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.

Morrowind 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.

Morrowind 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.

Morrowind 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.

Morrowind Day 40 - Paranoia of the Telvanni

24 Hearthfire
~~~

The remaining accommodation available to me at the Gateway Inn when I stumbled in last night might have been someone's nap-time hideaway: just a cot, a small table, and a flimsy privacy screen, all of which set me back ten Septims. Situated right above the bar, I was guaranteed a lullaby of harsh noises and harsher voices, but I have certainly slept in worse places. Hospitality is not to be expected from the Telvanni and generally not to be found within their towns. I would have been better off spending the night at the nearby Imperial fort.

I purchased "Hospitality Papers" from a Telvanni as I was leaving the inn. While it sounded like a scam, I know that there are papers that the Telvanni require foreigners to acquire before they will do business with you, so for twenty-five Septims I took the chance that the Dunmer selling them was genuine.

There was no chance to test them out though; the dawn was just rising as I left the inn and the shops were still closed. The Imperial fort was a polite distance away from town, but I saw no one outside, not even a Telvanni guard. When I arrived at the fort, Wolverine Hall, I asked for directions to the Mages Guild and was pointed towards a tower along the curtain wall. One would assume that meant the Mages Guild is in the tower, simple enough. But no, the Imperial Chapel was in the tower and the Fighters Guild was under the tower. The Mages Guild was under a different tower only reachable by going through the first tower, then along the inside of the wall, then up the spiral stairs to the second, formerly unreachable tower.

I doubt it is to keep out Telvanni sightseers.

The enchanter there, Dabrenne Mornardl, was interested in buying a few of the more mundane pieces of equipment I had taken from the Dunmer fortress, so I exchanged a minor ring and staff for some Septims and teleported back to the friendly faces at Balmora to sell some things. I think I heard Ajira ask what I had to sell her before the teleportation spell fully popped me into existence, but that could just be my imagination. I did sell her three vials of Skooma and the rest of my enchanted finds to Galbedir, further weighing myself down with coin.

A trip to the Caldera guild was also called for to deliver the Propylon stone to Folms. As always, he paid me five hundred Septims for the stone and sent me off in search of another, this one for the haunted fort of Berandas, where I nearly died to the two feminine Daedra. The stone was held by a mage living near Gnisis, so I guessed the retrieval would be fairly easy. After all, you cannot have monsters running around your home if you are in town, right? Wrong again...

The quickest way to Gnisis is found by teleporting to Ald'Ruhn, then taking the Silt Strider to the town. I did not tarry in Ald'Ruhn or its Guild (not much there really!) and wound up in Gnisis at about one in the afternoon, according to a helpful Gnisis guard.

The "tower" shares the same squat architecture as a lot of Vvardenfell's architecture, but I know enough now to expect several of the levels to be below ground. The people of Gnisis could not give me much information on the building or the inhabitant, other than to say the mage had lost a lot of his retainers in the previous years. According to one towns-person, the apprentices and servants simply left and no one knows why. Perhaps the mage was formerly Telvanni and renounced the House? That's the only theory I have, but the Telvanni do not seem the type to let a former Telvanni live out his days peacefully.

Knocking on the door failed the attention of anyone inside, so I let myself in. The tower was very quiet and the bedrooms on the initial level, which I took for servant quarters, were deserted and had not been occupied for quite some time. There was a jail cell on a lower level, but this too was empty and unused. One of the bedrooms had a single inhabitant, but it was a large rat, which I left alone.

The tower was built along the lines of a single, large ramp that the entryway deposits you into the middle of. Following the ramp lower brings you to the jail cell and following it higher would lead me to the mage, if he was in the tower at all. The ramp ended at an ornate door very similar to the ones I saw in the burial tombs. Always one to be cautious, I removed my helmet and held my ear against the door. The thick construction served to prevent noise from coming through, but listening at the hinge probably saved my life. At the time, I could not tell what was making the noise, but there was a growl-like noise behind the door, as well as the sound of something walking about. I guessed correctly  that it was not the mage, but after using my defensive magics and opening the door, I found I was still unprepared.

The noise was a Daedroth, dutifully guarding the entrance into the mage's quarters. If the creature had been walking about, I would have had a better chance. If it had been not directly facing the door when I opened it, I would certainly have had a better chance. As it was, I opened the door to find myself about ten feet away from a very alert, and suddenly entertained, Daedroth.

Whichever of the Nine Divines was watching over me has my thanks. I cannot recollect why I thought it would be a good idea against a Daedra, but I used my Silence spell against the Daedroth, though I now realize the chance of it working was very slim. I must have been very lucky, for the spell did hold and the Daedroth was temporarily unable to shape its magicka against me. This probably saved me a fireball to the face. After realizing what happened, the Daedroth charged through the door, jaw and claws reaching for me and still a very dangerous opponent.

But the Daedroth are the thugs of the Daedra world: some brain, but mostly brawn. They are very strong physically and capable spellcasters, but they do not seem to go much for strategy. My silence spell only lasts for a few seconds, but the Daedroth never abandoned its attempt to claw my throat out, even though its spells would have been accessible early into the fight and far more effective. As it was, I certainly have experience in meele with larger, stronger opponents and I hampered its freedom of movement by keeping the creature pinned in the doorway. Constricted, the Daedroth's lack of mobility coupled with its long arms spelled out a quick end.

The room it was guarding was mostly empty with a ramp on the far side leading further upwards. I started to hear an odd clanking noise as I crept across the room and a Dwemer construct swept down the ramp, balancing its on a large sphere that served as its lower body. Turning towards me, it pointed an arm that ended in some kind of crossbow at me and started firing heavy (and valuable!) Dwemer bolts.

The construct was powerful, but slow and while I certainly could not dodge the crossbow bolts, it was easy to dodge its aiming mechanism and I used the thing for my own target practice, though the arrows seemed to bounce off of it. I finally closed the distance and disabled it with my spear. In numbers this thing must have been quite a foe, but on its own, not much.

Its defeat left the path to the Telvanni wizard bare and I was expecting quite a fight...and again was surprised. He was more annoyed that I had killed off the Daedroth he summoned and the construct he bought in an effort to keep the people of Gnisis from realizing the tower was occupied only by him. He feared that they would chase him out and reclaim the property after they discovered all his retainers had left, though he would not say why they did.

I informed him that the town was well aware he was the only occupant of the tower but feared him too much to make any move towards evicting him and hearing that his name still inspired fear in the locals cheered him greatly. A true Telvanni...I guess.

Having stabilized his view of the future, he was generous towards my request for the Propylon stone, inviting me to take it if I could find it among the shelves of his laboratory. A few minutes of searching found it wedged between bottles of imported brandy, most of them uncorked and in various levels of fill. Ever polite to powerful mages, I bade him thanks and goodbye and received a grunt and nod in response as I walked down the ramp and eventually back to the Gnisis caravaner to hire a ride back to Ald'Ruhn.

The strider lumbered into Ald'Ruhn late into the evening and I paid the guild guide for teleportation to Caldera, where Folms was, as usual, loitering about. Am I the only one in the guild that does actual work? Whatever occupies his time, he had the money and location of the next stone ready for me. He has now tasked me with locating the Andasreth Index, which he has heard is in the possession of a Dunmer bandit taking refuge at the coastal Dunmer fortress Hlormaren, west of Balmora. 

That the fortress lies close to Balmora is certainly good news and hopefully something I can take care of quickly. I do hope that Folms is running out of stones for me to fetch.

Morrowind Day 39 - The Madman of Tel Fyr

23 Hearthfire
~~~

I had another dream last night, this one containing the same Dunmer with the golden mask. Rather than showing me to a party, he stated that he had delivered me from my 'enemies' and suddenly I saw my own body on a stone slab, as if I had died, surrounded by marble and expensive furnishings. In the dream, I (or someone) touched my body and I seemed to wake and start to rise off the stone. But then the room we were in disappeared and a white light blinded me...then I woke up.

It was not as disturbing as the first dream, but I still could not fall back asleep. I left the Mages Guild just after midnight this morning and ate a quick breakfast at the Eight Plates, which never seems to close. Rather than accept another job from Ranis, I decided to make the journey to the Telvanni tower of Tel Fyr to steal the Propylon Stone, hopefully avoiding the wizard residing within. As always, Morrowind took my expectations and laughed at them.

If the dream was not bad enough, I ran into another sleep-walking acolyte of the Sixth House outside the Eight Plates. This one was pushier than most, demanding that I serve Dagoth Ur and claiming that the Sixth House has risen again, bringing Dagoth Ur his glory. While he was raving and shouting at about two in the morning, he made no physical threats against me, so I left him alone. What the guards wound up doing with him to quiet him down is their own business.

I managed a pretty good pace initially, reaching Lake Nabia (again!) after an hour or so of walking, but a Blight storm started to redden the sky and I was engulfed in choking dust and screaming wind coincidentally near Punabi. I doubt I would have been welcome either there or at Sulipund and I walked past them, still peering into the red haze for shelter. Lava pools started to appear as I headed further east and I kept them in sight to use as navigational aids. It is in this way that I found the unnamed Dwemer fortress.

The ruined Dwemer fortress was built into the the hillside adjacent to a giant telescope as they commonly are and I saw no signs of habitation outside. But experience taught me well enough to know that this was no indication of what I would find inside and I used one of my weaker enchanted rings to summon a barrier around me to deflect and soften blows.

My precaution paid off. I was attacked by an Imperial woman as soon as I slipped through the heavy iron doors and she got in several good slashes with her sword against my bare arms before I  could bring my own weapon to bear. Immediately I recognized that something about the woman was a little 'off' and the unique grating sound of her voice identified her as a vampire, though evidently a young one. The battle was a short one: She fought with her back to an open pit in the entrance chamber and I drove her into it, thinking it a refuse pit that I could use to collect myself for a few moments. She fell into it with a snarl and I readied myself, prepared to attack her when she climbed out. But she never did.

Distracted by the immediacy of combat, I had not really looked at the room I was in. It was only then that I realized that what I took for a refuse pit was...probably a refuse pit at some point, but more importantly was where Dwemer architects had exposed a pit of lava maybe eight feet below the giant grate that I mistook for a solid floor. The heat and stink of the molten rock crept into my senses as the rush of combat wore off and I carefully skirted the opening as I moved deeper into the ruins.

A second Imperial vampire, this one a male, charged at me from the end of a hallway and I had no time to draw my bow before we became engaged, but his chitin armor was little use against my spear. I suppose the poor quality of his armor might mark him as a young Vampire, but he proved less of an opponent than his unfortunate comrade at the entrance.

The most distasteful thing to encounter when fighting vampires are the slaves whom they keep to feed on. The ones here were mostly Khajiit and had enough of their senses so that I was able to converse lightly with them, though they spoke of events that I think occurred before their enslavement and had little understanding of their current predicament. All of the slaves I talked to declared themselves 'cattle' of the 'Berne Clan' and nothing else. Their minds were just as dulled as the ones in the other den, just in a different way. I left them alone as I proceeded further, angry at seeing so many Khajiit like that.

Two Vampires were guarding a room they were using as a sort of vault, shelves and chests full of equipment stacked against all four walls. I never will make the mistake of assuming Vampires are stupid, but the younger ones seem afflicted with a blinding aggression and I was able to lure both of them into a doorway, where they divided their attention between killing me and continually jostling past one another in an effort to kill me. The second Vampire nearly tripped over the corpse after I slew the first one and she joined her crumpled friend in the doorway.

The vault was a massive collection of equipment, most of it mundane, but some quite valuable. A pair of Daedric armored boots were precariously set on shelf alongside a Dreugh cuirass, but the rest were steel or leather armors and not particularly useful. As usual, I could not actually carry the boots with me, but I am beginning to take pride in not taking such things: my skills are well enough that my silver spear and sword are more than adequate.

 The huge Dwemer chests held more armor and weapons, most of which could have been purchased at any shop, but again there were a few valuable pieces: armored boots of volcanic Glass, a few Dwemer weapons, and the most valuable (to me): four throwing stars of Ebony crystal, sharper than any steel weapon and each more valuable than an entire suit of steel armor. I took them not to use, but to hopefully display alongside the two Daedric arrows once I find a secure home.

The room beyond the vault contained an older Vampire, either unaware or uncaring of the combat in the previous room. I say she was older because she seemed more capable, casting several Conjuration spells, one of which placed a Daedric Cuirass upon her. She summoned several hostile spirits that were similar to the few I had encountered the the Dunmer burial tombs, but kept use of her steel short sword. I ignored the ghosts and concentrated on the unarmored parts of her body. Her style was rough and unpracticed, more accustomed to spells than sword. Interestingly, the summoned Daedric Cuirass remained on her body even after death, though her ghosts had obediently disappeared. Whatever energy was sustaining its existence also maintained its position and could not be removed from the body, no matter what I tried.

The Vampires had only inhabited the rooms closest to the entrance, for when I entered the lower level I found no Vampires, but I still was not alone. Garrisoned on the lower level were several giant Dwemer constructions, each far larger than any race and all armed with weaponry somehow fused into their arms. Constructed entirely of Dwemer metal, they were incredibly tough to destroy, but not very dangerous. The many years of neglect appears to have taken their toll and I imagine in their prime they were far quicker, quiet, and more dangerous compared to the squeaking and squealing of their cumbersome metal limbs today. Their blows were delivered slowly with great strength, but they lacked the cunning of a thinking enemy and their attacks were easily predicted and dodged. If they were effective at one aspect of combat it was in damaging my spear and sword during my attempts to damage them. Attacking their joints seem to have the best effect.

The room with the giant telescope contained the last Vampire, this one larger and stronger than the others. He had his back turned to me when I entered the room, evidently poring over a book he had laid out on the table. I made no noise that I could hear, but he suddenly spun around and ran at me, maybe hoping to dash me to the ground before I could react.

For whatever reason, my first reaction was to cast my Blindness spell, despite it never having worked well previously. To my amazement, I not only cast it successfully, but it struck the Vampire and blinded him momentarily. I positioned myself to receive his attack once the spell wore off as he howled and swung his arms wildly (he wielded no weapon) in an attempt to find me. It would have be comical if the situation was not as deadly. I drank a potion of Invisibility just as it appeared he was regaining his vision and moved towards his desk, throwing a glass dagger past him and into the hallway to distract him. He spun towards the clattering and assumed I had run away, just as I had hoped. Amazingly, he returned to his book with a smug grin.

The grin did not last long. I drove my spear into his back as soon as he resumed reading and he gave an inhuman roar as he spun to attack me. He seemed to give no thought to the spear lodged in his back and eagerly clawed at my throat...and then collapsed in a heap. His struggling attacks had caught the spear's shaft against a Dwemer construct and when he moved again, the spear head slashed sideways through his spine. I made sure he died quickly. Other than the telescope, the room contained nothing of much interest and I steeled myself for my next task.

With their sadistic caretakers dead, the 'cattle' slaves would suffer slow, painful deaths as they starved or thirsted without sustenance. I knew of no way to help them recover their enchantment, nor did I think it would simply wear off. I killed each one of them, nearly all Khajiit, instantly and painlessly and buried them outside the fortress. I dumped the vampires into a lava pit, ensuring no trace of them remained.

The Vampires' final sleep

The storm was still raging when I left the ruins and I continued onward towards Tel Fyr, following a narrow snaking lake of lava to keep my bearings straight. I encountered a wild guar peacefully munching on some spiny ashland grass, not seeming to notice or care about the storm raging around it. The guar eyed me as if to gauge the likelihood of its lunch being interrupted, but I left it alone. After the death at the ruins, this little episode seemed not quite real.

I had no further adventures between the ruins and the Telvanni tower of Tel Fyr and the storm died down just as I was walking from the shore to the small island housing the tower.

Telvanni architecture always looks to owe more to being grown than built and Tel Fyr was no exception to the rule. It spirals up from the ground and actually sprouts branches and trunks at odd intervals, large mushrooms growing on top of some. Living quarters are carved out from the inside of the mushroom-tree and I expected the inside to be what living inside of a tree must look like.

I could not have been more wrong. Contrary to my expectation, the tower was open to visitors, so I knocked on the door and was greeted by a young Dunmer woman who asked if I was sick. Confused, I told her I was seeking a stone from Tel Fyr and she shrugged and said I was welcome to search for it. The architecture of the building was a very bright to my eyes and very gold, the combination unlike the inside of any tree I have seen.

The woman returned to whatever she was doing before my arrival and paid me no more attention. She was quite friendly though and cheerfully answered all of my questions. She introduced herself as 'one' of Divayth Fyr's wives, which was surprising, as I had not heard that the Dunmer subscribed to the practice of multiple spouses. She did not know about the Propylon Stone and suggested it might be below in what she called the 'Corprusarium', which she described as a haven of sorts for people and creatures afflicted by the Blight. Apparently Divayth Fyr enjoyed letting would-be thieves into the Corprusarium, with the understandable expectation that many of them would not be making it back out. Rather barbaric.

Another Dunmer woman, one of his other wives I suppose, informed me that 'Lord Fyr' was in his study and only reachable via a flywell. I had never heard the term before, but a flywell is really just a hole in the ceilings above, allowing one to levitate to the various upper levels via one common path. Very useful, if you can fly.

Which I normally cannot. But I had snatched a scroll which seemed to promise levitation a few days ago from the bandit cave and confidently stood below the flywell, recited the incantation, and brushed the ash off my hands as the scroll disintegrated. I expected to gently float upwards, but the scroll's magic sent me flying up three floors and dashed me against the ceiling. Had I not had my helmet on, I may have been knocked out at the very least, if not killed. The magic in the mysterious scroll was far more powerful than I anticipated and was certainly not written with flywells in mind. A painful, though harmless lesson in the risks of using scrolls you do not fully understand.

A second woman had witnessed my embarrassing ascent and sarcastically asked me if that had been my first time. It had, but I did not answer her jibe and asked for directions to Divayth, which she silently pointed out, her attitude a marked difference from the woman downstairs.

Divayth had his backed turned to the entrance of his chamber, his attention focused on something on the table in front of him, but my own was focused on his armor. With the exception of the helm, the man was (and still is) entirely armored with Daedric-infused plate. Value aside, the sum of the armor's weight must have been incredible and the man himself did not appear very strong, so the armor was not only rare on its own, but powerfully enchanted to either reduce the burden or increase the wearer's capacity to bear it. I remember thinking I would have to fight him in order to get the Propylon Stone, but I would quickly have been destroyed. I have fought Golden Saints, Dremora, and Daedroth, but Divayth would have been a foe all his own.

Divayth Fyr

But my expectation was completely wrong. Divayth may be the most approachable Dunmer on Vvardenfell and perhaps not coincidentally, the most mad. Hearing me walking in, he turned around and greeted me jubilantly, catching me completely off-guard. He asked if I was infected with 'the divine disease', or if I came to plunder the Corprusarium or leer at his daughters...the last question being very odd for several reasons. I would wager not many Khajiit, male or female, came to his tower at all, and none just to look at the women.

He professed interest and amazement with the Blight disease and he works continuously to find out why the afflicted seem not to age, though their sanity rots and their body warps into hideous, unthinking monsters. He called the affliction both a curse and a blessing and has made it his life's ambition to separate the two. But immortality would be in itself a blessing and a curse, at least in my opinion, and I wonder what drives his ambition.

His speech grew stranger from there. He declared that the woman the he referred to as his 'daughters' were neither his wives nor his daughters, but the results of an experiment with flesh taken from a Corpus victim. He claims all of the women were grown in a jar from a combination of his own flesh and that harvested from a victim of the Blight. This is of course utter nonsense for people cannot be born in jars! The women must be very patient House retainers or private caretakers of some sort, perhaps making sure Divayth pauses his studies eat now and then. He seems the type.

Being over a thousand year sold, it may be that time is starting to play tricks on his mind. Whatever the case, the man is quite friendly and exceptionally skilled, definitely not what I expected when I came to visit the Telvanni wizard. When I asked him about the Propylon Stone he invited me to take it, declaring that he was thinking of tossing it into the Corprusarium for the 'guests' housed within to play with. I thanked him, pocketed the stone, and left him to his work. 

The Divine Intervention scroll dropped me just outside of the Imperial fort 'Wolverine Hall' near Sadrith Mora and I walked through the deserted-looking Telvanni town to the Gateway Inn, where I rented a room. I could have stayed at the Mages Guild for free, but I am conscious of becoming insulated into the Guild like many of the others, most of who never seem to go outside, instead just teleporting from one guildhall to another, lost in their own little worlds.