The First Ten Days

Day One: My arrival in Vvardenfell


The Waterfront at Seyda Neen

I am Arvil Bren, a wizard of Breton descent. Through an odd chain of events and circumstances I arrived this morning in the province of Morrowind. Though I arrived as a prisoner, I was immediately released upon my arrival here in the port of Seyda Neen. It seems the emperor has plans for me, though how they mesh with my own plans remains to be seen.

I received my release, and a fair stipend, from one Sellus Gravius, a Knight Errant of the Imperial Legion who is apparently in charge of the local guard contingent. While he was polite he was not overly friendly. It was clear that releasing me was a matter of following orders. He passed on orders for me as well. I am to report to a man named Caius Cosades in the town of Balmora and deliver a package of documents. I have also been instructed that I will receive further orders. While having my freedom unexpectedly returned to me is certainly a blessing, I am not sure that this service to the emperor will suit me well. I remain undecided about following these orders, and for now the documents languish in my pack.

Even though I am unsure about my desire to serve the emperor, it does seem prudent to ingratiate myself somewhat with the local authorities, and an immediate opportunity to do so presented itself. A Bosmer by the name of Fargoth was the first civilian I encountered this morning as I left the customs house. He is apparently not the most popular fellow with the constabulary, as he immediately complained of weekly shakedowns. Coincidentally I had found the ring that he thought had been stolen, a family heirloom of some sort he claims. He was friendly enough, and certainly expressed his gratitude for the return of his ring, but I feel no overwhelming loyalty to him; and when one of the guards commented on his roguish behavior and requested my assistance I gladly agreed.

I spent the day establishing myself here in the relative wilderness of Morrowind. I suppose I should not judge the entire province by the small area I have seen, particularly since this area, called the Bitter Coast, does not get high marks from it's own inhabitants. It does offer good hunting, and I dined well on the meat of the local mudcrabs after acquiring a spear at the tradehouse. I also had a run in with some more aquatic local life, known as slaughterfish. Given my limited skill with the spear and my unarmored legs I felt lucky to get safely back on shore. Fortunately the authorities felt inclined to provide somewhat for their latest immigrant and let me rest on a rough pallet in the basement of the customs house.

I rose at midnight, and on the advice of Hrisskar Flat-Foot climbed to the top of the lighthouse. From this lofty vantage I could see most of the town without being observed myself. As expected this provided me the opportunity to see Fargoth caching his ill-gotten gains in a tree stump in a bog that lies behind the main street's buildings, separating them from the meaner shacks in the poorer part of town. Once he had safely moved on I climbed down from the lighthouse, recovered the booty and reported to Hrisskar. I was well rewarded for my efforts, materially as well as in the goodwill of the guard. Fargoth's ring, while it may be a family heirloom, is not an heirloom of his Bosmer clan as the engraving is in the language of the Altmer. The presence in his stash of a high quality lock-pick suggests that his possession of this item has no more legitimacy than mine, so I will be keeping it for myself.

On the morrow I shall continue familiarizing myself with the area, and meeting the local folk. I did get detailed directions to this town, Balmora, which is also accessible by taking a silt-strider; a great local beast used for caravan transport. How I will go, or even if I will go, remains to be seen.


Day Two: Death of a taxman
My second day here in Morrowind offered yet another opportunity to establish myself with the local authorities. Perhaps it is my fate to become a good citizen and trod the straight and narrow path. The guards here are appreciative of me, the financial rewards have been good, and my memories of prison serve to remind me that my prior life wasn't all that desirable. My mind is not yet firm on this yet though, so I have no definite plan to depart for Balmora.

To expand on how I served the Empire today, let me start by recounting what seemed this morning to be the absolute talk of the town; the disappearance of the local tax collector. As intended, I set out this morning to meet some of the local townspeople and expand my knowledge of the area. It did not take long to realize that everyone I met seemed willing to speculate on the missing Processus Vitellius. I also recognized quickly that there was no great affection for the tax collector, and in my own mind had to suspect that he had met a bad end. If the good citizens of Seyda Neen looked at his disappearance with so little concern for his welfare, I was sure that some of the less law abiding would see his disappearance as such a good thing that they would have been willing to cause it. Even the guards were not too inclined to investigate the matter, adding credence to a rumor that they are on the take, and that a nearby cave is the headquarters of a smuggling operation.

I pondered the situation as I set out hunting in a new area southwest of town, with an eye towards any recent digging that might indicate an unmarked grave. In very short order it was made clear that my understanding of the situation was correct. The body of the dead tax collector had been abandoned to the crabs without even the minimal respect of a shallow grave, and I found it by the off chance of tracking a crab and some kwama; hive dwelling creatures whose foragers scour the surrounding areas for food. The kwama foragers and crabs had begun their grisly work before falling prey to my spear, but the body was easily identifiable. In a belt pouch containing two hundred gold septims was a scroll of tax records.

Making a note of the location I took the tax record and the money back to town. The first test of my newfound good citizenship came up very quickly. The guards directed me to Socucius Ergalla, the overseer of the customs house and the same gentleman who welcomed me to Morrowind yesterday. He also was not overly broken up about the lost life of the tax collector. Morrowind is a dangerous land, lives are often taken suddenly, and, as I was reminded in many conversations throughout the day, no one likes a tax collector. Apparently that even includes other tax collectors. Socucius did take a liking to me though, when to his surprise (and in fact my own), I admitted to finding the money on the body and turned it over.

My first actual act of honesty paid off handsomely as it turned out. Socucius offered me five hundred septims if I could bring the murderer to justice. At the time I was quite put off since he did not reward me on the spot for finding the body and turning in the money, and thought to myself that I should have kept the two hundred in hand rather than being sent on yet another errand for the Empire. As the day unfolded though the mystery was not that difficult to solve and by day's end I not only had a fat purse but a place to lay my head that I can call my own.

I began my detective work by examining the tax records. Four of the entries were not marked as paid, and I reasoned that one of them had opted for murder rather than paying their just due. Although she seemed an unlikely suspect, the Altmer woman Eldafire was nearest the top of the list, so I sought her out first. It was also easy to choose her since I had spoken to her earlier. In fact it was from her that I got the information about the smugglers in the nearby cave. She expressed no surprise at the news confirming Processus' death, but of course I was not the only one to suspect that his disappearance would turn out to be due to foul play. She suggested the smugglers as possible suspects, but I thought that unlikely. No one making their way in the smuggler's trade would leave a purse unsearched on a dead man.

In speaking to those who benefited from the death of the tax collector the lighthouse keeper, Thavere Vedrano, was mentioned consistently as having had some sort of relationship with the dead man, and I put off continuing down the list to speak to her. She was very upset at the news, and I suspect she will be even more of a driving force in having the body recovered and properly interred than the authorities will. In speaking to her I also got a much different sense of Processus. While many in the town assumed he was overtaxing them and skimming off the top to support an extravagant lifestyle, it turns out that Thavere had given him the ring that was most often mentioned as an indication that he lived above his means. While I could not completely dispel my doubts about pursuing an errand for the authorities, her obvious love for the man gave me good cause to seek justice. I promised her that I would pursue the killer, and also try to return her ring.


The Lighthouse at Seyda Neen

Thavere gave me a critical lead, saying that Foryn Gilnith, a local fisherman, had been disputing his taxes with Processus for some time. I went to his shack, thinking that if I confronted him with the tax records which showed him having a large unpaid balance he might slip and say something incriminating. I overestimated his intelligence, or underestimated his malice. I no sooner mentioned having found the body than he quite proudly claimed credit for the kill, and informed me that he would not hesitate to kill another 'lackey of the emperor'. He was a brute, with the strong hands of a fisherman, and I considered myself lucky to spit him on my spear before the beating he was giving me knocked me unconscious. I was quite sure that if he put me down I would never rise again.

In turning over Gilnith's body to the authorities I kept the ring he had in his pocket, and was pleased when I returned it to Thavere at the lighthouse. The five hundred septim reward is a comforting weight in my purse as I write, and I am seated at a crude but serviceable table in what is now my own shack in Seyda Neen. At least for the interim Gilnith's shack has been given to me, and under the circumstances I don't expect my sleep to be troubled as I take to the dead man's bed.



Day Three: Cave of the smugglers
The day dawned drab and rainy; appropriate for my attitude. Good citizenship looked like an endless parade of days spent hunting in the rain, my spearpoint is getting blunted from punching through the hard shells of the mudcrabs, and the gleam of gold set off a nostalgia for my old ways. I set out for the nearby cave known to the locals as Addamasartus, with the intent of throwing in my lot with the smugglers that reputedly use it as a hideout. Once again though it seems my fate lies on a new path.

When I entered the cave I was immediately attacked by a knife wielding rogue. She fell quickly to my spear, but it was clear that throwing in with this particular band of smugglers would be most unlikely. As it turns out smuggling here in Morrowind is not to my taste anyway. One of the fallen rogue's pockets yielded a key. I took the key expecting to find some sort of lockbox. As I went deeper into the cave I quickly found out otherwise. Penned behind a locked gate I found three manacled slaves. It turns out that slavery being legal in Morrowind although rightfully banned throughout the rest of the Empire has made for a strong black market in captive labor. I freed the captives, and their manacles now adorn my table. While I might not be the most upright citizen, I will not traffic in slaves.

The smuggler's other major commodity is moon sugar apparently. From their crates and barrels I recovered at least a pound of the illegal granules, as well as two vials of the refined form, skooma. Looting this cache called for dispatching two additional smugglers, one a particularly dangerous mage and the other a rogue who inflicted numerous wounds with small throwing stars before I could corner her within range of my spear. My friend Arrille at the tradehouse gladly purchased their used armor and weaponry, as well as some fair quality weapons that I found laying about. I sounded him briefly regarding the moon sugar, but clearly running a tradehouse directly across the street from Morrowind's major customs house calls for him operating completely above the boards. I thought briefly, well very briefly, of destroying the contraband materials, but my own good citizenship is of such a recent vintage that I could not bring myself to do it. I will just have to transport it to one of the larger cities and find a market for it.

Reasons to make the trip to Balmora are accumulating fast, and I may find myself following the Emperor's orders after all. Being a good citizen for three days has certainly been profitable enough, and the townspeople of Seyda Neen are beginning to warm up to me a bit. The guards response to my elimination of the smugglers does have me convinced that corruption is the norm here, or at least widespread, but it is certainly not my place to sit in judgment. If they were clinging a little tighter to the straight and narrow it would have been a lot more difficult for me to get settled in here the way that I have. While I have taken four lives in three days I go to bed with a clear conscience, and no legal entanglements. Refreshing.


Day Four: Pearls and assassins
I am beginning to accept my fate, and it pays off. This morning I confronted the rain and dreariness of the Bitter Coast and set out to hunt. The rain stopped almost immediately, and very quickly the overcast broke into a sunny day. I made the best of being a good citizen, and one of the guards helped me explore the bay west of town.

I wanted to see if the local shellfish, called a kollop, produced pearls. I waded into the water, only to find myself surrounded by ravenous slaughterfish. Flailing with my spear I backed ashore. Fortunately the ring I got from Fargoth's trove has limited restorative powers. I was considering a plan to make repeated brief forays into the water to draw the slaughterfish in, and then thin their ranks from the beach with the reach of my spear. That was not necessary though. One of the guards recognized the problem and came to my aid. With a little negotiation he agreed to swim out and cover me with his sword while I dove for the kallops. After finding a fine pearl I rewarded him with some gold and we parted company.

It is good to be on good terms with the constabulary for once, but I don't want to press my luck. Returning to my shack full of contraband is too incongruous with my new relations with the authorities. I have no reason to expect a search of my quarters, but why take the risk? In the smuggler's cave Addamasartus there is a deep grotto, only accessible by a brief underwater swim. I secreted the moon sugar in a rusty chest that I found on the bank there. It's most unlikely that anyone will find it. While I will regret the loss if someone does, at least it will not cause me any problems with the authorities. In truth it is probably more secure there than in my battered shack anyway, which led me to also put the pearl I found and a silver dagger in the chest as well.

The silver dagger is the tip of an iceberg of a mystery, which started this afternoon as I was resting on a beach. I was violently attacked with that dagger by a man in black armor. Struggling to my feet I managed to quaff a restorative potion, which I believe is the only thing that kept me alive long enough to bring my spear to bear in my defense. Once I had successfully skewered my assailant I stripped him of his armor, which is apparently made from very fine chain made of a particularly resilient steel. It is fabulously light, and a wonderful matte black in color; excellent for surreptitious night work. Speaking with one of the local guards has convinced me that this armor is a hallmark of the Dark Brotherhood, the assassins guild. I am very concerned that I have seemingly been marked for death by someone in a position to hire such an organization. While I intend to continue sleeping well, I do so now with a cautious ear.


Day Five: The messy death of Tarhiel the mage
This morning I witnessed the messy death of a shortsighted spellcaster. From his journal I know that his name was Tarhiel, and from his dress I can surmise that he was fairly well off, but no one in Seyda Neen has heard of him and I have no idea from where he hailed. Hailed is a word of many meanings, and for Tarhiel more than one are appropriate. My first glimpse of him came as he plummeted like a stone from the sky, though his screaming was far from stonelike.

I rushed through the trees and found the crumpled corpse. He was clearly dead, broken beyond recognition. I wondered how he came to fall from such a great height until I scanned the recent entries in his journal, which though a bit the worse for wear had survived the fall. It seems Tarhiel invented a spell for himself with the intention of leaping great distances. Apparently he forgot that while jumping a great distance would be a boon to a traveler, some provision for landing would be required. In his pockets were three copies of his final spell, but I see no practical use for them.

After burying Tarhiel I resumed my search for pearls, this time in the opposite bay. Even with no assistance I did manage to thin the ranks of the vicious slaughterfish sufficiently to swim out to a kollop bed unassailed; however the east side of Seyda Neen is the harbor and reaching the kollops in the bottom of the main shipping channel was a serious challenge. While I did succeed in retrieving another pearl the effort was exhausting and I returned to town before sunset to recuperate.

With an early evening and feeling expansive I bought a few rounds at the tradehouse, and have established some friendships with the regulars there. I did have a confrontation in the street with Vodunius Nuccius, who seemed intent on taking offence to everything I said. After speaking with his friend Darvame Hleran the caravaner I could see that it is his situation he is upset with, not me. Seyda Neen was definitely not what he had in mind when he came to Morrowind. I purchased a ring from him so that he could catch a ship or caravan and move on. The ring is very nice, but seems to have an enchantment with some bad side effects laid on it. I'm sure I could get most of what I paid back if I sell the ring, and it is an improvement to look forward to having Vodunius' unhappy presence removed from the streets.



Day Six Smuggler's docks
Today I explored southeast of town; an area of small rocky islands ideal for smuggling operations. I located a small dock where a leafboat was tied. I suspect it may have belonged to the smugglers of Addamasartus. There were a number of empty cargo chests on board, and I found some scraps of moon sugar. It also was not a secure place to leave a boat long term, and gave the appearance that it had been left for at least a few days. I would guess that they intended to return to their boat before I dealt them their untimely demise.

I again spent the evening at the tradehouse. There is a Nord scout called Raflod the Braggart. Although he is loud and boisterous, and will talk about anything whether he has any knowledge or not, he has been an invaluable source of knowledge regarding the bonemold plate armors that are popular here in Morrowind. They are lighter than plate metal armors, more comparable to chain mail in weight.

I have also picked up some local lore from a battlemage, Albecius Colollius by name. He tells me that the burial customs of the native Dunmer present some interesting opportunities. Ancestral tombs fall prey to neglect in dwindling or far-flung families, and these neglected tombs sometimes contain very interesting items. To highlight the dangers he mentioned that some foolish spellcaster who had come into possession of an artifact he called Mentor's Ring apparently lost it in a tomb somewhere along the coast. There are hazards, particularly ghosts and other ancestral spirit guardians, but it definitely sounds worth the risk to explore if I come across one. I may get lucky and find this lost ring.

Tomorrow will mark one full week here in Morrowind. As my explorations carry me further from Seyda Neen I get more and more inclined to head for Balmora. My spear is almost completely blunted, and I have picked up a halberd from Arrille, but there is no smith in town to repair my spear or appraise the black armor. I am accumulating some interesting plants, and would like to experiment with some of them, but there is no alchemical equipment available in town. And of course I would like to find a buyer for my growing hoard of moon sugar.


Day Seven: A tomb almost my own
This could be called a successful day of exploration, or a severe setback to mark my first week in Morrowind. Either way, I am glad to be in my rough little shack to write about it. This afternoon it seemed doubtful that I would survive. I found not one but two ancestral tombs along the coast to the west, but learned that finding them might turn out to be the easy part.

I was having a good day; gigged a few crabs and a number of slaughterfish, swam to a shoal close ashore and found a pearl in a kollop, felt pretty confident in my growing ability with the halberd. Then I found the first tomb, a rounded arch of greenish stone sheltering a wooden door. I entered cautiously and quietly and began creeping down a long narrow stair. There appeared to be a chamber of some sort at the bottom, and in the chamber I could see a skeleton of a man. It seemed to be some sort of display, intended to frighten interlopers who entered the tomb, and in its bony hand was affixed a longbow. As I neared the bottom step a hazy figure came hurtling out of the darkness with an eerie wail and magical energies crackled around me in some sort of curse. I took a swipe at the specter with my halberd, but to my dismay the blade passed right through without any effect! My good day was falling rapidly into a black abyss.

Backing rapidly up the stair as I slung my halberd, I readied a fireball spell. The spirit was right on top of me, and the chill of it's spectral claws seared my flesh, even though I felt no contact. But wait, I did feel contact! A shocking impact on my iron breastplate that sent me stumbling backwards on the stairs. In my distraction I had not noticed the skeleton springing into animation, but could see him now trying to aim a second shot around the howling guardian that descended clawing at my chest. Without rising I completed the necessary gestures and a ball of magical flame engulfed the ghost, driving it up and off of me. On heels and elbows I scrambled backwards, slipping onto the landing at the top of the stair as a fusillade of arrows clattered off the stone walls above me. There on the landing, still on my back, I battled the enraged ghost; scorching it repeatedly with magical fire as it clawed me with its icy talons. It eventually collapsed into a bubbling pool of green sludge, and staying low to avoid the alert skeleton's gaze I bolted out the door.

To my horror, hanging in the air outside the door was a winged native flyer known as a cliff racer. In my battered and beleaguered state it was all I could do to fend off the buffeting wings, spiked tail, and razor sharp beak. More than I could do actually, and my raw seared flesh was parted in several places by the time I had brought the beast low with several jabs from the halberd. I hoped that the skeleton would not leave its post in the tomb as I collapsed in a heap in the archway. It took several hours of resting and using all the restorative energies that my ring could muster before I felt sufficiently able to defend myself to undertake the walk home. I never expected to be so glad to see this run down shack.


Day Eight: The Emperor's Blade
With yesterday's harsh lesson still showing in the stiffness of my joints I rose well before dawn, packed, and headed for the strider port. What an amazing creature! Riding on a plush seat set in a hollow in the back of a thirty foot tall insect as it strides across field and marsh was an experience that is hard to describe, and is not for the squeamish. The caravaner directs the great beast by applying pressure using a set of levers and cords. These controls are attached to various internal organs and structures, and a delicate touch is required to avoid injuring the vehicle. The ride is comfortable and surprisingly smooth, and the long legs eat up the distance. I arrived in Balmora shortly after dawn, finding the city shrouded in a soft mist.


Sunrise Over Balmora

With much to accomplish on this trip and little idea where to begin I thought my first order of business should be delivering the Emperor's documents to Caius Cosades. I reasoned that no matter what came of the delivery I would be able to get some local information from him. What an underestimation that turned out to be! I started my search at the South Wall Cornerclub, where I expected to possibly catch an early rising proprietor or serving wench. Wrong again. The denizens of the South Wall were just settling in from their night's activities. It wasn't hard to recognize the place as the local Thieves Guild hangout, as the first person I met when I walked in was a pawnbroker who clearly would not have many questions about the origin of any goods that came her way. When I asked her about Cosades she referred to him as an 'old sugar-tooth', and I was even further taken aback. On the Emperor's business, directed to a den of thieves, in search of a drug addict; I considered chucking the whole project and joining the Guild, but the strangeness of the situation got the best of my curiosity. At the direction of Bacola Closcius, proprietor of the South Wall, I headed into the poorest quarter of Balmora in search of the old sugar-tooth.

Caius answered his door and admitted me to a mean little apartment. He was shirtless and rumpled, and the room is furnished in minimal junkiness, prominently featuring a skooma pipe that looked heavily used and hastily hidden, poorly. Without giving any details I suggested that I had been sent to Balmora to seek him out. He expressed surprise that anyone would be that interested in an 'old man with a skooma problem', and frankly I was getting more surprised by the minute myself. With some reservations I handed over the package of documents.

As he rapidly scanned the first page, apparently decoding it in his head, he seemed to transform in front of my stunned eyes. What had seemed a somewhat shrunken old man was a product of magnificent muscle and breath control. With a full breath and a release of the calculated slackness Caius became an obviously fit, well muscled man who I would definitely not want to take on hand to hand. The puzzled and diffident expression fell from his features, replaced by a confident and powerful presence that filled the small room seemingly beyond its capacity, and when our conversation resumed it was clear that his reach did extend far, far beyond the scarred stone walls.

With no further dissembling Caius introduced himself as the Emperor's man in Morrowind, spymaster of the Blades, the Emperor's hidden eyes and ears throughout the provinces. For reasons unknown to me, and also to Caius though the rest of the documents I delivered may make them clear, the Emperor directed him to induct me into this organization, and I am now a novice in His Magesty's intelligence service under the orders of Caius Cosades. When he asked if I was ready to follow his orders there was some question in my mind, but I showed no reservation. I don't know what would have happened had I refused to serve, though I have to wonder if I would have left the room alive.

My first instructions as a member of the Blades were certainly easy enough to take, especially since they were accompanied by two hundred gold drakes. Some of the Blades maintain an open presence, providing services and contact points. Caius gave me a list of some of these stationed throughout Vvardenfell district, which is apparently my turf, and directed me to meet them as soon as possible. I am to meet them quietly, as I am not to be one of these openly acknowledged support personnel. He gave me some suggestions on establishing a cover identity, and my head is still swirling from the complexity of the tapestry of politics and society here in Morrowind. In addition to the usual Guilds, Morrowind politics are dominated by clan affiliations, culminating in five 'great houses'. I will be moving cautiously in aligning myself with any particular threads. At least some knowledge of the weave seems necessary first, for my own survival.

While Caius definitely agreed with my circumspect intentions, he suggested that the benefits of membership in the Mage's Guild and its generally loose structure would suit my immediate needs. The local Guild Steward, Ranis Athrys, welcomed me to the ranks. Not warmly or enthusiastically, but access to the guild hall supply chest and a bed in the sleeping area rewarded me tangibly if not with freindship. Caius suggested that Ranis' apprentice, Ajira, would probably be a better contact. Being an outlander herself she is certainly likely to be less stiff with me, though the cat-people of Khajiit province are not obviously warm to my own Breton origins either. I met her briefly, but it was already late by the time I got down to the guild hall's main rooms, which are in the basement, and it has been a long day. I will take on establishing myself with my guildmates in the morning.



Day Nine: Taking cover in the Mage's Guild
A very successful trip has boosted my confidence, and on the morrow I will return to the scene of my near demise, the old Dunmer tomb with it's undead guardians. Besides a boost in confidence, my trip has left me much better equipped for the challenge. My blunted spear has been replaced with an enchanted spear that will pierce even the ghostly plane of my spectral assailants. One of my Blades compatriots provided a steel breastplate to replace the iron that I found in the smuggler's cave, and from another I purchased, at a striking discount, some fast acting restoratives to heal my wounds. I also put together a complete alchemist's laboratory and refined some other restoratives for myself to quickly remedy the fatigue of my journeys. Overall, it is a new man these fell creatures shall be facing!

In addition to my physical acquisitions I thoroughly enjoyed my day with the mages of Balmora. I cannot say that they would all consider me a friend yet, but they definitely accepted me into their circle. I demonstrated an eagerness to learn, vastly expanding my arsenal of spells, and did not stint on passing out the gold drakes in my gratitude for their teaching. Ajira did turn out to be most welcoming, and connected me to the Khajiit network. The cat-people are known for their taste for moon sugar, and Ajira and a local trader, Ra'Virr, purchased all that I had. Ra'Virr also has a connection among the Telvanni that supplies him with exceptional enchanted weapons at a remarkably good price, and I am very pleased with the devil spear he provided.

I would cheerfully help Ajira with a small favor she asked of me, even if it wasn't considered my duty as an Associate in the guild. She is conducting a study of the alchemical powers of the local fungi, and when she heard that I was returning to the swamps of the Bitter Coast asked me to pick up some samples for her. As she is the Guild Steward's apprentice, I expect doing a small favor for her will carry the weight of a larger favor for someone else. The Mage's Guild seems to operate very much on personalities and relationships rather than real objective rules.

The Blades, on the other hand, are a well organized, almost military operation. In meeting my new fellows I was honestly impressed with their immediate response to me. I get the feeling that they would have given me the exact same welcome if I was an Imperial native of Cyrodiil or an Argonian lizard man fresh from the swamps of Black Marsh. Actually, one of my new compatriots is an Argonian, though he certainly did not just crawl out of the swamps. He lives in a sturdy house in Balmora; not in the best part of town, but better situated than Caius' scruffy abode. Nine-Toes has been assigned to map the Bitter Coast region. He continued my introduction to the world of the spy by informing me he does not know why this mapping is called for, and he does not ask. The only reason he informed me of his task at all was that he considered it a possibility that I could assist him, which I will happily do. I can continue my explorations as part of my studies with the Mage's Guild, which will enhance my own cover, and at the same time build my reputation in the Blades by quietly reporting to Nine-Toes.

For now though, it is good to retire to my own cot once again. I must be well rested for tomorrow's foray into the depths!


Hunter Nine-Toes



Day Ten: Tomb Raider
I rose early and refreshed. The day dawned gray and rainy, which I have accepted as the norm for the Bitter Coast. It's only water, and I tell myself that the rain drumming on the shells of the mudcrabs makes it easier to sneak up on them. The humor being that if it was any easier to sneak up on a mudcrab they would have to be presenting themselves on their backs in front of me. For the most part they seem to depend for safety on their appearance, which is very much like a medium size boulder. A good crab will yield a couple pounds of succulent flesh and they continue to be the staple of my diet, and I am also now using crab meat to concoct my restoratives.

I followed the beach around the bay to my date with the undead. Wanting to be as fully prepared as possible before entering the crypt, I activated my devil spear and hooked a curative potion to my belt for quick access. When activated the devil spear harnesses the power of a captive Daedric spirit, becoming supernaturally sharp and also light as my writing quill in my hands. It also briefly surrounds me in crackling electrical energies which help to shield me. So armed I burst through the door. My nemesis, the skeletal archer, unleashed a torrent of arrows as I charged, most of which were deflected by the devil spear's magic. The shaft of my spear I braced under my arm, and I allowed my steel breastplate to build momentum as I hurtled down the stairs on the bare edge of control. Forsaking a final shot the skeleton tried to dodge, but with the barest flick of adjustment my point followed its frantic movement and struck home, splintering ancient ribs and shattering the magical articulations of the creature. Seeing that the fallen monster was trying to regather itself to rise I swung my weapon to and fro, scattering bones until they fell to dust.

As I recovered my breath I surveyed the chamber. Two stone altars flanked a triangular shrine at the further end of the room, and I edged cautiously around a central support pillar for a closer look. Guttering torches lit my way. Mounted in brackets on the walls and central pillar, they burn with the ancestral energy of the tomb and require no fuel. When I tried to remove one it was extinguished, only to light again when restored to its proper place. A chill ran briefly down my spine, and I turned a wary eye on a wooden door, behind which lay I knew not what. On the altars stood great burial urns, one on the left and two on the right. The two on the right were a matched set, and I assume they held a husband and wife. The decorated face of the shrine depicted Saint Veloth, an illustrious ancestor god of the Dunmer Temple, and identified the tomb as belonging to the Thelas clan. I opted not to further disturb the Thelas ancestral spirits by removing the bonemeal from the urns, but did sift through it quickly with an arrow shaft to check for any useful items or jewelry.

In fairly short order I realized that I was scuffing about in this outer chamber not because I expected to find anything of value, but because I was delaying my entry into the inner crypt. Once again I activated the devil spear, and standing slightly to the side yanked open the door. A howling spirit burst upon me immediately, and its spectral face showed bleak surprise as it impaled itself on my spear. The feeling was quite uncanny. In my hands the spear was solid, but at its tip it was obviously completely embedded in another plane of existence, a plane where the ghost had real flesh and could be felt pulling down my point with a surprising weight. I had no time to appreciate this oddity, and jerked the Daedric sharpness of the blade free from the once more dead hulk, leaving it to splatter into this earthly plane in a shower of gooey green ectoplasm. Freed, I was able to dive clear of the doorway.

My frantic dive was the result of seeing yet another skeletal archer at the bottom of the stair beyond the door, and I thought that I had moved in time. A searing pain followed instantly by horrible numbness told me otherwise and I crashed to the stone floor in a heap, completely paralyzed by a field of coruscating green magical energies. There are curative potions so powerful that mere possession of them would have given me enough muscle control to gulp it down and be released, but alas I did not have one. Fortunately I had landed out of line with the door and sheltered from further assault. I listened for the sound of bony feet on the stairs, but heard nothing. Apparently once I was out of sight the guardian returned to inert watchfulness.

After some time the magical energies of the arrow dissipated and I rose shakily to my feet. I pulled the spent shaft from my thigh and used my ring to heal the wound. Crouched low, I peered cautiously around the doorframe. As expected, the skeleton stood immobile at the bottom of the stair. Calling upon the magical nature of my Breton heritage I toughened my skin until it resembled dragonscale. Though I can maintain this state only for a brief period I counted on it getting me down the stairs without being paralyzed again. I then cast my most effective spell of concealment and crept through the door.

My most effective spell of concealment is not all that effective, and as I passed the midpoint of the stair the skeleton's empty eye sockets flared with magical life. I again activated the devil spear, adding its protective field to my defenses, and dodging from side to side I bounded down the remaining steps. Arrows scattered, flying wide, caught in the crackling field of the spear, or deflecting off of my armor or hardened skin. The skeleton scrambled back, trying to avoid the reach of my spear while firing wildly. I continued my charge and we rapidly covered the length of the chamber, passing between another pair of urn bearing altars.

At the far end opposite the stair lies a ceremonial fire pit, filled with the ashes and bones of untold generations of clan Thelas. Set in the raised lip of the pit are upturned spears, adorned with skulls. My adversary clattered off one of these as it negotiated the step up, and the devil spear found lodging in the brittle animated bones, crashing my opponent backwards into the soft ash bed. With quick thrusts I sent the creature to rejoin its fellows, just another bunch of undistinguished bones in the pit. As my various protective spells expired I surveyed the chamber, noting with a significant easing of tension that there were no more doors.

Catching my eye immediately was a softly glowing scroll lying next to one of the urns. The scroll will be useful I'm sure, as it holds powerful mystic energies which will transport the reader instantly to the nearest Dunmer Temple. This bit of magic would be the major prize for my troubles here. Apparently clan Thelas is not wealthy. I carefully picked the locks on two chests set near the pit, but found only small trinkets of minimal value. Of Mentor's lost ring there was no sign.

I emerged from the tomb into a rainy afternoon, disappointed but in good health and definitely the better for the experience. The mouth of the tomb opens directly onto the shore, sheltered by two small islands that lie across a narrow straight. When I stepped out a large mudcrab on the nearest isle yanked its legs underneath itself and did its best to become just another stone. I waded across, dispatched the crab, and resolved to explore the two islands and collect any useful plant materials I could find. After skewering a number of mudcrabs, slaughterfish, and cliff racers, with my pack bulging with leaves, stems and fungi, I called it a good day's work.

Standing in the pouring rain, with the sun settling in the west, I gave myself a moment of smug satisfaction. Among the new spells I learned in Balmora are some mystical travelers aids that I was very pleased to learn. Last night I cast a spell here in the shack that placed a magical mark upon it. There on the beach I hefted my pack and cast a related spell which would return me to the exact spot where I had cast the mark...in theory. After repeated attempts, with my magical energies too depleted to try again, I set out on the long trudge through the rain. The school of mysticism has never been my forte. I arrived late, wet and tired, and will sleep well in my cot this night.