Chapter 29: Soul eater

Every person at the table was intrigued by the magical items I had found. It was to be expected, I suppose: we were all members of the Mages Guild, after all. Ajira was especially taken with my blue ioun stone, following its movements around the hall with a smile on her face. Galbedir was interested in the powerful magic ring I had found in the Sarys Ancestral Tomb - the one that boosts a person's mental capacity. I was interested in the ring I had found that provided constant protection against the elements. I knew how dangerous elemental magic could be, having seen the deadly results of my own Frostbite spell numerous times.

"It's just a pity that the effect of the ring is so weak." I said. "I don't think it would protect me against much more than - ow!"

The dunmer Ranis had slapped me in the back of the head - playfully, but still a little harder than she really needed to.

"I can see it's time for you to pay more attention to your studies, Frost. Then you might actually realise what you've got there." She pointed to the elemental protection ring and the tiny gems I had found along with it. "People join the Mages Guild to study. Tomorrow you will go to the bookstore across the lane and buy one copy of all the volumes of 'Magical Trinkets of Tamriel' they have in stock. Don't look at me like that, there's only three volumes; it won't be that expensive. We did already have copies in the guild hall, but they seem to have been... misplaced." Ranis gave both Galbedir and Ajira hard looks. I noticed neither of them met her gaze. "Anyway - study those books, and then in future you should be able to avoid embarrassing yourself like you are right now. Don't lose those gems."

Refusing to be drawn further on the topic, Ranis retired to bed. I followed her example soon after, exhausted from my long trek through the swamps of the island's south-west coast.

I spent the following morning studying the books Ranis had sent me after, and they were a fascinating read. They were an encyclopaedia (of sorts), detailing a dizzying array of common and uncommon magical items found on the continent of Tamriel. By mid-morning I found a passage on magical rings that rely - at least partially - on small inset gemstones for their great magical powers. These stones sometimes fall out and become separated from the enchanted ring. If stones of the right type, cut to the right size and shape could be found, a ring could be restored to its intended glory.

I soon realised why Ranis had been frustrated with me: on close inspection, the protection from elements ring could be seen to be ringed with six small holes, spaced evenly around its circumference. Using one of the 'Magical Trinkets' books, I was able to identify it as an 'Elementward' ring. The book said that it was originally inset with six ametrine gems. Two of the small stones I had found with the Elementward ring were ametrines. I had been complaining about the ring not being powerful enough, with the means to address that shortcoming literally right in front of me. No wonder Ranis had slapped me.

Galbedir kindly showed me a quick way to re-set the stones - though I suspect she did it out of a desire to closely inspect the ring. In a few short moments I was able to set both stones by placing them carefully into the ring and letting a small amount of alteration magic flow into it. Instantly I could feel the power in the ring more than double - and, sure enough, with Elementward on my finger I could put my hand in a candle or lantern flame and not feel a thing.

After my expedition up the Bitter Coast, my armour was full of holes, and my swords had picked up a number of nicks. In addition, I needed to replenish my supplies: food, potions, that sort of thing. An afternoon visiting the shopkeepers of Balmora was in order; but first I wanted to visit Creeper to see how much he would give me for the soul gems in my pack.

The scamp's eyes fixed on my pack as soon as I walked in.

"Souls..." He breathed. Apparently he knew what I had come for.

I had barely opened my pack when Creeper's long, skinny arms snaked out and scooped up a large handful of the less valuable soul gems - the ones filled with the souls of skeletal guardians, mostly. He stared intently at the collection of gems for a moment, before dropping one back into my pack. Creeper clasped the gems to his brown leathery chest, and with his free hand, he reached into his mysterious screaming crate and fished around for a sack of coins, as he always did. The sack he eventually produced was huge; I almost dropped it when he flung it at me with his usual vigour.

"Five thousand." The scamp said. "All I have. Come back tomorrow - more money then." He indicated the crate by giving it a thump with his tail. I was mildly surprised to see that Creeper had not dropped the soul gems into the crate, as he had done with every other thing I had ever sold to him. I opened my mouth to ask what he intended to do with them, but then he opened his mouth - and shoved the whole handful of stones in at once.

With a horrid grinding, scraping crunch he bit down on the soul gems, and proceeded to chew them up, a rapturous expression on his face. I watched in horror. I had read books that described huge, arcane, monstrous beasts as 'soul-eaters' (among other things, usually) - but always as a form of hyperbole. There I was though, watching Creeper very literally eat the souls I had trapped.

Once finished, the scamp collapsed spread-eagled on his back, wearing a contented grin. Normally the creature spoke with a voice the timbre of a child's, but now, when he spoke to me, his voice was deeper than that of the biggest man I'd ever met:

"YOU'RE STILL HERE, PINK ONE?" Grit and flakes of stone fell from the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

"Uh - I'm just going now." I said huskily. "I'll ... see you tomorrow." With that, I Recalled back to Balmora, glad to be out of the unsettling scamp's presence.

I spent the next several days studying and training. My studies into magical items revealed that the ring I had found in the Sarys tomb was unique: 'Mentor's Ring', it was called. It was even regarded as an artifact. This of course made me even more pleased with my lucky find. I took to wearing the ring all the time - and the mental boost it gave me certainly helped my studies.

Every day I visited Creeper and sold him more soul gems. No-one knew it, but I soon owned something in the vicinity of twenty-five thousand septims. It seemed unreal to me - I didn't know what to spend it on.

On the last of those days spent on my studies, I visited Meldor the smith to have my armour and weapons repaired. While the bosmer Meldor busied himself with fixing my equipment behind the counter, I looked around his store at the pieces of armour on display. It occurred to me that some better armour would be an excellent thing to spend my new fortune on. The holes and gashes Meldor was patching up were evidence that I could certainly do with some sturdier protection.

When I had bought my bonemold armour from Meldor, I had been limited by how much money I had. On this occasion I was limited by the bosmer's selection. I examined a metal breastplate covered with intricate chiselled patterns; the label described it as 'Orcish Cuirass - Medium-style'. Looking around, I found a matching pair of armoured boots, but nothing else.

"I don't get much call for anything finer than bonemold." Meldor called out. "In Balmora, you mostly have your Hlaalu guardsmen - with their regulation bonemold - and your amateurs that want to be equipped just like the guards. If I'd have known you were looking to get really serious about your medium-style armour, I'd have bought those sets from that Cythus fellow after all."

When pushed, Meldor elaborated:

"Oh, I had a dunmer fellow in here a few days ago - Cythus - he wanted me to buy a couple of sets of this unique armour he'd made and put them on sale in my shop. Well, he said it was unique, anyway: 'Netch Adamantium' armour. Adamantium plates on a backing of netch leather for flexibility." He picked up a hardened netch leather pauldron from the counter and showed that it bent slightly. "Very, very nice armour - but very expensive. Like I said, I didn't think I'd be able to sell it to anyone here." At that, the bosmer appeared to think of something: "You could probably buy it directly from him, if you have the funds of course. He said he was trying Pelagiad next - I think he was hoping I would change my mind and go chasing after him. Ask at the tavern there for him - I'm sure you'll find him."

I hadn't told him that I was interested in what this 'Cythus' had to sell - I didn't get the chance to. Meldor proved to be very talkative, barely stopping to draw breath during my entire stay in his store. Regardless, I was interested. As soon as Meldor was finished with them, I strapped my armour and weapons on, paid him for his work, and ran all the way from Balmora to Pelagiad. I made good time, casting 'Stamina' periodically so I didn't lose my breath - or even slow down until I reached the Imperial-style village.

I was in luck - the dunmer Cythus was actually eating an early lunch in the Halfway Inn and Tavern when I arrived. He was wearing a suit of the armour he was trying to sell - I recognised it from Meldor's description. After hearing that I was interested in making a purchase, the dunmer invited me to join him for lunch.

Afterwards, we went outside so Cythus could give me demonstration of his armour. He made a good salesman, jumping about the dirt street acrobatically and energetically, showing how flexible the armour was. Next he drew a blade and began to whirl, thrust and parry wildly, as if surrounded by imaginary enemies. It was quite the spectacle: the sun peeking through the clouds and seeming to blink and scatter off the gleaming armour plates of the whirling and dancing swordsman. He made the armour look as light as if he wore naught but clothes, and yet as he pummelled and even slashed at himself with his sword, it was apparent that it was very durable too.

Cythus had a couple of sets in his room at the Halfway Inn, separated into portable baskets for loading onto a pack animal. He was kind enough to let me try on a complete suit of the Netch Adamantium, and I was so impressed I didn't even take it off; rather I bought the whole lot right then and there. The price was steep: even after trading in my newly repaired bonemold armour, I ended up handing over around nine and a half thousand septims.


Still, I felt as if it was worth it. As I made my way out of the tavern, I felt as if nothing could touch me. When a drunken patron made a rather pointed comment about the expense of my new armour, and suggested that I put it to some actual use by ridding the village of the gang of bandits in the caves next to the nearby lake, it didn't even hurt.

In fact, I left the tavern and advanced down the hill to the lake, intending to do just as he said.

Chapter 28: Liars

It hurts when someone calls you an insulting name. It hurts more to realise that they are in fact right about you, and that the insulting name is actually appropriate.


I arrived at the clutch of run-down coastal dwellings called Gnaar Mok sometime in the late afternoon, and soon found someone who could direct me to Caryarel's shack; "over by the docks". As I approached the sagging wooden structure, the high elf emerged from the door, locking it behind him. This was the man accused of stealing the limeware bowl that had been donated to the Imperial Chapel in Ebonheart. He was making his way towards me, through what passed as the village square. I waited until he came quite near before greeting him:

"Excuse me, are you Caryarel?" He nodded, and I extended a hand. The altmer regarded me suspiciously, and made no move to return the gesture. Still, I had brought my hand close enough for my Charm spell to leap invisibly across to his body, and I followed up by addressing him in a manner that I hoped would not antagonise him. "Muthsera, I was ... persuaded by the Imperial Cult to retrieve a limeware bowl they say you took. Can you think of a reason why they would say such a thing?"

The tall elf had been squinting at my face as I spoke, as if trying to recall whether he knew me or not. It seemed that all my Charm spell had accomplished was to put Caryarel in good spirits, as he laughed before finally speaking:

"I know who you are now, smuggler! I find it amusing that a petty criminal such as yourself should presume to accuse someone of theft." I started. Considering the detestable practices of the smugglers local to the Bitter Coast, I took being called 'smuggler' as quite the insult. But of course he was right: I was smuggling dwemer artifacts in my pack. That must be what Raz'hid had reported to the guard in Hla Oad - a crafty move, I thought.

Caryarel continued:

"And why in the world would I steal a bowl, of all things?" His smile vanished. "I'd advise you to leave town, breton, because should I happen across the town guard, I'll be sure to let them know you're here."

The altmer pushed past me roughly and stalked off. As soon as he was out of sight, I walked casually over to his shack and grasped the door handle, letting alteration magic seep into the lock. As soon as the lock had popped open and no-one was looking, I slipped inside. Caryarel's cramped shack was cluttered with barrels and sacks - it reminded me strongly of Fatleg's Drop-Off in Hla Oad. As I quickly rifled through the elf's possessions, I wondered why I had felt so hurt when he had called me a criminal. I had grown up a thief, and it had never bothered me before. Perhaps it was because my thievery back then had been (mostly) for a good cause. Perhaps it was because right then I was apparently a publicly known criminal.

I found the bowl in short order (from the maker's mark on its base that Kaye had told me to look for); it was full of various foodstuffs and hidden at the bottom of a barrel. I secured it in my pack, and rather than risk being caught leaving Caryarel's shack, I cast Recall to teleport back to Balmora.

Gnaar Mok was actually on a small island just off the Bitter Coast, connected to the main island of Vvardenfell by several small bridges. Though I had water-walked most of the way there, the watery approach to the village had given me the opportunity to finally wash off the blood from the carnage in Kudanat caves. However when I appeared in the Mages Guild I was still somewhat bedraggled, and sported some bloodstains baked into the fibrous bonemold armour by the scorching sun of the coast. I drew a few curious looks from the other members.


I was able to temporarily satisfy their curiosity by giving them a brief overview of my trek up the Bitter Coast, and promising that I would fill them in at dinner that night. (Most guild members that could drag themselves away from their experiments ate together in the guild hall). Before I did anything else, though, I wanted to be rid of the dwemer objects in my pack - and the price on my head. Before heading for the South Wall, I dumped my armour in the cabinet across from my bunk and pulled on my Pilgrim's robe. There was no sense going out on the streets of Balmora matching the description given to the authorities by Raz'hid.

The cornerclub was starting to fill with patrons for the evening, so Habasi threw a few coins to Bacola, the owner of the club, and took me into one of the upstairs rooms. Pushing the door closed with her back, the khajiit said:

"Habasi hears rumours, little Edward. You tripped and stepped on Raz'hid's tail trying to be sneaky, yes?" She gave a faint growl, her tail whipping back and forth spasmodically. "Not good. Not good, Edward. Certain bad people know now that you're with us. Habasi cannot give you new jobs for a while - too dangerous." Her eyes, luminescent in the candlelight, fixed on my pack. "But ... you did bring back Habasi's dwemer things, yes?"

I pulled the items from my pack and placed the bowl and goblet on the bed in front of the khajiit. The tube of metal and heavy glass, however, I twirled between my fingers.

"Habasi, I was clumsy and got caught, I know - but I got a price on my head while on a guild job. This is the sort of situation where I could really use those guild services you mentioned..." The cat gave me a puzzled look, and, scooping up the dwemer bowl and goblet, said:

"It is as I told you, little Edward: talk to Mister Reille about that." I guessed that that meant I was free to approach Phane Reille to have my bounty removed. She held out her hand, and I dropped the dwemer tube into it. "Keep from trouble for a while, Edward."

I left Habasi to her artifacts without a word. She was happy. I was not. All she had given me for the painful trouble I had gone to on her behalf was a couple of thieves' tools; which, with my magic, I had no need for. I sold the lockpicks to a Thieves Guild member (who I had come to know casually) for around a hundred drakes, and made my way through the packed club to the bar. The old breton Phane Reille was behind the bar, taking orders. I lined up and waited my turn. After a few moments of being jostled, bumped and having drinks spilled on me, it came around to my turn to be 'served'. Phane and I leaned in close in order to hear each other over the din of the crowd.

"Ah yes, Mister Frost, isn't it? I saw you speaking with young Sugar-Lips earlier. I hear you're in a bit of trouble, Mister Frost." He raised his greying eyebrows.

"Yes, that job Habasi sent me on; Raz'hid saw -" I began.

"Hush - yes, I know of the bounty on your head." Phane interrupted. "I know that it comes to one hundred and seventy-five drakes exactly, as a matter of fact. Not too bad, really. Even better, I can make it all go away; every record of this unfortunate event ever having taken place, for only eighty-seven drakes." He smiled slowly, showing a row distractingly white teeth.

By all accounts it was an excellent deal. My name would be cleared, without having to even lay eyes on a guardsman. Still, I handed over most of the money from the sale of the lockpicks with a sigh. I had barely broken even on that job. All I had really gained was the experience of another close brush with the authorities.

"Thankyou, Mister Frost. I'll take care of everything at first light tomorrow. Don't expect an official apology; just expect not to be chased." His dazzling smile broadened. "And one more thing: here is your drink. Enjoy."

Phane placed a large cup of sujamma in front of me, and turned to his next customer. For all anyone else in the club knew, I had merely ordered a drink. I had to admit it was an elegant system. Most people there were too busy talking, singing and getting drunk to care exactly what passed between a stranger and the barman. Feeling somwhat disillusioned with Habasi and the other thieves, I drank the sujamma down quickly and walked back to the Mages Guild. The other members were just sitting down to the evening meal, and I joined them to tell the story of my expedition up the Bitter Coast.

Partway through dinner I carefully laid out the small collection of magic items and tiny gemstones I had found in the tombs and smugglers' caves. At the sight of them, the guild steward Ranis leant in intently, her eyes seeming to flare into a faint glow - just as they had done when we first met.

"Where did you get these?" Her piercing eyes were now on me. I didn't look away, replying:

"I killed for them. Smugglers and slavers ... ghosts and revenants." I paused, then went on to describe the heavy fighting of my last few days. I omitted no detail - even when it came to the bloody fight in Kudanat caves. I felt a little better for talking about it all, but there was a long silence once I had finished, broken only by Sharn gra-Muzgob's noisy eating habits. It was Ranis who eventually broke the silence.

"So, Frost, it appears you've come to realise that death is occasionally necessary. Or," she smirked, "at least that it sometimes cannot be avoided."

Everyone looked at me. I said nothing.

Chapter 27: Cheating death

On the morning of the third day into my trek up the Bitter Coast, the sun finally came out. The rain and fog clearing up was a welcome change in that I could better see my way through the swamp, but at the same time, it quickly became almost unbearably hot. I was relieved to find a narrow path leading a short way up into the mountains to another natural cave system, not too far from the one in which I spent the night.

Hacked into the doorframe leading to the caves was the name 'Kudanat'. Glad to get out of the scorching sun, I pushed the door open and almost lost my hand to a wicked-looking war axe, wielded by a female bosmer in a ringmail cuirass. The axe luckily caught in the door just above my wrist, and I was able to kick her away, back into a downward-sloping tunnel just inside the door. I followed her - there was no room to swing my katana in the doorway. I called out for the wood elf to wait a moment, but for whatever reason, she ignored my plea and rushed to the attack again.

At first I thought I had managed to catch her wrongfooted, opening up a couple of wounds on her unprotected legs; but when she managed to connect with her axe, I found that the elf had surprising strength in her wiry arms. Her axe cut through the armour on my sword arm and bit into the bone: a numbing blow. Temporarily unable to move my sword-arm, I threw my shield at her and followed up by catching ahold of her weapon-hand and draining the life from her with my Righteousness spell. Soon enough the blood loss from the resurrected wounds all over her body took its toll, and the bosmer collapsed, tumbling down the sloped tunnel.

Her body came to rest at the feet of a huge nordic man, who looked about equal parts fat and muscle. Enraged at the sight of his dead friend, he roared and charged up the slope, brandishing a silver axe laced with spectral flames. I felt my eyes go wide at the sight of the enchanted axe. This was going to hurt.

I had just managed to heal my arm and retrieve my tower shield when the nord was upon me, dealing a massive overhand chop to my chest with a blinding burst of flame and sparks. Thankfully the front of my cuirass was reinforced, and it stopped the blow. The fibrous bonemold, however, immediately caught fire, and I had been knocked onto my back, winded. I frantically rolled onto my front to put the fire out in the dirt, then over again onto my back, in time to see the nord warrior lifting his axe high above his head, for a blow that would no doubt split me in half.

As the blade whooshed down, I reached up and a swirling green mist shot from my hand, enveloping the warrior. When it cleared, my heart doubled its already breakneck pace: the nord's axe had frozen in place so close to my head that I could count the scratches and nicks on the blade. I had paralysed him, but only just in time.

Paralysation spells are interesting: their effects are quite different from the general limpness associated with a person becoming physically paralysed through injury. Instead, the victim is held in place, able to move only incredibly slowly - definitely incapable of attacking anyone. The nordic man appeared to be bracing himself as best he could given his situation; hunching his shoulders up and drawing his head in. I dealt him several blows with my katana: as hard as I could given that I felt as if I had a few broken ribs, and that I still felt an instinctive hesitation to hurt people. This feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that my attacker was now almost defenseless.

The only warning I had that the spell had worn off was the agonising upward slash of the silver flameaxe, as it sent my helmet flying up and off my head and opened a long gash up the side of my face. An instant later the magical flames licked up the side of my head, sending me screaming and staggering into the cave wall. Somehow I managed to focus through the pain of the horrible burns and paralyse the nord again, this time just before his axe pinned me to the wall. After gently pressing my hand against the burns and sending my healing spell into it, I brought my sword to bear on the warrior again.

Fully healed and too angry (and scared) to hold back, I cut the man's throat open and left him to fall over dead once the paralysation wore off. Just around the corner was a dunmer woman in black clothes, who had been hanging back, hiding in the shadows. At least, she would have been hidden had I not been using my Night-Eye spell at the time. As it was, I easily caught her chiton shortsword on my shield and cut her down with a couple of strong blows to her unarmoured midriff.

Three people dead by my hand already, and then I stepped into a central cavern - and into the most bloody fight I had ever endured.

The musclebound orc waited for me to approach in the centre of the room, and at first I failed to see why. Once I ran up to engage him I found out: a dunmer woman stood on a raised wooden platform against the cave wall, aiming an arrow at me. At that, I gave up any pretense of facing the orcish warrior in a 'fair' fight, and paralysed him. Not fancying the thought of the spell wearing off and the orc burying his axe in my back, I left the dunmer archer for the moment and focused on the orc. It was a dangerous dance: dodging back and forth to avoid the whistling arrows, and slashing at the warrior every chance I got.

Thankfully the orc fell quickly - but before I could dash up the wooden steps to the platform to deal with the archer, an imperial woman with a shining broadsword sprinted up, attracted by the shouts of the archer. She turned out to be a forbidding swordswoman, and I was soon forced to deal with her in the same fashion as the nord and the orc. In the meantime, the dunmer archer had apparently run out of arrows - as she had jumped down from the platform and disappeared from sight. No longer harried by a hail of arrows, I was just about to land the killing blow upon the imperial woman when someone jumped on my back and grabbed my sword arm, pulling it away from my adversary.

It was the dunmer archer. I dislodged her from my back by thrusting my elbow hard into her ribs, then spun around and dealt her a couple of slices across the chest, cutting right through her chiton armour. She gasped and ran off into the shadows, clutching at her wounds. I was unable to give chase, as at that moment I was brought to my knees by a powerful downward chop to my shoulder: the imperial woman had shaken off the effects of my paralysis spell. I threw myself onto my back, lashing out over my head with the katana as I did so. The swordswoman was taken by surprise, and the blade cut through her throat.

By now the floor was slippery with blood - mine and that of the bodies littering the room. It took a moment for me to struggle back to my feet, and when I did, I was assaulted by yet another bandit. This time it was a male dunmer - again with a war axe. He seemed distracted by the bodies at my feet: his swings were wild and erratic. Before too long I had opened numerous gashes across the man's arms and chest, and he was starting to stagger and struggle to keep his weapon up.

"Nalur!" A cry came from behind me. I jumped back from the wounded man, twisting my head to see where it had come from. The dunmer archer was sprinting out a tunnel towards us, eyes fixed on the bleeding dunmer man, her face a mask of horror. The man glanced at the archer, a pleading expression crossing his face. He opened his mouth to say something, then froze.

I had buried my blade in his side. By the beating footsteps I could tell that the woman was almost right behind me. In one motion I yanked my katana from the man's side, and, with a vicious backhand, span around and took the woman's head off. The dunmer man closed his eyes at the awful sight, and appeared to give up, falling to the ground next to the woman - dead.

Once it was all over, and no-one else jumped out to attack me, I shuffled over to the wooden steps and sat down, breathing heavily. I stared into space for a long while, trying not to look at the bloody tangle of bodies in the centre of the room. Seven people - all dead because of me - all in one morning. Of course I could come up with all sorts of reasons why killing them may have been the right thing to do - no doubt they were just like the smugglers in the caves near Seyda Neen: trafficking slaves and drugs - but really: it didn't make me feel any better.

After a while I realised that I was badly hurt, and bleeding profusely inside my armour. I healed myself and got up to look around the caves, mainly to get away from the scene of carnage in that cavern. The more I thought about it, the more incredible it seemed: I had fought and killed seven warriors single-handedly - though of course I had been lucky that they hadn't swarmed me all at once. As it was, I had been pushed to my absolute limits to survive the encounter; sitting there I knew that once the real fight had begun in the central cavern, I would not have had the chance to cast a teleportation spell out of there if it had become necessary. Casting a spell is not an instantaneous process; I would have been cut down had I attempted to teleport away.

I certainly would have fallen if it had not been for my Paralysis spell.

Nevertheless I had prevailed, and when I got back to Balmora I was going to give Rithleen a great big kiss (if she would let me) for teaching me how to fight.

Deeper into the caves, my suspicions about the bandits were proved to be correct: I found a slave pen packed with argonian and khajiiti people. While I had not been able to find the key to their slave bracers, they were still ecstatic to be set free, and told me that they would look through the belongings of the smugglers for the key themselves.

In the meantime, I left Kudanat caves with the few items of value I had found: a small collection of tiny gems, and an enchanted ring with symbols for the elements and protection (respectively) engraved on the inside. The gems and the ring were all in a small cloth bag together; I wondered if they were related somehow. In any case I could tell that the ring was enchanted with a permanent or 'constant effect' enchantment, protecting against the elements, like the symbols had suggested. The enchantment was fairly minor, however: it wouldn't protect someone from much more than the heat from a candle flame, or the chill from a moderate evening breeze.

Nevertheless, I slipped it on before leaving the caves: perhaps it would make the muggy heat of the swamp more bearable. That at least would be some small comfort, given my frame of mind.

Chapter 26: On the run

After my theft of the dwemer artifacts from Raz'hid had devolved into a mad dash out of Hla Oad before I was reported to the guards, I was sure that I now had a price on my head. Bounties for theft were usually roughly equal to the value of the property stolen. The way I saw it, I had two options if I wanted to avoid a life of hiding my face in public: the first of which was to turn myself in to a guard and pay the bounty. I wanted to avoid this, as guardsmen were known to shake down people that did this for any stolen items - or simply for anything they took a liking to. I did not fancy having my hard-won equipment confiscated, so the second option looked like the course to take: I would see if the Thieves Guild would hold up their end of the bargain and help me out of this trouble.

Besides, any bounty on my head was as a result of a job Habasi had sent me on - and I had the pieces she wanted, so I anticipated having little trouble persuading them to help me. I felt calmer once I had worked out what to do, and before I knew it I had arrived at Velos Ancestral Tomb, the time-worn stone entrance jutting from a hillside. I think it was my curiosity again making me stick my nose where I shouldn't - that and the possibility of great power. I imagined finding the Amulet of Scrye and being able to solve age-old mysteries simply by talking to the spirits of those alive at the time. I think I also had some vague plan to ask the spirits for sanctuary from their attacks. I seemed to find undead wherever I went.

I was very naive.

I went into the tomb ready for a fight, but all I found was a book and the Amulet of Scrye, sitting on a stone plinth, caked with dust. I could only tell that I had found the amulet because it had 'Amulet of Scrye' inscribed on it in tiny characters: any enchantment on it escaped my ability to sense such things. Using my Night-Eye spell, I skimmed through the book until I found part that taught me how to cast a spell that would allow me to see into the spirit world and speak with any ghosts that may be 'nearby'. The book explained that wearing the amulet would allow me to hear whispers of the dead; thereby letting me know when spirits were nearby.

I put the amulet around my neck, the metal icy against my skin. Instantly I could hear harsh whispering; someone pleading me to listen, and to look at them. I tentatively cast the spell I had learnt from the book, jumping back with a yelp as the glowing face of a spirit appeared so close to me that our noses were almost touching. It was a man - a dunmer - and he had the ... biggest ears I had ever seen. He was not happy to see me.

"Another one." He clenched and unclenched his ghostly fists. "Did you know that every time some amateur necromancer runs off with that amulet, holding it aloft as if they have the answer to their existence in their hand, they eventually come back gibbering about death and infinity or somesuch? They come back and they beg me to take the amulet and whatever it is they've seen back - as if I could do such a thing. Do you still want the shiny thing, you silly little boy?"

"I'm not a necromancer!" I was indignant. "I actually killed one who was looking for this." I fingered the amulet.

"Necromancers kill each other all the time." The spirit, which I took to be that of Thynim Velos, fixed me with a stare. "Though I suppose that supports your claim that you're not a necromancer. If you were, you'd..." Velos trailed off, his eye narrowing. "You're going to keep it, aren't you? Stupid, stupid mortal! Alright look; there may be a way for you to keep that amulet and whatever fluff blew into your head that you took to calling your mind."

The spirit waved a hand at the back wall of the tomb. A ghostly door materialised slowly, opening onto a dark cavernous passage.

"I have four tasks for you. Complete them and you might not go stark raving mad after all. And before you ask, no, I don't have anything better to do with my time. I have an awful lot of time at hand, being dead, and all. Take that skull." Velos pointed at my hands and I realised I was holding a brittle, pockmarked skull, though I could not remember picking it up. "Place it in the chest at the end of the hall." He ushered me through the ghostly door, calling out to me just before it slammed shut: "One more thing. Honour the dead."

This then, was what I got for following every whim that passed through my mind. I hurried down the wide, echoing passage. It was dark in there, even with my Night-Eye spell, but I could make out skeletal guardians with rusted weapons in various alcoves and small rooms off the hall, following my progress with their empty eye sockets. Partway down the hall, the skeletons began to move, first one or two, then the rest, striding purposefully towards me. I increased my pace, then broke into a run, tucking the skull under my arm in case things came to a shoving match.

The undead followed suit, and soon I was tearing down the huge passage, a mass of skeletons right behind me. With the skull tucked under my arm like a recreational ball, it rather felt like a macabre version of a game I used to play with the other orphans; only this time I wanted to be caught even less than back then. I guessed that by "honour the dead", Velos had meant for me to avoid attacking the undead in the hall; though even if I was so inclined, I would not be foolish enough to turn and face such an overwhelming force.

By the time I reached the chest at the end of the hall, the ungainly skeletons had fallen behind somewhat, and I had time to toss the brittle skull into the chest and slam the lid shut. I was momentarily distracted by an awful shriek from within the chest, and then the mob of skeletal guardians were almost upon me. Trying to skirt around the group while at the same time keeping a wary eye on them should they fan out, I tripped and found myself backed into a corner, a forest of bones blocking my escape.

To my surprise, the skeletons merely stopped and stared at my prone form, making no further move towards me. Wasting no opportunity to escape, I slowly got to my feet and carefully picked my way through the crowd of undead, trying to avoid somehow provoking them. Every skull in the room swivelled in place to watch my retreat, but I was not challenged on my way out. A few short moments later I pushed through the ghostly door to where I had spoken with Velos, the door fading away behind me.


The spirit was nowhere to be seen, but the Amulet of Scrye was whispering menacingly to me again, so I cast the seance spell. When Thynim became visible he was wearing a grim smile.

"Good. That was actually quite good. Now, the second task is to kneel at that prayer stool over there, and pray. I don't much care what you pray for, though given that you seem adamant on keeping my amulet, you may wish to pray for your sanity."

I realised that Velos was right. I did want the amulet, even after originally wanting to avoid anything to do with necromancers and their art. Perhaps it was some effect of the amulet itself, attracting me to it. I couldn't imagine anyone intentionally imbuing an item with unwanted effects during the enchanting process, but then maybe some aspect of the habit of obsession that is said to infest necromancers had made its way into the amulet. In any case I followed the spirit's instructions and knelt at the prayer stool.

Without thinking, I found myself praying for something that I had wished for many times before; of course without expectation that it would ever be granted. I prayed that I would never die.

"That will do." Velos broke my reverie. "Your next task will be more difficult. There is a vampire I wish killed, in the Reloth Ancestral Tomb. The tomb is south-east of Khuul, where the mountains end." The spirit began to fade. "One thing I must insist upon is that you leave the amulet here for now. Trust me." He grinned unpleasantly. "It's safer that way."

With that, he vanished, and the Amulet of Scrye was gone from around my neck too. With the amulet gone I felt as if I was thinking clearly once more. A vampire! While it was true that I had killed a vampire before, the thing had been already half-dead (in a manner of speaking) from starvation. I was not about to go looking for a fight with a vampire.

I hurried from the tomb, resuming my trek north through the muggy swamps of the Bitter Coast. I did not see any evidence of civilisation until dusk, when I came across a wooden door leading into a natural cave system. Inside I was momentarily alarmed by a strange dog-like creature with thrashing black antennae where its eyes should rightly have been. The thing waddled up and regarded me with brief curiosity, before turning and casually wandering off into the caves.

I was exhausted: I had put a great distance between myself and the guards of Hla Oad that day. I made camp right there, at the mouth of the cave. Laying back in my bedroll I felt somewhat uneasy about sleeping there with those strange animals wandering about: that is until I saw how my ioun stone was behaving. It would float up to any of the creatures that approached while I was lying down, and give them a sharp rap on what appeared to be their nose. The creature would then quickly retreat.

Feeling for the first time that day that I could relax, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 25: Illusive

I woke to the creaking and groaning of the beached ship. It was morning, and as the temperature increased, the wood of the ship shifted in place, making all sorts of subtly unsettling noises; worst were the occasional, very loud, cracks. I was certainly not made for a life at sea: even a ship stranded on solid land made me uncomfortable.

Still, before leaving, I poked around the refuse inside the wreck. The Bitter Coast was still blanketed in fog, and the diffuse light barely illuminated the ship's interior, seeming to seep reluctantly through the gaps between the warped boards of the hull. The lower part of the ship was submerged in the salty water, and I could hear a faint susurrus from the inky pool as the tide went out; again seeping through the warped and broken hull.

I had recently learnt a spell, called 'Night-Eye', that allowed me to see in the dark; much to my delight. For most people, flaming torches are a necessary evil: they provide illumination of course, but at the same time they can be difficult to light - and keep lit - they can be dangerous in confined spaces, they leave you with only one free hand, they reveal your position to others... and the list goes on. People with mystic ability can overcome basically all of these obstacles by magically seeing in the dark. Some travelling mages still choose to carry a supply of torches in order to conserve their magicka. I personally had no need to worry about that: since magicka was constantly trickling into my body, a Night-Eye spell here and there was no trouble at all.

One particular failing of torches came to mind as I peered into the impenetrable blackness of the pool: they are obviously useless for seeing underwater. The nightvision spell came easily, and the world before my eyes took on a greenish, washed out hue. Sliding into the cool water, I took a deep breath - and promptly lost most of it in fright. At the very bottom of the wrecked ship was a skeleton, and at first glance it appeared to be struggling slowly at the broken wall of the hold. Shortly though I realised (or came to hope) that it was not the kind of skeleton that would attempt to kill me: rather it was someone's remains, caught up in the current passing through the ship.

A quick search of the few crates and barrels floating about in the ship's hold turned up some moon sugar (in water-proof packaging), and three diamonds. The precious stones were actually not as valuable as the 'ensouled' soul gems in my pack, but they were still nothing to sniff at. The moon sugar confirmed my suspicions: it was definitely the wreck of a smuggler or pirate ship: no-one had come to claim the body - or the valuables I found. It was my guess that no-one knew the wreck was there. The Bitter Coast was truly a remote place.


I made good time that morning, arriving in the small village of Hla Oad within two hours of leaving the shipwreck. Sugar-Lips Habasi had asked me to recover some dwemer items that had been stolen from the Thieves Guild by a khajiiti man called Raz'hid. He was apparently staying at 'Fatleg's Drop-off' in Hla Oad. I had been wary of having anything to do with dwemer artifacts: large, distinctive and heavy as they were, they were not the sort of contraband I was eager to carry around on my person. Since I was passing through Hla Oad anyway though, I decided to see if I could track them down. The remoteness of the Bitter Coast should help keep me from the prying eyes of the guardsmen, at any rate.

As I asked one of the villagers for directions to Fatleg's, I remembered that the spirit of Lleves Andan had told me that a man named Thynim Velos from Hla Oad owned the only known 'Amulet of Scrye' in the land; a magical item that allowed the wearer to speak with the dead. I'm not sure what made me do it, but I also asked the villager if she knew of anyone by the name of Velos. She said that there was a Velos ancestral tomb out of town to the northeast, but that was it. I wondered if it would be worthwhile investigating the tomb - something I would have never done even a few days previous. Perhaps carrying the captured souls of a ghost and a few undead monstrosities in my pack made me less wary of them.

In Fatleg's Drop-Off, a moderate-sized shack filled with a clutter of crates, barrels and sacks, my skill in Illusion magic was sorely tested. A khajiit who I took to be Raz'hid was seated at a small table, across from a redguard man wearing a robe. As I entered, Raz'hid stood up from the game of dice they had been playing to greet me - or, probably more likely - to size me up. The redguard barely spared me a glance, pulling a dagger from his sleeve and idly sharpening it while he waited for the game to resume. Raz'hid spoke bluntly:

"What you want?" He did not seem overly interested or concerned - his manner was in fact very much like that of a bored shopkeeper. I held out my hand and waited for him to take it. Reluctantly he reached out and clasped my hand briefly. As he did so, a green spectral light, visible only to me, leapt from my fingertips to his clawed hand. I was trying out my new 'Charm' spell, hoping to fuddle his mind into taking an artificial liking to me.

"You're Raz'hid, aren't you? I've heard that you may have some very old items ... ancient - as old as the dwemer, even." At the mention of the dwemer, the khajiit's tail flicked back and forth a couple of times tellingly.

"Raz'hid does not know what you are talking about." He smirked. "Dwemer things are very illegal - Raz'hid would never deal in such things."

I was very disappointed. I had expected my Charm spell to - well, work like a charm. Even a bribe of a hundred drakes failed to loosen his tongue, and before too long he had returned to playing dice with the redguard. I suspected that Raz'hid happened to have a very shrewd mind, and the only effect my spell had had on him was for him to loosen up enough to let his body language tell me that he was lying. Either that or I simply needed much more practice at the College of Illusion.

As it happened, I got some practice immediately. I pretended to leave, throwing the door wide and leaving it open behind me as if in a huff. I stepped out of sight and cast my invisibility spell, darting back into the building just before the robed redguard pulled the door closed with an exasperated sigh. I was completely invisible to others (at least until I touched something), but to me my body was indistinct and diffuse, as if seen through murky water. I spotted a heavy, locked chest and put a stack of crates between myself and the dice-playing pair so that they would hopefully not notice me when the invisibility spell was broken. Inserting the tip of my forefinger into the lock on the chest, I slowly and gently let alteration magic flow into it, loosening the mechanism inside until it popped open with a faint click.

Inside was exactly what I was looking for: the dwarven goblet, bowl and tube Raz'hid had stolen from the guild. Quickly I grabbed the metal items and pushed them into my pack, very conscious that my invisibility spell had definitely worn off by that time. It was just as I dropped the last object into my pack that Raz'hid stepped around the stack of crates on his damnably quiet khajiit feet and caught me red-handed. With a hiss that also brought his redguard associate running, the cat leapt to the attack, dealing me a painful swipe across the cheek with his claws.

I placed the palm of my hand on his stomach, pushing him away and at the same time discharging my 'Calming Touch' spell into his body. Another Illusion spell, it had the basic effect of making the subject temporarily forget that he or she wanted very much to kill someone. I had no time to see if that spell had worked on Raz'hid, as the redguard had thrown back his chair and was obviously preparing a devastating spell. I dashed diagonally across the room, trying to close the distance between myself and the robed reguard while keeping behind cover as best I could. Halfway there, part of a wooden support exploded at head-level, peppering my face with splinters.

Before he could get another spell off, I leapt over the small table and tackled the dark man into the wall, releasing the Calming Touch spell into him as I did so. I jumped back, hand on my katana in case the spell had failed to work. The redguard got up in a rather more unhurried fashion, straightening his chair as he did so. He sat back down again at the table, blinking rapidly, but apart from that, behaving as if nothing had happened. Raz'hid shuffled forward, growling:

"You... you stole from me, bad breton." He was in something of a daze, but was making no further move to attack me. "Raz'hid be telling the guards ... just as soon as - as Raz'hid..."

I was out of there with the dwemer artifacts before he could finish. Blood streaming down my face from multiple small wounds, I cast my invisibility spell so no-one would see me sprinting from the village. Just before passing behind some gnarled trees and losing sight of Fatleg's Drop-Off, I turned to see Raz'hid miming my description to a guardsman: black hair like this, armour, this tall, weapons... I could see it all through his gestures, without having to hear one word.

I doubted that the khajiit would be stupid enough to tell the guard that I had stolen dwemer artifacts from him: something that by rights he should not have had in his possession to begin with. Nevertheless, he was obviously reporting me for some crime, and the last time I had been reported to a guard, I had found myself spending a number of years in a small, cold cell.

Pushing down the feelings of panic that threatened to overwhelm me, I turned and disappeared into the marshes.

Chapter 24: Lost and forgotten things

Once the skeletal guardian crumbled into a pile of bone shards, the tomb was eerily quiet. I could hear the grating, chirupping call of the swamp insects filtering in from outside. Venturing further underground, into the next chamber, I found a pit of ashes like the one in the Andan tomb. And, just like in the Andan tomb, a ghastly spectre burst from the ashes with an awful, unnatural scream. While the spirit of Lleves Andan had proved to be harmless, this ghost had one goal in mind: for me to join it in death.

The thing swooped in with alarming speed, swirling about my head and raking me with its spectral, bony hands. Though I could see right through them, its fingers felt sharp as talons, opening numerous small wounds in my back and arms before I could react. When I did make my move, I was glad no-one was there to see me: I was waving and whirling my silver blade about as if trying to swat flies from the air - I felt somewhat foolish. I managed to connect, though - in a manner of speaking - as my sword passed through the ghost's midriff with little resistance, leaving a trail of blazing silver light in its wake.

The spectre actually paused for a moment to stare at me, its pale, skeletal face impassive. I took that opportunity to cast Soul Trap; a white, ethereal loop bursting from my hands and encircling the spectre. At that, it became enraged, giving an almost unbearably loud screech and flying to the attack again. I had cast hooks into the ghost's very soul, and it knew it: it was about all the thing had left to lose.

And lose it the ghost did. I scored a few lucky hits, finally destroying the spectre with a slice right down its middle. The thing boiled away like thin clouds before the sun, and I felt a now-identifiable lurch in my pack. Looking inside, I found that one of the higher quality soul gems was now home to the apparition's soul. I couldn't help but smile: Galbedir had told me that the captured soul of an ancestor ghost could fetch a few thousand drakes when sold. Quite the fortune as far as I was concerned.

With the angry spectre out of the way, I was able to give the room a thorough search for valuables. I tried to assuage my guilt and dispel the notion that what I was doing was basically grave-robbing, by telling myself that the tomb was obviously long forgotten. It almost worked.

In any case, I was glad I looked, because in a small, rotting chest I found a deep blue gem. It actually looked very similar to some of the soul gems I was carrying in my pack - but as soon as I picked it up I could tell that the stone itself was enchanted in some way. When I brought it close to my face to have a closer look at it, the gem twitched, then slipped from my fingers and floated into the air, brushing past my forehead as it did so. When it touched my forehead I instantly knew what the stone did: it would actively and constantly work to clear my mind and improve my concentration, while also occasionally intercepting hostile spells before they could harm me. In fact, any spells caught in this manner would be absorbed, feeding into my magicka reserves. It was a magnificent find - but having the knowledge of what the stone did pushed into my mind through contact with it was unnerving. It was something like remembering the answer to a riddle you had heard before, a very long time ago.

I observed the curious floating gem as I went to leave the room: it zoomed down from the ceiling to bob along behind my head as I walked. Whenever I stopped it would orbit my head, or sometimes float over to apparently inspect some nearby object. Later I learned that this behaviour was common to all ioun stones (for that was what it was). They were unusually anthropomorphic in nature for enchanted rocks.

There was little else of interest in the Thelas Ancestral Tomb, so I continued my expedition up the Bitter Coast. For hours I trudged through the inland swamps and muddy sand of the shoreline, without seeing a single sign of civilisation; past or present. It was hardly surprising: fetid swamps made for a poor place for anyone to settle. At some point in the afternoon I found another tomb, this one encrusted with layers of salt, as it opened directly onto the sandy shore of the coast. After leaving the Thelas tomb with such valuable items, I only hesitated for a short moment before approaching the coastal tomb for a closer look.

The arched alcove was marked as the 'Sarys Ancestral Tomb', and from outside it actually made for a picturesque scene, glittering with crystallised salt as it was. Inside, though, I underwent the heaviest fighting I had yet seen.

The Sarys tomb was the largest I had explored, and was crawling with undead monstrosities. Just inside the first chamber, a huge, wheezing bonewalker lurched out of the shadows, bearing me to the ground with its draining attacks, just like the one in the Andan tomb. I defeated this one in much the same way as the first, focusing my Frostbite spell through one hand, and the Righteousness spell through the other - until the thing collapsed on top of me, well and truly dead. Unfortunately, this revenant had not been temporarily summoned by a necromancer, and it did not vanish when killed. I was unable to push the revolting, stinking thing off until I had magically restored my strength. Keeping my lunch down under such circumstances was quite a feat.

Next I encountered two more of the zombies - one at a time, though - luckily. The first one was much weedier than the other bonewalkers I had faced, and its swollen lips were frozen in a wide, rotting grin. I thought at first that the thing must have had some difficulty telling how far away I was, because it lashed out at me from across the room. Hoping to take full advantage of the creature's apparent handicap, I rushed straight at it, sword raised. I soon realised my mistake, since as it lashed out, it projected a dull reddish field from its hands, catching me full in the chest. I stumbled, suddenly feeling weak and clumsy: it was another draining attack!

The skinny bonewalker then proved that it knew perfectly well where I was, running up and battering me with the hardened flesh of its arms. I was again forced to use 'Righteousness' to survive its attacks and bring it down. This time, I didn't just feel sick from transferring the 'life' force from an undead creature to my own body: I felt weak and exhausted, even after magically reversing the effects of the revenant's draining attacks. I had caught some horrible, fast-acting disease from the creature - and I suspected that it had happened because of the Righteousness spell. Fortunately, I knew a spell to cure most common diseases, and I was soon feeling perfectly healthy again.

Thanking whatever gods may exist that I had been born with some magical ability, I carried on into the tomb and soon crossed paths with another of the skinny bonewalkers. This time, however, I managed to surprise and corner the beast, raining blows upon it with my silver sword until enough of its bones were broken to render it incapable of movement.

I had managed to capture the souls of all three bonewalkers, and warm thoughts of all the money I would soon receive for the sale of their soul gems spurred me onwards, still deeper into the tomb. I think it made me careless. In my eagerness to cast Soul Trap on the skeletal guardian in the deepest chamber of the tomb, I underestimated the strength in its arms, and almost paid for that mistake with my life. (In my defence, one cannot judge the relative strength of a skeleton in the same way as one might pick a fight in a bar based on how burly their opponent is: skeletons have no muscles!)

This particular guardian carried a huge battle axe, and swung it into my side with a lightning blow that swept me from my feet and slammed me into the wall. Winded, I collapsed into a heap at the base of the wall, gasping for air. Blood ran from my gaping mouth in a thin trickle onto the floor. I could tell the axe had passed straight through my armour and cut deeply into my side, probably into one of my lungs. I couldn't get up, and as the shadow of the skeleton passed over my face, I knew that I had to do something quickly or I would die right there on the dusty floor. I snatched a couple of healing potions from a pouch on my belt and forced myself to choke them both down, even though I still couldn't breathe.

A wonderful feeling of warmth spread from my stomach outwards, the near-fatal wound in my side closing in an instant. I had just managed to get to my hands and knees when the skeletal guardian caught up with me and dealt another devastating blow to my midriff, sending me skittering across the floor. Thankfully, the healing energies of the potions were still running their course, and not only did I survive the attack, I rose to my feet fully healed, the Righteousness spell ready in my hands.

Somehow I managed to dodge enough of the skeleton's blows for long enough to completely drain the force driving it - into my own body. Eventually the thing just stopped, axe raised as if for another swing, before slowly toppling over and lying motionless.

Shaking with adrenaline and breathing hard after the desperate fight, I approached a stone plinth at the far end of the chamber. Resting upon it was an urn for holding ashes - just like the others lining the chambers of the tomb. This particular one, however, caught my interest as it was the only one in that whole room. Leaning in close to inspect it, I could hear something coming from within: it sounded something like a wild, roaring beach heard from a distance. Suspecting that the urn may be trapped, I backed away and popped the stopper off from a distance with my new Telekinesis spell. The distinctive red glow of destruction magic shot from the urn to dissipate harmlessly across the ceiling.

Inside the urn I found something that made battling the many undead creatures worthwhile: a beautiful ring - one that I could immediately sense was very powerful. I detected that the enchantment upon it was such that it fortified a person's mental capacity, not occasionally and temporarily like most enchanted items - but constantly. It was a lot like the ioun stone I had found earlier in the day, only much more potent. In short, it would aid my magical abilities no end. Slipping it on, I left the tomb and continued up the coast.


I found no further signs of civilisation until just on dark, when I rounded a stand of gnarled swamp-trees and saw a beached, wrecked ship, at the mouth of the Odai River (according to my map). The captain's cabin on deck was still intact, and the door still worked. Although the floor was at a crazy angle, it made for an excellent place for me to spend the night, safe from wandering creatures.

Laying in my bedroll, I gazed at the magical ring I had found before drifting off to sleep. It occurred to me that perhaps with such a ring I might be intelligent enough to avoid places like the Sarys Ancestral Tomb in future.

Chapter 23: Thievery

My activities the following day reminded me again of my time growing up in the Imperial Cult orphanage.

Back at the Imperial Cult Shrine in Fort Moonmoth - near Balmora - the Cult healer had suggested asking for duties as an Almoner at the Imperial Chapel in Ebonheart. Initially I had baulked at the idea of doing such a thankless job, but when Iulus Truptor approached me during my visit to the Chapel and described the workings of a standard Almoner 'project' to me, I reconsidered. Each project was considered a separate task, and a member that performed a certain number of tasks would be considered for promotion through the ranks of the Imperial Cult. It was very similar to the structure of the Mages Guild, actually.

What really sold me on the job though was that for each Almoner project, I was sent out alone to a particular organisation with a fairly low collection target (one hundred septims), and - most importantly - without a logbook or other means of recording who donated what. This meant that I didn't have to put myself through the humiliation of begging for money: I could simply leave the Chapel for a while, and upon return use some of the money raised through my thefts to complete my Almoner project. Stealing from the rich and giving to the Cult was exactly what I used to do in my youth.

As a small ruse, it worked extremely well. I could at once feel as if I was repaying my debt to the Cult, while also helping a worthwhile cause, and advancing through the ranks. A number of outcomes through one effort.

The day progressed in a pattern like this: I would ask for an Almoner's project from Iulus Truptor, teleport to Balmora for a two hour longsword-training session with Rithleen, and then teleport back to the Imperial Chapel to give Truptor the money I had (as far as he knew) collected. Afterwards I would ask for another project and the process would repeat again.

For each project, I gave Iulus more money than he had asked for. He became so happy with me that by the end of the day, he had advanced me through four whole ranks in the Imperial Cult: from Layman, through Novice, Initiate, Acolyte, and then to Adept. He also rewarded me with a number of pieces of clothing that bore minor enchantments. I was quite taken with them at first: I had never before had the opportunity to even hold an enchanted item. The way in which I could instinctively feel what kind of enchantment was placed on each piece of clothing simply by holding it was fascinating; though it meant that I soon lost interest in them. Each item was enchanted so that it could periodically provide a slight, and temporary, boost in the wearer's ability to understand language and empathise with people. The clothes were more ceremonial than useful, basically.

Near the end of the day, Iulus Truptor told me had no more simple 'begging' Almoner's projects (though he didn't call them that, of course), but that he might have other work for me in a few days. I cast my Recall spell and teleported back to Balmora for one last training session with Rithleen before retiring for the night. The Redguard woman seemed a good trainer, and often said that everything she taught me had one aim in mind: to keep me alive. So I believed her when she told me that I was making good progress, but that I would benefit greatly by getting some experience in the field.

It was true that I had seen very little of the wilds of Vvardenfell; in fact, I had only seriously ventured outside the towns twice - and both times I had not strayed from the well-worn track. Rithleen gave me a few pieces of advice for getting some serious exercise and practice defending myself against wild creatures, while not getting myself killed in the process:

"Caius would be cross with me if you happened to end up the dinner of a family of cliff-racers, so please don't wander off into the deep, deep wilds. Be very wary of the Dwemer ruins: they're often haunted and patrolled by those blasted metal constructs - and you can't tell until you go inside. Also, if you should come across some Daedric ruins - big, spiky purple stones, crazy angles - run in the other direction, alright? There are things in those ruins that can turn you inside out or roast a person inside their armour." I was fast losing my enthusiasm for gaining some field experience. I asked her:

"Can you recommend somewhere I could go that won't get me cooked, turned inside out, or eaten?"

"The Bitter Coast. It's nearby, and home to mudcrabs, nix-hounds, netch, and the occasional tomb or smugglers' hideout. Nothing worse than that along there, really."

That did sound like a workable plan: for one thing, I knew where the Bitter Coast was and how to reach it - and also, if it was as pocked with smugglers' caves as everyone said, such an expedition could be a very lucrative. As an added bonus, theft from outlaws was actually approved of by polite society in Morrowind. I decided to prepare for an extended hike through the wild areas of the Bitter Coast.

So, that evening I bought a fair quantity of raw meat, and carried it and my new portable metal grill up the steep hill just to the north of Balmora. Once outside the city limits I set a fire, and searched about for some rocks to support the grill while I waited for the flames to get hot enough. I sat and cooked the meat I had bought, watching the sun set over Balmora. Dusk was well past by the time I had finished, and as I salted the pieces of meat and wrapped them in leaves, I found myself edging closer to the fire to ward off the encroaching chill of night. I hoped to have enough food to last me several days. Finally, before heading for bed, I refilled my water skins at the same public pump I had used to wash the bloody Dark Brotherhood armour.

Early the next morning I took a silt strider to Seyda Neen, intending to hike up the Bitter Coast to the west. On my way out of the village I ran into the altmer Eldafire, apparently returning from a morning swim, and thought to ask her if she knew Caryarel. Kaye had said that the thief might live somewhere along the Bitter Coast.

"Caryarel?" Eldafire frowned. "Yes, I know him. we sometimes see him here trying to get a good look inside the Census and Excise warehouse. Just the place his sort would very much like to see the inside of. He comes all the way from Gnaar Mok to case the building."

I thanked Eldafire for her help, and carried on into the wilderness. Silently I also thanked my good fortune at picking up such a good lead, and hoped that my luck would continue. Heavy fog and a maze of stinking swamps, slippery rocks and trees with winding, serpentine branches and roots made for heavy going. I found myself constantly backtracking and checking my map so I wouldn't get lost. After a while I gave up on the inland route and walked along the coast, keeping the Inner Sea to my left. Now and then I would cast my water-walking spell and run gingerly out onto the water a little way (water-walking is rather like walking on ice: it is quite slippery) to escape the swamp and get a better look at the shape of the coast.

Before too long I found the entrance to a tomb. It had the same kind of arched alcove over the rotting door as the Andan Tomb, only this one was marked as the 'Thelas Ancestral Tomb'. My curiosity once again getting the better of me, I ventured inside, donning my helmet and readying my shield and silver sword. I was right to be cautious, though it did me little good. At the opposite end of the first room I entered stood a skeletal guardian, a chipped and scored longbow hanging loosely at its side. I had encountered animated skeletons before, during my terrifying night in the necromancer's house - but for whatever reason, those undead monsters had left me more or less alone. This one did not.

With alarming speed, the skeletal guardian snapped the bow to the ready and let loose an arrow, striking me square in the chest. The arrow was tipped with some kind of fearful acidic poison: it melted instantly through the fibrous bonemold chest plate and buried itself near my shoulder, burning away the skin and flesh it touched - so that a second later it fell out, leaving a gaping, agonising wound. I couldn't even scream, the pain was so intense. A second arrow burned a hole right through my tower shield and nicked my armguard, this time thankfully only giving the skin of my arm a peripheral splash of acid.

Realising my armour was not going to help in the slightest against the skeletal archer, I dove forward, getting a stone plinth between myself and my attacker. There, I crouched down low and waited, laying my shield aside. As the skeleton rounded the corner of the plinth, I grabbed one of its dusty, bony ankles and yanked hard. It crashed to the ground, and before it could skitter away and rise to its feet, I threw myself upon it. My entire weight upon the undead creature, I could feel its bones cracking and breaking - yet still the skeleton flailed about, battering me with its arms and even trying to bite me. Without its deadly arrows the thing couldn't do me much harm, however, and I was able to lock my fingers into its rib cage and draw whatever force was sustaining it into my own body, using my Righteousness spell. Soon I was healed, and as the skeleton's bones began to shatter and crumble away under my weight, I cast a spell I had learnt only recently: 'Soul Trap'.

The skeleton broke into pieces and lay still, and I fancied I heard a brief rushing sound, and felt something twitch and shudder inside my pack.

I had recently learned a little more about soul gems from the Apprentice enchanter Galbedir, as the crystalline stones were used to enchant items. If a creature or spirit was destroyed shortly after having had Soul Trap cast upon it, its soul would jump to the nearest soul gem, and be held inside until put to some purpose by an enchanter (usually). Like other gemstones, soul gems are found in varying qualities, the finer, rarer examples being able to hold more powerful, deadly creatures. I had a small collection of soul gems in my pack, mostly stolen, but some supplied by the Mages Guild. Upon inspection, one of the smaller, 'petty' gems appeared to be repelling the other stones, and when I picked it up I could feel a force radiating out of it.

I was no enchanter - and had no intention of becoming one. By all accounts it was an incredibly difficult, tedious and frustrating business; though for these same reasons it was also a lucrative one. Soul gems containing trapped souls were purchased by enchanters for sizable amounts of money - and that was the reason for my interest in the matter.

I had stolen a creature's soul - for money. It was theft, just the same.

Chapter 22: The other side

I actually flew across the water to Ebonheart. From Vivec's Palace I could see the harbour of the Imperial settlement. Since I was still under the blessing of the Shrine of Daring, I was able to take full advantage of the magical capability of flight that it gave me and soar across the bay, instead of taking the long way around on foot. It was marvellous: flying low over the glistening water I was unafraid of the blessing wearing off unexpectedly, and was able to chase the breaking waves into Ebonheart's harbour.

Imperial guardsmen were everywhere in Ebonheart, and when I asked for Apelles Matius, one of them directed me to the battlements of the nearby Legion fort. Matius certainly looked the part of a high-ranking Imperial Legion officer new to his current posting: his striking armour was different to the other soldiers'. In fact, I couldn't recall ever before seeing a metal that gleamed so brightly in the sun. According to the Hlaalu guardsmen in Balmora, this was the man to ask for more information on the Dark Brotherhood. Needless to say perhaps, I was keen to see if anything could be done to prevent myself being hunted by deadly assassins. After introducing myself and telling Matius of my problem, I was faced with an obstacle that I should have expected: he did not believe me.


"Look, Mister Frost, the Dark Brotherhood are deadly. And no offense to you, but you look like you've ... seen better days. Yes, you're a breton - I can see - and you probably have some magical ability. But magic or no, if you were really attacked, I doubt you would be alive to tell me about it."

To convince him I described the armour and weaponry of the assassins in great detail (all the time wishing I had thought to bring a piece of the armour with me instead of selling it all). At that Matius seemed to change his mind - or at least doubt his conviction:

"Alright, alright. Stop." He frowned for a moment, staring at his feet, before giving a slight sigh. "Alright, if you have been attacked by the Dark Brotherhood, then it's likely you'll be attacked again; in which case it would be remiss of me not to help you. And by help, I mean I'll tell you what I know - I'm not about to head off on a Dark Brotherhood hunt with you; just so we're clear."

Matius indicated that I should follow him on his patrol. We began to walk along the battlements, the Legion officer gazing out to sea as he spoke.

"As it turns out I can't tell you much more than you've already heard: the nearest Dark Brotherhood base is on the mainland, in Mournhold - the capital city. Of course with the Blight, getting to the mainland is a little tricky." When he didn't elaborate further, instead staring thoughtfully into the sea, I had to ask:

"Uh - at the risk of sounding simple, what is the 'blight'?"

"Are you serious? The blight!" Matius frowned at me. "I've only been here a week, and yet I know about the... Alright. The volcano, Red Mountain, at the centre of Vvardenfell has been the source of blight storms for an age. These are like the ash storms that plague most of the island, only they carry diseases. Very, very bad diseases. Until recently the 'ghostfence' - I don't actually know what that is; you'll have to ask someone else - the 'ghostfence' has contained the blight storms and all the 'blighted' - or diseased - creatures in an area around the volcano. Now very recently, these blighted creatures have been cropping up everywhere on the island, and blight diseases are spreading. The Empire has quarantined Vvardenfell. No ships from the island are allowed to dock on the mainland."

At that, the Legion officer appeared to have an idea.

"They are still allowing teleportation - though 'allowing' might be the wrong word: it's not as if we can actually stop anyone teleporting to or from the island." He gave a grim smile. "Take Asciene Rane - over in the Grand Council Chambers - she'll magic almost anyone that asks over to Mournhold; though now she says she won't if they're sick, or have been out in the wild Ashlands recently. There's basically nothing we can do about someone as gifted in teleportation magic as her, anyway: one move to grab her and she'd vanish." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Matius stared off into the middle distance, and murmured, seemingly half to himself:

"Can't grab her in her sleep, either: no-one knows where she goes at night..." After a moment he came out of his reverie and looked directly into my eyes. "Now, you won't repeat this to anyone, alright? We don't need a cavalcade of bodies blinking over to the mainland. We're trying for a proper quarantine, here." He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. I assured him I wouldn't spread word of the apparent transport service to Mournhold around, saying:

"Don't worry - I don't even know if I'll be going, yet." That was the truth. My every encounter with the Dark Brotherhood had been a close brush with death: and each time it had been a single assassin. I was not about to poke my nose into a potential nest of the vipers without feeling a lot better prepared than I did at that point. It was becoming apparent, too, that neither the Legion nor any of the local enforcement companies would be willing to help me; so for the meantime, I would just have to focus on my martial and magical studies and hope that I could withstand any further attacks.

Thanking Apelles Matius for his time, I carried on to the Imperial Cult Mission, my final destination for the day. Ranis Athrys had as good as ordered me to make the trip to the Mission to find someone who could teach me the 'Divine Intervention' spell. I intended to do as she said, but I also wanted to ask the priests if there was anything I could do to aid the Cult. I had not forgotten my debt to them.

The Mission in Ebonheart - also known as the Imperial Chapel - was built out of a steep, rocky promontory, with spectacular views to the west and south; out to sea. Stepping inside, I was immediately struck at how fine the furnishings were. Richly coloured rugs and tapestries lined the walls and floors, the furniture was all of high quality heavy wood, and the shelves were lined with fine books and other expensive items. It was a far cry from the sparse interiors of the Tribunal Temples - and from the Cult orphanage in which I was raised. Still, I suppose it was the headquarters of the Imperial Cult on Vvardenfell, and the presence of the Cult in most places on the island was limited to a single shrine and priest tucked away in a corner of a Legion fort. A place like the Imperial Chapel could be said to inspire confidence in the strength of the Cult.

Seated on one of the benches just inside the Mission was a lithe Redguard man. He laid aside the book he had been reading and rose to greet me, introducing himself as Kaye, the Shrine Sergeants' overseer. He came across as one of those young, devout men and women who believe themselves to be personable links between the 'common' citizen and the insular world of their religion: whereas most of those 'common' citizens see them as being quite stuffy and straight-laced.


Upon hearing that I had recently joined the Vvardenfell branch of the Cult and wished to offer my services, Kaye told me of an assignment he had for a Shrine Sergeant 'Layman' of the Cult.

"There's this Altmer, named Caryarel. We only see him in here if he's sick, or in trouble. This actually means that we see a lot of him, since he's often in trouble: he's a thief." As the Redguard spoke of Caryarel he looked as if he had bitten into something unpleasant. He obviously had little love for the shady Altmer. "We usually manage to keep a close enough eye on him, but when he was here recently being treated for swamp fever, someone must have been careless. After he left we noticed that a rare - and valuable - Chapel Limeware bowl was missing."

I thought I could see where this was going. Still, playing hired muscle on a mission to intimidate someone certainly seemed more appropriate for a Shrine Sergeant than it did for a Journeyman in the Mages Guild. Kaye went on, and soon confirmed my expectations:

"Your assignment is to find Caryarel and retrieve that Limeware bowl, if you can. Now I know what you're thinking: valuable though it may be, it's still just a bowl. The problem is that this bowl was a gift from a wealthy benefactor. We rely heavily on his donations to support many of our good works. If he should happen to visit and find his gift missing, the results could be disastrous." Kaye placed a hand on my shoulder - a friendly gesture, but it seemed somewhat contrived considering we had just met. "You'll have to do some detective work to find Caryarel; though I have a couple of clues to get you started. Swamp fever is carried by mudcrabs, and the only place they are found near here is along the Bitter Coast. You could ask other Altmer people along there - in such a sparsely populated area as the Bitter Coast, any Altmer there are probably a close-knit bunch."

I accepted the Shrine Sergeant assignment. Forming in my mind were the beginnings of a plan for dealing with these debt collection and intimidation tasks I had been given - both by Kaye and by Ranis Athrys.

Before teleporting back to the Mages Guild for a night of well-earned sleep, I spent the rest of the afternoon learning a couple of new spells from the priests. First, I had found that in the scorching sun of the southern Ascadian Isles, my 'Rest of Saint Merris' spell was not sufficient to keep me from overheating and becoming exhausted. So I eagerly replaced it with a more powerful - and more difficult - spell, which the priest simply called 'Stamina'. With that spell in my reportoire I felt confident that even wearing a full suit of armour, in the midday sun, on an uncommonly humid day - I would be able to run for hours without becoming tired.

And finally, I found someone who was able to teach me 'Divine Intervention'. In addition to providing an excellent safety net in case I ever found myself in some kind of danger I couldn't handle, the spell would make reporting back to the Imperial Cult headquarters a fast and very simple matter. Using a combination of my various teleportation spells and the services of Masalinie Merian, the guild-guide in Balmora, I could travel from virtually any point in the land to the Imperial Chapel in less than a minute. And that was only one example of the many places my teleportation spells could quickly take me - as soon as I became practised enough to cast them reliably, of course.

Slowly but surely, I was becoming better and better established on Vvardenfell - at least in the more civilised areas. I was soon to discover just how dangerous wandering off the beaten track could be.

Chapter 21: Drown

"Breathe the Waters of his Glory and the Way is Made Clear."

That was what the inscription on the Puzzle Canal triolith said. It seemed clear that this riddle held the secret to accessing the Shrine of Courtesy: and it looked like the secret was to drown oneself in the water of the Puzzle Canal. I stared at the clear, swirling water - and then at the shimmering wall of light blocking my path - for a long time. It was just too cruel. That couldn't be the answer to the puzzle! And the gods knew how terrible I was at riddles... perhaps I was missing something.

I cast Almsivi Intervention and was yanked through space to the entryway of the nearby High Fane Temple, blacking out briefly as I always did when teleporting. An Ordinator strode past, his intricate golden armour almost blinding in the midday sun. I would have thought that a dripping-wet man in full bonemold armour appearing out of thin air right next to you and floating a little way off the ground would have caused at least some surprise, but the Ordinator barely even glanced my way. I suppose he was a holy warrior, and being posted in such a hotspot for pilgrimages, he must have seen much stranger things than me on a daily basis.

He did pay at least passing attention to me as I stopped him to ask about the Puzzle Canal. I couldn't read his expression through the golden face of his helmet, but from what he said to me, he couldn't have been happy to speak to me. He grunted before he spoke:

"Another outlander with stars in his eyes over the living gods. You're all the same: you can part with your gold, and with your flying potions -" he indicated the blessing of temporary flight I had received from the Shrine of Daring by pulling me down to the pavings, then snorting as I bobbed helplessly back into the air again - "but you all wither and flinch when it comes to drowning yourself in the Canal." That at least confirmed my fears, but the Ordinator wasn't finished: "Listen: the boys and I - no, the MEN and I - we often go and drown ourselves in the Puzzle Canal at dawn to really wake ourselves up for a long day's patrol. It won't kill you - it just feels like it does. It's bracing, let me tell you."

I had absolutely no idea whether he was being serious or not - but I was sure he wore a mocking smile beneath the golden mask.

"And look, since I'm being so nice to you, I'll help you on your way back to the Canal." The Ordinator grabbed my ankle and whirled around on the spot a few times, drawing me into a dizzying spin. After gaining some speed he let me go, and I hurtled down the tunnel through the centre of the High Fane, directly towards the Puzzle Canal. Either I felt extraordinarily light to others when levitating, or the Ordinator was simply very strong - probably both, actually.

Back at the centre of the Puzzle Canal, I was resolved to go through with it. I had always been vulnerable to performing silly acts when challenged by others - even when that challenge was only implied. Besides, I reasoned that children raised to become priests or priestesses would also have to perform the Pilgrimages, and surely they would not be set a task that would kill them before they could become useful members of the Temple.

I planned to do it by floating on my back, just below the surface, and holding my breath until I fell unconscious. I knew I didn't have the willpower to do it any other way; and I wasn't ashamed of that, either: I considered it a good sign that I had great difficulty in bringing harm to myself. During my incarceration in that Imperial prison, many prisoners had come to lack that sense of self-preservation, and had died in the awful place.

And so I put my plan into action, watching the shimmering wall of light from beneath the clear water. I lost count of the number of attempts I made: it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. Eventually the light-headedness gained from repeatedly holding my breath until the last possible moment - followed by struggling desperately to the surface - prevailed, and I passed out.

At least I think I did. To me it seemed as if I merely closed my eyes against the dancing spots for a brief moment; but then the shimmering wall was gone! Pushing my way to the surface yet again, I made to take a deep breath, but found I had to cough up a great deal of water first. Weakly crawling up the steps to the platform holding the puzzle-triolith, I coughed and heaved painfully for a good while before I could regain my feet - or, bob back into the air again - to be more accurate.

When I did, I was surprised to see a stone bridge had appeared across the gap between the platform and the space in the wall where the shimmering field had once been. It felt solid enough - not a mere illusion. It didn't matter to me, at any rate: I flew across the bridge, into the dark space in the wall, and shortly found myself facing a statue. A red and black painted statue - or, maybe a suit of fearsome, stylised armour. Leaning in for a closer look, I almost jumped out of my skin when the 'statue' turned and spoke to me:

"It is not courteous to stare. And this is the Shrine of Courtesy." It indicated the triolith squatting in the dim torchlight. 'The Pilgrim's Path' had referred to a Dremora named 'Krazzt' that was bound to guard the Shrine of Courtesy; I realised that the strange talking suit of armour was in fact Krazzt. For that is all Dremora are - or how they are perceived by mortals on this plane, at least: animated suits of armour with nothing inside but the spirit of a Daedra. I had learnt at the Mages Guild that Dremora were summoned to this plane - usually temporarily, but sometimes permanently - and they brought with them powerful Daedric weapons and armour. They could not be killed, only banished back to Oblivion - and this was no mean feat: by all accounts they were very dangerous and deadly beings. I decided that being courteous to such a creature was probably a good idea, and I gave a bow before addressing the red light behind the eyeholes of the Daedric helmet:

"My apologies, Krazzt. I've never met a Dremora before." If Dremora had moods, I did not know - and I couldn't have read its expression even if they did. Krazzt's voice seemed to ease out of the holes and gaps in the Daedric armour:

"Well, now you have. And -" he pointed to the silver longswords strapped to my belt - "you've come properly armed, too. In fact, I see that you have two swords there, whereas I am unarmed." At that, Krazzt paused for a very long time. I waited, unsure if I was supposed to do something, or - "You are brave and gallant." Krazzt heaved a great sigh - it spoke as if reciting a speech it had delivered a thousand times: and resented each time. "Will you give me your longsword so that I might stand a chance against your might?"


"Oh - yes. Of course." I unstrapped one of the silver swords and handed it to the Dremora, hilt first. Krazzt took the blade without a word, stepping over to a large worn chest nearby that turned out to be full of silver swords. Dropping my gift among them with a clatter, Krazzt said:

"Thankyou. You have the grace of courtesy. You should read the inscription on the shrine to complete your pilgrimage. Now." It prompted, when I didn't step over to the triolith immediately. "Otherwise you'll have to come back. And we don't want that."

Upon reading the Grace of Courtesy as it was inscribed on the shrine, I felt a hum of Alteration magic go through me: I was able to recognise this blessing - it was similar to one of my own spells, in fact. I had been blessed with the temporary ability to breathe underwater. Perhaps it was intended as a sort of apology for the hellish experience of drowning oneself that pilgrims had to go through to access the shrine.

After thanking Krazzt I turned to go, but the animated armour called out to me:

"Pilgrim! Tell Vivec I'm bored - maybe he'll let me go." When I stared stupidly at the Dremora for a moment, mouth agape, it added: "That was a joke."

I gave Krazzt a weak smile, and floated out of the room. On my way out I could have sworn I head the Dremora mutter something that sounded like:

"Starry-eyed mortal."

Chapter 20: Pilgrimage

I felt as though I may have made a reckless purchase. With the earnings from my recent 'explorations' of the Balmora nobles' manor houses combined with the money from the sale of the second set of Dark Brotherhood armour, I had in excess of seven thousand septims! In a small yet lavish shop in Caldera I met a Mister Beile, who had for sale a variety of time-keeping devices: clocks. The item that caught my eye was a 'pocketwatch', a gold disc a little