Chapter 123: An interesting affliction

As a newly fledged vampire, Sirilonwe needed to feed right away. I did too, as a matter of fact: I had not fed since that morning. While Sirilonwe's head swivelled around, her senses nearly overwhelmed by how intense everything appeared - and smelled, and sounded - to a 'newborn' vampire, I proposed that we both use Divine Intervention spells to teleport across to the Imperial Chapel in Ebonheart. The only people about at such a late hour would be the Imperial Legion guardsmen patrolling the streets. A Legionnaire would be ideal for Sirilonwe's first feeding: strong and healthy enough to (probably) escape accidental harm during the process - but not so strong as to pose a threat to either of us.

A slight frown darkened Sirilonwe's features, reminding me of her passionate plea that I stop hunting mortals for their blood. She seemed resigned to it, though - it could not be helped, after all - not if she wanted to avoid starvation. Her altered instincts were no doubt making it easier for her to completely renege on her previous opinion on the matter, too...

Hunger is a powerful driving force.


By lucky coincidence, when we appeared on the doorstep of the Imperial Chapel, we found ourselves standing right next to an astonished Legion guardsman. Missionaries and magic-users appearing out of nowhere at the entrance to an Imperial Cult shrine was nothing out of the ordinary - Divine Intervention spells were used quite commonly, after all - but two vampires appearing suddenly, and right next to you, has to be frightening.

Sirilonwe and I both leapt on him before he could cry out, or draw a weapon - each of us putting our weight on one of his shoulders, to pin him down. I cast my Sleep spell on him, and then we were both hungrily feeding from him simultaneously; three prone bodies on the cold cobblestones. We both healed the guardsman as we drank, of course; keeping the amount of blood in his veins virtually unchanged - and we were gone before he awoke. Perhaps he believed us to be a dream - and himself to have been asleep on the job.


I spent several hours running through the night air with Sirilonwe, as she discovered her new body - or rather; her newly eternal, more powerful body. I showed her how fast we could run, how high and how far we could jump, and she showed me spells from the Destruction College made so potent that they could boil away seawater as they passed: parting waves and striking the sea-floor without being touched by the water. There was no doubt that she had 'inherited' the magic blood of the Aundae clan.

We spent nearly an hour near dawn lying on our backs on an isolated stretch of shore near Wolfen castle, watching the dancing threads of light between the stars that I was now sure I could see. Sirilonwe swore she could see them too; and I told her my theory that we were looking past the stars and into the great beyond: Aetherius, plane of pure magicka and home of the Nine Divines. I was linked to that place, I reminded myself; through the golden 'magicka threads' Ranis Athrys gave me all that time ago - and probably through whatever it was that Crescent Moon emblem had done to me, too.


We hunted and fed once more before the sun rose - again on an unsuspecting Legion guardsman. Afterwards, we returned to the castle and washed ourselves quickly (something made a necessity - for me at least - by my decidedly nasty Corprus sores), before teleporting over to the Balmora Mages Guild. Sirilonwe said she would spend the daylight hours in the guild halls, attending to her new duties as Steward of the Vivec hall. After eliciting a promise from her that she would be careful (it would be the first time she had to watch out for sunlight and the possibility of people trying to kill her for being a 'monster', after all), I hurried over to Caius Cosades' hut, across-town from the guild - anxious to reach it before the sun came up.

My Corprus disease had been in the back - or perhaps even in the main - of my mind all through the night; even when I was cavorting with Sirilonwe along the Ascadian Isles' south coast. I obviously did not have the answer as to what I should do about it: I needed more information - and who better to gather information than an Imperial Spymaster? I was supposed to give him a report about the Sixth House base in Ilunibi, in any case.

So; again I found myself paying Caius a visit just before dawn.

"Dear, oh dear." The spymaster said, peering out from his hut, the door open only a crack. "Look at you. Well, get in here."

Caius pulled the door open all the way, and stood aside to let me enter. I noticed him muttering a few words to himself as he pressed his free hand against his bare chest. A faint blue glow spread from his palm and settled into his skin. It was obviously a spell to protect against disease; much like the one Sirilonwe brought back from the High Fane.

"Corprus, is it?" The old Imperial man was shaking his head. He did not seem surprised to see my condition. "This island hasn't been easy on that body of yours, has it? First that business with... whatever that magical trinket was, that started sucking your life away - then your new face courtesy of that fire - and then vampirism to get around that early death - and now this. Join the Blades!" Caius said dryly - "See the world! Have your body abused and mutilated three ways from Sundas!"

I began to frown. Again the spymaster took on that flippant attitude about the least appropriate things. He noticed my displeasure, I think:

"Not to worry, Frost. I'm on your side: and things may not be all doom and gloom, in any case." This earned him an incredulous stare from me, but he continued on regardless: "First though, tell me about the Sixth House base. Was it a success? Is Gares dead?"

Forcing myself to ignore his galling manner, I recounted everything that had happened in the Ilunibi sea-caverns, finishing with how I had torn Dagoth Gares to shreds with that spell, but he had still somehow cursed me with Corprus. Caius gave me a dubious look.

"You're saying he gave you Corprus intentionally? And this was after you got him with a 'fatal' spell? Are you... sure he's dead, then?"

I fixed him with a furious glare.

"I'm not going back in there." I said, a note of warning in my voice. "Look at me! I have Corprus!"

"Yes... yes." Caius said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Gares would have to be dead after what you describe. Yes - based on your... quite vivid description, he would have to have expired from his wounds: shortly after your encounter, if not immediately." The spymaster was making notes on an official-looking document as he spoke. "Alright. Now, I have to admit that I canvassed my informants after you left for possible treatments for Corprus: just in case something... went wrong." He nodded at my red, swollen skin. "Have you heard of a Telvanni wizard called Divayth Fyr?"

I leapt to my feet.

"WHAT? The Corprusarium?! If you think I'm going to consign myself, Cosades, then -"

Caius raised a hand and spoke over me:

"I have learned from my informants that this Divayth fellow - who yes, runs the Corprusarium - experiments on the... 'inmates' there; looking for a cure for Corprus. Now apparently, he has found something recently that... may interest you."

He fished out what looked vaguely like a watering can - only cast in glass and a dull, yellow metal - and handed it to me. It was obviously a Dwemer artifact of some kind; though anything more than that was past my ability to discern. I sat back down, and began to examine it.

"You should - in fact this is an order (if that actually means anything to you) - take that with you, and pay Divayth Fyr a visit. He is a well-known collector, I'm told; and he should appreciate a gift like that: he may even decide to help you."

I hefted the Dwemer object in one hand.

"Trading in Dwemer artifacts is treason, isn't it?" I asked. I already knew the answer of course; it was just that - given his attitude up until that point, I had not expected Caius to risk himself in such a way for me.

"Nothing to worry about." Caius replied, with a casual wave. "I work for the Emperor, remember? If anyone complains about it, I just sign a form, and everything is fine. At any rate; go see Divayth right away, and then return here - as long as... you know." He cleared his throat. "Mehra says that the Dissident Priests do have records of Ashlander Nerevarine prophecies, and she has an idea on how we might get a look at them, so... we'll need to get onto that once you get back."


I again spent the daylight hours locked up in my chambers with my books - unable to go anywhere for fear of infecting someone. Sirilonwe stopped in a couple of times (as I had asked her to), to assure me that she was alright - and to complain about how hungry she was. In the end, she left her Steward duties early to return to the castle in the mid-afternoon and sleep away the hunger.

We were out hunting as soon as the sun ducked behind the hills to the west, and were on our way to the Corprusarium in Tel Fyr soon after that. I had visited Divayth Fyr once before - if only briefly - and so I knew how to find his Telvanni tower; out among the shattered islands of Zafirbel Bay, along the eastern Azura's Coast. Balmora guild-guide Masalinie teleported us across to the Sadrith Mora Mages Guild, and from there we struck out to the south-west, water-walking over the choppy seas. It began to rain steadily during the trip, and we were wet through by the time I spotted the giant, hollowed-out fungus that was Divayth Fyr's improbable home.


"Sorry, not interesting enough!" The ancient Dunmer wizard was bent over his desk - just as he had been on my last visit - and he did not even look around as he dismissed me.

I stepped over to Divayth Fyr's desk and placed the Dwemer device Caius had given me next to the book he was making furious markings in. He dropped the quill and caught up the strange artifact.

"Ah, a Dwemer Coherer." He breathed, turning the object over and over in his hands, studying it closely. "Very nice. For me, is it? Very thoughtful - and shrewd. I suppose you know I am a collector? Well, alright: why butter me up? What do you want?"

Finally, Divayth turned to look at Sirilonwe and I.

"A vampire, is it? Two vampires, even! Perhaps a little more interesting, then..." He said, in a tone that suggested he was being generous with such a statement. "But hold a moment... the divine disease! You have Corprus! Now that is more interesting. So vampires can become infected after all..." The ancient Dunmer spoke as if I was not actually there. "Sit. Sit. Let me take a look at you. I suppose you're here looking for a cure, aren't you..."

I did as he asked, and the wizard took up station behind me, studying the lumps and mild deformations on the back of my neck, and then on my arms.

"And though I don't think I need to say this," he murmured in my ear as he worked, "I am not food, vampire. It would be inadvisable to treat me as such."

I remained silent, and let Divayth examine me. As long as there was the possibility that he may be able to cure me, I would allow the eccentric old wizard to have his way.

"Corprus disease is fascinating, really." The ancient wizard continued to murmur as he examined me. "Did you know that corprus makes you immune to disease? Makes you more-or-less immortal too, barring accidents. Have you ever heard of the prophecies of the Nerevarine? The Ashlanders say the Nerevarine will be immune to disease, and will live forever. I've always thought, 'Maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium, and I don't even know it.' Hah-hah! The Nerevarine is a fat, disgusting corprus monster, and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn't that be funny?"

I clenched my teeth. I still did not believe myself to be the Nerevarine, of course; but such humour did not appeal to me, considering my position.

"Well then," Divayth said, as he finished his examination and indicated that I should stand; "you have quite a bad case of Corprus! If it continues like this, you'll be mad as my inmates in a week or two!" He said cheerfully. "However: I have this potion I've been working on. In theory, it should cure corprus." He took a deep breath. "It doesn't work, though. Killed all my test subjects. But then..." he gave me a shrewd look - "you're already quite dead, aren't you, vampire? So... who knows?"

Sirilonwe took my arm, her grip tight. She looked as worried as I felt.

"In any case," Divayth added; "you have nothing to lose."

Chapter 122: Dead or dying

Tired though she was after her long vigil outside Ilunibi (and from the vampiric 'disease' coursing through her body), Sirilonwe was at the High Fane in Vivec as soon as the priests were awake, asking for help with a case of Corprus. It was a futile hope, though: of course the Tribunal Temple had no cure for the disease. If they did, they would make sure everyone knew about it, for the sake of the goodwill this would generate. Corprus was a cause for concern for many people on Vvardenfell, and the Temple would jump at the opportunity to be their saviour.

No, all Sirilonwe returned to me with was a spell for herself; one that would provide her some measure of protection against the disease for when she was near me.

For my part, I remained in my chambers at the top of Wolfen Keep, away from anyone and trapped in endless, circling thought. I had Corprus disease. But Dhaunayne had told me that vampires were impervious to disease! I was supposed to be immune to most normal mortal deaths! But then... that devil, Dagoth Gares had cursed me intentionally with the disease - I was sure of it.

I was keeping myself saturated in Restoration magic: I found that I could treat some of the symptoms that way and keep my mind clear of the befuddling effect the disease seemed to have. Really though, I was just fighting to keep despair at bay. Corprus resulted in madness or death - but I was already dead, so... madness? Or something else? Had a vampire ever caught Corprus before? My mind went around and around... and I was no closer to knowing what I should do.

To her credit, Sirilonwe had not reminded me of her (obviously valid, as it turned out) arguments against my going into the Sixth House base - and she still allowed me to feed from her; albeit not in our usual way. She made a cut in her wrist (with no small degree of self-control, I'm sure), and let the blood trickle into my open mouth - without actually touching me. It was an uncomfortable and vaguely embarrassing ordeal for both of us, and neither of us looked at the other while she healed herself afterwards.

There had to be something I could do! But... even if there was, it would have to wait. I could not go anywhere while the sun still shone outside, and that night I would be staying with Sirilonwe in the castle. Three days had passed. She would die and be reborn as a vampire that evening... if nothing went wrong.

I had thought that Sirilonwe might change her mind, and decide that she wanted to spend some time in the sunshine while she still could, but no; she had returned from the High Fane complaining that the sun was too hot outside, and that she was exhausted. She just wanted to get some sleep. After I had fed, Sirilonwe went straight to bed.


For the long daylight hours of that day, all I did was sit at my desk and think painful thoughts. I turned the chair around so that I could watch Sirilonwe sleep, from across the room. I had nothing else to do, and regardless; she had asked me to watch over her while she slept. She was worried about the coming evening. 'Worried' is probably too gentle a word to describe what she must have felt, actually. I think it was probably a blessing that she was able to spend the last hours of her life asleep.


She woke in the final minutes before sunset, and called out for me:

"Edward, I... can't breathe -" she took a great, shuddering gasp - "very well. What's happening?"

I was at the bedside in an instant, but caught myself before I could lay a hand on her head. My hands were covered in red lumps and blisters: it would not have been wise to touch her.

"Sleep, Siri." I told her softly. "It will be better - and I'll stay with you until you wake up."

I cast my 'Sleep' spell on her to help her - well, sleep - and her eyes closed in seconds.

I brought my chair closer to the bed to watch her. For several minutes she slept, and then... I saw the last breath leave her - and could feel the heat that had radiated from her body begin to subside. I marked the end of her mortal life at the dusk of that day. I did not move from my seat, though. Whatever was happening to her - whether she was gone forever or about to awake and remain forever - there was nothing I could do for her right then.

Still, I was very worried as I watched her absolutely motionless form. The only thing that kept panic at bay was the smell that began to rise from her: very faint at first, then stronger and stronger as the hours wore on. It was the 'Aundae' scent: the smell that originally led me to Ashmelech.

She smelt like a vampire.


And still I sat and watched; as hours passed; as her golden skin grew pale - almost yellow - and as the shadows around her remarkable eyes grew darker and darker, until they appeared almost as bruises.

Almost exactly at midnight, Sirilonwe sat bolt upright and made several strangled gasping sounds as she reflexively tried to breathe. It made me start in fright: when I had 'changed', I had remained dead for nearly a day before my return - and I had not awoken in nearly so violent and sudden a fashion.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she continued her (needless) struggle to breathe, and then she grunted, and touched a hand to her mouth. She had bitten her lip with her new fangs, I think. By the time I found my voice, it was too late to reassure her; she had relaxed enough to realise she no longer needed to breathe. A trickle of blood ran from her lip and down her chin. She looked so beautiful. I was so relieved.

"Sirilonwe..." I said softly.

Her eyes fixed on me, and I saw that they had changed: there was a burnished orange glimmer to them now, rather than the golden glow of before. An ecstatic grin (that revealed her elegant new fangs) spread across her face, and she leapt up and threw her arms around me - never-mind my Corprus. Neither of us said anything: we did not need to. We both knew then that she was alright - that she had escaped the supposedly inevitable fate of all mortals.

I had not lost her. But... I still had Corprus disease. Would she lose me?

Chapter 121: Infection

The sea-caverns of Ilunibi were very deep: I could feel it as soon as I entered them. Any noise made floated off into the darkness, to echo back much later; a faint shadow of itself. The first chambers were washed by salt water rushing through them, and falling in cascades down the walls. Those first chambers were not unlike the Urshilaku burial caverns in some ways: but where the burial caverns were filled with the feeling of ages-old sadness, the Ilunibi caves were burdened with a sense of dread.

The fresh sea-water did not reach far into the caves. A little further on, I was wading through stagnant, stinking pools of trapped salt-water. The revolting, soupy liquid reeked of rotten fish - and of blood that had sat until it spoiled. The red candles glued to the occasional natural stone shelf cast the barest glow over the scene. I knew then, beyond a doubt, that what I had seen in Telasero and Falasmaryon was also the work of the Sixth House. Apart from the distinctive smell of corruption that found its way to my nose from somewhere up ahead - even through the stink of the foul water around me - the red candles were of a unique kind. They seemed to promote darkness more than they dispelled it.


Soon, I realised that I could hear a chant echoing through the honeycombed caverns: coming from somewhere nearby. It was in a male voice, and went:

"Fire, poisons, claws, pincers, wheels... Fire, poisons, claws, pincers, wheels... Fire, poisons..." Those same five words, repeated over and over, in a hoarse, scratchy voice.

I rounded a corner and was surprised to find myself facing the source of the chant - the many echoes in that place made it difficult to judge the exact origin of a sound. It was a naked Dunmer man - a Dreamer - but upon seeing me, he did not attack; only saying:

"Fire, poisons, claws, pincers, wheels... What slave knows what the lover feels?"

The emaciated man began spouting odes and venerations to his 'lord', Dagoth Ur; his breath hot on my face all the while.

"Lord Dagoth has sent the blight to destroy the foreigners, and to chasten those Dunmer who bend to foreign will!" The Dreamer cried, reaching out as if to grasp my shoulders. "Those who oppose Lord Dagoth shall wither and die, while those who join Lord Dagoth shall be healed and strengthened, filled with the power and glory of Red Mountain, and inspired by the dreams of Dagoth Ur!"

I knocked his reaching hands away, and took a step back. 'Inspired by the dreams of Dagoth Ur', he said. It made me think. Those Dunmer who later became 'Dreamers': the dreams they complained of - were they being 'sent' somehow by Dagoth Ur?

The Dreamer still spouted his fanatic declarations:

"Now, we Dunmer who once ruled ourselves, in our own land - our Resdayn... are weak. We are no more than slaves -- ruled by foreigners who serve false gods. But now Lord DAGOTH, Dagoth UR, Lord of the Sixth House, has awakened! Now the restless shall wake from sleep, and this will once more be the land of the free and proud Dunmer!"

It was as the Dreamer - or 'Sleeper' - in Maar Gan had said: Dagoth Ur wanted to drive the outlanders from Morrowind; just as the Nerevarine was supposed to do. It was strange: the Ashlanders I had met - the ones who worshipped the Nerevarine - called Dagoth Ur an enemy; but from what the Dreamers said - the ones who worshipped Dagoth Ur - both the Nerevarine and Dagoth Ur wanted the same thing.

I listened to the Dreamer's ravings for a while longer, but he said nothing else of interest: merely different variations on "you and all outlanders should leave Morrowind while you still can." I had to knock him out with my Sleep spell to stop him following me.


Searching through the empty, stinking honeycombed caverns, my legs slosh-sloshing through the stagnant water, I eventually encountered some real resistance: another of those horribly disfigured 'tentacle-faced men'; with the stumpy, useless arms of a Dunmer person jutting out the side of their swollen robes. Staying true to my promise to Sirilonwe, I hung back and engaged the creature with my poison and ice spells - hoping to stay clear of any disease it might have carried.

I was able to dodge the destructive spells it threw back my way, and soon it was dead; dissolved into a putrid yellow dust (save for the deformed skull). I was horrified to see the thing. I had thought that the tentacle-faced man I had killed in Telasero was unique; a tragic mutation of some kind. Now though, I was faced with the idea that those things were men corrupted by a plague - or by a plan.

These Sleepers - these agents of Dagoth Ur - talked about the people of Morrowind 'joining him in the flesh'. Could these disfigurements to the flesh of what had once been Dunmeri people be deliberate?


The tentacle-faced man had been guarding a door to some deeper and (surprisingly) drier caverns. I pushed my way through the door and continued my mission: scouring the sea-caverns of all life - save for those who could still be called 'Dunmer' and not 'monster'. I sped through the dark chambers like the wind; fast enough that most of the naked Dreamers ranged throughout the 'base' did not even perceive that I was there - and fast enough that the first the ashen-skinned, zombie-like figures (with dark cavities in their faces where their eyes and nose should be) knew of my presence was the burning acid and ice of my magic on their backs.

Eventually, I found the room with the whispering shrine the deceased Legion trooper had mentioned - and within it, I found the trooper's comrades. They were in a frightening state: their infected flesh was swollen, jaundiced and raw; their cracked, warped armour broken and falling off. And they were moving about. They were not dead; they were Corprus beasts.

As I watched, two of the Corprus-men lumbered over to a metal trough just like the ones in Telasero, and proceeded to tear pieces of their own swollen flesh from their bodies, before depositing the oozing chunks in the trough. They tore themselves right to the bone in places - only to have the sickening, yellow wound bubble and run as the flesh began to grow back; almost instantly.

I quickly ended their suffering (at a healthy distance), using my destructive spells. It was a quick death; I do not think any of them knew I was even there. In fact, I doubt any of them had even known that they were still alive.

I did not want to go anywhere near that sinisterly whispering shrine, if I could help it; so I cast a quick glance around the room from the doorway. I was just turning to leave when something stirred in the deep shadows at the rear of the chamber. A figure emerged: one of those ashen-skinned 'men' with a single thick growth protruding from the black cavity in his face. He was tall and thin, and wore a grey, ash-caked robe.

He identified himself; the mouth squashed below his facial protuberance somehow still able to produce intelligible words:

"The Sixth House greets you, blood vampire. I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi Shrine and minister to my Sixth House servants."

"Minister?" I called out, as the disfigured creature came to stand beside the whispering shrine. "You make it sound as if you are doing these Dunmer some kind of service - as if they are here by choice!"

The ghoulish thing's hands hung at its sides, arcane power crackling and dripping from the fingers.

"Ah, yes;" he rumbled; "the Sleepers... the Dreamers... You still think of them as part of your world - as belonging to their old lives - because they are newly come to Lord Dagoth, and not yet blessed with his power. But later they will be blessed as Children of the Lord. Yes... the Children of His Flesh, they are deep in the heart of his mysteries. Their bodies swell to contain his glory, and to yield the rich sacraments of our Lord's feasts. And we are the least of his servants, for Ash Poets, Ascended Sleepers, and Ash Vampires stand high above us in the Lord's bountiful grace."

"A... 'Child of His Flesh'? Is that what you call yourself? You... want to be disfigured like that?"

Speaking with that monster without eyes; that perversion of a Dunmer, was revolting. However, I was in sufficient control of myself to realise that I needed more information if I was to find and kill more members of the Sixth House. I was trying to keep him talking - to learn as much as I could.

"It is, and I do." Dagoth Gares replied. "And you, blood vampire... or 'Edward Frost' as you decide to call yourself; I can see in your mind the name Nerevarine. You are consumed with this name. You wonder what it means. It consumes your mind and your purpose. You wonder if you are something greater - bound for a place in history. Are you the Nerevarine? My Lord Dagoth Ur wishes to extend his friendship to the one called the Nerevarine. You may come to him - at his citadel on Red Mountain - and discover if you are the one."

I was without words for a moment. That this 'Dagoth' had apparently read my mind gave me pause.

"What say you, blood vampire?" The creature asked, taking a step towards me. "Will you go to Red Mountain in friendship, and submit to our Lord Dagoth Ur? Will you put away your weapons and join me in friendship?"

I looked about me, at the sinister whispering shrine, the grisly troughs of infected flesh, the ruined, deformed bodies of the dead Legionnaires... and I began to laugh. I laughed and laughed, my voice ringing harshly off the stone walls of the cavern.

"I am here to destroy you, Gares;" I said eventually - "and I aim to destroy your 'lord' Dagoth Ur, as well. This -" I indicated our horrific surrounds with a sweep of my arm - "is obscene, and evil. It revolts me. I will obliterate the Sixth House - wherever I find it."

Dagoth Gares said nothing more; merely rushing at me, giving a snort as he came that expelled a puff of ash from his facial protuberance. I sent my 'Blizzard' spell at him: once with my right hand, and then a second time with my left. With two great, concussive -booms-, the spells exploded against his spindly form; cracking the stone floor of the cavern and leaving Gares a broken mess on the ground. Most of his dry, ashen flesh had been blasted from his bones.

Cautiously, I drew closer to the body, to get a better look. I wanted to be sure that he was really, conclusively, dead.

Without warning, his bones twisted horribly beneath the ragged shreds of his flesh, and Gares pointed the remains of his hand right at my face. Some kind of force leapt from his hand; worming, forcing its way into my body. My vision blurred, and I felt as if I was losing my balance. I felt as if I was falling over backwards, but at the same time as if it might only be a trick of my mind: I could not work out which was actually happening. I heard Gares' voice sound out as consciousness left me:

"You shall come unto the Lord Dagoth Ur in the flesh, then; if not the mind. Yea, even as my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh."


When I came back to myself, I was standing outside the entrance to Ilunibi, under the open sky. The first rays of the morning sun were just peeking out over the horizon, searing my skin. Sirilonwe was staring at me in horror, and pointing at my wrist. Feeling too dizzy to simply look down, I raised my wrist to my eyes to see what was wrong. There was an exposed patch of skin there, and it was swelling and bubbling up, as if in huge blisters.

Just like the diseased Imperial Legion soldiers in the shrine. Dagoth Gares had cursed me with Corprus disease: incurable and almost always fatal.

I threw my head back and screamed out in rage, fear, and frustration.