Days 41 through 50
Day Forty-one: Heart of the Dunmer
Frequently I have heard the hissed "outlander" from some passing Dunmer and felt outrage. Often I have felt the sting of their prejudice. Often I have felt that kindred spirit with the bandit, the rogue, the opportunist. Today I feel none of that.
I left this morning after enjoying breakfast with Drulene. I said nothing about returning, and she did not ask. She squealed with delight when I returned this evening though, but perhaps it had more to do with the two guar I led. One of the guar belongs to a neighbor, and Drulene will return it tomorrow, the other was the prize of her herd.
I headed south this morning, searching for any sign that would lead me to the camp of the bandits that had plagued the area. I thought to reason with them. As the morning wore away and my path seemed to wind fruitlessly through the grassy hills I began to doubt that I would find them, and began to wonder at myself for the effort. I could think of no excuse to return to Drulene's farm to report having looked in vain, but I wanted to see her again. I used my boots to ascend the highest peak in the area, and was rewarded with a most confusing vista.
On the far side of the peak, nestled against the lower slope, stood the familiar arch of an ancestral tomb. In my early days in Morrowind I pillaged such tombs haphazardly, and recently I very purposefully took a skull of a revered ancestor from another, but I would never contemplate the desecration I found today. Outside the tomb grazed two tethered guar, in an area well cropped by their feeding. I could only assume the bandits were inside, and had been for quite some time.
I slid down the slope and entered the tomb. It was typical of such places, a long stair descended to a door, which opened into a long entry chamber lined with blocky stone altars. On the altars stood the familiar burial urns, which I knew would contain the remains of honored family members. The doors had been left carelessly ajar, and I dispatched a rat who had found its way into the hallowed interior. At the far end of the entry hall another door stood, and I crept forward through the chattering wails of the disturbed spirits.
Beyond the door was a chapel. One of the Dunmer's many revered texts lay at the base of a lectern, pulled down by yet another monstrous rat. I destroyed the vermin with my spear, but my anger was building at the thoughtless bandits who I was sure were sheltering here. As my anger grew the spirits seemed to subside, perhaps sensing that swift justice was about to befall those who defiled this place. I crossed the chapel and swung open the door to the inner crypt.
The bandits had constructed cots on the raised altar, and were roasting meat on spits over a fire built in the sacred fire pit. Sizzling grease spattered into the age old ashes of a Dunmer family. My stomach heaved. The wood elves dropped their half cooked lunches and sprang to the attack. I was enraged. I now have a clear understanding of the berserker attacks of the Nords. I could not say how they got there, but the two bandits lay dead at my feet. I leaned on my spear, panting heavily, bleeding from minor wounds. The spirits chatter, so ominous to my ears on all my previous excursions into these depths, now soothed the fire in my heart.
I did not know how to set the tomb right. I piled the bandits belongings in the entry, along with their corpses. Hopefully the family will find them and be appeased. I led the guar back here. Drulene's initial outburst crashed when she saw my wounds, which I had done little to attend to. She treated them tenderly, and listened quietly as I told the tale. In the end I could only look into those red eyes and moan out an apology, a wrenching lament for what other outlanders had done, and no doubt would continue to do. In her beautiful face I could see the heart of the Dunmer people.
Day Forty-two: Questions or peace?
In prison I wrote every day. I spread myself across paper, where I could see.When my father hanged himself in a cell down the hall I spread out my torment, and I survived. I wrote every day, filling the empty void of days. Now mostly I write at night as my days are full. Perhaps, sometimes, I write just from habit, but I find I cannot sleep otherwise. Often it seems just a recap of a days events, offering me little glimpse into myself. Today must be different, and I write here in the broad daylight, perched on a fence, soothed by the satisfied grunting of the guar herd. Drulene has gone to her neighbor to return the guar. I look to my journal in search of myself.
The legend of the Nerevarine haunts me. My sleep was disturbed by a dream. My thoughts linger on the desecrated tomb. The swirl of Morrowind politics threatens to engulf me. I do not know where to turn, or who to trust.
The Tribunal Temple reveres the memory of Nerevar. Their greatest general; a contemporary of the immortal living gods who reign supreme in the ancestral pantheon of the Dunmer; the Tribunal. Nerevar, who in a way seems to have been even greater than the three who survive, was lost, but not forgotten. Would the Tribunal welcome their lost brother's return if the prophecy were fulfilled? They persecute the Nerevarene cult, and put down the prophecy. Do they know it false? Or fear it true?
And the Empire; where would they stand really? The Dunmer whisper that only Nerevar has ever truly united them, and wait for the Nerevarine to do so once more. The Empire uses the splits and tensions among the Temple and the ruling houses to keep Morrowind under thrall. But the Emperor knows this province has never been truly conquered. Morrowind squirms under the Imperial heel, perhaps dangerous in its unrest. A false Nerevarine would serve them well. They may intend to create a Nerevarene, and they may be using me as the raw material. Am I the only one, or like Sharn sending me for the skull, am I just the latest one?
What if they succeed? Could I deliver the Dunmer, falsely united, to some final break in their resistance? How would I bear my own reflection if I falsly led these proud people into Imperial ways, leaving their tombs to the bandits and their hearts to the cliff racers?
Imperial rule brings peace and prosperity; a rule of law, and comfort. But in the wake of that law ride the lawless, the bandits and freebooters pulled along to the edge of the civilization. Under the weight of invading law the pride of a nation twists into the bigoted hatred of the Cammona Tong. In Vvardenfell, the land itself seems to resist, and Red Mountain may roar its protest. The Dwemer could not stand against it, what chance the Empire?
I was born on the day, to the uncertain parents. Could I actually be the Nerevarine? Me, a Breton of High rock? But if I couldn't be the Nerevarine the Empire wouldn't consider trying to pass me off as the Nerevarine. I am spread on the paper of this journal, spread thin, but I still don't see.
Later. Even with my journal sated for the day, I cannot sleep without writing. I spent the day laughing with Drulene, hearding the guar, tending the plants. The work was hard, and early sleep should come easily. To be the Nerevarine must I have the heart of a Dunmer, or merely hold one dear?
Day Forty-three: Out of the shack and into the fire
I am settled in at the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, having spent the day moving once more. Clearing all my possessions out of the shack was bittersweet, but after recent events I am less inclined to a hermit's existence. It seems nowhere is remote enough to avoid the Dark Brotherhood. I will have to safeguard my survival with movement, not isolation. With that in mind I have begun the process of separating my various shops and equipments.
Here in Ald-ruhn I established my library. I have accumulated quite a few books in my travels, and today purchased a few more. In a booksellers shop in Balmora I found the rare volume Edwinna wanted, Chronicles of Nehuleft. I also picked up my own copies of History of the Empire, and a book on the Dark Brotherhood. This historical perspective has kept me in my chamber since dinner, for it seems a familiarity with my enemies could only help me. No startling revelations leapt forth however.
The dinner table here is quite different from meals in the Balmora guild hall. The focus on scholarship is very much in evidence. Anarenen it seems can be counted on at any meal to hold forth on some aspect of alchemy until literally told that everyone has heard enough. I will probably learn more over dinners than I would have with all my experimentation. Edwinna is more of a quiet watcher, but I did get her animated attention by mentioning my trip to Arkngthand. I think it will not be long before we are having a very frank conversation about Dwemer artifacts and Imperial law. My supply of Dwemer artifacts I left stored in my cave, close enough for accessing the trader in Pelagiad. I am sure I have far more than he can afford, but if I take all I can carry every time I visit the town it should make a profitable sideline.
A profitable sideline with the added benefit of visiting Ahnassi. Despite the alluring Drulene Falen and the peaceful idyll of her farm I have not been able to get the lovely Khajiit out of my mind. The secret of my cave must be protected though, so I dare not visit Pelagiad yet. There is a spell which I have seen on scrolls that will allow me to transport myself from the cave directly to the Imperial Shrine at the Pelagiad fort. I can load my pack with artifacts and use that spell, so no one will ever see me enter or leave the cave. Problem being that I do not know that spell, and presently do not have any scrolls to use either. I will check the supply chest tomorrow.
A knock on my door interrupted my writing. Ajira come to tell me that Hasphat Antabolis has been to the guild looking for me. I trust the master at arms of the Balmora Fighter's Guild well enough. But how many people know to look for me at the Mage's Guild. And how safe is Ajira, if she becomes known as someone who knows how to find me?
Day Forty-four: The political cauldron of Caldera
My loyalties are plagued by conflict tonight. The Emperor did not release me out of a newfound vein of good will. I am sure I am being manipulated somehow, used as a pawn in a game to bring the province of Morrowind further to heel. It is in my nature to rebel; disappear and let the Empire sort its problems out on someone else's back. But everywhere I turn the Empire shows more good than bad, and the firm loyalty of my fellow Blades operatives seems to be seeping into me. Tonight I sleep as a guest of Surane Leoriane, a fellow Breton and a member of the Blades.
She is a tremendously skilled mage, and an exceptional trainer. In our home province of High Rock she could be living a life of ease and comfort. Among the Redguards, mighty warriors but hardly skilled in the arts of magic, her healing skills alone would give her luxury like a queen. She has spurned all that to come to the backwater of the Empire, Vvardenfell, where she watches the operation of a mining company. She watches for corruption. I see it as corruption that the Emperor can just declare all the ebony in the nearby mines to be imperial property, then give out mining rights as reward, or whim. This town of Caldera, placid on the surface, boils with unknown intrigue just below.
First question on everyone's mind is how House Hlaalu ended up administering the mines in the first place. When Vvardenfell was opened to settlement the Tribunal Temple lost what had been total control of the island, but only relatively small districts were given to the houses Hlaalu, Redoran, and Telvanni. This rich ebony mine would seem to have remained under Temple control. Mining being a secular activity there could be an argument made for bringing in one of the great houses, but given the existing districts that should have been the Redorans. Surane does not want to look at it, since it is outside the scope of her investigations, but some sort of high level graft brought the Hlaalus here in the first place. Now the imperial accountants are in a stew, thinking the Hlaalus are skimming away the profits. What did they expect when they took the Hlaalu's bribes? Now Surane is tasked with stopping the current graft, but encouraged by her own loyalty to not accidentally stir up something she doesn't want to know out of the past.
To me the real quagmire is the question of slavery. In submitting to imperial rule without actually being conquered the Dunmer held the right to their ancient traditions, and slavery is allowed in Morrowind under imperial law. But the slaves are mostly Khajiit and Argonians; imperial citizens. They don't just spring out of the ground, at some point they are captured, obviously illegally, but once in Morrowind they are bound by law. The Empire won't stop the slave trade since their own ebony mines require the slaves to operate. At the same time the Dunmer are furious that escaped slaves that successfully get out of Morrowind cannot be legally recovered, leaving the lawful slaveholders at the mercy of underground organizations who spirit slaves away to their homeland. It is a tangled web.
Just as tangled in my own head. No matter how the profits generated on the backs of slaves get divided, it will never seem fair to me anyway. The seizure and distribution of mining rights started out corrupt, what purpose is served by cleaning it up partway now? But Surane is so clear, so focused. Since I have no idea which way to turn I am left to turn her way by default. Which brings me once again to serving the Empire, for good or ill. I'm afraid it will always be some of both.
I walked from Ald-ruhn, thinking I would have time to think, sort out my loyalties. Perhaps I did, but once again the destination created more questions than the journey answered. Fortunately I can walk on tomorrow for Balmora, leaving the problems of Caldera in Surane's capable hands.
Day Forty-five: Things we do for love
I made a quick dash this morning to Balmora to check in with Hasphat. He has solved the riddles of his puzzle box. He made a key that he thinks will fit a door somewhere in Arkngthand. He was quite proud of himself, and I was also much impressed by his ingenuity. I was honored and surprised when he gave me the key. The right thing to do would probably have been staying in Balmora and having lunch with him, but I felt pressed for time, although I was trying not to admit to myself why I was anxious. I told myself that I had left quite a treasure in the cave near Pelagiad. I told myself that I was focused on the business to transact with Mebastian Ence. I told myself everything but that I was looking forward to seeing Ahnassi. Then I ran into a stunning display of what love can do to people.
I thanked Hasphat for the key and promised him that any unique artifacts I found when I returned to Arkngthand I would share with him, then used my recall spell to return to the cave. All seemed well, my treasures undisturbed. I opened the door to let some fresh air clear the mustiness that had set in, and my sense of well being evaporated. Not far away, along the main road, a swirl of smoke rose curling into the air. Someone had a campfire burning; probably cooking their lunch. I crept out of the cave and into the underbrush, curving away from the unknown campsite.
When I reached the main road I headed north, maintaining the air of a nonchalant traveler. When the campsite came into view I was surprised to see a lone Breton woman; quite a beautiful woman in fact. When she saw me approaching she hurried to meet me, fairly shouting down the road to ask if I had seen a bandit lurking about. Completely misunderstanding her I began to pledge myself to her defense, thinking this would restore some calm. She would have none of that. She was not fearing robbery, in fact she had already been robbed. She was waiting, in hopes for the robber's return. Somehow in the course of having her jewelry stolen she had become quite smitten with the rogue. I shook my head in amazement. Then she mentioned the name; Nelos. If only I had been prepared to keep my features better composed I thought to myself.
She saw the flash of recognition and sprang at me, eyes blazing into my own. "You know him!" she cried. "You must tell him I wait for him. You must!" She removed one of her intricately embroidered gloves and pressed it into my hand. "You must deliver this token to him!" I wanted to point out that he already had her jewels, and one would think that was token enough, but I could not bring myself to break such a fair maiden's heart. I took the glove and continued to the north until I was safely out of sight, then ducked into the bushes and transported back to my cave. I had not the least expectation that Nelos Onmar would be interested in Maurrie Aurmine's glove, and wondered how I could go back and tell her in a way that would be least painful. I also considered selling the glove and joining Nelos in disappearing from her life forever so as not to have to face her with any bad news.
I set up my armory there in the cave and put a fine new point to my spear, restrung my bow, and polished up my bonemold armor. Then I loaded a pack with as much Dwemer material as I could unobtrusively carry and used the intervention scroll that put me at the nearest Imperial Shrine; in this case right in the courtyard of the fort at Pelagiad. There was a secret thrill in appearing there laden with contraband artifacts, but the guards had no reason to suspect and treated me with nothing but respect as I made my way out into the village. The trader Ence had already had lunch, but agreed to join me for a drink at the Halfway Tavern. We left his guard to watch his shop and crossed the street to conduct our business away from that worthy. The guard is provided by the Imperial Legion; it would not sit well to deal in Dwemer artifacts right under his nose.
The Halfway was quiet, and Drelasa Ramothran provided me a wonderful meal. She also came to our rescue when Ence and I reached an impasse in our negotiations. It turned out that I had brought too much; more than Ence could afford to pay a fair price for with the gold he had available. I thought he was just being obstinate, and was slowly losing patience with my fellow Breton. As could be expected, the more agitated we became the more formal and stilted our conversation, until we were both so stuffy that we could hardly understand each other. Drelasa stepped in with the kind of smooth light tone that only a master of the publican's trade can produce, and like magic our good will was restored. In the sudden eye in the hurricane of rhetoric I could see the problem clearly, as could Ence, and we worked out a deal that favored both of us and Drelasa as well.
Ence gave her a very good deal on a large stock of liquor, which gave him sufficient gold to take all my artifacts at a bargain, but fair, price. For my part I promised Drelasa to spend a quantity of my newly acquired gold raising good sport in her tavern, to help reduce the sudden excess in her inventory. The deal struck, I followed Ence back to his shop and enlisted the assistance of his guard to carry the liquor back to Drelasa. Ence took the opportunity to stash his new artifacts, and the guard got word that the Halfway Tavern would be the place to be this evening. Things were really starting to shape up for a wild time. Then in walked Nelos.
Drelasa immediately accosted him about providing entertainment, and he agreed to play his lute in return for a reasonable tab at the bar. Then I approached him, holding the glove. He looked at it curiously, then raised his laughing red eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "What's this, Breton? Has some damsel given you a glove and you seek my advice? I am a bit of an expert, and would gladly help you, but I am a bit parched..." Ever the rogue. He had just settled for free drinks for the evening, but had to maneuver for more.
"Actually Nelos, the damsel sent the glove for you, not me. I too would gladly offer advice, on such matters as where to find her for instance, but like you I am a bit parched, and unlike you I don't have an open tab." I slid onto a seat beside the raffish Dunmer and grinned.
Drelasa set down two tankards and laughed. "These first lot are on the house, no ones tab but mine," she sang. "Nelos, you may have met your match in Arvil Bren. Watch your step, you two might talk each other into serious trouble before the night is through." We could not help but join her merry laughter as she sauntered away.
We raised our glasses and I came out with the story of Maurrie's glove as concisely as I could. To my surprise the rogue seemed touched immediately upon hearing her name, and positively moved as I continued to tell him how she had demanded I find him. I have seen my father lie with utter conviction, and express the complete range of emotions without feeling a twitch. I know a fake. Nelos was not faking. He had genuinely fallen for the girl. Again I shook my head in disbelief. He called to Drelasa for a quill, ink, and paper.
"You must take her this note Arvil Bren, I cannot go for I have promised to play," he said with his voice cracking with emotion. I calculated; he could get back in time, if he hurried, but he probably would not come back if he went to the girl. I took the note.
When she saw me coming down the road at a trot Maurrie leapt to her feet. "Did you find him?" she cried. When I told her that I had she threw her arms around me, and I struggled to bring his note out of my pouch. She read it rapidly, then again slowly, small moaning sighs breathing from her lips. I have never seen two people so in love. "He could not come because he is playing music at a tavern?" she asked. Then continued before I could answer, "How far is it? Will you take me there?" She abandoned her camp, and we rushed back to Pelagiad.
As we walked Maurrie chattered about a friend of hers that she thought I should meet. Having found her love she wanted the same for me I suppose. I'm sure her friend in distant Tel Aruhn is a charming and beautiful woman, but the heady atmosphere of being the go between for this surprising couple was overpowering me, and I could barely hear her for thinking of my tiger Ahnassi. We are so unlike, but there is something about her. When we arrived at the Halfway Tavern Maurrie leapt into Nelos' arms and I thought she was oblivious to me. Being new friends Ahnassi and I did not greet each other quite so flamboyantly, but apparently something was obvious. Maurrie caught my ear and whispered "I see you won't be visiting Emusette any time soon Arvil Bren." She smiled a dazzling smile at Ahnassi and swept back to Nelos.
I had spent my day running errands for love; the love of others. This evening love made a direct demand of me. As we danced Ahnassi drifted back and forth from bright happiness to a strange melancholy that she would pass off when I mentioned it. Finally I sat her down and pressed through her reluctance to find out the problem. She came out with the answer and tears welled in her eyes. "I must leave Vvardenfell," she said. I was stunned.
"Why?" was all I could manage to stammer. Suddenly how much I cared for this exotic beauty was crystal clear. As she explained my blood roared in my ears, and the edges of my vision narrowed until all I could see was her face. Ahnassi is Thieve's Guild, and the Cammona Tong is threatening her. Her oaths as a monk prevent her from acting, other than in her immediate defense. She sees no alternative but to leave. "Who has threatened you?" I grated through clenched teeth.
"His name is Daren Adryn, friend Arvil Bren, but I cannot ask you to take his life..." she started, but stopped when she saw my face. At mention of the name my temper scaled a new height. Daren Adryn was the Tong boss in Gnaar Mok. He was responsible for selling me out to the Dark Brotherhood when they came looking for me. He had cost me my home. Now he would cost Ahnassi hers. My seething blood crystalized, like bitter ice.
"You have not asked, my beautiful tiger. Your oath is intact. Now here is mine. You need not fear this man. You need not fear his minions. The Cammona Tong of the Bitter Coast may still walk, briefly, but they are dead men."
Day Forty-six: In the cave of the Sixth House
I look at myself tonight and wonder, what has Vvardenfell made of me? I have a room at the South Wall for the night. Bacola Closcius, the proprietor, raised an eyebrow at my bloodied clothes, but asked no questions. Since his establishment is the base for the local Theive's Guild I expected none from him. The local authorities were less complacent.
I had already had a harrowing morning when I arrived in Balmora. While mapping the coast for Nine-Toes I located a number of caves that I suspected were in use by smugglers. What smugglers serve the Cammona Tong, and who does not? I have no way to know without checking for myself. In my rage I knew no fear of these self styled guardians of Dunmer purity. This morning I found that the caves of the Bitter Coast can harbor things far more frightening, and deadly. I set out from Pelagiad, headed for a cave on a small island southeast of Seyda Neen.
I crept into the cave warily. Smugglers can be expected to post guards. I found none. The interior passage was well lighted, groups of red candles burned on many rocks and ledges, casting a flickering glow. The floor showed the passage of many feet. Bare feet. A strange odor wafted through the passages, a putrid scent of decayed flesh. This was no smuggler's hide out. Not far inside the cave I came upon a man, kneeling, gnawing at a chunk of bleeding meat. I watched in horror. The man wore only ragged pants. His sides were scored with bulbous scars; wounds badly healed. Along his lower ribs blood oozed from a fresh jagged wound. It was healing rapidly, flesh forming as I watched. The wound, the meat; I gagged on the realization. He was eating his own flesh.
The sounds of choking down bile roused the monster from its grisly repast and it lurched to its feet. Still spitting and gasping for air I staggered backwards. The monster came at me with a lumbering gait, arms outstretched. No intellect graced its eyes, only hatred burned in those vacant orbs. In horrified shock I struggled to free my bow, then gave up and fled towards the daylight. At the entrance to the cave I turned. With distance some sense of calm returned. The creature shambled up the slope of the long straight passage to the surface. I could see that what had been a gaping wound in its side was almost completely healed and I abandoned the idea of killing it by conventional means. Forming my hands in the requisite curve, with thumbs linked together, I cast the spell. Magical flames erupted, forming a ball which I launched with a push. The cleansing magical fire scoured the monster, and it stopped its advance briefly. Skin curled and fell in blackened rolls that shattered on the stony floor, and fluids steamed from the staggered monster's oozing flesh, but it resumed its course. I repeated the spell, and the monster collapsed. The stench of burning flesh overcame me, and I could no longer choke down my rising gorge.
When I had recovered I gave serious thought to just turning and leaving. If the Cammona Tong had ever been there, they weren't now. I couldn't though. Bits of rumor and Caius' questions were starting to fit together, and I slowly realized that I was standing in a den of the Sixth House Cult. How the self devouring horror related to the ancient House Dagoth I had no idea, but I had to make at least some effort at investigation. I readied my bow and willed my feet to carry me back into the depths of the cave.
When I reached the spot where I had encountered the monster, clearly marked by the lump of meat abandoned on the stone floor, I faced a choice. I cast a wary glance down a side passage, and went straight ahead down the slope. I did not get far. The way was blocked by a deep crevice. On the far side a ledge fronted a closed door set into the wall. I returned to the side passage and turned to follow its narrow twisting course. The passage eventually widened, forming a natural chamber in the grey native stone. Across the chamber the passage continued, and another small cave opened on the wall high above with a rockfall providing a chance to scramble up. At the bottom of the fall lay a Dunmer corpse. Intricately decorated bonemold boots still graced its feet, and a matching shield, badly abused, lay discarded nearby. Much of the meat had been torn from the body.
Further examination of the body was stopped by the entrance of another horrible mockery of a man. This time there were no bulging scars, and he moved gracefully as he leapt into a defensive crouch and began weaving a spell. He was no longer human though, if indeed he ever had been. It was grey. Not a grey like a skin of some different hue. The brown skin of a Redguard, the bluish skin of a Dunmer, they are still skin. This man was grey, a powdery grey, as if he was made of ash; even his eyes. The creature muttered incantations, and a ball of sparks sailed towards me. I gulped a potion Ajira had made for me, and a barrier of my own magical electricity erupted around me. The two charges intermingled, popping and flashing, but the barrier held, and I returned fire with my own spell. The flames did not burn the creature visibly, it seemed already charred to an ashen waste, but it did weaken and grow more emaciated as the magica chorused around it. Volley after volley surged between us, and I would surely have been reduced to a smoking ruin without my shielding. The monster fared less well. Repeated immersion in the searing flames completely dessicated it, and it fell into an ashy cloud that settled rapidly to the floor.
I climbed up the rockfall and found another corpse, in similar condition to the first. I took their boots, and intricately woven belts. The belts seem to bear some sort of insignia, and I suspect will be identifiable to someone better versed in the politics of Morrowind than I. I teleported to my storage cave. I could face no more of the Sixth House Cult today.
I spent much of the afternoon repairing the battered shield. The workmanship is exceptional, on the shield and the boots. When I departed my cave I regretfully left my levitating boots behind. These boots are far too comfortable, and give so much better protection, that I had to wear them. After visiting Wyan the armorer though I am not sure. He bought the extra pair for an excellent price, but informed me that they are a product of House Indoril, a great house that is not represented on Vvardenfell. Here on the island they are worn almost exclusively by Tribunal Temple ordinators. The belts verified that indeed, the bodies I had found were ordinators. I described the creature, which Wyan identified as an ash slave, and he commended me for my good sense in deserting the cave. In his view whatever had killed the two ordinators had to be significantly more dangerous that that. I'm glad I departed without facing it.
When I left the Fighter's Guild hall I went to the Council Club. I hoped to gather information from the bartender there about the Tong. It is my actions there that concern me. I complain about Ranis sending me on missions of thuggery for the guild. I condemn the Tong out of hand. But what of me? As I approached, two Dunmer emerged, carrying their drinks to the rooftop tables. I have seen them around Balmora. Certainly they sympathize with the Tong, but I doubt they posed any active threat to Ahnassi. I slaughtered them like pigs. It is more good fortune than good planning that leaves me a free man.
When the authorities arrived I stood dripping blood, my two antagonists sprawled at my feet. Their weapons, which had availed them little against my bloodlust, lay scattered about them. Two things saved me from prison. A caravaner, from his vantage point atop the strider port, reported a clear view of events. What he saw was two Dunmer springing to the attack. He couldn't hear me hissing to them that I had slain the Tong's leaders and had returned for them. His report was the first thing. The second, I think, was some behind the scenes effort by Caius. I saw Caius' courier, Rithleen, come and go in the crowd which had gathered, and not long after a higher ranking member of the Hluulu guards arrived and I was turned loose. Afterwards Nine-Toes hissed in my ear; "Best not to see Caius today, apprentice. Better to get out of town for a while" I was startled by the disembodied voice, but managed not to draw attention to the invisible Argonian.
In the morning I will take his advice. I leave before dawn, for Hla Oad.
Day Forty-seven: Pirate
Now I am a pirate. Unfortunately, other than sleeping on it I have no idea what to do with this ship. I cannot sail her by myself. I know nothing about sailing anyway. She is fully laden with a cargo of illegal ebony, and I would hate to abandon her. Perhaps by morning I will have an idea.
I found the Grytewake at a dock near the mouth of the Odai by following her Nord crew. Their treks through the marsh from a nearby cave were marked by alternating disgruntled complaining with gleeful proclamations of wealth. They made many trips. I hid among the trees and marsh grasses. I would have been happy to leave these smugglers to their work, but I wanted to find out who they were working with. When I saw a group of Dunmer emerge from the cave I listened closely, and confirmed my suspicions. I allowed the Dunmer to pass, although the thousands of gold pieces they carried were bound for Orvas Dren, kingpin of the Cammona Tong. The couriers are not local operatives, no threat to Ahnassi, and no concern of mine.
I even considered waiting for the ship to sail. These Nords do not concern me either. I chose not to for a number of reasons; hundreds of pounds of reasons actually. Ebony. I wanted to find out, if I could, where the Cammona Tong came up with such a shipment of ebony. I owed it to my fellow Blade, Surane Leoriane, to see if this shipment has a link to the Caldera Mines. Searching through the ship's papers has revealed nothing. All I can do is take her the names Thervam Drelas and Ralos Othrenium. Those two were the Tong members left with the Nords. Left to die.
I have nine more deaths on my conscience, but they do not weigh heavily. Smugglers, battle hardened; they chose their lot. For the Nords especially there was likely no better end they would have chosen than to die in battle, though perhaps not this battle. This one they might call unfair. I watched them as they trudged through the swamps lading their cargo. I waited in the darkness near the cave mouth when sunset stopped their efforts; waited listening to the revelry within. I watched as many of the crew staggered drunkenly to their ship. Then I struck.
The first officer was still in the cave, completing the transaction with the Dunmer or just too drunk to return to the ship. Drelas and his Redguard lackey fell defending the door, Othrenium and the Nord officer deep within. There is still loot in the cave, to be sifted from the refuse of the evening's festivities. Given the number of empty bottles killing them may have done them a favor; they would have been miserable in the morning. Those on the ship were easier prey, most having fallen into drunken slumber.
I would guess there are close to three hundred pounds of ebony on board, plus provisions for a long journey. I will have to leave the ship, obviously. I could transport the valuable cargo to my cave, but that would set me further back in my march on Hla Oad. I will decide with the dawn.
Day Forty-Eight: The slave traders
I am taking my bed tonight in the master's cabin aboard Grytewake; a fine jest. We will sail on the pre-dawn tide, and I will be a hand with the sails; a barely able hand. Wadarkhu's crew is short for manning a deep water vessel like Grytewake, and I will have to be made useful.
When I awoke this morning my mind immediately sprang to Wardarkhu as the answer to the question of what to do with this ship. I raced into Hla Oad and located Pallia Ceno. Pallia was the only person in Hla Oad who was even remotely civil during my last visit. She is an initiate in the Imperial Cult. While the Empire allows and encourages religious freedom in all of its provinces it does actively support the official beliefs of native Cyrodiil. Throughout the Empire order is maintained by the Imperial Legions, and civilization is maintained by the Imperial Cult. Pallia represents the cult here in the backwaters of the Bitter Coast. I admire her courage, particularly considering the strong influence of the Cammona Tong in Hla Oad. While she would like me to take the oath and join the Cult as a lay member, she is willing to help me out as my friend. A generous donation to her cause helped. I put her aboard the Harpy, bound for Gnaar Mok.
The Cammona Tong operates freely and openly in Hla Oad. I spent the rest of the morning sorting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. There are some honest fishermen, drawing their living from the sea and swamps, and Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker treated me fairly enough, but otherwise the town is run by the Tong. There was not much wheat to be found. I was taken aback by how pervasive the Tong is here, and briefly doubted my commitment to their elimination. Many members of the Tong claim they are just a society of businessmen, and I wonder how the business of Hla Oad would get done without them. There is not much business to do, but would Perien be able to take it all in the absence of the trader Tresteve? Dalam Gavyn is the only smith. Would another take his place if the Tong's influence were broken? My doubts were removed when I met Relem Arinith. A perfect example of the 'businessmen' of the Cammona Tong. I can hardly wait for his blood to darken my spear.
When I first laid eyes on Arinith he held a cruel leather lead in his hand. Bound by the lead was a Khajiit. Her fur was matted, and her eyes dulled by misery. My stomach turned at the thought that my dear Ahnassi could be subject to such a fate if the Cammona Tong's bigoted views were allowed to flourish. We were in the caverns beneath Fat-legs Drop Off, Tresteve's trading establishment, and surrounded by Cammona Tong and other witnesses. My hands itched, but I kept my spear in its sling. Cunning and diplomacy; I would buy the slave, whose name was Rabinna, and reclaim my gold from Arinith's corpse later. He would not sell.
"You could not afford her outlander," he said. "She does not look like much, but she has a great inner worth." He barked a short evil laugh, and was joined by the rest of the toughs gathered nearby. I did not get the joke. If I had understood the grotesque reference I would have gutted them all on the spot, despite all consequence. Arinith continued; "You may be able to buy her from Vorar Helas outlander. She is payment of a debt I owe him." He gave the lead a vicious yank. If you want her so badly, deliver her to him in Balmora, and perhaps he will sell." I recognized the name. Vorar Helas was a neighbor of Caius; a sneering, ill-tempered fellow. Hearing his name in this context marked him unsurprisingly as Cammona Tong. I knew Wadarkhu would not arrive before dark. I took the job.
Rabinna followed, docile and subdued, as I sped for Balmora. She expressed no complaint at the fast pace I set. She showed no curiosity when I turned off the road and approached the city over the hills east of the river. I used a pass that I had noted because it provided direct access to Caius' house. We descended unobserved to the roof of Helas' house, and slipped in through an upper balcony. Before Helas could raise an outcry, I showed him the cowering slave I had brought.
"Good work outlander," he hissed. "Using you is a master stroke. Relem is even more clever than I thought."
"Too clever by half," I said. "I'll be taking Rabinna with me. He would not sell her, and I promised to deliver her to you, to give you one chance to sell her."
"She is worthless outlander, a cat with a veneer of civilization. But she is a fine shipping container, and after I slit her belly open you can have her for nothing. Disposing of the corpse is always a task I'd rather avoid anyway." With that the vile smuggler cast a paralyzation spell on me and advanced on Rabinna, drawing a wicked dagger.
The small vial of protective potion in my belt pouch pulsed magica into my frozen body, drawing my hand. My thumb popped the cap as it came to my lips. As the fluid poured in full freedom of movement exploded into my limbs.
Helas and his dagger may have been ideally suited for killing a cowed slave, but they were no match for my spear, or my fury. There may be relative innocents among the Tong, but I will have no remorse for disemboweling Vorar Helas and leaving him to die slowly, clutching his entrails.
I couldn't leave Rabinna in the house with the corpse, but I certainly have no desire for a slave. I brought her back to the ship, and my meeting with Wadarkhu. The wrapping on the moon sugar the smugglers forced her to swallow will break down, and she will face some rough times. Wadarkhu will see her through, and I will meet her again at Gnaar Mok. Before then I will return to Fat-Legs Drop Off. The Cammona Tong there, with their laughs about her 'inner worth' will get a sense of my humor.
Day Forty-nine: The fall of Daren Adryn
Tonight I can barely hold quill to paper. Drunkenness. Result of celebration, or a search for oblivion? I am a killing machine. Five more lives snuffed out, and more tomorrow. Deservedly so, but why by my hand? What fate has sent me to Vvardenfell as the right hand of death?
This morning was glorious; sailing the open water, clean sea air. Grytewake is a prize that gave even the gruff Wadarkhu a spring in his steps. His command of the ship, the loyalty of his crew, not only to him but to each other, spoke volumes. I helped with the rigging, and worked cheerfully as directed. I was the pirate who delivered the prize, and I was treated well. Still I couldn't help but notice the sideways glances and wary eyes. When we reached deep water the bodies of the former crew and their accomplices were dumped over the side. I did not help with that. I wasn't asked.
We brought the ship in to a secret dock and boarded Wadarkhu's coaster. I was again useful as we transferred the bulk of the provisions to the smaller ship. The cargo of ebony we buried. Neither Wadarkhu or I know a buyer for such a load. We will both be looking. We are agreed that the profit from the cargo is mine, the ship is Wadarkhu's. As we shook on the deal the cynical Khajiit smuggler spoke with morbid humor. "If you find a buyer my good friend Arvil Bren, try not to kill them." Only Wadarkhu was in on the plan for the rest of my activities today, so his low humor was understandable, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh.
The crew sailed for Gnaar Mok. On the smaller ship I was just a passenger. As we rounded the north end of the island I slipped over the side breathing water and swam stealthily ashore. Wadarkhu sailing brazenly to the dock gave me ample opportunity to slip into town. Coming from the north I had to slip past the manor house of Almse Arenim. The small Arenim clan is closely tied with Great House Hlaalu, and Almse is their agent in residence, administering their Bitter Coast holdings. She and her guards obviously have turned a blind eye to the activities of the Tong and there is a certain complicity in that, but House Hlaalu veers with the wind of profits. They are not themselves glaringly evil, and I would rather not put myself directly at odds with them. I was successful today, but the guard posted to Hla Oad may be a problem tomorrow.
I secreted myself near the shack that serves as headquarters for the Tong, and waited. Wadarkhu and the Hluulu guard were in a heated exchange on the dock. There was no contraband in the cargo, which Wadarkhu's crew were unloading and moving into the Druegh-jigger's Rest. The debate was about taxes, on the surface; the undercurrent were powerful, and obvious. Wadarkhu did not acquire the mountain of provisions, clothing, armor, and weapons on a 'trading voyage', as he was stridently claiming, and the guard knew it. Eventually Almse Arenim herself would be down at the dock, taxes would be levied, and the excitement would pass. But first the typical crowd would gather. I counted on that.
Among the early arrivals in the crowd was Nadene Rotheran. She provided the cover for the Tong's shelter. An innocent commoner paying a minimal stipend for her shelter, making a meager living fishing and collecting mushrooms; she goes unquestioned about the coming and going of her frequent guests. Unquestioned by the legal authority at least. I didn't question either, I eavesdropped. As she and another woman pulled away from the crowd and headed towards the shack I was delighted to hear "We have to get Daren. Can you believe the Theive's Guild? Sailing up to the dock in broad daylight like regular merchants?" They opened the door on my quarry.
Gulping a potion of invisibility I swept through the door in their wake. Their conversation clearly identified Daren
Adryn. From his robes I guessed that he was a mage of some sort. From his rank in the Tong I guessed he would be a dangerous sort. The other toughs and thugs clearly deferred to him. I positioned myself so he was between me and the rest as my potion wore off. He roared in outrage and began casting a spell. He never finished, interrupted by his life blood gushing from his mouth as his lungs collapsed around the spear through his chest. The fall of their master put the rest in a frenzy, but they were also disheartened and rapidly fell before the gleaming point that dripped with his blood. I stood in the carnage gathering my breath.
Breath was all I had time to gather. The sounds of running feet, undoubtedly clad in the bonemold boots of a Hlaalu guard were bearing down on the door. There may have been a slight swirl of magica lingering in the air when the guard burst in. I wouldn't know. I was reappearing in my cave.
As usual, my journal has served me well. The writing has sobered me somewhat, and given me perspective. It is not my place to question the fate that has brought me here, nor mine to judge the choices made by men such as Daren Adryn. All I can do is complete the task set before me, with steady hand and clear head. Tomorrow, Hla Oad.
Day Fifty: Fresh air in Hla Oad
It is time for me to move on once again. My presence in Hlaalu territory has become a problem; for them, for me, and for Caius. Ahnassi is certainly safe. It will be a long time before the Cammona Tong recovers their operations on the Bitter Coast, if the Thieve's Guild lets that happen at all.
This morning I woke refreshed, if a bit hung over. The early morning mist hung over Pelagiad, softening the outline of the great fortress. The trunks of the great trees stood like pillars, their tops lost in the vaulted grey ceiling of the world. I left early rather than face breakfast at the inn. Preparing in solitude for the tasks of the day. On the shore of Lake Amaya I shot a mudcrab, and used the great shell as a pot to boil the legs.
The morning passed uneventfully. I have grown familiar with the region, and traveled paths seldom trod to arrive unseen at Hla Oad. With the full noonday sun shining down I donned a closed bonemold helm and descended the final hillside. The helm is of Redoran manufacture, and did bring a stare from the Hlaalu guard patrolling the docks. I hoped his curiosity would not drive him to hurriedly investigate as I ducked into Fat Legs Drop-off.
A closed face helmet does not make for a warm welcome, and the trader, Tresteve the Redguard, did not disappoint. His hand fell on a Nordic battle axe as he said "Hail stranger. It would be a courtesy to show yourself." On my previous visit to Hla Oad Tresteve had made it very clear that he would only deal with me at huge profit, he primarily serves the Cammona Tong. We did not part as friends. He was not happy with the helm's visor. When I raised it to reveal myself, and my death's head grin, he was even less happy. I ran my spear through him before he could raise the axe.
I raised the trap door leading to the cavern below and leapt down to the creaking wooden platform below. As my boots thumped wood I roared "For the Thieve's Guild! Honor of the Empire!" The Dunmer woman who served as the Tong's sentinel drew a dagger and charged. Shouts and the sound of running feet echoed through the chamber. I felled her with a whirling swipe of my spear and clattered down the steps.
Had the thugs of the Tong gathered themselves for a rush they would have presented much more of a challenge. It was unfortunate that Arinith was the first to arrive. He deserved a slower death. As it was I was compelled to dispatch him as quickly as possible. When his sword clanged to the stone floor and his hands batted feebly at the shaft of the spear lodged in his neck I gave it a vicious twist that yanked him to his knees. I dislodged him from the point with a boot sole to the face. The last words he heard as he went to his ancestors were "Rabinna has greater worth than you, inner or obvious." The others fell in turn, unremarked.
Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker cowered at the far end of the cavern. As I approached he said "I have no quarrel with your guild."
"I know Perien. And I have no quarrel with you. In fact I am counting on you to maintain the tradehouse. Tresteve is dead, as is every member and sympathizer of the Cammona Tong that has crossed my path. I have sailed the raging gale of death, but now I return to Mournhold. You do business with the Tong I will return for you." I stalked away, hoping the reference to Mournhold would throw some suspicion on the Dark Brotherhood.
I gathered whatever valuables I could find, including yet another cache of armor and weapons, and prepared to transport myself back to my cave. My heart nearly stopped when a familiar hiss erupted in my ear. "Arvil Bren!" My concentration broken, I stuttered the incantation and magica coursed aimlessly around me. Nine-toes emerged from the shadowy recess in which he had secreted himself. "This is indeed a surprise, pleasing or not."
In clipped sentences Nine-toes informed me that Caius, the spymaster of the Blades, had assigned him to find out what was going on in the Bitter Coast. The Cammona Tong's contacts have House Hlaalu in an uproar. There have been rumors that the Empire is somehow responsible, clandestinely intervening in the Tong's war with the Thieve's Guild. "When Caius finds out that there is an accidental truth to that rumor he is not going to be pleased apprentice," my Argonian comrade said. "The Hlaalu guards are on the lookout for spearmen, and they have not forgotten your altercation on the roof at the Council Club. You can't go to Balmora. I will inform Caius and have him meet you at Fort Moonmoth so you can explain yourself."
I had no chance to argue. Nine-toes spun at the sound of the trapdoor banging and disappeared in a flurry of magica. I slammed the visor of my helm shut. The Hlaalu guard saw nothing but a Redoran helm disappearing in the violet swirl of mystic energies as I transported away.
Frequently I have heard the hissed "outlander" from some passing Dunmer and felt outrage. Often I have felt the sting of their prejudice. Often I have felt that kindred spirit with the bandit, the rogue, the opportunist. Today I feel none of that.
I left this morning after enjoying breakfast with Drulene. I said nothing about returning, and she did not ask. She squealed with delight when I returned this evening though, but perhaps it had more to do with the two guar I led. One of the guar belongs to a neighbor, and Drulene will return it tomorrow, the other was the prize of her herd.
I headed south this morning, searching for any sign that would lead me to the camp of the bandits that had plagued the area. I thought to reason with them. As the morning wore away and my path seemed to wind fruitlessly through the grassy hills I began to doubt that I would find them, and began to wonder at myself for the effort. I could think of no excuse to return to Drulene's farm to report having looked in vain, but I wanted to see her again. I used my boots to ascend the highest peak in the area, and was rewarded with a most confusing vista.
On the far side of the peak, nestled against the lower slope, stood the familiar arch of an ancestral tomb. In my early days in Morrowind I pillaged such tombs haphazardly, and recently I very purposefully took a skull of a revered ancestor from another, but I would never contemplate the desecration I found today. Outside the tomb grazed two tethered guar, in an area well cropped by their feeding. I could only assume the bandits were inside, and had been for quite some time.
I slid down the slope and entered the tomb. It was typical of such places, a long stair descended to a door, which opened into a long entry chamber lined with blocky stone altars. On the altars stood the familiar burial urns, which I knew would contain the remains of honored family members. The doors had been left carelessly ajar, and I dispatched a rat who had found its way into the hallowed interior. At the far end of the entry hall another door stood, and I crept forward through the chattering wails of the disturbed spirits.
Beyond the door was a chapel. One of the Dunmer's many revered texts lay at the base of a lectern, pulled down by yet another monstrous rat. I destroyed the vermin with my spear, but my anger was building at the thoughtless bandits who I was sure were sheltering here. As my anger grew the spirits seemed to subside, perhaps sensing that swift justice was about to befall those who defiled this place. I crossed the chapel and swung open the door to the inner crypt.
The bandits had constructed cots on the raised altar, and were roasting meat on spits over a fire built in the sacred fire pit. Sizzling grease spattered into the age old ashes of a Dunmer family. My stomach heaved. The wood elves dropped their half cooked lunches and sprang to the attack. I was enraged. I now have a clear understanding of the berserker attacks of the Nords. I could not say how they got there, but the two bandits lay dead at my feet. I leaned on my spear, panting heavily, bleeding from minor wounds. The spirits chatter, so ominous to my ears on all my previous excursions into these depths, now soothed the fire in my heart.
I did not know how to set the tomb right. I piled the bandits belongings in the entry, along with their corpses. Hopefully the family will find them and be appeased. I led the guar back here. Drulene's initial outburst crashed when she saw my wounds, which I had done little to attend to. She treated them tenderly, and listened quietly as I told the tale. In the end I could only look into those red eyes and moan out an apology, a wrenching lament for what other outlanders had done, and no doubt would continue to do. In her beautiful face I could see the heart of the Dunmer people.
Day Forty-two: Questions or peace?
In prison I wrote every day. I spread myself across paper, where I could see.When my father hanged himself in a cell down the hall I spread out my torment, and I survived. I wrote every day, filling the empty void of days. Now mostly I write at night as my days are full. Perhaps, sometimes, I write just from habit, but I find I cannot sleep otherwise. Often it seems just a recap of a days events, offering me little glimpse into myself. Today must be different, and I write here in the broad daylight, perched on a fence, soothed by the satisfied grunting of the guar herd. Drulene has gone to her neighbor to return the guar. I look to my journal in search of myself.
The legend of the Nerevarine haunts me. My sleep was disturbed by a dream. My thoughts linger on the desecrated tomb. The swirl of Morrowind politics threatens to engulf me. I do not know where to turn, or who to trust.
The Tribunal Temple reveres the memory of Nerevar. Their greatest general; a contemporary of the immortal living gods who reign supreme in the ancestral pantheon of the Dunmer; the Tribunal. Nerevar, who in a way seems to have been even greater than the three who survive, was lost, but not forgotten. Would the Tribunal welcome their lost brother's return if the prophecy were fulfilled? They persecute the Nerevarene cult, and put down the prophecy. Do they know it false? Or fear it true?
And the Empire; where would they stand really? The Dunmer whisper that only Nerevar has ever truly united them, and wait for the Nerevarine to do so once more. The Empire uses the splits and tensions among the Temple and the ruling houses to keep Morrowind under thrall. But the Emperor knows this province has never been truly conquered. Morrowind squirms under the Imperial heel, perhaps dangerous in its unrest. A false Nerevarine would serve them well. They may intend to create a Nerevarene, and they may be using me as the raw material. Am I the only one, or like Sharn sending me for the skull, am I just the latest one?
What if they succeed? Could I deliver the Dunmer, falsely united, to some final break in their resistance? How would I bear my own reflection if I falsly led these proud people into Imperial ways, leaving their tombs to the bandits and their hearts to the cliff racers?
Imperial rule brings peace and prosperity; a rule of law, and comfort. But in the wake of that law ride the lawless, the bandits and freebooters pulled along to the edge of the civilization. Under the weight of invading law the pride of a nation twists into the bigoted hatred of the Cammona Tong. In Vvardenfell, the land itself seems to resist, and Red Mountain may roar its protest. The Dwemer could not stand against it, what chance the Empire?
I was born on the day, to the uncertain parents. Could I actually be the Nerevarine? Me, a Breton of High rock? But if I couldn't be the Nerevarine the Empire wouldn't consider trying to pass me off as the Nerevarine. I am spread on the paper of this journal, spread thin, but I still don't see.
Later. Even with my journal sated for the day, I cannot sleep without writing. I spent the day laughing with Drulene, hearding the guar, tending the plants. The work was hard, and early sleep should come easily. To be the Nerevarine must I have the heart of a Dunmer, or merely hold one dear?
Day Forty-three: Out of the shack and into the fire
I am settled in at the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, having spent the day moving once more. Clearing all my possessions out of the shack was bittersweet, but after recent events I am less inclined to a hermit's existence. It seems nowhere is remote enough to avoid the Dark Brotherhood. I will have to safeguard my survival with movement, not isolation. With that in mind I have begun the process of separating my various shops and equipments.
Here in Ald-ruhn I established my library. I have accumulated quite a few books in my travels, and today purchased a few more. In a booksellers shop in Balmora I found the rare volume Edwinna wanted, Chronicles of Nehuleft. I also picked up my own copies of History of the Empire, and a book on the Dark Brotherhood. This historical perspective has kept me in my chamber since dinner, for it seems a familiarity with my enemies could only help me. No startling revelations leapt forth however.
The dinner table here is quite different from meals in the Balmora guild hall. The focus on scholarship is very much in evidence. Anarenen it seems can be counted on at any meal to hold forth on some aspect of alchemy until literally told that everyone has heard enough. I will probably learn more over dinners than I would have with all my experimentation. Edwinna is more of a quiet watcher, but I did get her animated attention by mentioning my trip to Arkngthand. I think it will not be long before we are having a very frank conversation about Dwemer artifacts and Imperial law. My supply of Dwemer artifacts I left stored in my cave, close enough for accessing the trader in Pelagiad. I am sure I have far more than he can afford, but if I take all I can carry every time I visit the town it should make a profitable sideline.
A profitable sideline with the added benefit of visiting Ahnassi. Despite the alluring Drulene Falen and the peaceful idyll of her farm I have not been able to get the lovely Khajiit out of my mind. The secret of my cave must be protected though, so I dare not visit Pelagiad yet. There is a spell which I have seen on scrolls that will allow me to transport myself from the cave directly to the Imperial Shrine at the Pelagiad fort. I can load my pack with artifacts and use that spell, so no one will ever see me enter or leave the cave. Problem being that I do not know that spell, and presently do not have any scrolls to use either. I will check the supply chest tomorrow.
A knock on my door interrupted my writing. Ajira come to tell me that Hasphat Antabolis has been to the guild looking for me. I trust the master at arms of the Balmora Fighter's Guild well enough. But how many people know to look for me at the Mage's Guild. And how safe is Ajira, if she becomes known as someone who knows how to find me?
Day Forty-four: The political cauldron of Caldera
My loyalties are plagued by conflict tonight. The Emperor did not release me out of a newfound vein of good will. I am sure I am being manipulated somehow, used as a pawn in a game to bring the province of Morrowind further to heel. It is in my nature to rebel; disappear and let the Empire sort its problems out on someone else's back. But everywhere I turn the Empire shows more good than bad, and the firm loyalty of my fellow Blades operatives seems to be seeping into me. Tonight I sleep as a guest of Surane Leoriane, a fellow Breton and a member of the Blades.
She is a tremendously skilled mage, and an exceptional trainer. In our home province of High Rock she could be living a life of ease and comfort. Among the Redguards, mighty warriors but hardly skilled in the arts of magic, her healing skills alone would give her luxury like a queen. She has spurned all that to come to the backwater of the Empire, Vvardenfell, where she watches the operation of a mining company. She watches for corruption. I see it as corruption that the Emperor can just declare all the ebony in the nearby mines to be imperial property, then give out mining rights as reward, or whim. This town of Caldera, placid on the surface, boils with unknown intrigue just below.
First question on everyone's mind is how House Hlaalu ended up administering the mines in the first place. When Vvardenfell was opened to settlement the Tribunal Temple lost what had been total control of the island, but only relatively small districts were given to the houses Hlaalu, Redoran, and Telvanni. This rich ebony mine would seem to have remained under Temple control. Mining being a secular activity there could be an argument made for bringing in one of the great houses, but given the existing districts that should have been the Redorans. Surane does not want to look at it, since it is outside the scope of her investigations, but some sort of high level graft brought the Hlaalus here in the first place. Now the imperial accountants are in a stew, thinking the Hlaalus are skimming away the profits. What did they expect when they took the Hlaalu's bribes? Now Surane is tasked with stopping the current graft, but encouraged by her own loyalty to not accidentally stir up something she doesn't want to know out of the past.
To me the real quagmire is the question of slavery. In submitting to imperial rule without actually being conquered the Dunmer held the right to their ancient traditions, and slavery is allowed in Morrowind under imperial law. But the slaves are mostly Khajiit and Argonians; imperial citizens. They don't just spring out of the ground, at some point they are captured, obviously illegally, but once in Morrowind they are bound by law. The Empire won't stop the slave trade since their own ebony mines require the slaves to operate. At the same time the Dunmer are furious that escaped slaves that successfully get out of Morrowind cannot be legally recovered, leaving the lawful slaveholders at the mercy of underground organizations who spirit slaves away to their homeland. It is a tangled web.
Just as tangled in my own head. No matter how the profits generated on the backs of slaves get divided, it will never seem fair to me anyway. The seizure and distribution of mining rights started out corrupt, what purpose is served by cleaning it up partway now? But Surane is so clear, so focused. Since I have no idea which way to turn I am left to turn her way by default. Which brings me once again to serving the Empire, for good or ill. I'm afraid it will always be some of both.
I walked from Ald-ruhn, thinking I would have time to think, sort out my loyalties. Perhaps I did, but once again the destination created more questions than the journey answered. Fortunately I can walk on tomorrow for Balmora, leaving the problems of Caldera in Surane's capable hands.
Day Forty-five: Things we do for love
I made a quick dash this morning to Balmora to check in with Hasphat. He has solved the riddles of his puzzle box. He made a key that he thinks will fit a door somewhere in Arkngthand. He was quite proud of himself, and I was also much impressed by his ingenuity. I was honored and surprised when he gave me the key. The right thing to do would probably have been staying in Balmora and having lunch with him, but I felt pressed for time, although I was trying not to admit to myself why I was anxious. I told myself that I had left quite a treasure in the cave near Pelagiad. I told myself that I was focused on the business to transact with Mebastian Ence. I told myself everything but that I was looking forward to seeing Ahnassi. Then I ran into a stunning display of what love can do to people.
I thanked Hasphat for the key and promised him that any unique artifacts I found when I returned to Arkngthand I would share with him, then used my recall spell to return to the cave. All seemed well, my treasures undisturbed. I opened the door to let some fresh air clear the mustiness that had set in, and my sense of well being evaporated. Not far away, along the main road, a swirl of smoke rose curling into the air. Someone had a campfire burning; probably cooking their lunch. I crept out of the cave and into the underbrush, curving away from the unknown campsite.
When I reached the main road I headed north, maintaining the air of a nonchalant traveler. When the campsite came into view I was surprised to see a lone Breton woman; quite a beautiful woman in fact. When she saw me approaching she hurried to meet me, fairly shouting down the road to ask if I had seen a bandit lurking about. Completely misunderstanding her I began to pledge myself to her defense, thinking this would restore some calm. She would have none of that. She was not fearing robbery, in fact she had already been robbed. She was waiting, in hopes for the robber's return. Somehow in the course of having her jewelry stolen she had become quite smitten with the rogue. I shook my head in amazement. Then she mentioned the name; Nelos. If only I had been prepared to keep my features better composed I thought to myself.
She saw the flash of recognition and sprang at me, eyes blazing into my own. "You know him!" she cried. "You must tell him I wait for him. You must!" She removed one of her intricately embroidered gloves and pressed it into my hand. "You must deliver this token to him!" I wanted to point out that he already had her jewels, and one would think that was token enough, but I could not bring myself to break such a fair maiden's heart. I took the glove and continued to the north until I was safely out of sight, then ducked into the bushes and transported back to my cave. I had not the least expectation that Nelos Onmar would be interested in Maurrie Aurmine's glove, and wondered how I could go back and tell her in a way that would be least painful. I also considered selling the glove and joining Nelos in disappearing from her life forever so as not to have to face her with any bad news.
I set up my armory there in the cave and put a fine new point to my spear, restrung my bow, and polished up my bonemold armor. Then I loaded a pack with as much Dwemer material as I could unobtrusively carry and used the intervention scroll that put me at the nearest Imperial Shrine; in this case right in the courtyard of the fort at Pelagiad. There was a secret thrill in appearing there laden with contraband artifacts, but the guards had no reason to suspect and treated me with nothing but respect as I made my way out into the village. The trader Ence had already had lunch, but agreed to join me for a drink at the Halfway Tavern. We left his guard to watch his shop and crossed the street to conduct our business away from that worthy. The guard is provided by the Imperial Legion; it would not sit well to deal in Dwemer artifacts right under his nose.
The Halfway was quiet, and Drelasa Ramothran provided me a wonderful meal. She also came to our rescue when Ence and I reached an impasse in our negotiations. It turned out that I had brought too much; more than Ence could afford to pay a fair price for with the gold he had available. I thought he was just being obstinate, and was slowly losing patience with my fellow Breton. As could be expected, the more agitated we became the more formal and stilted our conversation, until we were both so stuffy that we could hardly understand each other. Drelasa stepped in with the kind of smooth light tone that only a master of the publican's trade can produce, and like magic our good will was restored. In the sudden eye in the hurricane of rhetoric I could see the problem clearly, as could Ence, and we worked out a deal that favored both of us and Drelasa as well.
Ence gave her a very good deal on a large stock of liquor, which gave him sufficient gold to take all my artifacts at a bargain, but fair, price. For my part I promised Drelasa to spend a quantity of my newly acquired gold raising good sport in her tavern, to help reduce the sudden excess in her inventory. The deal struck, I followed Ence back to his shop and enlisted the assistance of his guard to carry the liquor back to Drelasa. Ence took the opportunity to stash his new artifacts, and the guard got word that the Halfway Tavern would be the place to be this evening. Things were really starting to shape up for a wild time. Then in walked Nelos.
Drelasa immediately accosted him about providing entertainment, and he agreed to play his lute in return for a reasonable tab at the bar. Then I approached him, holding the glove. He looked at it curiously, then raised his laughing red eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "What's this, Breton? Has some damsel given you a glove and you seek my advice? I am a bit of an expert, and would gladly help you, but I am a bit parched..." Ever the rogue. He had just settled for free drinks for the evening, but had to maneuver for more.
"Actually Nelos, the damsel sent the glove for you, not me. I too would gladly offer advice, on such matters as where to find her for instance, but like you I am a bit parched, and unlike you I don't have an open tab." I slid onto a seat beside the raffish Dunmer and grinned.
Drelasa set down two tankards and laughed. "These first lot are on the house, no ones tab but mine," she sang. "Nelos, you may have met your match in Arvil Bren. Watch your step, you two might talk each other into serious trouble before the night is through." We could not help but join her merry laughter as she sauntered away.
We raised our glasses and I came out with the story of Maurrie's glove as concisely as I could. To my surprise the rogue seemed touched immediately upon hearing her name, and positively moved as I continued to tell him how she had demanded I find him. I have seen my father lie with utter conviction, and express the complete range of emotions without feeling a twitch. I know a fake. Nelos was not faking. He had genuinely fallen for the girl. Again I shook my head in disbelief. He called to Drelasa for a quill, ink, and paper.
"You must take her this note Arvil Bren, I cannot go for I have promised to play," he said with his voice cracking with emotion. I calculated; he could get back in time, if he hurried, but he probably would not come back if he went to the girl. I took the note.
When she saw me coming down the road at a trot Maurrie leapt to her feet. "Did you find him?" she cried. When I told her that I had she threw her arms around me, and I struggled to bring his note out of my pouch. She read it rapidly, then again slowly, small moaning sighs breathing from her lips. I have never seen two people so in love. "He could not come because he is playing music at a tavern?" she asked. Then continued before I could answer, "How far is it? Will you take me there?" She abandoned her camp, and we rushed back to Pelagiad.
As we walked Maurrie chattered about a friend of hers that she thought I should meet. Having found her love she wanted the same for me I suppose. I'm sure her friend in distant Tel Aruhn is a charming and beautiful woman, but the heady atmosphere of being the go between for this surprising couple was overpowering me, and I could barely hear her for thinking of my tiger Ahnassi. We are so unlike, but there is something about her. When we arrived at the Halfway Tavern Maurrie leapt into Nelos' arms and I thought she was oblivious to me. Being new friends Ahnassi and I did not greet each other quite so flamboyantly, but apparently something was obvious. Maurrie caught my ear and whispered "I see you won't be visiting Emusette any time soon Arvil Bren." She smiled a dazzling smile at Ahnassi and swept back to Nelos.
I had spent my day running errands for love; the love of others. This evening love made a direct demand of me. As we danced Ahnassi drifted back and forth from bright happiness to a strange melancholy that she would pass off when I mentioned it. Finally I sat her down and pressed through her reluctance to find out the problem. She came out with the answer and tears welled in her eyes. "I must leave Vvardenfell," she said. I was stunned.
"Why?" was all I could manage to stammer. Suddenly how much I cared for this exotic beauty was crystal clear. As she explained my blood roared in my ears, and the edges of my vision narrowed until all I could see was her face. Ahnassi is Thieve's Guild, and the Cammona Tong is threatening her. Her oaths as a monk prevent her from acting, other than in her immediate defense. She sees no alternative but to leave. "Who has threatened you?" I grated through clenched teeth.
"His name is Daren Adryn, friend Arvil Bren, but I cannot ask you to take his life..." she started, but stopped when she saw my face. At mention of the name my temper scaled a new height. Daren Adryn was the Tong boss in Gnaar Mok. He was responsible for selling me out to the Dark Brotherhood when they came looking for me. He had cost me my home. Now he would cost Ahnassi hers. My seething blood crystalized, like bitter ice.
"You have not asked, my beautiful tiger. Your oath is intact. Now here is mine. You need not fear this man. You need not fear his minions. The Cammona Tong of the Bitter Coast may still walk, briefly, but they are dead men."
Day Forty-six: In the cave of the Sixth House
I look at myself tonight and wonder, what has Vvardenfell made of me? I have a room at the South Wall for the night. Bacola Closcius, the proprietor, raised an eyebrow at my bloodied clothes, but asked no questions. Since his establishment is the base for the local Theive's Guild I expected none from him. The local authorities were less complacent.
I had already had a harrowing morning when I arrived in Balmora. While mapping the coast for Nine-Toes I located a number of caves that I suspected were in use by smugglers. What smugglers serve the Cammona Tong, and who does not? I have no way to know without checking for myself. In my rage I knew no fear of these self styled guardians of Dunmer purity. This morning I found that the caves of the Bitter Coast can harbor things far more frightening, and deadly. I set out from Pelagiad, headed for a cave on a small island southeast of Seyda Neen.
I crept into the cave warily. Smugglers can be expected to post guards. I found none. The interior passage was well lighted, groups of red candles burned on many rocks and ledges, casting a flickering glow. The floor showed the passage of many feet. Bare feet. A strange odor wafted through the passages, a putrid scent of decayed flesh. This was no smuggler's hide out. Not far inside the cave I came upon a man, kneeling, gnawing at a chunk of bleeding meat. I watched in horror. The man wore only ragged pants. His sides were scored with bulbous scars; wounds badly healed. Along his lower ribs blood oozed from a fresh jagged wound. It was healing rapidly, flesh forming as I watched. The wound, the meat; I gagged on the realization. He was eating his own flesh.
The sounds of choking down bile roused the monster from its grisly repast and it lurched to its feet. Still spitting and gasping for air I staggered backwards. The monster came at me with a lumbering gait, arms outstretched. No intellect graced its eyes, only hatred burned in those vacant orbs. In horrified shock I struggled to free my bow, then gave up and fled towards the daylight. At the entrance to the cave I turned. With distance some sense of calm returned. The creature shambled up the slope of the long straight passage to the surface. I could see that what had been a gaping wound in its side was almost completely healed and I abandoned the idea of killing it by conventional means. Forming my hands in the requisite curve, with thumbs linked together, I cast the spell. Magical flames erupted, forming a ball which I launched with a push. The cleansing magical fire scoured the monster, and it stopped its advance briefly. Skin curled and fell in blackened rolls that shattered on the stony floor, and fluids steamed from the staggered monster's oozing flesh, but it resumed its course. I repeated the spell, and the monster collapsed. The stench of burning flesh overcame me, and I could no longer choke down my rising gorge.
When I had recovered I gave serious thought to just turning and leaving. If the Cammona Tong had ever been there, they weren't now. I couldn't though. Bits of rumor and Caius' questions were starting to fit together, and I slowly realized that I was standing in a den of the Sixth House Cult. How the self devouring horror related to the ancient House Dagoth I had no idea, but I had to make at least some effort at investigation. I readied my bow and willed my feet to carry me back into the depths of the cave.
When I reached the spot where I had encountered the monster, clearly marked by the lump of meat abandoned on the stone floor, I faced a choice. I cast a wary glance down a side passage, and went straight ahead down the slope. I did not get far. The way was blocked by a deep crevice. On the far side a ledge fronted a closed door set into the wall. I returned to the side passage and turned to follow its narrow twisting course. The passage eventually widened, forming a natural chamber in the grey native stone. Across the chamber the passage continued, and another small cave opened on the wall high above with a rockfall providing a chance to scramble up. At the bottom of the fall lay a Dunmer corpse. Intricately decorated bonemold boots still graced its feet, and a matching shield, badly abused, lay discarded nearby. Much of the meat had been torn from the body.
Further examination of the body was stopped by the entrance of another horrible mockery of a man. This time there were no bulging scars, and he moved gracefully as he leapt into a defensive crouch and began weaving a spell. He was no longer human though, if indeed he ever had been. It was grey. Not a grey like a skin of some different hue. The brown skin of a Redguard, the bluish skin of a Dunmer, they are still skin. This man was grey, a powdery grey, as if he was made of ash; even his eyes. The creature muttered incantations, and a ball of sparks sailed towards me. I gulped a potion Ajira had made for me, and a barrier of my own magical electricity erupted around me. The two charges intermingled, popping and flashing, but the barrier held, and I returned fire with my own spell. The flames did not burn the creature visibly, it seemed already charred to an ashen waste, but it did weaken and grow more emaciated as the magica chorused around it. Volley after volley surged between us, and I would surely have been reduced to a smoking ruin without my shielding. The monster fared less well. Repeated immersion in the searing flames completely dessicated it, and it fell into an ashy cloud that settled rapidly to the floor.
I climbed up the rockfall and found another corpse, in similar condition to the first. I took their boots, and intricately woven belts. The belts seem to bear some sort of insignia, and I suspect will be identifiable to someone better versed in the politics of Morrowind than I. I teleported to my storage cave. I could face no more of the Sixth House Cult today.
I spent much of the afternoon repairing the battered shield. The workmanship is exceptional, on the shield and the boots. When I departed my cave I regretfully left my levitating boots behind. These boots are far too comfortable, and give so much better protection, that I had to wear them. After visiting Wyan the armorer though I am not sure. He bought the extra pair for an excellent price, but informed me that they are a product of House Indoril, a great house that is not represented on Vvardenfell. Here on the island they are worn almost exclusively by Tribunal Temple ordinators. The belts verified that indeed, the bodies I had found were ordinators. I described the creature, which Wyan identified as an ash slave, and he commended me for my good sense in deserting the cave. In his view whatever had killed the two ordinators had to be significantly more dangerous that that. I'm glad I departed without facing it.
When I left the Fighter's Guild hall I went to the Council Club. I hoped to gather information from the bartender there about the Tong. It is my actions there that concern me. I complain about Ranis sending me on missions of thuggery for the guild. I condemn the Tong out of hand. But what of me? As I approached, two Dunmer emerged, carrying their drinks to the rooftop tables. I have seen them around Balmora. Certainly they sympathize with the Tong, but I doubt they posed any active threat to Ahnassi. I slaughtered them like pigs. It is more good fortune than good planning that leaves me a free man.
When the authorities arrived I stood dripping blood, my two antagonists sprawled at my feet. Their weapons, which had availed them little against my bloodlust, lay scattered about them. Two things saved me from prison. A caravaner, from his vantage point atop the strider port, reported a clear view of events. What he saw was two Dunmer springing to the attack. He couldn't hear me hissing to them that I had slain the Tong's leaders and had returned for them. His report was the first thing. The second, I think, was some behind the scenes effort by Caius. I saw Caius' courier, Rithleen, come and go in the crowd which had gathered, and not long after a higher ranking member of the Hluulu guards arrived and I was turned loose. Afterwards Nine-Toes hissed in my ear; "Best not to see Caius today, apprentice. Better to get out of town for a while" I was startled by the disembodied voice, but managed not to draw attention to the invisible Argonian.
In the morning I will take his advice. I leave before dawn, for Hla Oad.
Day Forty-seven: Pirate
Now I am a pirate. Unfortunately, other than sleeping on it I have no idea what to do with this ship. I cannot sail her by myself. I know nothing about sailing anyway. She is fully laden with a cargo of illegal ebony, and I would hate to abandon her. Perhaps by morning I will have an idea.
I found the Grytewake at a dock near the mouth of the Odai by following her Nord crew. Their treks through the marsh from a nearby cave were marked by alternating disgruntled complaining with gleeful proclamations of wealth. They made many trips. I hid among the trees and marsh grasses. I would have been happy to leave these smugglers to their work, but I wanted to find out who they were working with. When I saw a group of Dunmer emerge from the cave I listened closely, and confirmed my suspicions. I allowed the Dunmer to pass, although the thousands of gold pieces they carried were bound for Orvas Dren, kingpin of the Cammona Tong. The couriers are not local operatives, no threat to Ahnassi, and no concern of mine.
I even considered waiting for the ship to sail. These Nords do not concern me either. I chose not to for a number of reasons; hundreds of pounds of reasons actually. Ebony. I wanted to find out, if I could, where the Cammona Tong came up with such a shipment of ebony. I owed it to my fellow Blade, Surane Leoriane, to see if this shipment has a link to the Caldera Mines. Searching through the ship's papers has revealed nothing. All I can do is take her the names Thervam Drelas and Ralos Othrenium. Those two were the Tong members left with the Nords. Left to die.
I have nine more deaths on my conscience, but they do not weigh heavily. Smugglers, battle hardened; they chose their lot. For the Nords especially there was likely no better end they would have chosen than to die in battle, though perhaps not this battle. This one they might call unfair. I watched them as they trudged through the swamps lading their cargo. I waited in the darkness near the cave mouth when sunset stopped their efforts; waited listening to the revelry within. I watched as many of the crew staggered drunkenly to their ship. Then I struck.
The first officer was still in the cave, completing the transaction with the Dunmer or just too drunk to return to the ship. Drelas and his Redguard lackey fell defending the door, Othrenium and the Nord officer deep within. There is still loot in the cave, to be sifted from the refuse of the evening's festivities. Given the number of empty bottles killing them may have done them a favor; they would have been miserable in the morning. Those on the ship were easier prey, most having fallen into drunken slumber.
I would guess there are close to three hundred pounds of ebony on board, plus provisions for a long journey. I will have to leave the ship, obviously. I could transport the valuable cargo to my cave, but that would set me further back in my march on Hla Oad. I will decide with the dawn.
Day Forty-Eight: The slave traders
I am taking my bed tonight in the master's cabin aboard Grytewake; a fine jest. We will sail on the pre-dawn tide, and I will be a hand with the sails; a barely able hand. Wadarkhu's crew is short for manning a deep water vessel like Grytewake, and I will have to be made useful.
When I awoke this morning my mind immediately sprang to Wardarkhu as the answer to the question of what to do with this ship. I raced into Hla Oad and located Pallia Ceno. Pallia was the only person in Hla Oad who was even remotely civil during my last visit. She is an initiate in the Imperial Cult. While the Empire allows and encourages religious freedom in all of its provinces it does actively support the official beliefs of native Cyrodiil. Throughout the Empire order is maintained by the Imperial Legions, and civilization is maintained by the Imperial Cult. Pallia represents the cult here in the backwaters of the Bitter Coast. I admire her courage, particularly considering the strong influence of the Cammona Tong in Hla Oad. While she would like me to take the oath and join the Cult as a lay member, she is willing to help me out as my friend. A generous donation to her cause helped. I put her aboard the Harpy, bound for Gnaar Mok.
The Cammona Tong operates freely and openly in Hla Oad. I spent the rest of the morning sorting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. There are some honest fishermen, drawing their living from the sea and swamps, and Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker treated me fairly enough, but otherwise the town is run by the Tong. There was not much wheat to be found. I was taken aback by how pervasive the Tong is here, and briefly doubted my commitment to their elimination. Many members of the Tong claim they are just a society of businessmen, and I wonder how the business of Hla Oad would get done without them. There is not much business to do, but would Perien be able to take it all in the absence of the trader Tresteve? Dalam Gavyn is the only smith. Would another take his place if the Tong's influence were broken? My doubts were removed when I met Relem Arinith. A perfect example of the 'businessmen' of the Cammona Tong. I can hardly wait for his blood to darken my spear.
When I first laid eyes on Arinith he held a cruel leather lead in his hand. Bound by the lead was a Khajiit. Her fur was matted, and her eyes dulled by misery. My stomach turned at the thought that my dear Ahnassi could be subject to such a fate if the Cammona Tong's bigoted views were allowed to flourish. We were in the caverns beneath Fat-legs Drop Off, Tresteve's trading establishment, and surrounded by Cammona Tong and other witnesses. My hands itched, but I kept my spear in its sling. Cunning and diplomacy; I would buy the slave, whose name was Rabinna, and reclaim my gold from Arinith's corpse later. He would not sell.
"You could not afford her outlander," he said. "She does not look like much, but she has a great inner worth." He barked a short evil laugh, and was joined by the rest of the toughs gathered nearby. I did not get the joke. If I had understood the grotesque reference I would have gutted them all on the spot, despite all consequence. Arinith continued; "You may be able to buy her from Vorar Helas outlander. She is payment of a debt I owe him." He gave the lead a vicious yank. If you want her so badly, deliver her to him in Balmora, and perhaps he will sell." I recognized the name. Vorar Helas was a neighbor of Caius; a sneering, ill-tempered fellow. Hearing his name in this context marked him unsurprisingly as Cammona Tong. I knew Wadarkhu would not arrive before dark. I took the job.
Rabinna followed, docile and subdued, as I sped for Balmora. She expressed no complaint at the fast pace I set. She showed no curiosity when I turned off the road and approached the city over the hills east of the river. I used a pass that I had noted because it provided direct access to Caius' house. We descended unobserved to the roof of Helas' house, and slipped in through an upper balcony. Before Helas could raise an outcry, I showed him the cowering slave I had brought.
"Good work outlander," he hissed. "Using you is a master stroke. Relem is even more clever than I thought."
"Too clever by half," I said. "I'll be taking Rabinna with me. He would not sell her, and I promised to deliver her to you, to give you one chance to sell her."
"She is worthless outlander, a cat with a veneer of civilization. But she is a fine shipping container, and after I slit her belly open you can have her for nothing. Disposing of the corpse is always a task I'd rather avoid anyway." With that the vile smuggler cast a paralyzation spell on me and advanced on Rabinna, drawing a wicked dagger.
The small vial of protective potion in my belt pouch pulsed magica into my frozen body, drawing my hand. My thumb popped the cap as it came to my lips. As the fluid poured in full freedom of movement exploded into my limbs.
Helas and his dagger may have been ideally suited for killing a cowed slave, but they were no match for my spear, or my fury. There may be relative innocents among the Tong, but I will have no remorse for disemboweling Vorar Helas and leaving him to die slowly, clutching his entrails.
I couldn't leave Rabinna in the house with the corpse, but I certainly have no desire for a slave. I brought her back to the ship, and my meeting with Wadarkhu. The wrapping on the moon sugar the smugglers forced her to swallow will break down, and she will face some rough times. Wadarkhu will see her through, and I will meet her again at Gnaar Mok. Before then I will return to Fat-Legs Drop Off. The Cammona Tong there, with their laughs about her 'inner worth' will get a sense of my humor.
Day Forty-nine: The fall of Daren Adryn
Tonight I can barely hold quill to paper. Drunkenness. Result of celebration, or a search for oblivion? I am a killing machine. Five more lives snuffed out, and more tomorrow. Deservedly so, but why by my hand? What fate has sent me to Vvardenfell as the right hand of death?
This morning was glorious; sailing the open water, clean sea air. Grytewake is a prize that gave even the gruff Wadarkhu a spring in his steps. His command of the ship, the loyalty of his crew, not only to him but to each other, spoke volumes. I helped with the rigging, and worked cheerfully as directed. I was the pirate who delivered the prize, and I was treated well. Still I couldn't help but notice the sideways glances and wary eyes. When we reached deep water the bodies of the former crew and their accomplices were dumped over the side. I did not help with that. I wasn't asked.
We brought the ship in to a secret dock and boarded Wadarkhu's coaster. I was again useful as we transferred the bulk of the provisions to the smaller ship. The cargo of ebony we buried. Neither Wadarkhu or I know a buyer for such a load. We will both be looking. We are agreed that the profit from the cargo is mine, the ship is Wadarkhu's. As we shook on the deal the cynical Khajiit smuggler spoke with morbid humor. "If you find a buyer my good friend Arvil Bren, try not to kill them." Only Wadarkhu was in on the plan for the rest of my activities today, so his low humor was understandable, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh.
The crew sailed for Gnaar Mok. On the smaller ship I was just a passenger. As we rounded the north end of the island I slipped over the side breathing water and swam stealthily ashore. Wadarkhu sailing brazenly to the dock gave me ample opportunity to slip into town. Coming from the north I had to slip past the manor house of Almse Arenim. The small Arenim clan is closely tied with Great House Hlaalu, and Almse is their agent in residence, administering their Bitter Coast holdings. She and her guards obviously have turned a blind eye to the activities of the Tong and there is a certain complicity in that, but House Hlaalu veers with the wind of profits. They are not themselves glaringly evil, and I would rather not put myself directly at odds with them. I was successful today, but the guard posted to Hla Oad may be a problem tomorrow.
I secreted myself near the shack that serves as headquarters for the Tong, and waited. Wadarkhu and the Hluulu guard were in a heated exchange on the dock. There was no contraband in the cargo, which Wadarkhu's crew were unloading and moving into the Druegh-jigger's Rest. The debate was about taxes, on the surface; the undercurrent were powerful, and obvious. Wadarkhu did not acquire the mountain of provisions, clothing, armor, and weapons on a 'trading voyage', as he was stridently claiming, and the guard knew it. Eventually Almse Arenim herself would be down at the dock, taxes would be levied, and the excitement would pass. But first the typical crowd would gather. I counted on that.
Among the early arrivals in the crowd was Nadene Rotheran. She provided the cover for the Tong's shelter. An innocent commoner paying a minimal stipend for her shelter, making a meager living fishing and collecting mushrooms; she goes unquestioned about the coming and going of her frequent guests. Unquestioned by the legal authority at least. I didn't question either, I eavesdropped. As she and another woman pulled away from the crowd and headed towards the shack I was delighted to hear "We have to get Daren. Can you believe the Theive's Guild? Sailing up to the dock in broad daylight like regular merchants?" They opened the door on my quarry.
Gulping a potion of invisibility I swept through the door in their wake. Their conversation clearly identified Daren
Adryn. From his robes I guessed that he was a mage of some sort. From his rank in the Tong I guessed he would be a dangerous sort. The other toughs and thugs clearly deferred to him. I positioned myself so he was between me and the rest as my potion wore off. He roared in outrage and began casting a spell. He never finished, interrupted by his life blood gushing from his mouth as his lungs collapsed around the spear through his chest. The fall of their master put the rest in a frenzy, but they were also disheartened and rapidly fell before the gleaming point that dripped with his blood. I stood in the carnage gathering my breath.
Breath was all I had time to gather. The sounds of running feet, undoubtedly clad in the bonemold boots of a Hlaalu guard were bearing down on the door. There may have been a slight swirl of magica lingering in the air when the guard burst in. I wouldn't know. I was reappearing in my cave.
As usual, my journal has served me well. The writing has sobered me somewhat, and given me perspective. It is not my place to question the fate that has brought me here, nor mine to judge the choices made by men such as Daren Adryn. All I can do is complete the task set before me, with steady hand and clear head. Tomorrow, Hla Oad.
Day Fifty: Fresh air in Hla Oad
It is time for me to move on once again. My presence in Hlaalu territory has become a problem; for them, for me, and for Caius. Ahnassi is certainly safe. It will be a long time before the Cammona Tong recovers their operations on the Bitter Coast, if the Thieve's Guild lets that happen at all.
This morning I woke refreshed, if a bit hung over. The early morning mist hung over Pelagiad, softening the outline of the great fortress. The trunks of the great trees stood like pillars, their tops lost in the vaulted grey ceiling of the world. I left early rather than face breakfast at the inn. Preparing in solitude for the tasks of the day. On the shore of Lake Amaya I shot a mudcrab, and used the great shell as a pot to boil the legs.
The morning passed uneventfully. I have grown familiar with the region, and traveled paths seldom trod to arrive unseen at Hla Oad. With the full noonday sun shining down I donned a closed bonemold helm and descended the final hillside. The helm is of Redoran manufacture, and did bring a stare from the Hlaalu guard patrolling the docks. I hoped his curiosity would not drive him to hurriedly investigate as I ducked into Fat Legs Drop-off.
A closed face helmet does not make for a warm welcome, and the trader, Tresteve the Redguard, did not disappoint. His hand fell on a Nordic battle axe as he said "Hail stranger. It would be a courtesy to show yourself." On my previous visit to Hla Oad Tresteve had made it very clear that he would only deal with me at huge profit, he primarily serves the Cammona Tong. We did not part as friends. He was not happy with the helm's visor. When I raised it to reveal myself, and my death's head grin, he was even less happy. I ran my spear through him before he could raise the axe.
I raised the trap door leading to the cavern below and leapt down to the creaking wooden platform below. As my boots thumped wood I roared "For the Thieve's Guild! Honor of the Empire!" The Dunmer woman who served as the Tong's sentinel drew a dagger and charged. Shouts and the sound of running feet echoed through the chamber. I felled her with a whirling swipe of my spear and clattered down the steps.
Had the thugs of the Tong gathered themselves for a rush they would have presented much more of a challenge. It was unfortunate that Arinith was the first to arrive. He deserved a slower death. As it was I was compelled to dispatch him as quickly as possible. When his sword clanged to the stone floor and his hands batted feebly at the shaft of the spear lodged in his neck I gave it a vicious twist that yanked him to his knees. I dislodged him from the point with a boot sole to the face. The last words he heard as he went to his ancestors were "Rabinna has greater worth than you, inner or obvious." The others fell in turn, unremarked.
Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker cowered at the far end of the cavern. As I approached he said "I have no quarrel with your guild."
"I know Perien. And I have no quarrel with you. In fact I am counting on you to maintain the tradehouse. Tresteve is dead, as is every member and sympathizer of the Cammona Tong that has crossed my path. I have sailed the raging gale of death, but now I return to Mournhold. You do business with the Tong I will return for you." I stalked away, hoping the reference to Mournhold would throw some suspicion on the Dark Brotherhood.
I gathered whatever valuables I could find, including yet another cache of armor and weapons, and prepared to transport myself back to my cave. My heart nearly stopped when a familiar hiss erupted in my ear. "Arvil Bren!" My concentration broken, I stuttered the incantation and magica coursed aimlessly around me. Nine-toes emerged from the shadowy recess in which he had secreted himself. "This is indeed a surprise, pleasing or not."
In clipped sentences Nine-toes informed me that Caius, the spymaster of the Blades, had assigned him to find out what was going on in the Bitter Coast. The Cammona Tong's contacts have House Hlaalu in an uproar. There have been rumors that the Empire is somehow responsible, clandestinely intervening in the Tong's war with the Thieve's Guild. "When Caius finds out that there is an accidental truth to that rumor he is not going to be pleased apprentice," my Argonian comrade said. "The Hlaalu guards are on the lookout for spearmen, and they have not forgotten your altercation on the roof at the Council Club. You can't go to Balmora. I will inform Caius and have him meet you at Fort Moonmoth so you can explain yourself."
I had no chance to argue. Nine-toes spun at the sound of the trapdoor banging and disappeared in a flurry of magica. I slammed the visor of my helm shut. The Hlaalu guard saw nothing but a Redoran helm disappearing in the violet swirl of mystic energies as I transported away.
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