Skyrim Day 044 - No Arrows In My Back

28 Heartfire, 4E201

Riften

~~~

Another day in passing and I am still at Riften, slowly drowning in the particular corrupt drive towards profit that seems to keep the Hold in one piece.

Everything started to go wrong as soon as I woke this morning. Surprisingly all of my goods were still in my pack and no one seemed to have attempted to open my door, but as soon as I descended the ladder into the common room I was approached by a man calling himself 'Louis Letrush' who, sparing any pleasantries, asked if I was interested in earning some coin.

I was and I should have known better than to tell anyone in Riften that. But I did and was in turn told a tale of a man's noble quest to breed the finest horses in Skyrim...by "acquiring" one owned by the powerful Black-Briar family. One of the family, a son of the family unfortunately named 'Sibbi', agreed to sell Louis the horse, Frost, when Louis began to shop around and he paid Sibbi half the cost with the understanding the second half would arrive as the horse did.

But the Black-Briar matriarch, Maven, had Sibbi arrested, possibly due to the horse deal or some other matter entirely. Sibbi let Louis know that his arrest exempted him from completing their transaction and pocketed Louis's pre-delivery payment. Understandably upset by this, Louis asked me to speak to Sibbi and convince him, in whatever way I needed to, that their deal was to be completed to Louis's satisfaction.

This seemed simple, which should have been warning enough to leave it alone. But I agreed to speak with Sibbi and left my promises at that. Over breakfast I spoke with the male Argonian, Talen-Jei, and we got to talking about our mutual arrival at Riften. His story was a familiar one: he had been traveling the provinces trying to find a place to settle down and his wandering eventually brought him to Riften. Keerava owned the Inn then and he immediately became smitten with her, privately vowing to not leave the decrepit city without her.

Noble as that was, it did not translate into earnings enough to pay for a traditional Black Marsh wedding band. He explained the meaning of the band, but I do not remember much of it other than that it involved three amethysts, not a commonly seen item in Riften, largely due to someone selling or stealing it as soon as it was spotted. I, however, had three of the gemstones courtesy of the Dwemer constructs I pried them out of and offered them freely, having little use for more coin.

Talen-Jei was clearly taken aback by a sudden act of generosity erupting within Riften's walls and pocketed them quickly, wisely nervous about anyone else witnessing our trade. He told me to wait for a moment, disappeared into a room behind the counter, and reappeared with a vial which he said contained a powerful healing draught. He had been saving it for an emergency, but felt that my lifestyle would likely make more use out of it. I thanked him and left.

A second Black-Briar interrupted my walk from the Inn to the jail, this time a woman, Ingun, stopped to ask if I was interested, once again, in earning some coin. She gushed about how obsessed she was with alchemy and its the ability to snuff out a person's life with a simple ingredient. She certainly came off as a bit unhinged, but offered good money for nirnroot, nightshade, and deathbell, so I agree to supply her with any should I come across the plants in my travels.

Even the smith of Riften had goods he needed, this time a Fire Atronach's salts to make his forge burn hotter. It would appear that the cities reputation inhibits deliveries of many items, for nearly everyone I spoke to was lacking something they were willing to pay for. Fire salts are something I am likely to find, so I agreed to his request as well.

The Jarl, Laila Law-Giver, is a most politely described as "distracted" and more accurately as a complete buffoon. I only spent a few minutes inside her Hall, but it was enough for me to see that she has no idea where the power lies in Riften: during my short stay I watched her steward override three of her decisions, with nary an objection.

During our very short conversation she asked after a task she had sent to the College about eliminating a nearby rogue mage that has been terrorizing travelers along the west road. I promised to look into the matter, but it is doubtful she will remember the job needed doing if I return after having done it.

My next stop was Riften's jail. The guard at the entrance did not care if I entered or not, stating that just arriving at all meant I was there on important business. The logic of this statement escaped me, but he unlocked the door, so I agreed with him and visited Sibbi Black-Briar.

His cell was luxuriously outfitted as befitting his family's influence and wealth. His imprisonment was clearly not the punishment it seemed to be and I wondered what the true purpose behind his relocation was. Whatever the reason, Sibbi was not bothered by it and was treating his imprisonment as a vacation of sorts, making demands of the guards and generally getting his way. He cockily admitted to his part in Louis's plan. He breezily washed his hands of the matter, handing me a key to his family's estate east of Riften while telling me to get the horse myself if Louis wanted it so badly. What a strange family.

I could have gone west to take care of the Jarl's magicka bandit, but I found myself leaving Riften via the east gate towards the Black-Briar estate. Stealing horses is never something I reduced myself to in the past, but I admit I felt a little thrill at the thought of taking something from the most powerful family in the city. Perhaps there really is a thief inside of every Khajiit. My plan was a simple one: pretend to be delivering jewelry to the estate to gain entrance, swipe the ownership papers of 'Frost', then leave via the horse's back. Unfortunately it did not work out quite that way.

Sibbi had warned me of the mercenaries guarding the house, but I thought I would be able to bluff my way past them. Instead I found myself immediately assaulted, the mercenaries evidently having been told to kill anyone who approached who was not with a Black-Briar family member. The Redguard who intercepted me on the grounds was little more than a bandit though and I had little trouble with her. I decided to avoid anyone else I found inside.

This was a far easier task than it should have been, for all the mercenaries in the house were completely drunk. I had no trouble remaining unseen and found the ownership deed for Frost in an upstairs bedroom. With that in hand I had only to lead the horse to Louis and I would be done. I sneaked back out of the home and Frost gave me no objection when I mounted up. I heard a shout behind me as I rode off, but whomever it was was quickly left behind.

The jostling almost immediately became unbearable painful and I was relieved to reach Louis without any delay. For my crime I received over a thousand Septims, more than enough to bribe my way out of anything else. Sibbi will probably keep his mouth shut to avoid crossing his mother any further and a Khajiit looks like any other one while she is riding away on a horse.

That was enough for one day and I returned to the Bee and Barb, paying another ten Septims for my room again tonight. Tomorrow I will visit this bandit-mage, then hopefully be done with Riften entirely.

Oblivion Day 44 - The Defense of Bruma

11 Frost Fall, 3E433

Cloud Ruler Temple

~~~

What a day. As usual, it began with a long ride in the early morning rain. It seems that whenever I am outside, it rains. I step into a building for a moment and perhaps it momentarily stops raining. Who knows? To say the Gods seem to have it out for me lately would not seem an exaggeration.

With the Great Welkynd stone humming at the bottom of my pack, I left Skingrad and rode through the morning (and the rain) to Bruma.

I arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple just as the Blades were finishing their lunches and walked into the Great Hall expecting to see Martin poring over his books. Instead I found Jauffre, Baurus, and Martin in full armor arguing among themselves, with Jauffre and Baurus seemingly against Martin, which I thought unusual.

Martin correctly  assumed my arrival meant the acquisition of the Great Welkynd stone and he spent a moment marveling at the beauty of the massive chunk of crystal. Having the blood of the Divine and the Great Welkynd stone meant we were only one item away from being able to venture into Paradise and reclaim the Amulet of Kings. Acquiring this final item was the topic of the three men's argument.

The final item was the Great Welkynd stone's dark counterpart: a Great Sigil Stone from Oblivion. Martin stated that his plan was to let the cultists open up a Great Gate, the same as the one which destroyed Kvatch, outside of Bruma. Only the Oblivion realm entered into through a Great Gate would contain a Great Sigil Stone. There was a catch of course. Two smaller "normal" Gates would have to remain open before the Great Gate would be summoned and the garrison of Bruma could expect waves of Daedra to pour out of them in support of the Daedric siege engine that would eventually emerge from the Great Gate to destroy the city.

He proudly announced his intention to lead the garrison I had collected to the Gates once they opened and disregarded my objection that the death of the only heir to the throne would doom the world. To him, being the future Emperor somehow meant leading from the front, even if his loss meant the inevitable deaths of millions across Tamriel. This from someone who was a priest just over a month ago. I, for one, had concerns about this plan.

There was one hole in the plan that I felt he was making sure not to mention: how were we to know when the Mythic Dawn would try to open the Great Gate? They certainly never published their intentions ahead of time and I have never caught anyone in the act of opening one. There was no way to know when the Great Gate would appear outside of Bruma, but Martin spoke as if it was scheduled with him ahead of time. He even went so far as to conclude our conversation by asking me to talk with the Countess of Bruma and have her meet him in the Chapel for a council of war. He was prepared to go to war with an unpredictable foe who we were depending on being utterly predictable. It seemed I had no choice in the matter, so I agreed to go and the argument that had been raging on before my arrival restarted as I left the Great Hall.

Countess Narina was the opposite picture of Martin's wild optimism. She listened to my request then commented that I was the first person to speak of victory during this crisis before going on to say that they had been unable to do anything but wait for a hero arise and save them. I had to bite my tongue to prevent several suggestions from escaping. Rather insultingly the Countess declared that Martin may very well be the hero she had been waiting for, not knowing the man, brave though he may be, has not yet done a whole lot other than study his books and send me out after artifacts.

But she agreed to meet Martin in the Chapel and ordered her guards to stop closing the Gates...not that there was any evidence they had been closing any.

The "council of war" in the Chapel was more of an introduction between Martin and Countess Narina. The Countess did refer to me as Martin's "champion", which I gather will be the only praise I shall receive for my role during this entire catastrophe. Contrary to what I expected, there was no planning and there was no strategy. There was simply Martin confidently leaving the Chapel with the Countess's blessing, the bolstered garrison of Bruma following behind.

We walked out of the city via the east gate and followed Martin down the road. I was jogging alongside him and he turned to me and talked to me about his early days in the Mages Guild. He admitted that he and his fellow guildmates had grown impatient with the Guild's rate of education and they dabbled with Daedric magic. Eventually they reached too far and their experiments resulted in peoples' deaths, his friends' among them. I wondered why he was telling me this, but then we came to a depression alongside the walls of Bruma and much to my surprise there was an open Gate there...and a horse.

We quickly lined up before the Gate and Martin delivered a small speech to the nervous guards. I do not recall much of it, my mind was busy processing Martin's story with the coincidence of a Gate having been waiting just where Martin had been leading us. And the horse waiting there placidly was obviously well-trained and used to such a sight to not have fled. Any further thoughts I had on this subject were cut short by the horde of Daedra that started to pour out of the Gate.

Gone were the Scamps and Clannfear I was used to fighting. Heavily-armed Dremora rushed the line, followed by hulking Daedroth. Martin ordered me to wait on the ridge behind us and rush the Great Gate as soon as it appeared. I did not have to wait long. After the first wave of Daedra were defeated the second Gate opened up and both discharged more Daedra which were fought off with losses.

Then the Great Gate appeared, silently rising up from the earth between the smaller Gates. As soon as its blood-red light blazed forth I rushed through the fray and into the Gate. What awaited me was unlike any plane of Oblivion I have visited. The Great Gate sent me to a much smaller place, the bulk of which was occupied by the creeping Daedric siege engine and the Daedric bulwarks flanking it.

My experience in Oblivion this time does not owe itself to much mention. I had to assault a small tower to gain access to the bulwarks, then run along it while being peppered with arrows from Dremora archers stationed atop the towers. After fighting through another tower I had to leap across a broken bridge only to face two more towers between which sat a large tower, undoubtedly where the Great Sigil Stone would be found. I was fortunate to find an Elven long blade in the second of the smaller towers along the bulwark, greatly improving my reach over the short blade I have been using.

The small tower across the bridge had a lever which opened the massive doors separating me from the Sigil tower, but only a single Dremora was guarding it, my long blade making the battle an almost effortless one.

The Sigil tower was no different than any of the dozens I have already faced, though the stone, befitting its name, was larger than the ones I have been finding.

As soon as I yanked it from above its pedestal the Plane started to collapse as it always did and with a bright flash of light I suddenly found myself back on the battlefield of Bruma.

The battle which had been going well when I entered the Great Gate had evidently taken a turn for the very worst. The dead of both sides littered the area and as my eyes adjusted to normal light I saw that only Martin and a guardsman were the only ones left alive, both fighting a losing battle against a Dremora. I rushed to their aid and delivered a blow to the Dremora's unprotected back, killing it instantly.

Martin thanked me for my timely arrival and did not seem to know what to say after that. Nor did I. The Daedric siege engine had made it partially out of the Gate, but my arrival put a halt to its progress. It lay before Bruma in pieces, likely never to be moved again.

Jauffre and Baurus had both fallen while I was battling my way towards the Great Sigil Stone, as did all of the guards save for one 'Ulrich Leland' who introduced himself to me just in order to say he was finished with this whole business. Understandable, I suppose.

After dealing with him I returned to Martin and he asked that I follow him to Cloud Ruler Temple to complete the ritual required to open the Gate to Mankar Camoran's realm of Paradise. He suggested that I rest first, as my return from Paradise may not be a simple matter. He looked around the battlefield, sighed, and collected the blades of Jauffre and Baurus before turning around and trudging back to the Temple, the lone horse having fled some time ago.

I will never mention it to anyone, nor shall I ever ask him about it, but I do believe that Martin opened the Gates somehow. No other explanation is possible for the timing that he was confident of meeting and then successfully met. Our small force was led out to do battle before we should have known there was a battle to be fought, but Martin knew exactly where to go and when. As he admitted to me during our short march he and his friends had experimented with Daedric magicka long ago and I do not believe anyone has studied it as much as he has since arriving at the Temple.

What guilt does he feel for the losses we have suffered here tonight? What was won here tonight has possibly saved the province, maybe even the Empire, from suffering the fate of Kvatch. But our victory was hard-won and it was only luck that had me emerge from Oblivion just in time to save Martin and Ulrich from the Dremora. 

I cannot even consider myself fortunate for having survived, for who but myself knows that the blessing and curse of Dagoth Ur still courses through my veins? Any blow that felled a guardsman I could have born without much harm, but I was tasked with closing the Great Gate, not fighting Daedra. Had Martin fallen, what would I have done? Suffered my immortality as Mehrunes Dagon twisted the world into a bleak, lifeless landscape around me? I do not often reflect upon my curse, but tonight I have spared myself a terrible fate.

It is just past midnight. I am going to rest in my home here in Bruma and enter the realm of Paradise tomorrow, which I expect will be anything but that. I am eager to have all this over with.

Morrowind 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.