushed in pursuit, but before I had gone far cold reasoning joined my blazing fury.

It dawned on me that when my adversaries reached the chapel far below and found me gone, they would turn and race back the way they had come. I had no desire to run headlong into a collision. I slid to a stop, then crept along the curving passage listening carefully. The passage straightened, and the distant corner where I had ambushed the other archer came into view. The bones scattered there suggested a repeat performance, but timing was not on my side. The archer who had laid me low pounded around the corner and skidded to a halt drawing its bow. I drew my own and we exchanged fire. I threw myself erratically from side to side, pausing to aim only when my bow was fully drawn, and the skeleton did the same. I was struck a glancing blow, which blazed with magical fire, but it was no match for the cold malice in my heart and I continued to launch my deadly shafts. My target was less durable, and finally fell in a shower of sparks and smoke.

While I had shrugged off my wound to continue the battle I was clearly not ready to start another. When the archer's companion hulked around the corner I turned and fled rather than face the gruesome bonewalker. As I ran I activated my belt yet again, and it quickly soothed the charred flesh of my shoulder. I stopped at the next long stretch of straight hall and waited, no longer the prey. A bonewalker is not put together for speed, and it fell easily in a hail of arrows. Ozone competed with the stench of burnt flesh as I claimed the soulgem that lay at the heart of the monster.

Back on the chapel level I stood at the door that penned in the now irate bonewalker. The shield had moved slightly, but remained thoroughly wedged under the door. The skull I needed had to lie somewhere beyond that door. Would it open on a final burial vault, or even more seemingly endless passages winding into the depths? In either event I was going to have to face the oozing monstrosity that pounded on the other side of the door. I kicked the shield free and ran for the far end of the hall where it turned for the chapel. The bonewalker was surprised by the sudden release and staggered through the doorway to smack wetly against the opposite wall. I rounded the corner unseen. A brief pause to fully draw my bow and I popped back around the corner. The bonewalker had guessed wrong, and I could just see its feet disappearing up the stairs beyond the open door.

I rushed in pursuit and reached the bottom of the stairs in time to plant an arrow deep in the fleshy back of the hulking creature. The arc of lightning left hunks of muscle hanging loosely, and they swung wildly as the monster turned. A second shot blasted it backwards onto the stairs, and it fell still. Thankfully, beyond the door was an ornate burial chamber, the crypt of the enchanter, Llevule Andrano. I claimed the skull, and a cruelly enchanted ceremonial dagger. Sharn will get the skull, the dagger will grace my collection if I ever again have a home.

I returned to Pelagiad tired and scarred, but healthy. Ahnassi fussed over me. There was no hiding the holes and burns that had reduced my shirt to a rag. There is a merchant across the street from the Halfway Tavern, a Breton like myself. I will get myself a new shirt in the morning. For now I will relax under the purring ministrations of my new friend.


Day Thirty-nine: Ald-ruhn
Today I have traveled far, mostly by teleportation, and I will rest comfortably knowing the Dark Brotherhood would have no reason to think to look for me here in Ald-ruhn. Edwinna Elbert has given me a comfortable room of my own here in the guild hall. I suppose arriving as an established member with the rank of Evoker gave me more initial status than I had wandering in from the swamps to join the guild in Balmora. Bringing greetings from her friend Ajira certainly didn't hurt my welcome either.

My head is slightly aswirl tonight. I met too many people today. Dinner here at the guild hall was hectic with new names, new faces, and terms that were unfamiliar to me. Talk of 'under Skar' left me quite confused until Vala Catraso saw my plight and explained the term. Apparently the House Redoran council chamber, councilor's manors and the upper crust of Ald-ruhn all can be found under the ancient shell of a giant crab, known as Skar. I felt compelled after dinner to go out and see this wonder. It is indeed immense, covering the entire north end of the city.

I had not seen Skar, or anything else of Ald-ruhn for that matter, because I arrived through the magical transport of a guild guide. These specialists provide instant transportation between all the guild halls on Vvardenfell. I think I will establish my enchanting lab and library here in the room Edwinna assigned me, since it will be easily accessed from any guild hall. This is a good place for a library. Edwinna stresses scholarship, and Vala is actually running a school right in the guild hall, teaching ashlanders to read. I wonder though if Edwinna's studies are purely theoretical. She has asked me to find her a copy of a very rare book, The Chronicles of Nehuleft. She is clearly studying the Dwemer in great depth, and a passing comment or two leads me to believe she is actually trying to construct her own versions of the Dwemer centurions. A risky proposition. The Dwemer are considered an ancient menace by the Tribunal Temple, trafficking in Dwemer artifacts is a crime against the Empire, and the question of how to control such a construct is another serious consideration.

I will not be the one to hinder her though, since I have my own secrets regarding Dwemer artifacts. This morning I met the Pelagiad trader Mebestien Ence, a fellow Breton. Ahnassi had given me a little inside information about his inventory, and when the guard posted in his shop had gone out of earshot I broached the subject. Ence does indeed traffic in Dwemer artifacts, and I told him that I would be returning with some for him to purchase. I claimed a cave near Pelagiad to use for storage and left a new mark, and I will be transporting all my possessions there as soon as I can make the trek to Gnaar Mok.

The cave is small, and even though the former residents apparently lived there I don't really want to become some sort of cave dwelling hermit bandit. The towering Nord and his partner will have to be disposed of when I return. No ready access to a sea of slaughterfish unfortunately. They were obviously bandits and I'm sure they will not be missed. Among their loot I found an engraved silver bowl that obviously did not belong to them. I may visit the East Empire Company and try to locate the owner. A selfless good deed to ease my conscience? While I have confined myself mostly to the bandits and thugs of the Cammona Tong the death that I am leaving in my wake is starting to weigh on me. Today's harmless bandit couple perhaps most of all.

I am proceeding on my fated task, however. In fact Caius is so happy that he promoted me to Blades Apprentice when I brought him Sharn's notes on the Nerevarine Prophecies. I am troubled though. The prophecy involves someone born of uncertain parentage on a certain day, my birthday. Is the Empire thinking of trying to pass me off as this Nerevarine? The Tribunal Temple makes a habit of imprisoning, torturing, or roasting claimants to Nerevar's mantle. Being pushed forward as a possibility would make for a short and unpleasant stay here, but would go far towards explaining my sudden release from prison. Another line in the prophecy called The Stranger says the Nerevarine shall be stalked by the wicked. Could that be the Dark Brotherhood? And is the Emperor sending them after me himself to give the appearance of prophecy fulfilled? I delivered the skull to Sharn to get answers, and ended up with questions. Caius needs a few days to read and plan, hopefully he will be able to make some things clearer when I see him again.

In the interim I will find this book for Edwinna and get myself cleared from Gnaar Mok. It is a long walk from here to the coast. I will have time to think.



Day Forty: Good deeds
My conscience is eased. I did good deeds today, without thought of reward. My former life, and the sympathy it engenders for banditry is another step further behind me. Sent glimmering into the past by a fiery haired Dunmer woman.

I set out this morning in the pre-dawn mists, headed west from Ald-ruhn. I was told there was no marked path to the coast, so I entrusted myself to direction by the sun and followed my shadow. The Ashland wastes provide few obstacles, and the occasional rocky ridge I could levitate over if need be. My objective was to get clear of the Ashlands, perhaps reach the coast, by days end. The first opportunity to do good presented itself as the sun still climbed through mid-morning.

I topped a small rise, not so steep that I had to levitate, and came upon one of the many trails that seem to run haphazardly through the wastes. Standing at the trail's edge was a Nord, who immediately boomed a less than friendly greeting. "Speak to me now, or when this enchantment ends I will bathe in your blood." I have almost had my fill of boorish Nords, and must admit that sticking an arrow or two into the broad bare chest crossed my mind, but my temper was stayed by the obvious predicament the fool was in. The Nord was paralyzed, frozen in place, wearing only a loincloth between boot clad feet and fur trimmed helm. Rather than kill the great oaf I stood on the hilltop and roared with laughter.

When I had gotten my breath, and calmed the stricken warrior enough to converse, I heard the whole sad tale. Hisin Deep-Raed it turns out had taken on employment as a bodyguard guide to a woman, who apparently has some skill in witchcraft and reportedly is quite attractive. The big Nord was loathe to admit the attractive part though, since he fairly boiled at every mention of his erstwhile employer. My own guess is that he was a little too attracted, and his state of undress speaks volumes of his intentions. For his part he claims no idea why she would do such a thing, but the witch woman opted to paralyze him and leave him on display when she moved on this morning. I made it a point not to laugh any further at this turn of events, and was forgiven my previous outburst when my spell cured Hisin's ailment and set him free to move.

Much to my surprise he rewarded me with his enchanted helm, Icecap, which has a permanent protection from frost cast upon it. I thanked him with a hearty clap on his bare shoulder and continued merrily on my way, leaving him fairly raving about how he would be dashing the witches brains out on the first handy rock when he found her. I did not ask how he thought he was going to avoid her magic the second time around. He did not seem in the mood for questions.

With that good deed behind me I continued on, crossing out of the ashlands into the green hills of the West Gash region. I was welcomed by an angry nix-hound. This grayish green waist high carnivore runs rapidly on four legs which end in broad three toed feet. They are ill-tempered, but not overly dangerous or durable. I made a very satisfying lunch of him.

With a full belly and a spring in my step I was in perfect shape for my next encounter. In a lush little valley stood my red haired vision, surrounded by her guar herd. Drulene Falen is a Dunmer, native born though not on Vvardenfell. She is not fond of the ruling house in her native Tear, and is quite happy with the lax governance of the Redorans. Of course their laxity is magnified because she is in a fairly remote area, which lead to my second good deed of the day.

Although the Redorans are a very martial house, they do not regularly get out to this far flung corner of their district, and Drulene and her neighbors have been being preyed upon without defense. Early this morning she lost one of her guar to a pair of marauding mudcrabs. I could not imagine mudcrabs taking down a guar, or facing a spirited herder, even if she wielded nothing more than a broom, but these were not the ordinary mudcrabs. I followed the bloody trail through a nearby pass into the bracing salt air of the bitter coast. The crabs had stopped at the first bit of swampy ground, and were lolling about gorged on guar meat. I marveled again that they had gone so far afield, but dispatched them without mercy. I butchered what was left of the guar and returned to Drulene.

We feasted on crabmeat and hackle-lo leaf and talked far into the evening. She is boldly independent, living here on the fringe of settled Morrowind, but very good company. Though she did not ask directly and I did not portray myself as some sort of assassin, I will take some time tomorrow to seek out a group of bandits she says have been operating in the area and dissuade them from disrupting this beautiful woman's idyllic farm.