Day 47 - A Humbling Experience

31 Hearthfire
~~~
Life sometimes has a way of gently reminding you of things you should have been aware of. Occasionally this reminder is not so gentle. I awoke at the Six Fishes habitually early and walked to Vivec, anticipating my final hand-over to Folms.

A very pink morning

He was possibly just as pleased as I was, but his reasons are his own. With a quick "Wait here!" he dashed out of the Guild and disappeared for an hour or so. When he came back, the Propylon stone was gone, but he handed me a blue stone which he told me was the master Index for all the Propylon chambers. Should I ever desire, all I need to do is mutter the activation word and the master stone will whip me into the Caldera Mages Guild, where Folms can then send me to any of the Dunmer fortresses. The fortresses straddle almost the entire landmass of Vvardenfell, so this will almost eliminate my need for boats and silt striders.

My thoughts have been turning back to the Daedric spear and dagger under Berandas, ever since I acquired the Huunen's bow. Not only am I much stronger than I was, but encumbrance is not the issue it used to be after switching from the Adamantium suit to the Dreugh breastplate. If I am to be the Nerevarine, I should be able to fight like one.

I had cleared Berandas of creatures, at great risk, almost a month ago and I was expecting the fortress to be abandoned. Folms sent me to the fortress's Propylon chamber and the first two levels of the fortress were empty, save for two foraging rats. The expectation that the final level would be similarly empty seemed reasonable.

Reasonable and not at all the case. I was engaged by two Dremora immediately upon descending into the lowest level and the combat attracted one of the ugly, spidery creatures that used the armor-damaging spells. Looking back, I cannot believe how foolish I was: the two Dremora and the armor-eater were very good signs that Berandas had new inhabitants, but I walked right into what was very nearly my final battle, completely flat-footed, as the Bosmer say.

I remember turning the corner and staring into two beady, red eyes. Then I was slumped against the wall, dazed, only able to stare at the atronach in confusion as it advanced to finish me off. Fortunately, my helmet turned what would have been a fatal head injury into a lingering headache. My weapons had been flung away from me into the opposite corner and I had few options. Retreat was one of them.

Scrambling to my feet, I fought off dizziness and nausea as I fled the room, past the corpses of opponents only minutes earlier and up the stairs.. The atronach must have zapped me with magicka powerful enough to fling me into the wall and never in my days have I heard of an atronach that powerful not being under the control of a mage. Disarmed, I was definitely no match for the atronach, nor anything else I was likely to find beyond it.

The Divine Intervention scroll would have sent me back without issue, of course. But I had come to Berandas for the spear and retreating now only meant having to come back later, possibly fighting the battles I had already won. The only weapon I had on me were two glass daggers I had taken from a slaver some time ago and I did not think I stood a chance against anything in Berandas with them.

Instead, I took my chances with my weak Invisibility spell, hoping I would succeed enough at casting it to at least get me to the spear, figuring I could fight my way back out with it. The plan worked better than I expected it would. I was able to sneak past the atronach and into the unfinished cavern area, where I had to duck into an alcove to recast the spell. Dremora armed with two-handed Dwemer blades were patrolling the tunnels, but I was able to sneak past them and into the chamber where the skeleton had been impaled.

He (or she) was still there, stuck fast to the rock by the Daedric spear in its ribcage and the Daedric dagger in what was once a wrist. The Dremora seemed content to walk along the passage just ahead of the chamber, so I took the extra time to carefully remove the remains and lay them on the cavern floor. While respectful, it also prevented the sound of the bones rattling across the floor if I had let it simply crash to the ground. 

Fatigued and hurt as I was, the spear did not seem nearly as heavy as it did originally and I pocketed the oddly-shaped dagger as well. I was able to remain invisible on my way back out, courtesy of the magicka restoratives I had taken from the Mages Guild and encountered no trouble in reaching the Propylon chamber outside.

Folms reacted to my sudden, bloodied appearance quite calmly, only commenting that I seemed to be enjoying my new-found freedom. If I said anything in response, I do not remember it now. I teleported to Balmora and my collection of weaponry: Daedric bow, Daedric Spear, and Daedric Dagger, must have rendered Ajira speechless, for it was the first time I have arrived at the Guild without her asking if I had anything to sell her. Everything I had to sell was outside her usual wares and I sold a great deal of gems and some vampire dust to Nalcarya in exchange for some healing potions and money.

My next stop was to the Razor Hole, a shop I have not visited in a long time. The owner remembered me, but I think only due to the lack of Khajiit customers he normally sees. With him I exchanged all my iron and steel arrows for two hundred silvered arrows. I could not imagine firing cheap iron arrows from the Daedric bow and silvered arrows seem reasonably sufficient. Also, I am increasingly coming into contact with creatures able to shrug off the impact of iron and steel arrows and the silvered arrows are a decent compromise between effectiveness and price.

My arsenal thus upgraded, I had been planning on retiring to the Balmora Mages Guild for the rest of the day to practice my spells, but Ajira met me at the front door with a message that I was asked to appear at the Ald'Ruhn Tribunal at my convenience. To my surprise, the invitation was from the irresponsible boy I had helped, Ienas Sarandas. He has dedicated himself to the Temple in an effort to turn his life around and is studying to become a priest. Much more surprising is that he has deeded his house to me! Just as I was about to thank him, he was called away on some menial Temple business, so we parted quickly. Now that I have a home in Ald'Ruhn, I am sure I will be here far more often and will certainly be seeing him again.

My recent efforts to rid myself of useless items resulted in having less to store in the house than I thought. I left several belts and amulets of various magicka strengths there and a few empty soul gems and glass paralysis daggers. The collection made a nice arrangement.

I locked the door behind me with my spell and went back to the Balmora Mages Guild, though I suppose I should spend more time at the Ald'Ruhn Guild now that I am a resident. It was just before dinner when I arrived, so I took the opportunity to regale the others with mostly factual recollections of my exploits, though the acquisition of my new weapons garnered the most interest. Marayn Dren cautioned against relying on the Daedric equipment, stating that they were cursed to drive their owners' to messy ends so that the weapons find new victims. When I pointed out that there were hundreds of Daedric weapons stored safely in collections across Tamriel, he shook his head and told me that the safest thing I could do is dispense with them as soon as possible. I think it is all silly superstition.

After dinner I spent the remainder of the evening practicing my Illusion spells with Estirdalin and left just before midnight to spend the first night at home. I definitely made good progress under Estirdalin's tutelage and I think I will be spending the next several days training with my new weapons before I travel to the Urshilaku tribal camp. If I am to pass myself off as the Nerevarine, I should at least be able to fight as such.

Day 46 - A Dark Place Indeed

30 Hearthfire
~~~
When I delivered the Falensarano stone, Folms warned me that the last stone was in a place he could only describe as "dark" and "very, very bad". I did not think much of it though. After all, I had just destroyed the cruel operators of the slave arena only a few days after surviving a trip into a Sixth House cult hideaway. What could be worse than either of those?

The fortress of Telasero is built along the south-east coast, well-positioned to police traffic on the coastal road between Molag Mar and Sura as well as the waterway to Suran and Vivec. It must have been an important fortification in its time, but that time was long ago. I left Vivec early in the morning and arrived at the fog-shrouded fortress after an hour or so. There were no signs of life on the outside of the fortress and combined with the fog, made for quite an eerie scene.

I was attacked by two halberd-wielding skeletons while I was circling around the hills to find the fortress entrance and while neither posed any sort of threat to me, the encounter foreshadowed what I was about to face.

Welcome to Telasero

Signs that something was greatly amiss were in the form of the garish red candles that I have started to see more often as of late. Whatever their form or substance, they burn with a sickly red glow and managed to give off little light to their surroundings. The entranceway corridor was full of the things and barely lit the doorway deeper into the fortress.

The architecture of Telasero was obviously designed to provide maximum benefit to the defending garrison and two barely clothed Dunmers were stationed on a platform opposite the doorway, perfectly positioned to fire missiles at anyone coming through. However, they were mindless husks and neither reacted when I shot them from beyond the doorway. I waited to see if their deaths would register with anyone (or anything) else in the fortress, but other than a dry rasping I heard nothing.

I crept through the doorway and down a small ramp into the sunken room and spotted another malformed creation. The rasping was one of the hollow-faced creatures, still breathing despite the observed uselessness of doing so. When I struck it my spear cracked and shattered it's skin as if it were brittle stone and I peered at the wounds on the corpse enough to see that there was no blood, just a thick purple ichor that seeped out and thickened almost instantly. If the creature had been a man once, it was a long time ago.

More recent members of the Sixth House cult were the maddened mountains of flesh, two of which I encountered under the ramp coming from doorway. They both bore expressions equally horrified and enraged, but at least their affliction was due to disease rather than whatever transformation led to the other monster.

The two creatures were guarding a small tunnel, probably at one point a planned expansion of the fortress, but it led to a pool of lava and a dead-end. Had they been vampires, I would not have been reluctant to cast their bodies into the liquid fire, but no one could pay me enough Septims to lay my hands on the monsters in Telasero.

An adjoining room contained two more mindless, naked Dunmer, both of which drew simple clubs and charged, as they usually do. Against one wall was a skeleton slumped against a chest, with a silver short sword resting near it. The remains of an adventurer perhaps? There is no way to know. The chest contained nothing of great value.

From that room was attached the largest room in the fortress, full of candles, altars, and more mindless Dunmer with clubs who needlessly sacrificed themselves at the end of my short sword and spear. Most of the altars were crude things of, surprisingly, wood and decorated with chunks of wet, pale flesh.

My fear of the Sixth House creatures is not nearly what it was the first time I met them. While visually horrifying, they are either fragile or slow in a fight and their disadvantages are easily turned against them. With the exception of the faceless creatures, anything that was once a man (or woman) undergoes a transformation that results in them getting stronger and slower. The final stage is probably the massive creatures I have been facing, but they can barely move at anything faster than a stumbling gait. Silvered or glass arrows do them enough damage that they fall quickly. I shot one in the leg today, which managed to trip it up and it laid on the floor, unable to stand. I would have left it there, but the howling screams and bellowing compelled me to kill it anyway.

The faceless creature and the stone-like thing are the opposite: having been once a person (I assume), their transformation is warping them in a way that has weakened their bodies, but provided strong abilities with magicka. It is a well-balanced arrangement, but they all appear to lack the intelligence to work together.

And that was the extent of the Sixth House Telasero garrison, less than what I expected to face when I stepped inside. The room with the altars also had a set of large bells identical to the ones I found in the cave a few days ago and several stone troughs, most filled with oozing chunks of white flesh. One of the troughs was full of clothing and a few potions, discarded perhaps by the cultists as part of a ritual. The clothing was very fine, a gold ring and amulet within made a matching pair, each studded with emeralds and rubies. But I had no desire to carry anything from this place on my body and left the clothing alone. The potions were less impressive, and on top of a book laid the Propylon stone. 

Where does Folms get his information from?

There was nothing for me during the walk back, so I used a Divine Intervention scroll (ever useful!) to send myself to Ebonheart's chapel. For having acquired the last Propylon stone, it is fitting that I experienced the first clear night since arriving at Vvardenfell. After a day of fighting mutant horrors, the minutes I spent gazing at the few constellations I knew was very relaxing.

I rented a room at the Six Fishes rather than walk back to Vivec in the dark. The door is physically and magically locked and I have pushed all the furniture against it, no doubt to the irritation of the patrons in the bar below me. Tomorrow I will finally be done with all these stones and be free to travel to any corner of Vvardenfell at my will.

Day 45 - The Archer's Lonesome Death

29 Hearthfire
~~~

I had another dream last night, though this one was a great deal less...physical, I guess I could say. In it, I stood alone on a hill somewhere in Vvardenfell, overlooking a green plain with farms and foraging creatures dotting the landscape. As I surveyed the landscape, a voice spoke up behind me, but I did not turn around. 

"Three lied to you", the voice said, "Three betrayed you, but the one you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liege-man  faithful friend, bids you come below to Red Mountain once again, shed your flesh and be born again to purge Morrowind of the n'wah!"

At least he is not being subtle any longer. I woke up after the talking stopped and never once turned around or spoke in the dream. I would be tempted to ask if the faceless monsters and shambling mountains of misshapen flesh are his plans for the future of Morrowind and the Dunmer. I suspect my friend and Dagoth Ur share the belief that I may be able to become the Nerevarine. I do not harbor such a delusion for myself.

Folm's latest request will put me close to Maar Gan, on the opposite side of the hills, as well as fairly close to the last known location of Hassour's son. I had hoped to take care of both tasks, but fetching the Propylon stone took up my entire day as I battled Daedra and cultists to fetch a piece of rock.

The day was nicer than most, which in Vvardenfell generally means dull, hazy weather. The walk from Ald'ruhn was uneventful save for the few shots I took at Nix-Hounds with my bow. The shrine of  Maelkashishi was said to sit right against the foyoda, so I carefully kept on top of the hills until I spotted the shrine, then slid down the hillside so that I could make a cautious approach. For the most part the shrine was guarded by simple Scamps whom posed no threat, but I also encountered a Daedra I had not seen before.

I am at a loss to describe the creature other than being ash-colored, with long, thin limbs with very long, almost skeletal, fingers. The creature attacked first with spells that chipped away at my spear and cracked my armor before closing the distance to strike at me with its arms. Fortunately, the damage to my equipment was mostly cosmetic and the creature barely had an animal's cunning for battle. A group of them casting their spells could leave a person's armaments severely weakened and their chances of survival quite slim. Had I encountered this Daedra while I was still hefting my simple iron spear and chainmail tunic, I am sure I would have been killed.

After some time of searching about, I was forced to conclude Folm's outlander, Huunen, had not been killed outside of the shrine, which meant going inside. While the treasure is almost always worth the effort, I have faced some of my most difficult opponents inside of the ruined shrines and treasure does nothing good for a dead Khajiit.

 The obvious entrance into the shrine led to a Daedric altar with four cultists wandering about. My invisibility-paralysis trick worked on three of them, but the final cultist, an Orc, resisted the paralysis and spun around to attack me. However, she seemed unsteady and in comparison to most Orcs, barely put up a fight. One of the cultists had an Imperial silver cuirass, perhaps a former officer of the Legion or the killer of one.

The loot was pretty disappointing: some scrolls, a charged soul gem, a few gemstones, and no sign of the Propylon stone. I could see that the statue of Sheogorath rose above the ceiling and into the floor above me, but I had no levitation potions or scrolls to get myself up there. I left the shrine and hiked up the hill it was set against and my scout instinct paid off: The tower of the Daedric shrine was part of the center fixture for the statue and had a separate entrance. I had to jump from the hillside on to the tower, suffering nothing worse than a few scrapes.

The tower entrance opened into the hillside itself and I found myself on a platform several stories high, with more platforms above and below me. I could not see what was above me, but one of the winged female Daedra I encountered in Berandas was pacing around on the lower platform. While shooting her with silvered arrows I discovered that despite the wings, they cannot fly and she fell after five shots.

  

While I had no ability to levitate, I did have a Slowfall spell. I had never used it before and the sensation of slowly drifting towards the ground while my mind was insisting I should be plummeting to my death was interesting. Similar to levitation, I was able to guide my descent and landed on a small platform high enough that I would be safe from enemies on the ground and low enough that I could jump down without a second spell.

This proved to be wise, as I could spot another one of the equipment-damaging Daedra sulking nearby which had not noticed my arrival. Being on the platform meant I was an easy target for its spells, so I hopped down on the side opposite the creature and used a scroll of Invisibility I had taken from the shrine. The scroll allowed me to sneak up behind the foul-smelling creature and run it through with my spear.

Beyond the creature lurked another one of the winged female Daedra, but she needed a lot of room to maneuver about and the ruins served to keep her contained and clumsy. I took advantage of this with my nimble sword and shield, striking before she could move to bring her barbed tail against me. 

She had been guarding a chest containing a few pearls and emeralds, plus two weak potions of levitation. The ground floor of the cave exited in to the very top of the shrine, where I was attacked by an Imperial, who managed to suffer a "fall" into the shrine below during our brief struggle. I assumed the Propylon stone, if it was here at all, would be on his body, but I decided to leave the way I came in, just in case I had missed anything while drifting down from the entrance.

This choice saved me a great deal of frustration. I reached the ledge I had entered by and was just about to walk out when I noticed two Daedric arrows stuck into a pillar.

The arrows were not stuck straight in, but at a steep angle as if someone had fired them from above. I drank the second levitation potion after collecting the two arrows in the pillar, plus another lying on the ground nearby. I floated up to the only platform above the entrance way and found what must be Huunen's final resting place.

Completely clean and dry, the skeleton was slumped against the cavern wall looking as though it had been there for centuries. At the skeletal feel was two potent levitation potions, eight more Daedric arrows, and a chest containing nothing of notice.

The Propylon stone was near his corpse, but of more importantly, so was an incredibly rare Daedric-enchanted glass longbow. Unlike the spear, the bow is definitely not too heavy a burden for the benefit and I carefully slid it away from Huunen. Hopefully I will have better luck than its previous owner.

But it does raise questions. The man was seen alive fairly recently and had not only a powerful Daedric bow, but a sheaf of very rare Daedric arrows. He had levitation potions enough to get him up to and down from the platform and he was in no danger where he was. Yet despite his precautions and equipment, he was killed. My only guess is that one of the Daedra managed to poison him and he fled to the platform in desperation. But that makes little sense either, for the exit to go outside was closer at any point within the cavern than where I found him. And why shoot the arrows into the rock? Only Huunen knows, but Vvardenfell has turned him into yet another mystery.

Unlike Huunen, I had a Divine Intervention scroll and popped into Gnisis well after the evening had begun. The quickest way to a Mages Guild was Silt Strider and I suffered the trip so that I could be one step closer to finishing my business with Folms that much faster. The Strider stopped at Ald'ruhn some time after midnight and I stumbled into the Mages Guild and collapsed into the nearest bunk.

It is only from habit that I have the energy to write this before sleep claims me, though I have had worse days than this, but certainly none as bad as Huunen had.

Day 44 - Something I Am Not

28 Hearthfire
~~~

The night was not fraught by the nightmares I had been expecting and I awoke this morning feeling much better about the ordeal. Had I encountered those monsters during my first days on Vvardenfell I would certainly have been killed. I have come a long way since my arrival here and I am proud of what I have accomplished and survived so far, if occasionally terrified by it as well.

The morning was as most are: dreary and cloudy with the promise of little chance of seeing the sun at any point during the day. A dust storm kicked up soon after I left the cave, reducing visibility to almost nothing. Discouraged and feeling very much like a walking ash pile, I my journey finally came to an end at a dead-end, the foyoda abruptly terminating at a wall of impassable hills. A cold campfire showed that I was not the only one to find themselves at the impasse, but I could not remember passing any paths that might have led me around.

Among the clutter of scrolls I keep meaning to be rid of was one for a weak levitation spell, which proved just enough to propel me up and over the hills, where I was soon greeted by the coastline I have spent so much effort in reaching.

Rotheran fortress was just beyond the coast and I approached carefully, as more often than not these locations have been overrun by any manner of hostile creatures. I spotted two Dunmer walking on the roof as I approached, but they were quite friendly. The two of them were adventurers themselves and had come to Rotheran on the rumor that the Imperial Cult was offering a reward for the recovery of a valuable blade said to be held by a Sorcerer or great power either in or around the fortress.

They confessed to being quite confused, for Rotheran was left in a state even more unfinished than the previous fortresses I have been in. Instead of several levels of rooms as have been the norm, Rotheran never progressed past the initial construction of the first underground level and now exists only as a single large room, according to them. The two Dunmer had tried to approach the hut situated on the roof some distance away from the fortresses entrance, but was attacked by the man living inside and they retreated. Now they were trying to decide whether to descend into the fortress now or attempt to contact associates of theirs to help, but also divide the reward.

I was sure that the crazed man in the hut was Rols Ienith, the holder of the Propylon Stone I was seeking. When I mentioned that I also wanted to talk to the man in the hut, one of the adventurers, Tirasie Andalen, warned me that I would be assaulted immediately. That suited me just fine.

Just as they said, I was politely let into the hut when I made my desire to enter known, then viciously stabbed at by a middle-aged Dunmer male spouting nonsensical words. His enthusiasm was not matched by his skill and I quickly disarmed and killed the man. The Propylon Stone was in his pocket and the hut strewn with empty skooma bottles and smoking pipes. Either the man had been a cultist or a desperate sugar addict.

The pair was gone when I dragged the body outside, probably back to Dagon Fel to either give up or collect the friends they had mentioned. I had assumed at the time that they had descended into the fortress and was just about to use a scroll of Divine Intervention when a bloodied Khajiit suddenly stumbled outside from down below. Upon seeing me (no doubt somewhat bloodied myself), she hesitated, but the sound of footsteps traveling up the stairwell behind her evidently made the decision an easy one.

She ran towards me, yelling something in a language I did not understand and pointed behind her. With no idea what she was trying to tell me, I shoved her towards the hut and prepared to face her pursuer. After yesterday, I was ready for anything from a Daedroth to a hungry Kagouti. I was also ready for, though unexpecting, the run-of-the-mill Dunmer slaver, armed with nothing more than a short cheap-looking sword and a boiled leather cuirass.

Apparently he was not ready for a fully-armed, experienced Khajiit warrior and our short melee ended with my chasing him back into the interior of the fortress. I was not so foolish as to blindly charge down the stairs and into the waiting arms of my enemies and paused in the stairs to cast my invisibility spell. 

The slavers were a stupid, cruel lot. The one I had been chasing was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, along with two others just as poorly equipped. I can only imagine their surprise when they suddenly found their throats opened and death quickly claiming them. I am finding that the glass paralysis daggers are especially useful, a slaver weapon fittingly used against slavers.

The fortress's hastily abandoned construction was serving as entertainment for the gang of slavers. The entire fortress consisted of nothing more than a large two-story square room, around which a spiraling ramp led around and into the center of the room on the ground floor. The slavers had blocked off the ramp at the ground level, tranforming whatever the room was supposed to be into a grisly arena. From the entrance two levels up, I could see several Argonian and Khajiit bodies, as well as a Dremora striding about and a huddle of slaves cringing away from it in the opposite corner, though the Dremora seemed to take little notice of them.

The invisibility spell had worn off by then, but with three slavers already dead, I judged that there could not be many more, as the largest part of the room was the arena itself. Just as I started to creep away from the stairs, an angry female voice started shouting upwards at me. I thought I had been spotted, but the woman was yelling at the three slavers who were quite unable to reply in kind. I  tried to cast the invisibility spell again, but my luck had run out and the spell fizzled just as a well-dressed Dunmer male turned the corner ahead of me.

Similar to the sorcerer at Hlormaren, he was heavily armed and summoned a Bonewalker upon seeing me and unsheathed a two-handed sword from his back as the creature loped towards me. I have not been keeping a tally of how many Bonewalkers I have sent back to their plane by now, but it is enough that they fail to present much of a threat any longer. This one was no different.

The man was a different matter. I had hoped the sword was a relic of a past raid and not something he was practiced with, but unfortunately he was quite good with the massive blade. The battle was the classic sword versus spear, but it was my shoulder that decided the outcome. I maneuvered him with his back against the edge of the ramp and when his guard was down, I dropped my weapons and rushed him, heaving him over the side of the railing. The two-story fall into the arena only dazed the man, but the sword was at my feet and he was quickly overwhelmed by his slaves as they tore him apart.

The sword had to have been the blade the two adventurers had been keen on acquiring, for it was very finely made and from what I could tell, powerfully enchanted. It was also very heavy and like the halberds, simply not a weapon made for Khajiit to use. I left it where the late Dunmer slaver had dropped it and proceeded down the ramp, gradually spiraling around the arena towards the ground floor.

Apparently there were more slavers than I suspected and a small battle was raging between the slaves and the slavers. The Dremora had disappeared with the death of the sorcerer and the slaves, all of them Khajiit and Argonian, had no issues with fighting dirty. I watched an Argonian that had his wrists shackled together smack a Dunmer in the side of the head, then fatally bite through the man's jugular. The Khajiit practice of clawing out their opponents' eyes seemed quite tame after that.

The surviving slaves kept their distance from me, as I obviously was not a slaver, but well-armed nonetheless. One of the Khajiit stepped forwarded and said something to me, but again I could not understand the language. They must have hailed from quite far away. Eventually, he gave up on trying to talk and merely pointed into the arena. I suspected a trap, but he was gesturing towards a frightened Dunmer woman who had remained in the arena, her wrists and ankles shackled.

Her name was Adusamsi, a native of Vvardenfell and a member of the Imperial Cult. She had been captured by the slavers some time ago (she was not sure how long) and scheduled to participate in the arena in what were usually very one-sided matches. The robe the sorcerer had been wearing was originally hers, as was a ring enchanted with a Divine Intervention trigger which he had worn. The robe was damaged by the slaves' enthusiasm for revenge and the hand that had held the ring was broken almost beyond recognition, the ring having been forced off in the process.

I helped her look and found a key to the slaves' shackles while searching the body, which I threw to an Argonian who did not have her wrists bound. Adusamsi found the ring herself behind a decorative column and slipped it on her finger, disappearing almost immediately to. As for the slaves, they freed themselves and left as a group, one Argonian I had not seen earlier loitering behind long enough to ask if I was in the Twin Lamps. She seemed surprised to hear that I had no idea who they were and asked me why I was there if not by their guidance. She suggested I join them, but did not tell me who they were, so that might be difficult.

Divine Intervention brought me to Ald'ruhn, which suited me perfectly. Via the Guild Guide, I dropped yet another Propylon Stone into Folms' waiting hands and was given another location for another stone, this one for fortress Falensarano. The stone was last seen in possession of an outlander named Huunen, near a Daedric shrine called Maelkashishi, somewhere to the west of Maar Gan. Folms thinks Huunen is already dead, but Vvardenfell is full of surprises.

Despite how it sounds, the battle in the fortress was really over quickly and it was only two in the afternoon when I popped into the Balmora Mages Guild, selling a few pieces of glass and Dreugh wax to an appreciative Ajira. My business was not with the guild today though and I visited my friend in Balmora to see if he needed my help with anything.

I was not surprised to find out that he did. A former Ashlander-turned-Merchant named Hassour Zainsubani was living in Ald'ruhn and my friend needed the man's advice in how to talk diplomatically with the Ashland tribes.   I was given one hundred Septims and the advice that Ashlanders view the exchange of gifts quite a serious thing and that I acquire something to gift the man with before I try to approach him for help.

The man was well known in Ald'ruhn and I was advised that the man was an avid reader and an amateur poet. Knowing this, I stopped at the bookseller and after searching around a bit, purchased a copy of "The Five Far Stars", a collection of poetry seemingly related to an eruption of the Red Mountain and the ashland tribes' resistance to the rising of Dagoth Ur. At least, I think that is what the book was getting at.

Hassour appreciated my selection and in return offered a gift of information. He instructed me on the best way to approach an Ashland tribal camp, the practice of martial challenges, and the Nerevarine Cult. The Urshilaku are the prominent tribe among the cult, their leader is the 'Warrior-Protector' of the Nerevarine Cult as a whole, whatever that may entail. He took the time to summarize his knowledge on to several scrolls, all the better for my friend's requirements.

Before parting, he had a request of his own: that I find his son, Hannat, who had left to explore what Hassour called an "underground complex" named Mamaea, likely a Daedric shrine of some sort, due west of the Red Mountain near Gnisis. I agreed to look for his son, though I cautioned him that my business likely was not going to bring me in that area for some time.

When I brought the notes to my friend in Balmora, he promoted me within his organization and revealed what I have been working towards so far. The Nerevarine Prophecy is of course not new to me, but apparently the Emperor believes I am able to fulfill the prophecy and become the Nerevarine.  As I am Khajiit, this is quite a belief the Emperor has! My friend had his doubts as well. Initially he admitted that he thought I was supposed to become an impostor Nerevarine for whatever end, but he has started to suspect I may be the genuine article, as it were. 

He gave me the decoded version of the package I received when I arrived on Vvardenfell and it seems that the letter was written about someone else. Every place my name appears is preceded by blotch of ink, destroying whatever name the author originally intended. The origin story is still the same: that I have been released from prison on the Emperor's orders to become the Nerevarine impostor. Of course, I was not released from any prison, but woken up in the early morning in the Auxiliary barracks to board a ship to parts mostly unknown to me.

The whole thing would be a great deal more amusing if the stakes were not so high.

My new orders are to find the Urshilaku camp and have the wise-woman test me against their version of the Nerevarine prophecy. I doubt they will accept a Khajiit as the savior of Vvardenfell and the journey will take me back into the inhospitable wastes of the North, somewhere near Khuul. That being as it is, I may find myself helping Hassour sooner than I expected and I have been told that supplies have been set aside for me in Fort Moonmoth, so I may stop there tomorrow morning.

Honestly, the entire ordeal has just happened so suddenly that I am not quite sure what to think. For now, I will continue to take each day as it comes.

Day 43 - Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts

27 Hearthfire
~~~

Waking up in a tomb is a very eerie experience and one I will make efforts to minimize the frequency of in the future. I could not help waking up with the feeling that I was disturbing someone, somehow.

The word for the day is dust. I was enveloped in a raging dust storm from the moment I stepped outside from the tomb and I can still hear it outside of the cavern I am calling home for the night. I would say here that the weather is the greatest enemy Vvardenfell hosts, but after what I found tonight, that is definitely not the case. The plan for today was to walk north along the foyoda to the coast, where I could then walk across the water to the island that hosted Dagon Fel and Rotheran. Simple enough.

On the way I encountered several small camps of thieves, all of who had their position given away by their campfires long before I could make out the individuals themselves. I did not want to risk attacking a group of innocent travelers and let the first band I came across know of me by firing an arrow into their vicinity. The three of them immediately drew simple chitin weapons and charged at me, more foolish aggression against someone obviously better equipped. But Vvardenfell does not suffer fools for very long and neither do I. They thought me backed against a hillside, but I had moved there to prevent being surrounded. The chitin shattered against my armor and three of them died quickly. The other bands I encountered fared similarly. The storm helped conceal my approach and in all cases I was able to strike first without warning.

The first group of bandits

Approaching the second group

The end of the third group by bowshot

In the past, fighting three separate groups of bandits or whatever they were would merit a lengthy journal entry, but today they are barely worth mentioning. My time on Vvardenfell has hardened me physically and mentally in a way that remaining in Cyrodiil would never have and I occasionally relish the thought of returning to the Auxiliaries and seeing if anyone recognizes me. Probably not. No one ever seemed to stay for very long, every week saw new faces appearing and familiar ones leaving. I am sure my absence generated some speculation over breakfast, but by dinner it would be shelved away in favor of swapping tales of the day's activities. I do not miss the occupation, but I do miss the camaraderie.

Trudging along with limited visibility all day made it difficult for me to gauge how much time was passing, but it was growing quite dark when I almost walked into the door, built as usual into the side of a hill. Nothing about it seemed any different from the mines and smuggler hideouts I have been in and I thought it a decent enough place to spend the night, if possible. I was quite wrong.

The first indication that something was amiss was the incandescent red paint the cultists had decorated the entrance with. The red glow, combined with the candles, was eerie and a part of me wanted to turn around right there and find someplace else to stay. It would have been the wiser choice, but stupidity can occasionally deliver great dividends.

I proceeded forwards and turned the corner into a long corridor, which at the other end stood what I thought was a male Dunmer. I could not see his face well, but it looked like he had a cap of some sort on. He turned and managed to spot me, in the dark, but made no sound. Instead, he ran at me, his mouth open...but no sound was coming out. He made no attempt to dodge or even acknowledge my arrows and soon fell dead. I thought him a madman, but when I examined the corpse, I saw that he had no face!

Whatever strange and horrible forces conspired to keep the man's body alive, it managed to do so without a face, eyes, or even a mind. His face had a large hole where his eye sockets used to be and to my horror, I saw that it extended all the way into his skull...where nothing remained. Just a clean, blackened pit in the man's head. I dumped the body into a nearby lava pit and moved on, more than a little on edge.

The second horror I was present with resembled a Bonewalker with three hundred pounds of flesh grafted on to it. The monster I encountered had a massive left leg, but a "normal" right one, giving the creature an odd gait which seemed not to bother it. I was fortunate to have spotted this creature from a distance as well, but unlike the other, it shrugged off six arrows stuck into its body while it loped towards me. It's face was fixed in a permanent expression of rage and patches of weeping raw flesh oozed from the creature's body. The smell was beyond horrible. It attacked only by swinging its club-like limbs, but the blows were delivered slowly. A near-miss swung past my face and into the cavern wall, which the creature's blow shattered, shards of stone embedded in what used to be a hand. This too was without notice by the monster and it only reacted to my brutally stabbing it in the face, which ultimately ended whatever life it had.

Oddly enough, I found an old Dunmer wandering around the cave as well. He was muttering to himself and wore a loincloth and stone mask that covered all but his mouth and chin. I could not make out what the muttering was about and only caught a few words about arranging chairs in "the right way". Strange. Much like everything else in the cave, I was attacked by him upon notice, this time magically instead of physically. I managed to dodge many of the spells, but dancing about meant not being able to fire my arrows. I wound up retreating, casting an Invisibility spell, and returning with my sword. Whoever he was, he died with a rattling, dry gasp and his stone mask dissolved into dust immediately upon hitting the ground. 

Beyond was a small altar of some sort, with an extremely heavy hammer set on the ground by a collection of large bells. Another faceless man met me there and managed to strike me with a raking, bare-handed clawing. The pain was incredible: first burning hot, then icy cold, followed by a worrying numbness and heaviness of the limb which has by now lessened, but still not wore off. Weak individually, fighting more than one of these eyeless things at a time would be extremely dangerous and a horrible death. Would they claw their victim's face out to match their own? I cannot bear to contemplate such a fate.

The creature was guarding a series of large bells and the bell hammer, but trying to lift the hammer threatened an immediate dislocation of my arms, so I stopped trying. It is unlikely any of the creatures in the cave have the strength and dexterity of wield it and I am fortunate to not have encountered whatever can.

The experience in the cave up to that point had been quietly horrifying and strange, but in a sense the strangeness was comforting, as it made the horror understandable. Why should faceless people and lumbering mountains of deformed flesh not be horrible? But deeper in the cave I encountered cultists that appeared to be normal, but had clearly lost their minds.

They were all Dunmer, men and women, all of them only clothed in a simple loincloth. I found the first group dancing around a stone altar lit with candles. I was able to observe them for a few minutes before they noticed me, but the dance seemed without rhythm or pattern, each of the dancers moving independently of the others. My observation ended when one of the woman spotted me and the whole group scurried to grab simple clubs sitting at the altar before charging at me. Naked, frenzied cultists armed with clubs have a predictable chance against an experienced fighter. Judging by their fellow residents, killing them may have been a great mercy. 

I encountered a second group at the very end of the cave system, also clustered around an altar, but they were not dancing. I was able to kill one of the cultists with an arrow before being seen and the remaining two grabbed clubs and attacked me, dying quickly. 

A cultist altar

The second group was the last life remaining in the cave. I found the absolute quiet and stillness of the cave very unnerving and there was a breeze coming from somewhere that made it sound as if someone was constantly whispering just behind me. I did not stop to look for treasure or gems and just about ran through the entire cavern and out the door into the gritty wind of the dust storm. I blocked the door with several large stones, but it was late in the evening and I could feel the need to sleep overtaking me. I was certainly not going to sleep in the cave, but I couldn't sleep outside without fear of being buried alive with dirt and dust as I slept. 

I decided to walk a bit further, figuring that if I found no place to sleep, I would admit defeat and use a Divine Intervention scroll, which would probably have put me in Balmora, though I'm not sure how far north I am right now. Luck was with me, for I came across another mine door after ten minutes of walking.

Understandably, I was hesitant about walking into another cave, but my other option was admitting defeat and taking a boat to Dagon Fel. So I made a pact with myself: If I walked inside and was, at any point, confronted with anything I had encountered in the previous cave, I would safely retreat and teleport back to civilization.

It is one thing to be appreciable of your skills and another to be proud, after all.

The cave only contained three unkempt smugglers, which after what I fought and defeated in the cave before this one, are not worth mentioning. It suffices to say they fought and not well. The cave consisted only of one large room, in which they divided into two levels, the bottom for themselves and the top for over two dozen crates of useless items.

The bodies have been dragged outside and the door is magically locked and has seven crates piled in front of it. The horrors of what I found inside the mountain today keep replaying themselves in my mind and a part of me fears the sleep I will be having shortly. I am increasingly being allowed to see more of Vvardenfell's true face and it is a terrible visage indeed.

Day 42 - Escort Duty

26 Hearthfire
~~~

The former merchants had taken what compensation they saw fit, the bodies of their captors stripped bare of equipment and valuables, but left where they lay. I realized I would probably be returning to the fortresses at some point and spent an unpleasant morning dragging the corpses to the underground sewer system. With the sluice gate open, the slaughterfish undoubtedly consumed the bodies within hours, though I am not sure if they also eat the bones. No matter.

Having taken care of that, I used a Divine Intervention scroll to pop back at Fort Moonmoth and walked into Balmora. I spoke to the Argonnian Only-He-Stands-There about his illegal training that Ranis had noticed and his argument that any training he provided in the Restoration circle was a charitable benefit to the people was admittedly a decent one. It's not as if he was training people to throw fireballs or anything. But I pointed out that Ranis had been made aware and confided that her previous tasks always included the option of killing the person of interest. He considered this for a moment and handed me the Septims for "guild dues" without a word. Apparently Ranis has quite a reputation in Balmora.

Ranis did not even wait for me to open my mouth before she launched into a new set of orders for me. A mage by the name of Itermerel had requested that a guild member escort him to Pelagiad. Ranis had no interest or consideration for Itermerel other than for his academic work and informed me that, as usual, his well-being was secondary to the acquisition of his notes. I agreed to accompany him, welcoming the change from dungeon-delving and a chance to have a day without someone trying to kill me.

Before meeting Itermerel at the Eight Plates, I delivered the latest Propylon stone to Folms Mirel, who directed me to Rotheran, which held its own stone. The fortress is occupied by bandits and I am not looking forward to fighting yet another band of criminals just for a stone. I thanked him for the additional five hundred Septims and arrived back at the Balmora Mages Guild to meet with Itermerel.

Itermerel is an older Altmer with a pleasant enough personality, but something about him seemed a bit off as soon as I introduced myself. He said he was glad that his escort was to be a young Khajiit such as myself and the assignment became stranger from there. He insisted on walking behind me the whole time and all I heard was "Khajiit this and Khajiit that". If I did not know any better, I would say the man had a very odd infatuation. I dealt with his incessant questions during the entire walk, many of them about Elsweyr that I could not answer for having been born (I think) in Cyrodiil.

We came upon a rat scavenging alongside the road and I barely gave the creature a second glance. My first one was enough to assure me that it did not have the growths on its body and therefore was more likely to flee from us than anything else. Itermerel, on the other hand, gave a great cry: "Watch this Khajiit!" and charged at the rat, flinging two fireballs into the hapless vermin.  He repeated this on a harmless wild Guar and a second rat. Was I supposed to be impressed? Despite his enthusiasm for pointless slaughter, he still insisted on walking behind me, which with his constant assertion of his admiration for the "Khajiit people" quickly became uncomfortable.

It was the first time I seriously considered taking Ranis's second option and telling her a Kagouti gored him. But I managed to not kill the babbling idiot and when we finally stood in front of the Halfway Tavern, he had the nerve to invite me to dinner. I thanked him, refused, and asked him for a copy of his notes. He provided a ready-made copy and asked if I knew any Khajiit traveling to Hammerfell within the next month or so. I had no words. As soon as he turned his back, I quickly uttered the incantation for my last Divine Intervention scroll and mercifully exited his company. What a creepy fellow.

Ranis received my notes gravely, asking me if the mage still lived. She seemed surprised that I had not killed him, leading me to believe his "interest" is common knowledge within the circles he travels. My work for the Balmora Mages Guild is done. I have killed countless bandits, at least a dozen Daedra of various kinds, and I can kill a man while invisible. Why then am I nothing more than Ranis's thug? It may be that other Guilds have tasks more suited to my abilities, but no more for me. I will take my own affairs into higher priority from now on.

My most pressing affair is the Propylon Index. Whatever I choose to do after acquiring it will be made much easier by having the ability to materialize into nearly every region of Vvardenfell and Folms had assured me I was nearly done with the Stones. Unfortunately, Rotheran lies south of Dagon Fel, which is only reachable via long boat trips originating from Khuul or Sadrith Mora. The other route would be to travel from Ald'Ruhn and walk either north past Maar Gan or east, skirting the Red Mountain and following the foyodas to the coast.

I chose the latter due to my not having explored much of the east and teleported from the Guild to Ald'Ruhn, which was predictably in the middle of another dust storm. I got decent directions from the locals and set out early in the afternoon. Being so close to the Red Mountain, I expected a Blight storm or maddened creatures charging at me, but I encountered no such storm and saw no signs of life while I was outside. The dust storm was still in full strength and I kept close to the hillsides, figuring that if I followed one long enough it would either lead away to the north or into a foyoda at some point. It was in this way that I found the tomb.

The tomb was easily identified by the ritual carvings on the weather-worn door and I stepped inside without a second thought, assuming that it would pose no more danger than the ones I visited in the Bitter Coast region. My stupid assumption seemed true, initially: the entrance was guarded by two skeletal creations lavishly equipped with silver longswords and iron shields, but were no more skilled than their poorer counterparts.

The first door I opened resulted in me being face-to-skull with a true monster: head hovering above the "body", four arms, and no legs. Whereas the skeletons were easy to understand as former people and the Daedra as creatures from the Outer Planes, this creature was simply the product of a deranged imagination, for nothing living could have had the body this thing had.

A true monstrosity

It was a powerful spellcaster, unfairly casting two spells at once using each pair of skeletal hands, and it moved very quickly. It continually sought to keep me in sight while maintaining its position out of meele range, but seemingly had no concept of a bow and arrows, which it made no attempt to dodge or shield itself from. Unfortunately, striking it with arrows meant being struck by its spells and the aggressive speed of the creature meant I could not temporarily disengage to cast an invisibility spell. Every time I ducked behind the door to avoid a spell, it advanced, until I dashed from behind the door into its bony arms, the skeletal claws raking against my armor.

In a panic, I dropped my spear and stabbed wildly at the floating skull portion with my sword, sparks of magicka erupting from the creature's body with each strike. Eventually I depleted the strength of its enchantment enough for it to collapse into a pile of bones and rotting cloth, but the attempt saw me greatly wounded and fatigued.

I kicked the remains into the room I had opened the door to and locked it behind me while I drank a few potions and collected my thoughts. The room itself was a small worship chamber with an ash pit and skeletal remains at the far end. No wealth was present. The hallway I had entered into continued further down and also had a ramp leading deeper into the tomb. I knew it was likely that I would find more of the monsters (I need a name for them) and I had to decide whether to retreat outside into the storm or continue my exploration.

Retreating was the wiser choice, but I had no safe haven to retreat to. Going back outside simply meant being stuck in the Ashlands during a storm as night fell. Not a great choice. There was no way I was going to spend the night locked in the room with an unknown number of hostile guardians roaming the tomb, so I really had only one option. Fully healed and refreshed, this time I made sure my protective enchantments were active before I opened the door and continued searching about. However, nothing else was present on the upper level of the tomb, so I continued down the ramp.

The silver arrows I had taken from the slavers at Hlormaren proved very useful against my new enemies. Given enough distance, I was able to shoot arrows which they would not dodge and avoid their slower spells. I "killed" one of the creatures by firing arrows down a hallway at the end of the ramp and lured two others from their assigned posts into the hallway where they met a similar end. For the strength of the guards I expected a great deal more wealth to be present, but the tomb was largely barren of treasure and I can only assume the potency of the tomb's protection is meant as a show of power rather than as something practical.

The tomb's largest room contained the only sign that anyone else had visited the place: a skeleton of a what was probably either a Nord or an Imperial was curled up at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Dunmer family's main ancestral pits. The remains were slightly perplexing: a steel full-helm and a wooden staff. Nothing else. I cannot imagine someone made it past the skeletal warriors and floating sentinels with only clothes, a steel helmet, and a wooden staff. 

But there was nothing of value past the stairs either. The tomb's only benefit to me was as temporary shelter while on my way to Dagon Fel and the next Propylon stone. I was surprised to find that it was pitch black outside when I exited the tomb and though the storm has died down, I have decided to rest in the tomb for a few hours inside the room closest to the exit. The door is magically locked and I have piled against the door what little furnishings the tomb has. I left too late in the day to make it to Dagon Fel before night, but I should have no problems tomorrow.

Day 41 - Slaver Fortress

25 Hearthfire
~~~

Another strange dream last night, this one slightly different than the others. The man with the golden mask was in it again, but this time was simply speaking to me, though I could not understand a word. His presence filled me with fear, but as usual I could not move at all. He only continued to talk and I had the impression he was smiling beneath the mask, but my fear gave way to suspicion and I was suddenly wary of his nonsensical words. Then I woke up. The dreams feel like they are growing worse, but I cannot pinpoint what about them makes it feel this way.

Ranis stopped me on my way out to ask me to have a word with an Argonian who has been making coin by providing training in casting from the Restoration school at the South Wall Cornerclub. Surprisingly, Ranis had no idea what this Argonian's name was, only that I was to convince him to stop his illegal service. I told her I would look into when I had the time, which did not happen to be today. It sounds simple, but I am a bit uneasy about becoming Ranis's personal enforcer.

Today's task seemed simple too: Go to fortress near Balmora, search through a pile of weak scrolls and useless sundries, find Propylon Stone, return to Caldera, done. But of course it was not anywhere near that simple.

The walk from Balmora to Hlormaren was predictably wet, dismal, and punctuated by attacks from Nix-Hounds and Kagouti, neither of which pose a threat to me any longer. I do remember the day I almost died to the Nix-Hounds outside of Ald'Ruhn while looking for that woman's missing husband...it seems a lifetime ago, though just coming up on only two months.

Hlormaren was built very similarly to other fortresses, all of which do not seem to have a great variance in construction technique or style, but do all serve as a very imposing monument to the now-deceased Dunmer nation. Like most of the others, there was no sign anyone was inhabiting the ruin, though this has never actually been the case. In fact, I nearly met my end while halfway through the front entrance.

I guess I have been becoming a little arrogant about my victories as of late and I think it is completely reasonable, given what I have done. How many Khajiit can say she has killed a Golden Saint and be telling the truth? I would wager not many. But pride does typically go before the fall and it was a large amount of luck which prevented my fall from becoming permanent.

However it was that they knew I was coming, the guards at the inside of the entrance were ready for me. I had just started to step across the door's threshold when I was attacked by a Bosmer armed with a light shield and short sword. I met her with my own shield and sword and parried her initial blow. I was just about to strike when a massive hammer swung out from the corner of my vision and smashed into my chest, throwing me back through the door and onto the hard stone of the fortress exterior. I remember feeling outraged and surprised instead of afraid, but the blow had been exceptionally strong and breathing was a struggle.

Had the slavers (as I later learned they were) had any sort of discipline I would not be writing this journal entry. Instead of killing me while I remained helpless, the Bosmer and my assailant, an Orc, started arguing! I remember their conversation with an absurd amount of clarity: the Bosmer arguing that the Orc's surprise attack nearly took off her arm and the Orc sneering about what a loss that would have been and bragging about the distance I flew, which he naturally exaggerated. This gave me enough time to drink an Invisibility potion and crawl to the side of the Propylon chamber building. Their arguing and the potion's effect ceased at about the same time, but I was out of sight behind the far side of the chamber building when they turned their attention towards me.

I can only imagine their surprise if they thought me already dead and I expected that they would retreat inside the fortress and close the door. I would have, it's the only way in! Instead, they fanned out, the Bosmer circling about in one direction and the Orc, large even among his kind, hefted the massive hammer and stalked off in the opposite direction, towards the Propylon chamber I was hiding behind. I drank a health restoration potion and followed it with my last invisibility one. For whatever reason, the Orc fought vainly, which is to say he had no shirt on and little armor anywhere else. In melee this would count for less than most people think, but I had a bow, which his lack of armor could be made to count for a lot.

Still, he was an Orc, which meant the two arrows that smacked into his chest only seemed to get him angrier. His warcry was in a language I did not recognize, but it did serve to get the attention of his Bosmer companion, who started running in my direction, but the Orc was the more pressing matter. I was not foolish enough to pit myself against him and his hammer, but he was running at me quite quickly and I could not get a third arrow loosed. What I could do was drop my bow and recite the incantation to a scroll promising to summon a (weak) Flame Atrnoach. I cannot remember where or when I found the thing, but it has been in my pack for as long as I could remember and getting rid of it in a useful way seemed a fitting end.

The Orc's end was admittedly fitting, but also more brutal than I personally give to my opponents. The summoning was quick and he had no chance to halt his charge before the Atronach flung a fireball at him. Stripped to the waist as he was, the fireball's damage was grievous and he stumbled into the Atronach, whose flaming body did him no visible harm. Interesting point. The Atronach was not nearly as curious and began pummeling the Orc's body as he struggled to rise. I turned my attention to the Bosmer who was wavering with indecision as to whether to assist the quarrelsome Orc or attack me instead. I made that choice an easy one and attacked her, trusting the Atronach to keep the Orc busy.

She quickly fled back into the fort and the Orc had managed to ward off the Atronach's blows well enough to flee as well. Naturally, the Atronach's magic was spent just at that moment and it was whisked away back from whence it came, leaving the two slavers to myself again. The Orc's injuries looked severe, but he was moving well enough and I do not know why they failed to press the advantage they gained when the Atronach disappeared. Perhaps they were seeking to summon help from further within the fortress or thought I would retreat as well. They did not make it very far.

The slavers were well-armed and many, but like the rebels in the other fortress they lacked cohesion. I was able to stalk the corridors and kill them one by one, or rarely, in pairs. Many of them were armed with Glass daggers enchanted with a paralysis strike and I thought it odd until I realized the utility this would have for slavers.

The slaves were held in a room on the underground level and guarded by a scarred Nord wielding a very simple club, contrary to the generally decent weaponry wielded by his comrades. The key I took from his body unlocked the four prison cells and the slaves' shackles, of which there were seven trapped in three bare stone cells, three of them Khajiit and the rest Argonian. They individually told me the same story: they were aspiring merchants who managed to pool their money together for a small ship and goods and set out towards possibly the worst island to sail near: Vvardenfell. They wrecked their ship on a barren stretch of coast in the southeast and were ambushed by the slavers while trying to reach Suran. None of them were warriors of any skill and surrendered expecting to be robbed only of goods. But they were shackled enmasse and smuggled along the coast to Hla Oad before being incarcerated at Hlormaren. Collecting them in the main room, I surprised them by inviting each of them to strip the bodies and fortress of wealth before they traveled to Balmora.

They were very grateful, but insisted that they could not leave without two other Khajiit that had been taken to the roof and asked if I could free them as well. I had to go to the roof for the Stone anyway, so I agreed. They informed me that the door on the far side of the room led to the sewers, making this the first Dunmer fortress I have been in that had such a consideration. I had no desire to see it for myself and asked them to wait until I came back from the roof, which they agreed to do.

There were only two individuals on the roof: an archer and a mage, the latter whose equipment seemed to identify her as the slavers' leader. The archer was well-armed like the rest, but seemed ill at ease with his steel-backed bow and failed to hit me with any of the silver arrows he carelessly let fly in my direction. He decided to draw his sword too late as I approached him and he found he had not quite enough room to swing his longsword as I stabbed at him with my shorter, more nimble sword. The archer actually had two swords on him, both silver longswords. Those, plus the silver arrows, support my theory that their equipment was mostly loot they were not practiced with using.

The only foe other than the Orc that gave me any trouble was the mage, leader of the slavers and possessor of the Propylon Stone I had come to fetch. She had been on the far side of the roof when I was fighting the archer, but had failed to see me. Unfortunately my invisibility spell would not last long enough to approach her without being noticed too early; my only option was to try to weaken her as much as possible at a distance before closing in.

The arrow I flung in front of her face certainly got her attention and she spun around, waving her arms and running towards me. I thought she had mistaken me for one of her slavers at first, but the bonewalker that materialized in front of her made that assumption unlikely and made my plan to hit her with arrows suddenly not feasible.

She must have been a powerful mage, for the creature was stronger than the Bonewalkers I had run into in Vivec and each of its strikes made me feel like I needed a nap. But concentrating on the Bonewalker would leave the more dangerous mage available to concentrate on her spells, so I endured its attacks and kept my attention focused on the mage. She was a difficult opponent, in no small part due to the surprise of finding she was wearing heavy Ebony armor underneath her robe, which I reduced to tatters in my attempts to get past the cuirass.

In a move that puzzles me as I recollect it now, she sprang away from me and ran for the dome on the roof of the fortress and I used that opportunity to send the Bonewalker back to where ever the things come from. Free from combat for the moment, I quickly drank a restorative potion for health and magicka and cast my Invisibility spell as I crept towards the dome. My hunch proved correct: she burst out of the dome, shouting and waving a cumbersome-looking Dwemer spear and stopped short when she failed to see me or the expected Bonewalker.

Powerful mage or no, an experienced warrior would not have stood there peering around for an enemy she could not see. The sudden gushing of blood from the slash into the side of her neck was the only indication that I had been behind her, but the nameless slaver's paralysis-enchanted dagger did its job faithfully and she died unable to move or make a noise. Fitting.

What I mistook for a spear was another of the Dwemer people's strange concept as to what a halberd should look like and the weapon was of no utility to me. I left it near her body and remembering that the remaining two slaves were inside, knocked on the door, still ready to skewer anything that might leap out of course. I heard shuffling and whispering behind the door and after a few moments a young female Khajiit opened the door hesitantly  Seeing me, she yelp and fled back into the dome and I pushed my way past the half-closed door to find myself facing a very brave and very foolish male Khajiit brandishing a wooden stool.

I laughed harder than I have in a long, long time. The scene was just so ridiculous. There I was: splattered with the blood of a dozen foes, wielding weapons and wearing armor superior to that of many in the Imperial Legion and my final opponent was a half-dressed Khajiit wielding a piece of furniture. Nothing I said would convince them I was a friend until I invited them to walk outside and witness the remains of their former master, after which they became a great deal less hostile, especially once they learned their friends were waiting down below.

The female was Dahnara and the male S'Vandra, siblings and traders who had supplied the caravan, and indirectly the slavers, with most of the better weaponry and armor I had encountered. They were greatly cheered by my offer to reclaim their wares from the former owners, having thought themselves destitute after I freed them. They were able to readily point out the Propylon Stone from one of the shelves and Dahnara went as far as to fetch it, shyly handing me the hunk of rock with her thanks. I let them know I intended to stay in the dome for the night and they left to join the others in the fortress.

Ever cautious, I closed the door behind them, dragged several chests in front of it, then locked it magically. I have no doubt that even a concentrated effort on their part would only see them all dead, but I have no desire to see such an outcome. I will spend the night alone in the Dome and they will probably spend the night looting the fortress, which they are all welcome to. Money has not a lot of meaning when you are stuck on Vvardenfell.