Chapter 45: Relief

The Golden Saint I summoned was better armed than the one I fought on the island near Dagon Fel. It was carrying a massive, two-handed glass sword, hanging loosely from one hand. The spell-scroll I had bought from Folms Mirel crumbled and blew away, and I gingerly stepped up to the immobile Daedra, which appeared to be waiting for me to tell it to do something.

While it did nothing more than tilt its head to the side in apparent curiosity when I cast Soul Trap on it, the Golden Saint whipped the glass claymore to the ready as I struck a solid blow to its head. I had summoned the creature just outside the town limits of Caldera: that way I could run to the guardsmen for aid, should the Saint become too much for me. Truth be told, though, I might have died of embarrassment had it come to that: running from my own summoning, with all of Caldera looking on.

I, of course, was wearing my full set of Netch Adamantium armour again, and was glad of it, as I was hard pressed to block the Saint's lightning-fast strikes. After another long, hard fight, I eventually dispatched the Golden Saint in much the same way as I had the last one: by snapping its metallic head off. This time, however, I managed to back the Daedra up against a low boulder, so that it fell onto its back, across the stone. From there I was able to jump up next to it and break the thing's head off with an almighty stamp of my armoured boot.

The Daedra, of course, gave me several nasty cuts to my legs as I did this, but when it was over and I had healed myself, I finally had the soul of a Golden Saint; trapped safely in Azura's Star. There was only one thing left to do.

"It's been a long road, hasn't it?" Folms remarked, taking my fine shirt, folded neatly, and with Azura's Star glittering away on top.

On the table between us were several large sacks of coins, plus one of the many inhabited soul gems I had in keeping. Altogether there was around thirty-one thousand septims worth of goods and currency on the table; and that was almost all the cash I had to my name. I had been burying caches of drakes in the wilderness south of Balmora - near the river Odai. Vvardenfell was certainly a frontier region: it had no banks. Vvardenfell citizens with the amount of money I had been saving up generally had their own store-rooms - or even vaults - to store their money and valuables in; not to mention their own guards to protect said valuables. Someone like me had to improvise.

The experience of paranoia that went along with sneaking into the wilderness in the dead of night to bury money acted as a reminder for me: I really needed my own place. At that stage I just couldn't afford it, though: all my money was going towards the enchantments needed to make my life somewhat more bearable (plus longer, of course). I didn't know what I would do.

Folms disappeared into the hall's 'alchemy tower' with Azura's Star and the shirt, apparently to protect whatever secrets went into his enchanter's craft. In the meantime, I tried to occupy myself through study: the Caldera Guild hall had several volumes that the Balmora hall lacked. During Folms absence, a lithe, muscular Argonian porter came in and ferried away my fortune in coins to parts unknown. I guessed that as a master enchanter, Folms was well-used to storing and handling vast sums of money.

After an hour or so, Folms returned, his Dunmer eyes looking a little redder than usual. With a weary smile, he placed the shirt and Star on the table in front of me. The shirt shimmered strangely in the candlelight, and felt wonderfully soft and soothing to the touch. It was most definitely enchanted.

"Try it on." Folms murmured, sitting down heavily across from me. I pulled my robe off (my armour was back at the Balmora guild), and slipped into the shirt. Instantly, the pain that had been building, yet again, behind my eyes - melted away.

I heaved a deep sigh of relief. Finally.

"Thankyou, Folms. Very much." I reached across and shook the Dunmer's hand.

"You are quite welcome." Folms replied. "Enchanting with Azura's Star was a real pleasure, I must say; it was actually easier than usual. Oh - before I forget: It is customary to give enchanted items a name, so... I'll be your witness, should you think of one now."

I gave it some thought, and said:

"This healing enchantment is supposed to keep me alive for longer, according to Healer Synnolian, so; what about 'Keeper Shirt'?"

Folms gave one of his small smiles.

"Simple names are often the best. Very well, I hereby witness the creation of Edward Frost's 'Keeper Shirt'. Now, I'm sure you can tell that the enchantment is working, but, should you wish to test it..." The enchanter drew a silver dagger from somewhere beneath his robes and slid it across the table to me.

I was curious, so, clenching my teeth, I took up the dagger and opened a small cut on the back of my hand. It still hurt as usual, but within a matter of seconds, the wound had completely closed up.

"I'm sure I've said this before, but the enchantment in that shirt is nowhere near as powerful as your average healing spell." Folms took his dagger back. "Given enough time, it could heal any wound - save the one that kills you - but do not rely on it to protect you in combat; it works far too slowly for that." I nodded, and assured him that I understood. "Excellent. The good news, though, is that I included my own little speciality in the enchantment: any rips or tears in the shirt's fabric should repair themselves on their own: the shirt's own little regeneration effect." Folms grinned. "For any major damage to the shirt - extensive burns for example - just bring it to me, and I'll repair it."

Thanking the Dunmer again, I took my leave.

The creation of my 'Keeper Shirt' marked the beginning of a week or so in which I felt at something of a loss for what to do next. I spent much of the time in study, scouring the books in the Mages Guild in the vain search for something to cure my condition. As usual I would visit Creeper every day to sell him more soul gems, meaning that as long as I had gems to sell, I had a steady income of around five thousand septims a day: most certainly nothing to sneeze at.

The day after obtaining my Keeper Shirt, I paid an overdue visit to Master Healer Synnolian, at the Imperial Chapel in Ebonheart. He was, of course, astounded by what had happened to my face, but could not offer any better explanation for it than Folms' theory. He did say that he had little doubt that the moon emblem was ultimately responsible for my 'transformation': the crescent-shaped mark on my face made that much abundantly clear to him.

Synnolian was in no doubt that I was who I claimed to be - after laying his hands on me and detecting the magicka leak I carried. While examining me, he took the opportunity to check the condition of the leak - and my body's reaction to it - and the news was, well, not exactly good; but not bad either. In Synnolian's words:

"I'm afraid the leak is still much the same, Mister Frost. Fortunately, though, the enchantment on that shirt seems to be helping: I'd say you have a good seven or eight years now, as long as you only take that shirt off when you or it needs a wash." The healer's broad face broke into a mild grin.


When Synnolian had laid his hands on me, I had gazed out the window, off to the south of the Chapel. In the distance, half-obscured by mist from the sea, I spied a castle I couldn't remember noticing before. It seemed to rise right out of the water itself. Once Synnolian had finished his examination, I asked him about it. His response was slightly... odd.

"That? I don't really know anything about it. You might want to ask one of the Legion soldiers about it. They're more keen on castles and forts and such than I am."

The castle soon turned out to be quite the mystery: I asked several soldiers about it, and they all gave me variations on the same vague answer: it was hidden by mist or fog most of the time, and no-one knew much about it. They all said that nothing out at the distant castle had changed for as long as they had been posted at Ebonheart, and they all spoke with a 'now that you mention it' kind of manner. I got the impression that no-one had ever much cared about the castle: until just then.

It was strange. How was it that no-one even knew if the castle was inhabited or not? As we talked about it, the soldiers and I became more and more curious. For me, that could mean only one thing: I set out immediately to have a closer look at this mysterious castle. A beaten dirt path led south-west from Ebonheart, following a narrow, lightly wooded peninsula. After ten minutes or so, the path came to a very long and narrow stone bridge, cast across a wide stretch of water. The impressive bridge was lined with parapets on each wall: it looked like a large force of archers could take up an excellent defensive position on that bridge. Ships would have a difficult time approaching the bridge from the sea in such a situation.


I jogged across the bridge, my eyes fixed on the castle on the other side. It completely dominated a tiny island; in places, the castle walls were only several paces from where the rocky shore dropped off into the sea. As I approached, I saw that the ramparts were unmanned, and the portcullis set in the towering wall a little way from the bridge was open. The castle was built in a similar style to the ubiquitous Imperial forts, though in sharp contrast to every Imperial fort I had ever seen, this castle was not bustling with activity.

It was a little eerie. I could hear nothing but the waves crashing against the rocky shore of the island. I passed beneath the portcullis and into a paved courtyard. The pavings were uneven and taken over by grass and creeping plants in places, but a short distance away, up against the modest keep, was an immaculate flower garden. I walked over to have a closer look, and just about yelped out loud in fright when a wrinkled, leathery-skinned Bosmer man popped up out of the flowering shrubs, stretching his back.


"Well, hello there!" The Bosmer said. "Can I help you, sera?"

I soon learned from the weathered Bosmer - named Falorn - that the place was called Wolfen Castle. He had quite an interesting story to tell.

Chapter 44: Negotiations

"So Llarar Bereloth actually agreed to join the Guild, did he? Hmm..." It was obvious that Ranis had expected me to report that I had been forced to kill the Telvanni wizard. She didn't appear overly surprised or shocked, just... thoughtful. It was my guess that, should another new member of the Mages Guild come to her for tasks to perform, she would send them off to badger Llarar about the matter - and kill him if he objected to the nagging, or seemed to be delaying joining on purpose, or... pretty much anything that would provide an excuse to have him killed. I got the impression that Ranis simply could not stand having Telvanni anywhere near her guild hall.

"And Manwe's guild dues too... you got all two thousand?" I nodded, and she gave a half-smile. "Good. Nicely done. You deserve to keep half the... proceeds - as we discussed."

I sighed, and handed the thousand septims over to the Guild Steward. I was no stranger to theft; that was not what bothered me. It was just that I had thought my duties and studies as a member of the Mages Guild would be free of such things. Plus, I was still in a foul mood over the events of the previous day.

I was angry at Ranis for sending me through such dangerous territory: what with being harried by a dragon during my journey, and with the other things that happened. I kept quiet about it, though; partially because I was unsure whether she - or anyone else - would believe my story about the dragon, but mainly because I did not want the tale of the slaughter in Marandus to come out. Because that was the real reason I was angry. If I had known in advance how much trouble Ranis' task would be, I would have found another way to reach the rank of Conjurer. Ajira had told me that Edwinna, the Ald'ruhn Mages Guild Steward, might have assignments for me... Still, I told myself that if Ranis promoted me, and I could finally get Folms to make that damned enchantment, it would all be more or less worth it.

"Ranis," I began, as she slipped the pouch of drakes into her robes, "I don't wish to be too forward, but I need that healing enchantment from Folms, and he said that -"

She raised a hand to stop me.

"I know. It... hurts all the time, doesn't it?" She was gazing again at the crescent mark that had emblazoned my face since the skin and flesh had grown back. Usually the mysterious blemish was mostly hidden behind my now lanky hair, but on the occasions that the mark flared up and glowed brilliantly, it was pretty much noticeable no matter what. Right then must have been one of those times, as my head had just begun to throb painfully again; and the crescent mark always seemed to flare up at the same time. Ranis went on:

"Frost, never hesitate to ask me for advancement in the Guild - as long as the request is warranted. Gaining power and position is what we are here for. One of the things we are here for." She corrected herself. "And in your case, it appears you do deserve the rank of Conjurer." The Steward's gaze travelled up and down my armour and equipment. I had gone straight to her upon teleporting back from the Ashlands, and as she studied me, I realised that the state of my equipment told a patently obvious story about the hardships I had faced the previous day. My armour was scored and gouged all over, and in the comparatively sterile environment of the Guild hall, I noticed that I smelled of blood.

"Of course," Ranis said, "upon rising to the rank of Conjurer, your own Guild fees become due: two hundred septims. Do you wish to pay them now?" I blinked, but handed over another two hundred drakes out of the money I had received from Manwe. It wasn't much, considering the incredible amount I would have to give Folms before too long. I noticed that Ranis placed those coins on her desk, instead of in her pocket. "Thankyou, Edward. You are now, officially, a Conjurer. Congratulations."

At the news that I was now legally able to buy 'Summon Golden Saint' spell-scrolls from Folms, I sighed again: this time in relief. Now, as long as I could trap the soul of one of the lethal things without it rending me limb from limb in the process, I was set. I gave Ranis a small bow.

"Thankyou, Steward. Apologies for blowing through the hall only for a promotion, then leaving, but..." I attempted a smile, but it turned into a grimace, "the pain... I need to see Folms about this enchantment right away." I sent the healing spell into my head yet again, buying myself another few minutes of relief.

Ranis shrugged.

"I don't mind... but you'll probably find that he's out to lunch at the moment." I closed my eyes and forced myself to remain calm. After all the delays and setbacks, Folms being unavailable right at the instant when I could finally make use of his services was a bit much. Still, I reminded myself that he would have to be back soon. Ranis was still talking: "I was looking for him a few minutes ago, too; but they said they didn't know where he went. He shouldn't be too long. Have you had lunch yet?"

I shook my head. I was hungry, now that she mentioned it. Ranis fished out ten or so drakes from her pocket and dropped them in my palm.

"Here. You may as well head over to the South Wall for something to eat while you're waiting. And, if you're still planning on using that fancy shirt of yours for the enchantment, might I suggest dropping it off at the tailor's to have it washed and repaired, before you take it to Folms?"

Most members of the Balmora Mages Guild knew that I wore my finest shirt under my armour (as extra padding). They knew this because after my embarassing introduction to them all when I first joined, I figured that there wasn't much use in trying to maintain my modesty and dignity when changing clothes in the Guild Hall. I realised that she was probably right about the shirt, too: it was in a terrible state. The arms were almost entirely burnt off, and the rest was slashed, torn, and stained. I was surprised Folms hadn't mentioned it. Perhaps he had intended to take it to get repaired himself after I gave it over to him - and then add a surcharge to his fee, of course.

I thanked her for all her help, and turned to leave, but she wasn't quite finished:

"One more thing, Conjurer." By the way she addressed me using my new rank, I thought I knew what was coming. I was right: "There is something you can do for me while you're over at the South Wall. This will count as your next official Guild assignment. There is an Argonian mage over at the Club, offering magical training and tutelage out of the back room. While I'm not sure who would want to trust anything they learn out of a back room at a tavern - especially when it comes to magic - I can't leave this to work itself out with those Imperial officials hanging around."

She did not elaborate, but I assumed she was talking about the same officials who had told Folms that he couldn't serve anyone below the rank of Conjurer in the Guild. Ranis continued:

"They would see it as my responsibility - as Steward here - to ensure no-one outside the Guild offers training in the magical arts in Balmora; but I'll be honest: the whole matter turns my stomach. So - I would appreciate it if you could persuade this Argonian, whoever he is, to stop tutoring people out of the South Wall Cornerclub. In any case, with those officials around, it would probably be in your best interest to consolidate your rank as Conjurer by getting this assignment behind you; before you go buying something 'dangerous' from Folms."

I accepted the assignment, even though it seemed like another 'hired muscle' kind of job. The Steward presented a number of good points, and besides: she had accepted at face value my report that Llarar Bereloth had agreed to join the Mages Guild, even without any kind of evidence that I was telling the truth. I felt confident that I and my charm spell could work something out.

I stopped in at the tailor's before heading across to the club, and ended up walking out of the shop with a whole new shirt - my old one on the tailor's scrap pile. She had taken one look at the tattered remains of the shirt, and declared that it would be easier for her - and cheaper for me - if I simply bought a new one. Fortunately, she had one on her shelves that was almost exactly the same. Apparently the shirt I had stolen (from one of the manors in Balmora) had originally been made by her; she showed me her maker's mark on one of the hems; giving me a strange look as she did so.

Another reason for accepting Ranis' 'intimidation' assignment was that it would take me to a place with liberal amounts of alcohol, and with the weight of all the people I had killed the previous day heavy on my mind, I felt the need for a strong drink. So it was with a large mug of sujamma in hand that I slid into the seat across from the only Argonian in the South Wall Club. I introduced myself, and learned that he had what I considered to be quite a distinguished name: 'Only-He-Stands-There'. I was still quite hungry, so I wasted no time in launching into my reason for disturbing the lizard:

"Only-He, I've heard that you're the one to talk to around here should I want to learn some magic."

The Argonian studied my face for a moment.

"Is Breton in the Guild?"

I had learned from Habasi Sugar-Lips, the head of the Balmora Thieves Guild, that in a Thieves Guild hangout like the South Wall club, when someone said 'Guild', they almost always meant 'Thieves Guild'. I replied that I was, and Only-He confirmed that he had been teaching people magic.

"Breton wants training?" His thin, forked tongue darted in and out of his drink several times in rapid succession: the equivalent of a sip for an Argonian.

"No," I shook my head; "I'll be straight with you: I'm also in the Mages Guild. I've been sent to ask you to stop training people out of the club." I paused. Only-He was staring at me, as motionless as only the lizard-folk can be. It was unnerving; I always found it difficult to interpret Argonian expressions. I went on: "Perhaps there's another town you could teach in?"

Only-He shook his head.

"I have better idea. Breton goes back, tells mages I stop training - and I give good friend Breton magic training, if he wants." I already had all the tutors I needed at the Mages Guild, so the Argonian's offer was fairly weak, I thought. My lack of enthusiasm must have been evident, as Only-He quickly went on: "Also, I remember hearing about Breton called Frost looking for Imperial-man Cosades. You keep secret, I tell about Cosades. Important information."

I hadn't been back to see Caius Cosades since first meeting him, when he had revealed that he was a Blade - a spy in the service of the Emperor; or so he said. I was curious about the old Imperial man: that he was a Blade - in the secret service of the Emperor - was a pretty big claim on his part. I wanted to know more about him, so I accepted the Argonian's offer, ordering some food from Phane behind the bar; so I could eat while the lizard talked.

"Cosades dangerous, dangerous man." Only-He began, once I had assured him I would hold up my end of the bargain. "I had friends, told me they going to break into Cosades' house, steal things. 'Old man!' they said. 'Easy!'. Saw friends go into house. Never saw friends again. Vanished."

Only-He's thin lips cracked open, and he poured the rest of his drink down his throat in one go. The story appeared to distress him, but...

"Is that it?" I asked.

The Argonian cocked his head to the side, gazing at me.

"Breton not want to know Cosades dangerous man? Mess with Cosades, disappear!"

I'll admit it was a somewhat chilling tale - it just wasn't exactly what I wanted to know about Caius. Still, Only-He had fulfilled his part of the deal, so I thanked him, and left for the Guild hall once I had finished eating. Ranis was at her desk when I arrived, flipping through pages of notes. She gave me a distracted "thankyou" for my report, barely looking up, before saying she would have another task for me "later".

I was glad to hear it. I could finally go and get that enchantment from Folms, and have some relief from the pain - at last.

Chapter 43: Try not to think about it

I acted in self-defense. I did. It was unfortunate that it reached the point where I had to kill every last person in the stronghold, but I don't think I had a choice, in the end. I simply could not allow any witnesses to leave those halls.

The fight itself was not overly taxing: I suspect that the occupants had only made the old stronghold into a Redoran outpost relatively shortly before my arrival, and had not had time to plan an organised defence of the place. If they had, they might have had some longbows or crossbows to hand, and hemmed me in, in one of Marandus' tight corridors: where I could not manoeuvre or take cover. As it was, the narrow corridors allowed me to face them one at a time, while the others jostled and crowded in behind, tripping over the bodies of their comrades.

Once I had scoured Marandus for survivors, I felt satisfied that the stronghold would make a suitable place to take shelter in overnight, safe from the ash storm and the dragon outside. Nevertheless I found a room with only one entrance, and rolled out my bedroll well out of sight of the door. I then magically locked the door, and balanced a glass bottle on the handle, so I would be well-warned of any intruders. After the day I had had, I felt quite jumpy and ill-at-ease.

My close encounter with the dragon had shaken me, but what really bothered me was that it felt as if I had been killing things from morning to night. A small horde of Daedra, then Orcish Daedra worshippers, and finally a whole stronghold of Redoran fighters and retainers. I lay awake in my bedroll for a long time. With my eyes closed I saw blood-red, rather than the usual black. Still...

I did not wonder if all the killing was justified, or worth it. While I felt awful about it, my sense of self-preservation outweighed all else: every life I had taken had been in pursuit of one goal: remaining alive for as long as possible. I mean this in both the immediate sense ('fight now or this bandit will slit your throat'), and in the more peripheral sense of the 'casualties' resulting from my search for a cure - or treatment - for my condition. It may sound harsh, but my sense of self-preservation is what got me through my time in the Imperial prison; and part of that was a willingness to put my needs above those of others.

Strangely enough, perhaps, it was the fact that I had been fighting and killing all day that let me eventually drift off to sleep. I was exhausted. I had taken more lives that day than many others combined, and as my dreams began to replace the waking world, I could feel my body twitch, lean and tense as if I was still fighting.

The next day, thankfully, dawned bright and clear, with nothing in the sky save a few wispy clouds: no ash, no dragon. From the 'roof' of the stronghold I had a good view of Lake Nabia, and of the path Ranis had told me to follow, disappearing into the low hills to the north of the lake. I was glad to leave Marandus behind: my visit there had turned the ancient Velothi stronghold into a stinking tomb. I felt a momentary twinge of deep pity for whoever next entered Marandus: the scene inside was a grisly one. I did not permit myself to think about the families of those I had killed.


I waded through the shallows around the edge of the lake, ducking beneath the surface a couple of times (with my pack held aloft, out of the tepid water), letting the dried blood that caked almost every part of my body dissolve, and wash away. I had had no chance to wash the night before, being trapped in the stronghold with the bodies of those I had killed...

I sighed. I needed something to occupy my mind. I made an effort to consider the somewhat strange properties of my now fully restored 'Magery' ring. During my search of Marandus, I had happened across two appropriately-cut tourmaline gems, sitting on a rude wooden stool, next to a bed. They were about the only good things to come of my incursion into the Velothi stronghold, as with them I could fully restore the potent magical ring. 'Magery' acts as both a conduit and a reservoir for magicka, increasing the rate at which magicka enters my body, and also allowing my flesh and spirit to hold more than it usually could. It even emits a field large enough to occasionally 'catch' an offensive spell aimed in my direction, and channel the spell's energy into my body - as even more magicka.

With the final two tourmalines in place (bringing the total number of stones set in the ring to eight), all these effects were intensified even further; meaning that I had so much magicka at my disposal, and it was replenished so quickly, that I basically had no worry about ever finding myself running out. This of course would be a different story if I knew some more taxing spells - and was skilled enough to actually cast them...

In any case, along with this great power, I also noticed, upon completion of 'Magery', that another effect had surfaced in the ring; and I wasn't sure if it was a beneficial one. It was frustrating: I could not quite discern what it was, but whenever I wore the ring, my skin felt overly sensitive; not to sensation, but to pain. The difference was something like how a slight rap to the knuckles can hurt in the chill of the colder months, but go unnoticed on a warm day. I would have to study the ring further.

Meanwhile, my musings had successfully occupied my mind right up until I found Punabi caves, a little way along the path leading north from the lake. The entrance to the caves was closed off by a wooden door, much like many other caves I had seen on Vvardenfell; only when I pushed this door open, it tapped a bell hung on a hook, just above the doorframe. Clanging away like a shopkeeper's doorbell, and setting my already raw nerves on edge, the bell soon drew the attention of a woman in fine robes.

Emerging from the gloom with a pained expression, she introduced herself as Manwe - the very woman I was looking for - and asked (fairly bluntly) what I was doing there. Upon learning that I was from the Guild, and had come for her overdue guild fees, she rolled her eyes and said:

"Look, we're quite busy with our research here, and I really-" Before she could get any further, I pretended to shift the weight of my pack with one hand, reaching out (towards her) with the other, as if for balance. My charm spell leapt invisibly across from my outstretched hand to her body, and her attitude abruptly changed, mid sentence: "... really should pay my guild dues, after all this time; especially since you asked so politely." She gave me a strange smile. "Wait here. My associates can be ... cranky if they're disturbed from their work."

Manwe disappeared back into the deeper parts of the caves, re-emerging a few moments later with a pouch of coins.

"Here you go," she said, "two thousand septims - I had no idea it had been that long." I remained silent. I suspected that very little of the money was destined for the Guild itself; especially since Ranis had promised half of the drakes to me, should I manage to pry them away from Manwe. As it turned out, the charm spell had made it rather easy. Manwe went on: "I haven't seen you at any of the halls before. Be sure to stop by again, should you pass nearby." Again that strange smile.

I thanked her and left, hiking further up the path outside. It wasn't until a few moments later that I realised that Manwe had been behaving as if she was attracted to me. It was an aspect of charm spells that I hadn't considered before. Manwe was the first woman I had cast such a spell on (no play on words intended). I resolved to be careful in my use of charm spells from that point onwards: while most people who have had a charm spell cast on them remain unaware of that fact, such spells are certainly not permanent. One thing I would have to watch is acting overly familiar with the target of a charm spell: such behaviour around the person when the spell has worn off could make them suspicious.

Manwe and the Telvanni wizard, Llarar Bereloth, were close neighbours indeed. After only a few minutes of walking, I found 'Sulipund': a stone dome rising out of the ground; just like the necromancer's dome, 'Mawia'. The similarities between Sulipund and Mawia made me uneasy, but I went in without my katana drawn: Ranis had asked me to persuade Llarar to join the Mages Guild, and entering his home ready for battle would likely not go down well.

Like Mawia, the interior of Sulipund reminded me strongly of the ancestral tombs I had seen; only this one, thankfully, was not crawling with undead. Llarar did not appear to be a necromancer, at least. Nevertheless, I was made to feel quite unwelcome by the Telvanni wizard's many Bosmer man-servants. I asked several of them if they could direct me to "Mister Bereloth", but the best response I received was a flat "no". Some of the rude little wood elves actually asked me to leave, barring me further access to the dome! If the wizard's servants were so seriously opposed to letting visitors in, I shuddered to think how I might be received should I make it to the mer himself.

Ranis had instructed me to kill Llarar, should he refuse to join the guild. I suspected that with all his servants around, however, trying such a thing would quickly devolve into another bloodbath. I still felt guilty enough from the events of the previous night to want to avoid such a thing, if I could, so I made liberal use of my charm spell to persuade the Bosmer toadies to let me pass.

The nicest thing I can say about Llarar Bereloth is that he did not, at least, attack me on sight. He was just as boorish as his servants, if not more so. Fortunately, after using my 'reaching out as if to shake hands' trick to Charm him, he became reasonably amiable. My 'gift' of a good amount of coin helped matters, no doubt. Strangely (and somewhat unnervingly), Llarar seemed perfectly aware of my ruse:

"Ha-ha - nice little Charm cantrip you have there, Breton." I guessed that the effect of the charm spell was to make him amused, rather than angry, at being manipulated. The wizard went on: "And the coin should cover travel costs to Balmora well enough, so... why not? Fine. Should I have the time, I shall join your guild on my next visit to Balmora. Now, leave me be, n'wah."

That piece of foul language was my hint that the charm spell had worn off, so I bowed and cast Recall, teleporting back to Balmora. Llarar Bereloth had said that he would join the guild; I could only speculate as to whether he would keep his word.

I just hoped that the Telvanni wizard's word would be enough for Ranis. If it wasn't, I would likely have to hike all the way back to Sulipund to kill him, and the harrowing experience of my last trip out there was not one I wanted to repeat.