Better Cities / Amélioration des Cités

[papill6n]

Dans le TESC : File => Import => ....

[knightben]

J' attends avec impatience la traduction de ce mod là.
Bon courage.

[rico996]

Vous pensez quoi de cette traduction ?

Long has the city of Bravil been known as the dirtiest city in Cyrodiil. But no longer if the Count has anything to say about it.

Longtemps la ville de Bravil été connue comme la ville la plus sale dans Cyrodiil . Mais plus pour longtemps si le Comte à son mot à dire .

C' est un peu répétitif non ?

[Sita]

Depuis longtemps, Bravil est connu comme la cité la plus sale de Cyrodiil. Mais cela risque de ne pas durer si le Compte trouve son mot à dire....

[rico996]

Ok c' est bon tu as passé le test tu es embauché il doit rester une 40 ène de bouquin a traduire ou a trouver la traduction

[Sita]

Ok c' est bon tu as passé le test tu es embauché

Décidement c'est une manie de vouloir m'engager, déjà l'auto-stoppeur mercredi dernier quand j'allais au taf... blague à part ça va te coûter pas mal de madeleines pour me faire traduire des bouquins.
Si tu peux faire une liste de tous ce qui est traduit avec des codes couleurs ça nous facilitera la vie. [Vert ou bleu = traduit, Rouge foncé pas traduit].

[rico996]

Je vais trier tout ça, demain je ferai une liste des livres restant a traduire . Mais je suis sur que certain ont du être traduit pour d' autres mod .

[Sita]

Exact d'où l'intérêt la liste ! On va pouvoir les traquer !

[papill6n]

Rico996 => je doute que tu puisses trouver d'autres traduction pour des livres de BC
J'avais déjà effectué une bonne recherche ; notamment dans la bibliothèque de Nazarian et quelques autres mods (comme OOO).

Ah et juste pour info le livre de la ménagère Argonienne n'est pas traduit entièrement puisque le livre dans BC est une version complète du livre (crée de toute pièce par un moddeur), ainsi qu'un ou deux autre livre où il y a eu quelques ajouts de textes (et ne sont donc pas traduits).

[rico996]

Voici déja un premier jet avec les plus gros livres qui restent a traduire :

Adanjar Part 1

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<DIV align="center">Rain<br>Part One of Adanjar<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Rain's Hand 18th,Six in the Evening
<br><br>
Alabaster,Elsweyr 2E175
<br><br>
Adanjar sat calmly under her awning,listening to the rain beat on her roof. It was days like these when she was glad to be wealthy. No need for worrying about where her money would come from. Just to relax whenever she felt like it. She watched the people scurry to and fro,trying to get out of the rain. "Pity the poor fools," she said to herself,"they don't know what true life is like."
<br><br>
Adanjar's father,the wealthiest Khajiit in Alabaster, used to work as a slave at a mining site in Morrowind,until he was release by a kind soul. As he escaped he managed to smuggle a good bit of raw ebony. Knowing the right people he cashed in and from that moment had lived in the lap of luxury. M'nasha, her father,was a respected man here and had never been questioned as to if he really smuggeled the ebony. There were,of course,rumors but this meant nothing in a community of Khajiits.
<br><br>
Deciding she would make an entry in her diary about what a beautiful day it had been,Adanjar stood up and walked inside. She walked upstairs to her her room and sat down at her desk. Taking quill in hand,she opened her diary and turned to the next blank page.
<br><br>
Adanjar's Diary
<br><br>
Eighteenth Rain's Hand
<br><br>
What a wonderful day it has been today. The rain cascades down making a harmonous sound. It is a shame to see everone else hurrying about,not taking time to notice such a wonder of nature. Ever since Qa'Bakha left me,my happiness has seemed to have been drained right out of me. But today the majesty of the world is enough to bring pleasure to the grimmest of all souls. Mother says that when she was my age,suitors would come and go just as would night and day. I surely hope this is the case with me,for it would not do for me to feel alone for the rest of my life. I really musn't speak of such things as they are too depressing.
<br><br>
Father says that the rains will bring good crops to Alabaster,which will cause Father to buy more stock at the market. The store will flourish with all the fresh crops coming in. I have tried to speak with Father about his horrible habit of gambling,but to no avail. It's not like we don't have the money,having the shop and being extremely wealthy in the first place and all, but it still is a habit worth kicking.
<br><br>
Mother's Florist Shop has been thriving as well. She leaves every morning at four to gather different kinds of flowers,before it's time to open her shop. Mother says that with as much money as this family will have in the future,there will be no need for me or my future-husband to have to work a day in our lives to live. Of course,my husband will work in order to retain the family's wealth. Well I'd better go no as mother is preparing dinner and she might need my help.
<br><br>
Adanjar closed her book,placed her quill pen in the inkwell and walked downstairs. "Hello,mother. What are we having for dinner tonight?" Adanjar questioned when she saw her mother standing at the foot of the stairs.
<br><br>
"We? We?" her mother asked,"We aren't having anything. You and I are leaving this forsaken house" she said in a fit of rage as she charged up the stairs and into the master bedroom.
<br><br>
She frantically began throwing clothes into a small pack. "Mother,whatever are you talking about?" Adanjar said slightly frightened at her mother's rage.
<br><br>
"That man! Your...father has done it! He's finally done it! He's gambeled us right into poverty!" Her mother replied,her voice still alarmingly loud. "W-what? What do you mean mother? Sure,father gambles,but he's never put out comfort on the line." Adanjar was very frightened and frustrated at her lack of knowledge of the situation.
<br><br>
Just about that time the front door slammed. And up the stairs came Adanjars father. "Listen,Ajirab! Put that pack down! I order you to not leave this house." came the bellowing tone of M'nasha.
<br><br>
"Oh,so now you're ordering me?! What am I, your slave? You gonna bet me too? Huh? I wouldn't put it past you! You,you,you horrible man!" Came the reply from Adanjar's mother. At this time Adanjar was in tears. She had a faint idea of what was going on but it wasn't enough. Her parents were fighting and she was in the middle of it.
<br><br>
"This is life! You move on when things like this happens. It can't be helped! We're a family,we'll get through this together!' came the reply of her father.
<br><br>
Ajirab shouted back in hysterical rage "No! This isn't life! It can be helped! If you would have stopped gambling! But noooo,you have to keep on and keep on until we have nothing left. You figured we'd come out of this together. Well you figured wrong! You got yourself into this, you get yourself out!"
<br><br>
Ajirab shot a look at Adanjar and said "Come on,Adanjar,we're leaving! I won't let you stay with this filthy creature!"
<br><br>
But before Adanjar could say anything M'nasha spurt out "No way. You aren't taking my daughter. You leave the family Ajirab then you leave Adanjar too. Adanjar you're staying here right?"
<br><br>
Adanjar was sobbing hysterically. She wiped the tears from her eyes,then looked at both her parents. Her mother with the pack slung over shoulder with the friendly, loving mother-hood look on her face. Her father with the bold, kind, loving feature. Confused beyond belief,Adanjar turned ran to her room, grabbed her journal and quill pen,then ran straight out the back door. Both her parents followed her out, but it was dark and the rain kept them from seeing anything.
<br><br>
"Well I hope you're happy,you've scared off my daughter!" Ajirab said scowling at M'nasha.
<br><br>
"I did? You were the one going crazy back there! How could she make a decision like that?" M'nasha said in reply."If you remember you were the one who asked her."
<br><br>
With that Ajirab slung the pack over her shoulder and walked out the front door into the rain.
<br><br>
"And where will you go?" M'nasha asked.
<br><br>
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ajirab shouted back. Ajirab slammed the door shut,leaving M'nasha alone in his soon-to-be-lost home. The rain splashed on the roof and the thunder rumbled,and for once,in a long time M'nasha was the poorest man alive.
<br><br>
End of Part One
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Forrest_Robberts)</Div>

Adanjar Part 2

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<DIV align="center">Dawn<br>Part Two of Adanjar<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Rain's Hand 18th,Nine at Night
<br><br>
Alabaster,Elsweyr 2E175
<br><br>
Adanjar darted through the woods,with tears still in her eyes. Her mind was racing,she still hadn't put all of the pieces together. Okay,her mother came home,acting very irritated. Her mother told her that she was leaving. Her father came in and they had a big fight about his gambling. They had asked her whether she wanted to stay with her father or go with her mother. No exactly knowing what to do,she had run out into the cold,rainy night. Now she was cold,wet,and alone. She had no place to sleep.
<br><br>
She figured she would travel to Rimmen,she had an uncle there. No her parents would suspect that,they would come for her. Maybe she wanted them to come for her. She wasn't sure. She decided that she would go to Rimmen and decide what she would do from there.
<br><br>
It was her first night alone. Sure, she was twenty-one,but when you lived as this particular wealthy Khajiit did,you really had no need to leave home. The rain shimmered down while the thunder rumbled over head. Lightning flashed across the blue,creamy sky.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 18th,Eleven at Night
<br><br>
Outskirts of Rimmen,Elsweyr
<br><br>
The rain was starting to slacken up a bit,when she saw the outlines of buildings ahead. The pounding rain had turned into a cooling mist when she entered the city. She immediately recognized her uncle's house,having made many trips there with her parents. Her parents...back when they were a family.
<br><br>
No! She couldn't think about them. They weren't a family anymore. Her mother had given up on her family,so she had done the same.
<br><br>
When she arrived at her uncle's door she gave it three rapid knocks. No answer. She knocked again. Still nobody came to the door. She tryed opening the door,only to find it locked. Fatigue took its toll on Adanjar,and she crouched down on the steps of her uncle's house. The rain shimmered down gently on Adanjar,and one last rumble of thunder sounded in the sky.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 19th,Seven in the Morning
<br><br>
Red Tail Inn,Rimmen,Elsweyr
<br><br>
Adanjar awoke to find herself in a bed,with a golden-haired Nordic woman setting beside her bed. "Good morning,"the woman said,"if you don't mind me asking,what exactly were you doing out so late last night in the rain?"
<br><br>
Adanjar had a slight recollection of what had happened the night before. She arrived in Rimmen to find that her uncle was not at home. Ignoring the woman's question,Adanjar asked "Where am I?"
<br><br>
"You're in the Red Tail Inn in Rimmen." The woman replied.
<br><br>
"Do you know where I can find my uncle,M'nashan?" Adanjar said instantaneously.
<br><br>
The woman politely replied "You mean the Moon Sugar addict? Yes, M'nashan left for Camlorn about a year ago."
<br><br>
Well that was one place down. She still could go to Arenthia in Valenwood. Her ex-lover lived there. Qa'Bakha had left her a half of a year ago after he proposed. Adanjar had accepted but was unwilling to move away from her parents. He had wanted to go to Valenwood but she did not. So he went anyway and left her there.
<br><br>
"Thank you." Adanjar said. "I thank you for your hospitality,but I really must be going."
<br><br>
"Ok,but let me at least make you breakfast." Adanjar politely accepted. When the girl left she pulled her diary out of her pack and grabbed a pen.
<br><br>
Adanjar's Diary
<br><br>
Nineteenth Rain's Hand
<br><br>
Let me start with what happened exactly after my last entry. Mother came in looking stark mad. She started raving about how father had bet everything and lost. Then father came in and they started battling it out right in their bedroom. Finally mother said she was leaving and asked me whether I wanted to come with her or stay with father.
<br><br>
I didn't know what to do so I ran. I ran all the way to Uncle M'nashan's house and found it locked with no one home. Then I passed out in front of unle M'nashan's old house. I awoke this morning at the Red Tail Inn. I asked a woman here if she knew where I could find my uncle. She said that he had left for High Rock about a year ago. Odd that the we never heard about it.
<br><br>
So now,I've no where,in Elsweyr,to go. I guess I could go to Valenwood. But I don't know if Qa'Bakha will take me in or not.
<br><br>
After I eat breakfast I will go to Orcrest and try to figure out what to do from there. Well,I hear the girl coming with my breakfast,that was fast,so I better stop for now. I will write again when I get time.
<br><br>
The young Nordic girl's head popped up from the stairwell. Soon her entire body emerged with a silver tray in her hands. On the tray was a bowl of soup,a piece of toast,and a glass of water. "Eat well,and I hope you enjoy." the woman said,setting the tray on the desk at which Adanjar was sitting.
<br><br>
Adanjar ate heartily,and when she was finished she carried the tray downstairs and gave it to the girl simply saying "It was great thanks. I have to be going now."
<br><br>
And with that Adanjar walked outside in the daylight. Even though she felt a little remorse for running out on her parents,Adanjar was looking forward with hopes for the rest of her life,when she arrived at Qa'Bakha's doorstep with news that she was ready to begin a life of her own.
<br><br>
End of Part Two
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Forrest_Robberts)</Div>

Adanjar Part 3

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<DIV align="center">Thunder<br>Part Three of Adanjar<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Rain's Hand 18th,Nine at Night
<br><br>
Alabaster,Elsweyr 2E175
<br><br>
"Come on,Adanjar,we're leaving! I won't let you stay with this filthy creature!" But before Adanjar could say anything M'nasha spurt out "No way. You aren't taking my daughter. You leave the family,Ajirab,then you leave Adanjar too. Adanjar you're staying here right?"
<br><br>
Adanjar was sobbing hysterically. She wiped the tears from her eyes,then looked at both her parents. Her mother with the pack slung over shoulder with the friendly, loving mother-hood look on her face. Her father with the bold, kind, loving feature. Confused beyond belief, Adanjar turned ran to her room, grabbed her journal and quill pen,then ran straight out the back door. Both her parents followed her out,but it was dark and the rain kept them from seeing anything.
<br><br>
"Well, I hope you're happy,you've scared off my daughter!" Ajirab said scowling at M'nasha.
<br><br>
"I did? You were the one going crazy back there! How could she make a decision like that?" M'nasha said in reply. "If you remember you were the one who asked her."
<br><br>
With that Ajirab slung the pack over her shoulder and walked out the front door into the rain.
<br><br>
"And where will you go?" M'nasha asked.
<br><br>
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ajirab shouted back as she slammed the door.
<br><br>
The rain was heavy,and Ajirab knew she wouldn't be able to find her daughter when it was this dark. Adanjar would probably would go to her uncle's house. Only thing was, Adanjar didn't know that M'nashan was a moon sugar addict. He had gotten in debt, so he left for High Rock. He left his house and belongings where they were, and took off in the middle of the night. So Adanjar would not have anyone in Rimmen. The only other place for her to go would be Valenwood, where Qa'Bakha lived.
<br><br>
The thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Ajirab walked to the Topal Bay docks and got on a boat to Anvil,from there she could ride horse-back to Arenthia,where Adanjar was most likely to go.
<br><br>
* * *
<br><br>
The rain splashed on the roof and the thunder rumbled,and for once,in a long time M'nasha was the poorest man alive. M'nasha had no where to go. He had to be out of the house by tommorrow morning, because had bet everything he owned, the stores, the house, all his belongings. "I guess I deserved it. Ajirab always told me that my gambling problem would be the end of us. She was right." he said to himself quietly.
<br><br>
M'nasha grabbed a piece of paper and wrote on it "Dro'Sakhari,the door is unlocked. Everything is yours. There is a spare key in the basement. Take good care of the manor. I'm leaving for Windhelm tonight. I've always wanted to go to frigid north." then he signed it M'nasha. Stepping outside he shut the door, and pinned the note on the door. He then headed towards the docks, seeing his wife step onto the boat that would take her to Valenwood.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 21st,Eight in the Morning
<br><br>
Remains of Arenthia,Valenwood
<br><br>
Adanjar was walking down the pathway when she saw a sign saying 'Welcome to Arenthia'. She had a confused look on her face, because she saw no city. After looking closely at the ground she saw rubble, ash, and nails covering a big area. All at once she realized that she was in Arenthia. It had burned till there were only a trace of evidence that there was a city here once before.
<br><br>
Slumping to the ground,Adanjar burst into tears. Qa'Bakha was her last stronghold. Now she truly had no where to go. Wait. There was still her uncle in Camlorn. High Rock was far away,but what other choice did she have?
<br><br>
Feeling she had nothing else to do, Adanjar opened her journal, and pulled out her quill pen. She took out her inkwell, pulled the cork out, and dipped her pen in it.
<br><br>
Adanjar's Diary
<br><br>
Twenty-First Rain's Hand
<br><br>
Well,I arrived at Arenthia full of hopes, only to find the city in ashes. I could probably walk to Anvil in Cyrodiil and get a boat there to Camlorn. I only wish that Qa'Bakha was not in the city when it burned down, but there is probably a small chance of that having happened.
<br><br>
I wonder where mother and father is? Father probably moved up north to Skyrim or Solstheim somewhere. Mother would probably come here to Arenth...
<br><br>
Adanjar slammed the book shut as fast as she could. She stuck it in her pack and she ran around the remains of Arenthia looking for her mother's rings. She burst into tears,fearing the worst...that her mother had burned to death. "Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Mother probably never even suspected that I would come here." she said to herself.
<br><br>
Adanjar sat down on the ground again and pulled out her diary, continuing where she left off.
<br><br>
...ia,where she would suspect I would be. But then again she probably never came here. She might have gone to Rimmen,thinking I would go to Uncle M'nashan's house.
<br><br>
Well,if I want to make any progress then I need to stop writing and need to start walking to Anvil.
<br><br>
Adanjar closed her diary and got up. "I have long way to go before I get to Camlorn,and I better get started." She said to herself,finding a new sense of pride within her.
<br><br>
* * *
<br><br>
About a mile outside of Anvil she saw a shipwreck on the shore. She ran to it, and hopped on board. She found many dead bodies on it and in it. Deep inside she saw her mother's clothes,but not her mother. She took them in her hands and cried her eyes out in them. She could here thunder rumbling outside and the pitter patter of the rain hitting the deck of the ship caused a peaceful tranquility over Adanjar.
<br><br>
End of Part Three
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Forrest_Robberts)</Div>

Adanjar Part 4

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<DIV align="center">Wind<br>Part Four of Adanjar<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Rain's Hand 21st,Nine in the Morning
<br><br>
Somewhere Near Stirk,Cyrodiil 2E175
<br><br>
Ajirab was more frightened than she had ever been. The pirates had attacked the boat she was on and took her as a slave. They had stripped her of her clothes and now she was wearing nothing but a slave bracer. They would probably take her to Morrowind where she could be sold legally. All she could think of was how Adanjar had run out on her and M'nasha that night.
<br><br>
After the Dunmer pirates attacked the ship she was on,they pillaged Arenthia and burned it to the ground. The city of course would rebuild but,what if Adanjar was staying there when it burned. She was probably worrying too much. Adanjar would not have any reason to go there. Qa'Bahka had run out on her,so why would she go to him?
<br><br>
One of the pirates,the one who was guarding her,had taken to her. He'd been talking to her off and on for about three hours. Ajirab thought on this and figured out how she could use this to her advantage. "Where are we going?" Ajirab asked the guard.
<br><br>
"Well,we're going to stop off at Stirk. That's when you remain absolutely silent. Then,if all goes well,we'll got Morrowind. And you can guess the rest" he said solemnly.
<br><br>
Ajirab worked it out in her head and figured it out that she would escape at Stirk. She would stay there a couple of days until she was sure the pirates were either gone or imprisoned and would then leave for Alabaster.
<br><br>
Ajirab knew that Adanjar would either go to Camlarn or go back to Alabaster. So Ajirab chose to first go to Alabaster.
<br><br>
* * * *
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 21st,One in the Evening
<br><br>
One Mile outside Anvil,Cyrodiil
<br><br>
Adanjar solemnly sombered down the trail from where the shipwreck was. She was still clutching her mother's clothes,that she had found inside the ship,to her chest. A tear was still in her eye,she knew her mother was dead and there was nothing at all she could do.
<br><br>
Anvil appeared before her and her heart went all to pieces. She remembered her father and mother in Alabaster. She had had such wonderful times in Alabaster. But now those times were over,her father had lost everything,her mother was dead,and Qa'Bahka was probably dead too. She walked into the city and into the nearest inn she saw.
<br><br>
"Can I please have a bed for the night?" Adanjar asked the barkeeper.
<br><br>
"It's a little early for bed,but,yes,I have one. It's ten septims for the night." The bartender replied.
<br><br>
Adanjar walked upstairs and threw her pack,and the clothing she found on board the ship that she believed her mother had perished on. She collapsed onto the bed,curled into a ball,and cried herself to sleep.
<br><br>
* * * *
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 21st,Nine at Night
<br><br>
Windhelm,Skyrim
<br><br>
M'nasha arrived in Windhelm,the wet,cold snow fell onto his face. He was not used to this harsh climate. Skyrim was not what he had expected. He really even didn't have a place to stay,he had no money at all. He lost it all gambling.
"I wonder where Adanjar and Ajirab are right now." M'nasha said to himself.
<br><br>
He finally decided that if he did not get used to Skyrim in three days then he would go to Camlorn where his brother lived. He was sure that M'nashan would take him with open arms.
<br><br>
* * * *
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 22nd,Ten in the Morning
<br><br>
Alabaster,Elsweyr
<br><br>
Qa'Bahka gently tapped on the door of Adanjar's estate. It had been months since he had last seen her,and he was bursting with excitement.
<br><br>
The door slowly opened and the face of an old Khajiit appeared. "Who are you,and what do you want?" he said.
<br><br>
"Is Adanjar here?"Qa'Bahka asked the old man.
<br><br>
"You mean M'nasha's daughter? No,the family split up almost five days ago. M'nasha went to Skyrim,nobody knows where Adanjar and her mother went though. M'nasha said he thought Adanjar probably went to Arenthia,some sort of ex-lover there or something." the old Khajiit said.
<br><br>
"Thank you,you've been very helpful." Qa'Bahka said to him,then he closed the door.
<br><br>
Qa'Bahka said to himself silently,"Well,this was a wasted trip. Adanjar's possibly went to Arenthia,and here I am in Alabaster." Qa'Bahka then began to leave Arenthia.
<br><br>
* * * *
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 22nd,Ten in the Morning
<br><br>
Anvil,Cyrodiil
<br><br>
Adanjar awoke to see the sun shimmering in through the window. She still had tears in her eyes. She'd cried for hours before she had finally went to sleep last night.
She crawled out of bed,still dressed in her robe that she had been wearing for days now. She opened up her pack and began writing in her diary.
<br><br>
Adanjar's Diary
<br><br>
Twenty-Second Rain's Hand
<br><br>
Mother is dead. I found her clothes within the belly of a ship near Anvil. My heart is bitter. My tears are plenteous. My mother and my lover are both dead. And there is nothing that I can do to bring them back.
<br><br>
Adanjar closed her journal and put it in her pack. She stepped outside and a cold wind blew across her face. The weather was as she was,cold and emotionless.
<br><br>
End of Part Four
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Forrest_Robberts)</Div>

Adanjar Part 5

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<DIV align="center">Dusk<br>Part Five of Adanjar<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Rain's Hand 23rd,Eight in the Morning
<br><br>
Stirk,Cyrodiil 2E175
<br><br>
Adanjar stepped off the dock onto dry land. She was only making a momentary stop at Stirk while the ship exchanged passengers. She thought she'd look around a bit. Although the naggin hurt she felt about her mothers death had not left her,she thought it'd be best to get out of the ship for a while.
<br><br>
Adanjar walked around for a bit,did a little shopping,and started back for the boat. All of a sudden,a Khajiit woman went darting past Adanjar,followed by two Dunmer men. The woman had gone by so fast,she could hardly recognize her. But to Adanjar, it looked as if she were wearing slave bracers. She was in Cyrodiil,where slavery was illegal. Then she saw three Imperial Guards chase after them.
<br><br>
Curious and confused,Adanjar began to follow them. They led her and a crowd of people to the ship in which Adanjar was to travel to Camlorn in. "Ha! We've been trying to catch you for months now. Think you're pretty clever,sneaking slaves in and out of this port every week. We know what you've been doing,we just haven't been able to get hold of you yet!" The guard said to him.
<br><br>
"I don't know what you're talking about?"one of the Dunmer said,"This is my wife!"he continued.
<br><br>
"Then why does she parade around here,dressed only in what can be described as a 'slave bracer'?" The guard said brandishing his sword in front of the two Dunmer. They gave no reply. "That's what I thought. Come on,we'll hold you until we decide what to do with you." one of the guards said. With that,two of the guards took the Dunmer away. Adanjar could clearly see now that the Khajiit woman was in fact her very own mother.
<br><br>
"Are you going to be okay?" the remaining guard asked her.
<br><br>
"Yes,I'll be fine. I stole the key from one of those men,I have it here. That's why they were chasing me,they were afraid I'd take off this bracer. I remember seeing a third Dunmer on the ship the other day." Ajirab said to the officer.
<br><br>
No longer able to contain her emotions,Adanjar leaped forward from among the crowd and into her mothers arms all the while shouting "Mother,mother! You're alive! Alive!"
<br><br>
Her mother replied saying "Of course I'm alive. But I thought you probably went to Arenthia and burned to death!"
<br><br>
"I did,but it was already destroyed when I got there." Adanjar said to her mother,wiping a tear from her eye.
<br><br>
Now she was beginning to feel pretty foolish. The crowd of people stared at her until the guard began shouting "Okay,okay. Nothing to see here! Move along,move along."
<br><br>
"What were you thinking,running out into the night like that? You could've been killed,or worse. Do you know what kind of men lurk around at night!?" Ajirab scolded.
<br><br>
"Oh please. I can take care of myself. I'm an adult. I had no other choice to do what I did. Anyway that's all behind us. Let's go to Camlorn. Uncle M'nashan is there,and I'm sure he'd take us in. I was going there anyway." Adanjar replied to her mother,with a new sense of happiness. Adanjars mother agreed and they set out for Camlorn that morning.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 23rd,Seven in the Morning
<br><br>
Camlorn,High Rock
<br><br>
M'nashan dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.
<br><br>
Dear M'nasha,
<br><br>
I do not wish to trouble you,but it has been a while since my last visit. How are things at Topal Bay? I was thinking of taking a visit there pretty soon. I think things in Rimmen may have settled down by now. Besides it's not like I can't come see my own family every once in a while? By the way how are Ajirab and Adanjar? Last I heard young Adanjar was engaged to that nice Qa'Bahka lad. They sure grow up fast don't they? I remember how every week,you and the family would come visit me in Rimmen. We had pretty good times.
<br><br>
Things here are nice. Nothing out of the ordinary. Like I said earlier,I was thinking of making a visit. If it's ok with you,how about I come down next week and stay a month or two? Anyway,it has been a while since I have heard from the family,so I thought that I'd just keep in check.
<br><br>
Your Brother,<br>
M'nashan
<br><br>
M'nashan sealed the letter and put it aside,it had felt like so long since he had last seen them. And now that he only had two months to live,he wanted to spend them among friends.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 24th,Four in the Morning
<br><br>
Windhelm,Skyrim
<br><br>
M'nasha had decided to leave Skyrim. It was not what he had hoped for,it was cold and wet,nothing like he remembered from when he was a child. He had packed his bags the night before and was ready to leave for High Rock any time he wanted. M'nasha was ready to leave,he'd had enough of the cold,wet snow. M'nasha left for Camlorn by boat that morning.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 24th,Eleven in the Morning
<br><br>
Alabaster,Elsweyr
<br><br>
Qa'Bahka had decided to stay in Alabaster the night before,and was going to leave for Arenthia this morning. The man who now lived in Adanjar's house kindly let him stay the night. The man had said that if he wanted to find Adanjar,he should probably look in Camlorn,that's where her uncle lived.
<br><br>
That morning the man,whose name turned out to be Dro'Sakhari,invited Qa'Bahka to have breakfast with him. Qa'Bahka kindly accepted,not having eaten in days. They were enjoying their breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Dro'Sakhari got up from the table and answered the door. When he opened it there was a young Khajiit lad holding a piece of parchment paper.
<br><br>
"Can I help you?" Dro'Sakhari asked him.
<br><br>
"This came through the Mages Guild yesterday,from High Rock. It said it was to be delivered here." The boy replied handing him the paper.
<br><br>
Dro'Sakhari took the letter and shut the door. The letter was written to M'nasha,evidently from his brother M'nashan. "You can finish your breakfast,I have to attend to something upstairs in my study." Dro'Sakhari said to Qa'Bahka.
<br><br>
"If it's all the same to you,I'd rather be getting on. I have a good ways ahead of me. I thank you for your hospitality." Qa'Bahka said,getting up. Dro'Sakhari nodded and quietly walked upstairs.
<br><br>
Dro'Sakhari sat down at his desk,grabbed a piece of paper and began writing.
<br><br>
Dear Sir,
<br><br>
I believe you intended this message to be sent to M'nasha. M'nasha no longer lives here. I'm sorry for the inconvenience,but M'nasha has moved to Windhelm,Skyrim. Ajirab and Adanjar have run off somewhere. I do not like to be the one to give you this disturbing news,but it seems as if the family has broken up.
<br><br>
Again I am sorry for this inconvenience.
<br><br>
From Dro'Sakhari
<br><br>
* * *
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 24th,Noon
<br><br>
Camlorn,High Rock
<br><br>
M'nashan opened his door to find Ajirab and Adanjar on his doorstep. He was quite surprised to see them. "What are you two doing here? Where is M'nasha?" He asked them.
<br><br>
Adanjar looked at her mother distressfully. Ajirab for no reason at all blurted out "He'll be here. He wanted to stay behind,to make sure the house would be okay. We wanted to surprise you!"
<br><br>
"Well,you certainly did that! Adanjar,how you've grown since I last saw you! You must be four feet taller!" He shouted. Adanjar slightly smiled at him. M'nashan invited them inside,and they accepted.
<br><br>
"We decided to come visit for a few weeks." Ajirab said,while sitting down. "Well,I certainly have no objection to that. Did you get my letter? Oh,I suppose you wouldn't have had time to." M'nashan said cheerily.
<br><br>
"Would you like something to eat?" he asked them. They both nodded violently. Ajirab and Adanjar were so hungry they could hardly contain themselves. All Adanjar had had to eat was the food in Rimmen,and that was days ago. Ajirab had some very disgusting slop onboard the slave ship.
<br><br>
That night Adanjar and Ajirab ate heartily,and slept soundly.
<br><br>
Rain's Hand 25th,Ten in the Morning
<br><br>
Camlorn,High Rock
<br><br>
M'nasha knocked vigorously on his brothers door. The door opened and there was Ajirab,staring him right in the face. "Who is it,Ajirab?" he could hear M'nashan shout.
<br><br>
"Nobody,they have the wrong house." she said as she slammed the door. M'nasha knocked even harder this time.
<br><br>
"Are you sure?" M'nashan asked her,as he opened the door for himself. There was an angry-faced M'nasha staring at him. "Well,if it isn't M'nasha! My brother! I tell you it's been so long! How could you mistake your own husband for someone else,Ajirab?" M'nashan said just as cheery as ever.
<br><br>
"Yes,Ajirab,how could you not remember your very own husband?" M'nasha asked her,gritting his teeth.
<br><br>
M'nashan invite him in for lunch. Just as they were sitting down,there came another knock at the door. M'nashan stepped away from the table to answer it.
<br><br>
"What are you doing here?!" Ajirab whispered agrily.
<br><br>
"What am I doing here? This is my brother's house! What are you doing here?!" he whispered back to her. At this time Adanjar walked sleepily downstairs and into the kitchen where the "silent" arguement was taking place.
<br><br>
"Father!" Adanjar shouted. For a moment M'nasha forgot his quarrel with Ajirab and embraced his daughter,with tears running down his eyes.
<br><br>
M'nashan returned to the table with a piece of paper in his hand and a confused look on his face. "You broke up?" he said in confusion.
<br><br>
"Well,I wouldn't say so much as broke up. Let's just say most of the family abandoned me." M'nasha said.
<br><br>
"Then what are you doing here? Together?" M'nashan asked,not quite getting what was going on.
<br><br>
As if M'nashan wasn't already confused enough,a third knock at the door came. He stepped away to answer it,and just as soon came back with Qa'Bahka standing beside him.
<br><br>
"Qa'Bahka!" Adanjar shouted,leaping into his arms. "I thought you had burned to death!" she said to him.
<br><br>
"What are you talking about?" he asked her looking at her longingly.
<br><br>
"The fire,Arenthia burned to the ground. But that doesn't matter,what matters is that you're alive and you're here!" she said,tears flowing down her cheeks.
<br><br>
"Now,I honestly have no idea what's going here,except that a good marriage has been split apart. Now,I've known you two ever since you were engaged. I never met two happier people. I don't know what it is you're fighting about,but can't you just make amends?" He said looking at Ajirab and M'nasha.
<br><br>
M'nasha looked at Ajirab and said "Ajirab,honey,I'm sorry I gambeled away everything. I still love you. I can understand if you don't want to be with me,but I just want to let you know that if you want to start over,I'd be willing to give up gambling."
<br><br>
Ajirab thought this over for a minute and finally said "I guess we could give it another try. But you'll have to promise me,no more gambling."
<br><br>
"I promise." M'nasha said to her proudly.
<br><br>
Adanjar burst into tears. Her life was coming back together at last. Just when she thought things couldn't get any better,Qa'Bahka turned to her and said "Adanjar,I asked you to marry me before. And you said no,because you didn't want to leave your parents. Well,considering I have no home in Arenthia to go to,I would like to stay here and take you as my wife. Your parents can live here too,it's not like they have anywhere to go either. What do you say,Adanjar?"
<br><br>
Adanjar looked at Qa'Bahka,then her parents,and her uncle and said "I'd love to."
<br><br>
And so Adanjar and Qa'Bahka was married the Twenty-Seventh of Rain's Hand. They rented out a house next to M'nashans house,where Adanjars parents stayed until they could get back onto their feet.
<br><br>
Three Years Later
<br><br>
Adanjar laid in bed,nursing her newborn baby. M'nashan had passed away,and left his home and belongings to M'nasha and Ajirab. And the hormonic pitter patter of the rain sent Adanjar and Anjari to sleep. Thunder rumbled overhead and the wind blew the trees back and forth into the night.
<br><br>
The End
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Forrest_Robberts)</Div>

The Arcane Chronicles

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<DIV align="center">The Arcane Chronicles:<br>
A compilation of Vulyn’s travels<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Entry 1
<br><br>
Of course I, as a young mage, had never really wanted to study the Dwemer or Destruction. Destruction was one thing that always seemed to ruin EVERYTHING. The Dwemer architecture and literature was astounding, but the mystery was much more complex. It was that troubling Arch-mage that vexed me most.
Seeing that I was a dunmer, he quickly assumed I would master in either Mysticism or Destruction. Alteration had always interested me, so did enchanting. The Aylieds had been interesting, but after taking a note to Nchuleft for Trebonis, the Dwemer became my new interest.
<br><br>
Destruction on the other hand, would never leave my arsenal of used spells. Though born in Mournhold to a wealthy Hlaalu family, I really never did encounter beasts of any size or proportion except on Vvardenfell. Lightning was very useful, the creatures seemed to resist fire and poisons and frost just never registered as a viable source of destructive energy to me.
<br><br>
Mages were always scurrying around the Vivec guild hall, studying of useless material, etc, BUT the Dwemer were always an interesting subject. The main interests in the Morrowind chapter were Destruction, Dwemer, Enchanting, Conjuration and Daedra worship. Anyone working in the field in Vvardenfell had better be adept in either Destruction or VERY adept in restoration.
But…the Telvanni. They were an odd bunch.
<br><br>
ENTRY 2
<br><br>
I journeyed to Sadrith Mora, or should I say Wolverine hall. At the time it seemed just a regular Imperial garrison, but when I exited the keep I was awestruck. After seeing the Telvanni mages do their routines, I became interested to know that they had integrated magicka into their lives. Whether it be floating orbs or colored fire, they used it.
<br><br>
Being a member of the Hlaalu was discouraging, they had interests in plans far for what I was planning. The Telvanni council hall was a gate to Oblivion, or Atherius. Even though I believed in both the Nine Divines and the Daedra, I was no strong believer in the Tribunal. Vivec never had done public speeches, and Almalexia had acted childish, now that I think about it.
<br><br>
The Telvanni mouths stared at me as I entered, the red glares of half a dozen Wizards was very discouraging (at the time). I realized that I had to speak, or make my peace some other way. I don’t quite remember what I said, but of what I do…I don’t wish to repeat it.
<br><br>
After a long discussion with the Telvanni, and a series of tests. I was a Hireling of the Great House Telvanni. I wore my brown robe with pride, as I knew that the Telvanni would be the best source of magical education. The way magic was prestige here had reduced twofold, when I returned to Vivec’s mages guild. I was resigning. I was in the Great House Telvanni, a family member. To me though, Hireling was dull, I was about to make my title sharper than it ever had been.
<br><br>
Entry 3...
<br><br>
<FONT face="Handwritten">(the rest of the book seems to have been intentionally destroyed by magical fire)</FONT>
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by heldwyn)</Div>

Azura and Meridia

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<DIV align="center">Azura and Meridia<br>
By: Anonymous priest of Azura<br><br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Azura looked upon the suffering and strife of Coldharbour with pity, so she taught her priestess the secrets of traveling to Oblivion so that she may bring comfort to those lost souls. The priestess arrived in Coldharbour and slew a thousand of Molag Bal's kin, and gave comfort and healing and wisdom to the Daedra's people. Feeling confidant, Azura decided that she should take action against the Vampires of Tamreil, so she created a room in Oblivion so that she may consort with Meridia, the Prince of Infinite Energy.
<br><br>
Azura and Meridia began to discuss the problems with Vampires. Azura pitied the pain that unwilling Vampires faced every day and the pain they faced knowing that they have to hurt others to relieve that pain. Meridia hated the undead and wished to see them all destroyed. However, Molag Bal came into the room by stealth, and planted a rose. When Azura saw the rose, she swore that it was violet like the beauty of the night's sky, but when Meridia saw the rose, she swore that it was red like living blood. Thus the Daedra were distracted from their council, but in their wisdom they decided to make a wager.
<br><br>
Whoever was the most beautiful will be able to discern the true color of the rose. So they descended to Tamriel to test their beauty, and the god of beauty let them pass in their purity. Meridia appeared before the most famous hero in all the land as a beautiful naked woman, and the man made love to her and was killed for his heresy. "My beauty is so that he sacrificed his name for my sake." Meridia said, but Azura knew that it was of no consequence that a man be attracted to a woman, so she appeared before the most humble priestess of the god of beauty as a beautiful naked woman and recited poetry of heart and feeling. The woman fell in love with the Daedra and made love to her, and swore that she was the most beautiful. Thus, the god of beauty banished Azura and Merida back to Oblivion.
<br><br>
Meridia knew she had been beat, so she let Azura name the color of the Rose. Azura called it Burgundy, the color of a woman's sacred beauty and the color of the first rose, and henceforth the queen of the night sky also became known as the mother of the rose. As for the priestess of the god of beauty, she was almost put to death for her heresy, but Azura saved her and brought her to live in Oblivion. She and the woman who brought comfort to the people of Coldharbour became Azura's first lover priestesses, and they descended to Tamriel to deal with the Vampires while Meridia became distracted with revenge on the god of beauty.
<br><br>
<FONT face="Handwritten">Editor's Note: Some people believe that Meridia saved the Hero and he later became Umaril the Unfeathered, though there is no indication that this is so in the original text. It was written by a priest of Azura, so it is bound to be subjective in a way that causes Meridia to bring about or at least fail to prevent the Hero's death. Others say that Sanguine was so impressed with Molag Bal's tricks that he brought the rose to Tamriel as a symbol of the two Daedra and their affairs. As with most legends it is up to the reader to decide.</FONT>
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Khenti Amentiu)</Div>

The Battle Of Proportions

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<DIV align="center">The Battle of Proportions<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Once, in ages long past, there lived a Bosmer who was mad at the world.
<br><br>
"Damn you, Azura! Why must you torture me so? Everyone is taller than me and it isn’t fair!" He yelled to the deep blue sky.
<br><br>
Azura heard his cry and began to grow weary; she came to him one night in a dream.
<br><br>
"Why do you persist in muttering your nothings to me mortal? Why should I, who guides the fate of this world, care how tall you are?"
<br><br>
He looked the Daedra up and down and looked at her with a ferocity never seen from a Bosmer before or since.
<br><br>
"I have worshipped you faithfully since the day I spawned from my mother’s womb, and yet you curse me with this shortness, I ask, no demand that you increase my height! If you won’t do it just to do it… I’ll go through whatever need be for me to grow taller"
<br><br>
The graceful Azura thought a moment then responded in a booming voice, "If it will quiet your rumbling I will do this for you, but you must give your word that you won’t bother me any longer, despite the outcome!"
<br><br>
Eagerly the Wood Elf responded, "You’ve got a deal!"
<br><br>
"When you awake in the morning there will be a wizard of sorts, an evil man, that will test your will, defeat him and you shall get your wish, fail and you shall be changed forever." The goddess faded into the mists, and he slept soundly through the rest of the night.
<br><br>
Upon waking the next morning he ventured cautiously outside, eager to face this foe Azura had sent for him, a cracking branch behind him sent him whirling around.
A wizened old man appeared through the trees, no sign of weaponry or the like on him. Dropping his defenses, he hailed the old man.
<br><br>
"From where do you hail, kind sir?"
<br><br>
The man moving with a speed not normal for a man his age, closing the distance in a flash he shoved his hands into the Bosmer’s stomach sending him flying, as he lay sprawled on the ground a thick wooden staff materialized in the Old man’s hands.
<br><br>
"Never anger a god mortal"
<br><br>
He cast a bolt at the Elf, it struck him square in the chest and its effects began immediately; within seconds he had shrank to the size of an imp. With a smirk on his face the old man walked over and kicked him, sending him flying through the forest. The visage of the old man faded, and a quiet laughing could be heard in the distance.
<br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by DragonScaleRider1121)</Div>

Betrayal of the Crown - Volume I

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<DIV align="center">Betrayal of the Crown - Volume I<br>by Horatio Gargonath<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Drip...
<br><br>
Drip...
<br><br>
Drip...
<br><br>
Ranguvar stumbled blindly along the dank, putrid corridor in hopes of escaping the darkness behind him. He was hardly able to suppress a scream as he slipped and fell in a pool of blood. He reached the end, only to find it blocked by a solid oak door. He turned in horror at the sound of scraping chains drawing closer, then hurled himself bodily at the door, hoping beyond hope to break through into the sunlight. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen should the monstrosity reach him.
<br><br>
He had already spent months stretched out upon a table, with beady-eyed mages and hawk-nosed alchemists studying the effects of water slowly boring a hole through your entire body, drop by drop.
<br><br>
Ranguvar had already endured enough of this torture, and was not keen on enduring more. The door splintered and Ranguvar renewed his efforts. Maybe there is hope after all, maybe I won't die down here disgraced like those before me, a calf for the slaughter!
<br><br><br>
...Back in the corridor...
<br><br>
"You fool! I told you to catch one insignificant prisoner! A weakened one at that, and you failed! Can't you do anything right?"
<br><br>
Gerzae stormed around the spectral image she had just yelled at, throwing empty bottles and candles at it. She knew they would simply pass through and land in a large pile of old projectiles thrown in anger at the Spectre as he made his report. Gerzae's temper was a fierce one to behold, and any living man or mer would have quailed at such a sight, but the Spectre took it calmly and stoically, as is it's nature. This did nothing to calm Gerzae.
<br><br>
"What are you standing there all silent for? Say something! Why didn't you catch the fool? Now he knows everything! Everything!"
<br><br>
When the Spectre spoke, his voice seemed hollow, yet resounded against the barren stone walls with a clarity one can only achieve in undeath: "He is...Magi."
<br><br>
Gerzae was beside herself with this statement. "Magi? You are a spectre! You can kill with the blink of an eye, can't you?"
<br><br>
"You have seen my powers. You cannot dispute their reality. He has a lingering protection...of sorts. I cannot place it, yet I know it is from one far more powerful than myself. Since I am not of this plane, physical attempts would yield results just as poor. My apologies, Mistress," answered the Spectre, and with that, he was gone.
<br><br>
Gerzae's anger left with the Spectre. She sat for a while, pondering what the Spectre had said. I wonder what powerful ally a weakling like that could have. I must find out!
<br><br><br>
The sun was starting its decline in the evening sky as Ranguvar entered a roadside inn, exhausted and covered with dirt and grime from his escape. He stumbled through the door, laid down two drakes in front of the innkeeper, and gasped for food and ale. He chose a corner table smothered in shadow, dragged his aching body to it, slumped down, and promptly fell asleep.
<br><br>
When he awoke, it was to find himself face to face with several scrawny figures, huddled up against a bale of straw, looking at a dead rat, in what looked like a giant cage.
<br><br>
Ranguvar stood up, trying to shake off the effects of too much sleep, when he noticed the people in the cage were all looking at him now.
Scared I'm gonna eat 'em, he thought to himself. He decided, however, that he was not going to get any answers from the dead rat, so he pointed to himself and said, "I am Ranguvar, Nord Hero! Who are you, and what place is this?"
<br><br>
One of the older figures looked up at him and regarded him with a lazy eye. "We are farmers all, now headed for the mines of Brunharrow, in Valenwood. You are in a caravan, and in your company are no strong warriors or great heroes of old, but slaves." He spat out this last word bitterly. They were obviously a recent addition to the caravan as well.
<br><br>
Name of the gods! I'm a slave!
<br><br>
Suddenly, Ranguvar was forced to forget his horror as he was hurled against the side of the cage by a mighty explosion coming from the far side of the cage. He looked about groggily at what used to be a wall of two-inch thick steel bars, which had turned instantly to a molten mass of red-hot liquid quickly burning its way through the solid wooden floorboards.
<br><br>
A charred crater of blasted and torn earth lay in the center of the remains of the old farmers and the beggar, now twitching corpses, left to smolder in the scorching midday sun.
<br><br>
Ranguvar whirled around, looking frantically for the source of the big explosion when his keen eyes spotted people - or things - darting between the trees and the underbrush of the woods on one side of the trail. Seeing as how these hidden figures were slaying his captors, Ranguvar decided to take his chances with the apparent enemies of his new enemies.
<br><br>
He leaned close to the ground and broke into a sprint, trying to reach the cover of the thick foliage before any of the remaining archers spotted him. He dared a backwards glance, and upon seeing a battlemage casting a spell in his general direction, he broke into a frantic scramble in an attempt to cover the last few yards as quickly as possible.
<br><br>
With only an arm's reach to go, Ranguvar tripped on a protruding rock and hit the ground with a loud thud.
<br><br>
Damn! I'm going to die!
<br><br>
He was about to start praying for safety when strong hands clasped his torso and arms, and half-dragged, half-pushed him into the brush.
<br><br>
After struggling for several minutes to escape the grasp of whatever it was that was dragging him so roughly across the ground, Ranguvar decided it was best to just relax. Almost instantly, the thing became more gentle in its... dragging.
<br><br>
By now Ranguvar had calmed down enough to realize he was weaponless, and that he had just left a very, very hostile area. He was trying to figure out where this had all gone wrong when he was dropped, not unkindly, on the ground.
<br><br>
Ranguvar sprang to his feet, whirled around, and immediately sat back down again as five Bosmer trained arrows on him.
<br><br>
"Alright, so I'm your captive now. What do you want from me?" He waited several moments for an answer, and when none came, he yawned, stood up, and made as if he were about to try and escape again.
<br><br>
Ranguvar had only gone a few paces when he realized no one was stopping him. He looked up in amazement and saw no one was even looking at him. They were all looking at the spot where he had been unceremoniously dropped only a few moments ago.
<br><br>
Realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere by trying to escape, Ranguvar let out a sigh and turned around, expecting to see some wrinkled elder leaning on a staff, demanding something from him. What he saw almost made him lose the contents of his stomach - which, thinking about it, were not much, he realized.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by haplobartow)</Div>

A Countess's Last Breath

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<DIV align="center">A Countess's Last Breath<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
The guard left his post a little after midnight, just like every night this week. He'd be gone for no more than ten minutes, probably to go grab some food. Either way Keizer didn't care. He was here to kill the countess and wasn't to be bothered by guard's late-night schedules.
<br><br>
He swung down from the catwalk into the shadows of a bush, he landed with little noise and immediately was swallowed by shadow. It was what he did, and he did it well.
<br><br>
Keizer backed up against the wall, the cold stone embracing his bones making him shiver. It was a cold night, unusually cold even for Bruma. Keizer rubbed his arms, warming his near-numb arms. His Morag Tong armor was thin and did little to keep away the chill of a cold night in bruma, though he couldn't be trifled with the "skins of steel" as the fighter's guild brethern liked to call them. Keizer bent his head around the corner and noticed that the second guard was done with his lap around this part of the courtyard. Keizer ran out into the burning torch light, something he hated to do but something that was still necessary. He was quick and agile and soon was back into the shadows cold embrace.
<br><br>
"Ah, Keizer, It is most good to see you. We have another mark for you. The Countess of Bruma, she has been dealing with the wrong side of the law for much too long now. Give her my best".
<br><br>
It was eight days ago that his master had given him instructions, in the small unknown room in the Arena Canton: his home away from home. It was indeed unusual for someone from the Morag-Tong to be dealing in Cyrodiil, but he didn't dare question the writs he was given. He just went to kill; it was what he did, and he did it well.
<br><br>
The Castle door stood propped open, allowing a chain of supplies carried by castle workers to be brought in. It would be a stupid idea to try and hide in one of their crates, they would be filled with food supplies, though nothing as heavy as a Dark Elf. The three workers stopped for a small drink, undoubtedly to ebb away at the chill of the night. Now was his time to get in the castle. He didn't use an invisibility spell, magic wasn't an assassin friend, instead he moved with such speed as to be not noticed by the unwary minds of any onlookers. Not ten seconds later he was in the large bruma county hall. On regular circumstances he would of course been seized by castle guards that instant, but they were momentarily detained.. a bad case of fever, it was probably something in the Tamika's 399 that they drank every morning between 7:00 and 7:15, though no one can be sure; they drank it all before it could be tested for poison. They drank it all just like they did every morning. Keizer stalked his prey, those that surrounded them, those that have heard of them.. and he did it well.
<br><br>
"Keizer, we don't know much about the countess so we can't be sure about her schedule. Though I'm sure there's an entrance to her chambers through the wine cellar.. just to the right of the main entrance".
<br><br>
Keizer approached the door, it was unlocked; just as he knew it would be. Seven guards had just gotten off of a 13 hour shift and they wanted Ale, of course in their tired condition they forgot to close the door. Keizer slipped down the stairs, staying close the wall and ignoring the gentle whisper of spider webs as they draped across his body. The temperature was increasingly getting lower, though it was nothing to rival the frigidness of the climate he had just come from. At the end of his descent he was greeted by a small room with only one passageway leading away from it. He took it, though from this part on his Master's instructions were vague.
<br><br>
"You shouldn't have too much trouble following the passageway, we don't know exactly how far of a distance it covers, but it will take you to the Countess's chambers either way".
<br><br>
It was dark as pitch in the following hallways, the dust was settled on the ground, and the mildew had become very familiar on the stone walls. This passage had remained unused for at least 2 years, that much was for sure. The darkness was not a comfortable kind, not the kind that you see in the corner of your bedroom at night. It was much more foreboding then that, like the area just beyond the ring of light provided by a campfire, right beyond what you knew to be safe and full of the unknown. He ignored his childish fear and pressed on only to be greeted by another door. This one he opened with caution: he knew not of what was beyond the door, whether it be a person, beast or more void he had to be ready. He pulled a small elven dagger from its sheath. The only weapon he had. He felt restricted and held back under the dead weight of swords. An assassin didn't need swords, a longer blade and more weight didn't help when slicing throats. The door swung open noiselessly which surprised Keizer, but did little to unsettle him. He put one foot out of the door way and felt an immediate change of temperature. He must be nearing her chamber, there would undoubtedly be a roaring fire in a pit that he would be able to stand in comfortably. There would be a maid in and out of the room, keeping the fire tended and making sure the countess stayed warm. That is to say, there would normally be a maid in the room if she wasn't already busy cleaning up after the workers got sick.. perhaps they had too much to drink.
<br><br>
"You needn't worry about her having a husband, Keizer, he was put to rest in battle years ago.. you'll be doing her a favor.. returning her to her lost love."
<br><br>
Keizer didn't need reassurances to do the killing, lost love or not, she would not live to see another beautiful Bruma sunrise. He had learnt not to care long ago, it came with the job. A single murder stripped the murderer of that beautiful gift, the gift to love. It was a great sacrifice for any person, but Keizer gave up that gift willingly, he dispised the word and all that it entailed. love.. there was nothing more pointless in his mind. Nothing caused more anguish than that single word. No one had suffered more from a blade or axe than this single word. And he hated it.
He swung open the door and was in the ill-lit hallway directly outside her personal bedroom. A quick glance up and down the hallway told Keizer all he needed to know. There would be no witnesses. He creeped down the hallway and pushed open the door, widening the beam of light across the hallway. He got in quickly and returned the door to its original state.. he couldn't attract any attention.
<br><br>
The Countess lay across her bed deeply settled under the covers. Her chest rose and fell slowly and she had a deep look of content on her face. She would not wake up. Keizer walked besider her bed and looked down at her from a standing position. She would spill no blood, Keizer didn't know what came over him but he couldn't bare to do something so barbaric to such a creature. Instead she would die peacefully with poison: some of the fastest acting poison in all the lands of Tamriel. He put three drops in her slightly opened mouth. Three drops was all it took, three tiny drops of liquid and she would be rid of the world forever. Keizer gazed upon her while the poison took hold of her body's system. Her pulse raced, sweat poured down her face and still she did not awake. For several seconds it went on like this, until everything stopped and her chest slowly lowered. A deep exhaling hiss escaped her lips. The Countess's last breath.
<br><br>
He stalked, invaded, and killed. And he did it well.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Mr Fusion)</Div>

Hearts of Dark, Blades of Black

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">Hearts of Dark, Blades of Black<br>
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<DIV align="left">
It was comical, really. They streamed through the air at unsurpassed velocity, screaming at me with such volume it became an almost inaudible whine, hurling themselves with quaking force at my perforated body with their mindless millions. I found their futility pleasant, as though a reminder of the cauterized, rage-enflamed cesspool a living mind could be reduced to. But as I reared back my hooded head to stare into the black clouds tumbling in perfect sync across the sky, as the frigid drops glassed my face and cascaded through my hair, I felt the subtle cracks of human instinct come winding through my brain again, sharply ripping me out of my idyllic mental meanderings.
<br><br>
I kept my head down, and tilting my face slightly, I observed the windows and rooftops to my right in an attempt to not seem too conspicuous. I kept mulling over specifics in my head... should I hug the wall of the building? But that'd make me an easy target for someone on the right side... but what if they were on the left side? If I walked down the middle of the street, it'd be a halved chance... but one I wasn't honestly willing to take. There were too many options, and yet, not enough outcomes.
<br><br>
I glanced up, and the street was deserted, not surprisingly, seeing that most people didn't go gallavanting around in the back alleys in the dead of night. Unless they had coin or blood that they had little need of.
<br><br>
I took a left and strode into a wide, splendorous plaza. Then halted.
<br><br>
I slowly turned my head, from left to right. There was the constant ominous sensation of a barbed arrow finding its mark between my shoulder blades, yet the true event never made its appearance.
<br><br>
I continued to scan the rooftops, the windows, the shadows for any distinguishing figures. No... nothing. But that made sense, really... they'd want me executed in a secure place.
<br><br>
Glancing over my shoulder (to find naught but an idly patrolling guard), I took a piloting step and made my way to the door of an impressive triple-storied inn, windows bright as day. Yes... that would do.
<br><br>
I placed my gauntleted hand on the handle... and felt a sharp, almost unbearable pain lance up through my spine into my brain. I straightened... what was that feeling?
<br><br>
Ah, yes. Blind relief.
<br><br>
I opened the door, closed it softly, and strode forward to the front desk. My eyes hazed past the tapestries and gilded furniture, the gold and silver; my mind was elsewhere. The lobby of the inn was abandoned... A good sign; no one was expecting me. Either that, or they didn't want me to know they were expecting me. A dangerous game I played.
<br><br>
I placed my hands on the polished wood and tapped my index finger twice against it. The innkeeper glanced up, and eyed my rather shady appearance with apprehension.
<br><br>
"One room for one night," I stated simply.
<br><br>
"That'll be one hundred gold," she replied automatically, with a small snap at the end... as if she were implying that I had that much to throw away on a bed without a woman in it. How insulting.
<br><br>
I reached within my coat and withdrew a small, neatly tied brown bag that tinkled cheerfully as I placed it on the desk.
<br><br>
She opened a drawer and retrieved an iron key with the words 'Tiber Septim Hotel' carved into the shaft. "Third door on the right." She handed it to me without touching my fingers. She was quite the collector of faux paus, I noted silently. They might catch up to her some dreadful day.
<br><br>
I turned, ascended the stairs, and opened a door to an impeccably set dining chamber. Hmm... except that fork should’ve been on the left, not the right. Ah well.
I opened another door to find myself in a long hall punctuated with a number of heavy doors. The third on the right, I recalled. Looking back over my shoulder once more, and walking as silently as I could up to the designated door, I inserted the key, turned it, and with an uncomfortably loud click, the door opened to reveal a lavishly furnished chamber. I stalked inside, closing the door, and pulling back my hood, I fell into a crouch and slowly, thoroughly, searched the entire room for anything incriminating at all. Traps, illegal substances, secret passages, removable bricks, every single underhanded trick that could be implemented into architecture. Content, I rose back to my full height, and glanced at the wax pooling around the base of a nearby scented candle. Now... they would play into my hands.
<br><br>
I threw down the (already searched, thank you) covers of the bed, and placed the pillows cleverly underneath to simulate a human shape. Covering my handiwork with the sheets, I looked around for anything else to make it more convincing... ah! I grabbed a nearby bowl of fruit and placed it at the side of the bed. Ah, yes. Subtle, yet so, so convincing.
<br><br>
My staged slumber in place and all evidence of forgery removed, I placed myself against the wall perpendicular to the door. It was only be sheer luck this establishment's doors opened inwards.
<br><br>
My back flat against the wall, I reached down and drew my sword. I looked at it, and, despite having lived with it practically my entire life, I was again captivated by it's exquisite forgery and flair... it was a mosaic, composed of snowy silver shards instead of glass. I breathed contentedly, and placed my hands on my knees. And waited.
<br><br>
And waited.
<br><br>
And waited.
<br><br>
An unknown increment of time had passed when I was roused out of my open-eyed dormancy. The door clicked softly, and opened on oiled hinges. I held my breath... the opening door stopped perhaps a heartbeat away from touching me. My breath was still in bondage, however.
<br><br>
A black, seemingly formless shape stalked into the chamber, sluggishly yet deliberately, as though a stagnant stream. It's head was locked in the direction of the bed; I couldn't help but feel slightly prideful knowing my trap had worked. Oh, yes.
<br><br>
The figure continued to sneak, and it was perhaps ten feet away from the door before I began to inch out of my hiding place, ever so silently. If I made the slightest noise... I'd be dead. You've never heard of a man winning a fight from behind a closed door, have you?
<br><br>
I managed to slither about of my hiding place, and now I had the perfect opportunity... I raised my sword.
<br><br>
The candle reflected off of the blade of my sword onto the silver fruit bowl. The assassin spun around, and I brought my blade down.
<br><br>
Only to have it be met by a short blade. The assassin stared at me behind his mask, and I could tell, he was surprised... yet pleased.
<br><br>
Breaking the hold with a minor appliance of force, I spread into a more comfortable combat stance, yet my adversary wasn't one for elegance; he made a stab at me whilst I was adjusting my position. I made a rather undignified parry, and made an even more undignified kick to his legs. He jumped, and I made a slash at his midsection. It was strange... it were as though my blade was just... pushed away from him. I took a step back, and my opponent attempted to make a high stab, but I twisted slightly and grazed his arm. He took a step to the left in an attempt to balance himself, and made another swipe, gouging my thigh. My step stuttered slightly, but not enough to let his next stab be a successful one. Fueled by contempt, I grabbed his arm with my left hand, and as he attempt to pull away, I dropped my sword, grabbed his left shoulder with my right hand, and gave him a businesslike knee to the balls. I felt that odd deflection of force again... was it an enchantment? Yet I had gotten my point across, and my foe fell to one knee, his grip on his sword loosening. However, he took the chance to stab me in the waist as he fell.
<br><br>
I grunted, more in anger at myself than in pain. I can't believe I fell for that... well, there was little time to dwell on it. I swatted away his sword with a brutal kick to the arm, and as he lay sprawled on the carpet of the chamber, he looked at me with an awestruck gaze.
<br><br>
"Praise Sithis..." he rasped, his voice contorted by shock and disbelief, but at most, disappointment.
<br><br>
"Praise this, you wretched bastard!" I growled at him, and I drove my sword into his throat. He cried out, a gurgling sound drowned out by blood, and out of spite, I stabbed him in the throat again. Just to get my point across.
<br><br>
As the floor became slick with blood and the carpets dyed with crimson, I bent to retrieve my sword, and to examine my assailant. I removed the mask from his face... just another nameless Breton. It was to be expected. I pulled his black, seemingly shapeless cloak away and it seemed to writhe in my hands, as though wanting to escape. I tossed it unwisely onto a candle; it was consumed in a heartbeat and disappeared in a puff of jet smoke.
<br><br>
I was more interested in my assassin's armor, however. I pulled the cuirass from his body, and held it up to the light to observe it.
<br><br>
A myriad of black metal chains, crossing each other again and again in a bulwarking pattern. There was black metal plates fused into the chains to strategically reinforce it, and in the center of the cuirass, there was a large, blood red handprint. The Mark of Sithis. The entire piece of armor seemed enshrouded by a black and crimson glow... So, it was enchanted. Interesting.
<br><br>
I straightened, but suddenly froze as I heard the loud crank of a crossbow being primed. I turned to see another assassin, this one clad in midnight leather, armed with a small, black metal crossbow, aimed for my heart.
<br><br>
The assassin fired, and in a splay of reflexes, I threw my arms up to defend myself.
The black, barbed bolt deflected off my sword, almost knocking it out of my grasp.
As if expecting such amazing abilities, the second assassin grabbed a dagger from her belt and lunged at me. In a moment of pure, unprocessed stupidity, I threw my sword at her in all my might.
<br><br>
It impaled her through the chest, sending a spray of blood back into the hall, and she faltered in her step, dropping her dagger in an attempt to regain balance, only to fall onto her back, pushing the sword out of the chest cavity.
<br><br>
I approached her, and she looked up at me. Tears were in her eyes.
<br><br>
Smiling mirthlessly, I yanked my sword from her chest, causing her sob in pain, and without the slightest of remorse, yanked the black leather from her body, harvested the chain mail, short blade, dagger, crossbow, and bolts, and made my way for the door.
<br><br>
As her eyes clouded, I looked upon her nude form once more. "When you meet Sithis, tell him to go praise himself."
<br><br>
I closed the door, locked it, and left her to die.
<br><br>
Striding down the silent corridor, loot in hand, I mulled over one disturbing thought. The Dark Brotherhood wanted me dead, I thought, taking a bite out of an orange I had plucked from the fruit bowl. The question was... who was their employer?
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by GrrMan)</Div>

Jherick's Story

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">Jherick's Story<br>
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<DIV align="left">
(The following was scribbled into the side of the book for clarification)<br><br>
<i>A Dark Elf was found along the shoreline of Argonia by an Argonian tribe, circa 3E290 - shortly after the remainder of the Imperial Fleet had returned bearing news that the Emporer had fell at Ionith. They noted a Dunmer criminal whose information was top-secret had escaped...>/i>
<br><br>
"Sir, look! The slavers are about to attempt a night time assault!"
<br><br>
"Those selfrightous dogs never quit, do they? Ring the town bell, alert everyone else!"
<br><br>
The look out for the Phoriid tribe had rang the town bell, warning the people to ready for battle, or hide. All manner of yelling and screaming could be heard, as all the defenders found their gear and readied for battle. The leaders amongst them were two Argonians; both had hunter's gear and polearms, and, oddly, a Dark Elf. He wore naught but some tattered pants, and he had an extremely tough chitiny longsword.
<br><br>
The defenders readied themselves inside the sturdy wooden town wall, hoping that this would not be their last day. Some snipers and stealthy mages made themselves ready behind or in the thick trees of the Argonian brush.
<br><br>
The Dunmer lit fire to their arrows, before sending them through the night. The defenders sent their arrows at the attackers, after witnessing some fatal blows to nearby people, or buildings set aflame. At that moment, the attackers sent an enormous fireball into the wall, setting it aflame. The hidden fighters and mages began sending arrows at the attackers, killing a good sized group.
<br><br>
The wall burnt, the defenders stood behind the rubble, awaiting for the attackers to charge them. One of the leaders had nudged the Dark Elf, then saying:
<br><br>
"I hope this will not be our last day, for I still have not had the chance to defeat you in a duel.'
<br><br>
The Dark Elf, somewhat quizically and sadly, noted:
"Had I known that this would happen, I would have gladly let you win. You and your tribe have been like... kin to me since I've been here."
<br><br>
The Dark Elf had then readied himself, as he heard the attackers almost to the burnt wall. Just at the moment that they had arrived, looking forward, wondering where the defenders went, they found speartips and other weapons impaling through them, or cutting into them. The survivors of that attack had replied with their own blades, wounding or killing many hardy defenders. There was an instant of melee, where no one could tell what was happening, then the Dark Elf had found himself covered in blood, and fell over, light headed...
<br><br>
It was day time, the smell of smoke was great in the air. The Dark Elf rose, finding himself above some of the dead. He looked around him, seeing many dead Argonians and Dunmer. He had faintly remembered a battle, though it seemed so near, that he could almost see it... He looked around, to find it seemed the town was abandoned, and the dead still there. He was shocked and scared, as he looked around he could see smouldering ruin amongst the jungle. It seemed that even a handful of the innocents fled, to his unfortune.
<br><br>
He went back into what remained of his hut; retrieving a bow and a small quiver, and a dai-katana. He drew the sword, only to find the handle and a very small portion of the blade there. He peeped in the sheathe, yet, still naught a blade was found. He sighed and put the blade back in. He could see some Argonians in elaborate robes walking toward the rubble of the now-ruined town. They were led by one of the hunters, who appearantly escaped the battle. As they walked closer, they saw the Elf and the men in robes drew out weapons. The hunter explained his being there, so they drew their weapons back. One approached and asked the Mer:
<br><br>
"What...eh...who are you?"
<br><br>
"I have no name." said the Elf.
<br><br>
The Argonian looked quizically at him, and asked "Are there any survivors?"
<br><br>
The Dark Elf sadly sighed and told the man what happened. The Argonian took a glance at him, then lept back, then saying "Wuh-we need you to come with us, sir."
The Elf sighed wearily and said "Okay. I'd just like to know what is going on."
<br><br>
The men had followed the hunter to a massive city, very well fortified and men patrolling wearing strong armor equipped with sturdy bows and adamantium blades - common in this province. After walking for some time, Jherick was shown the room he was to stay in, and one of the men told him politely, "I know you must be very confused, so one of us will attempt to explain what is going on as soon as we can." Some of the other Argonians in the room began murmuring to each other things and looking at the Elf. He could not help feeling burdened by many things, and the loss of his near-brethren. He was almost weeping by this point, and went into his new room. He set down his equipment, sat down on his bed, and drifted to sleep...
<br><br>
The Elf found himself awake, he was in a very small room. He saw a man in front of him. The man was also a Dark Elf. He was slightly more muscular, had shorter hair, a headband tied around his head, a clean shave, his eyes were indeed like that of a Dunmer, but with almost half less tint. He wore a black robe, buckled shoes, and he carried a sword...wait...that was his sword! The Elf looked at him, and asked, "Who are you?"
<br><br>
The man, shifting his eyes toward the Elf, replied, "I am known as Jherick. I was once you... long ago. You lost your memory after washing up the shoreline, hence, we are one and the same."
<br><br>
the Elf, confused, said, "I do not understand. You mean to say that you were me before I washed up on shore?"
<br><br>Jherick, nodded, saying, "We shall unite, once again, my body. You have just been preserved this whole time...but soon...soon we shall be together."
<br><br>
The Elf asked, "So, my real name is Jherick?"
<br><br>
Jherick, nodded again, but this time said, "For now, I will place my mark on you. That way, I can begin to come back. Otherwise, it may be a bit diffucult."
<br><br>
The Elf, said, "Um..sure...I guess I have no choice."

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Foreword

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>By Crassius Curio - Foreword<br>
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<DIV align="left">
Introduction, by Plitinus Mero, author of ‘The Real Barenziah’
<br><br>
It is with great pleasure that I take my quill to write some introductory words as my friend Curio has asked me.
<br><br>
We are both very controversial authors. My masterpiece has often been censored and the watered-down Biography of Barenziah is better known than my own work. But it is the way of the world, for I have vexed some powerful people.
Crassius, on the other hand, barely mentions a few existing people in his play. Yet, nobody wished to see it on stage and with good reasons for it is the best satire on Vivec society that I have read for decades. Everybody is mocked in this play, from Berel Sala the greedy to the cowardly Twin Lamps, from Imperials to Dunmers.
<br><br>
But the play was forbidden and since then, everything has been done so that its author would look as a pervert man. The title has been changed: from The Lusted Argonian Maid, it has evolved into The Lusty Argonian Maid. Moreover, only a part of one scene is publicly displayed, and it is so out of context that it cannot be properly understood.
<br><br>
I could carry on like this for a long while, but you have better to do than to read my angry lines. Please, this I beg of you: give to this play a try. You will not be disappointed.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Act 1

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>By Crassius Curio - Act 1<br>
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<DIV align="left">
Dramatis Personae
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Argonian slave<br>
The Mistress: Lifts-Her-Tail's owner, Master's wife and Crantius Colto's lover<br>
The Tormenter<br>
The Master: Lifts-Her-Tail's owner, Mistress's husband<br>
The Priest: clergyman of Mara Benevolence<br>
Crantius Colto: Vivec's Foreign Quarter administrator and Mistress's lover<br>
A member of the Twin Lamps<br>
A Thief<br><br>

The play takes place in Vivec and starts on Frost Fall 23th. Events mostly happen in the Master's manor : Imperial-looking house, with obviously wealthy inhabitants. The Mistress's clothes are very sophisticated; as for Colto's clothes, they are typically the clothes of an Imperial nouveau riche.
<br><br>
Act I: in the Mistress's room
<br><br>
Scene I (The Mistress, Lifts-Her-Tail; then the Tormenter)
<br><br>
The Mistress: Once again I caught you red-handed, filthy slave! You were trying to rob me!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Have mercy, Mistress! Lifts-Her-Tail is a good slave, yes, she is! She doesn't steal her mistress's properties, no, she doesn't! Not her, not Lifts-Her-Tail!
<br><br>
The Mistress: Enough, you worthless liar! I saw you pretending cleaning my room and now my brooch is gone! You’re the only one who could have taken it, don't deny it. There is no point in claiming you're not guilty, all slaves are the same. Oh, how I miss my Cyrodiil's house where I had a proper domesticity. But you, Argonians, and Khajiits as well, you crave for shiny objects and you grab them whenever you can. You are not worthy to live, you are no more than disgusting beasts. I should sell you to the owners of Caldera’s mine.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Don't, Mistress, please don't! Lifts-Her-Tail has heard dreadful stories about Caldera's mine, dreadful ! Argonians are whipped every day if they don't bring back enough ore and Lifts-Her-Tail can't dig!
<br><br>
The Mistress: So, you're afraid of being whipped, eh? Well, I can remedy that.
<br><br>
(She claps her hands once; enters the Tormenter, whip already in hand)
<br><br>
The Mistress: Every ten blows, I will ask you again: where did you hide my brooch? If you don't answer, you get more whip. Easy to understand, don't you think so? Even a lizard-woman such as you must be able to grasp the meaning of it: don’t talk and you die.
<br><br>
(The Tormenter lifts his whip)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Lifts-Her-Tail is a good slave! She ain't a stealer, she ain't! Mercy!
<br><br>
(The Tormenter whips her)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Lifts-Her-Tail is hurt, yes, she's hurt! But she still doesn't know where her mistress’s brooch is, by Z'en!
<br><br>
The Mistress: I have already told you not to mention your heathen god under my roof! None but the Nines will be talked about here!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail : Lifts-Her-Tail doesn’t know, doesn't know! The Mistress is wrong!
<br><br>
The Mistress: You dare insult me? Tormenter, put salt on her wounds!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Mercy, Mistress! Lifts-Her-Tail thinks she knows where the brooch is!
<br><br>
The Mistress: Finally, you thief! Where is it, I ask you?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: On your dress, Mistress, on your dress! You put it on and you forgot! You are not fair to Lifts-Her-Tail!
<br><br>
The Mistress (laughing): Oh, of course! Well, why did you not tell me before? Tormenter, give her five more blows to teach her to answer when asked to. That should do the trick.
<br><br>
(Exit the Mistress; the Tormenter hits Lifts-Her-Tail again, then exit)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Poor, poor Lifts-Her-Tail! Her mistress is making her suffer a lot! But Lifts-Her-Tail must not complain, because she is very lucky to be a slave here rather than in Caldera’s mine or in a Telvanni stronghold. Lifts-Her-Tail’s cousin has told her a frightful story on what happens to sorcerers' slaves! A story with kind men from the Legion, killed by an evil woman who was called Xyr! So, Lifts-Her-Tail is happy to live in Vivec rather than in a sorcerer's place or in Hlaalus' plantations and mines. Lifts-Her-Tail has heard stories about a place called the Black Marsh and Lifts-Her-Tail's mother told her about the lizardfolk country when she was still alive. But Lifts-Her-Tail doesn't understand them, 'cause nobody could live in a swamp, which has no ground and where everything is wet! So, Lifts-Her-Tail doesn't miss such a place, 'cause the mistress's house is warm and dry even in Frost Fall! But Lifts-Her-Tail has been going gibbering too long: she must clean the place, for the Mistress has told her she awaits two very important guests: a priest and a most handsome man, called Crantius Colto.
<br><br>
(Someone knocks at the door; Lifts-Her-Tail opens; enter the Priest)
<br><br>
Scene II (Lifts-Her-Tail; the Priest)
<br><br>
The Priest: Mara bless you and this warm house! 'Tis no season for a priest to go out of his chapel, even to celebrate. But where are my manners? Greetings, pretty damsel.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Oh, Your Grace, you are mocking Lifts-Her-Tail. Lifts-Her-Tail is not pretty. Only Cyrodiil women are pretty. Lizardfolks are ugly, so says Lifts-Her-Tail's mistress.
<br><br>
The Priest (laughing): My Grace? Here is a rank raise! But you’re wrong, young Argonian. Beauty is not shared only between Cyrodiils: you may not seem pleasant to your mistress’s eyes, but I have one or two Argonian friends who would find you perfect for their taste.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (snorting in disgust): Black Marsh! Nothing but scum there, so says Lifts-Her-Tail's mistress.
<br><br>
The Priest (astonished): Arkay be good, how can one say such a thing? Has your Mistress taught you this? Then your mistress didn't do you any good. Black Marsh is a very interesting and beautiful province for those who know how to look at it. It is also called Argonia (Lifts-Her-Tail raise her head, surprised), yes, Argonia, even if this elven name doesn't suit most of your race.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail : Race? What does the priest mean? Lifts-Her-Tail is no woman, she is a beast.
<br><br>
The Priest (paling): By the Eight and One, this is an outrage. Your mistress has taught you naught but false and biased things. You're not human, that’s true, but you’re not a beast either. You can speak, you can think, you can plan. You can know the gods. Do you think that a guar or an alit would be able to do so?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (eyes down again): Lifts-Her-Tail doesn't know… Lifts-Her-Tail doesn't understand all that the kind priest says to her.
<br><br>
The Priest: Alas, my chapter is not rich enough to buy you from your your mistress. Without that, I would do it gladly. But what are these white strips on your shoulders and your back? Have you been whipped?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Yes, and many a time so.
<br><br>
The Priest: Enough, my child. I cannot bear anymore to see you yielding to your masters and accepting your slavery. I was summoned here by your mistress to celebrate the Broken Diamond with her husband and the noble Crantius Colto and I will not break my word. But I will come back and teach you to read, to write and to think by yourself, do you agree with that?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: If Lifts-Her-Tail's mistress gives her leave…
<br><br>
The Priest: No, my child, not like that. Would you like or not?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Lifts-Her-Tail guesses so…
<br><br>
The Priest: Fine.
<br>
<br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Act 2

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>Foreword<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Acte II: In the house guestroom
<br><br>
Scene I (Lifts-Her-Tail; the Priest)
<br><br>
The Priest: No, Lifts-Her-Tail, no. Pay attention to what you're reading, speak clearly and be careful of understanding every word. No use to read this book from one end to another: reading is difficult to learn when it has not been done during childhood. Try and concentrate.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: I have… no… noted that… that… Heart…lan…ders like myself, and assimi…lated (she looks uncertain ; The Priest nods) Imperial… Citizens of other races, tend to imp… imp… impersonal and formal relation… ships with their gods and spirits.
<br><br>
The Priest: Well, Lifts-Her-Tail, I believe that congratulations are in order. Your diction is better each time we practice. I must say that never before an Argonian grown-up (or Imperial or Dunmer ones, for that matter) has learned to read so fast. I have given you lessons for less than a month and I'm delighted to see that my wishes have been fulfilled.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: You're too kind with Lifts-Her-Tail, mister priest.
<br><br>
The Priest: Not all, dear child. Julianos be blessed, you have been gifted with outstanding cleverness. 'Tis your mistress who has sought to break your will, to what purpose I cannot say. But you have only bent and she hasn’t been able to achieve her evil task. Yet you have to think of you as a self. Dare say 'I', for it has been denied to you for too long. You'll see, if you succeed, you will have a better opinion of yourself.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Lifts-Her-Tail will try (The Priest winces comically). Sorry, Lifts-Her-Tail is not familiar with this. Lifts-Her-Tail means: I'm not familiar with this. Yes! Lifts-Her-Tail has succeeded! I have succeeded. Oh, thank you, Lifts-Her-Tail thanks you. No, I, I, I thank you.
<br><br>
(The door slightly opens)
<br><br>
The Priest: Quick, Lifts-Her-Tail, give me this book. If you’re caught reading, you face death!
<br><br>
Scene II (Lifts-Her-Tail, The Priest, The Master, Crantius Colto)
<br><br>
The Master (without noticing Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest): At least, you will admit that the mischiefs of the… how did you say? Twin Lamps, that’s it, are quite damageable. And For now, they only free slaves (Lifts-Her-Tail opens wide eyes) but will they not come to harm the masters?
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (not noticing Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest either): I understand your concern but I still give you the advice to negotiate because then, you will know their leaders. It will be easy for me to give them away to Berel Sala. The old fellow owes me one or two and he will capture them. The poor bastard has much need of that: would you believe that his Ordinators have been tricked so many times by the dissident priests? Saryoni is talking of having his head.
<br><br>
The Master: You are certainly right, but these ways disgust me. I did not make my business like that back in Anvil.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Alas, my dear friend, we're not in Cyrodiil. Other places, other ways: you know what they say about Morrowind. Here, show but one weakness abd you are utterly lost. Stand against your foes, and put your precious principles aide for the moment (Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest enter quietly into a cupboard).
<br><br>
The Master (abruptly): Dunmers must have had a bad influence on you, then, Colto. I have seen your hands wandering each time you come across my Argonian slave, Lifts-Her-Tail.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (ill-at-ease): I hope I didn't displease you, friend…
<br><br>
The Master (softening): No, of course, not. She is a slave, she must obey. Do with her whatever you want, I don't really care. Try not to hurt her though, my wife sees to that already.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Ah, do you know, my dear friend, that despite my wealth and my current position, I never had the opportunity to submit an Argonian to my whims? Your offer pleases me beyond measure and I will make the best of it (Lifts-Her-Tail lets out a little cry). I shiver from excitation at the mere thought of holding tight the scales of this lassie, yes, indeed! Is it not the same for you?
<br><br>
The Master (coolly again): I am faithful to my wife and intends to stay so, Colto.
<br><br>
(Exit the Master)
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (laughing): You may, but she doesn't, you stiffen-neck! I must have hold this gal twenty times more than you, at the very least. And it started on your wedding night, blind cuckold! Ah! You didn't realized I had popped her cherry before you joined her in bed? Stupid! Blood was all over the sheets and her hair was a mess! Oh, but now I understand: you would have loathed to do it with lit candles. And every time you came home early, little Lifts-Her-Tail warned her mistress as she has been told. Cute little one! My savior! Oh, how I wish to straddle her, here and now (Lifts-Her-Tail stifle another cry). What? Oh, probably nothing. Where was I? Oh, yes, Lifts-Her-Tail. Well, she lifts something in me, that's for sure! Alas, her mistress is not so arousing; I have had her too many times, her flesh is not as soft as when our bodies melt for the first time. I have grown tired of her, I enjoy her with only half my mind. It is time to let my staff have a new playground! The Argonian will soon be mine. Maybe I could persuade her mistress to let her join us? Now, that would be entertaining! But first, I must have this little slave all for myself once. I'm sure she is as virgin as she was when she was born. Her master probably doesn't lie when he says he has never touched her: he already cannot give satisfaction to his wife!
<br><br>
(Exit Crantius Colto; Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest come back in the middle of the room from their cupboard)
<br><br>
Scene III (Lifts-Her-Tail; The Priest)
<br><br>
The Priest: Outrageous! Would have I not heard it with my own ears that I wouldn't believe such a disgusting man could exist! And how can your master discard you and give you to this man?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (weeping): What an awful man! I don't want to do what my master said, no, no, no! I would die, I'm sure!
<br><br>
The Priest: But, dear child! You have thought as a self! You struggle against your master's will? My efforts are crowned with success!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Oh, yes, I speak properly now. From the shock I suffered, doubtless! And what use will it be to me? What could I do against Colto? He has to say but a word and half Vivec will hold me under him while the other half will cheer him when he take his pleasure!
<br><br>
The Priest: Here is a tricky problem, that's for sure. How would we remove you away from this fiend, I wonder?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: But, good priest, there is a way!
<br><br>
The Priest: There is?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: The Twin Lamps? Have they not threatened to kidnap masters? Mine will be out tonight and Colto will be here. We could ask them to seize him, pretending it was a mistake as if the target was my master and not Colto! Would it work?
<br><br>
The Priest: By Julianos, I'm proud of you, Lifts-Her-Tail! It is well thought and well ordred. It happens that I know myself a Twin Lamps member. I am sure I will persuade him. They could even bring you out of Morrowind!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: No, dear priest, I am afraid I could not survive in the Black Marsh. I cannot hunt, I don’t know the forests and the swamps… I prefer to stay in Vivec, even if I am to be tracked.
<br><br>
The Priest: But how would you? Even us, Nine Divines worshippers, we have to pay Berel Sala so that his Ordinators protect us!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (grinning): Trust me… I have an idea for that too.
<br><br>
(The curtain drops)
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Act 3

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>Foreword<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Act III: in the mistress’s room; in Saint-Delyn plaza; in the Black Shalk Cornerclub.
<br><br>
Scene I (Crantius Colto; The Mistress)
<br><br>
(Crantius Colto comes in; The Mistress is combing her hair)
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (grinning): My lady, your husband has prayed me to excuse him for this evening. He will be in Ebonheart where a friend of mine is waiting for him. An urgent matter, he said.
<br><br>
The Mistress: Let's hope that my husband will be ever so eager to our financial well-being and to save the dowry I brought to him! We'll see together to my physical well-being.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (his grin widens): Yes, we'll free him from his other conjugal duties, my lady (he kisses his hand). I hope to find you as immodest as ever.
<br><br>
The Mistress: Do not fear, good-willed assistant of my husband, Dibella will help me as always… And Mara will not look… as always…
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (suddenly short of breath, with a raucous voice): Then, is my lady right when she make a Divine wait by dressing her hair so? Gods are impatient, you know that.
<br><br>
The Mistress: Dibella is a woman. She knows the virtue of patience, believe you me. The frenzy of our desire will only be more powerful, dear friend.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (pretending he’s disappointed): Alas, my lady, I know your husband to be quick in whatever he makes, in business or at home… We would risk not to have enough time to accomplish his duties. So, if I may be so bold as to suggest something that will please you, I hope…
<br><br>
The Mistress: Your imagination in this matters always delights me. Suggest, suggest.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Well… I have watched with increasing interest your slave, Lifts-Her-Tail. I think that you remember how much she has helped us in past times (the Mistress nods). Five years ago, she was only twelve but her figure was already stunning. Now that she has grown into a woman, or an Argonian if you prefer, her beauty is bewitching. And your husband has allowed me to do whatever I want with her. Would it not be fun, my lady, to share this favour that your husband does to me?
<br><br>
The Mistress: My dear, either you have lost your sense, or you are telling me poorly that you don't love me any more.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Goodness no, my lady (his voice becomes sensual)! Please, do imagine us, three instead of two, imagine the pleasure… My lady, I have already seen you peeping at this slave with a strange light in your eyes… Vile concupiscence? No, I call that desire, pure and unadorned. You dream of her, you long to hold her tight and to press your burning lips against hers, which are frosty, to warm her cold-blooded body with yours, which is full of life and love. But you are still hesitating, my lady? Modesty reaching you at last? Dibella is not good for you any more, you turn back to Dibella? Then I'm nothing to you, I draw back and you will never hear of me again for I would disturb you by staying here. Or… Is it a ruse to keep her for you alone? Hadn't we promised to share all things? Was I not honoring this promess myself in suggesting to have Lifts-Her-Tail together rather than keep her egoistically for me?
<br><br>
The Mistress (short of breath): No, dear stallion of my nightly rides, no, don't leave! I confess, I have lusted for this slave, and punished her to have inspired me such a desire! Go and bring her, so that we share her!
<br><br>
(Exeunt omnes)
<br><br>
Scene II (The Priest; a Twin Lamps member)
<br><br>
The Abolitionnist: Your plan is most risky, father… To attack a guarded manor mid-Vivec? And how should we do that? Please be so kind as to explain me how not to be butchered, the whole lot of us.
<br><br>
The Priest (his hands shaking): I have no idea, truth be told… Have you not some skilled illusionnists among you, mages who could hide you from the Ordinators?
<br><br>
The Abolitionnist: We have some. But our last raid has been a total disaster, thanks to suggestions like yours. One of them is between life and death, another has been lef half-mad from a nasty jinx and the third and last one is trying to heal them. I am afraid that I can not acquiesce to your request, father. Can't you pray your gods so that they would favour you?
<br><br>
The Priest (spitting his words): Only Dibella and her lust live in this house, and the mistress of this frightening place "prays" her in her own way too much: my words to the gods would be useless.
The Abolitionnist: Then it looks to me that your chances of success are thin…
<br><br>
The Priest: "Yours"? You would fail us when we placed all our trust in you? What is your freeing-every-slave oath worth? Have you no more feelings that the masters who trade and offer…
<br><br>
The Abolitionnist: Father, all is not as simple as you seem to believe it. Berel Sala tolerate us because he has other things to do than to listen to one or two angry Telvannis and the Cammona Tong keeps its foul mouth shut inside Vivec. Yet, if we take a wrong step, if we raid in Vivec, he will go after us even if we hide among the Corprus stalkers in Red Mountain!
<br><br>
The Priest: Buy this poor Lifts-Her-Tail and free her, then! Eight and One, wouldn't you make that at least?
<br><br>
The Abolitionnist : Neither that nor lending you money to do such a thing. This is simply not our way… But we wish you to succeed and…
<br><br>
The Priest: Blast you and your wishes! You will not come, that is enough. Don't you dare to mock me when you are the coward who will not help! I shouldn't have come. I would have spared me cruel disappointment on the nature of humans' soul!
<br><br>
(Exeunt omnes)
<br><br>
Scene III (Lifts-Her-Tail; a Thief)
<br><br>
The Thief: We don't let slaves join the Guild. We have a strict policy on that: we do not wish to be turned in during a robbery because a spy give us away.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Tomorrow, I won't be a slave anymore. My masters have loosened their watch on me lately and the Twin Lamps will come for me this night.
<br><br>
The Thief: It won't work either. We refuse to have any business with this… organization. We are at war, do you understand? The Cammona Tong is pressing hard on us. It's hard enough to keep up with them without giving them a legal means to fight us.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Think twice, thief, my friend (the Thief makes a gest to make her lower her voice). Tonight, Crantius Colto is sleeping in the house where I live, and he won't be in the guestroom, if you catch my meaning. It would be easy for me to go through his goods while you're… searching his home. Is this piece of information not interesting enough to allow me to join your Guild?
<br><br>
The Thief: Crantius Colto? The foreign quarter's administrator?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Himself. The most wealthy Crantius Colto. Him, whose chests have no more locks 'cause they burst open 'cause there is too much gold stuffed in them! Him, that even the Ordinators dare not cross! And who will not be able to warn them tomorrow of the little robbery of yours if all go according to my plans?
<br><br>
The Thief: Which are?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: His fortuitous kidnapping by the Twin Lamps who will have mistaken him for my master. After all, the one who lies in my mistress' bed must be my owner, mustn't he?
<br><br>
The Thief (grinning): And you think, dear partner, that you'll be able to bring us some of his most precious jewels that he always keeps close on him.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: What I think, dear partner, is that when he sees me, cleaning his room with my broom, I could rip his family jewels off of without him noticing it.
<br><br>
The Thief: Let's drink to this deal, then, and to your providential informations! And to your hiring into the Guild! Just what we needed to fund and refound the Bal Molagmer!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Amen to that! Cheers, partner!
<br><br>
(The curtain drops)
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Act 4

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>Foreword<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Acte IV: In the house guestroom
<br><br>
Scene I (The Priest; Lifts-Her-Tail)
<br><br>
The Priest: I am utterly sorry, dear child. I tried my best, but my Twin Lamps acquaintance turned me down. They will not help us, not even with so few risks.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (worried): Poor me! I told the Thieves that Colto would not send the Ordinators after them if they crept into his house. If they're caught, they will have me dead!
<br><br>
The Priest: It appears we are left with only one choice, then. It is against my vows but to help you I would serve the Underking himself. I'll come back this night and the both of us will see that Colto doesn't disturb us anymore.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: No, no! It's too dangerous for you! You'd lose your rank and your honor because of me!
<br><br>
The Priest: My honor would be lost if I didn't help you, leaving you in Colto and your mistress's hands. As for my rank, it has never been much. And if the Divines let those things happen, I deny them and do not want to serve them any longer!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Yet we're not strong enough to carry Colto outside of this house!
<br><br>
The Priest: Not to worry… I am considering to chop him into little pieces and to throw them in the sea. (Lifts-Her-Tail pales) No, dear child, only joking. I made my time in the legion, as any poor Imperial has to. My arms have still some strength. I hope it will be enough to bring him away.
<br><br>
(Exit the Priest)
<br><br>
Scene II (Lifts-Her-Tail)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (doing what she says in this order): Let's have a look… Has Colto put a lock on his luggage. No? The fool! Well, it is fine for me. My new Guild will soon see that I be able to pick a lock properly, though I'm helpless with them. What do I see? He has worn off his jewels? Odd, but then, who am I to complain? Thaks master Colto to male my work so much easier. Oh, you planned to offer this beautiful golden bracelet to my mistress? Well, I take it for the beatings I have endured. And these clothes? I take it in payment for the salt. This collar, for the insults! But what is it that I am hearing? Would that be him coming? Don't panic, Lifts-Her-Tail, play the sweet, innocent and foolish Argonian to the very end! Say stupid things in a coyly way. Act as if you were hiding lust for him. Make him mad with desire! Slow the pace of your voice so that he doesn’t notice what changes you have been through!
<br><br>
Crantius’s Colto voice: Who is in there? A burglar?
<br><br>
Scene III (Lifts-Her-Tail; Crantius Colto)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Certainly not, kind sir! I am here but to clean your chambers.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Is that all you have come here for, little one? My chambers?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: I have no idea what it is you imply, master. I am but a poor Argonian maid.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: So you are, my dumpling. And a good one at that. Such strong legs and shapely tail.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: You embarrass me, sir!
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Fear not. You are safe here with me.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: I must finish my cleaning, sir. The mistress will have my head if I do not!
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Cleaning, eh? I have something for you. Here, polish my spear.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: But it is huge! It could take me all night!
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Command then, master, and I shall obey.
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (careful not to be heard by Lifts-Her-Tail): Sweet moment which I have longed for! Now is the time for my dreams to be fulfilled! Lifts-Her-Tail, your mistress will wait for a few hours, until midnight if it must be (speaking to Lifts-Her-Tail again). Well, cute dumpling, shall we take care of this spear together? (Lifts-Her-Tail walks towards him) Wait, no need to hurry! A good little Argonian like you must put her masters' guests at ease. Here, take off of me my tunic, the heat in this room is unsufferable (Lifts-Her-Tail does as he says). Better, much better now, but still… Do you see this beads of perspiration on my naked skin? Truly, it is a sign. Of what, we do not know, except that my clothes keep me too hot. Remove them at once and we will consider this business of ours about this spear (Lifts-Her-Tail knees before him and undoes his belt; delighted, Crantius Colto throws himself on the bed where he lies on his back).
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Is there anything left that I could do to pleasure you, master?
<br><br>
Crantius Colto: Yes, yes, there is. Can't you see how the shaft of my spear is keenly standing up? Come closer, little one, closer. That's it, have no worries… (Crantius Colto sits up on the bed and throws his arms around Lifts-Her-Tail’s waist who shivers in disgust). Your scales are even smoother than I would have dared to hope, cutie.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: And you are filthier than I would have feared, Colto (before he reacts to what she said, she removes his arms from her waist, reaches for her broomstick and delivers him some blows on the back of his neck until he falls uncunscious).
<br><br>
(The curtain drops)
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

The Lusted Argonian Maid: Act 5

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<DIV align="center">The Lusted Argonian Maid<br>Foreword<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
Act V: in the Mistress's room
<br><br>
Scene I (The Mistress, then Lifts-Her-Tail and The Priest)
<br><br>
The Mistress (in bed, barely clothed): What in Oblivion is Crantius doing? He had promised to return as fast as he could. I have been wainting for him for two hours! Has he tricked me? Would he? Would he steal Lifts-Her-Tail from me? By Dibella, if I must wait the soft kisses of the Argonian one more minute, I will go and look where they are and if he has betrayed me, I will oust him from this place. And Lifts-Her-Tail will be all mine. What a good idea… I think that it's what I will do, whatever he has done. The mere thought of his clumsy and sacrilegious body on this pure, frail slave! Oh, how silly I was to have her beaten and whipped! How much resentment she must have for me! How much caress I will have to give her so that she will forgive me! But that’s not so bad, after all. And I'm rich, by Dibella! The Morag Tong will get rid of my husband and of this Crantius, this heavy bloke! Then I will have enough days left to spoil little Lifts-Her-Tail. Oh! I can't suffer waiting anymore. Enough, I go and if Crantius is with her, I'll have his hide!
<br><br>
(Exit the Mistress)
<br><br>
(Enter Lifts-Her-Tail and The Priest enter, carrying Crantius Colto's inanimated body; they hide it behind the bed, tied and with a gag in his mouth)
<br><br>
The Priest: You are sure, then?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Yes, dear priest. I know that you don't like violence, but I have to avenge myself one way or another and this one is perfect for me.
<br><br>
The Priest: As you wish, Lifts-Her-Tail. I will not blame you, for I can only imagine what you suffered and even good, understanding Stendarr would not forgive your masters and this Colto who claims to be a man!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: My mistress will soon wish she has never owned me (she reaches for a whip, tied to her belt). And this is why.
<br><br>
The Priest: Where did you take that?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: In the Tormenter's room. I have much grief against him, but he was only a hand.
<br><br>
(The Mistress comes back)
<br><br>
The Mistress (pushing the door open): They are nowhere to be seen! Not in his room, not in the domesticity quarters, not in the cellars, not in the attic? Where are they? This damn Crantius would have not brought her away from me to his house, wouldn’t he? Blasted husband who has given her to him? Could he rather have not offered her to me (Lifts-Her-Tail’s eyes flare; The Priest grows pale and his face contorts in a mask of rage)? What to do? What to do? Without her against me, I feel as I'm already dying!
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (leaving the shades): You were looking for me?
<br><br>
The Mistress (throwing herself to her neck): Oh, dearie, you're here! This Crantius monster has not touched you, I hope! A word, a single word from you and I have his hide for good. Oh, that this jerk has even thought of you as his, it’s too much. He must die for this evil deed!
<br><br>
The Priest (pushing her away from Lifts-Her-Tail): Enough, madam. Remember at least once that you swore an oath to you husband when you are speaking to Lifts-Her-Tail. She is pure of any of your sins.
<br><br>
The Mistress (a mad light in her eyes): Pure? So, no one touched you? Ah, good priest who has come to marry me to Lifts-Her-Tail? It is why you have come, isn't it? Isn't it? So that the Nine approve of my passion for this Argonian? So that we will be united by stronger and better bonds than those of my previous marriage?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (lifting her whip): Kneel down, pervert woman, and let me remind you of what I had to suffer from you and this leather sting.
<br><br>
The Mistress (down on the floor): Oh, love that I thought lost and that I so soon find again, whip me and love me more after that. I will accept all, provided that you love me and cherish me more than everything else in the world (Lifts-Her-Tail steps back, frightened)! Become and stay mine for ever! I'll be your slave, your slave!
<br><br>
The Priest: It would be funny, madam, but although you had many slaves, you have no idea what it is to be one. Even to avenge herself, Lifts-Her-Tail would not inflict you that. But prepare to regret your mischiefs if you have enough reason left.
<br><br>
(Lifts-Her-Tail whips the Mistress who shrieks with mixed pain and pleasure)
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail (disgusted): She is crazy. I am avenged in a very different way than what I would have thought. I imagined her pleading to spare her and here she is, taking pleasure in her punishment.
<br><br>
The Priest: Believe me, dear child, you have reasons to be content. For such quick and deep madness, no hope of healing. But I know how to make the lesson more exemplary and painful (he fumbles through his robes and gives her a tiny bottle): here, make them drink this. They will sleep for hours, until someone wakes them up. If we put them in bed, the husband, when he returns, will draw only one conclusion.
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Cunning and deceit... Not typical skills for a priest but very useful (she helps him to put Crantius Colto and the Mistress, now inanimated, in bed, clutching each other). Oh, irony, master of humans! I could swear they still care for each other, seeing them like this. If your potion provides them with dreams, no doubt that they will believe that they are holding me! What a surprise they'll have!
<br><br>
Scene III and last (The Master, The Mistress, Crantius Colto ; then Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest)
<br><br>
The Master (coming in, striding): Oh, lazy wife! Get up! The sun is already high! Have you slept since I left?
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (waking up): Who calls? Is it you, cute Lifts-Her-Tail who rests on my chest, tired with the many leagues we have come through tonight? Ah, ah!
<br><br>
The Master (incredulous): Crantius? What are you doing in my wife's bedroom ?
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (with his eyes closed and still very sleepy): Away, jealous one! If you want your wife, I give her back to you willingly, without regret! But don't touch Lifts-Her-Tail that you offered to me! And don't let your spouse get near her or, by the Nine, I'll have her head and will display it on the pikes in front of my house (he shakes the Mistress without looking at her)! Awake, little one. We have still much to do here before you come home with me.
<br><br>
The Mistress (waking up and stirring): Who calls? Is that you, wonderful Lifts-Her-Tail? Have my strokes and my kisses won your pardon?
<br><br>
The Master (amazed): What is the meaning of this? My wife, in Crantius's arms? Both of them crazy with Lifts-Her-Tail and swearing that they have had her this night whereas she is not there? But I understand why you were sleeping so well, you traitors! Your night must have been short!
<br><br>
The Mistress (opening her eyes and seeing Crantius Colto beside her): What? How do you dare touch me, you bastard ? Where is Lifts-Her-Tail? Speak or I'll carve your heart out with my very teeth (she hits Colto's torso with her fists)! Answer, filth, where is the apple of my eyes? What have you done with her, fiend? If you have merely touched her, I will give your soul to necromancers so that you will eternally suffer!
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (fully awaken by the Mistress's shouts): Back, woman, back! Why are you here, you witch? You have crept in this bed to steal my Lifts-Her-Tail away from me! Give her back to me! Give her back to me, I say! Shall I impale you to get an answer from your dirty mouth?
<br><br>
The Master: I must be crazy! This is a awful and ridiculous nightmare!
<br><br>
The Mistress (turning savagely towards her husbands and throwing herself at him, trying to strangle him): Curse you! Why did you lit the heathen fires of his desire? Why did you give Lifts-Her-Tail to him instead of me?
<br><br>
Crantius Colto (acting the same way as the Mistress): Curse you! Why did you leave when you give Lifts-Her-Tail to me? Couldn’t you satisfy your voracious wife and let me bring the slave to my home?
<br><br>
The Master (steping back and drawing his sword): Ah, deceiters! You, my wife, that I trusted! And you, Colto, you were right to warn me against the Dunmer ways. They have taken over your mind and those of all who live in this house (he kills them)! Eight and One, what did I do? And why inflict me with such a torment (he kills himself)?
<br><br>
(Lifts-Her-Tail and the Priest come back in the room)
<br><br>
The Priest (grimly): All these deaths to own you, Lifts-Her-Tail. You are a very coveted and frightening woman.
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Lifts-Her-Tail: I can now rest, for I am free and avenged. I will not be frightening any more, except to slavers' wealths.
<br><br>
The Priest (surprised): You would work for the Thieves?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: And gladly so. The wages are good and this a job full of opportunities…
<br><br>
The Priest: Hmm, hmm. Funny thing, Zenithar, protector of merchants, has a clergy opposed to mine… Do you think that a good healer and not-so-bad fighter would interest you new acquaintances as a partner?
<br><br>
Lifts-Her-Tail: Why not? You are a much precious man, priest.
<br><br>
The Priest: So, our troubles are settled. You are free and we are humble servants of the thief master. We have only to grab what we can and be away from this dreadful house before someone comes to know what all this noise is about.
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Lifts-Her-Tail: You are right… friend.
<br><br>
(Exeunt omnes, holding their hands)
<br><br>
(The curtain drops)
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Redolegna)</Div>

Mazoga's Story

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">Mazoga's Story<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">Blood splattered on the wall, and Naic laughed, "You are pathetic, mere mortal!", in his cold, dead voice. Opening his mouth wide, revealing his large fangs, he then added tauntingly, "Die without dignity." as he withdrew his dagger from the mans lungs, a harsh hint of pleasure shining in his blood red eyes as he allowed the bandits corpse to drop against the wall, and collapse, the criminals eyes open in fear, staring blankly towards his assassin, "Damn Bandits." Naic spat on the murderers corpse, and cackled "No mere mortal can slay a vampire."
<br><br>
***
<br><br>
Mazoga the Orc sat on her bed inside the small lodge and pondered, pondered like she always did when she was alone. It was something that kept her sane, even if what she thought about was enough to drive a man to insanity, lucky she was not a man, but a woman.
<br><br>
Glancing casually to her armour resting on her bed beside her in one of the rare times she took it off, she continued to ponder about pondering, and think about what she was pondering about. But above all that confusing mess of her mind, she was thinking about and remembering her past.
<br><br>
She had grown up in a poor orphanage, with only one friend, a khajiit, much to the carer's amusement and worry, as racism (or should that be beastism?) existed heavily in that place, and even as an Orc, one of the humanoid races, Mazoga felt the bitter sting of prejudice.
<br><br>
When her only friend had been slain for reporting illegal activities, Mazoga took up an oath. She vowed that she would avenge her cat-friends death, and become a Knight. She tracked down the murderer, and eventually travelled to Cyrodiil, where she learned he had fled the authorities to. More hunting, and she eventually learned he was at Fisherman’s rock.
<br><br>
She made her way there, and challenged the Bandits to combat, as punishment for their crime. Unfortunately, she had both over-estimated herself, and under-estimated them, and it wasn’t long before she was bleeding freely from many places, and lying on the floor, defeat and death imminent.
<br><br>
That was when, through the haze of blood loss, she saw him appear. One of the bandits had their sword over her, ready to end her pain and strike the final blow, when suddenly blood gushed out of one of the bandits shoulders, as he dropped the sword to the ground, still held by his dismembered hand. Screaming, the Bandit spun around to meet his assailant, however he never did see the attackers face, as before he could finish the turn he felt a harsh punch to his stomach, sending him flying across the camp, and straight into a tree which shook form the impact.
<br><br>
Unable to pull herself up, Mazoga struggled to focus on the figure that was already upon the other bandits, slaying them freely and effortlessly, without any of them even having a chance to swing their blade at him. He didn’t even have his sword out, it was still sheathed. Instead, he simply touched the Bandits whilst muttering a few words, and they would collapse to the ground, some of them burning and on fire, others blue with frost, whilst some would simply die as he touched them, without any visible physical changes. All of this was simple sorcery and magic, as Mazoga would later learn, though it was very powerful magic, even if the figure claimed it was simple.
<br><br>
It was the same magic which had slain the bandits that saved her life, as the figure bent down beside her, and began to mutter more words, which brought her consciousness and strength back with every unheard syllable. It was then that she could focus on the sword which was sheathed on the figures side, the black armour that shrouded and protected the figures body, matching his long hair, for a man, and directly contrasting his pale white face, no helmet protecting or hiding it. She gazed into the mans eyes, them blood hungry, red eyes, and found herself feeling a new fear. This seemed to amuse the man, who simply smiled, his mouths open wide, revealing his fangs, and said simply "I am Naic."
<br><br>
"Musing again, Orc-Girl?" A mocking tone rang out from beside Mozaga.
<br><br>
Turning to look, Mazoga found herself staring at her saviour, and close friend, who was still dressed and looked exactly like he had when they first met, "Come on Naic, you know me, I do nothing else." she jested, too comfortable in the vampires presence to be afraid. A hollow laugh from the dead man was her only reply, "Anyway, what are you doing back here? I thought you’d be gone for months, but it’s only been a few days."
<br><br>
"You underestimate me, Orc-Girl." Naic’s face almost seemed hurt, "Did you really think it would take me such a length of time to go to the Imperial City, kill a renegade, weak vampire that had made it’s presence too well known, and get back here, on the way stopping to deal with a small camp of Bandits that had holled themselves up in an Ayelid ruin? Do you really presume me to be that incompetent?"
<br><br>
"But you can only travel at night, unless you feed, and it’s at least a weeks journey by horse." Mazoga defended herself, well aware of how pointless it would be, "Well, anyway, I’m glad your back.”
<br><br>
"Get the door." Naic waved towards the exit from the lodge that he and Mozaga lived in. Running her fingers through her loose, short hair, Mozaga frowned, “What are you…” she began, only to be interrupted by the sound of a hand hitting wood three times.
<br><br>
The amused look on Naic’s dead face told Mozaga to be on her guard, so, picking up her sword, she paced slowly to the door, and discreetly , she edged it open slightly. That was enough for the man on the other side, and it soon flew open with a bang, Mazoga barely having time to raise her steel longsword in defence before the man on the other side of the door began his assault.
<br><br>
Amidst her desperate attempts to block the frantic swings of the attackers claymore, Mazoga managed to get fractured glimpses of the threat. He was clearly Dunmer, his ash-grey skin revealed that instantly, as well as his Morrowind Origins, as only those from the Homeland of the Dark Elves had such tone skin, the western elves generally being much bluer in tone.
<br><br>
Ducking beneath a head-high swing, Mozaga again analyzed her foe, he was dressed in metallic armour, most likely steel, though in the brief glimpse it could have easily been silver. Blocking another swing, this time with her sword, Mozaga stared into the cold eyes of the unprotected head of the Dunmer, noting that the elf was bold as she did so. She forced the Claymore off her sword, and confirmed her suspicions, his armour and claymore were both made from silver, the traditional material used by those that sought to slay the damned.
<br><br>
"What do you want!" she asked him, whilst at the same time trying to force him out of the open door.
<br><br>
"The vampires" the Dunmer glanced at Naic, who was simply smiling and enjoying the show, "And those that consort with Vampires must all die!", his vision returned to the Orc, with even more anger than before, “That means you," he growled.
<br><br>
Naic cut the conversation there by bursting out in laughter, "Come on, Orc-Lady, surely you can do better than that with a mere Vampire Hunter?", he stepped towards the two, who were now locked into a deadlock, both pushing against each others blades in an attempt to win.
<br><br>
"So is this all the show is? Two mortals trading foolish blows? Can no-one win?" Naic continued to shout in excitement, and step forward at the same time, becoming closer and closer to the two combatants, "Is this the strength of a mortal who fights for gods? Of a mortal who fights to protect the weak? Mozaga and the Vampire hunter, are you both so weak!?!"
<br><br>
The vampire, Naic, was now directly next to the fighting pair, towering forebodingly over both of them by several inches. Muttering a few words, he touched the Vampire Hunter on the forehead, who seemed to be mentally scratching his head as to why the vampire was behaving as he was. This tense, anger filled and confused look faded as Naic removed his hand. The Vampire Hunter’s own hands grew very limp, and the Claymore fell to the floor with a metallic ring, soon followed by his own body, only the Dark elves eyes containing any trace of the hate he felt.
<br><br>
"Now you are paralyzed." Naic informed him, "You will feel everything I do to you, but you will be unable to react." Again, Naic smiled widely, "The only question is, what will I do to you?" The vampire didn’t even need to think about that, he already knew what he would do. "I haven’t fed in awhile, so I will give you the honour of being my meal. Though before I do so, remember for your next life, That which seeks to kill a monster, is always only a man."
<br><br>
As her vampiric friend bent over the frozen hunter, Mazoga the Orc looked away in disgust, she had never liked watching a person be fed on by a vampire, and the sight of Naic feeding on the Dunmer made her stomach wrench, so instead of watching, she stared at a wall, and once again pondered, except this time she pondered about the present, and a very alarming concern, "How did that vampire hunter know that Naic was here, and that he was a vampire?"
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by TheDarkJay)</Div>

A Compendium of Cyrodoilic Mushrooms

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">A Compendium of Cyrodiilic Mushrooms<br>
By Leondeiu Secunia<br>
<br></DIV>
<DIV align="left">
Bog Beacon Asco Cap: Found mostly south of Leyawiin, it restores magicka and creates a magical shield. While negative effects make you atrocius during conversation.
<br><br>
Cairn Bolete Cap: A common cave-dwelling fungi, it will almost always be found in subterrainean caverns (not far from Whisp Stalks). Alchemical uses include a resistance to paralysis and restore health. While negative effects include a loss of concentration and a slight electrical shock if not heated properly.
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Cinnabar Polypore Red Cap: Both Cinnabar Polypore Red Caps and Cinnabar Polypore Yellow Caps come from Cinnabar Polypores; you can only tell which one you are going to harvest from the color of the mushroom, not from its name. Cinnabar Polypore is found all along the Gold Road between Skingrad and Kvatch. Alchemical uses include a magical shield and a restorative of agility. Negatives include atrocius personality and a loss of endurance
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Cinnabar Polypore Yellow Cap: (see above)
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Clouded Funnel Cap: A common, high altitude mushroom, found around pale pass, near Bruma. Alchemical uses are great for scholars who need to concentrate on work as it replenishes the mind. It may lower your connection to magicka or you may find yourself lacking physical endurance.
<br><br>
Dryad Saddle Polypore Cap: The plant name is actually "Dryad's Saddel Polypore"; these plants are somewhat rare, but can be found growing south of Chorrol, and also around Cheydinhal. They are known to give good luck at the cost of running a bit slower.
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Elf Cup Cap: Elf Cup plants are rather common in the Skingrad area, they are great for Cure Disease potions.
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Emetic Russula Cap: Perhaps a cousin of the common bog mushroom of native morrowind or a similar name, this mushroom has planted it's roots inbetween Bravil and Skingrad. It finds alchemical purposes as a restorative to agility.
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Fly Amanita Cap: Fly Amanita plants are extremely common in and around most cities. The mushrooms come in several sizes, all of which yield Fly Amanita Caps with the same harvest probability. It finds common uses in Restore health potions.
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Green Stain Cup Cap: Green Stain Cup plants are scattered throughout Cyrodiil, but there are concentrated patches in the woods east of Leyawiin. The are great for potions of respite.
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Green Stain Shelf Cap: These very rare plants seem to have an affinity to magic, growing in the Arcane Unvirsity gardens and around Runestones, they are protected by the Mages Guild as an endangered specimen but they are great sources of good luck.
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Steel-Blue Entoloma Cap: Steel-Blue Entoloma plants are common in most of central Cyrodiil, in the Great Forest, Chorrol and Cheydinhal. Some as far south as Leyawiin. They have very few alchemical uses besides resisting frost.
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Summer Bolete Cap: Summer Bolete plants are most common in the southern regions, around Bravil and Leyawiin. Also seen in the Great Forest, and around Cheydinhal. Uses include a magical shield and restorative of agility.
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Tinder Polypore Cap: Tinder Polypore plants grow mostly in colder, northern regions, around Bruma and Cheydinhal. Pale Pass has a good supply. Just like clouded funnel caps, but with better alchemical uses, like Invisibility and resistance to disease.
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Wisp Stalk Caps: Wisp Stalks are mostly found in dark caves and mines. Just like the Cairn Bolete Cap. Alchemical uses include making the recipient faster. At a loss of their own health.
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(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by ADETH)</Div>

The Aventures of Roderick: Part One

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<DIV align="center">The Adventures of Roderick<br>Part One<br>
A compilation of Vulyn’s travels<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
As I stood near the entrance in the dark night, Lady Elante Valamine was locking the door to her expensive house. I was behind a bush, waiting for my chance to break in once Lady Valamine left. Thankfully her husband, Sir Alaric Valamine was away on a business trip.
<br><br>
The Valamines were a very wealth pair of Altmers, and thankfully lived in the country, away from other cities. This would make my job much easier.
<br><br>
I could feel a storm coming, so I knew I had to act quick. My goal was to enter the house, and look for anything valuable, and then get out. I have been tracking her movements for the past week. Everyday Elante leaves her house at 9 o'clock at night to take walk through the garden, and then through the woods that surrounds their property. She is always gone no less than a half an hour, and no later than an hour and a half. I’ll have to work quick, but I shouldn’t have any problems. During the night I have looked into the house, and I have not seen any bodyguards or dogs, so this should be an easy job.
<br><br>
Finally, Elante left the house, and started down the dirt road toward the garden. I waited until she round a corner and was out of sight, and then I went to the door. I had already inspected the door and I knew it was a three-tumbler lock. I carefully unlocked the door, and entered the dark house. Just as I expected, their house was absolutely magnificent! Everything looked as if it was custom made.
<br><br>
As I crept upstairs I looked at the photos on the walls incase I noticed anything of great value. I have been a thief for a long time, and I now only steal very expensive items. Unfortunately I usually spend the money I get for the items as soon as I get it. My employer is a Bosmer just like myself. His name is Thoronir. He has been my employer for about five months now. I searched all the cities throughout Cyrodiil, and finally I came to him in the Imperial City. He was the only merchant that would buy "hot" items. All the others were part of the Thieves Guild, and I didn't want to join them anytime soon.
<br><br>
Thoronir told me that he once got into trouble with the other merchants in his city after he was caught dealing goods from people who had been killed by his contractor. Luckily he had weaseled his way out of it by claiming he had no clue what had happened. His partner, Agarmir, had been killed so Thoronir knew he could not be ratted out by his partner when he was already dead.
<br><br>
Thoronir was hesitated when hiring me, but finally decided that he could make a lot of money with the items that I was bringing in. To eliminate the chance getting caught again, he changed his store from a discounted goods store into a rare items store. This way he could make all the money he wants. He told the other merchants that his items were coming from all across Tamriel, and they believed him!
<br><br>
Thoronir has been issuing my missions since I was hired, and now he has me looking for some family relic the Valamines' have. Before, I only stole goods that nobody would recognize after being stolen, but now he has me looking a statue made from glass. It was made somewhere here in Cyrodiil and it is supposedly worth a lot of money. However he says that he will not sell it to the public, but to another customer from another country. I think he said somewhere in High Rock.
<br><br>
The statue was somewhere upstairs. Once I got to the second level, I started searching the rooms. The first room I got to was the guest room. After a quick look knew that the statue wasn't isn't here, so I went to the next room. I looked out the window, and outside it was pouring down rain. I knew I didn't have much time, but I didn't panic. The room I was in now was the master bedroom. After glancing around I noticed a display case in the corner of the room. It was holding the item I was looking for. It was a five-tumbler lock, and it took me a few minutes until I finally got it unlocked. Just as I unlocked it, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I looked around and quickly rolled under the bed.
<br><br>
It took Lady Valamine a few minutes to get into the room. She must have changed in the restroom or something, because as soon as she came in the room, she immediately went to bed. I waited for what seemed like hours until she finally started to snore. I quietly got up and gently raised the display case in order to get the statue.
<br><br>
I then went downstairs and as I got to the door, it suddenly opened, and there stood Sir Alaric Valamine. He looked at me, and then at my hand that held the statue. He then gave me a menacing look and tried to hit me with a shock spell, but I dodged it only by inches. I got up, used a paralyze spell on Alaric, and ran outside before Lady Valamine had a chance to help her husband. I don't know if he saw my face, but I have no doubt that he knows I am Bosmer.
<br><br>
Once I got to the Imperial City, I immediately went to Thoronir's shop instead of my house in the Waterfront. It was midnight, and I knew that Thoronir would be asleep, but this was the first time I had ever gotten caught during a hit.
<br><br>
I quickly entered the shop through the back entrance using the key Thoronir gave to me. Like I expected, Thoronir was sleeping when I came into his room. I woke him up and he started cursing.
<br><br>
"Wake up Thoronir, wake up!"
<br><br>
"What is it Roderick, what on earth are you doing in my room at midnight!!"
<br><br>
"Thoronir, I got the statue from the house, but on the way out I met Sir Valamine, and I barely escaped. I had to use a minor paralyze spell to get out."
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Thoronir was speechless for a few seconds, and then finally spoke. "But you have the statue right?"
<br><br>
I couldn't believe it. "Yes, I have the statue. I barely escaped with my life, but yes, I have the stupid statue!!!"
<br><br>
Thoronir was puzzled by the panicking. "What are you worried about? They're not going to catch you. Just calm down, go to your house, and go to sleep. I'm sure you'll feel much better tomorrow."
<br><br>
"Thoronir, he saw my face! He knows I am a Bosmer now. He'll have the whole Imperial Legion after me tomorrow!" I said shouting.
<br><br>
"Roderick, there are thousands of Bosmer in Cyrodiil. There is no way that he'll have the Imperial Army after you. He doesn't know exactly what you look like, just that you are a Wood Elf. Everything will be just fine. It's late and I want to try and go back to bed. Come by tomorrow and I'll have your money. Don't worry, everything will be ok, you'll see."
<br><br>
There wasn't any point in arguing, and I could tell that Thoronir was getting agitated so I went back to my house at the Waterfront and tried to go to sleep, but I just couldn't. I kept thinking that someone was going to bust through my door and kill me. Maybe Alaric wasn’t going to go to the Legion for help. He knows that the thief that stole his family heirloom must be a talented one. He might hire assassins to track me down.
<br><br>
I kept thinking about this, but I must have fallen asleep, because eventually I found myself in a dream. In it I was running away from Alaric, who was chasing me along with two other figures whom I didn’t recognize. I was running when I tripped on a rock and dropped the statue. When I went to pick it up I saw Alaric cast a fire ball at me. Just before it hit me I woke up drenched in sweat.
<br><br>
It was ten o'clock in the morning. I had slept in much later than I usual do. I normally wake up at around six so I can get a head start on my assignment. After stretching my aching bones I got out of bed and changed into some clean clothes. I had worn my clothes from last night to sleep. After I was dressed and had breakfast I walked over to Thoronir's shop to collect my payment.
<br><br>
I arrived at Thoronir’s shop to find it locked. This was unusual because all the shops opened at eight in the morning. I knocked and waited for a few minutes. I knocked again but nobody answered. So I went around the back to find it locked as well, but I expected that, because we always leave the back door locked. I opened the door with my key and stepped inside. The shop seemed pretty normal. I called out for Thoronir but there was still no answer. I went up stairs to his bedroom. What I found was the whole room messed up like an explosion went off. On the bed was Thoronir. He was lying in a pool of blood. I checked his pulse. He was still alive. I started to pull him up from the pool of blood when he began to regain consciousness.
<br><br>
"Roderick….you have to get out of the city. They know you live here."
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"What….what are you talking about?" I was starting to panic.
<br><br>
"Someone else was in the house when you stole the statue. He…he was working for Valamine. Somehow…… they knew you were going to steal the statue. It was a setup. I'm sorry but I'm not going to make it. They came by last night to get the statue was from me. They…..saw you enter my house but did not see you leave. I wouldn't tell them where you lived. They attacked me. I fended them off. There were only two of them. But they hit me as well."
<br><br>
I looked in the corner to see two Dunmer dressed in dark robes. They were definitely dead.
<br><br>
"You…have to take the statue. There using it…..for something evil. It didn't hit me until I killed the assassins. You have to find M'aiq. It turns out that doesn't lie about everything. Talk to him. He will explain everything. He…he lives somewhere in the Jerall Mountains, north of Bruma. Ask around Bruma and see if anyone can give you directions. So about you payment, heh heh, I think the assassins took all of my money. The statue is under my bed. Take it to M'aiq. Good luck, Roderick."
<br><br>
He was dead! Thoronir was the only friend I had. He was like a father to me. Now he was gone! Whoever did this was going to pay dearly. I would travel to Valamine Manor right now, but that probably wouldn't be a smart move. I guess I would have to travel to Bruma in search of this M'aiq fellow. I have heard stories about how crazy he is. I hope Thoronir was right. I wish he was still here to help me. I guess I'll slip a note to the guard captain that something is wrong in Thoronir’s shop. I'm going to have to get out the city. I can't let the captain know I was part of all this. The captain has a house in the Elven Gardens. I'll drop note by his door before I leave. Now it's time to get geared up and take the statue to M'aiq.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by heldwyn)</Div>

A Sad Story but a Happy Ending

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">A Sad Story but a Happy Ending<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">L'Ombre sur L'Eau sat on the side of the bed, staring disconsolately at her mage's shoes. Failed again! She had been trying to kill those vampires for a very long time. She'd managed to shock one to death, but then she ran into the huge orc with the heavy armor. L'Ombre admired strong females, and she wished this orc weren't an enemy vampire, so perhaps they could be friends ... but that could never happen.
<br><br>
The problem was, L'ombre thought, that she herself was far too weak. Her magicka was so low that she had trouble killing almost anyone; but if she leveled up to get more magicka, her enemies would just get stronger as well. And, since her pockets were almost always empty, she couldn't buy very much to make herself stronger. Rockmilk Cave and Robber's Glen had helped her out a lot, but since her level was so low, the armor she was able to collect and sell didn't bring in much gold.
<br><br>
She'd had great hopes when she managed to buy a Corrode Armor spell, but it didn't do enough – she still wasn't able to do much damage to the orc before being killed.
<br><br>
She'd enchanted some of her possessions to raise her magicka – Fortify Intelligence on her shoes, gloves, and a ring – but she didn't have any more Soul Gems, and those items, plus a Fortify Magicka spell, were still not enough to let her take out the orc.
<br><br>
She'd tried to create her own spells, but with limited money and limited magicka, she couldn't manage anything very powerful. She'd managed to scrape together enough money to create a fire spell (8 damage for 10 seconds), but when she tested it on the orc, she could see the vampire covered in flames, but she was still felled almost instantly.
<br><br>
This last time, she had visited the Gutted Mine with a Fire Atronach familiar, thinking that surely it would be able to take out that huge orc in the heavy armor, but no – she saw the atronach tossed aside like a rag doll, as the orc killed her one more time.
<br><br>
Well, she thought reluctantly, the time had come to violate all her principles. She stood and s-l-o-w-l-y ... tk ... tk ... tk ... tk ... tk ... tk ... pushed the Difficulty Slider to the left. Then she swaggered a bit as she departed to whup some vampire butt!
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Green My Eyes)</Div>

Sirius' Story

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">The Dark Blood Guild - Sirius' Story<br>
<br></DIV>
<DIV align="left">They had changed his room completely, there was no evidence that he had ever existed. It was now a study, equipped with a desk, several chairs, fine inks and stacks of parchment. Someone had paid an artist to paint the members of the family, the twins had, many pieces among them, some depicted them as children, standing together looking happy, there were others of them as adults, a few years older than when he had last seen them together, there were at least 4 more for each twin showing them and their accomplishments, one twin was standing in a shining suit of armor with his helmet under his arm, while another painting showed the other twin standing with a family, a beautiful woman stood by his shoulder, 3 children surrounded them and a tiny baby lay in the woman’s arms. Sirius almost cried.
<br><br>
There were many others, of his father and the twins mother, standing together, if they had been placed in the right order, they would have been getting older. But as his eyes passed over the room, he only saw one of himself, and it was no bigger than his hand, unlike the life like sizes of the others. He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t recognised his own silvery white hair. The painting had been tucked behind another huge one. He walked forward and picked it up, but as he pulled it out from behind the other one, he saw someone had come and burnt away his face. So that just a green background and the top of his head was left.
<br><br>
He snapped the canvas in half and threw it across the room. He was surprised to feel a hand upon his shoulder. It was his father.
<br><br>
"Why?" he asked, holding back the flow of tears. "Just…..why?"
<br><br>
"I had many painted, but she destroyed everyone of them."
<br><br>
But Sirius had had enough. He grabbed his father by the shoulders and threw him across the room too. There was a loud crack, and then a slam as he hit the floor and blood trickled from his head.
<br><br>
The twins’ mother ran up the stairs, holding her fists out wanting to fight. But she was no match for him.
<br><br>
He ran to her and put his hand round her neck, lifting her off the floor.
"I’ve fought worse than you, too," he whispered. The he tightened his grip feeling her neck break and then he let her body drop in a heap next to her husbands.
He lept down the stairs, wondering why his brother wasn’t trying to kill him aswell.
<br><br>
"Sirius," he said shortly.
<br><br>
"Achanar," Sirius replied.
<br><br>
"I knew you would kill them, the moment you came through the door."
<br><br>
"Did you?"
<br><br>
"Yes, that’s what I came here to do."
<br><br>
Sirius looked at Achanar with interest now, why would he want to kill his mother and father? Then Achanar moved into the candle light, and his face was illuminated, and aside from the features Sirius had noticed earlier, the one thing that now stood out to him, was that Achanar had red irises.
<br><br>
"I see," He said finally.
<br><br>
“You know it was a werewolf that killed my twin.” They were walking slowly in a circle now, facing each other, there eyes not moving from the other.
<br><br>
Sirius did not reply, he had never met a werewolf, and he wanted to see where Achanar was heading with this piece of conversation.
<br><br>
"It destroyed me, he was killed 31 years ago, by a female werewolf named Ira. She was the secret weapon of the people we were fighting-"
<br><br>
"-Why are you telling me this?" Sirius interrupted.
<br><br>
"Because I want you to know how he died."
<br><br>
"What if I don’t care how he died?"
<br><br>
"Then you’re a horrible brother!" Achanar was shouting now, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.
<br><br>
"As were you and him to me!" Sirius likewise was shouting, but felt so numb inside that he couldn’t find the energy to cry.
<br><br>
Sirius saw what was coming before it actually happened, Achanar ran at him, with one arm outstretched and the other pulling out a long silver sword. Both men yelled at each other, and then Sirius pulled out his wakizashi. Next to the sword it looked stupid, but it could do far more damage...
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by half tooth)</Div>

Basic Guide to Telvanni Construction

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">Basic Guide to Telvanni Construction<br>
by Clagius Galenus<br>
<br></DIV>
<DIV align="left">When one is given opportunity to visit Morrowind Province, one will undoubtedly notice the strangeness of construction, the glaring differences in architecture from more familiar Imperial-style buildings. Foremost in unusual design are the almost wholly alien structures favored by members of the Great House Telvanni. While that House is considered among the more xenophobic, and members are generally unwilling to part with hard-learned knowledge, we have been able to piece together a great deal of information from various sources about the fantastic dwellings of the Telvanni.
<br><br>
Even the casual observer will note that Telvanni buildings are not, in fact, traditional buildings at all. Rather, they are totally organic structures grown into useful shapes to accommodate city life. Thick large vines curling about above merchant stalls and winding in curious paths overhead are common sights in any Telvanni town. Many hold the belief that Telvanni towers are plants, although that is technically incorrect; in reality, the structures are fungal in nature. The more curious will note the distinct mushroom shapes of the upper reaches of towers central in any Telvanni city.
<br><br>
Although one will encounter any number of dwellings in a Telvanni town, it might come as a surprise that all pod-houses in a town are part of the same organism (although some structures in some towns are separate, so technically it is not one fungus, but a small colony). Instead of being several smaller fungi scattered about the countryside, all are merely outgrowths of the incredible towers that rise from the heart of the village. Therefore, when one inquires as to how such a city is built, how the towers are grown is the question one is truly asking.
<br><br>
All Telvanni towers need magic and care to be properly grown, and require a great deal of expertise across multiple fields. It is necessary for one to be familiar with construction, primarily to select and prepare a site. Architecture, to understand what kind of shapes are appropriate for men and mer to live in, what growth patterns offer the greatest structural stability, and other such concerns. Magic, to be able to grow the fungus in the first place, and to guide its expansion later on. Mycology, again primarily for site selection -- it is vital to know under what conditions the fungus can survive, and to what extent it can be manipulated through magical means. Morrowind's generally inhospitable environs seem to offer the Telvanni fungus ideal conditions in which to thrive. Indeed, Many Telvanni towns are found along coastlines, where harsh rocky shores meet the salt water of the seas.
<br><br>
Telvanni cities can be grown from a single spore, and when one considers the grand scale of the resultant towers in which Telvanni counselors and elders reside, one begins to understand the sheer mastery of Telvanni sorcery. However, a single spore on its own is not enough for one to grow such a spectacular city. Spores require a magical catalyst in order to spur their remarkable growth. While it may be entirely possible for an especially powerful wizard to act as such a catalyst, it is virtually unheard of. Instead, one must procure at least two grand soul gems, and fill them with appropriately strong souls for this endeavor. Needless to say, this aspect of construction is much more dangerous than a more familiar gathering of wood and stone. The monsters whose souls are used -- usually some sort of Daedra -- are among the most powerful one will encounter in all of Tamriel. Less adventurous individuals could purchase the necessary gems pre-filled from enchanters or adventurers, although the price for these are, quite reasonably, astronomical. Of course, the person seeking to grow a Telvanni tower is almost always an accomplished magician, and is therefore much more capable of obtaining such items than a commoner.
<br><br>
Within their own ranks, the Telvanni only offer to aid construction for members of a certain rank in the House, and require those seeking advancement into the upper echelons to have their own tower. While the Telvanni typically scorn outside interference -- even that of the other Great Houses -- it is considered good practice to begin growing a tower only after obtaining a construction contract from the proper Imperial authority. In addition to supplying a pair of soul gems, the prospective owner must also make a sizable financial contribution; the work on a tower is highly specialized, and requires a moderate number of laborers. On top of those standard necessities, at times key figures involved in tower construction will make their own demands. These unforeseen obstacles can range from simple male boredom (easily solved with the addition of women) to suggestions of enhancing security. In any event, the one thing that an ambitious wizard does not have to provide himself is the actual spore -- presumably, with all the requirements that go along with the whole affair, there is quite an oversupply of unused spores.
<br><br>
The spore is carefully seeded (an unusual expression, to be sure) along with the soul gems, and supervised over a period of time. Within a matter of days, a small number of mushrooms will have risen up from the site. At this point, one well versed in Telvanni construction will visit the burgeoning fungus, and, through some unknown means, allow the mushroom access to the power held within the gems it has grown around. It is believed that the Telvanni must wait until the fungus has enveloped the gems because only then that they can ensure the gems' power is being siphoned off by the fungus and is not consumed by some other avenue, or wasted. Further, it is also speculated that the Telvanni control the growth rate of the fungus by determining the degree of energy flow from the gems, explaining why new cities can sprout rapidly, while older ones remain more static. At any rate, it is at this point that the simplistic, familiar mushroom shape begins to change into the more exotic design seen in Telvanni cities. Even with the passive flow of power from the gem, it takes many craftsmen and architects to coax the fungus into creating the tiny buds that they will eventually later mold into large pods, which can then be hollowed out for Telvanni to use as housing.
<br><br>
As the tower grows and one can finally step inside it, one will undoubtedly find their attention drawn to the man-sized, purplish crystals which are often found in the lower, older areas of the tower. These may seem mysterious for a moment, but after considering the building materials, are altogether expected. The crystals are the remnants of the soul gems, their forms twisted and changed through Telvanni magic and their symbiosis with the fungus.
<br><br>
Those familiar with the lesser fungi of Tamriel might wonder how sturdy such a structure can be. A glance at a Telvanni town is show enough that the great mushrooms do not rely on accumbency to support themselves. Similar in effects to the less destructive mating of Telvanni and other, ‘foreign’ architectures is the town of Sadrith Mora on the isle of Vvardenfell. Here a Telvanni tower has been grown, and all around the Imperial-styled fortress there are clear signs of this, but no damage has been done to the original buildings. A true marvel of Telvanni construction and fungal growth is their capital city of Port Telvannis. The tower at Port Telvannis is one of the largest ever grown, and, appropriately, towers above the vertical city below. While the city's roots are firmly anchored in the soil most of the structures that the Telvanni dwell in are high above the ground, carved out of the massive shoots of the great tower. This gives the city an otherworldly appearance, given that its streets are many feet up into the air.
<br><br>
There are a number of advantages to the Telvanni's choice of living arrangement. A growing organism can be quite resistant to harm, and the magical nature of the arrangement means that it requires very little in the way of maintenance. The Telvanni do not have to concern themselves with damaged roofs or rotting timbers, or many of the other myriad problems associated with western houses. Many foreigners do not know this, but the fungus also has a limited capacity to remove salt from water, rendering it potable for mer and men. Many Telvanni towns are found along coastlines to take advantage of this ability. Though it isn't a tested theory, the abundance of moisture in Telvanni-controlled areas, in addition to the fungus's propensity for absorbing water, suggest that these structures would not face much danger from fire.
<br><br>
Some may find believe that living inside of a fungus that was grown with the soul of a creature unusual, but it actually quite effective. Inside, the air is often moist and faintly warm, but there is little indication that the structure around you is actually a living organism. The interior architecture is substantially different that of the other Great Houses, as there are often shafts that require levitation to reach to higher levels. This serves a dual purpose: taking less interior room in the tower, and preventing a good portion of the people of Tamriel from getting in, as the Telvanni -- particularly those on the mainland -- are not fond of outsiders. The tops of the towers are often flat, and this provides the resident a good view of all of those around, as well as a fairly secure summoning area.
<br><br>
Morrowind is well suited for the magicka based Telvanni buildings. The Telvanni Isles, Azura’s Coast and the Grazeland regions are excellent for maintaining Telvanni structures. House Telvanni also has holdings on Vvardenfell. Although towers have yet to be constructed within the harsh, ashy, Molag Amur region, it is believed that they will need more maintenance. Telvanni buildings are strong, well-built structures, and serve the Great House Telvanni and the people of Morrowind well.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by Xui'al)</Div>

Chapter 1: The Assassin

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">Chapter 1: The Assassin<br>
<br></DIV>
<DIV align="left">
Seldryn crouched on a plank in the ceiling, perfectly balanced and able to see his target. The young Imperial councillor sat at his desk. Soon he would take his walk throughout the manor, and relieve his bodyguards to their quarters. The perfect opportunity.
<br><br>
Seldryn had never failed a contract. One way or another, his contract ended up fulfilled. He was known for his independance in the Brotherhood, however. He would hardly speak, and trained most of the day. The others, however, knew of his past reputation as an assassin. Which is why they recruited him.
<br><br>
He had waited for two hours, perfectly still, until the councillor got up and turned to his guard. He muttered a few words, and the guard nodded and left. The councillor began strolling down the hallway.
<br><br>
Seldryn dropped to the ground, silent as a feather landing in the soft grass, and crouched low as he made his way to the Imperial. He drew his dagger, purposefully attracting the man's attention. The blade was at his throat in less than a second, the point pricking the throat and allowing the tip of the blade to darken with blood.
<br><br>
The Imperial shook with fear, but there was a certain confidence in his eyes. Seldryn, grimacing, thrust the blade a bit deeper, just enough to kill the man. He pulled it out and, kneeling over the fallen body, set a leather strip on the man's chest. A black hand was engraved in it.
<br><br>
Seldryn bounded soundlessly down the hallway, but skidded to a halt once in the entrance hall.
<br><br>
The dead guards were left in the positions he put them in, but he now found himself surrounded by twelve armed soldiers. Without drawing a breath, he removed his sheathes weapons and tossed them to a guard. He also removed the three concealed knives, poison apples, and some paralyzing poisons, and set them on the ground.
<br><br>
He didnt say a word as they clapped wrist irons onto him. Nor did he speak as they interrogated him in an isolated room. Nothing more than breath escaped his lips as they threw him into a cell, with another Dunmer across from him.
<br><br>
He leaned back against the wall, under the window, and studied the cell for signs of weaknesses. A few hours passed. He noticed nothing. The cell was flawless.
<br><br>
Seldryn awoke from the light sleep he drifted into by a snickering sound. The Dunmer across the hallway spoke. He didnt say a word.
<br><br>
"You there! I haven't seen another Dunmer in I don't know how long! What are you in for? Maybe it's just that--" An icy cold stare from Seldryn silenced the prisoner. He leaned against the bars, causing the Dunmer to take a few steps back. He was about to taunt Seldryn again when they both heard a voice.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by {TWC}Mithrandir)</Div>

The Butcher

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">The Butcher<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
He sat, hunkered in the corner of Olav's Tap and Tack, fiercely guarding his mazte. He was a brute of a man, and it was painfully obvious why he sat alone - I had the feeling he might bite my ear off if I were to sit too near to him.
<br><br>
I sat down opposite him. Glancing up from his glass, he allowed me my first good look. There was fire in his eyes, and ice in his veins. His face was leather, pockmarked by many a blade. He barely fit into his cheap shirt, the massive muscles were so evident. I doubted that he would even fit into a set of armour, but then again, I doubted that he would need it. He gave a low grunt, and went back to his brew. Of course, the bartender had told me he wasn't quite the chatty type.
<br><br>
"That guy?" he had said. "Listen, I'd recommend against it. There's a good reason why that half of the place is empty. Let me tell you about him..."
<br><br>
"When he was just a young child, his family was moving here from Skyrim. The horses were slow and unreliable, but they drove on, eager for the new oppotunities that Cyrodiil would provide. As they were riding through Pale Pass, bandits streamed down from the mountainside, and struck at the caravan. His father fumbled at the reins, trying in vain to separate the family's horse from the rest of the pack.
<br><br>
"The father was quickly felled by the bandit bowman, as was his mother. He was spared only because he was seated between the two. As his parents fell limp off the horse, he was exposed. The bandit captain hesitated with the order to fire, seeing that he was but a child. Eventually, he turned toward the goods behind him, ignoring the child.
<br><br>
"But they had ignited something in him, something ferocious. He sidled to the ground, and, prodding at his father's lifeless body, his eyes fell upon the longsword. Through sheer will or divine intervention, he lifted it with ease, and charged.
<br><br>
"The captain turned, startled and paralyzed at the image of the youngster brandishing the blade. Before he could commit any action, he was struck by a vicious blow. Like that, he was down. Two remained - the bowman was nearest. His bow was several feet from him. He lunged for it, but too late, as the blade glanced off his outreached arm. He howled in pain, a howl that was quickly cut off.
<br><br>
"The last bandit looked at him incredulously, and as he did, he saw the purity of the fury held within the child. He turned, and ran.
<br><br>
"He's got more blood on that sword than most men see in their lifetime. That's why," noted the bartender, "they call him the Butcher of Bruma."
<br><br>
That didn't dissuade me. The man lay across the table. I cleared my throat, and spoke.
<br><br>
"This time, I shall not run. We've got unfinished business, you and I."
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by dhkoster)</Div>

The Marked

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">The Marked<br>Prologue<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
She was playing on the forest outskirts near Chorrol when she heard it. The soft, hiss-like sound brought playtime to a halt; clutching the small doll in her hands, Keaira Gallenus became instantly alert, listening intently.
<br><br>
The sound came again, clearer this time. Keaira could just barely make out words - someone or something was speaking! The voice seemed disembodied and unnatural - as loud and echoing as a shout, but it gave the distinct impression of a whisper.
<br><br>
But Keaira Gallenus was not afraid; only curiosity was present in her young mind. She listened harder still, remaining motionless, straining her ears.
<br><br>
"Keaira... Keaira my child, come to me..." The girl jolted with surprise at the sound of her name. She wondered briefly it was her mother, who, having noticed her absence, had begun to search for her - but she quickly realized that this was not a familiar voice. It was something completely different than the sharp and reprimanding tones she was accustomed to with her mother. It was a haunting voice, but also sweet and loving... persuasive in almost motherly way. A voice that no child could resist.
<br><br>
"Follow my voice, dear child... Follow my voice..."
<br><br>
And before she was aware of what was happening, Keaira had dropped her doll forgotten to the ground, and started walking into the forest. She followed the echo of the poignant voice, making her way into the deeper recesses of the forest, places to which she had never ventured. She strayed far from the path into the woods, the trees and foliage becoming thicker as she pressed onward. Only a glimpse of the sky could be seen through the canopy overhead, as darkness closed in around her. The voice was consuming her, it was all she heard, all she felt... all she desired was to reach its source...
<br><br>
Finally, she pushed her thin body through a thick, nearly impenetrable clump of bushes to find herself in a clearing dominated by deep grass, swaying gently in the breeze. There was a small, pleasant wooden hut in the center of the clearing, smoke rising charmingly from its chimney. And outside the door stood a woman.
<br><br>
Keaira was transfixed by the woman’s beauty - she was tall and thin, long blond waves of hair hanging at her waist like threads of the finest gold. Her face was almost angelic in its flawlessness - a small dainty nose and oval blue eyes, complimented by full, soft lips… but what enchanted Keaira most was the woman's dress. It was of the purest white, with long sleeves and a skirt well past her feet. The woman seemed to be glowing, how radiant she was. Keaira stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide with awe and admiration. The woman smiled kindly at her, holding out her hand invitingly.
<br><br>
Keaira walked eagerly forward, her young face alight with wonder. She placed her hand in the woman's softly and looked up into her radiant face, grinning. But suddenly the woman’s hand closed around the girl’s. Keaira’s face fell, her expression becoming slightly alarmed. She tried to pull her hand away, but the woman tightened her grip. Keaira grew frightened and started frantically yanking her arm to escape, but then the woman spoke again.
<br><br>
"Be calm, my child. I will not harm you." Her voice washed over Keaira, soothing her like a melody in the wind. In the blink of an eye, fear of this woman was gone- and as quickly as she had begun to struggle, Keaira stopped. She stood obediently still.
<br><br>
"Close your eyes," the words echoed gently from the woman’s pristine lips. Keaira obliged without dispute, and the woman pressed her palm firmly against the girl’s forehead. Suddenly all was black.
<br><br>
* * *
<br><br>
Joenea Gallenus sighed heavily, looking in on the empty bedroom. Joenea had asked the child to work on her stitching, but the girl was probably out playing in the woods. And if that was no intolerable enough, she was probably with the stable hand's child, Anwir, again.
<br><br>
Joenea strode from the room angrily, short legs moving rapidly and her shoes making brisk 'tap-tap-tap' noises on the extravagant tile flooring. The Gallenus's were one of the wealthier families in Chorrol, and were rather fond of showing that in their possessions.
<br><br>
Joenea went to the foyer of the house and ordered her servant girl, Lealia, to go out to the stables and search for Keaira. This was the third time this week the girl had snuck out to play, and Joenea certainly wasn’t going to deal with her again. Lealia bowed obediently and scurried off out the heavy front doors.
<br><br>
After five minutes of impatiently tapping her foot, Joenea was becoming irritated. It doesn’t take this long to walk to the stables and back! she thought petulantly. After another couple of minutes she made her way to stables herself, pondering the various ways in which she would punish the incompetent servant and disobedient child.
<br><br>
When she arrived at the horse corral, however, Joenea found that Daimon the stable hand was not at his usual post and the boy Anwir was no where to be found. She turned to the city gates and discovered, to her unpleasant surprise, that the guard normally stationed there was absent as well. She turned about once again uneasily, taking in the uncharacteristically empty landscape.
<br><br>
Suddenly, loud and unexpected enough to make her jump in alarm, Joenea heard yells in the distance. Just as her daughter had hours ago, she stood completely still and listened intently.
<br><br>
"Is it the girl? Have you found her?" A man shouted.
<br><br>
"No, but I think I’ve found something. Over here," responded a second man. Joenea started - that was Daimon’s voice! Frustration with her child was quickly replaced with worry as she strode resolutely in the direction of the voice.
<br><br>
She walked over the hills leading toward the forest and looked across the mass of fields. Off to her right, she spotted two men standing around a boy, who was holding something in his shaking hands and sobbing hysterically. As she drew closer, she realized it was Daimon and his son, along with the town guard.
<br><br>
"Missus Gallenus!" exclaimed Daimon, who sighted her.
<br><br>
The boy Anwir turned toward Joenea and she stopped dead in her tracks. He was holding Keaira’s doll.
<br><br>
***
<br><br>
A search party was immediately organized- nearly the entire town guard was spared their duties to search for the child, and most citizens leant their assistance as well. The girl was well liked among the community, and several were sincerely concerned for Keaira’s safety- but others were there simply because it was the talk of the town and they wanted to be right in on the action.
<br><br>
The search lasted throughout the day, but as dusk was drawing nearer the number of searchers had dwindled down to nearly no one, and hope was starting to fade. Talk was brewing of kidnap, and many were expecting news of a ransom demand. The only person undeterred by all of this was Anwir, who was still searching furiously. Daimon stood comforting Joenea, who had fallen into an unbreakable silence, staring blankly ahead at the seemingly endless expanse of trees that may be concealing her daughter from her.
<br><br>
The sun was nearly vanished over the horizon when a shout was heard. Daimon exchanged a look with Joenea and started running towards his son’s voice, and she eagerly followed right on his heels. The way was blocked by thick, tightly packed thorn bushes, and they spent several frantic minutes slicing their way through.
<br><br>
When they finally reached the other side, it was to find a clearing of deep grass, but nothing more. But as they ventured into the clearing they sighted Anwir in the center, leaning over a still form.
<br><br>
"Keaira!" Joenea exclaimed, running forward to her daughter’s side.
<br><br>
The girl did not respond, and for one horrible moment they thought that she was not going to wake - but suddenly the girl took a deep breath and fluttered her eyelids open, violet eyes darting around at the group of people huddled over her.
<br><br>
Anwir started to cry in relief, and his father leaned over and wrapped him in his arms, speaking soothing words in his ear, smiling lightly to himself.
<br><br>
"Mamma?" Keaira said, looking slightly confused.
<br><br>
"Oh my dear, you’re alright, you’re alright…" she said, gripping her daughter tightly to her chest. After moment she suddenly pulled away from the hug and held Keaira by the shoulders, looking her sternly in the eye.
<br><br>
"Now don’t you ever do that again! What were you doing out here, and why didn’t you answer when called?"
<br><br>
"I couldn’t hear you, mamma! There was this beautiful woman, see, and she so lovely and kind… oh can’t I see her again?" Keaira replied, looking about. She looked dismayed when she found there wasn’t another woman in sight. Or a cabin, for that matter…
<br><br>
"Sweetie, you must have fallen asleep out here… For now on we stay in the city gates, okay darling?"
<br><br>
"But mamma-"
<br><br>
"No, I won’t listen to any objections. Now stand up for me, let me look you over," she said, raising the girl to her feet. Keaira stood steadily, and Joenea was relieved to find that she seemed unscathed. After more hugging and joyous relief, the four walked back to the delighted city.
<br><br>
But there was something different about Keaira. Something that her family would not realize for several years, and Keaira even longer. Something that would alter her life forever.
<br><br>
If one examined her forehead closely, they may notice a patch of barely darker skin, so slight it was nearly invisible. Upon taking a closer look one would see that this patch of darker skin was in the shape of a circle, with an 'X' clearly visible in the center.
<br><br>
Keaira Gallenus had been marked.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by allshallfade)</Div>

The Mountains That Walked - Vol.3

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">The Mountains That Walked - Vol.3<br>
by Eldahar of Cornwall<br><br></Div>
<DIV align="left">
<i>"To rest at night is to sleep peacefully."</i> -Anonymous
<br><br>
Craben gazed sorrowfully into the distance, as did the rest of the battalions under his command. There was not one sign of courage in his troops at all, and that made him feel much worse; he could say nothing to lift their spirits. Craben glared at himself in the reflection of his blade.
<br><br>
I shall fall to ruins, he thought, as will my army and the rest of Tamriel… If only I were stronger and a better general we would have a chance.
<br><br>
The clouds shifted quickly in the wake of the Giants in the distance, and the looks of a thunderstorm appeared. Lighting flashed and thunder cried with all its might. The giants were gaining ground and they almost appeared as tall as the mountains in the distance beyond.
<br><br>
The battalions raised there weapons and the archers marched forward and spread out among the front flanks readying their arrows.
<br><br>
Craben's comrades Oraden and Mordane appeared beside him. The look on their faces was not at all that much different from the rest of the army.
<br><br>
"Ah, don’t worry, we might yet have a chance! Alana says the giants are badly organized, and…" Mordane let his sentence go for as the rest of them knew, there was no hope against these numbers.
<br><br>
"I must say something to them. Look at their faces - they look as if this is the end. I confess, it might as well be the end, but if this is going to be out last stand - our last stand for all Tamriel - may it be filled with courage and not grief; with strength and resolve, not fear! But there is nothing I can say, there is nothing for me to tell them..."
<br><br>
Craben's eyes wandered into the distance once more and the Giants were almost within the range of the archers. The wind howled, the rain poured continuously, and the ground was now thick with sludge and water.
<br><br>
"You are their last hope, their general. At the very least, say something that can elevate their hearts and minds," Mordane spoke. Craben thought it over. This was something he had never faced before - blindly motivating his troops though there was no hope for them. Still, he couldn’t do much else.
<br><br>
With all his might he reluctantly raised his blade before them. He opened his mouth and spoke clearly before his men:
<br><br>
"Look to me now, look at me! I see in you sadness and grief, you look as though there is no hope. There is hope! We have a winning chance against this plague, these beasts of evil. We shall defeat them, we shall rally to the last man, and when there is no remaining hope for victory at least we will die with iron in our hearts! That is the best we can ask for, that is the only death we have. We are Knights of Tamriel! There is no better way to die and there is no other way to die."
<br><br>
He paused once more and stared long and hard into the eyes of his men, which now carried the banner of courage into battle. "May the Gods and giants alike remember this day, the day a thousand men went toe to toe against ten thousand Giants, and may we all be remembered for our sacrifice. Now draw your weapons and cry so loud, and bellow so deafeningly, that the ground will split before out feet!"
<br><br>
Craben was surprised at the result of his speech, he was surprised of the speech itself. Craben smiled, as he had not done for over one hundred years, when he heard the roar.
<br><br>
His friends beside him patted him on the back and smiled with him. The smiles soon faded; the giants, with their massive hammers and axes and swords, were no more than and few minutes away. Craben gave the order to fire arrows. Most of them were deflected off there armor. Still, The courage of his men did not wane.
<br><br>
Craben mounted his steed, as did the other officers, and he readied for the battle that would decided the fate of their time: the battle between the Giants and Tamriel.
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by VoodooGamer)</Div>

The Scratching

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<font face=1><DIV align="center">The Scratching<br>
By Riley Bowden Duffy<br>
<br></Div>
<DIV align="left">My greatest fear, of which I find horrific and horrible, is a fear I have tried to wipe from my mind with every inch of my ability, but have failed miserably to do so. This fear, the fear of the unknown, I find difficult to write down in this journal of mine, as it is wroght from one of the most terrible and fearful moments in my life, one I wish to forget it as soon as possible.
<br><br>
My fear started on a bleak and grim rainy night in my countryside study, somewhere away from civilisation due north of Anvil. The consistant pounding of the outside rain rung in my ears as the dim candle on my study desk lit what little features my bleak abode had. I was young at the time, a student. I had recently been banned from the Arcane University for what that pig Traven called "necromancy".
<br><br>
As I sat at my desk, quill in hand, writing various alchemical formulas, a persistent sound erupted from what seemed the surrounding, dim blackness. A sound which would remain crystal clear in my mind for the rest of my life. A scratching coming from my office door.
<br><br>
I discarded it at first, regarding it as my faithful dog, Baldric. But when I heard the terrifying sound of yelping and howling on the other side of the door, my heart suddenly started to beat at an appalling rate. The sound diminished into silence as the sound of the torrential rain outside took over.
<br><br>
But then it came again! A scratching, louder than before! And accompanied by what seemed a spiteful snarling! Fear clutched my heart in an iron grip as I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out my ancient Daedric dagger, which I had found in my journeys across Cyrodiil. I got up from my seat and walked towards the door.
<br><br>
The next few moments that ensued were that of the most blackened form of pure terror I have ever encountered in my life. I reached towards the door knob, and unlocked it, opening the door.
<br><br>
The beast was upon me! Its shaggy fur as black as the night sky and its sinister eyes gleaming red with rage! It pounced upon me, its talons intent on ripping me to shreds! I screamed and plunged my dagger into its heart. The beast yelped and struck me, sending me head over heels into my desk, toppling it.
<br><br>
As my vision startedto fade and turn to black, the vicious head wound taking its toll on me, I saw the werewolf shatter my study window and howl at the full moon outside, the blood of my faithful canine dripping from its razor sharp fangs. It then ran into the inky darkness of the surrounding rainy midnight. I never saw it again...
<br><br>
I now feel safe within my new abode, a rough and tumble shack in the swampy regions on the border of the Black Marsh. That fateful night's encounter is slowly leaving my mind.
<br><br>
But what is this I hear? By the nine, it's that sound! The scratching! The scratching!
<br><br>
(This Elder Scrolls Book Club selection was written by ma'iq the liar)</Div>

Rat the Thief v1 Book 1 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 1, Book 1<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>Rat woke through the layered noises of vermin in the walls, Aunt Milly making breakfast one floor below, a dog somewhere down the street. She twisted an arm out from under her blankets, and nudged the window shutter open a crack. Sunlight just fingered out over the chimney-peaks. A couple hours past dawn, then, and not much more sleep than that. The wood was still furred with frost, this early. She shivered, and tucked the outstretched arm back against her sleep-warm torso.
<br>
<br>
Last night had been rough going, and she'd come back later than she'd intended, with less to show for it than she'd intended
<br>
<br>
Shifting a little, she remembered a clumsy blow to the hip that she'd taken, stumbling against something in the dark. Lucky no one had heard that.
<br>
<br>
Thinking about last night's job was enough to get her out of bed and dressed - pulling a pair of grey wool stockings up under her tunic, and another pair over those, for more warmth. Uncle Linus would be out in the streets by now, sifting amongst his contacts for somebody who'd sell what she'd taken in last night (fancy pewter tableware, mostly, and some exotic spices). He might have told Aunt Milly what he expected to get, on his way out, but usually he didn't know until he spoke to a few sellers. She'd ask anyway.
<br>
<br>
The kitchen was right underneath Rat's tiny room: through a trapdoor, and down a ladder. It wasn't a house, really, but what had once been the space between two houses, walled in, and no wider than the length of Rat's arms outspread. Old enough now, though, that it had sunk into the street - deep in the poorest district of the city - and had been marked with the same dark patina of many years left run-down by residents who could do no better for it. In this part of town, Rat's family was lucky to have a space, even one that small, all to themselves.
<br>
<br>
In the kitchen, Aunt Milly was kneading a stiff armful of brown dough and Rat didn't bother her then, knowing that intent and not-quite-intimidated look. As usual, there was porridge still warming in the big cauldron, and she helped herself to several ladles of that, sitting down on a stool near the fire to wait until Aunt Milly had finished with the kneading.
<br>
<br>
Rat could see her aunt was tired, and worried about more than whether or not the bread would rise. She wished again that she'd brought home better gleanings - stayed a little longer, perhaps, even at the risk of being caught. Uncle Linus had fallen from a rooftop last spring, outrunning a guard. His broken leg had never healed straight, and now it was just Rat going out alone at night, and returning alone. Even then, things shouldn't be this tight, except that the defenses on every warehouse in the city had double, tripled - quadrupled, even - since then.
<br>
<br>
"There."
<br>
<br>
Aunt Milly set aside her well-pummeled round of dough, and gave Rat a tired smile.
<br>
<br>
"Tea, love?" Her hands were already making the familiar gesture towards the kettle, as she asked. Rat nodded, getting up to fetch two heavy clay mugs from the dish rack. She hovered nearby, as her aunt poured hot water into the pot, and added the leaves to steep.
<br>
<br>
"What did Uncle Linus say?" Aunt Milly didn’t respond immediately, and her look of weariness deepened. She busied herself straining the tea, and at length she replied,
<br>
<br>
"He thinks that Mr. Graveley might be able to find a buyer. The spices will be more difficult. Don’t worry about it, dear. Drink your tea."
<br>
<br>

Rat the Thief v1 Book 2 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 1, Book 2<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>The reason the Merchants had been guarding their warehouses increasingly dearly was because the Thieves Guild had become more active within the last several years, and nobody wanted to be an easy target. Rat and her family were not members of the Thieves Guild, although that distinction wouldn't mean much to anyone who wasn't a thief. If you stole something, you stole something, as far as most were concerned. The Thieves Guild, though, was large and well-organized, with a history as far-reaching as any of the more openly active and respectable guilds. They didn't go for anything below a certain profit level, and left the little groups, Rat's family and others like them, chiefly alone. The warehouse that Rat had snuck into last night wasn't a likely target for the guild - far from it - but merchants were wary all the same, and the guild had become so active lately that the paranoia was general.
<br>
<br>
There were a lot of rumors circulating about why the guild was out-stepping its traditional bounds, especially amongst the disgruntled lesser thieves. Mr. Gravely, who was Uncle Linus's best man for pawning stolen goods, thought that there was an in-guild civil war, and the divided sides were vying for precedence, trying to out-do one another. Other people speculated intrigue. A popular theory involved the mayor of the city bribing the guild to steal from rich merchants, to lessen their political sway, and some people even thought it might be the Royal Family behind the whole affair.
<br>
<br>
The most worrying rumor of all, perhaps, was that a new, ambitious leader had taken over the Thieves Guild, and not content with being secretive and discreet, was attempting to lead them towards something more, something very grand, though nobody knew what. Anyone who thought about it, though, could guess that by now, with all that profit, they were starting to be very rich indeed.
<br>
<br>
After eating breakfast, and drinking tea, Rat bundled up in her many-times-patched and re-mended boy's jacket, and warm knitted scarf, and braced herself for the icy November-morning air. Aunt Milly had given her several errands, which mainly involved fetching groceries at the market, and she hadn't needed to remind Rat to take advantage of any opportunities to pick a likely-looking pocket. It had been Aunt Milly, and not Uncle Linus, who'd taught Rat the sleight of hand involved in that. Nobody was better than innocuous-looking Aunt Milly: plump, shawled and aproned, and the last person you'd believe had cut your purse from your belt.
The Market was near the centre of the city, at the convergence of the poorest district (where Rat lived), and the somewhat less poor (and significantly less shifty) district. In the near distance, above the roofs of other buildings, you could see the high walls and parapets that guarded the houses and grounds and gardens of the affluent.
<br>
<br>
Rat slid through the shoppers easily, still short and slender for her age (to Aunt Milly's constant displeasure, who considered it an insult to her child-raising abilities that Rat simply would not grow). It was easiest to pick pockets when the milling people were massed this thickly, all elbow to elbow, and she could use the crowd as a kind of canopy while she ducked and darted beneath, fingering through the coin purses, pinching what looked to be the fattest and the best-laden. She'd been lucky never to have gotten caught - not without escape, at least. A boy several years older than her, Penn, had lost his hand last winter, when a city guard caught him in the act - nobody bothered putting minor criminals to trial, and punishment was exacted on the spot. Rat often thought of Penn, when she was out working in the streets. He swept floors at the local Inn, now, although she suspected that he augmented his very unimpressive wages by stealing from the customers - Penn was still good, even one-handed.
<br>
<br>
By the time Rat had finished all her errands, she'd pilfered enough to buy what Aunt Milly had asked for, and lunch for herself besides (her aunt was able to observe with pleasure, at least, that although she was too small, her appetite was unquestionably healthy). Some days, when there was enough to spare, she'd go to the vendor who sold meat and mushroom pies, and buy two; however, today she fingered her earnings regretfully, and made-do with her standard bowl of soup and heel of bread, knowing that Aunt Milly, although she hadn't asked, was hoping for some small profit at the day's end.
<br>
<br>
Rat finished her lunch, and was about to make her way homeward, back through the swarm of people, her aunt's packages in a neat bundle tucked under her arm, when she caught sight of Mr. Gravely alone at the edge of the crowd. Veering towards him, she waved, trying to catch his eye. When she finally did, however, he started, and with a guilty glance backwards, scuttled off in the other direction, dodging indignant merchants and trying to look purposeful.
<br>

Rat the Thief v1 Book 3 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 1, Book 3<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>Mr. Gravely had always been an odd, fickle man, and Rat knew not to take offense from his quick exit. But at the same time, she knew the reason he'd avoided her was because he hadn't been able to accept Uncle Linus's goods - the ones she'd stolen from the warehouse last night - for resale, and her heart sank. Her aunt and uncle spared her the majority of their private worries, but she knew that things hadn’t been going well for months, and they'd needed this sale - they'd been counting on it - because they had no other choice.
<br>
<br>
At first she didn't realize what she was doing - her feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, while she thought about her hard-working aunt and uncle, who seemed every day to sleep less and work more.
<br>
<br>
It occurred to her where she was, finally, when the noise of the market fell off to a distant hum, and her footsteps began to echo through the wider streets, and back-and-forth up between the high walls. The avenue was smooth-polished, well swept, and utterly deserted (how did rich people get from one place to another - you never saw them do it?). Rat had wandered into the middle of the finest neighborhood in the city, and her immediate reaction upon realizing this was to dive into an alley, to find a shadow to hide in, and a wall to put her back against. Even the alleys, here, were stark and shadowless, and disconcertingly without hiding-place or purchase for escape. Rat had to crouch low, panting, and catch her breath - nothing to do with how fast she'd been walking.
<br>
<br>
After she'd regained some of her calm, she stood up and considered her surroundings. The alley she'd darted into was flanked by two high walls. One of them was many times her height, and revealed no part of what lay on the other side. The other, built of a different stone, and presumably belonging to another estate, was shorter, and varied in height with one section low enough to allow a few very tall tree branches to peek out over the other side. Rat, instinctively starting to calculate possibilities, approached the foot of the wall. The trees would be no help, as their branches curved upwards far out of reach, and their boughs looked too flimsy to support even her weight. Nonetheless, as her fingers stroked the surface, they found promising texture - not grippable, but enough to facilitate - and better yet, cracks wide enough between the stones, where the mortar had worn away, that she could jam her narrowest of climbing tools into them.
Rat made up her mind, before the question had even formed itself. She hunkered down in the most sheltered section of alley she could find, pulled out tools as she devised the first part of her plan, and waited for nightfall.
<br>

Rat the Thief v2 Book 1 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 2, Book 1<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>After the sun had set, Rat climbed the wall, which turned out to be in such bad repair that she scarcely needed tools, almost as if some enterprising hand had already hollowed out grips and footholds. From there she made her way up to the roof to wait for the household to fall asleep, not pausing to get her bearings for fear of being seen. The roof was clearly not meant for clambering around on, but Rat was careful, and checked herself often as her feet slid across the slick shingles keen with a glittering layer of frost. Eventually she found a broad chimney, and bundled up against its sooty warmth while the city, spread out around her, began to slow down, dim its lights, and settle into sleep.
<br>
<br>
She could see her own neighborhood from here, though not her aunt and uncle's house, buried as it was by the accretions of the district. Still, she looked very intently at the spot where she guessed her house should be, and hoped that Aunt Milly and Uncle Linus weren't too fretful of her absence.
<br>
<br>
At length the moon rose high, and the chimney grew cold, and Rat crept back across the roof and began to peer around her in an attempt to figure out where she was, and what might be the best way to sneak inside. Rat had never been near a household like this, and didn't know how it was likely to be laid out. She found herself trying to remember anything she'd heard about how the rich lived. Sprawling kitchens and dining quarters. Separate housing for the servants, surely. One of Aunt Milly's dearest friends had worked for a well-to-do family, and Rat had always found her stories very dull, but now, teetering on the edge of the high tiled roof, with no idea where to go next, she dearly wished that she'd listened.
<br>
<br>
Skidding only a little, Rat lowered herself down onto a narrow ledge, and hugged the wall tightly as she approached the nearest window. She smudged her sleeve across the cold pane, and squinted into the murk beyond. She guessed that this was a corridor, but she couldn't be certain, and she felt a sick swelling of fear, suddenly, pressed against the icy glass, and utterly lost. This wasn't going to work. Why had she thought that this would work?
<br>
<br>
Rat took several slow shuddering breaths, and then forced herself to investigate how the window was latched, already reaching towards the keyring of assorted lockpicks she kept muffled in the thick lining of her jacket. It jingled softly as she drew it out.
<br>

Rat the Thief v2 Book 2 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 2, Book 2<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>It took very little time for Rat to unhook the low window panel (meant only for airing out the room), and clamber through the narrow gap. The floor, she discovered as she placed a ginger foot against it, was thickly carpeted, and she stood up with renewed confidence. Surely there was something close-by that she could pocket quickly, and return home with.
<br>
<br>
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and still she could see very little. At length she determined that it was indeed a hallway. She picked a direction at random, and began to explore.
<br>
<br>
The hallway opened up at first into a larger, grander hallway, with tall imposing windows that flooded the passage with moonlight, then transformed once again into smaller hallways which seemed to lead nowhere. At first Rat tried to keep her bearings by remembering the contours of the roof, and where she was in relation to them, but very quickly she grew confused, and could only progress blindly, hoping that she'd be lead somewhere useful. She kept her eyes on the rich furnishings, and elaborate gilded end tables, thinking that one or another might offer up a little gold statuette or rich timepiece, but she saw nothing small enough to take with her. Occasionally the passages were lined with closed doors, but she didn’t want to risk an encounter, so she passed by them as quietly as she could, and didnt offer to investigate what lay beyond.
<br>
<br>
Rat was beginning to wonder how enormous the house could possibly be, that she hadn't yet reached any kind of major juncture, when finally a particularly large passage rewarded her by opening up into a vast gallery with a grand stairway arching downwards. The floor was no longer carpeted, she realized abruptly, as her first step echoed up into the high domed ceiling. Rat clutched the balustrade, and peered down into the darkness below, hoping nobody had heard. She was growing tired. She wanted to be home, away from the vast ominous spaces, and the velvety too-quiet darkness.
<br>
<br>
Rat had no wish to descend and explore the levels below. She began to think about turning around and trying to find another window that she could escape through, when she noticed a pair of double doors invitingly half-open, at the other end of the gallery past the mouth of the stairway. Careful to keep her footfalls soft against the slick stone floor, Rat approached the doors, and peered through them, into a room furnished with an enormous wooden desk and several elaborate chairs and chaise lounges. An office, perhaps.
<br>
<br>
This was it. Rat didn't want to be here any longer. Still careful to make no sound, Rat edged through the doors, and approached the desk. Immediately visible were several likely-looking items. Straightaway, Rat pocketed a richly-inlaid letter opener. A large and beautifully cut crystal paper weight looked like it might sell well. So did an embossed pen, and a matching inkwell which she carefully emptied into the chamber pot beside the window. Afraid that the objects would start to clank in her pocket, Rat began to wrap them in papers that she found on top of the desk, or in drawers. She discovered two very fine pocket watches, which she considered a particular stroke of luck. On bookshelves deeper in the room, she found various trinkets. She couldn't tell which of them might be valuable, in the thick shadows, but she took what she could fit in her jacket, and in her belt purse - normally she carried a satchel with her to the warehouses, and she regretted not having it now.
<br>

Rat the Thief v2 Book 3 traduit par zolotarev

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<font face=1>Rat The Thief, Volume 2, Book 3<br>
<br>
<IMG src="Book/fancy_font/i_51x61.dds" width=51 height=61>Within minutes Rat had pocketed as much as she could, and she made a cursory last sweep of the room. She wanted to take a book or two, because Aunt Milly could read, but they all appeared to be stocklists, and hand-written financial records.
Rat didn't feel the least bit tired, now, and she re-crossed the marble floor as rapidly as stealth would allow. All she needed to do was get out of here, and then she would be safe.
<br>
<br>
When Rat hit the carpeted hallways once again, she quickened her pace. She had no idea where she was, but if she could just double back to that first dim corridor, with the little panel she'd squeezed through, she'd be able to get back onto the roof, and find her way once again to the alley.
<br>
<br>
Rat was almost jogging, now, cupping her arms around her tautly-packed jacket so that nothing clattered. She was no longer bothering to give the passageways even quick checks, before she hurtled through them, and when she turned a corner and saw another dark figure immediately in her way, she was far too precipitate to avoid colliding with him, and tumbling wildly to the floor.
<br>
<br>
Briefly shocked, Rat couldn’t tell how much noise she'd made - she had a vague notion that somebody had cried out, but she didn't think it had been her. Orienting herself, she saw that several of her stolen items had sprung free and were just coming to a soft rolling halt at various distances across the carpet. Only one still lay within arm's reach, and she snatched it quickly and re-pocketed it, in an almost unconscious gesture.
<br>
<br>
The figure she'd hurtled into was still dizzily getting his bearings, and Rat watched him cautiously, thinking that she should be running away while she could, but for some reason she stood rooted in place while he gradually picked himself up. She had the impression that he didn't belong here either. She saw him take into account the stolen items that had escaped across the floor, not all of which were hers. She noticed he had not failed to bring his own satchel, and it appeared well packed. He was another thief
<br>
<br>
Rat and the stranger had scarcely exchanged glances, when both of them started in alarm at the protracted creak of a door opening nearby, followed, more frightening yet, by the unsteady yellow glow of a lamp approaching around a near bend. Without a word, both of them sprang into a full run down the hallway.
Almost immediately, they reached the room Rat had entered from, and she indicated that the stranger should follow her through the window, not considering that it might be too tight a fit for him. Fortunately it wasn't, and soon both of them were up on the roof, flustered, and shaky, and skidding all over the icy shingles, but still making their way steadily across, and downwards. At last they both stood on the alley side of the neglected manor wall, panting hard with fear and exhilaration.
The sky had begun to lighten, by now, its edges just beginning to warm against the skyline. Rat's breathing slowed. She stood up, and regarded the stranger she'd collided into.
<br>
<br>
He was a boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, a little older than herself. Taller, but slight of frame. She'd thought he was a thief, but now she doubted her first impression judging by his fine clothing. He wore a trim, fitted wool jacket over a crisp silk vest, both in dark shades of rich blue. His shoes looked soft and well made, and almost new. He had a belt, however, very much like Rat's own, broad with compartments and pouches and places to hide things, the leather worn with use. And then there was the satchel, suspiciously bulging.
<br>
<br>
Rat was twitching, nervous, eager to get out of this alley and out of this part of town as fast as possible. But she stood her ground, and met the gaze of the strange boy, who was now measuring up her own ragged appearance in return. It occurred to Rat, suddenly, that she owed him an apology.
<br>
<br>
"I'm sorry that I, er, ran into you. In there." The boy shrugged. Something about his mannerisms suggested arrogance, but she couldn't pinpoint what. He responded pleasantly enough, though,
<br>
<br>
"That's alright, I had what I needed." And after a pause,
<br>
<br>
"My name is Milton." Rat nodded in acknowledgement.
<br>
<br>
"My name is Rat."
<br>
<br>
Abruptly there was a muffled shout from somewhere deep in the manor, followed by a second, higher in pitch. Their handiwork had been discovered. Rat and Milton spared only a moment to trade conspiratorial grins, before they both fled noiselessly in opposite directions.
<br>

Note

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>An Abecean Heartache, Part One<BR>The Curse of Freedom<BR><Div align=left>

<BR>

I. It’s my name. I used to have a longer name, full of meaning, full of love, it was Crucius Cruxio. That’s gone now. Sometimes I’m called “Cell 4,” or any of various Raga swear words, but they all slip past me as mindlessly I begin to rot. I go only by I know, lest I remind myself of who I was. Oh, how bittersweet is this virus we call freedom, how bittersweet is this gift of revenge.<BR>

<BR>

The date of the night is irrelevant, rather I can’t or don’t wish to remember. I stepped off the ship, relieved to be free from the damp smell of sailor sweat and booze below deck. The Rihad port, how painfully familiar it seemed, even in the thick blanket fog of morning fog.<BR>

<BR>

The ship hands and beggars stared at me, but the creaks and moans of the old wooden docks seemed to echo their thoughts. Even the moons seemed to glare down upon me, like silent witnesses of the gods themselves. I was surprised to arrive at the predetermined location unharmed, and knocked on the door, looking side to side, as if the lackadaisical guard force of Rihad would be patrolling at this hour in the first place.<BR>

<BR>

A volley of gibberish whispers, then boots clamoring and gold jingling. A man cracked the door opened and peered out with one eye as it squealed unnervingly, like a sow being slaughtered. I heard him whisper “It’s Him,” and then the door was pulled wide open, and I was pulled right in. Behind a poorly constructed makeshift table stood Mahez. He was a tall, lanky Redguard bearing rust colored skin and hair like burnt grass, hardly an aesthetic being to the ladies. His paranoia was so obvious, as his eyes and fingers twitched madly. He slammed his hands on the table. “It’s about time, Cruxio,” he said, disappointingly attempting to mask his Alik’r accent.<BR>

<BR>

“Patience is a virtue, my friend,” I asserted in a noble tone. I caught him rolling his eyes, as they flickered in the only dim candlelight adding brightness to the dark, lower-class shack.<BR>

<BR>

“Very well, we have your goods, then,” he said faking a smile. With a snap of his fingers, his two henchmen of sorts pulled bags from underneath the table. They were emptied, revealing all sorts of exotic and intriguing trinkets. Smooth swords, white as snow, fanciful clothing seemingly spun of silk and sand, and a jade eel, just to name a few. I looked on in amazement. Moral inhibitions were pulled from my skin; some of the finest, rarest treasures of Hammerfell were at my disposal. Reaching for my coin bag I managed to croak out “I am satisfied.”<BR>

<BR>

“Ah, but there’s more,” said Mahez, a grin sweeping his face like a tidal wave.<BR>

<BR>

“And what, pray tell, is that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.<BR>

<BR>

“Some items were too large to display here, it is such small shack after all,” he said, handing me a quill pen and a slice of parchment. “Give us your address, and we’ll have it shipped in no time!”<BR>

<BR>

Ah, how we embrace the fallacies of man. Greed swept over my soul as a mother would tuck her child in at night, setting my conscience to sleep. How I loathe thinking of penning my address so hastily in the damp candlelight that night. Mahez smiled as he grabbed the parchment, crumpling it up and shoving it in his shirt pocket. He patted his accomplices on the back and said “Give us the payment we agreed on, and all is done. Your shop will be stocked with the most beautiful goods Mother Alik’r has to offer, at little price to you.” With a sickening smile I handed him my gold. The sound still echoes eerily in my head, enraging me.<BR>

<BR>

With a handshake, I stepped out the door to see Jode fall of the edge of the Abecean, and the warmth of sunlight poured over, amplified by the sea air. The deed was done, or was it? I looked back, seeing a city by the light divided. I silently said farewell to Rihad as I stepped foot on the boat. For home in Taneth, I was bound.<BR>

<BR>

I looked back again to see three horses racing through the sand, kicking up a veil of sand behind them. “Is this worth it?” I thought to myself. I know now I should judge my instincts rather than the looks upon my family’s monetarily pleased faces when making decisions like that. The subtle sloshing of the tides lulled me to sleep (something I now dearly miss.)<BR>

An Abecean Heartache, Part II

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>An Abecean Heartache, Part Two<BR>The Gift of Revenge<BR>
<Div align=left>

<BR>

Red. The walls were red. The ceiling was red. The bottoms of my shoes were red. I closed the door of my small hovel behind me as an enraged tear fell from my chin, falling into a puddle of blood. For an hour it seemed I stood there, immobilized by shock. I regained my composure and made my way across the room. The candelabra in the corner was almost at its wicks end as I began to ascend the stairs, the scent of matches hanging in the air.<BR>

<BR>

There she was, body covered in stab wounds and burn marks. I fell to my knees, holding her grotesque, mangled body in my shaking arms. Never have I wept like I wept then, it is embarrassing even to admit. I laid her peacefully down on our bed, brushing her hair from her face, which was pocked with coagulated blood. It may seem odd to most that my first feeling was not of sadness or malice, but betrayal. It maddened me. So mad was I, that the gods of this world could create men as mindless as those who had done this.<BR>

<BR>

I returned to the main floor and notice something sickeningly peculiar. The blood was pooled into the shape of a serpent, its eye, a human eye. It was the eye of my daughter, who was leaned up against the corner. I picked a small, neatly written note from her dress pocket. I cleared my throat and slowly read it aloud to myself.<BR>

<BR>

/center<BR>

<BR>

The note became soggy in my sweaty hands. I screamed out towards the sky as I slammed open the door. Rampant ran my thoughts, like ants running to honey. Suddenly, It hit me. I knew who had done this, and where to find him. I licked my cracked lips and said to the stable boy, “I’ll take the black horse, in the corner." He thanked me and took the gold. I mounted the horse and just before I heard the (all too familiar) sound of “by the gods, somebody’s been murdered!”<BR>

<BR>

Riding through Goldmoor in the spring is utterly beautiful. It’s a delightful interplay on the senses; half-bloomed flowers, contorted rocks, the smell and the spray of the sea brushing against your face. It creates an emotional numbing. Unfortunately this didn’t set in for me: all I felt was my vengeful heart pounding against my ribs. The rolling hills swooped up and down, Rihad became visible in the distance.<BR>

<BR>

The sound of bells ringing and gulls clamoring echoed over the valley. The mainsails of run-down gallions and expensive yachts poked though the low-lying clouds. I had returned, but I would never, even if I tried, leave.<BR>

<BR>

The evening sun basked the city in a dull orange light. A group of tall, hardy Nord sailors whispered and pointed as I walked past. I had a feeling they knew why I was back. I placed my hand on my scabbard, the cold metal handle of the sword sent a chill through me. How rich was the rage flowing, pulsating through me, consuming me, driving me to complete my task. Through every shop, every tavern, I searched for Mahez. This was his turf after all.<BR>

<BR>

I found him buzzed in a lavish tavern by the shore of the Brena River. It stood out like a sore thumb against the city’s rustic aesthetic, and obvious spot for a bandit lord to hide after a big haul. He was laughing and singing along with the nobles who likely frequented this place, but he stood out being the only one covered in spilled ale. I lightly tapped him on the shoulder. “By the Boneshaver, who are y-“ was all he could manage to say as he turned and my fist slammed into his temple, bones cracking, teeth flying. The other drunks didn’t seem to notice as I threw him by the collar out the door and into the street. The residents began to gather around at the cry of “fight!”<BR>

<BR>

Mahez spoke very fast in Yoku as I proceeded to beat him in every way I could think of. He curled up into a ball like the coward he was. I picked him up, and his face was marked with my boot print. I pulled forth my sword and whispered into his ear “You’re wrong, for it is you who is worthless and you who is evil.” With a cackle I sunk my sword into his gut. Bones snapped and blood spurted as I twisted it back and forth. It pierced through his back, the reddened blade shone in the falling sun. I pulled it out and fell backwards, the harsh reality of what I just did hit me like landslide.<BR>

<BR>

I sat there on the board walk awestruck and covered in viscera; Mahez’s chest rose, then fell, but did not come back up again. I vaguely remember the cold gauntlets of the guards grab my arms and haul me away without thought, and into the cell where I now sit. Oh, how bittersweet is this virus we call freedom, how bittersweet is this gift of revenge.<BR>

The Trickster Deity

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<FONT FACE=1><DIV ALIGN=CENTER>
Lorkhan,
The Trickster Deity<br>
<br>
By Briunta<br><div align=left>
<br>
The Trickster deity plays many roles across many cultures, shifting motives and attitudes like tides in a storm. One thing remains constant throughout his dance of mythic ambivalence, and that is his connection with the Mundus and its inhabitants, who have called him by many names over time, enough to confuse a novice. Herein I shall collect, list, and explain the significance of these.<br>
<br>
The Trickster deity is noted by not only his association with space versus the time of the Dragon, but his enactment of the Mundus (Mortal Plane) throughout all pantheons and belief systems. Where the controversy lies is his motive and manner of executing it. What can be surmised, is that the Trickster devised the plan for Mundus, and went to seek the help of the other Aurbic deities (for at this time, gods and demons and Aedra and Daedra cannot be adequately distinguished) to carry this out. Whether this was done by treachery, love, or faithfulness cannot be fully told, except in the confusing logic of Aurbic ambivalence, which allows all of these to be true by way of the mad godhead.<br>
<br>
The most famous moniker of the Trickster is Lorkhan, for this is the name the elves give him. Nazz before me has noted the irony of calling Lorkhan by his merish name, and Akatosh, the time god, by his mannish. All elves, Altmer, Dunmer, and Bosmer alike call him Lorkhan, but this is not to say they all agree therein.<br>
<br>
The Altmer see Lorkhan as a horrible trickster, who severed the connection of the magick of Aetherius from the world, enslaving them, the ancestors of the gods, in the prison of Mundus. Auriel paid a haughty revenge to Lorkhan upon finding out of his treachery, and to it we owe Vvardenfell and Red Mountain today, as their legend dictates. He is treated with utmost malice, and one should be careful to name Lorkhan an Aedra around an Altmer, for the thought of him as an ancestor would surely disgust many of them.<br>
<br>
The Dunmer on the other hand, were born of dissonance with the Altmer, of the mass Chimeri exodus from Summerset. Thus is it not surprising their view of Lorkhan is drastically different from that of their ex-brethren. Predictably, to them Lorkhan is viewed with utmost reverence, a magnificent and glorious savior who, unlike the Altmer who see Mundus as an entrapment, created the Mortal Plane with the love of transcendence. They see the world as a stage to be overtaken and this it the gift of Lorkhan. He is represented by a Scarab, as the Dwemer do the same. Coincidentally, said Scarab has eight arms. Here is an excerpt from Vivec’s 36 Sermons regarding Lorkhan:<br>
<br>
‘We pledge ourselves to you, the Frame-maker, the Scarab: a world for us to love you in, a cloak of dirt to cherish. Betrayed by your ancestors when you were not even looking. Hoary Magnus and his ventured opinions cannot sway the understated, a trick worthy of the always satisfied. A short season of towers, a rundown absolution, and what is this, what is this but fire under your eyelid?‘<br>
<br>
By the Cyrodiils, The Trickster is called Shezzar, the Missing God, the Imperial too treat Shezzar with reverence, and as the father of all men. A relatively new construct, Shezzar was naturally born of his Nordic primogenitor, Shor. Shor too is seen as a savior and loving, and both he and Shezzar peacefully brought together the gods to build and create Mundus, by some accounts fighting and discriminating against the foreign gods of the Altmer.<br>
<br>
The Khajiti creation stories are confusing, but keep in mind they use Fadomai to dictate Anu and Ahnurr to dictate Padomay. Thus, their myth conflicts with others, saying Lorkhan was the last born of Anu versus his other. Also interesting is that they claim Namira came into being following the birth of “Lorkhaj.” The creation of Lorkhaj was not favored by Ahnurr, who became outraged. Nonetheless, the Khajit too share the view of “Lorkhaj” as positive.<br>
<br>
Sheor, The Bad Man, is the Breton moniker of the trickster. Sheor is seen as a major cause of strife, yet bears a name similar to the Nordic denomination. Thus is he obviously a construct of the Bretons mixed blood, elven and mannish. Beyond that, little is known.<br>
<br>
Amongst the Reguards of Hammerfell and Yokuda, the name of the trickster is Sep. Sep is portrayed as a snake or a serpent, created by the Tall Papa Ruptga to deal with souls and spirits. He is pulled into madness, however, and thusly creates the Mundus. Subsequently, Tall Papa punishes the Snake, but he is said to “live on as a void in the stars, a 'non-space' that tries to upset mortal entry into the Far Shores” (the Far Shores being the Yokudan semblance of an afterlife.).<br>
<br>
Entering the Fourth Era the Trickster may, and some say obviously shall, play a pivotal role in modern history, having enjoyed absence from contemporary myth since his disappearance. With the mysterious Love Letter from the Fifth Era, the habit of the Rebellious Enantiomorph to revolt, Lorkhan threatens to loom at our doorstep, and to understand and know him could be a weapon in and of itself.

Mist and Mysticism, Book One

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>Mist and Mysticism, Book One<BR><DIV Align=left>
Summary: Power is knowledge, and knowledge comes with a price. No one is more aware of these simple facts than Astarill of Shimerene; an ambitious necromancer, whose sole purpose is to decipher the mystery of life and death. Follow him on his search, as he braves the perils that go hand in hand with an insatiable lust for knowledge.<BR>

<BR>

Prologue: Of Mages and Priests<BR>

<BR>

Tharer Rotheloth, Master of the Tribunal Temple in Molag Mar, sat behind his desk and folded his hands in front of him. Staring over the tips of his fingers, he studied the stranger that stood before him with caution.<BR>

<BR>

"Enlighten me, Altmer. Who are you, and what brings you here?"<BR>

<BR>

"I am Astarill of Shimerene, of House Tanarael. And I wish to join your cause," the stranger stated. His words were fluent and precise, yet thick with a distinctive Altmerish accent.<BR>

<BR>

The Temple Master hesitated. Something about the stranger's eyes was bothering him. Most High Elves had brilliant emerald or amber eyes, but these eyes were dull and pale. They seemed bleached by the sun, almost, resembling a light grey sooner than deep green or brown. And although the Altmer's stance and manner of speech showed nothing but courtesy, his eyes regarded the Temple Master coldly, like a vulture's.<BR>

<BR>

"What are your motives for joining the Temple, good man?" Master Rotheloth continued smoothly.<BR>

<BR>

"A search for knowledge," Astarill answered, and added when he realized this was not what the priest wanted to hear, "... and dedication to my Gods."<BR>

<BR>

The Temple Master cocked an eyebrow and paused for a brief moment before he stood up from his chair and turned his gaze to something that lay beyond the scope of the stranger's vision. He made a quick gesture with his hand.<BR>

<BR>

"Yes, Master?"<BR>

<BR>

Startled, Astarill turned around to identify the owner of the voice. Behind him now stood a young Dunmer man, approximately the same age as himself. The man smiled a crooked grin, quite evidently amused by the momentary look of confusion on the Altmer's face. He wore a suit of finely crafted chitin armor, and on his back he carried a massive warhammer that seemed out of place on anyone but a barbarian warlord.<BR>

<BR>

Tharer Rotherloth approached the Dark Elf and laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to the Altmer with a reserved smile.<BR>

<BR>

"This is Seltn Othras, one of our most respected disciples. Before you were allowed into my office, he was as kind as to inform me that you, Astarill Tanarael of Shimerene, belong to House Telvanni."<BR>

<BR>

Astarill took another look at the Dunmer man in chitin armor. He seemed vaguely familiar, like someone he might have passed once at the Gateway Inn.<BR>

<BR>

"You realize that it is highly unusual for members of the Telvanni to join the Temple?" the Temple Master continued.<BR>

<BR>

"So I have noticed," Astarill replied, not quite sure where this was going. He recalled the hostility with which the Temple Master in Sadrith Mora had treated him.<BR>

<BR>

"The only other Telvanni currently involved with the Temple, is Seltn here. You must forgive us our suspicion, but the Wizards have never respected our cause. They spread heresy and paganism among their people. You must also realize that members of our Temple did not join for their personal gain, but only to serve the Gods with unyielding devotion."<BR>

<BR>

"I would be honoured to perform any task the Gods lay on me," Astarill said, "I ask only their wisdom in return."<BR>

<BR>

The Temple Master was silent for a while and exchanged a glance with the young man at his side.<BR>

<BR>

"Very well," he said eventually, "I will accept you into our Order. You shall perform your duties, and I shall share what knowledge I have. Come back tomorrow morning to discuss further details. Seltn, show Novice Astarill out, if you will?"<BR>

<BR>

"Most certainly, Master," Seltn replied in a sly and raspy voice.<BR>

<BR>

The young Dunmer opened the door, smiling politely, and beckoned the High Elf to step through. Astarill studied the man as he passed. He had bloodred eyes, deeper than those of most Dunmer, matching the colour of his crimson hair perfectly. A severe scar ran across his throat. And unlike the other priests, this man was not dressed in robes.<BR>

<BR>

"You needn't worry about Master Rotheloth. He is a wise and righteous man," Seltn assured the Altmer, after closing the door behind him. "He's had some bad experiences with the Telvanni. But then again, haven't we all?" he added, smiling.<BR>

<BR>

"Then how come you are one of his 'most respected disciples'?" Astarill asked, failing to disguise the sarcasm that had crept into his words.<BR>

<BR>

"I was born into House Telvanni," the redhaired Dunmer began to explain, "But I never followed my family's footsteps. I have devoted my life to other things than the arcane arts."<BR>

<BR>

"And in what way do you serve the Temple, then?" Astarill inquired, nodding at the warhammer on the man's back.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn followed the Altmer's gaze, and pulled the weapon free, holding it up in both hands.<BR>

"I see you wonder at Veloth's Judgement. It is the Temple's most precious relic. It has served many men of my profession before me, and now it serves me. As my predecessors likewise, I hunt and execute the enemies of the Temple. I am an Inquisitor, or witchhunter, as the common folk like to refer to it."<BR>

<BR>

"Ah."<BR>

<BR>

Astarill recalled the stories he had heard one night at the Gateway Inn. The ruins of Anudnabia, a known den of Daedra worshippers, had been cleansed -brutally- by one carrying Veloth's Judgement. A man known as 'The Splinterer'. There was nothing left of Sheogorath's altar afterwards, it was said. And since that day, the entrance to the ruin had been blocked, never to be opened again.<BR>

<BR>

"So you are him, the Splinterer, whose name instills fear in every unholy creature," he said levelly.<BR>

<BR>

"So you have heard of me," Seltn smiled another one of his amused, crooked grins. "But I have heard much about you as well, Astarill of Shimerene. You have a splendid reputation within the House, I've gathered. Your skill is said to be unmatched. Hah! Some even claim that you saved yourself out of a tomb of vicious vampires by turning their minions against them... like a necromancer."<BR>

<BR>

The last word hovered in the air before it got engulfed by a heavy silence. Astarill moved forward to open the gate, but the Dunmer moved quicker and grabbed the handle, positioning himself between the Altmer and the way out. A piercing red glare met a pale green one.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill withdrew and straightened himself. "I wish I had been half as lucky or skilled as those stories portray me to be," he said, and forced a smile. "Perhaps then I wouldn't have needed so much time to recover afterwards."<BR>

<BR>

Seltn returned the smile. "It seems we are both subject to the people's gossip, my brother," he said as he opened the gate. "I trust you'll have a pleasant evening."<BR>

<BR>

Nodding politely, Astarill left the Temple grounds, feeling a pair of brooding red eyes pierce the back of his neck.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 1. Rain’s Hand 12th 3E 419<BR>

<BR>

The sun had barely begun to rise above the eastern hills. The weak rays peeked over the jagged crests, illuminating them with a soft, red glow. The town at the foot of the hills was still cradled in darkness. Its streets were empty and quiet, and the air was cold and damp from the previous night.<BR>

<BR>

It was the time of day Astarill found most fascinating, as life would again emerge triumphant from the deadly claws of night. Each morning he rose with the first rays of the sun to revel in the silence and purity of dawn, and to avoid the noisy merchants, chit-chatting townsfolk and the rude guards that otherwise roamed the streets. He would not allow this evident display of the universal laws and forces to be corrupted. At least not by any lesser hands than his own.<BR>

<BR>

The only audible sound coming from town this early, was the faint sizzle of water slowly heating up in the huge copper kettles of the Public Baths. The simple rectangular building stood at the end of town, partly built on the hills to facilitate the transport of the heated water from the kettles to the pools. Although the doors officially remained closed until the water was boiling and the halls were warmed, old Gryth Ornyhn -the owner- made sure he left the backdoor unlocked for Astarill to enter. The Altmer preferred his baths cold and short, and he preferred to take them early. In return for the owner’s service, Astarill provided him with a selfmade ointment to ease the pain of the old man’s aching back.<BR>

<BR>

In one of the smaller halls at the back of the building, the sound of splashing water echoed from the smooth marble walls. The hall was dark. One torch flickered feverishly in its battle against the gloom. It would take another hour before the sun's rays would infiltrate the building from the high and narrow windows.<BR>

Carefully, Astarill lowered himself into the chilly water and began to soap himself. Apart from the fact that he cherished silence and solitude, there was another advantage to bathing this early. He hated to expose himself, both socially and physically. He was tall and slender, and embarrassingly lean in his own opinion, yet at the same time his facial features bore a coarseness that betrayed his impure heritage. During his travels, his muscles had hardened and his body had grown wiry, though instead of improving his appearance, it had only added an awkward twist to his exterior. He preferred to avoid being seen.<BR>

<BR>

He took a deep breath and immersed himself entirely, washing the foam away. Numb and shivering, he climbed out of the pool and quickly wrapped himself in a towel. He dried himself and sat down on a bench, massaging some warmth back into his limbs.<BR>

<BR>

He reached for a brown pair of cotton pants and pulled them on. He took his satchel and produced a silver comb laid with small smoke-coloured gems. He held it up into the torch light and stared at it intently for a brief moment. His eyes seemed to glaze, as if lost in thought, as he stroked the engraved heraldic sign representing a clenched fist. He let out a sigh, just when the old Dunmer owner with his crooked knees and his bent back entered.<BR>

<BR>

“Good morning, son,” Gryth said pleasantly, his voice bearing remarkable resemblance to a creaking door, but smiling nevertheless. “How does the day greet you?”<BR>

<BR>

“Fine, Gryth, thank you,” Astarill replied. “How’s the back?” he asked, putting the comb down and pulling on a loose-fitting white blouse.<BR>

<BR>

“Ah, much better, son. Much better. Thanks to your ointment. But I fear it won’t hold out very long, regardless,” the old Dunmer said, taking up the used towel and the remainder of the chunk of soap.<BR>

<BR>

“You say that every day, Gryth, but I have yet to see you stop running this business.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill pulled his boots on, and quickly combed his hair.<BR>

<BR>

“And I tell you it is your optimism and wild imagination all youngsters have. Just you wait until you’ve reached my age, son. You will understand what I mean,” Gryth grinned.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill only smiled vaguely in response, pulling on a brown robe. The Dunmer, or the Cursed Ones, had a much shorter life span than the High Elves. According to the legends, it was part of their divine punishment. The young Altmer was quite certain that he had already reached the old man's age. Pondering on that thought, he fastened his belt and attached his sword and pouches.<BR>

<BR>

“Just take an old man’s advise, son. Never open up a business, because it will ruin your back! And your knees too, if you’re not careful.” Gryth smiled broadly and laid a hand on the Altmer's shoulder as they walked towards the exit.<BR>

<BR>

“Then I shall heed your words, old man,” Astarill joked, before he wished the owner a pleasant day, and walked out into the quiet streets of Sadrith Mora.<BR>

<BR>

Good-humoured, he decided not to go straight back to the Gateway Inn, where he had taken up residence ever since he had arrived in Vvardenfell. Instead, he decided to take a small detour. He strolled down the deserted streets, taking pleasure in the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the light melodies of early song birds. He lifted his face up, squinting his eyes against the sun, welcoming the warmth after a cold bath.<BR>

<BR>

The road began to wind downhill, indicating he had reached the end of town. He turned to the east and climbed the small path that lead from the local cornerclub to the coast. He walked towards the edge of the cliffs and was greeted by a strong wind that nearly succeeded in knocking him off his feet. Far beneath him, waves clashed with the rocks. He turned his gaze to the horizon. The view was dominated by the dark contours of a Daedric ruin. Its black spires peeked high above the surrounding cliffs.<BR>

<BR>

“Anudnabia...” he muttered to himself.<BR>

<BR>

He stood in silence for a moment, shivering as the chilly sea wind blew through his wet hair. Apparently having made up his mind, he nodded to himself and turned back to the town. He made his way to the Gateway Inn in a hurry, while the streets slowly started to come to life. Guards on night shift retreated from their posts and returned to Tel Naga, greeting guards that just started their patrols. Shop owners unlocked their doors and started to clean their display windows, while housewives began their daily chores.<BR>

<BR>

As the Altmer entered the Gateway Inn, the smell of freshly baked bread and fried kwama eggs welcomed him. The warmth that emitted from the fireplace in the corner beckoned him to his usual table. He sat himself down with his back to the flames, in order to let his long, platinum blond hair dry quicker.<BR>

<BR>

Another advantage of rising early, was the absence of noisy patrons. Most of them were still asleep, and the dining room was empty. A few tables away from Astarill, several empty plates and cups stood, indicating that the servants, who rose even earlier than he himself, had had breakfast and had begun their working day. From the kitchen, Astarill could deduce the sound of the publican preparing breakfast for the other patrons, who would rise within the hour.<BR>

<BR>

Making himself comfortable, Astarill took the cylinder-shaped case that was attached to his belt, and removed the lid. He took out the notes he had made on books which were too heavy to carry with him all the time, but contained indispensable information. He leafed through the parchments absently. Many of them contained notes on ingredients for specific potions. Others were self-drawn maps of different parts of Vvardenfell. After a while, he found the parchment he was looking for: his notes on Daedric ruins.<BR>

<BR>

“The usual, I suppose?” a kind voice asked suddenly.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill looked up from his study to see an elderly Dunmer woman, who once must have been beautiful in her younger years. She carried a tray with a plate of warm bread, a kwama-egg omelet and a cup of steaming hot heather tea.<BR>

<BR>

“Ah, wonderful,” he said, putting his notes aside. “Thank you, Sivithi.”<BR>

<BR>

The publican smiled broadly. The pleased look upon the Altmer's face when his breakfast was placed before him, was more than enough thanks for the old woman.<BR>

<BR>

“Enjoy your meal,” she said warmly, and moved over to the table where the servants had had breakfast. “At least I know you’ll appreciate it. I don’t get so much as thanks from Angaredhel,” she continued, placing the empty plates and cups on her tray. The lines on her face seemed to deepen when she mentioned the name of the Prefect of Sadrith Mora, her husband.<BR>

<BR>

Simultaneously, Astarill's face hardened. He choked down the remark that came to his mind, telling exactly what he thought of Lord Angaredhel and his childish xenophobia. Most Dark Elves looked down upon outlanders -some of them even looked down upon their own- but the Prefect topped everything.<BR>

<BR>

Sivithi put the tray with the servant’s dishes away. “I still have to thank you for your stoneflower tea recipe,” she said. “You were right, it tastes horrible, but my headaches are gone completely. And I sleep a lot better too.”<BR>

<BR>

With his mouth full of bread and kwama omelett, Astarill could only nod in response, holding a fork in one hand and his notes in the other.<BR>

<BR>

“So what will you be doing today?” Sivithi continued pleasantly, “Do you have duties to perform for the Temple or do you have errands to run for the Wizards?”<BR>

<BR>

“Both,” Astarill replied after swallowing his bread and taking a sip of tea, “But those can wait. I’m going to investigate the ruins of Anudnabia.”<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 2. The Ruins of Anudnabia<BR>

<BR>

On a clear day, the Ruins of Anudnabia could be seen from the top of Wolverine Hall. It didn’t surprise Astarill that the Temple Master of Sadrith Mora had ordered ‘The Splinterer’ to cleanse the Daedric ruin of evil and to block it for all time, it being so close to civilization. It didn’t surprise Astarill either that the Telvanni had never before tried to do anything about the den of Daedra at their doorstep. They probably thought it a nice research project.<BR>

<BR>

And so did he.<BR>

<BR>

Nearing the eastern coast, Astarill paused and grabbed hold of his amulet. Slowly, his being began to blend into the background. The trinket was composed of a polished grey soulgem, appearing much like cairngorm, which had been crafted from minerals found only in the mountains of the Summerset Isles. He had enchanted it himself during his youth, when he was still attending the Guild of Mages as a mere boy who had not yet seen his hundredth spring. His experience with Illusion spells and the art of Enchantment had been only rudimentary, and the amulet was flawed in a way that he needed to hold on to it for it to work. As soon as his hand would leave the transparent grey stone, the spell would wear off instantly. Yet the trinket served its purpose and Astarill had not seen reason to replace it. At least it granted him the opportunity to explore his surroundings without running the risk of being seen by something nasty.<BR>

<BR>

He studied the rocky coast beneath him intently, searching for a possible entrance and a way to get there without too much trouble. The ruins were scattered on small islands off the coast. Many parts of the old shrine lay below the water surface, however. Astarill guessed that once the formidable building would have stood high and proud, looking out onto the sea, but that with time, the cliffs had subsided and slid down into the sea, taking the Daedric shrine with them.<BR>

<BR>

After a while, Astarill had convinced himself that the most likely place to find the entrance was in the large, middle tower, situated on one of the small islands. To reach the middle tower, he could take the direct way by swimming, or the long way by walking and only getting a pair of wet feet. He chose the latter option.<BR>

<BR>

He proceeded his way down the coast with caution. Sometimes climbing down with his one free hand, sometimes sliding down clumsily, causing small avalanches of loose gravel until he reached the sandy waterside where stalks of marshmerrow grew in abundance. Stepping into the shadows of the ominous dark walls of the ruin, Astarill walked from island to island through the shallow, brackish water, eventually reaching the middle tower as planned.<BR>

<BR>

Huge steps led from the base of the tower high up to the plateau, where Astarill guessed the entrance would be. Looking up, Astarill came to a sudden halt. At the top of the stairway, a Frost Atronach stood. At first, it had seemed as if the creature had seen through the amulet’s enchantment, but after a while Astarill saw it was staring straight through him into the water behind.<BR>

<BR>

A devious grin appeared on the Altmer's face as he let go of his amulet. His being became visible in an instant. It took a few moments before the creature’s senses had registered him, but when they did, its glowing blue eyes started to blaze and it let out a terrible roar. Astarill braced himself for the impact of the attack that was about to come. The golem pointed a finger at the figure down below and a ray of ice cold destructive magic speeded towards the elf with a sizzling sound. The force of the magical blow sent Astarill staggering backward, but his grin only broadened. He could feel the attack weaken him physically, but at the same time sent a surge of raw, pulsing energy running through his veins. He felt his own powers rise and intricate patterns of difficult spells flashed through his memory.<BR>

<BR>

Seeing its attack had no effect on its opponent, the golem roared once more and started to run down the stairway. Astarill extended the palm of his left hand and purple chains of magical energy appeared around the Atronach, suddenly constricting the creature, forcing it to hover above the stairs. The creature screamed, trying to move, but without result. Slowly, and with a wicked grin, Astarill folded his left hand into a fist, causing the chains to cut deeper and deeper into the creature’s hide, until suddenly, in a tremendous blow of energy, the Atronach had disappeared.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill was about to continue on his way, when there was a loud shriek behind him. Before he could turn around, a slash of claws ripped through his robes and back. The blow knocked the Altmer flat against the cold stones of the stairs. Without a moment’s thought, he screamed out the words of the first spell that came to his mind. A devastating blast of fire radiated from the elf, knocking his unseen attacker back. Pulling himself up to turn around, Astarill saw the Clannfear shaking its massive, armoured head in attempt to recover. Before the creature could attack again, Astarill directed another ball of fire at it. The creature fell to the ground with a tortured moan.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill sank back against the stairs, taking a few moments to get his breath back. His robes were torn. He could feel warm blood trickle down his back and his head had started to ache from concentrating hard on directing his spells so suddenly, without taking the proper time to clear his head and prepare his mind. He looked down at the Clannfear. It was still breathing erratically, but Astarill knew that it had not much longer to live. He reached out and pressed his hand on a scaly shoulder. A warm, purple glow encompassed his hand as he took the last of the tormented creature's life force and absorbed it into his own, feeling his wounds close.<BR>

<BR>

Taking a deep breath, Astarill stood up and drew his sword while he began to climb the stairs. As always, whenever his mind would fail him, his body took over automatically. Though he was definitely no warrior, he had obediently followed his sword lessons as a child, like every nobleman in Shimerene, and he knew how to wield a blade properly. It had saved his life several times, and he felt secure knowing he could fall back on it.<BR>

<BR>

Reaching the original main entrance to the ruin, he could see that it indeed was sealed for eternity. Large boulders blocked the door. It would take a huge effort, either by hand or by magic to remove them. Besides this physical barrier, Astarill thought he sensed a magical radiation of sorts, coming from the door. If he took the time to study it, he could probably identify it, but he thought it a safe assumption that it was some sort of a shielding spell. Dispelling it would proof difficult and would take too much time.<BR>

<BR>

So, he thought to himself, I will need to find myself another way. But where will I start searching?<BR>

<BR>

Architecture of Daedric ruins was far from being as straightforward as that of the Dwemer ruins he had seen. Dwarves had been a practical race of scholars who despised the mystical and glorified the logical. Their buildings were always constructed according to a particular set of rules, and once you knew them, each ruin would seem the same. There would always be a trap or a secret door to test the enemy’s wit. Books had been written on the various forms of these traps and concealed doors, including a description on how to recognize them and how to get past them. Astarill had notes on those.<BR>

<BR>

Daedric ruins were an entirely different matter, however. Each one was different. And if you were as unlucky as to stumble upon one which was dedicated to Sheogorath, The Mad God, you might find yourself in a deadly, maddening maze.<BR>

<BR>

This is indeed a shrine to Sheogorath, Astarill thought, then smiled. So there must be loads of secret entrances and corridors. He tried to recollect every scrap of knowledge on Daedric ruin architecture. His face turned grim. And traps, he realized. Built by mad cultists, so they're either ineffective or extremely hazardous.<BR>

<BR>

Shaking off that idea, Astarill forced himself to think. Where would I put a secret entrance? At the back of the Shrine. Or somewhere around the middle of the construction, so that the centre could be reached easily. That makes sense, so I will certainly not find it there. It must be close to the official entrance…<BR>

<BR>

Astarill studied the walls, hoping to find clues in the architecture of the tower. He started to follow a pattern of swirling carvings starting on the ceiling, running across the walls, suddenly diving over the balustrade all the way down to the base of the tower, which lay below the water surface.<BR>

<BR>

Naturally, Astarill thought with a sigh.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Gasping for breath, Astarill hoisted himself out of the water. His spell of water breathing had not been sufficient to reach the end of the narrow, winding corridor that had flooded instantly at the opening of the secret entrance. Breathing heavily, Astarill sat on the stairs at the end of the room which led to a door. He studied the place. It looked like some sort of old, irrelevant storage room, now completely flooded.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill stood up and stared at the door. He didn’t notice any evidence of a trap mechanism, and he tried the handle. It opened easily, but when Astarill stepped through, he was just in time to grab the doorpost and hurl himself back inside the room. Before him, the ground had opened, revealing a pit with rusty, iron spikes.<BR>

<BR>

Cautiously, Astarill stepped over the pit. As he continued his investigation, drawing nearer and nearer to the centre of the ruin, the Shrine of Sheogorath, he encountered many more traps, some of which had already been triggered a long time ago, probably by the priests of the Temple. The priests had left a clear mark on the ruin. Altars had been destroyed, and in one room, the bodies of dozens of cultists lay on a pyre that had once been set on fire but had been unable to completely burn the bodies due to the lack of abundant oxygen in the ruin. Several times, Astarill encountered a stray Daedra, none of which was hard to deal with.<BR>

<BR>

Eventually, he reached the inner shrine of Sheogorath. The statue of the Mad God had been pulled down, judging from the ropes that lay around the large boulders that remained. The altar had been completely shattered. Pedestals on which relics or offerings should have been displayed were broken, except for one. On the other side of the shrine, behind the base of the statue, there was a niche in the wall. Within that niche stood a pedestal, undamaged. On top of that pedestal, a brilliant white orb was displayed.<BR>

<BR>

What could it be? Astarill thought, A relic? An artifact? And why didn’t the Temple destroy or remove it? There was only one plausible explanation. It is too dangerous... The Temple left it here to remain sealed forever.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill studied the niche and the walls intently. The pedestal was trapped, that he could clearly deduce from the pattern of holes and protuberances on the floor and walls. He couldn’t be sure what exactly would be the trigger and what would happen after it actually got triggered, though.<BR>

<BR>

Caught up in his musings, Astarill never saw the shadow appearing on the balustrades that once had been surrounding the statue of Sheogorath.<BR>

<BR>

There was a rustle, followed by a soft thud. Astarill swung around, only to be greeted by the point of a sabre hovering patiently in front of his nose. The Altmer swallowed and followed the blade to the hand that was holding it.<BR>

<BR>

“Hold it right there, Altmer. I’ll take it from here,” a feminine voice spoke.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 3. The Orb of Madness<BR>

<BR>

The voice cut through the air with the chilly sharpness of an icicle.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill fought to regain his composure. He managed to keep his expression indifferent and nonchalant, but his facial muscles felt painfully rigid as he did so. Taking a deep breath, he forced to ease himself and to study what he was up against.<BR>

<BR>

Aside from the wickedly sharp looking sabre the cloaked woman was pointing at him, a strangely shaped bulge in her cloak near her left thigh warned him of the possible presence of a crossbow. It would not surprise him if there would be a collection of concealed knives hidden somewhere on her person as well. She wore a kind of darkened, flexible leather armour that was custom to members of the Morag Tong.<BR>

<BR>

“Before you run off with an age-old relic of unknown properties,” he began, “Might I inquire who you are and what the bloody hell you were planning on doing with it?” He filled his voice with loathing, while he tried to back away from the blade inconspicuously.<BR>

<BR>

“Ah, but of course!” the woman spoke, sheathing her sabre. “How very rude of me, I should have introduced myself. I do apologize.”<BR>

<BR>

She lowered the hood of her cloak to her shoulders. The first thing Astarill noticed, was her deviously crooked, mocking grin. Long and wavy hair -a deep, dark red as only the Dark Elves could have- framed a fine face with sharp features. Cold, blood red eyes watched his every move, calculating his intentions and anticipating his actions, or so it seemed. He was quite sure he had never seen eyes more heartless, except perhaps in the mirror.<BR>

<BR>

His attention was drawn to the small drops of water that dripped soundlessly down from her cloak to the floor. He looked up again and now noticed that her hair looked somewhat damp and soggy.<BR>

<BR>

She must have followed me somehow, he concluded, Came in the same way I did. Cursed rogue...<BR>

<BR>

“To answer your question, Altmer, I am here on behalf of Mistress Dratha. She has taken an interest in that little gimmick over there. She will be pleased to hear that I beat Aryon's apprentice to it,” she said, sneering. “You are Aryon's, right? He is the only one who would take on an outlander. Oh, and before I forget, thank you ever so much for clearing the ruins of roaming demons. I would have hated to get my hands dirty.”<BR>

<BR>

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not here on Aryon's behalf,” Astarill replied, narrowing his pale, green eyes. “But pray tell, why would I surrender 'that little gimmick over there', as you so ignorantly put it, to someone who was counting on me to dispatch of all lurking creatures? What makes you stop me from dispatching you as well?”<BR>

<BR>

Another crooked smile appeared around the lips of the young woman. “Don't flatter yourself, Altmer. I am more than capable of dealing with those otherworldly beasts myself. I simply enjoyed watching your efforts. But I do have to thank you for finding the entrance. It would have taken me at least five minutes longer. You saved me some precious time.”<BR>

<BR>

“You're welcome,” Astarill muttered angrily, and then said, “So tell me, madam, how were you planning on removing the item from its pedestal. I do hope you’ve noticed it’s trapped?”<BR>

<BR>

“Indeed I have,” the woman said, “But I am not going to remove it, we are.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill snorted. “I beg your pardon?”<BR>

<BR>

“This trap can only be bypassed with the efforts of two people. Or didn’t you know that?”<BR>

<BR>

“I did not, but I would have eventually, as I would not have tried to take the item myself.”<BR>

<BR>

The woman cocked an eyebrow, and Astarill answered her unspoken question:<BR>

“I would have bound the soul of one of those burned corpses back to its mortal shell and let it do it for me. But thank you very much for the advise. I shall certainly heed it when I have dealt with you.”<BR>

<BR>

“Dealt with me?” the woman asked, “I’m curious! Do tell me how you were planning on doing that?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill snapped his fingers and a faint, greenish flame appeared around his forefinger. In a quick, sudden movement, he directed his finger at the Dunmer, and a ray of green energy shot towards his target. In his confidence, he had not expected the woman to do what she did next. With lightning speed reflexes, she produced the same green glow in her hand, catching the ray of energy and throwing it back at him. Astarill caught it just in time and extinguished it in his hand.<BR>

<BR>

“You were going to paralyze me?” the woman grinned, “Truly, I had expected more of you.”<BR>

<BR>

“You don't look like a mage,” Astarill stated, ignoring her mockery, “How is it you were able to counterspell my attack?”<BR>

<BR>

“I might not be a mage, but I am quite skilled in the schools of both Illusion and Alteration, so you might want to remember that before you throw any more at me. However,” she began, taking a step forward, “I don’t believe you really want to kill me. If you did, you would have done to me what you did to that golem outside. Unless… those fights with the Daedra have weakened you and tapped too much of your powers...”<BR>

<BR>

“All right, I see where this is going,” Astarill said, “You want to strike a deal, is that it?”<BR>

<BR>

“Indeed it is, very clever. You help me get the that glowing thing safely of its pedestal, and I’ll let you live. How’s that?”<BR>

<BR>

“No, I’m dreadfully sorry. I can’t go through with that. I did get here first, so I feel entitled to a bit more privilege than that.”<BR>

<BR>

“Fair enough… You help me get the item, let me take it to Dratha, and then I’ll steal it back for you.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill started to laugh. “Oh, absolutely not. Whatever reason did I give you to cause you to believe I am that stupid? No, you help me get the item, you let me study it for a week, and then you may take it to Dratha. I have no interest in its material value.”<BR>

<BR>

The woman gave this a thought. “Make that four days and you’ve got a deal, on the condition that you share with me everything you've discovered about the item.”<BR>

<BR>

“As you wish,” he said with exaggeration, bowing and allowing her to pass. “After you.”<BR>

<BR>

“Thank you most graciously,” she replied with a crooked grin, approaching the pedestal. “You may call me Elenore, by the way. And you are?”<BR>

<BR>

“Astarill,” he said, watching the woman as she examined the walls around the glowing orb.<BR>

<BR>

She stared at the symbols on the walls intently, and then drew her sabre. With the far end of the blade, she pressed several stones on the floor. Nothing happened.<BR>

<BR>

“Right,” she said, matter-of-factly, “This is what we'll do...”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill followed the young woman's instructions closely. They had managed to remove four of the strange looking, spiky protuberances from the walls of the niche around the pedestal. Each spike on the left wall had to be removed at the exact same time with the corresponding one on the right wall. Only two more spikes remained in the floor on the each side of the marble pedestal.<BR>

<BR>

“Now, you step on the one on the left, and I’ll step on the one to the right,” Elenore pointed out. “The pedestal will sink into the ground, so we must be careful to grab this thing before it rolls off or something.”<BR>

<BR>

“All right, but before you try to take it, use this,” Astarill said and handed her a piece of cloth large enough to enfold the glowing orb. “I don’t think it's wise to touch it with your bare hands. You never know what it does.”<BR>

<BR>

“How clever. Ready?”<BR>

<BR>

He gave a curt nod.<BR>

<BR>

They both pressed the stone spikes with their feet, and as soon as the marble pedestal started to shake and sink into the ground, Elenore grabbed the orb and folded it in the old rag.<BR>

<BR>

Before either of them could speak, it seemed the entire ruin started to shake violently. A loud, grumbling noise resounded. Small pieces of stone broke loose from the walls and the ceiling. Even the massive boulders of Sheogorath’s broken statue started to shift somewhat on the shaking floor.<BR>

<BR>

“What’s happening?” Astarill had to shout to be heard over the noise, “I thought you said you knew how these traps worked!”<BR>

<BR>

A look of confusion crossed the woman's face as she stared up at the ceiling. “I do,” she began, regaining her composure, “But this one must have been linked. Disarming one means triggering another...”<BR>

<BR>

“Splendid!”<BR>

<BR>

“I don't know what will happen, but it's likely to be quite hazardous to our health. Get out now!”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill nodded and dashed for the exit of the Inner Shrine shielding his head against the falling debris. Reaching the doorway, he turned to see whether the woman had followed him. Instead, he saw her struggling to put the orb in a satchel, while at the same time trying to stay up on her feet on the shaking floor.<BR>

<BR>

When she made sure the orb was secure within the leather bag, she ran toward him, nimbly dodging the falling rocks, that were now increasing in size. Before she could have reached the doorway, however, the ground beneath her feet gave way. Big blocks of stone broke loose and fell into a seemingly endless void. Awkwardly trying to balance and move to solid ground, she made a jump for the door. She missed only by a few inches, crashing down to the ground. One hand feverishly held on to the satchel, while with the other, she reached out for Astarill. Before he could take her hand, a crack appeared between the doorpost and the floor of the Inner Shrine.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore stared down and watched as the stone block beneath her slowly crumbled right before her eyes.<BR>

<BR>

“No you don't,” Astarill growled more to himself than anyone else, and dived forward. He grabbed onto her hand just in time, feeling his ribs crash as they connected with the floor. The last remnants of the floor of the Inner Shrine collapsed and fell down into the void. Elenore crashed against the wall, gritting her teeth and clutching the Altmer's hand. Astarill flinched with pain, and managed to grab the doorpost with his other hand.<BR>

<BR>

“Hang on,” he managed to utter.<BR>

<BR>

It would be days later when it would strike him that all the while Elenore's life had been hanging by a mere thread -or rather his arm- her eyes had never shown any fear. Her blood red eyes remained as cold as the ruin's marble walls.<BR>

<BR>

Feeling each muscle in his body protest painfully, Astarill pulled himself and the woman up on solid ground.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore got to her feet, still clutching the satchel in one hand as if her life depended on it.<BR>

“Thank you,” she said, “You know I wouldn’t have done the same for you.”<BR>

<BR>

He stared at her blankly, wondering how she managed to keep her voice that calm and steady after almost falling to her death. He for one still felt his muscles twitch and shake from the sudden effort and the burst of adrenaline it had caused. He was still surprised about the strength he had been able to muster.<BR>

<BR>

“Rest assured,” he said eventually, “I wouldn’t have either. You had the orb.”<BR>

<BR>

She nodded absently and shot one last glance at the abyss that had been the Inner Shrine of Sheogorath only minutes ago, before the two elves retreated in silence.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 4. Rain’s Hand 13th 3E 419<BR>

<BR>

Astarill woke the next morning at the sound of a soft knock on his room door. He opened his eyes and immediately shut them again, hoping the headache would go away as fast as it had set in. Unfortunately, he had no such luck and the pain only grew worse when he tried to get out of bed. He moaned something unintelligible and sat up carefully. He looked around and noticed he had removed his torn robes and had thrown them on a chair. He hadn't bothered to undress any further before getting into bed. On his desk the mysterious artifact lay, still folded in rags. Its pulsing, magical light shone through the cloth. Next to the orb, an empty bottle of shein lay on its side.<BR>

<BR>

That would explain the headache, he recalled.<BR>

<BR>

He had been too tired to make himself a salve to ease his aching muscles when he had returned to his room, so he had knocked back several goblets of comberry wine in order to drive the pain away.<BR>

<BR>

Another, slightly more urgent knock came from the door.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill got up after considerable effort and stumbled to the door. The pain in his stiff muscles was almost unbearable when he reached for the handle and opened the door just far enough for him to see who had been knocking.<BR>

<BR>

Sivithi stood before him with a worried look on her face.<BR>

“Are you quite all right? Usually you would have been downstairs already, and…” she began, until she saw his face. “By the Gods! You look horrible! What happened to you?”<BR>

<BR>

“I can assure you it isn’t as bad as it seems. I’m fine, just a little sore,” Astarill tried to say out loud, but the words that left his lips were mere mutterings.<BR>

<BR>

“Things didn’t go that well at the ruin, then?” the publican asked . The long blond hair of the Altmer that was usually tied in a tidy tail, now framed his face in a messy, unkempt manner. His blouse was dirty and hung slantwise around his frame. Wearily, his pale eyes stared out into the world.<BR>

<BR>

“An unexpected trap, and a rather unlucky fall. That’s all,” Astarill assured the elderly woman.<BR>

<BR>

“I'll tell you what,” Sivithi said, “I'll go downstairs, make you some breakfast and meanwhile you can change into some clean clothes. When I return with your food, you can give me your clothes and I’ll wash and repair them for you.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill nodded his agreement, and closed the door to go and change. He opened his closet and took out another pair of paints and a fresh blouse. He realized that a warm bath would do him some good for a change. He quickly disregarded that idea though, wincing at the thought of having to mingle with the loud, noisy common folk that would probably roam the place by now.<BR>

<BR>

After getting dressed, Astarill searched for his boots. The soles were covered in mud, but at that moment he couldn't care less and he pulled them on anyway. He threw his robe on the same pile as his dirty clothes and he sat down on his chair, leaving a trail of muddy footprints from the closet to his desk.<BR>

He opened a drawer and took out a small chest and several pouches. He reached for his mortar and added a handful of stoneflower petals to it. He took a root of a trama shrub and some bittergreen leaves and cut them in small pieces. He added the pieces to the mortar together with some shreds of dried marshmerrow leaves to improve the taste of the mixture. He meshed the ingredients together, and transferred the paste to a bowl. Finally, he added some water from the pitcher on his desk. There was no finer medicine against headaches, memory loss or simply lack of concentration.<BR>

<BR>

At that moment, Sivithi returned with a tray of his usual breakfast. As she put the tray down on the desk, the smell of fried kwama eggs made Astarill’s stomach rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since he had left for Anudnabia. That probably had something to do with the fact that the shein had kicked in so hard, he realized.<BR>

<BR>

“Could you do me a favour?” Astarill asked, as he handed the publican his clothes. “Could you put this bowl on the stove for me?”<BR>

<BR>

“Of course,” Sivithi said. “Shall I take it back up again as soon as it starts to boil?”<BR>

<BR>

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Just let it simmer for a while. I’ll get it later.”<BR>

<BR>

When the publican had left with his clothes and his bowl, Astarill ate his breakfast thoughtfully, never taking his eyes of the orb. Before he could try to activate the artifact, he would first have to do some research on it. He considered his options.<BR>

He could travel to the Temple of Molag Mar to search for any archives on the cleansing of Anudnabia. He could even ask ‘the Splinterer’ Seltn Othras himself, though that would probably draw too much attention. And the attention of the Temple's foremost Inquisitor was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.<BR>

On the other hand, Master Aryon's library could also contain some valuable clues to the nature and origin of the orb. Either way, he had to finish his chores first. He couldn’t just go back to any one of his Masters demanding access to the libraries without having done his duties first.<BR>

<BR>

He remembered that he had been ordered to retrieve a stolen crate full of cure disease potions from a group of bandits that supposedly hid somewhere along Azura’s Coast, southwest of Sadrith Mora. The crate would be to heavy and big for him to carry alone, so he would have to ask the local Temple Master for a rowing boat and two suitable novices to go with him. Perhaps, if things would go as planned, he would even have time to return to Molag Mar to study the archives that same day. His chores for Master Aryon would have to wait for tomorrow.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Three figures moored their rowing boat on a small strip of beach. The two novices that had been placed at Astarill’s disposal were two young Dunmer boys. They looked out of place in their large, priestly robes. The oldest of the two, Omyn, was a thin, lanky boy with a gullible look on his face, holding his wooden staff as though he was going to plough the field instead of bludgeoning his enemies. The other, Hrillis, was a bit shorter, but seemed more intelligent than his friend, carrying a wooden cudgel with confidence.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill ordered the two boys to hide the boat out of sight, while he himself climbed the hill to get a good view on the bandit hideout. It seemed quiet enough. The crate of potions had been stolen at night, so if these bandits only raided after dark, they would probably be asleep at the moment, with perhaps only one or two of them on watch. Astarill prayed this would be the case. He didn’t put much faith in the abilities of the novices.<BR>

<BR>

Gesturing the two young Dark Elves to position themselves on the hill, Astarill approached the cave on his own. A crude door made from driftwood covered the entrance. He put his hand on the door handle, and too late he felt a strange resistance. As the door swung open, the thin thread, that had been tautly attached to the handle on the other side, loosened and the sound of a bell could be heard throughout the entire cavern.<BR>

<BR>

“Splendid...” Astarill muttered under his breath, wearily rolling his eyes. Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly, he gestured the two boys to step a little closer.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill prepared himself, recalling mysterious patterns and words of intricate incantations, just when two Dunmer bandits emerged from the cave. They were wearing grubby clothes and several pieces of an incomplete set of leather armour. One wielded a club, the other one an axe.<BR>

<BR>

“Hold it right there, you stuck-up outlander n’wah!” the axe-wielding one said. He looked at the High Elf, then at the two young novices behind the Altmer, and started smiling. “Ah, you’re from the Temple, right? Come to reclaim the potions, right? Well come and get them!”<BR>

<BR>

With a roar, both bandits attacked. Astarill paralyzed the one with the axe with a single touch of his finger, while drawing his sword to parry the blow from the one wielding a club. At his command, the two novices hurried forward to attack the paralyzed Dunmer, as long as he was still harmless. Astarill continued to parry the blows from the other bandit with his sword in his right hand, and at the same time spoke the words of a spell which made a blue glow appear in his left. Bellowing the final word to complete the incantation, Astarill caught the bandit off guard and pressed his hand on the Dunmer’s chest, transferring icy energy straight through the bandit's chest into his heart. With an agonizing scream, the bandit sank to his knees. A thin layer of frost appeared on his lips as the spell iced his body from the inside. His eyes glazed and his limbs stiffened. He collapsed to the ground like a solid statue.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill swung around just in time to see the axe wielding bandit recover from his paralyzation.<BR>

<BR>

“Move!” he ordered the two novices.<BR>

<BR>

Enraged, the bandit raised his axe above his head with both hands. He ignored the two boys who hastily leaped out of his way, and charged at the High Elf with a scream. Seeing a clear opening, Astarill extended his sword and planted it straight into the bandit’s stomach, before the Dunmer could have ever landed his axe.<BR>

<BR>

“There’s bound to be more of them,” Astarill said matter-of-factly, as he pulled his sword free from the limp body that lay before him. “Stay behind me and only attack opponents either in the back or when they’re harmless.”<BR>

<BR>

Behind him, he heard a indignant snort from Hrillis.<BR>

<BR>

“Is there a problem?” Astarill inquired, an eyebrow cocked and sternly looking down upon the both bold and naïve look on the boy’s face.<BR>

<BR>

“Well, it doesn’t seem very honourable, does it, serra?” Hrillis said, while Omyn nodded gravely in agreement. “Doesn’t the great Lord Vivec teach us to display courtesy, even to our greatest enemy?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill laughed sardonically. “There’s nothing honourable in dying by the hands of a mediocre bandit,” he said. “Show them courtesy and they’ll bash your brains in return. Now be quiet and do as I tell you.”<BR>

<BR>

Sighing, Astarill continued on his way. He realized he would have to keep a close eye on Hrillis, or the boy could get them all into unnecessary trouble. He had been afraid of that from the beginning since the Temple Master had introduced the two novices to him. Hrillis regarded the world with little respect and too much confidence. And Omyn would undoubtedly follow his friend’s lead. Astarill had a slight misgiving that the Temple Master had chosen Hrillis on purpose, hoping to teach the boy a much needed lesson.<BR>

<BR>

Proceeding deeper down into the cave, the three eventually reached an open space. A small fire was burning, surrounded by two stools. Two wooden cups stood on the floor, one still filled with liquid. A bottle of matze stood next to it. There were a few crates and barrels, which, upon inspection, contained nothing of interest other than bread and pickled meat. The thread, that had been attached to the door handle and fastened along the cavern walls, was attached to the bell that hung on a wooden pole not far from the fire. On the other side of the room, there was another door made of driftwood.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill quietly approached and listened at the door. He grinned, took a few steps back and extended both hands. Muttering harsh, otherworldly words under his breath, a pulsing orange glow encompassed his hands. With a devastating blast, a burst of flames shot from his hands, instantly disintegrating the door and blazing into the room that lay beyond.<BR>

<BR>

When the smoke had cleared, the burned body of an Imperial lay near the door, and two gravely wounded Dunmer stared at the doorway in fear. They recovered remarkably quick from the attack and one of them knocked back something that looked like a potion of healing. Swords raised, the two bandits charged the Altmer.<BR>

<BR>

The pounding of his heart against the temples of his head was a painful promise of an upcoming headache, and Astarill drew his sword. He parried the first blow with ease, but the second Dunmer was too quick and lashed out with his sword. Right before the weapon scraped his shoulder, Astarill thought he saw a strange and faint glimmer on the sword's edge.<BR>

<BR>

Poison! he thought, and at that moment, the blow to his shoulder was followed by a bitter, creeping pain that slowly began to spread its way through his veins.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill cursed under his breath and parried another blow from the poisonous sword just in time, though giving the other Dunmer the opportunity to lash at his thigh. Wincing in pain, Astarill was driven back by the two bandits. The poison in his veins made his movements slow and soon he wouldn’t be able to parry the attacks any longer. He had to take out the weakest one first, he knew, although that would mean opening up to the one with the poisoned blade. He decided to take that fact for granted and bolted forward in a sudden movement, pushing the bandit with the poisoned sword out of his way and lashing out wildly at the other one. Backed by sheer luck and the element of surprise, his reckless attack worked out as planned. His frantic blow crushed the sword arm of the weakest bandit, giving him the opportunity to finish his opponent off with a clean strike to the neck.<BR>

<BR>

At that moment, he would have expected the other bandit to attack him from behind and the words of a Shield spell left his lips. Instead, he heard a bold, yet slightly misplaced battle cry coming from Hrillis, who charged the bandit with his cudgel raised. Omyn followed bravely.<BR>

<BR>

“Damn!” Astarill cursed out loud, watching the horrible smile that appeared on the remaining bandit's face. With utmost ease, the bandit slashed at Omyn, knocking the boy to the ground with a smack. Laughing at the distraught face of Hrillis, the bandit deliberately turned his back on the boy an approached the Altmer again.<BR>

<BR>

“Thank you,” the Dunmer mocked, sword raised. “That was a wonderful piece of entertainment!”<BR>

<BR>

“Thank you for giving me the time to prepare,” Astarill retorted with a sly smile.<BR>

<BR>

The bandit narrowed his eyes, watching the movements of his opponent closely, yet the Altmer simply stood there. With extreme care, the Dark Elf approached.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill awaited his chance patiently. When the bandit raised his sword to land a blow, the Altmer caught the blade of the weapon in his hand. The bandit's eyes widened in surprise, as the sword's edge should have sliced through his opponent's hand with ease. His first reaction was to pull the blade free, yet the Altmer held on to it with grim determination. A reddish glow appeared around the hand of the High Elf and quickly spread to the blade. The bandit stared at it in wonder before he let out a startled scream and dropped the blade. It had turned red hot. A blast of bright light and the sound of crackling lightning were the last things the bandit ever perceived.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill stared at his hand. A deep gash crossed his palm, although the spell should have protected him. He decided that his spell had been less effective as a result of the poison and its effect on his concentration. He reached for one of the pouches on his belt in which he kept certain herbs that could cure poison. He meshed a few leaves between his fingers and applied the crude paste to the wound on his shoulder.<BR>

<BR>

While waiting for the herbs to take some effect, he approached Hrillis, who was kneeling beside his friend. He was lifting Omyn's head in order to pour a potion of healing into his mouth.<BR>

<BR>

“That won’t do him any good if you don’t cure the poison first,” Astarill said and knelt down on the other side. He handed Hrillis the pouch with curing herbs. “Apply these to his wounds, like this,” he explained, pointing at his shoulder. “Then you can give him that potion. When he regains consciousness, tell him to chew on one of those leaves. That'll ensure that all the traces of poison will be neutralized.”<BR>

<BR>

Hrillis nodded silently and did as he was told.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill entered the next room. There was a staircase that led to another door, but before he could take his first step on the stairs, the door flung open. An Imperial clad in steel armour and a Dark Elf woman in leather appeared in the doorway. The woman looked furious, while the man leaned casually against the doorpost with a confident smirk on his face.<BR>

<BR>

“You killed my men, you’ll pay for this!” the woman spat with evident hatred and drew a sword, but the Imperial laid a hand on her shoulder.<BR>

<BR>

“Come come, dear, let’s not haste things,” he said. “Let’s hear what the Altmer wants.”<BR>

With his hands in front of him as a gesture of good will, the Imperial took a few steps down the stairs. Then, with an evil glimmer in his eyes and in one smooth, sudden movement, he directed a ball of fire down at the Altmer.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill did nothing. He welcomed the attack, letting out a grunt as the magical energy hit him. He stumbled back due to the force of the impact. He felt his flesh burn. There was intense pain, yet at the same time, the fire that hit him was absorbed. Power seemed to course through his veins at maddening speed, granting him strength.<BR>

<BR>

“So he's got a few tricks,” the Imperial said, drawing his sword. “Let's see if he can avoid this!” At a word of command, the blade of the sword began to blaze with fire.<BR>

<BR>

Both bandits charged down the stairs. Completely out of habit, Astarill raised a magical shield that would hold off the first few blows if only long enough for him to make his preparations. He shut his eyes and fought to keep his mind focussed, while weapons landed their devastating blows harmlessly. His mind dug deep in his vast knowledge of Conjuration spells. Arcane patterns flashed through his memory. The weavings of time and space unfolded before him with a grandeur that rivalled the universe itself.<BR>

<BR>

Are you there, old friend?<BR>

<BR>

He felt a familiar presence and sought to connect with it.<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly, the shield gave way. Astarill's eyes snapped open. The steel-clad bandit smiled slyly and slashed at the Altmer with deadly precision. Astarill dodged clumsily and stumbled away from the weapon's reach until his back hit a wall.<BR>

<BR>

“Fight like a man, mage,” the Imperial dared, “Defend yourself!”<BR>

<BR>

“I won't,” Astarill replied, trying to catch his breath, “But he will.”<BR>

<BR>

There was a dreadful, sepulchral roar that send shivers up the spines of everyone who was able to hear it. The foul stench of rotting flesh now registered to the bandits' senses. The woman was the first to turn around. Her face grew pale at the sickening sight before her. A horrendously large and deformed bonewalker stared down at the two bandits through one rotting, festering eye. The other eye seemed to have been eaten away.<BR>

<BR>

“Where in hell did that come from?!” the Imperial exclaimed.<BR>

<BR>

“How fitting of you to ask,” Astarill smiled, but the bandits never heard him.<BR>

<BR>

With a forceful wave of the Altmer's hand, the bonewalker launched its ghastly, putrefying attack.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

When he returned, Astarill witnessed Omyn coming back to consciousness. The boy was disorientated, and as soon as he sat up, he gagged and bowed forward to vomit. Hrillis could do nothing more than sit and stare with a dumbfounded look on his face. He regarded his friend with guilt and a tiny hint of disgust. With a blank look on his face, Hrillis stared up at Astarill, who towered over him with his arms crossed and a furious look in his cold eyes.<BR>

<BR>

“Why did you ignore my commands?” the Altmer inquired, “The Temple Master sent you on this task to assist me. Surely he did not mean to appoint me as your nanny?”<BR>

<BR>

The boy looked away as signs of anger crept on his face. “If the Temple Master sent me on this task, he must believe I am ready for this,” he said with a quavering voice, “I don't have to listen to you, I can make my own judgement. To be honest, serra, you didn't look as though you had things under control either.”<BR>

<BR>

“Listen carefully, boy,” Astarill hissed. “And look at me when I speak to you.”<BR>

<BR>

With obvious reluctance, Hrillis forced himself to meet the Altmer's harsh glare.<BR>

<BR>

“I know exactly what you were thinking and I can't blame you for that. I used to be just like you when I was your age. I've made a fair share of mistakes as well, but at least I had the decency to admit them and learn from them. You can't afford to be arrogant. Arrogance is to be earned with skill and experience. And you lack both. You could have gotten us all killed. And for what? Your false view of honour?”<BR>

<BR>

Hrillis couldn't help but wince as the Altmer spat the last word.<BR>

<BR>

“Honour means nothing once you're dead,” Astarill continued, “Although I'm sure your great Lord Vivec would like you to believe otherwise...”<BR>

<BR>

Eyes wide in shock, the boy looked up at him. “Do you defy the Tribunal?”<BR>

<BR>

“I don't deny their existence. I merely question the wisdom and judgement of those who haven't ventured outside the safe walls of their palaces for ages. They preach a romanticized view of this world that doesn't apply to anything outside of their palace walls. They're not the ones that are to die by their words, we are. It's up to us to interpret their words using our own judgement. And your judgement clearly is erroneous.”<BR>

<BR>

“The Temple Master will hear of this,” the boy muttered, though there was little conviction in his words.<BR>

<BR>

A sneer played around the corner of Astarill's lips.<BR>

That's it. You know I'm right, little runt.<BR>

<BR>

“Get up,” he ordered without a trace of his former anger. “The crate of potions is in the back room. I need you to help me get it down from the stairs.”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Astarill pushed the boat back onto the water, and the two boys carefully lifted the heavy crate with potions. As the boys put the crate down and seated themselves next to the oars across from the Altmer, the small rowing boat almost sank by sheer weight.<BR>

<BR>

“Row to the south,” Astarill ordered. When the novices looked at him questioningly, he explained: “The caravan from which this crate was stolen was due for Molag Mar, we’ll deliver it personally. And I have some business to attend to...”<BR>

<BR>

Mist and Mysticism, Book Two

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>Mist and Mysticism, Book Two<BR><DIV align=left>Chapter 5. Rain’s Hand 14th 3E 419<BR>

<BR>

With a book from Aryon’s library under his arm, Astarill ascended the stairs that led to his room in the Gateway Inn. He took out his key, but when he moved to unlock the door, he noticed it had already been opened.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill cocked an eyebrow. He would never leave the door ajar or even unlocked. He simply kept too many valuable and potentially dangerous items in his room to be careless. He was also quite certain that today wasn’t the day on which the servants would clean the rooms.<BR>

<BR>

On his guard, Astarill pushed gently against the door, opening it far enough for him to get a view of his room. His eyes widened.<BR>

<BR>

“You?!” he exclaimed, “How did you get here?”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore stood up from the chair by the desk with one of her characteristic mocking smirks.<BR>

“Pretty much the same way I did when I followed you into Anudnabia unnoticed,” she answered casually, walking towards him. “I have my ways.”<BR>

<BR>

“I’m sure you do,” Astarill said and regarded the red haired woman with suspicion. “What do you want from me? I’ve got two more days to examine the orb, if my calculations are correct.” At that, he quickly glanced past the woman at his desk, to see whether the artifact was still there.<BR>

<BR>

“No need to worry, Altmer. It's still there. I merely stopped by to see how you were getting on with your work.”<BR>

<BR>

“Actually, not that good,” Astarill said, passing the woman to put Aryon’s book down on his desk. He checked the contents of the drawers, and cast a look upon the lock that sealed the large wooden chest that stood at the foot of his bed.<BR>

“But now that you’re here,” he continued, “You might be able to help me. I can't help but feel that you have something to do with my problem.”<BR>

<BR>

“And that problem would be…?” Elenore inquired expectantly, crossing her arms.<BR>

<BR>

“Yesterday evening, I was at the Temple of Molag Mar, searching the archives for files on the cleansing of Anudnabia. Could you explain to me why they weren't there?” Astarill asked. His eyes narrowed as he leaned back against his desk, resting a foot on his chair.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes, I can,” Elenore answered matter-of-factly. “A week ago,” she started, “Mistress Dratha ordered me to steal those very same files from the Temple Library of Molag Mar. She was curious to what had taken place in Anudnabia. That way, she found out about a powerful artifact, still lying deep beneath the sealed ruins of Sheogorath’s shrine. Naturally, she ordered me to retrieve it.”<BR>

<BR>

“Naturally,” Astarill echoed with an irritated edge to his voice. “So where are the files now?”<BR>

<BR>

“Somewhere in the tower of Tel Mora. Mistress Dratha has them, of course,” Elenore said, shrugging her shoulders and sitting herself down on his bed.<BR>

<BR>

The unyielding self-restraint and calm Astarill liked to pride himself upon, slowly began to melt away like the southern glaciers of Skyrim during spring.<BR>

“So in fact,” he began, “It was actually your fault that I was caught nosing around in restricted Temple files for nothing? That incident could have cost me my rank, or worse. I was lucky, no, you are lucky I was able to talk myself out of it.”<BR>

<BR>

“Technically, that would be the fault of the Mistress, not mine. Again, you disappoint me, Altmer. I had expected more of you,” the crimson-haired woman said, tilting her head to look up at him with a defiant grin. “So much for the Hero of Vos, who supposedly solved the local vampire problem in a most unusual way.”<BR>

<BR>

“You didn't think it necessary to inform of the fact that you had an entire stack of papers with information in the orb and its origin?” he asked sharply.<BR>

<BR>

She shrugged her shoulders once more. “I didn’t think you’d need it,” she replied.<BR>

<BR>

Vexed, he waved his hands in a wild gesture of incomprehension.<BR>

“Don't try my patience, madam. It isn't difficult to understand that I need as much information as I can get before I examine the object. Otherwise I might as well go mad due to some unforeseen curse if I were to touch it without the proper precautions. This book I've borrowed from Aryon is not going to be enough.”<BR>

<BR>

The red-haired woman sighed irritably and stood up. “So what am I supposed to do about it? I suppose you now want me to retrieve those files for you?”<BR>

<BR>

“Yes, indeed I do,” Astarill answered levelly.<BR>

<BR>

The look in the eyes of the Dunmer woman turned vicious.<BR>

“I am not going to get those files for you,” she stated, “I cannot show my face in Tel Mora without first presenting the artifact to the Mistress.”<BR>

<BR>

“You don’t have to show your face anywhere!” Astarill exclaimed, “Just sneak into town unnoticed, like you’ve sneaked into my room. You had your ways, you said. I’m sure you can get into that tower and steal the files without ever being seen.”<BR>

<BR>

“That was not part of our deal, Altmer,” she reminded him with a menacing edge to her voice, “We agreed that I would let you study the orb for four days and that you would hand it back to me. We never agreed upon anything concerning me having to help you with your silly studies.”<BR>

<BR>

“All right,” he sighed, “Let me make it a bit more clear to you, madam. If you don’t get me those files, I will never surrender the orb to you.”<BR>

<BR>

The seconds that passed in the moment that followed seemed like hours within the deadly silence that settled between the Altmer and the Dunmer. A piercing, bloodred glare met a harsh, pale scowl.<BR>

<BR>

It was Elenore who began to speak first after the moment had disappeared. Her words were soft and deliberate.<BR>

<BR>

“You are in no position to demand things from me, Altmer,” she said. “You have violated our agreement, which grants me the right to end your life, should I so please. Now I know you would like to see me try, so I will not grant you that pleasure. However, I think you would be very interested to know that, as I was waiting for you here, I have taken the liberty to look around a bit. I have noticed quite a collection of books that are illegal to keep in one's possession according to Tribunal law. Very instructive, I must say, I never knew a corpse had so many applications. Now, I happen to be quite close to a high-ranking member of the Temple who would be very interested in your morbid fascinations...”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill narrowed his eyes to slits. “I don’t believe you,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re bluffing. You have no tangible proof against me whatsoever.”<BR>

<BR>

At that, a triumphant sneer tugged at her lips, as she produced a book from somewhere under her cloak. Astarill’s eyes widened in shock as he lashed out like a viper to grab it, but the crimson-haired woman was faster. She drew her sabre and rested the weapon at his throat.<BR>

<BR>

“If I present this book –which fortunately has your initials on it– to the Temple, they will declare you a heretic.” With a voice as sharp as venom, she added: “They will hunt you down and torture you until you have confessed your sins and begged for them to end your life.”<BR>

<BR>

“That book was warded against unwanted readers,” he said, ignoring her words, “You should have been poisoned just by touching the cover.”<BR>

<BR>

“Once again, you underestimate me, Altmer,” Elenore said with a wicked grin. “I might not be a mage, but I do belong to the Telvanni. And unlike you, I was born into the House. The blood of powerful magicians runs through my veins.” She tucked the book away again, while keeping her sabre pointed at the High Elf. “And besides that, I make a point of using the standard Morag Tong equipment,” she added, holding up her hand to show him the ring she wore. It consisted of a silver band and a black stone with a faint green glimmer. “Protection against the most common forms of poison.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill sighed, rolling his eyes. The blade was painfully pressed against the vital arteries in his neck. “So... what happens now?” he asked.<BR>

<BR>

“That is entirely up to you,” Elenore began triumphantly. “Personally, I have nothing against necromancy. I'll have you know that I am an unethical, opportunistic bastard in every way. I have been thinking and I decided that it is also in my own interest that you find out what the orb does before I take it to the Mistress. If it proves very useful, I might decide to keep it myself and a forgery will have to be created. That said, I see a great opportunity if we were to cooperate. Dratha often sends me to retrieve some magical artifact, and I understand you are a fairly skilled enchanter, am I right?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill nodded, as far as the sabre allowed him to.<BR>

<BR>

“Excellent. What if I would share with you the locations of the artifacts Mistress Dratha orders me to find? And what if we could retrieve them together? You could study the items, gain their knowledge as scholars tend to do. Then, should we decide to keep the items for ourselves, you could create us a forgery with some minor enchantments for me to hand to Mistress Dratha…”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore paused for a moment, and then said, “What do you say, Altmer?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill kept silent for a quite a while, before a sly grin crept up on his face. Puzzled by this, the woman tried to predict his intentions. This granted him a minor opening in her defence. Seizing his opportunity, Astarill grabbed the blade in the same fashion as he had done yesterday fighting bandits, evoking a startled scream from Elenore. She let go of the sabre, waving her hand in order to let it cool off. Astarill took the weapon and used the far end of the blade to force her head up to face him.<BR>

<BR>

She sneered at his victorious expression.<BR>

<BR>

“I hope you do not expect me to applaud now?” she said cynically.<BR>

<BR>

He removed the blade and offered her the hilt. When she looked at him questioningly, he explained: “Your proposal sounds intriguing. I merely wanted to demonstrate that I do not wish to be threatened.<BR>

<BR>

Returning a crooked smirk, Elenore took her sword and sheathed it. “I'll try to remember that,” she said. “So... do we have ourselves a new agreement?”<BR>

<BR>

“We do,” he confirmed, “On the condition that you will retrieve the Temple files on Anudnabia for me, of course.”<BR>

<BR>

“I’ll find a way. You’ll have them tomorrow.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill cocked an eyebrow. “If you’ve so easily changed your mind about returning to Tel Mora without the orb, why did you insist on going through all this trouble in the first place?”<BR>

<BR>

“You threatened to withhold the orb from me,” she said. “And I do not wish to be threatened either,” she added with a smile, mimicking his accent. “Though… I'll be keeping this interesting book of yours, in case you try to violate our agreements again.”<BR>

<BR>

“Very well,” he said, extending a hand.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore looked down at his hand, and then up at his eyes with some suspicion. Recalling a minor spell of shielding, just in case the necromancer would try to cast a spell again, she took his hand and shook it.<BR>

<BR>

“Very well.”<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 6. The Orb of Madness (Part II)<BR>

<BR>

A fierce storm had swept over Sadrith Mora during the night. When Astarill stepped outside through the backdoor of the Public Baths that following morning, the streets were damp and chilly. A strong wind blew through town. Shivering, the Altmer pulled the hood of his robe over his head and strolled down the main street in the direction of the Gateway Inn. Each hollow in the road had been turned into a puddle, and the gutters on both sides of the street where filled with gently babbling water flowing downhill until it would eventually reach the sewers. To the west, ominous stormclouds tainted the sky as though they had been driven away by the sun advancing from the east. The air smelled faintly of thunder.<BR>

<BR>

Taking a deep breath of cold, fresh air, Astarill let his thoughts wander to the crimson haired woman and the deal they had made. The prospect of having more items for study certainly was alluring. It would save him a lot of research time if the locations of the items were already determined by Mistress Dratha. All that was left to do then was retrieving them. He had not doubt in his mind that, with the help of Elenore, the actual retrieving of the artifacts would not present any problems. If he knew her at all, she seemed efficient and relentless, and relentlessly efficient at that. And although he had no real need for the monetary advantages of sharing Mistress Dratha's reward, that also seemed quite beneficial.<BR>

The only real danger involved in their scheme was in the items they would decide to keep for themselves. Certainly, he was quite a skilled enchanter, and it should not be problematic to create a forgery, but Mistress Dratha was very old, experienced and not likely to be fooled easily. It wouldn’t surprise Astarill at all if she could somehow see that the item and its magical aura were much younger than they should have been. Not to mention that the artefact would obviously be less powerful than expected. With time, the old Sorceress should become suspicious. Yet modesty had never been one of his gifts and in his confidence, he did not fear the wrath of any Telvanni councillor, especially not that of an elderly woman. The thrill of the challenge was already beckoning him.<BR>

<BR>

Opening the door of his room, Astarill was pulled out of his train of thoughts by a faint, rustling sound. He looked down and saw a bundle of parchments lying at his feet. It seemed to have been shoved into his room under the door. He picked up the bundle, and smiled.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore is very quick, he thought.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Around him, the room had vanished. His desk, his chair had disappeared. He was floating in a seemingly endless void. The Temple files on the cleansing of Anudnabia that have should been lying beside him, were gone. His quill, his inkwell, all was gone. There was only him, and the orb in a vast sea of blackness.<BR>

<BR>

The orb was floating in front of him and pulsing with brilliant white light that seemed to grow larger and brighter with each breath. There was a blinding flash of light and the sensation of falling deeper and deeper into the void. When his sight returned, he saw he was indeed falling down with great speed. Around him, flashes of purple energy alternating with yellow lightning blurred his vision.<BR>

<BR>

A deafening scream cut through the void. As Astarill moved his hands to cover his sensitive elven ears, a gargantuan, monstrous arm appeared. Its skin was purple, its pulsing veins were faintly red and its claws were black as soot. As the gigantic talons closed around him, he heard a horrendous laughter. He struggled to get free from the iron grasp, but then he saw eyes, huge glowing red eyes, like the fires of Oblivion themselves.<BR>

<BR>

A voice could be heard in the distance, slowly coming closer. It was a strange, incomprehensible language with many guttural syllables. As it got nearer and louder, he could hear that it was repeating the same words over and over again. He couldn’t understand the short sentences, but they were beating his mind like a hammer, crushing his concentration and willpower.<BR>

<BR>

A spell? he thought, A spell that affects my mind?<BR>

<BR>

He fought against it, shielding his mind, closing off his senses to the hammering words.<BR>

<BR>

There was another gulf of laughter and the talons around him disappeared. There was a gust of wind, as if something was running around him in circles. As he focussed, he could spot a dark shape running, jumping, and sometimes crawling across invisible walls.<BR>

<BR>

It's trying to get out, he realized.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill grabbed hold of it, and withdrew immediately, as the flesh on his fingers burned away at the touch. The shadowy creature turned around, red eyes gleaming evilly. Hysterical laughter resounded, followed by the same repeating, guttural words.<BR>

<BR>

Grinding his teeth, Astarill grabbed the creature once more. Screaming, he saw his flesh wither before his eyes, yet he held on. The creature inflamed, literally, and frantically tried to shake him off. Seeing its attempts were futile, it uttered a hideous shriek. It lashed out with a fiery talon, grabbing the Altmer's throat. The Altmer didn’t budge, however, and stared straight at the red eyes of the flaming creature before him.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill had trouble recalling any spells. Only one sprang to mind. He managed to utter the words. His throat was dry and he could only croak.<BR>

<BR>

He would not have guessed his spell to have any effect. Yet the creature uttered a deafening, mind-shattering, high-pitched scream. There was a blast of yellow and purple light, followed by complete silence. All was black. Disorientated, Astarill stumbled a few steps, and collapsed to the floor.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

“Astarill!”<BR>

<BR>

With some effort, he managed to open his eyes. He saw nothing but blackness, at first. Then he began to discern vague contrasts. The voice repeated his name. It sounded feminine and it seemed concerned, with a hint of impatience.<BR>

<BR>

“Sivithi?” he wanted to say, but his throat was dry and hurting. The only audible sound he could produce was a muffled mutter.<BR>

<BR>

“Astarill?”<BR>

<BR>

He blinked. Slowly, his vision returned to normal. He saw the ceiling of his room and he concluded that he was lying on his bed. A female visage hovered into view. He noticed heartless, bloodred eyes set in a fine face with sharp features, framed by long crimson hair.<BR>

<BR>

“Elenore?” he croaked with some confusion and astonishment. Quite contrary to his own common sense, she seemed like an angel to him at that moment.<BR>

<BR>

“You look like a corpse,” she said bluntly. “What happened to you?”<BR>

<BR>

“I'm fine, thanks for asking,” he growled and turned his eyes to the ceiling, trying to remember exactly what had happened before he had ended up like this. Realization dawned all of a sudden. He bolted upright and grabbed the woman's shoulders, shaking her violently.<BR>

<BR>

“Did it escape?!” he asked frantically.<BR>

<BR>

“Did what escape?” Elenore asked irritably.<BR>

<BR>

“The demon! The demon from the orb! Did it escape?”<BR>

<BR>

“There was no one when I got here, except for you lying on the floor in the middle of the room, if that's what you want to know. And there was a warding spell on the door when I got here, so I doubt anything could have passed without accidentally dispelling it,” she answered angrily. She took his hands and was about to fling them back at him, when she noticed the marks on his palms. “Your hands...” she said, “They're burned.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill didn't even hear those last words. He only sighed in relief. Yet at that moment, a stab of searing pain shot through his head and the world turned black before his eyes once more. He grabbed his head and bowed forward, flinching in pain.<BR>

<BR>

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Elenore asked impatiently. When he muttered a few unintelligible words, she frowned. “What?”<BR>

<BR>

“I was trying to tell you... that I am in dire need of a potion. So please...” he groaned in pain, “Left most chest, the blue one, please...”<BR>

<BR>

She cocked an eyebrow and stood up with a sigh. She found a chest in a corner, next to his desk. It didn't appear to be locked and she lifted the lid. Within the chest, several potions were neatly ordered according to colour. She picked one of the blue ones, holding it up.<BR>

<BR>

“This one?”<BR>

<BR>

He nodded curtly.<BR>

<BR>

She walked back to the bed and handed him the blue vial. He immediately gulped it down and laid himself back. He closed his eyes to let the healing liquid do its work.<BR>

<BR>

“Now can you tell me what happened?” she asked, sitting herself down beside the bed. “Did you find out what the orb does?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill winced at the memory.<BR>

“It is a tool to summon a particular demon, a Daedra,” he began his explanation, “A much stronger Daedra than any Daedra I have ever encountered. At first I even thought that it might have been Sheogorath himself who could be summoned, but perhaps it’s one of his champions. A champion that has been locked up in the orb as a punishment or something similar, I don’t know. It… it is a downright monster. It cannot be controlled…”<BR>

<BR>

“You mean you can’t control it,” she interrupted.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes, so I daresay no one can,” he snapped back angrily. “That thing is much too dangerous. If someone with insufficient power or experience would try to use the orb, the creature would use that person’s link to this world to escape its imprisonment. I think that was what it tried to do to me, but I prevented it. In any case, we can’t give the orb to Dratha. What if it escapes? Or worse, what if she actually manages to summon it?”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore frowned. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger in giving her the orb, Altmer.”<BR>

<BR>

“Pardon?”<BR>

<BR>

“It’s broken.”<BR>

<BR>

“What?!”<BR>

Astarill glanced up at his desk where the orb still lay still. It had ceased glowing, though, and there was a huge crack in the crystalline material.<BR>

“Ah…” he muttered, “Then... what will you tell Dratha?”<BR>

<BR>

“I’ll tell her the priests must have broken it.”<BR>

<BR>

“Will she believe you? The files explicitly mentioned that the orb was left untouched.”<BR>

<BR>

“Have you not heard the rumours? The Splinterer is known to be rigorous and unorthodox. If anything, he's a fanatic. I'm sure he deserves his nickname. I think the Mistress will figure that he destroyed the orb in his anger.”<BR>

<BR>

She stood up and took the orb from the desk, carefully folding it in the rags they had used to transport the artifact. She put it away securely in the satchel at her side.<BR>

<BR>

“Get well soon,” she said, as she walked towards the door, “I'll soon have a new assignment and a new artifact to find.”<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 7. The Splinterer<BR>

<BR>

“There it is!” Elenore shouted, gesturing with her head while she reloaded her crossbow.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill could hardly distinguish what the Dark Elf had called out to him. Every word was drowned out by the boisterous roar of the ash storm. He parried a blow from a cliff racer's tail and glanced in the general direction of the woman’s gesture.<BR>

<BR>

“I see it!” he yelled back at her, “Cover me!”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill dashed away, while Elenore fired a bolt that went straight through the cliff racer's throat. The creature crushed to the ground with a dull thud. Its companion shrieked and dived towards the young woman. In one fluent movement, Elenore took her crossbow in her off-hand and drew her sabre with the other to grant the cliff racer a bloody greeting.<BR>

<BR>

In the mean time, Astarill ran down a path to the south, covering his face with a sleeve of his robe to prevent the ash from blowing into his eyes. Behind him, the sound of the rogue’s fight with the remaining cliff racer was lost in the howling of the wind. Before him, the crude path emerged from the mountains and ended in a small valley of no more than a few yards wide. Seen through the red haze of ash, silhouettes of dead tree stumps and trama shrubs seemed like dark and ghostly figures. On the opposite slope of the valley, the indistinct contours of a stone entrance could be seen. A skeleton guardian stood in front of it.<BR>

<BR>

A sardonic grin appeared on the Altmer's lips. Raising the decayed remains of warriors and forcing them to guard a specific location was a widely used form of necromancy in Morrowind. It was simple in the sense that the procedure was accurately described in several books, yet casting the necessary spells demanded a lot of experience and knowledge, mainly of the Conjuration School. Quite remarkable was the fact that it was the one form of necromancy that was approved of -and even widely used by- the Temple.<BR>

<BR>

Hypocrisy in its purest form, Astarill thought as he approached the skeleton carefully. The undead guardian did nothing but stare ahead into the storm through empty eye sockets. But as Astarill had expected, the skeleton awakened as soon as he had stepped within arm's length of the entrance.<BR>

<BR>

The skeleton drew its rusty sword that had been strapped to its back in an awkward manner by a mouldy leather belt. Readying his sword in his right hand, Astarill took a step back and extended his left hand.<BR>

<BR>

“Nirish'a-tokgh'iri,” he uttered, remembering the most common magical command to hold and command undead creatures. Or, as he liked to refer to it, a long-winded way of saying 'halt'.<BR>

<BR>

The skeleton did not obey though. Astarill cringed in anticipation of the slow, but devastating blow that was to come. Ancient steel crashed down upon elven silver with a force that made the Altmer's sword arm give way.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill cursed aloud, feeling his arm go numb.<BR>

<BR>

Older than I had expected, apparently, he thought. As the skeleton drove him back with sluggish yet precise blows, he searched his mind for older, less traditional spells and procedures that were used to bind souls back to their mortal shell. He found his thinking hampered by the need to dodge, avoid and parry attacks.<BR>

<BR>

“Amhan'amrisi!” he decided eventually.<BR>

<BR>

The undead warrior raised its sword over its head with apparent determination. Astarill braced himself for another blow, but none came. The skeleton stood frozen to the spot. Sighing in relief, the Altmer put his sword away. At another word of command, the rusty sword dropped to the ground. The skeleton collapsed. Bones crumbled to dust, and were carried off by the wind.<BR>

<BR>

May you be so fortunate to meet the priest who did that to you, Astarill thought with a vile smile, drawing a certain malicious enjoyment from that thought. He chose not to think of the things that he himself would have to answer for on his dying day. For all his affiliation with death, he feared it as much as anyone. Perhaps even more.<BR>

<BR>

He remembered the words of his father, clear and calm, yet as cold as the old man's eyes.<BR>

<BR>

Justify your deeds, or face the consequences...<BR>

<BR>

He lived by those words.<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly, his ears twitched at dull sound behind him. He swung around to see a cliff racer lying on the ground before his feet, a bolt poking out of its back. He looked up to see Elenore casually walking up to him.<BR>

<BR>

“Hope you didn't have too much trouble with that skeleton,” she said, grinning one of her characteristic crooked grins that he had grown used to over time, “But my bolts won't do much good against creatures without vital organs to get stuck in. Is this the right tomb?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill turned to the large stone door and studied the symbols that were carved into its surface. He traced the words with his forefinger, wiping the dirt and ash away where necessary.<BR>

“According to these writings, this tomb is the final resting place of some Arch Magister of Great House Telvanni, specifically from the second era.” He squinted his eyes. “The stone has weathered, but I think his name was... Lirtis Nerellis?”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore nodded. “Yeah, that's the one Mistress Dratha was talking about,” she confirmed, while keeping an eye out for more cliff racers. “Does it say anything about his wife?”<BR>

<BR>

“No, except that she has been sealed within this same tomb twenty three years later, together with some loyal servants. And there's something else here... can't read it, but it seems more recent than the other symbols.”<BR>

<BR>

“Well, she's in there, that's what matters,” Elenore decided, “According to Mistress Dratha, Lady Nerellis is the one who created the artifact we're looking for, so my suggestion would be to look for her corpse. Agreed?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill nodded and tried to get some movement in the heavy stone door, but the chinks and cavities in which the door should roll were filled with sand and ash from the storms that had swept around the tomb for centuries.<BR>

<BR>

“Give me a hand with this,” he grunted, and together they managed to shove the door aside just far enough for them to squeeze through.<BR>

<BR>

Once inside and out of the howling wind, Astarill suddenly became aware of the ash that itched in his neck and within his boots. He shook out his hair and his robe feverishly. Small clouds of red dust whirled down to the floor.<BR>

<BR>

“I despise the Ashlands,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “And I hope you've noticed this tomb is significantly further south-west from Tel Aruhn than you said it would be.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore ignored his complaints and pressed a finger to her lips. She gestured him to stay where he was, and muttered the words of a Nighteye spell. She reloaded her crossbow with quick and soundless efficiency and sneaked down the shadowy corridor that had opened up before them.<BR>

<BR>

Intrigued, Astarill watched the way she managed to sneak to the end of the corridor without a sound. He listened hard, but he could not hear her even though he could see her quite clearly now his eyes were adjusting to the dark. She pressed herself to the wall and peered around the corner. She turned back and gestured him all was safe.<BR>

As soon as he had caught up with her, Astarill found himself in a small, dusty ante room. Elenore had removed a torch from one of the rings on the wall and handed it to him. At a snap of his fingers, a small flame emerged above his hand. He brought it close to the torch, and immediately the room was filled with a dim, flickering light. There was a soft rustle of vermin scurrying away from the sudden brightness. The room was covered in cobwebs. On the opposite wall, three doors became visible.<BR>

<BR>

“So, Altmer, which one do you reckon we pick?”<BR>

<BR>

“I thought you were the expert on traps?” he asked with a snort. He approached to examine the three doors more closely in the light of the torch.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore rolled her eyes. “None of them is trapped,” she sighed. “I can see that from here. I was merely trying to put that knowledge of yours -on which you pride yourself so- to our advantage. It might save us some time.”<BR>

<BR>

“Fair enough,” he muttered, ignoring her sarcasm. He took in the situation and considered his options. Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. “There’s something wrong with the door on the left,” he said.<BR>

<BR>

She moved to stand at his side and submitted the door to a critical survey. “No cobwebs,” she concluded quickly. “Which means this door must have been used recently.”<BR>

<BR>

“Exactly,” Astarill said, and added with an exaggerated gesture, “After you, madam.”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

The shrill, crackling sound of the concentrated bolt of lightning that left Astarill’s hand, was followed by the otherworldly grunt of the Dremora as it smashed into the wall. Elenore took advantage of the situation, jumping forward and trapping it between the wall and her blade with a vicious grin.<BR>

<BR>

“No, wait!” Astarill interrupted, as he grabbed a small, orange gem from one of the many pockets on the inside of his robe. “Let me finish this one…”<BR>

<BR>

She stepped aside to let him pass and he approached the severely wounded daedra, holding up the gem in one hand. As he began to speak, harsh incomprehensible words left his thin lips and a purple glow appeared around both of his hands. The Dremora moaned painfully and struggled to crawl back against the wall. Astarill placed his boot on the creature’s chest, forcing it down, and bent down to press his fingers on its forehead. The same purple glow began to encircle the creature.<BR>

<BR>

Hellish glowing eyes stared up in fear at the cold gaze of the elf, as the Dremora slowly felt the last of its life drain from its body. It closed its eyes to welcome the soothing darkness of Oblivion, but instead, it felt something tugging at its soul. The Dremora uttered a terrifying scream.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill closed his eyes and drew in his breath as he pressed his fingers harder. He felt the essence of the creature’s soul depart from its body. Seizing the tortured spirit with his mind, he absorbed it within his own being and transferred it to the gem in his hand.<BR>

<BR>

When he opened his eyes again, his arms felt numb and cold, and his head ached. The gem in his hand glowed weakly for a few seconds before its light faded. The Dremora lay before him, cold and lifeless. The body would eventually fade and return to its plane of origin, soulless.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill noticed Elenore staring at him with horrified fascination.<BR>

<BR>

“Give me a moment to catch my breath,” he said, and leaned against the altar that was standing in the middle of the room, putting the gem back into the pocket of his robe.<BR>

<BR>

“So that is how it’s done,” Elenore whispered with amazement. “I’ve never actually seen anyone do it. It looks horrible. I mean… How does it feel?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill shook his head. “I couldn’t accurately describe it to you,” he said, “It feels… wrong, I guess. Just wrong. Each soul you capture seems to eat away at your own spirit, taking a bit of yourself with it into the gem, as if it’s desperately trying to hold on to the world, the flesh.”<BR>

<BR>

“Ah…”<BR>

<BR>

“In any case,” he began, “There’s an awful lot of daedra roaming about for your average tomb. The Temple never guards tombs with demons, only with undead,” he said and added under his breath, “Which apparently makes it all right for them.”<BR>

<BR>

“Well, the man was a Telvanni,” Elenore said simply, shrugging her shoulders.<BR>

<BR>

“Yeah, but still…” he mused, rubbing the painful sides of his head before he stood up. He unsheathed his sword. “Let's get going.”<BR>

<BR>

Before she could have replied, there was a terrible thunderous sound, not unlike an explosion. The door broke out of its hinges and was flung against the opposing wall by a burst of searing flames. Astarill and Elenore stared at the burning pieces of wood that would have hit them, had they not ducked behind the altar in time.<BR>

<BR>

They peered over the altar at the smoking door opening. The misty contour of a woman appeared, stepping through the flames seemingly unharmed.<BR>

<BR>

“You have violated my husband’s grave and my home! You have killed my pets! I shall punish you for this, you filthy, puny mortals!” a hideous voice cried out.<BR>

<BR>

The woman stepped into the room with utmost precision and elegance. She was dressed in an exquisite gown that once must have been a beautiful emerald green colour, but that had worn out and paled with time. Her hair was milk white, just like her eyes, and reached down to the ground.<BR>

<BR>

Vampire... both Altmer and Dunmer realized simultaneously as they exchanged a glance.<BR>

<BR>

“Lady Nerellis,” Astarill mouthed soundlessly, and Elenore nodded at this.<BR>

<BR>

“Come out, little rats! I can smell you!” the vampire screamed and launched another ball of fire into the room.<BR>

<BR>

“Aim for the heart,” Astarill said, before he rose and directed a crackling ball of lightning at the figure in the door opening. The woman did not try to dodge it. On the contrary, she closed her eyes and welcomed the sizzling energy with open arms. The lightning came to an abrupt halt only inches in front of her.<BR>

<BR>

“For all the magick I sense in you, is that the best you can do, mortal?” she screamed.<BR>

<BR>

With elegant movements of her arm, she shaped the destructive magic into a small bundle of dense energy and threw it back at the Altmer with uncanny speed and strength. Astarill's eyes widened in shock. Knowing for certain that he was too late to dodge, he tried to force the concentration of energy to a halt by means of Telekinesis. Grinding his teeth, both hands extended, he realized that the attack was much too fast to control on such a short range. The compacted ball of lightning struck him, flinging him against the wall. The pain of the electricity that surged through his body, contracting his muscles uncontrollably, felt oddly soothing compared to the pain that shot through his head as his skull hit the wall. He collapsed to the floor.<BR>

<BR>

The vampire approached him and grabbed his collar. She lifted him up slightly, sniffing. She shook her head. “Your blood is tainted,” she muttered, “You'll die purposelessly.”<BR>

<BR>

At that moment, Elenore saw an opening and fired a bolt. It struck the vampire right below the shoulder, close to the heart, but apparently not close enough. Lady Nerellis gazed vacantly at the young woman and then at the bolt in her shoulder. With a wicked grin, she pulled the bolt out without a flinch. She threw it up in the air, where it kept hovering. With a snap of the vampire's fingers, the bolt broke in half and fell down to the ground.<BR>

<BR>

“You’ll have to do better than that, my dear,” the woman said sweetly. “Not that you’ll get the chance, of course…”<BR>

<BR>

Before Elenore could have reacted, the ancient sorceress disappeared and reappeared again right in front of the rogue’s nose. “Sleep, my child,” the vampire hissed and dug her nails painfully deep into the young woman’s neck.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore tried to cry out, but all that left her mouth was a muffled gargling. She felt the long fingernails dug into her skin. A searing, yet at the same time freezing sensation emanated from the ten punctures in her neck, spreading slowly through her entire body. Her vision blurred, her mind was hazy and her limbs grew numb. The last thing she felt before all went black, was the cold, lifeless breath of the vampire against her neck.<BR>

<BR>

Lady Nerellis lifted the numb girl and brushed away the strands of crimson hair to expose her neck. “Do not worry, my child,” the woman hissed viciously. “In contrast to your companion, you shan’t die in vain. Your blood shall renew my vigour and beauty for the coming century.”<BR>

<BR>

The vampire bent forward, exposing her fangs, but instead of sinking her teeth into the young woman's neck, she uttered a deafening scream, blank eyes wide in shock. She dropped the rogue and looked down at her chest. The blade of a silver elven sword protruded from her chest. She turned around and saw Astarill before she dropped to her knees.<BR>

<BR>

“You…” she hissed and wheezed, “You were… stronger… than I th–…”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill pulled his sword free from the back of the vampire. Though he had driven it straight through the heart, there was no blood. As soon as the blade left the body, it shrivelled and withered, as the flesh dried out and peeled loose from the skeleton. On one of the bony fingers, a gold band glistened in the torchlight. Astarill bent down and removed it. It was a heavy golden ring, engraved with strange letters on the inside. Five bright, green stones decorated the front. He could sense a magical aura radiating from the trinket.<BR>

<BR>

He put the ring in one of his pouches and turned to Elenore. Her limp body lay on the floor close to the shrivelled corpse of the vampire. He squatted down beside the rogue and lifted her head. There was no reaction. He studied the punctures in her neck and reached for his satchel. He produced a small, green vial. Resting her head on his knee, he placed a hand under her chin and pressed her mouth open with his thumb. He poured the liquid in and held her mouth shut for several moments, forcing her to swallow the potion. Then, he propped her up against the altar and stood up.<BR>

<BR>

Rubbing the back of his painful head, he walked to the smouldering door opening and glanced into the next room. It was dark and covered in cobwebs. In the middle of the small room, Lady Nerellis' sarcophagus was exposed upon a large pedestal. Astarill peered inside just in case, but it was empty. He rummaged around through the chests that were stacked against the back wall. He found piles of old, dusty tomes, undefined potions, rare gems and several enchanted items. He began to sort the books and laid a few interesting volumes apart. After a while, his ears twitched at a rustle from the other room. He put down the book he had been leafing through and returned to see the rogue regaining her consciousness.<BR>

<BR>

“My head...” Elenore moaned and blinked. She found herself sitting on the dirty tomb floor, leaning against the altar. Astarill squatted beside her. “What did I miss?” she asked, “And what on Nirn is that disgusting taste in my mouth?”<BR>

<BR>

“I’m afraid that would be the potion I gave you to neutralize the poison,” he answered. “Lady Nerellis applied some strange form of venom on her fingernails.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore rubbed her neck. “Yeah, I remember that. Did she… bite me?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill shook his head.<BR>

<BR>

“Thank Mephala!” she sighed in relief. Then, a thought seemed to strike her. “Why was it that she didn't try to bite you?” she asked with a frown.<BR>

<BR>

“I don't know,” he said.<BR>

<BR>

“She was grumbling something about your blood being tainted or so,” the rogue insisted, narrowing her eyes.<BR>

<BR>

“Did she?”<BR>

<BR>

She submitted him to a scrutinizing look.<BR>

You are one terrible liar, Altmer... she thought, and couldn't help but smile a crooked grin. “Yes, it was rather strange,” she said, “I would have thought Altmer blood to be quite tasty. Did you find the ring?”<BR>

<BR>

“Yes,” he nodded, tapping the pouch at his side. “Together with some intriguing old books. A lot of interesting items are stored in the next room. You might want to take a look around before we go,” he said as he rose to his feet and offered her his hand.<BR>

<BR>

She took his hand and allowed him to help her up. She reached for something that was hidden under her cloak and produced an empty sack. “I'd say we fill this loot bag up,” she said, unfolding the bag, “And then head back for Tel Aruhn for a bottle of shein to celebrate our success.”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Astarill took a seat at a table in one of the gloomy corners of the Plot and Plaster. He removed the cylinder-shaped case from his belt and took out an empty parchment. With a piece of coal in one hand and the ring from the tomb in the other, he began to copy the markings that were engraved on the inside of the small artifact. The symbols resembled Daedric, though there were slight differences.<BR>

<BR>

A Daedric dialect, perhaps? he mused. Or a code based on Daedric created to shield her work from unwanted readers?<BR>

<BR>

His train of thought was interrupted by Elenore, who returned with two goblets of shein and sat down opposite of him. She raised her glass.<BR>

<BR>

“To another successful cooperation,” she said.<BR>

<BR>

“To Mistress Dratha,” Astarill replied, laying down the ring and taking his goblet. “Who selflessly showed us the way to another one of the most valuable artifacts on Vvardenfell.”<BR>

<BR>

A vague, crooked smile appeared on her face as she nodded at this, fading as quick as it had appeared. She averted her eyes and took a thoughtful sip of her comberry wine.<BR>

<BR>

Raising an eyebrow, he narrowed his eyes and studied her face, wondering whether he had truly seen it correctly. Her smile had been different than usual. Quite shockingly, it had seemed genuine for a change. Nothing like the occasional sneer or mocking grin she often shot at him.<BR>

<BR>

He wondered if it was a smile she reserved only for people she trusted or cared for. A small part somewhere inside of him hoped, if not prayed, this to be the case. For a brief moment, a strange mingled feeling that he could not define filled his soul. He knew that neither of them was quick to warm up to people, though Elenore could very convincingly act as though she did. They were both distant and distrustful by nature, he knew, but he had grown fond of her company over the past few weeks.<BR>

<BR>

Only a few days ago, they had combed out an Ashlander tomb in search for a particularly interesting guar hide with supposed magical properties. Apart from a few diseased rats and nasty moulds, there were no real threats. He had let Elenore handle it, while he had taken his time studying the unique mummies and burial rites typical in Ashlander culture. He had tried to point out to her the similarities that seemed to reappear in every culture no matter how small or primitive, but she had only frowned at him.<BR>

<BR>

“My job is to kill,” she had said, “I don't care what happens after that.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill smiled at the memory. He found he enjoyed having someone around to talk to without worrying too much about what and what not to say. He enjoyed working with her. He enjoyed having a friend, though he was afraid to use that word. He would never cease to prefer solitude above anyting else, yet sometimes the benefits of having a trusted person to turn to surpassed that.<BR>

<BR>

But can she be trusted? If not, she knows too much...<BR>

<BR>

Moments passed as he stared ahead, entranced and caught up in his own thoughts. A soft and delicate melody from a bard’s lute filled the tavern. He saw other patrons having their conversations in subdued voices to avoid disturbing the music. The bittersweet, sedating smell of alcohol hung heavily in the air. The room was small and somewhat stuffy. There were little to no windows to let in the light in Telvanni architecture. Flickering candles provided the only available light.<BR>

Astarill noticed their glow falling on the ashen skin of the woman opposite of him. He followed the play of shadows and light on her face framed by long, wavy hair as deep a red as the wine in his goblet. He studied her, observing her as though he had never really looked at her before. She was nothing special. Women of far superior beauty had left him unmoved. The streets and courts of Shimerene were loaded with them. Tall and elegant women, much like his own mother in her younger years, with warm and tender eyes. Elenore wasn't tall, though not necessarily less elegant. She displayed a crafty, feline grace, where others were proud and haughty. In contrast to Altmer women, she didn't try to appear better than she really was. If anything, she tried to appear less. He would have liked to compliment her on that, if it wasn't for the fact that it would seem rather awkward. He suspected that she wouldn't appreciate any compliments from him without an exceptionally well-formulated reason.<BR>

<BR>

“Are you quite all right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill woke from his thoughts with a start.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes...” was all he could say for several moments, “I was just thinking about the symbols on the inside of the ring,” he said, realizing he must have looked fairly stupid, staring ahead like that. He hastily put down his glass and took the parchment, concentrating hard on the strange letters he had jotted down.<BR>

<BR>

“There’s no need to hurry with that,” Elenore said. “Mistress Dratha will leave for Ebonheart tomorrow to attend a High Council meeting on the improvement of women’s rights. She won’t expect me to bring her the ring before she has returned again.”<BR>

<BR>

“I know,” he muttered under his breath.<BR>

<BR>

“And besides, there’s bound to be some clue in one of those books we’ve–…”<BR>

<BR>

When it occurred to him that she hadn’t finished her sentence, Astarill looked up. He saw her staring at something beyond the scope of his vision. Opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, he turned his head and followed her gaze. His breath caught and his eyes widened.<BR>

<BR>

A Dark Elf with crimson red hair bound in a tight tail casually strolled towards them. Astarill’s eyes were immediately drawn towards the massive warhammer strapped to the man’s back. The gloom of the tavern cast ominous shadows upon the man’s appearance and the candlelight made his bloodred eyes flare dangerously.<BR>

<BR>

“What a fortunate coincidence to have ran into you!” the man said joyfully. It wasn’t completely clear whether he was addressing both, or only one of them, though he was looking at Elenore.<BR>

<BR>

He moved behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. “My dear sister,” he said, “It has been a dreadfully long time since I’ve last seen you.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill stared incredulously at the two Dunmer. He could not believe that he hadn’t seen the resemblance before. That same deep red colour of hair, those same heartless eyes set in almost the same sharp features…<BR>

<BR>

She is his sister, his mind cried out, She is the Splinterer’s sister! It was him. He was the high-ranking Temple member she was talking about… Gods... Where have I gotten myself into?<BR>

<BR>

“Seltn…” Elenore began, with a quavering voice, though she recovered remarkably quick. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing in Tel Aruhn?”<BR>

<BR>

“I was sent to negotiate with Arch Magister Gothren. The Temple wants to build a small shrine here in town, in order to provide the poorer citizens with a place to pray and cheaper potions. Most people cannot afford the expensive Telvanni alchemists,” Seltn told, “But how about you? What are you doing here? And more importantly, what are you doing here with one of my fellow priests?”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore glanced at Astarill, who was still staring ahead in complete shock. “Mistress Dratha sent me to retrieve an artifact for her,” she began, slowly and hesitantly, “And I was told that the artifact was in the hands of a vampire. I asked around for a priest with some experience with vampires... and that way I met Astarill.”<BR>

<BR>

Seltn nodded with understanding, though Elenore could not tell whether he truly believed her makeshift explanation or not.<BR>

<BR>

“Well then, my brother,” Seltn addressed Astarill as he sat himself down at the table. “I see you are even more renowned than I thought.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill turned to the Dark Elf and managed a weak smile. “Apparently,” he replied.<BR>

<BR>

“Now then, let me buy you two another drink, while Elenore tells me what she has been up to these last few months in which she didn’t think of visiting her dear brother,” Seltn said, smiling a crooked grin that apparently ran in the family.<BR>

<BR>

“Not for me, thank you,” Astarill abruptly said, rising from his chair. “I would like to be back in Sadrith Mora before sundown and I venture my boat will be leaving soon. I bid you both farewell.”<BR>

<BR>

He quickly packed his things together and prepared to leave the tavern, when Seltn stopped him. “Why are you taking that with you?” the Dark Elf asked, pointing at the ring. “I thought it was supposed to be returned to Mistress Dratha? By my sister?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill looked at the ring in his hand, then up at Elenore. “Yes…” he began, “But the Mistress will be out of town for an undefined time, and in return for my help, I may study the artifact in the mean time, before it will be returned.”<BR>

<BR>

“Yes,” Elenore added quickly, “That’s what I’ve promised him in return, Seltn.”<BR>

<BR>

“Ah... Everything for knowledge, eh? You have the makings of a true Telvanni, Astarill of Shimerene,” Seltn said.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill managed a polite smile in return, ignoring the Dunmer's mocking tone. He exchanged a glance with Elenore and took his belongings. “Good evening,” he said, and left the tavern.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

As the harbour of Sadrith Mora appeared on the horizon, he leaned his elbows on the railing and rested his head in his hands. A weak sea wind blew strands of hair in his weary face. He sighed heavily, lines of worry deepened on his forehead.<BR>

<BR>

She is his sister…<BR>

<BR>

His sister…<BR>

<BR>

The Splinterer's sister...<BR>

<BR>

The thought kept echoing through his mind.<BR>

<BR>

How could I have ever put my trust in someone this close to that witchhunter? What if this all was a trick? He mistrusted me from the beginning… What if he used his own sister to get close to me and find out whether I am truly the loyal priest I pretend to be?<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly, his pale grey eyes widened in shock.<BR>

<BR>

By Phynaster! She still has a book of mine! If she betrays me... That bloodthirsty hypocrite of a brother will have my head.<BR>

<BR>

“Oh gods…” he moaned through clenched teeth.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 8. The Rise of Anudnabia<BR>

<BR>

As soon as Astarill descended the gangplank to set foot on the docks of Sadrith Mora, a fierce gust of wind greeted him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Grumbling a collection of gross obscenities, he voiced his displeasure about the weather and the evening in general as he pulled his robe around him and legged towards the entrance of the Gateway Inn. He realized in time that there was no need to forsake his manners and he made a point of neatly closing the door behind him, instead of slamming it as had been his original intention.<BR>

<BR>

Inside, the warmth of a crackling fire and the savoury smell of guar cutlets added a homey atmosphere to the small dining hall, yet it failed to move him this time. Sivithi was serving a plate of steaming marshmerrow stew drenched in gravy to one of the patrons. When the publician returned with an empty tray to take her place behind the bar, she noticed the Altmer in the dooropening. She granted him a warm smile, but he found himself unable to answer it.<BR>

<BR>

“What can I get you today?” the elderly woman asked kindly.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill sat down on a bar stool and shook his head. “I don’t feel very hungry at the moment,” he said, “A slice of bread and some scuttle to go with it will do.”<BR>

<BR>

The publican nodded and disappeared into the kitchen to comply with his request. He was grateful for the fact that the old white-haired woman always seemed to know exactly when he did not wish to be questioned and when it was better to just leave him be.<BR>

<BR>

He thanked her when she returned with his plate, and told her good night before he ascended the stairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, he sighed heavily. The events of the day finally seemed to take their toll as exhaustion came over him all at once. He dragged himself to his desk and put down the plate with his frugal meal. He took off his robe and flung it onto his bed without much elegance. He allowed himself to flop down on the chair by his desk and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then he took a deep breath and began to sort out the books he had taken from the tomb that afternoon, intend on immersing himself in study, if only to take his mind off other things.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

He could not quite remember how long he had been searching Lady Nerellis’ journal for clues on the translation of the Daedric code, but at a certain point in time he was distracted from his work by strange noises that appeared to be coming from the bar downstairs. He put down his quill and turned on his chair to the direction of his room door, listening hard. He discerned a loud thump and the stamping of several pairs of feet, accompanied by agitated voices.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill frowned and stood up to reach for his belt to which his sword sheath was attached. He made his way down the stairs with caution, while he fastened the leather girdle around his waist. When he reached the dining hall, he witnessed two Dunmer men stumbling through the door, carrying a wounded man between them, cursing as they did so. Sivithi appeared from the kitchen with a bowl of hot water, bandages and some healing herbs. The wounded man moaned while his two companions laid him down on one of the tables.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill’s frown only deepened at the sight before him, while the two men passed without even noticing him. As the men left the dining hall, Astarill glimpsed through the dooropening to see many more people standing in the corridor. The annoying humming noise of dozens of conversations held at the same time rose from the hallway beyond.<BR>

<BR>

“What’s going on?” the Altmer asked.<BR>

<BR>

Sivithi seemed to notice him for the first time, looking up from the wound she had been tending. “Oh, Astarill!” she began, “The town has been overrun by demons! It’s horrible! We’re bringing civilians to safety here and in the Council House, as Master Neloth has closed off Tel Naga.”<BR>

<BR>

“What?!”<BR>

<BR>

Without waiting for further explanations, he hurried out though the cramped little corridors. He pushed past women and children who had taken refuge within the inn, and men who brought more wounded to safety. When he stepped outside, a fierce wind reminded him of the current state of the weather and of the fact that he wasn’t wearing his robe. Cursing under his breath, Astarill buttoned up his shirt and unsheathed his sword. He walked up into the street and witnessed the chaos enfolding around him.<BR>

<BR>

Guards were running back and forth, swords raised and shouting instructions at the top of their lungs, as they chased and surrounded the wide variety of demons that freely roamed the streets. Some brave civilians were assisting the guards. Particularly pugnacious merchants were fending off small bands of scamps that threatened their goods. Warehouses and shop windows lay in ruins. Several mages whom Astarill recognized as people he had occasionally seen at the Council House were lending a hand in the battle against the Daedra. Some of them were enjoying the situation a little too much, it seemed. The few priests that manned the Temple in the damp and cramped basement of the Council House were about as well, assisting where they could even though the inhabitants of the Telvanni districts never showed much respect for those who were religious and faithful.<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly, there was an enormous roar. A gulf of collective silence spread through the streets, as a gigantic Storm Atronach appeared on the hill on which Tel Naga stood. The creature raised its immense arms and brought them down at the base of the tower with an incredible force. All those who were down in the main street at that moment, felt the vibrations caused by the Storm Atronach’s blow not unlike a small eathquake. The creature sent another thunderous roar to the sky.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill peered up at the spires of Master Neloth’s tower. The construction was protected and held together by powerful incantations. All wizards’ towers were constructed to withstand the fiercests of weather and the assaults of entire legions. It would not budge for the attacks of a insignificant Storm Atronach. Astarill imagined the old, sulky Councillor sitting in his study in the upper most chambers of the tower, requesting a servant to do something about those annoying sounds outside because it was distracting him from his work.<BR>

<BR>

“You!” someone shouted, waking the Altmer from his thoughts, “You there!”<BR>

<BR>

It took a while for Astarill to register that the guard had been addressing him.<BR>

<BR>

“You are the one they call the hero of Vos, yes?”<BR>

<BR>

“Yes?”<BR>

<BR>

Well, don’t just stand there! Do something, man!”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill cocked an eyebrow, watching blankly as the guard mingled with his colleagues once more, harassing a Dremora with their spears. Galos Mathendis, the Mouth of Master Aryon, who had been standing within hearing range and had caught the conversation between the Altmer and the guard, approached his Master’s apprentice.<BR>

<BR>

“I know you can stop that Atronach without even breaking a sweat,” the old Dunmer man said, just when the creature sent another shockwave through the ground. “Stop it the way you wiped out that vampire den in Vos.”<BR>

<BR>

“I can’t…”<BR>

<BR>

“Don’t be such a fool, Astarill. The creature needs to be dealt with quickly. If it looses its interest in the tower, it will turn hostile towards us. The guards will have a hard time dealing with it, but you could clear it in an instance.”<BR>

<BR>

“I can’t,” Astarill said more forcefully this time, and nodded his head in the direction of Niras Farys, the Temple Master of Sadrith Mora, who was casting defensive spells to aid the guards in their struggle against the Daedra. “There’s Temple people around. And I do not wish to be taken for a fool,” he whispered through clenched teeth, referring to the Mouth’s earlier remark.<BR>

<BR>

Galos turned his gaze to the priest and fingered his small, grey beard. “I hope I do not have to remind you of the fact that Master Aryon specifically told you not to get involved with the Temple. You were foolish to join them in the first place.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill snorted in aggravation. “Well, I couldn’t stop myself, I’m such a pious old sucker!” he snapped at the Mouth with evident sarcasm.<BR>

<BR>

The old man stared him up an down for a brief moment, and then -despite the situation- burst out in a fit of hearty laughter. Astarill couldn’t help but laugh at this as well. Regaining his composure, Galos laid a hand on the Altmer’s shoulder.<BR>

<BR>

“Look, I will deal with the Temple,” he said in a low voice. “I will make sure that they are discretely removed from the streets. You just cast your spell.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill watched as Master Aryon’s Mouth approached the group of priests, addressing their Master. The Altmer couldn’t quite hear what was being said, something about tending to the wounded apparently, and eventually the group left, following Galos in the direction of the Council House. Astarill smiled. He had to hand it to the old man, he had a way with words. He hadn’t been appointed as Aryon’s eyes, ears and voice for nothing.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill turned to the Storm Atronach, who had begun to launch its attacks in a higher rate, banging its stone fists against the tower. The Altmer closed his eyes and shielded his senses from the chaos around him. He focussed hard, and eventually the fabric of the universe began to unfold before him. He called out, searching the planes, as the boundaries of dimensions flashed by.<BR>

<BR>

Rasmacharan… Are you there…?<BR>

<BR>

Something reached out for him and he felt a comforting presence. The strain of searching extensively through the planes of existence left him, as he felt a strange, exciting force connect and merge with him. Refreshed energy coursed through his veins. Slowly, the impressions of the world around him registered to his senses again, but not in the way he was used to. His senses were heightened, perceiving the world much more clearly and defined. He saw dimensions he had not seen before, he smelled things he had not smelled before, heard things well beyond the hills that cradled the town.<BR>

<BR>

He looked up to see the decayed remains of a truly horrendous creature whose soul went by the name of Rasmacharan. The bonewalker had grown stronger since the last time it had been summoned, Astarill noticed. The creature now stood as tall as the Storm Atronach. But Astarill could not only see its newly gained strenght, he could also feel it racing through his own body. It was a side-effect of the bond he had tied between his own life force and the artificial energy of the creature, as he lay at the feet of the vampire of Vos. Rasmacharan had been nothing but a regular, insignificant raised undead put together by the vampire at that time. Breathing his last breath, Astarill had remembered a primitive way used by the shamans of the Dragontail Mountains to prolong their own life. He was bound to Rasmacharan both physically and mentally. He could summon the creature, from whichever hellish plane it was roaming ever since the incident, through a channel of collective life force between them. If one of them grew stronger, so did the other. If one of them died, the other one ceased to exist, his soul lost forever.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill extended a hand, and Rasmacharan charged forward, roaring, crashing into the Storm Atronach. The creatures nearly rolled off of the hill. The bonewalker tore at the Daedra’s head, while the Daedra sent a rocky fist into the undead’s stomach releasing a ray of lightning as it did so. Rasmacharan howled, and Astarill fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. The pain that seared through his being like a saw, granted the Altmer the opportunity to accurately assess his opponent’s strenght.<BR>

<BR>

Finish it! It’s not that strong! Now!<BR>

<BR>

The bonewalker roared, clutching the Daedra’s head once more. Though the Atronach was composed of stone and therefore immune to Rasmacharan’s decaying touch, the undead managed to dig deeper to attack the magical force that bound its enemy together. He tore off the head with a victorious roar and the Atronach collapsed in a pile of stone.<BR>

<BR>

In the mean time, a small crowd had formed, watching the spectacle in horror.<BR>

<BR>

“Look out!” someone suddenly yelled, and there was a sound of spears being readied.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill and Rasmacharan turned in the same movement to see a small horde of Clann Fear approaching them in a manner that was not unlike a guar stampede that occasionally occurred in the Grazelands. The bonewalker charged down the hill awkwardly as was to be expected from its deformed limbs. Rasmacharan lashed out, separating the horde and flinging one of the creatures in the air. He caught it deftly, snapping its spine between its two claws. He let out another victorious roar, ripping the creature apart before he began to feed on its entrails.<BR>

<BR>

“Gods!” a guard cried out, “Get that monstrosity out of here!”<BR>

<BR>

Another one tuned in. “That's enough, we can take it from here.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill swung around, his blouse and hair fluttering around him in the wind. The second guard let out a gasp as his gaze met the glazed eyes of the Altmer. They were white and glassy, like a blind man's. They stared at the guard without registering him or the surroundings. Rasmacharan did register everything though. The abhorrent bonewalker tore itself away from its feast and positioned itself behind its master, lowering its horrendously deformed head to stare at the small crowd with its one good eye. Fresh blood dripped from its mouth.<BR>

<BR>

The guard's voice caught in his throat as he took a step back. Galos Mathendis had watched the proceedings with reserved amusement, but decided that it was time for him to step up to aid the dumbfounded watchmen.<BR>

<BR>

“Dispel it, Astarill, if you please,” he bade calmly, “It has served its purpose.”<BR>

<BR>

The bonewalker snorted, sending wisps of foul-smelling green fume to the ground. The creature was clearly unwilling to leave the mortal plane, but Astarill nodded. He closed his eyes. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the Altmer was about to collapse. Bright flashes of light sparked at the junctions of Rasmacharan's limbs. Its body detached itself, but before the separate pieces could have fallen to the ground, they quite literally seemed to go up in smoke, diffusing into the air. Astarill opened his eyes, which had returned to their normal pale green colour.<BR>

<BR>

He stared at the people in front of him blankly for several moments, before he returned to his senses. Galos nodded at him approvingly, and Astarill gave a curt nod in response.<BR>

<BR>

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he muttered, and legged off in the direction of the Gateway Inn.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

In the far distance, Master Farys narrowed his eyes to slits. From the balcony of the Telvanni Council House, he had been able to follow the events that took place in the main street closely. He handed a rolled up, sealed piece of parchment to the man at his side.<BR>

<BR>

“Go now,” he ordered the messenger, “Inform the Splinterer.”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

“You could have asked me, Elenore. I am trained to cope with those atrocious creatures,” Seltn said, as he was slowly pacing up and down the room he had rented in the Plot and Plaster during his stay in Tel Aruhn.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore recognized agitation in her brother’s voice, though he tried to mask it. “I know, Seltn, but you’re always occupied with matters of much more importance. I didn’t want to bother you,” she tried to sooth.<BR>

<BR>

He turned around abruptly and eyed her viciously. “I am never to busy to help my family!” he said, raising his voice. “I…” he began and saw the look on his sister’s face, realizing he had sounded more angry than he had intended. He sighed and sat down on the bed beside her. “I would have made time for you, Elenore. You know that very well.”<BR>

<BR>

She stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. She should have seen his reaction coming. To accuse him of something their father would have done was like mocking the beliefs he held onto so strongly.<BR>

<BR>

“Look,” he began, “I apologize for my outburst just now. I shouldn’t have directed my anger at you. It’s just that…” he hesitated.<BR>

<BR>

She cocked an eyebrow and watched him expectantly. “Yes? It’s just what?”<BR>

<BR>

Seltn sighed as he stood up to resume his walking back and forth across the small room.<BR>

“I should not be telling you this,” he emphasized before he continued, “But Master Rotheloth has recently grown suspicious of that friend of yours and I cannot say I find this very surprising. The Altmer joined the Temple for ambiguous reasons. I, for one, have never trusted him. He cares too much for obscure lore and too little for our values. Not so long ago, he was caught in the library, searching through restricted archives…”<BR>

<BR>

Seltn sat himself down on a chair and turned to his sister. “I do not wish you to associate with that man any longer. He cannot be trusted. There are rumours saying that he engages in necromancy. You never know how much of those rumours is based on reality.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore rolled her eyes. “I do know how to take care of myself, Seltn. I have dealt with people much worse than him.” And I'm dealing with one now...<BR>

<BR>

When her brother was about to reply to her last remark, there was a soft knock on the door. He shot her a warning glance that told her just how much faith he had in her ability to take care of herself, and made his way to the door in three large strides.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes? What is it?” he snapped.<BR>

<BR>

A young Dunmer girl, whom he recognized as one of the publican’s kitchen maids, stood before him in the door opening. “There’s a messenger downstairs who wishes to deliver his message to you personally, serra,” she said with a curtsy.<BR>

<BR>

“Thank you. Tell him I’ll be with him in a moment.”<BR>

<BR>

Seltn closed the door again and moved to a large chest that contained his luggage. He took out a pouch of gold pieces and fastened it to his belt. “Come,” he said to Elenore, “It’s well past dinner-time, we should get ourselves something to eat.”<BR>

<BR>

Together, they descended the stairs that led to the bar. It wasn’t difficult to spot the messenger among the patrons. A black-haired Dunmer man, about the same age as Seltn himself, stood next to the front door, leaning against a wall. He was the only one in the tavern who was not sitting down at the bar or at a table. He was donned in leather that looked old and worn, yet kept in good condition, apart from the fresh dirt on his boots and the traces of ash on his armour.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn ushered his sister to a table and told her to order a meal for both of them while he would deal with the messenger. He approached the black-haired man, who immediately seemed to recognize him.<BR>

<BR>

“Master Othras,” he began with a courteous bow, “Master Farys ordered me to deliver this message personally. He said it was urgent and of utmost importance.” He took out a letter from the satchel on his side.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn took the sealed piece of parchment and handed the messenger a few gold coins. “I might need you to return an answer. Get yourself a drink in the mean time.”<BR>

<BR>

The messenger bowed gratefully and found himself a comfortable seat at the bar, while Seltn returned to his sister.<BR>

<BR>

“I’ve ordered a stew,” she informed him as he sat down opposite of her, “They serve hound meat and hackle-lo today. Your favourite, wasn't it?”<BR>

<BR>

Seltn nodded and mumbled something in response while he opened the letter and started to read. His eyes quickly darted over the elegant handwriting of the Temple Master. By the time he had reached the end of the letter, a dark and grim expression dominated his ashen face. He did not look away from the writing even when the food was brought to the table.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore thanked the publican and turned to her brother. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, masking her concern masterfully.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn narrowed his eyes and slowly lifted his head to face his sister. “It's a message from Master Farys of Sadrith Mora,” he began, keeping his tone ominously level. “He reports that the Daedra have returned to Anudnabia. Groups of lesser demons have even wandered into town. The guards are fending them off as we speak. Apparently your friend, our great Hero of Vos, is among them.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore fought hard to keep the expression on her face neutral, but she could not prevent that -for a split second- her eyes widened when Anudnabia was mentioned. Seltn spotted her unease immediately.<BR>

Not only an expert on tracking down and destroying vile demons, he was also trained in the prosecution of heretics. He was able to spot the slightest details and detect the most innocent of lies. At that, he could read his own sister like a book. They had grown up together, and together they had endured many hardships on the long road from the City of Tear -their place of birth- to Vvardenfell.<BR>

He knew her through and through, even though their personalities differed exceedingly in certain respects. Seltn had taken more after their mother, who had been a loyal worshipper of the Tribunal Temple even after her marriage to a Telvanni Councillor. Elenore was a perfect copy of their father, an unscrupulous man as befitted a sorcerer of the House. Seltn had often tried to point out the error in their father's ways, explaining that it hadn't been for nothing that he had been murdered. Yet Elenore never seemed to be able to accept that.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn narrowed his eyes even further. “As I told you earlier, we caught your vampire-hunting friend nosing around in forbidden archives a few weeks ago. The following day, a clerk reported that one file was missing. That missing file concerned the cleansing of Anudnabia which you remember, I'm sure. And now suddenly, the Daedra have been let loose upon the world once more, roaming the ruins of what's left of Sheogorath's shrine. An unfortunate coincidence, surely?”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore stared at her brother and said nothing. All the things she could come up with at that moment would only make things worse. She took the cutlery on either side of her plate and began to eat slowly, faking perfect calmness.<BR>

<BR>

“Your food is starting to get cold,” she pointed out levelly and ignored the piercing, scrutinizing stare of her brother. When he began to speak again, his words were soft and deliberate.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes,” he said, putting down the letter and taking up his fork and spoon, “Indeed.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore shook involuntarily. A shiver ran down her spine at her brother's words. She had heard that tone before.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Deep within the ruins of Anudnabia, ominous chanting echoed off the cold black walls, accompanied by a slow drumming that resembled an enormous hammer beating down upon anvil befitting a giant.<BR>

The sound grew louder near the Inner Shrine of Sheogorath. Creatures cloaked in dark brown robes dragged heavy black boulders to the pedestal in the centre of the Shrine, hauling the ropes to the rhythm of their incantations and the foreboding drums.<BR>

<BR>

They were rebuilding the statue of Sheogorath.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Near the end of the following morning, Astarill made his way through the mass of townsfolk that had gathered in the small town square at the foot of Wolverine Hall. He pushed through to the local cornerclub and climbed a small wall to get a good view on the cliffs.<BR>

<BR>

Several guards were holding the crowd back, while priests hurried through. The Temple was attempting to install a magical shield in between the town and the ruins of Anudnabia, in order to prevent any more Daedra from wandering into the streets. To create and maintain such a shield -a smaller and weaker version of the Ghostfence- was such an exhausting task, that every priest from the Temple of Sadrith Mora had been called to duty. Earlier this morning, two high-ranking priests from Vivec had arrived to assist their less experienced peers.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill watched the proceedings from a distance. The ominous feeling that had kept him awake throughout the night dawned on him again, filling him with a sense of guilt that seemed to gnaw at his very soul. He had not been ordered to help with the creation of the shield, because his field of expertise lay elsewhere. Though he would be able to assist in preparing the basic Conjuration spells, the actual shield could only be maintained by powerful incantations from the School of Restoration, which was largely unknown to him.<BR>

<BR>

Though he could do nothing but watch, he felt that he was somehow responsible for the return of the Daedra to Anudnabia. Not only that, he knew he was responsible. Before he had broken into the ruins, it had been a harmless and empty place for years.<BR>

<BR>

The demon from the orb, he mused, It must have managed to escape somehow, and here I was thinking I defeated it. And the one thing that could contain it, lies broken in the vaults of Tel Mora. Gods know what might happen...<BR>

<BR>

He cast a glance at the dark silhouette of Sheogorath's shrine on the horizon. A part of him was curious to the nature of the demonic force that had entrenched itself within the ruins. Another part of him was afraid to face the consequences of his actions, yet he would have to accept his fate without a flinch, as he had always done. He had to set things straight.<BR>

<BR>

You can't meddle with the fabric of the universe without repairing the damage that you'll undoubtedly leave in your wake, he remembered the words of one of his teachers. But I can't do much about it now...<BR>

<BR>

He moved his gaze to the sun that was standing high above the Daedric spires, and read from its position that it was time. He turned on his heels and made his way to the docks.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

As soon as he had set foot on the docks of Tel Mora, an anxious premonition of impending danger came over him. He tilted his head and looked up at the majestic tower that dominated the small town. Thick, ominous thunder clouds packed around the spire, mimicking his own inner turmoil. A cold wind howled and swirled through the streets.<BR>

<BR>

Shivering, he pulled his robe tighter around his frame. He walked down the main street leading from the docks into town. Remembering the instructions Elenore had once given him, he found his way along the winding roads. No one else seemed to have ventured out into the streets in this weather, except for a few guards, shielding themselves against the wind in alleys and corners.<BR>

<BR>

After passing a street with shops on both sides of the road, Astarill eventually reached the end of town. Several houses were built against the hillside. He approached the left most one. A warm, welcoming light shone from the small window and smoke was coming from the chimney. It was a welcoming and comforting sight, yet it did very little to put his mind at ease.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door was opened. Elenore appeared in the door opening, as the smell of heather tea emanated from the inside of the house. She didn't even as much as greet him before she looked up at the sky.<BR>

<BR>

“Better step inside quickly,” she said, “Looks like it'll start pouring like hell soon.”<BR>

<BR>

She moved aside to let the Altmer in and closed the door behind him. “I was just making tea. Would you like some as well?”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill nodded absently and sat down at the table. While Elenore fetched the teapot from the stove, he took the time to look around. As he had suspected, it was a house like any other Telvanni house pod. It consisted of one round room, basically with an open second floor. It was small, but it was too sparsely furnished to even look cramped. The table at which he sat stood between the door and the stairs. Below those stairs was a large larder. On the other side of the room was a fireplace that was not only used to warm the room, but also for cooking. Other than a few cushions in front of the fire, there was nothing that could have made the place remotely cosy.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore returned with two cups of tea and sat down on the other side of the table.<BR>

<BR>

“Thanks for coming over on such a short notice,” she began, “I doubted my message would even reach you in time.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill said nothing, but instead produced a small leather pouch from a pocket of his robe and shoved it towards her.<BR>

<BR>

“What’s that?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.<BR>

<BR>

“The ring,” he explained, “I figured that was what you wanted to see me about.”<BR>

<BR>

“No,” she said, as she opened the pouch. She took out the Lady Nerellis' ring and held it up into the light. “But now that you’ve brought it anyway, did you find out what it does?”<BR>

<BR>

“The enchantment grants the wearer a constant immunity to a wide range of poisons. Much like the one you're wearing, only stronger,” he said, taking a sip of his tea and gesturing at the standard piece of Morag Tong equipment on one of her fingers. “Lady Nerellis used it during her work, most probably. She was a renowned poisoner. Many people paid enormous amounts of gold for her potions that killed without leaving a trace, or so it's said.”<BR>

<BR>

“Indeed?” Elenore said, putting the ring back into the pouch, “Is it worth keeping?”<BR>

<BR>

“I suspect that the reward in septims divided by two will still be greater than the use either of us would have for it.”<BR>

<BR>

“A simple 'no' would have been sufficient,” she remarked irritably, “I have no choice but to trust your expertise in this. Anyway, as soon as I have delivered it to the Mistress, I'll bring you your half of the reward.”<BR>

<BR>

“So what did you really wanted to talk about?” Astarill interrupted.<BR>

<BR>

Taken aback by his sudden question, Elenore didn't immediately know what to say. He would have taken pleasure in the fact that he had rendered her speechless if only for a fraction of a moment, had he not felt as uneasy as he did then.<BR>

<BR>

“My brother,” she muttered eventually, “I’m sorry about what happened. I had no idea he would be there. He never travels out here in the Telvanni districts…”<BR>

<BR>

“Telling me these kind of things beforehand would have been highly appreciated,” he said wryly, staring at his tea. “For Phynaster's sake, why didn't you tell me he was your brother? That man is the Temple’s foremost Inquisitor. He hunts people like me.”<BR>

<BR>

“I did mention that I was close to a high-ranking Temple member. It's not my fault that you chose to disregard that fact,” she said with a slight shrug.<BR>

<BR>

“Well, of course I disregarded it! I thought you were bluffing. Do forgive me my bluntness, but that's what your kind does all the time.”<BR>

<BR>

Immediately after the words left his lips, he cursed himself for saying them. The change in her posture was subtle and discrete, but he spotted it nonetheless. Her fingers clenched around the ear of her teacup as her body turned rigid and the look in her eyes grew vicious.<BR>

<BR>

“Unlike most people of my kind,” she snapped, “I do have the means to backup my threats. You can't hold me responsible for your miscalculations.”<BR>

<BR>

He stared down at his tea angrily, finding himself unable to argue with her logic.<BR>

<BR>

“Look, for what it's worth...” she began reluctantly, “And though you clearly do not deserve my apologies: I am truly sorry, Astarill. I never meant this to happen.”<BR>

<BR>

He couldn't prevent a shiver from running down his spine when she mentioned his name. She had never before called him by his actual name. At least, not directly. She always addressed him as ‘Altmer’ in her characteristically mocking tone. To hear his name coming from her mouth, bothered him beyond his understanding.<BR>

<BR>

“I want my book back,” he said resolutely.<BR>

<BR>

The irritated look on her face made way for something else.<BR>

“Oh…” she began, “Yes... of course. Hold on a moment, I’ll go fetch it.”<BR>

<BR>

Eyes narrowing, Astarill watched her ascend the stairs. She had sounded almost disappointed when he had told her he wanted his book back. It was a rather abrupt change of moods, even for her doing. Puzzled by this, he felt that same ominous feeling, that had prevented him from falling asleep at night and which had been bothering him the entire morning thereafter, creep up on him again.<BR>

<BR>

When the crimson haired woman returned, she carried the familiar blue leather bound book. He stood up and held out his own hand expectantly.<BR>

<BR>

“I am sorry,” she said.<BR>

<BR>

It was the first time that Astarill was able to discern some emotion in her bloodred eyes. There was a hint of sadness, he guessed, mixed with something else. Guilt, perhaps. Taken aback by her sudden display of actual feelings, he took a step away from her.<BR>

<BR>

“It's fine,” he assured her, “Just give me my book.”<BR>

<BR>

She shook her head angrily. “Listen to me,” she whispered through clenched teeth, “And remember that I am sorry.”<BR>

<BR>

“What are you talking about?” he snapped at her, losing his patience. He grabbed hold of his book with the intention of pulling it out of her hands, yet she held on to it firmly.<BR>

<BR>

“I know the phrase is hackneyed enough as it is,” she said softly, “But rest assured that this is going to hurt me a lot more than it will hurt you.”<BR>

<BR>

“What...?”<BR>

<BR>

Before he could have properly posed his question, Elenore grabbed the collar of his robe and forced his head down to her level. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips to his harshly. A shock surged through his entire being like a bolt of lightning. Much too late, realization dawned on him.<BR>

<BR>

Lover’s Kiss, the small voice of his vast magical practice informed him, The most powerful spell of paralyzation known to the mortal realm…<BR>

<BR>

He felt his toes and fingertips grow numb. His limbs started to tingle, until he could no longer feel them. His eyes glazed as his vision diminished. He could hear nothing, except for his own heartbeat pounding weakly and irregularly. The last thing he perceived, was the smell of heather tea.<BR>

<BR>

“Well done, my sister!” a sly and raspy voice spoke.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore sank back into a chair. Exhausted from the effort it took to cast the spell, she needed some time to catch her breath. She watched her brother descend from the stairs, followed by two Ordinators.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn took the book from his sister's hands and moved to stand in front of the paralyzed Altmer. With a triumphant, crooked grin, he turned to his men.<BR>

<BR>

“Take him away.”<BR>

<BR>

<BR>

Mist and Mysticism, Book Three

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>Mist and Mysticism, Book Three<BR><DIV Align=Left>Chapter 9. The Ministry of Truth<BR>

<BR>

At the end of the afternoon, the sun had sunk to stand just above the mountain range in the far west. A longboat with tall, white sails cut through the water without a sound, gliding smoothly alongside the quay while casting long shadows upon the docks of Sadrith Mora, like black tendrils reaching for land. The golden sign of the Tribunal Temple glistened brightly in the weak sun light.<BR>

The serenity of the scene was broken by a loud creaking noise, as the oars forced the vessel to a halt. With a sound much like flapping of enormous wings, the sail was brought down. The gangplank was lowered and a crimson-haired priest in finely crafted chitin armour descended to shore.<BR>

The Splinterer stood perfectly still for a moment. He closed his eyes and savoured the mild warmth of the afternoon sun, while a chilly breeze already announced the marching of dusk from the east. He took a deep breath of cold air and smiled to himself lightly as he let his gaze fall upon the buildings with their typical architecture along the shoreline. Although he despised the wizards and their ways, he still was one of them by blood, which was something he could not betray. Arriving in Sadrith Mora felt like going home, even though he was never born there.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn ceased his musings and turned to the small party of Ordinators that had been placed at his disposal. He signalled two of them. “You two,” he began sternly, “Search the Gateway Inn and confiscate everything remotely valuable that belongs to their so called Hero of Vos. If you have to break down a door or two, so be it.”<BR>

<BR>

The two Officers of the Watch nodded and bowed curtly before heading towards the inn. Seltn addressed the three remaining guards. “You,” he said, “Come with me.”<BR>

<BR>

The small envoy led by the Splinterer made its way through the abandoned streets with determined strides, until they reached Wolverine Hall. In the small square between the hall and the local cornerclub, it seemed the entire town had gathered. Children, housewives and workmen alike gaped at the distant contours of the ruins, all the while chattering and gossiping as if their lives depended on it.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn rolled his eyes and muttered a comment about ignorant commoners, while his guards cleared the way for him through the mass of townsfolk. He strolled on casually, ignoring the gazes that followed him as the crowd seemed to realize they were in the presence of someone seemingly important. Eventually the rows of people ended abruptly at the base of the shield. Seltn couldn't hide the small smirk this brought to his lips.<BR>

<BR>

Apparently the barrier is not only effective against Daedra...<BR>

<BR>

Speaking a word of magic, Seltn passed through the shield, much to the admiration of the crowd, it seemed. He crossed his arms and took in the situation. Several priests were weaving their divine spells and incantations in order to maintain the enormous feat of mystical power. Up ahead and no more than a hundred yards away, the Shrine of Sheogorath proudly peaked above the sunken cliffs.<BR>

<BR>

The supervising priest noticed his superior and approached him with a courteous bow.<BR>

<BR>

“Master Othras,” he greeted.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn nodded his acknowledgement of the man's presence, while he took the massive warhammer from his back. He lowered the weapon to the ground, leaning on its pommel. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the Daedric ruin. The ancient, blackish stones seemed to pulse with a purple hue.<BR>

<BR>

“Explain,” he stated.<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

He thought he heard people speaking, somewhere in the distance. As he strained to hear, he was able to discern footsteps together with a strange, squeaking sound he couldn't quite place. He opened his eyes. Gradually -and annoyingly slow in his opinion- his vision returned to him and he was able to discriminate some contours in the darkness. He tried to move, but the muscles in his limbs seemed to be unwilling to react to his attempts.<BR>

<BR>

The mind always returns before the body, Astarill remembered from his studies.<BR>

<BR>

Seeing as there was not much else for him to do, and although it took a considerable amount of self-restraint to suppress the anger about his current state of helplessness, he allowed his mind to wander freely. He drifted back to his homeland, to the days of his early adolescence in the idyllic city of Shimerene.<BR>

As the firstborn son of a generally respected nobleman, he had been granted the privilege to join the Guild of Mages at an unusual young age. His innate affinity for the most of elusive of all magical schools, the school of Mysticism, soon became apparent there, as did the pleasure with which he practised the arts of Alchemy, Conjuration and Destruction. His teachers stimulated his interests, but had also forced him to devote some time to the other schools as well, even though they could never really peak his interests.<BR>

He remembered those tedious lessons on the school of Illusion. For some reason, the subject matter had not been challenging enough to him. The spells and theories were relatively easy and straightforward. It downright bored him, until he eventually began to hate it as much as the seemingly endless lectures on Restoration. Yet his teachers demanded of him that he would spend a certain amount of time on the most frequently used Illusion spells. At that time, he could have never guessed that they would one day become so important. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to paralyzation spells. They were, after all, the most common ones to be encountered in the field.<BR>

<BR>

Lover's Kiss... he mused, Gods! Why did I not once take the time to try and master a spell as difficult as that? I used to have notes on its workings. Why did I not strive to surpass the others if only to annoy them, as I did with everything else?<BR>

<BR>

He wondered whether he would have been able to counterspell it, had he seen it coming in time. Yet he was unsure whether he, for all his knowledge and experience, could really match the skill of a rogue, born into House Telvanni, with a life-long devotion to the art of Illusion. He vowed that he would take his revenge, was he ever to chance upon her again.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore…<BR>

<BR>

He could do nothing to stop her name from echoing through his head, and while some feeling finally seemed to return to his body, a vicious snarl formed around his lips at the mere thought of the crimson haired woman.<BR>

He shook his head stiffly and forced himself to focus. He could sense now that he was lying on a particularly cold stone floor, propped up against an equally cold stone wall. His limbs started to tingle disagreeably as the last remnants of the spell started to wear off. It was then that he noticed the weight on his wrists. He looked down and saw the heavy steel bracers that covered most of his forearms. With some effort, he managed to lift his arms and examine the bracers a bit closer. He sensed a strong magical aura interwoven with the structure of the metal.<BR>

<BR>

Magicka drain, he thought, Much more stronger than those cheap ones they use for slaves...<BR>

<BR>

He stood up, clumsily, clinging to the wall for support. As he tried to straighten himself, he was immediately overwhelmed by the sickening feeling of vertigo. He leaned back and waited for his world to stop spinning.<BR>

<BR>

When his perception returned to normal once more, he examined his surroundings carefully. He found himself in a small, rectangular cell, no more than ten feet wide. Bars as broad as his arms separated him from the outside world, that is to say, a dimly lit corridor flanked by more cells like his own.<BR>

He grabbed the bars and tried to get a better view. The corridor continued on far beyond the scope of his vision. The other cells in his vicinity appeared to be empty, as far as he could see. He could again hear voices. A little way off, two Ordinators stood. One of them shoved what seemed like a bowl of food into one of the cells, while the other pushed a cart with more bowls and a steaming kettle. As they moved closer, the cart squeaked like an old wooden door whose hinges had long since succumbed to rust.<BR>

<BR>

“Look, this one has awoken at last,” a raspy voice spoke from under a helmet, when the two Ordinators halted before his cell. “Get back, scum!”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill gasped in pain as the end of a club was pushed through the bars, and driven into his stomach in order to force him away from the bars. A bowl of greyish porridge was shoved into his cell and the ordinators continued on their way.<BR>

<BR>

I’m in Vivec, the Altmer realized. This is the Ministry of Truth...<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

The enormous warhammer swung, gathered momentum and crashed down with a devastating blow. The sickening sound of splintering bones accompanied the dull thud of the hammer head as it landed upon the back of the cloaked creature. The shock sent the creature staggering before it collapsed to the ground, face first in a puddle of blood and mud. Fires, like the wrath of the gods, seemed to burn in Seltn’s bloodred eyes. He prodded the limp corpse with a steel-reinforced chitin boot and turned it around. He grabbed the creature by the collar of its robe and lifted it up to eye level. He examined the pained face within the cloak closely.<BR>

<BR>

“These ones are human,” he decided, and flung his victim back to the ground without any consideration. “Cultists tainted and entranced by Sheogorath's foul practices. Take it back for interrogation,” he ordered one of his men. “Its spine is broken so it’s paralysed, but it will still be able to talk. Heal it if necessary.”<BR>

<BR>

The Ordinators that accompanied the Splinterer on a small expedition to investigate the ruins, took the creature by its legs and dragged it back to the cliffs where the priests were still trying their best to maintain the shield around the ruined Shrine of Sheogorath.<BR>

Seltn watched them go, and tilted his head to the sky where a faint, pulsing, blue glow indicated the presence of the shield. Its powers where waning however, slowly but surely. It was as if the Shrine was draining the energy and feeding upon it. Seltn had notified the Temple of his suspicions, but the Patriarch had not yet decided to lower the shield and possibly endanger the people of Sadrith Mora.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn turned and stared at the entrance of the Shrine through which he had entered many years ago. He had slaughtered every cultist and every demon with the help of Veloth’s Judgement, his ancient magical warhammer. He had been near death himself when he emerged from the depths triumphantly. Afterwards he had made sure that the entrance was sealed behind him for all eternity. The magical seal had been broken and the barricade of boulders had been removed. The entrance was open once more.<BR>

<BR>

And now, for reasons that eluded him still, the Daedra had returned. This time they were led by something. Seltn couldn't quite put his finger on it yet, but there was something or someone behind all this. He could sense it. He shuddered to think of the horrors they would face once they would enter the lower levels of the ruins, but at the same time his anger fuelled his passion to finish what he had once started and cleanse the world of evil.<BR>

<BR>

I don't know where you fit in, Astarill, Seltn mused grimly, But I will uncover the truth. And I'm not likely to be very forgiving when I do...<BR>

<BR>

He turned his back on the ruin and made his way back to the cliffs past the corpses of demons and cultists that had already fallen in his wake.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 10. The Shackles of the Soul<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly, an explosion shattered his world. Fragments of black marble were propelled into the air by a rapidly expanding inferno. The roaring of fires everywhere deafened him. He tried to see, but could not due to the heat and the smoke. Around him, black walls collapsed. The earth trembled with every black boulder that crashed to the ground. Breathing was starting to get difficult. Squinting his eyes, he frantically searched for a path through the flames and the rubble.<BR>

<BR>

He saw an opening, flanked by two walls that had barely remained standing. The way was obscured by smoke, but it seemed safe. He headed towards it, when he became aware of the misty contour that appeared to be coming his way. He squinted. The contour took the shape of an armoured figure. Red light shone through the slits of a closed helmet.<BR>

<BR>

He took a step back and the contour stopped moving.<BR>

<BR>

“Who are you?” he called.<BR>

<BR>

There was a deep rumbling sound, like thunder in the distance, that gradually transformed into high-pitched maniacal laughter, drowning out all the other noises of searing flames and collapsing stone.<BR>

<BR>

“Ca–… Can you help me?”<BR>

<BR>

The ghostly figure extended a hand.<BR>

<BR>

“Yes, I can,” it spoke with amusement in its sepulchral voice.<BR>

<BR>

The extended gauntlet of the creature started to glow with a warm orange light. More high-pitched laughter echoed between the black marble walls, shaking the remaining walls. Big blocks of stone collapsed and a massive burst of fire shot from the creature’s hand at lightning speed and with a thunderous sound, devouring all in its path.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn awoke with a scream, sitting straight up in his cot. Bathed in sweat and eyes wide in bewilderment, he breathed heavily. He blinked several times to remove the haze of sleep from his eyes, and wiped crimson strands of hair from his sweaty forehead. He looked around in confusion for a moment, before he realized he found himself in the tent that had been arranged for him. He remembered now that he had ordered his men to help the priests set up camp on top of the cliffs that overlooked Anudnabia.<BR>

<BR>

He began to shiver suddenly and noticed that his blanket lay on the ground beside his makeshift bed. Apparently he had managed to throw it off in his sleep, as he had managed to get caught in the sheets that were presently coiled around his legs. He struggled to free himself and lowered his feet to the cold floor, quickly pulling his boots on. He walked towards the chest in the corner of his tent, which contained his luggage. He took out a linen shirt and pulled it on as he slammed the lid of the chest shut again.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn grabbed hold of his warhammer and swung the weapon over his shoulder. He pushed the fold of his tent aside and stepped out into the cold. The night sky seemed a deep, dark blue blanket embroidered with silvery starlight. A relentless cold wind cut through the damp air. Seltn turned his gaze to the sea in the east. A strip of red and purplish light on the horizon announced the arrival of dawn. The beautiful view from the cliffs on the sea was spoiled by the dark contours of the Daedric ruins. The ominous pounding of war drums ceaselessly resonated from the Inner Shrine, accompanied by the faint humming of the protective energy shield.<BR>

<BR>

He turned his eyes back to the small camp. The tents were arranged in a circle. In the middle of that circle, a fire crackled feverishly. Four figures were settled around it. Two of them were the priests who were currently monitoring the shield. The other two were guards on night shift. They merely greeted him with a quiet nod, when he passed and did the same.<BR>

<BR>

He walked towards the edge of the cliff, and descended the narrow path that led down to a small beach. Not more than a few yards out into the sea, the Shrine of Sheogorath loomed, casting its shadows on the strip of sand. Seltn walked up to the surf and swung the massive warhammer down from his shoulder. He lowered the weapon to the ground, where its head sank several inches into the sand by sheer weight. He fell down on his knees before it, feeling the icy water seep through the clothing around his legs, as the waves crept up on him and retreated back into the sea. Resting his hands on the end of the warhammer, he closed his eyes.<BR>

<BR>

Hear me, Azura, Sovereign of the Sun and the Moon. Grant me strength to banish the evil that invades our world again, as You have granted me strength before. And I, Your humble servant, shall vanquish the stain of Sheogorath from our world for once and for all… This time...<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Astarill stared at the bowl of dubious, greyish porridge. He was not entirely sure what it was made of. It tasted suspiciously much like ash mixed with hot water to him. He hadn’t had much chance to judge it fairly though, because he had barely eaten enough to stay alive.<BR>

<BR>

Every once in a while, the Ordinators would exchange the old bowl with a new, steaming one, full of the scentless, tasteless mud they dared to call food. It had happened so many times now that Astarill had lost count, and with that, he had lost his sense of time. In the complete absence of sunlight, he could not even begin to fathom how many days had passed since his imprisonment.<BR>

<BR>

He took the bowl and prodded the grey substance with a spoon. His stomach rumbled violently, but his mouth and throat felt painfully brittle. He brought the spoon to his mouth, but the thought of having to eat another mouthful of mud made him feel nauseous. He gagged and threw the bowl aside. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, waiting for his intestines to cease their protests. His throat longed for a glass of fresh, cold water, though the only available form of liquid was mixed within that horrid porridge.<BR>

<BR>

With a frustrated cry, he gathered every scrap of strength that was left in his weary limbs and smashed his bracers against the unyielding wall. Ignoring the fierce pain that shot through his wrists, he studied the bands on his arms. Not a single scratch had appeared on their smooth, gleaming surface.<BR>

<BR>

He cursed out loud, waiting until the echo of his voice died out. It was the only sound he would hear for hours on end. He was quite certain that there were more prisoners down the corridor, though they never made a sound. The only thing that accompanied him was the silence that grew more deafening with every heartbeat.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill placed his head in his hands and retreated into his memories to block his mind from the complaints of his body. He found refuge in days of his childhood.<BR>

He remembered the mornings when a servant would come to wake him for breakfast, only to find him fully awake and dressed, leafing through a book or some notes. He was never one for sleeping in, as his father did not tolerate indolence. He remembered the sword lessons from the gruff, raven-haired Imperial mercenary, Durus, who had come to serve the family with an undying loyalty that, for all his father's riches, could never be repaid. He remembered rich dining tables. He remembered the evenings of diligent study and the smell of burnt out candles after he had fallen asleep on his books.<BR>

<BR>

Why did I ever leave?<BR>

<BR>

Recollection crushed in like a painful blow to the stomach. He saw the disappointment in the otherwise calm and reserved face of his father. Cruel eyes -perfect reflections of his own- pierced his soul.<BR>

<BR>

Even now I can’t stand the memory. I couldn’t have stayed…<BR>

<BR>

He lived his life suppressing every thought of the day he had been expelled from the most renowned Mage's Guild of the Empire, the Guild of Mages of Shimerene. He winced at the memory of the endless winding marble halls, the grand and beautiful tapestries, the bookcases that reached to the ceiling…<BR>

<BR>

He had been sent there by privilege. His father stemmed from a long line of warlords and strategists, warriors each of them, without the affinity for magic that was innate to most Altmer. This was due to the fact that, as early as the First Era, the Tanarael line was mixed with Imperial blood. Astarill was the first in that long line to be born with the remarkable talent of channelling the arcane forces. He was the pride of his family when he was allowed into the Guild.<BR>

<BR>

And I shamed them.<BR>

<BR>

The reason for his expellation had been the growing uneasiness about his interest in necromancy -or the dark art, as they preferably called it- and the fear of how he might use it was he ever to use his talents to their fullest potential.<BR>

<BR>

In principle, the Imperial Battlemage had decreed that necromancy in itself, including the use of corpses of deceased criminals for experimentation and the binding of souls of otherworldly creatures and animals to material substances, was allowed for philosophical reasons.<BR>

<BR>

In principle.<BR>

<BR>

In truth, even the most civilized culture within the Empire had a deeply rooted fear for those who practised the dark art. This fear was not entirely unfounded, as most of those who practised the art would eventually be corrupted or driven to insanity by the power they had gained over something as grand and incomprehensible as life and death.<BR>

<BR>

The Arch Mage of Shimerene at the time that Astarill attended the Guild, Irmendell Ravilill, was one of those people with an inborn aversion to anything that had to do with the dark art. He was known to be a respectable man from a one of the oldest aristocratic families the Summerset Isles had ever known. His skill in the schools of Restoration and Alchemy would long remain unmatched, and he governed the Guild of Mages with an iron hand for many years.<BR>

<BR>

As soon as Astarill’s ‘unhealthy interest’ –as the Archmage had called it– had become evident, he had monitored the young elf’s every move. He kept a close eye on the books Astarill would borrow from the library, each spell he would learn to master and each experiment that he conducted.<BR>

<BR>

One night, when the City Guard had caught a disillusioned vampire minion wandering the streets, Astarill had managed to convince the Guard Captain and his teachers to hand the creature over to the Guild for research purposes. He had long been fascinated by the ways vampires bend the boundaries between life and death, and he could not let the opportunity of studying it up close pass before him.<BR>

<BR>

The minion was taken to the dungeons below the Guild of Mages, where Astarill was free to conduct his experiments. One faithful night, however, the minion managed to escape, killing several guards as it fought its way to safety. When Astarill arrived at the Guild the following morning, the Arch Mage was waiting for him.<BR>

<BR>

And here history repeats itself, he thought with a sardonic grin around his lips. Yet another one of my research projects has gone terribly wrong, and the Dark Elves are even less forgiving than my own people…<BR>

<BR>

He realised now that it had been wrong to travel to Morrowind to begin with. It had been a mistake to think that he could start a new life in Vvardenfell. There was no culture, no province, no town within the borders of the Empire where necromancy was less tolerated than in the ancient nation of Resdayn. Perhaps this was due to the fact that Morrowind was also home to the most powerful necromancers that had ever walked the earth. It was a land of contradictions and perils. Yet, at that time, indignation about the injustice that he had received –in his own opinion– combined with arrogance and a strong will to become a mage worthy of his father’s respect, had made him seek out that challenge.<BR>

<BR>

And now I seem to have gotten what I deserved... I should have set things straight. Repair the damage I have done. I would have...<BR>

<BR>

Another stab of pain went through him. He still could not accept the fact that he had been betrayed by one of the very few friends he had had in years. He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. The only thing that kept him from going insane, was that small spark of hope that there was still someone out there who cared for him.<BR>

<BR>

She'll get me out...<BR>

<BR>

Oh? How?<BR>

<BR>

She'll find a way!<BR>

<BR>

Why would she?<BR>

<BR>

She didn't want to do this, her self-righteous brother forced her.<BR>

<BR>

No, she never cared. Seltn saw through your façade the moment he met you. He planned all this. You'll die here.<BR>

<BR>

He sighed and opened his eyes, revealing the dark, stone cell that was his world now. His stomach rumbled. He cast a sideways glance at the bowl of porridge.<BR>

<BR>

I'll die here...<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Seltn stood before the large, reinforced black door. It looked as though it had been made of charred wood, but when he ran his fingers down its surface, it felt smooth and solid as stone. He took a step back and rested his magical warhammer on his shoulder. He studied the symbols and decorations that had been carved out of the black material. Images of heathen rites were depicted within a whirling pattern of carvings that circled around three pairs of brilliant fist-sized rubies. Many small, crystalline grains innervated the black patterns like veins. Behind the door, the pounding of war drums and the chanting of prayers to Sheogorath sounded ever on, as if no one was aware of the Temple's presence.<BR>

<BR>

Or as if no one cares, Seltn thought, They haven't even bothered to put a warding spell on the door... Arrogant bastards.<BR>

<BR>

“Right,” he decided out loud, stepping aside as he did so, “Bash it down.”<BR>

<BR>

A team of four Ordinators marched forward, carrying a huge wooden beam with a steel head between them. They heaved the battering ram to their shoulders, and at the Splinterer’s command, they charged towards the black door as one.<BR>

<BR>

After several earth-shattering blows, the door gave way with a terrible screech, like giant nails scraping across smooth stone. As his Ordinators forced the door further open by hand, Seltn watched in horror as the magnificent newly built statue of Sheogorath appeared before him. The insane smile of the Mad God leered at him through wisps of foul-smelling green fumes.<BR>

<BR>

The war drums and the chanting had stopped abruptly, emphasising a hollow silence. The shrine was filled with a green haze that hampered breathing. Seltn squinted and sought the source of the haze that obscured the entire Shrine with exception of the statue. He soon noticed four giant braziers placed around the statue’s pedestal, where four green fires roared.<BR>

<BR>

Gradually, the Splinterer became aware of the dark contours within the sickening mist. Looking harder, he suddenly gasped. A legion of dozens of cloaked figures moved slowly through the fog, as if it was lining up for an attack.<BR>

<BR>

Seltn turned slowly to the small patrol of Ordinators that had volunteered to go with him. The expression on their faces showed that they had already seen the army of cultists, yet their faces were set in grim determination. Some uttered a prayer under their breath.<BR>

<BR>

The Splinterer nodded approvingly. “Slay as many as you can. Extinguish the fires if you get the chance,” was all he said before he turned back to the obscured army, raising Veloth’s Judgement above his head.<BR>

<BR>

“Charge!”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

“Who goes there?”<BR>

<BR>

The Ordinator turned around and peered down the winding corridor. There was nothing to be seen, except for the dull sand-coloured walls of the Hall of Justice, yet he was sure he had heard footsteps nearby. He took a few steps in the direction whence he thought he had heard the sound come from. Still, he saw nothing. He shrugged, thinking the sound to have been one of those fleet-footed monks making his way down to the Hall of Wisdom.<BR>

<BR>

When he returned to his post, he was too late to notice the door sliding silently back into its lock.<BR>

<BR>

Relieved, Elenore closed her eyes for a moment and let out her breath. Leaning against the door, the Chameleon spell that had made her almost invisible, slowly began to wear off. She grinned, as she realized she had managed to elude an Officer of the Watch.<BR>

It had been quite simple, though a considerable dose of sheer luck proved essential. Her ability to move without a sound, together with a powerful spell of Chameleon had made her able to move fairly close to the Ordinator without being noticed. A simple spell of Ghost Sound created the illusion of footsteps, drawing the Ordinator’s attention away from the door. Donned in his heavy armour, every move the Ordinator would make, would clank parts of his armour together, producing enough noise to make sure he would not hear Elenore cast a spell of Unlocking, as she quickly slid into the room beyond.<BR>

<BR>

She was lucky though, that the Watch had no reason to be extraordinarily vigilant lately. Otherwise the Ordinator wouldn’t have discarded the sound so quickly, and he certainly wouldn’t have let such a minor disturbance distract him from guarding the door to the room where the Temple stored evidence and the confiscated belongings of heretics.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore straightened herself and examined her surroundings. She found herself in a small rectangular room. Racks were positioned against the walls, fraught with clothing, cheap jewellery, pieces of old armour and common weaponry. Walking had been rendered nearly impossible by stacks of crates and chests throughout the rest of the room.<BR>

<BR>

She moved towards the first large chest that had appeared in her field of vision. A complex-looking lock secured the lid. She knelled down and produced a small case of tools from one of the many concealed pouches within her cloak. Now that time was no longer a critical factor, she could save her magicka and try to pry the lock open.<BR>

<BR>

After a while, the familiar and satisfying sound of a key being turned reached her ears. Elenore sat up and lifted the lid, peering inside the chest. She rummaged through the contents, until, eventually, her fingers touched the leather binding of a book. She cocked an eyebrow.<BR>

<BR>

This is almost too easy, she thought.<BR>

<BR>

Apparently, luck was on her side still, as she lifted the familiar blue book out of the chest. The magical aura from the warding spell that used to hover around it, had been dispelled. She opened the book and her eyes were immediately drawn to the elegant initials on the first page.<BR>

<BR>

A.T.S… she mused, Yes… there’s no mistaken.<BR>

<BR>

She put the book down beside her and examined the chest again. Not much later, she pulled out a delicate silver chain with a smooth, smoky gem attached to it. She closed her fingers around the stone and watched as her hand became virtually invisible. Astarill had told her once that he had enchanted the necklace during his youth. He had explained to her that he needed something to enhance his ability to move around unseen, as his experience with Illusion spells was far too superficial to do that himself. And she had made use of that information.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore closed the chest and stood up, placing the book and the necklace in the satchel at her side. She moved around and opened each crate that hadn’t been locked, until she found one containing weapons. The elegant design of ancient Altmeri craftsmanship wasn’t hard to spot among the other weaponry. She pulled the silver longsword from the crate and fastened it to her belt on the opposite side from her sabre, balancing the weight.<BR>

<BR>

She took a quick look across the racks, picking out some gems and pieces of jewellery that she might be able to sell for a fair price. When she decided there was nothing more among the confiscated goods that she could use, she took a scroll of Almsivi Intervention from her satchel. Unrolling the parchment, she read the magical writing aloud. With a flash, the room was void of life once more.<BR>

<BR>

Chapter 11. Second Seed 17th 3E 419<BR>

<BR>

Seltn gasped for breath. He stood, head bent, with his back against the black marble wall. He rested his warhammer on the ground and stared down at his hands. They were shaking from exhaustion, yet they clutched the hilt of his weapon so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The air was hot and the wisps of strange green mist that whirled around him made breathing difficult. Sweat dripped along the sides of his head and down from his nose to the ground, where it mingled with a pool of blood.<BR>

<BR>

He could no longer hear the muffled cries of his men, as they died beneath an avalanche of poisoned daggers, or the horrid screams of cultists pierced on the ends of Temple spears. All he could hear were the soft, approaching footsteps. They had managed to drive him back and now they were closing in. They attacked in groups, cleverly breaking the Temple's formation, separating and surrounding each man.<BR>

<BR>

Now they were surrounding him. Four of them, he guessed, although he had not looked up. He heard the soft rustle of their robes and sandals while they moved closer. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his weapon firmly. The chilly sound of daggers being drawn sliced the air. Without lifting his head, the Splinterer moved his gaze to get a view of the weapons through the strands of crimson hair that clung to his forehead. As he had suspected, he glimpsed four blades in terribly deformed hands. He straightened himself slightly, finding support and comfort in the cold wall behind him. At least he had permitted them no chance to attack him from behind.<BR>

<BR>

I will not be caught unaware...<BR>

<BR>

He eyed the movements of the cultists warily. Their hesitant footsteps, the glances they exchanged, the way they adjusted their grip on their weapons...<BR>

<BR>

Now!<BR>

<BR>

The cultists jumped him as one. Gathering all the strength he could muster, he raised Veloth's Judgement over his head as the creatures rushed him. Before they had the chance to slash at the weak junctions of his armour beneath his arms, he brought his hammer down upon the first cultist in his sight. The creature tried to duck for safety, but it was too slow to escape the hammer's momentum. The massive head crashed down and hit the creature between its shoulder blades, knocking it flat to the ground. Seltn bolted away from the wall, over the fallen cultist, out of the semi-circle of the enemies that had enclosed him. He spun around, swinging Veloth's Judgement, connecting with the cloaked head of the cultist that had come up behind him. The creature fell to the floor, its neck broken. The Splinterer swung his hammer low, knocking away the legs of the cultist that came charging for him. With a vicious smile around his lips, he brought his boot down to the creature's neck. With a cracking sound he ended its pain.<BR>

<BR>

Maniacal laughter left his throat, as the Splinterer moved his gaze at the remaining hooded figure. “What good are your poisoned daggers now?!” he yelled.<BR>

<BR>

The cultist stared at him blankly. Then in one quick, fluent movement, it threw its dagger at the priest. As the blade cut through the air, Seltn opened his mouth to shout. Before his voice could have left his throat, the dagger entered his shoulder at the junction where his pauldron met his breastplate. He stared at it in disbelief, while a bitter pain engulfed his chest and arm. With a furious scream, he pulled the blade free and hurled it to the ground.<BR>

<BR>

“You'll pay for this!”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

The Ordinators within the Ministry of Truth were different from other Ordinators. These were not the young, strapping sons of Redoran nobles who patrolled High Fane. These were old, sulky veterans, who had for some reason lost the favour of their superiors. They had been assigned to the Ministry because they had problems with authority, because they no longer fit into the idealized view of the Tribunal Temple, or simply because they were the only ones who were able to handle the most menacing of heretics. These Ordinators were dangerous.<BR>

<BR>

They watched Elenore wander through the dark, crudely carved corridors. Some followed her movements wearily for the lack of having anything better to do, others averted their harsh scowls and ignored her utterly. As long as she acted as though she had the fullest right to be where she was, no one intervened. Some recognized her as the Splinterer's sister, while others simply did not care and assumed that anyone with wrong intentions would never make it back outside alive either way. It was a safe assumption.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore made her way through the maze completely by intuition. She had been to the Ministry before, but that was a long time ago and that was when Seltn would lead her the way. She looked around as she walked, searching for things that might look familiar. Turning a corner, she was too focussed on finding her way to have noticed the Ordinator in time. She bumped into him, evoking an annoyed grunt from the guard.<BR>

<BR>

“Watch your step, citizen,” he growled ominously, reaching for the hilt of his weapon. “You’re not supposed to be here.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore recovered quickly and put on a haughty face. She cocked a disdainful eyebrow and witnessed the Ordinator's expression darken considerably. He sheathed his sword with a sigh.<BR>

<BR>

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said with obvious reluctance. “Didn’t recognize you there.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore chose to ignore his apologies. “I’m looking for Captain Llorak,” she began matter-of-factly, “Do you happen to know where I might find him?”<BR>

<BR>

The guard shrugged and gestured at the corridor behind him. “Canteen,” he grumbled.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore thanked the man politely with words as sharp and cold as shards of ice. She passed the guard and continued her way. She did not have to turn around and see to know that the guard was staring at the back of her head, praying for it to explode spontaneously. A nasty smirk crept to her lips as she walked down the dark corridor, feeling quite pleased with herself.<BR>

<BR>

Reaching the end of the corridor, she found herself at a junction with two directions. She peered down each corridor and noticed a dim light in the one to her left. Out of habit, she slowed her pace somewhat and stepped on with utmost concentration and control, just like she had been taught during her short time with the Thieves' Guild. The Morag Tong had helped her refine that skill until not even the rats could hear her.<BR>

<BR>

She walked towards the light and glanced around the corner. A small fire was burning feverishly in a hearth that had been carved out of the wall to her left. Several tables were placed along the opposite wall. The room was messy and smelled faintly of alcohol. There were plates with only half a meal left. There were cups laying on their sides in a sticky puddle of the drink they used to contain. Pieces of cutlery were everywhere. At the end of the room was another opening which probably led to a kitchen, judging from the scent of guar stew emanating from it. In the centre of this small-scaled chaos, a man sat quietly, chewing on a hunk of bread.<BR>

<BR>

He sat on the middle table, right in front of the hearth, resting a steel-clad foot on a bench. He seemed to stare into the fire contemplatively. His heavy Indoril armour was well polished –in contrast to that of most guards Elenore had seen– and glinted in the light of the flickering flames. He was younger than the other guards as well, several years younger even than her own brother. His hair –thick, and as black as soot, with one striking snow white lock just above his right ear– was tied in a tail. Kind eyes and a calm expression beneath a thoughtfully furrowed brow softened his rough features.<BR>

<BR>

But looks could be dreadfully deceiving, she knew. This man governed the Ministry of Truth in the name of the Commander of the Watch himself, and he governed quite efficiently. Somehow he had managed to earn the obedience and loyalty of men who were superior to him in age and experience. There had to be more to Sethio Llorak than met the eye, she remembered Seltn telling her once in jest. The captain was her brother's closest friend and she knew him well, though she had never thought as highly of him as Seltn seemed to do. The captain was a kind, but simple man. He was by no means dumb, but he didn't care much for politics and followed his orders without questioning. A habit that, though it was easy to take advantage of, Elenore could not appreciate.<BR>

<BR>

For lack of a door, Elenore knocked on the solid wooden beam that supported the carved opening. The man turned his head and eyed his unexpected guest in a manner not unlike a bird of prey. His thoughtful frown deepened when he recognized her.<BR>

<BR>

“Elen...” he said levelly. “What brings you here?”<BR>

<BR>

She let out a chuckle and approached him. “You never change, do you? I haven’t seen you in years, yet you haven’t even got the decency to at least act as though you are surprised.”<BR>

<BR>

Sethio finished the last of his bread and stood up, studying her from top to toe. “You did change,” he decided. “You've grown old.”<BR>

He witnessed her lips twist into a familiar predatory smirk, and he realized just what he had said. Before she had the chance to throw a remark back at him, he quickly continued with a grin: “Up. You've grown up. And by that I meant to say that you have changed from a beautiful girl into a stunning young woman.”<BR>

<BR>

“I have no need for you to remind me of my own breathtaking beauty, thanks very much,” she retorted his sarcasm keenly. She did not like to be commented upon her appearance. When she was young, people always told her that she looked ever so much like her brother. Even as a girl she had been clever enough to know that that could not have been a compliment. She didn't resent the captain for it though. She knew him long enough to know that he meant well.<BR>

<BR>

He laughed softly at her remark before he returned to his thoughtful self. “You haven't answered my question yet,” he said with a look of worry on his face. “I doubt you would travel this way only to visit me, so what is it that you want? Do you have a contract on the life of a prisoner? If so, I must disappoint you. I cannot allow the Morag Tong to pass the Temple's judgement.”<BR>

<BR>

She shook her head. “I'm looking for a friend of mine.”<BR>

<BR>

“A friend?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “In here? Better not let your brother hear that.” He submitted her to another scrutinizing stare as befitted a mindful Officer of the Watch. “You seem somewhat heavily armed for visiting acquaintances,” he noted, gesturing at the two blades on either side of her hips.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore considered her options for a brief moment, before she said, “I need your help.”<BR>

<BR>

“Yes,” he nodded with a sigh, “I was afraid you might say that. Follow me.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore didn't even try to recall each and every way she turned, while she followed the captain through the crudely carved corridors deeper into the fortress. When they reached a small office, she was certain she would not be able to find her way back to the canteen again even if she tried.<BR>

<BR>

Oh, that's very convenient, she growled to herself, scolding the fact that she found herself unable to navigate through the dark without the help of distinct landmarks and the moons and stars.<BR>

<BR>

Sethio stepped inside the office and rummaged through the darkness in search for a tinder box. He found it and lit a lantern. A dim, orange glow spread throughout the room, and Elenore was able to see the rickety desk in the middle of the room that was surrounded by equally rickety bookcases packed with books and files alike. Sethio traced a finger along a row of books until he found the one he was looking for. He laid it down on the desk.<BR>

<BR>

“This ledger contains the names of all recent prisoners within the Ministry. If you know when your friend was brought here, you should be able to determine which cell was assigned.”<BR>

<BR>

Elenore turned her gaze from her brother's old friend to the book. She opened it and began to leaf through the pages, feeling the ever watchful eyes of the captain upon her as he followed her every move. Apparently he knew her better than she had expected.<BR>

<BR>

Guards are supposed to be stupid, Seth... Perhaps that's why you have so many enemies.<BR>

<BR>

She paused when she found the page with the correct date. To her displeasure, she recognized her brother's cramped handwriting immediately. She cursed under her breath. The fact that Seltn had seen to the imprisonment personally complicated things.<BR>

<BR>

“Is there something wrong?” Sethio asked.<BR>

<BR>

Elenore looked up at him, finding it strangely difficult to meet his deep, red eyes. They reminded her of the pain he still had to endure each day, and her inability to help him.<BR>

They reminded her of the days when she and her brother had not been in Vvardenfell for a little more than a year. She had lived together with Seltn in an old, draughty cottage in Vos at that time. Sethio had lived a few houses down the street from them. His parents had been loyal followers of the Tribunal Temple and he himself had always dreamt of becoming an Ordinator some day. Little did he know that through an unfortunate chain of events he would eventually end up in the dark, smelly dump that was the Ministry. He was an outcast, unfit for High Fane, but a waste of a perfectly capable warrior if excommunicated. His only rescue had been the fact that he had had the Splinterer on his side, which had not even been possible if not for Elenore's meddling. Still she often wondered whether he was really better off this way.<BR>

<BR>

“Seth...” she began. Her mind was racing, though she made a point of not showing it. Could I risk it? Would he help me? His reputation is battered enough as it is...<BR>

<BR>

She turned the book and shoved it towards him, pointing at the first entry of the tenth of Second Seed. He rested his fists on the desk as he bent forward to read what she had indicated. His eyes rested on each sentence thoughtfully and by the time he had reached the last words of the entry, his expression had turned grim and worrisome.<BR>

<BR>

“Gods, Elen...” he grunted, “Please tell me this is not what I think it is...” The crimson-haired woman kept her eyes fixed on his without moving a muscle. “But it is, isn't it?” he continued with a weary sigh.<BR>

<BR>

She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly –scrutinizing him, estimating her chances, calculating his responses– before she made up her mind and stated, “I need you to look the other way for a while.”<BR>

<BR>

He shook his head fiercely, closing the ledger with a noisy thud. He returned the book to its place on one of the crooked shelves. “I can't do that,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “You know I can't do that. I have been transferred to the Ministry by favour of your brother only, and there are still some at the Office of the Watch who follow my every move, hoping I will make one fatal mistake. I cannot –and will not– betray your brother's trust. Why would you want to help that man anyway? He's a necromancer. He deserves to be here.”<BR>

<BR>

“It wouldn't be the first time I risk my life to save a man who is about to get what he deserves, as you might remember,” she said sharply.<BR>

<BR>

He looked away, wincing at the painful memories. “I remember,” he whispered sadly, “But I never asked for your help. And I never deserved the punishment I was sentenced to. I had nothing to do with the crime they convicted me of. This man has.”<BR>

<BR>

“No,” Elenore said, shaking her head, “He hasn't. Seltn tricked him, based on mere suspicions and assumptions. You'll find that there is no proof, no witness, and no actual crime.” Her mind drifted to the forbidden book she had retrieved from the Office of the Watch. Without it, Seltn had nothing to stand on.<BR>

<BR>

“I can't let you do this, Elen,” the captain said.<BR>

<BR>

She sighed. “I apologize for resorting to this, Seth, but you leave me no choice,” she began. “I know I do not have to remind you of the fact that I still hold a vital piece of evidence –or rather, your life– in my hands. If I present the truth to...”<BR>

<BR>

“But it's not the truth!” he interrupted her angrily, much louder than he had intended. He clenched his teeth together. “It was a set-up and you know it.”<BR>

<BR>

“Indeed I do,” she continued calmly, “But Seltn does not and nor does the Patriarch, nor the Commander of the Watch. This man was set up much like you. The only difference is that he has been set up by Seltn, which doesn't make it any more right.”<BR>

<BR>

The captain clutched the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. He shook his head and searched her eyes, pleading her to change her mind even though he knew his attempts would be futile. She had never been one to listen, not even to her brother.<BR>

<BR>

“You've got a quarter of an hour,” he decided eventually, “But don't expect any more help from me. If you don't make it out on time, I will stop you, Elen.”<BR>

<BR>

“Then I would suggest you'd leave me now.”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Seltn sagged back against the wall. His vision was hazy, yet he was convinced he had seen one of his men put out the last of the green fires, before the Ordinator had been pulled down from the plateau by a dozen deformed claws. He rubbed his eyes until tears impeded his vision even more. He blinked feverishly. His eyes seemed to burn, yet he forced himself to focus. The fires had indeed been extinguished. The green haze was gone, and the Shrine was wrapped in a purple gloom. Body's were sprawled across the black marble floor. The silence was deafening.<BR>

<BR>

Was he the only one left? He dropped his weapon to the ground and shuddered. He felt cold, terribly cold, though his forehead bathed in sweat. A bitter pain coursed through his limbs. It seemed as though his lungs and heart cramped together with every breath.<BR>

<BR>

What kind of venom is this?<BR>

<BR>

Suddenly there was a clank of metal falling to the floor. He looked up. A dented Indoril helmet rolled towards him, coming to a halt only inches away from his feet. He stared at it blankly, and shuddered. He shuffled closer and picked it up. The steel mask was splattered with blood.<BR>

<BR>

Out of nothing, a gust of wind cut his skin like a razor. A faint rumble resounded, much like thunder in the distance. Slowly but surely, the rumbling turned into laughter, which sounded eerily familiar. The Splinterer's face turned deadly white. Up on the plateau, shrouded by the thick, grey smoke of the extinguished fires, an armoured figure stood. Blazing red eyes shone through the slits of the spiked helmet. Laughter turned to words.<BR>

<BR>

“Pathetic mortal! Let me help you...”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

It took a while before the sound registered to his senses. It was soft and subtle, barely audible. He looked up in the general direction of the faint noise, which bore a remarkable resemblance to the sound of knitting needles. The corridor beyond the bars of his cell was empty. There was nothing that could have been the source of the sound. He concluded that the long-awaited madness had finally taken control of his mind.<BR>

<BR>

He cursed under his breath, grunting, and turned to sit in a more comfortable position, as far as that was possible at all. The sound had stopped as soon as he had moved, and just when he was about to congratulate himself on the fact that he had already conquered madness, a whisper broke the omnipresent silence.<BR>

<BR>

“Astarill?” the whisper said, “Get up!”<BR>

<BR>

He rolled his eyes wearily and turned back to the supposed source of the sound behind the bars. There was nothing to be seen still.<BR>

<BR>

“Astarill!” the whisper repeated.<BR>

<BR>

“Sod off,” he growled, turning his back to the bars. He pulled his torn and dirty robe around him and was just about to rest his throbbing head against the cold wall when something small hit him on the head.<BR>

<BR>

“What in the name of Phynaster...” he began angrily, as he reached for the object that had hit him. His eyes widened when he stared down at the trinket in his hand. It was his amulet. It was the necklace with the pale grey gem won from the caverns in the mountainous regions of the Summerset Isles. The very same necklace he had enchanted with a powerful spell of Chameleon when he was still a boy, which was flawed in a way that one needed to hold on to it in order for it to work. He swung around and saw Elenore standing behind the bars.<BR>

<BR>

All he could do was gaping at her, dumbfounded and in utter incomprehension.<BR>

<BR>

“Get over here, you fool,” Elenore snapped.<BR>

<BR>

His body reacted before his mind had the chance to catch up. He scrambled to his feet and approached his cell door, clinging to the bars for support as he fought the sickening feeling in his stomach from his sudden movement. He could now see where the sound of knitting needles had come from. The crimson-haired woman was picking the lock of his cell.<BR>

<BR>

“What are you doing here?” he spat. Much to his own delight and in spite of his momentary weakness caused by the lack of food and water, he had managed to fill his voice with hatred and loathing.<BR>

<BR>

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she said, rolling her eyes wearily. “I've brought you your sword as well,” she continued, “In case we'll need it, but let's hope we don't. You look like you couldn't even lift a knife. In fact, you look worse than a drunken beggar in the gutters of Seyda Neen.”<BR>

<BR>

“You didn't –by any chance– find the key to these bracers, did you?” he asked, ignoring her comments.<BR>

<BR>

“No.”<BR>

<BR>

“Jolly good.”<BR>

<BR>

She shot him a deadly glare that told him to keep his cynicism to himself. Though he wanted nothing more than to ask her how much time had passed since his imprisonment, he chose to let her concentrate on the lock.<BR>

<BR>

“It's too complicated,” she muttered, putting her lockpick away. “I'll have to force it.”<BR>

<BR>

After what seemed like ages to Astarill, the lock broke open with the help of Elenore's sabre, though also with a considerable amount of noise that echoed through the endless corridor.<BR>

<BR>

“Someone's bound to have heard that,” she whispered, handing him his sword.<BR>

<BR>

He took his weapon and fastened it to his belt. Elenore nodded and spoke the words of a Chameleon spell. Her image blended into the background until there was nothing left to be seen except for a faint outline of her figure. He mimicked her actions by grabbing hold of his amulet. He felt her hand slide into his own.<BR>

<BR>

“Quickly,” he heard her whisper softly, “We haven't got much time. Follow me, and pray that you still remember how to swim...”<BR>

<BR>

-<BR>

<BR>

Astarill followed Elenore through the narrow, but warmly lit corridors of the Morag Tong Headquarters. He rubbed his bare wrists absently. They felt strangely light after the bracers had been removed, and so did his head. Someone had given him a goblet of water and a slice of bread, which at least seemed to have kept him on his feet.<BR>

<BR>

The smith had masterfully managed to break the hinges of the bracers with a chisel and hammer. The very moment the pieces of steel had fallen to the ground, the surge of magical energy, that had been oppressed for days, rushed to his head all at once. Overwhelmed by his own power, he would have passed out there and then, if it wasn’t for Elenore forcing him –rather roughly– to stay up on his feet.<BR>

<BR>

Now he had to concentrate hard on every step he took to prevent himself from falling over, constantly trying to suppress feelings of dizziness and nausea.<BR>

<BR>

“You can rest here,” Elenore said, after suddenly seeming to have come to a halt. She was holding a door open, apparently waiting for him to step through.<BR>

<BR>

He walked into the room and looked around, as far as his blurry vision allowed him to. It was a small and sparsely furnished chamber. There was just enough room for a bed touching the wall to his left, and a table with a chair against the wall to his right. He noticed his book lying on the tabletop.<BR>

<BR>

“More food and water will be brought soon,” Elenore told him half-heartedly, turning to leave. “I probably won’t be very far, so if there’s something else you need...”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill stared at his book, running his fingers along its cover. “Why did you do it?”<BR>

<BR>

She froze in the door opening, foreseeing where this conversation was going. “I thought you would've figured it out for yourself by now.”<BR>

<BR>

“Lets assume I didn't,” he replied coldly and turned to the crimson-haired woman. “He had no convincing, tangible evidence against me. You gave it to him without hesitation. Why?” His voice quavered with utter incomprehension and hatred.<BR>

<BR>

“What kind of a choice do you think I had?” she sighed, reluctant to take part in the argument. “He already knew, Astarill. He put all the pieces of the puzzle together when he received word from Anudnabia–…”<BR>

<BR>

“So his suspicions were aroused, fine!” he interrupted her angrily, “But why did you give him the book? You gave him the one thing he needed to declare me a heretic and lock me away. Why? I thought we had an agreement. What was in it for you?”<BR>

<BR>

“My life, for one!” she snapped in aggravation. “Gods! If you thought you could simply bluff your way passed him, you're an even greater fool than I took you for. He knows when people keep things from him, he can almost smell it... I had to tell him what I knew, apart from my own involvement, otherwise he would have done the same to me as he did to you. And then there’d be no one to get us out.”<BR>

<BR>

“Oh, come on! He’s your brother, for Phynaster’s sake! He would never do that to you,” Astarill shouted, pronouncing ‘brother’ as though he had meant to say ‘vermin’. “They won't lock you away or torture you to death. They're priests, they're hypocrites! They'll make an exception.”<BR>

<BR>

“You don’t know Seltn like I do. He might love me, but he loves the Temple more. It would break his heart was he ever to find that I mock the priests and their so called values. He would treat me as any other heretic –or worse– for hurting and insulting the very essence of his being. I fear him as much as you do.”<BR>

<BR>

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t make me believe there's that little sense left in that indoctrinated brain of his.”<BR>

<BR>

Astarill turned away from the woman in an attempt to end their conversation, but she angrily grabbed his arm and swung him, forcing him to face her.<BR>

<BR>

“I risked my life getting you out of that flying dungeon,” she hissed viciously, “The least you could do is be thankful. I never wanted things to go the way they did. It wasn’t my fault things went wrong with the orb. It wasn’t my fault Seltn decided to travel to Tel Aruhn when he did. I solved the problem the best way possible. Why don’t you understand?”<BR>

<BR>

Exasperation was evident in the Dunmer's voice, but Astarill did not flinch at her plea. His thin lips were pressed together tightly and drawn in an unforgiving sneer. The look in his pale, narrowed eyes thundered down upon the crimson-haired woman, unwilling to consider her words.<BR>

<BR>

“Fine,” Elenore decided ominously calm. She let go of his arm and straightened herself. The glare she shot him before she turned to leave, could have killed a lesser man. She muttered something to herself about ungrateful snobbish Altmer as far as Astarill was able to hear, and legged out of the room. She slammed the door without any consideration for his aching head.<BR>

<BR>

Astarill winced at the noise and sat himself down on the bed. He stared at his hands, clenching them into fists, and then moved his gaze back to the door, sighing.<BR>

<BR>

“I do understand…”<BR>

<BR>

The Mechanics of Magicka

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<br><Font Face=1><div align=center>
THE MECHANICS OF MAGICKA:<br>
The why's and how's of magic usage<br>
<br>
By FC4<br> <div align=left>
<br>
Through the course of study, a Mage learns the way to exert their mind in order to align the magical energies within them to certain effects. They know the technique of mental exertion, but teachers of Magic often fail to teach their students just what happens once the energy begins to flow.<br>
<br>
The body has its own physical energy, and as such the mind and soul also sports its own source of energy. The body derives its energy from food, but the energy of the mind is magicka. By exerting their mind and mental thoughts a mage can manipulate magicka to their purposes. This is why the use of spells leaves a mage feeling drained mentally, and why too many castings can affect thought processes negatively.<br>
<br>
Magicka is present within the world around us, and our souls act as magnets, drawing it in. The soul in this way recharges magicka contained within the body over time, though those born under the Atronach suffer a failure in this regenerative process.<br>
<br>
Theories abound as to how Magicka manifests itself within Mundus, and none of them is proven as of yet to be truth. What is stated here is based on the Thread Theory of Magicka.<br>
<br>
Throughout the world the magicka manifests itself as threads of energy that are woven and wrapped around one another without purpose and with constantly changing patterns. Souls attempt to give partial organization to these threads of magicka, and thereby contain it within the body. The casting of a spell consists of focusing and weaving the threads of magicka contained within the body into a patterned weave that will create a desired effect. This can be considered the origin for the term spell-weaving. The complexity of the weave and pattern determines not only the effect but how that effect manifests itself.<br>
<br>
This volume intends to explain the multitude of effects inherent within magicka, and how these effects are utilized. A reader will fail to find within a detailed weaving instruction or a pattern chart, for the patterns and weaves needed to receive a desired effect are known to vary between mages. A student must experiment to discover what works for them.<br>
<br>
There are five different attributes of a spell; each attribute determining how the spell is cast and how its effect manifests itself. There are advantages and disadvantages inherent in each.<div align=center><br>
<br>
TARGET<br><div align=left>
The mage gathers the magicka within their bodies, forcing it out typically through their hand. Before doing so however, they would have to manipulate the magical threads in the environment around them to create a sort of focused freeway upon which their magical spell could ride forward. This focused threaded pathway also holds the spell together on its journey. Because this type of spell requires manipulation of both the magicka within the mage and the magicka of the environment, it is more complicated to cast.<br>
<br><div align=center>
TOUCH<br><div align=left>
Touch Magic is the simplest magical spell to cast, as it requires concentration of the magicka within the mage into an affecting form, but is then released from the body in some manner that is haphazard, the magical threads of the spell quickly unweaving as they travel and creating a fogging spray of magic that lasts only a short distance.<br><div align=center>
<br>
SELF<br><div align=left>
Casting on one's self is the second simplest of magical castings, as it requires one simply to focus the magical energies innately present within the body to act upon the body. Some mages are skilled enough that they simply redirect their magicka throughout their body with nearly no sign of the spell externally, but this shows immense control of the threads of magicka within the body. Instead, it is often easier for a mage to focus their magicka into their hand like all other spells, and then direct their magicka from their hand to another area of their body, or to their whole body.<br>
<br><div align=center>
AREA<br><div align=left>
Casting an Area effect spell is rather difficult, as it is hard to hold spell cohesion and effect over a large area. Most spells work by being cast in the same manner as a Target spell, but with an added effect of spraying the magical energy out after impact. The magical spray?s size and strength is dependant on how much magicka was placed in the spell and how well the spell was organized. By weaving the threads of the spell in an intricate pattern and condensing the weaving into a smaller sphere, the spell could be projected like a common Target spell. When the spell impacts, the condensed weaving is unraveled, expanding at a high rate of speed and affecting the area around the impact.<br>
<br>
Frost spells are the most commonly fogged spells, as they are easiest to fog. The caster does the usual condensed weaving area style, but upon release of the condensed weave the spell will unravel, and spread rapidly. Because of the Principle of a Frost spell - explained later in this volume- the spell can spread further than other spells which creates the fogging effect.<br>
<br><div align=center>
DURATION<br><div align=left>
Duration of a spell is fundamental in its usefulness. A restorative spell over time can heal slowly and near naturally, while a harmful spell could curse an opponent for years. What lends to the duration of any certain spell is dependent on certain factors. The strength and organization of the weaves of the magical threads, and the level of magical power placed within those threads, can lengthen the duration of a spell. As such, spells with longer than an instant duration consume more magicka to cast efficiently.<br>
<br>
Two other means of attaining magical effects include Enchanting and Alchemy. <br>
<br><div align=center>
ALCHEMY<br><div align=left>
All matter has magicka innate within it, and in some matter this magicka focuses itself through natural means and giving a magical effect. The most common effect in alchemical is reached through Wortcraft or eating- of the ingredient. The grinding of the teeth against the ingredient releases the threads of magicka within the ingredient, which grant the primary effect of the ingredient to the eater.<br>
<br>
The majority of matter holds within it four magical effects; a primary, secondary, tertiary, and quaternary effect. The primary is the weakest and easiest to release, the quaternary is the hardest. Through the refinement and purification of ingredients and solutions with Alchemical tools, one can gain access to the magical threads bound deeper within the matter without magical exertion from the alchemist. <br>
<br><div align=center>
ENCHANTING<br><div align=left>
The Enchanting of an object is a process often mentioned in legends and tales, and probably second only to healing in its prolific existence in the common mind. But again, the majorities fail to understand the art. Magical threads of energy are bound to an object, the threads being aligned and woven in a certain way to obtain a certain effect, as any spell would be. The magical energy bound can come from the enchanter directly though this is amazingly taxing- or from the more common means of soul gems filled with entrapped souls. The magical energy of the soul is manipulated and woven into the desired spell effect, and the soul is linked to the object to be enchanted. Any spellcaster knows that a spell cast drains the soul of magical energy, but that the soul can, over time, restore the lost magicka. The principle is the same for enchanted items. The soul linked to the item is consumed as the effect of the item is used, but over time the soul can regenerate: or in some enchanting methods a new soul is filtered to the item from a soul gem, and the soul being filtered is disassembled into pure magicka before being consumed by the existing soul (the soul originally used to enchant) and therefore replenishing the enchantment's power.<br>
<br><div align=center>
DESTRUCTION<br><div align=left>
<br>
Destruction is the magical school of offense, focusing mostly on damaging the target, and manipulates the laws of nature to reap destructive ends. It is a highly suggested school for starter mages, as the elemental magicks are simple to grasp basically and useful in self-defense.<br>
<br><div align=center>
FIRE DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
Fire is the most versatile of the elements, as even in nature it is easily created. The caster focuses their magicka into the air around them, forcing the magicka to increase the temperature of the air around them and heating it, before that same magicka used to heat the air becomes fuel for the flames, igniting in the high heat and becoming fire. The fire will feed from a magical source ?the caster. Even in the laws of nature it is easy to increase the temperature of something but harder to maintain that increase. A simple and instantaneous fire spell costs little magical exertion and focus to create, but maintaining the spell is more difficult. Though easy to create, the fire can easily dissipate when focus decreases. It lends itself well to Area of Effect spell castings, though the duration of the effect is often small.<br>
<br>
Fire also sports potential outside of doing harm. A mage who lacks skill in Illusion can call forth a ball of fire to his palm to give light in times of darkness. Though difficult to do correctly, one could theoretically use fire to cauterize a bleeding wound, stopping the bleeding. A few have even tried to make weapons from pure fire, but have yet to succeed. And -though extremely taxing to the caster- if their fire was hot enough, it might possibly melt enemy weaponry. <br>
<br><div align=center>
SHOCK DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
Shock is the most unpredictable and deadly of the elements, both in nature and in magic. The caster spreads forth their magical energies, exciting the air around them into an electrically charged state. By focusing this electrically charged magicka and air in any direction, one creates a bolt of electrical energy that follows the threads of magicka. The magicka takes on the attribute of the element, however, and is often attracted to metallic objects. This property of electricity, along with the desire to connect with the ground, and the speed of lightning in nature, make this magical elemental the most deadly to friend and foe, and the best for long-range casting battles. It is also the easiest to lend to an area of effect, as the lightning can arc wildly around the impacted area with little magical aid. However, these natural attributes of lightning only take effect once magicka has ceased to guide the spell: Namely, when the spell reaches the target. This is the reason for why a bolt of lightning will not disperse to the ground or metal nearby until after the impact, producing the cloud of sparks witnessed on striking.<br>
<br>
The natural properties of electricity might also lend itself to further usefulness outside of causing direct damage. The possibilities have yet to be fully studied or widely tested. <br>
<br><div align=center>
FROST DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
The caster does opposite of Fire casting when utilizing frost. By exerting their magical threads of energy to the air around them, they drop the temperature of the air, making it frosty and cold. By nature, it is easier to maintain a temperature drop than a temperature rise, and so the cold magical energy requires less magical exertion to hold for longer periods of time, the frost fogging the air around the caster. This property lends the element to easy fogging Area of Effect spells, as the cold air caused by the magic in turn makes the air around it cold, and the frost spreads in a foggy cloud throughout the area. If the caster wishes to control the areas affected by the frost they can contain and weave the threads of magicka as such, but unlike Fire, Frost naturally lends itself to spreading slowly and steadily throughout an area, and is much easier to fog.<br>
<br>
Though still only theory, there are some who believe a mage could successfully fashion a weapon under proper conditions- with frost magic. While an instant weapon of ice is useful to those mages lacking Conjuration skill, it would probably be difficult to keep frozen and fragile. Frost magic has been used often, however, to simply cool a warm drink. <br>
<br><div align=center>
POISON DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
This is a class of Destruction spell not like the elemental varieties. These spells seek to replicate the effects of natural poisons found in plants and animals, the magicka transforming itself into a poison, rather than a fire or snowflake. This foggy cloud of poison can be sprayed, having acidic effects. But through touch spells the magicka can be transformed into poison within the target body. Damage from this class of magical spell requires healing.<br>
<br><div align=center>
MAGICAL DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
There are other ways to inflict damage other than utilization of the elements. The caster focuses threads of magical energy to the target. This magical energy then works to harm the target, the method of which depends on the effect desired. The majority of magical damages work by increasing the activity of bodily functions that harm, rather than help, the body: One example is by causing an increasing fatigue within the muscles of the body, by draining them of energy. If focused into the legs alone, this could lower the speed and agility of the target considerably. By causing muscles to degenerate the strength of the target could be reduced. One's own health could be harmed, by causing increased bleeding in wounds and increasing degeneration of the wounded area. Often the effects are permanent without some form of healing aid, be it Restorative magic or the body's own regenerative healing. Often, it is this form of Destruction magic that is most deadly when given duration, as it can curse and plague a target for long periods of time.<br>
<br><div align=center>
DRAINING<br><div align=left>
Similar to Magical Damage, the spell itself is woven quicker and with less overall need for concentration than the Magical Damaging spells, and this aspect is what gives them their draining classification. They damage the target for a time, but once the magicka wears off the effect is reversed as the spell falls apart. The reason lies in the fact that the spell is not as thoroughly made as a Damage spell is, and therefore the damage caused by the spell can only exist so long as the magicka fueling the damage exists. When the magicka of the spell wears out, the damage can no longer be sustained and fades away.<br>
<br><div align=center>
DISINTEGRATION<br><div align=left>
One skilled in the art of Destruction can corrode away matter, in a way not dissimilar to the corroding of tissues of the body in effect. A basic knowledge of the material to disintegrate is helpful in strengthening the power of the spell effect, though not needed. The caster weaves the spell, directing it at the object in question. As the spell unfolds and the effect takes place, the magicka grasps the material and slowly takes it away in sections as the spell disperses, resulting in the object corroding and/or turning entirely to vapor. This is most commonly used against armors and weaponry, though an experimenting student should not limit themselves to those materials alone.<br>
<br><div align=center>
WEAKNESSES<br><div align=left>
Destruction magic may seem straight-forward on the focus of damaging, but there is a strategic aspect in the School. That is displayed in the Weakening spells, which do not damage directly like the other spells of the School. Instead the caster uses the spell to alter how the target's body reacts to magic and the elements, making the effects of spells more potent than previously, as the body reacts to the magicka to a more drastic degree than previously. Weakness also makes the effects of poisons and diseases more potent.<br>
<br><div align=center>
RESTORATION<div align=left><br>
<br>
Restoration is the most common used and known magical school, appearing at least once in every story involving magical exploits. This School is the complement to the School of Destruction, focusing on creation and maintenance rather than destruction. Many of the spells in the two schools are closely linked, and as such many mages know spells from both schools.<br>
<br><div align=center>
RESTORING<br><div align=left>
Restoring of the body is the most commonplace and widely used form of magic, known even amongst many laymen and lesser educated. However, this class of spell is also one of the least understood of all common magicks, and many of its practitioners are not highly skilled as a result. A general requirement is a basic knowledge of the body of the target, though greater knowledge will result in greater spell capabilities. By focusing their magicka into the target, the caster can speed up the natural regenerative processes of the body to unnatural degrees, halting bleeding and sealing open wounds in mere minutes. The caster can also restore energy to the fatigued, focusing their magic into the body of the target. The magicka will change itself to mimic the natural energy of the body, substituting as energy for the body until energy is naturally regained by the body's natural functions.<br>
<br><div align=center>
SPECIALIZED RESTORATION<br><div align=left>
Sometimes, just spreading the spellweave into the target is not sufficient enough for the purpose of healing or revitalizing. In such cases including severe wounds and fainting, the caster must use more focus in their casting, weaving the threads of magicka tighter, resulting in a greater concentration of energy over a surface area. This results in a far more condensed and concentrated effect, the magic effects focusing purely on the one section of the body. Wounds heal faster and more thoroughly then average restorative castings when the magic is concentrated to such a degree, and energy can be regenerating to the target to a far more effective extent. Also, these specialized spells can be used to undo the destructive magical effects of the School of Destruction. By focusing the magicka threads to the affected area of the body, say the legs, a caster could restore hampered mobility.<br><div align=center>
<br>
FORTIFICATION<br><div align=left>
Fortification spells, in conjunction with Absorption spells, work as the offensively capable spells of this School. By weaving threads of magicka in a manner relative to restoring spells, the caster can create a spell that will restore an aspect of the body beyond normal conditions. A caster can increase their muscle tone throughout their body to increase their strength, or focus the musculature to their legs for increased mobility and/or jumping ability. By focusing their magicka to the head, the caster can actually increase the mental capacity of the target, temporarily raising intelligence and possibly even the target's willpower as well. The effects are temporary, though with focus and power the effect can last for a long time. These spells are literally exact opposites of Destruction Draining and Weakening spells.<br>
<br><div align=center>
ABSORBING<br><div align=left>
The second class of possibly offensive restorative spells, Absorption was originally classified in the School of Mysticism. However, with further study it was determined that the spells of Absorption had much in common with Restorative magic, and so it has recently been re-categorized. Absorption requires the caster to weave threads of magicka into a channel, linking the bodies of the caster and target into one magical being. Depending on the spell, certain aspects of the target's body will begin to wear away, in a fashion similar to Destruction Damage spells. But the difference arises in the fact that the lost life energy of the target is forced through the magical conduit, and then tuned by the caster to fortify attributes of their own body. This leaves the opponent weakened, and the mage strengthened. The absorption is not permanent, however: it lasts only as long as the caster can maintain a grasp on the magical energies taken from his target, and then returns to the target when the caster has lost focus and control of it. This aspect of the spell lends it to being more related to Drain spells than Damage spells, even though both use mechanisms similar to Damage spells.<br>
<br>
One interesting note is the fact that the Absorption of Health, Magicka, and Energy are permanent. These aspects of the body will not be restored to the target when the Absorb spell wears away. One can only surmise that this interesting effect stems from the fact that the health, energy, and magicka of the target are manipulated and changed in order to be accepted by the caster's body, which therefore cuts off the last remaining link between the target and their energy, magicka, or health. <br>
<br><div align=center>
RESISTANCES<br><div align=left>
An opposite to the Weakness spells of Destruction, a caster of a Resistance spell seeks to alter the manner in which the physical body reacts to the elements and magic, making their effects far less potent on the flesh. This does sport a negative effect, however, if used. The target becomes resistant indiscriminately; if the caster tries to heal the target of a Resist Magic spell, the healing magic will not be as effective. Unlike other Restoration spells, Resistance does not seek to undo damage, but prevent it.<br>
<br><div align=center>
CURING<br><div align=left>
The art of magical curing of illness and poison is a prized art by all mortal kind. By focusing threads of magicka into the target's bloodstream, the caster seeks to root out and eliminate the presence of foreign objects. Cure spells work in a manner similar to Fortification spells, in that the caster's magicka fortifies the body's natural disease and poison combating mechanisms, increasing their strength and effectiveness and speeding up the cleaning process of the internal body. While most diseases only need a generic spell to be expelled from the target, some more stubborn diseases require knowledge of the disease and its unique aspects. The now-eradicated Blight diseases of Morrowind, for example, could not be cured through a common disease curing spell.<br><FONT Face=5>
<br>
A NOTE ON THE ATTRIBUTE OF LUCK: The attribute of Luck is, one might notice, not mentioned in the sections of Absorb, Fortify, Drain, Restore, and Damage. The reason for this terrible oversight is that Luck is an uncertain thing. We know not its total purpose in this world, or how it manifests within the body. It is therefore better to focus Luck in its own section, rather than in each individual spell that manipulates it.<br>
<br>
The fact of the matter is, Luck seems to be more tied into one's fate than one's body, and many claim Luck has a marginal effect on everything one seeks to perform. How much of an effect is uncertain. One can surmise, therefore, that spells that manipulate Luck do not manipulate the physical body itself, but the soul within, seeking to magically change the fate of the soul and their overall success in everything they attempt to do. It is, however, still speculation, and we may never know for sure the true mechanics behind the manipulation of Luck. <br>
<FONT face=1><br><div align=center>
ALTERATION<br><div align=left>
The School of Alteration is one of the most useful schools of magic, sporting a range of effects that all people from entertainers to expert wizards could find as useful. Alteration magic hinges on the caster's ability to alter reality itself, accepting that reality is a falsehood and can be changed at a whim. Rather than forcing reality to change, the caster must guide it to change, and when the spell fades, the world returns to as it had been. The user of Alteration must acknowledge that all is not concrete, that the laws of nature can be bent and even broken at times, and think outside of the box to see all possibilities.<br>
<br><div align=center>
SHIELD<br><div align=left>
Shield spells work by altering the properties of the air around the target, changing reality. The caster weaves threads of magicka into a ?bubble? around the target, the magicka altering the air of the bubble to resist movement through the barrier threshold. The bubble of the spell moves along with the target, keeping the target at the center of the bubble. Various shielding spells exist, the most common being a physical shielding spell that hardens the air, creating a friction force for anything trying to transverse the bubble. This can be good and bad, as weapons outside the bubble have difficulty getting in, but only a well made shield spell can allow items from within the shield to come out. A novice shield could also make attacking difficult for the target.<br>
<br>
Other shield spells include Elemental shields, which work similarly to normal shield spells. However, a variation in the casting results in a variation of the alteration of reality. The air does not just become hard, but also becomes resistant to certain elemental forces. A Fire shield keeps the air within the bubble cool, reversing the effects of heat. A Frost Shield does the opposite, keeping the air within the bubble warm. A Shock Shield works like a grounding bubble, capturing the electrical energy in the bubble shield and forcing it to the ground, where the electricity harmlessly dissipates into the earth. Readers may do a double-take at the mention of a Fire Shield cooling the air, even though the shield appears reddened and hot. This is because the shield is hot. The shield keeps the air within cool by absorbing the heat within the shield and outside the shield, trapping the heat within the magicka that comprises the shield. This makes the shield hot and colored as such. Frost Shield works upon the same principle, absorbing the cold from the air around it. <br>
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OPENING LOCKS<br><div align=left>
Once a simply parlor trick, the uses of Unlocking spells have been discovered many times over by thieves and assassins. While knowledge of a lock can aid in the spell casting, it is not required. The spell seeks to alter the physical properties of the locking mechanism, with the intent to dematerialize the tumblers. This spell could be considered a close cousin to the Disintegration spells of the School of Destruction, focusing on locks rather than weapons. The caster warps reality and the properties of the material of the lock: melting, pulverizing, or simply moving the tumblers can be done to unlock it, though often pulverization is the most reliable method. Harder locks made of tougher materials with more tumblers take more manipulation of reality to unlock. Depending on the method used by the caster, the lock could show obvious signs of magical manipulation. While it is easy to simply demolish the tumblers, it renders the lock forever useless and obviously spell-touched. By simply manipulating reality to force the springs of the tumblers to fail and therefore open the lock, mage intervention can be harder to trace and the lock is still usable.<br>
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LOCK<br><div align=left>
The polar opposite to unlocking spells, Lock spells seek to undo what an Unlock spell does, or simply lock a common unlocked mechanism. To lock a magically unlocked lock, it helps for the caster to have knowledge of exactly how the lock was opened. It is easier to lock what a caster unlocked himself as he knows what he did and can therefore reverse it easily. Reality reverts back to before the Unlock spell: dust compacts to remake the tumblers, they melt and mold back to their original form, or they simply fall into place. A Lock spell can be difficult to use, depending on the method of locking and the lock complexity. It is very difficult to lock a pulverized lock, but easy to simply manipulate a spring to force the tumbler to fall into place.<br>
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FEATHER<br><div align=left>
Feather spells are very useful, as they make their target weigh less, reducing the effect of the forces of the Earth Bones on the target in question. By bending reality around the target, the air exerts less force upon the target object/person, and they feel lighter.<br>
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BURDEN<br><div align=left>
Burden is Feather's polar opposite. Rather than repelling the forces of the Earth Bones on the target, the forces are multiplied depending on the strength of the spell. The air around the target presses upon it, making it feel heavier than it is.<br>
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WATER-WALKING<br><div align=left>
Water-walking is a useful spell, though somewhat difficult to master. By forcing threads of magicka into the feet, and around the feet, the spell will increase the surface tension of the water beneath, making it strong enough to support the weight of a person. However, it does not protect the feet from the surface of the water, like a shield spell might: the feet will still get wet. Therefore, it is still unadvisable to walk on molten lava with this spell. While it would work, the feet would suffer severe burns.<br>
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WATER-BREATHING<br><div align=left>
Water-Breathing is a complicated spell, that can be dangerous if not performed properly. The caster must weave their threads of magicka within their own body, creating a web of magicka within their lungs that will manipulate reality within the lungs. Water entering the lungs becomes breathable air, and this air can sustain the swimmer for a short time after the effects wear off, but not for very long. After the effect wears off, any water already transmuted into air remains as air, so drowning will not occur immediately when the effect wears off.<br>
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LEVITATION<br><div align=left>
Levitation spells are illegal in many regions, including Mournhold no one's head shall be higher than Almalexia's- and in the Imperial Province of Cyrodiil. However, mages love this trick: most notably the Telvanni Mages of Morrowind, where the spell is required to get past the ground floor of the mushroom towers. Mankind has always dreamed to fly, and by using similar castings to that of Water-walking spells, they can. Focusing magicka into the feet, as with Water-walking, the air around the feet becomes solid, similar to how a Shield spell works, allowing the feet to step upon hard air and move within the sky. Skilled magicians can make this effect last for long times and allow themselves to move faster through the air. Moving faster requires a greater focus of magicka in the feet, spreading the field of hardened air farther ahead of the caster to allow quicker movement.<br>
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SLOW FALL<br><div align=left>
Slowfall spells came about shortly after the discovery of Levitation spells, as safety precautions in case a stupid apprentice got too high in the air to safely get down again. By hardening the air around and beneath the caster, his progression towards the earth is slowed, cushioning his fall and allowing safe landing.<br>
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CONJURATION<br><div align=left>
One of the newest and very complicated Schools, Conjuration involves the calling forth of spirits from other realms through portal conduits, and enforcing the caster's will upon the spirit summoned. Conjuration has become a very volatile school, as its possible connections to the School of Necromancy and use in Daedra Worship spur hate of the magic wielded in this Art.<br>
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DAEDRA SUMMONING<br><div align=left>
By projecting their magical presence into Oblivion Realms, a caster can wander the realms magically, seeking out the soul of a Daedra. The caster ensnares the soul with his magicka, and depending on the strength of the spell and the caster?s magical ability, strong Daedric souls could be ensnared and brought back into Mundus. The Daedra soul will be forced into Mundus through a small, temporary portal, taking on their Mundus form. The spell will force the caster's will upon the summoned, making a servant from the Daedra. Lesser Daedra can be summoned in this way, and Scamps are probably the easiest to summon. The Daedra in question will likely not enjoy being taken by force into Mundus, and as such when the magic binding it to the caster dissipates, the soul is forced back into its daedric realm by the Limnal Barrier surrounding the Mundus.<br>
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NOTE: This spell use does not work on the sixteen Daedric Princes, as their power is such that no mortal has the magical capacity to ensnare them and enforce their own will. But Princes can be summoned on certain days, devoted to that Prince, typically with a sacrifice of material or biological aspect involved and prayer. Little magic is needed for such a summoning, and the summoner's will is not enforced upon the Prince. Such conjuring is very dangerous and/or risky.<br>
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UNDEAD/SPIRIT SUMMONING<br><div align=left>
This class of summoning spell is what makes the ignorant believe conjurers to be Necromancers. However, this is not true. While similarities exist, the spells of these two schools are different in the method of summoning. The summoning of a spirit involves the caster magically projecting his will into the Outer Realms, ensnaring a dead spirit and enforcing his will in a manner similar to the Daedra summoning. The result is a spirit summoned and bound to the caster’s will. The spirit draws to it the dust and matter within the atmosphere, condensing these materials to create a semi-transparent form in the mortal plane. The spirit is capable of independent thought, though follows its master’s orders.<br><font face=5>
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NOTE ON UNDEAD: The summoning of skeletons and zombies within the School of Conjuration has leant it an ignorant classification among the uneducated that it is connected to the School of Necromancy. However, the differences lay within the methods. A Conjurer will magically seek out a corpse on the planes of Mundus, and magically call it forth by the opening of portals. Whether these portals link to Oblivion realms and therefore transfer the rotted body in that manner across Mundus is speculation, but a portal does open and the corpse appears to the caster. The caster may also summon an assortment of bones from various places and summon them as a single skeletal being. The Undead summoned appears from thin air, and seems imbued with life. This is, however, false. Every action performed by an undead minion summoned through the methods of the School of Conjuration is dictated by the summoner, and they exercise complete control of the minion. Their own will becomes a replacement for the deceased’s soul, directing the minion as if it were truly living. When the spell wears away, the dead sections summoned fade out of existence to return to where they once lay. It is a form of pseudo-necromancy, so to speak.<br><div align=center><font face=1>
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BOUND ITEMS<div align=left><br>
Bound items are another form of conjuration magic. Armor and weaponry being the most common summoned items, they always take the form of a Daedric item. This is due to the fact that what is commonly referred to as a Daedric item is no less than a permanently summoned Bound Item. The material is imbued with the soul of a Daedra, and the presence of the soul is what twists the material into the physical form we mortals refer to as Daedric. Typical Daedric weapons and armor are ebony items imbued with Daedric souls.<br>
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A Bound Item works along the same principle. To make a permanently summoned Bound Item, using a pre-existing material(typically ebony) of any amount, the conjurer in question summons a Daedric soul and binds it to the material. A ritual is required to do this properly, and can be costly to the caster in terms of Magicka. There are certain times of the year in which it is best to make Daedric items. The presence of the Daedric soul is what warps the item into the form we mortals label as Daedric. The process is generally considered displeasing to the Daedra in question.<br>
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While summoning temporary bound items follows a similar process, the conjurer in question need not provide material for the Daedra they summon. They simply force the soul to take the form of the desired item, and the Daedric item appears to them. It is Bound only to the caster: if the caster and item were to lose physical contact at any point during the spell’s duration, the soul would be released and the item fade out of existence. However, these Bound Items are of a magical and spiritual nature, and as a result feel as light as air and are as strong or sharp as the finest ebony.<br><br>
While it has only been practical to summon Bound Items with Daedric souls, theoretically it would be possible to achieve the same with other souls, like animal spirits or even human souls. This has yet to be attempted according to my knowledge, and scholars can’t be sure of what the Bound Item’s properties would consist of.<br><div align=center>
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ILLUSION<br><div align= left>
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Illusion’s variety of spell effects is rivaled only by Mysticism, but Illusion is a far more simplistic School for the novice caster to understand and so is more often used. The complementary school to Alteration, Illusion does not alter reality: it alters how reality is perceived, and therein lays the key difference. Illusion alters how the mind’s eye perceives what the world’s eye sees, making caster and target part of an imaginary world within their minds. The simplest way for the majority of these spells to work is for the caster to lock eyes with the target, for them both to establish a spiritual connection through which the spell-weave can transverse.<br>
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DEMORALIZE<br><div align=left>
Demoralize spells seek to strike fear into the heart of the target, and the method through which this objective is obtained varies according to the caster. The caster may appear stronger and more ferocious than in reality, the target may see their greatest nightmares replay before their very eyes, or see the vicious monstrosities of lore aligned with their opponent. These are only three examples: infinite possible methods of fright can be performed.<br>
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RALLY<br><div align=left>
The opposite of Demoralize, Rally inspires the hearts of targets with heroism and hope, bringing them out of their fears and overcoming their troubles. By giving them the illusion that they can defeat their enemy or can accomplish what they may have once thought impossible is the aim of Rally spells. Just like Demoralize, Illusionists and strong-willed people will be difficult to successfully affect, and fool-hardy people really should not be the target of this spell, as it can cause unneeded death on the Target’s part.<div align=center><br>
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FRENZY<br><div align=left>
Frenzy is the spell oriented towards causing untold rage within the target. The spell focuses on the emotions of anger, irritability, vengefulness, and general displeasure, amplifying them and causing the emotions of hate to rise up and conquer the target’s total thought processes.<br>
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CALM<br><div align=left>
Opposite of Frenzy, Calm focuses on the emotions of patience, peacefulness, friendship and morality. The target is made to think twice about killing the caster or their opponent, suddenly wishing instead to make peace or question the reasoning behind their current course of action.<br>
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CHARM<br><div align=left>
Charm spells work just like the other four, but their purpose is not to control anger or create fear. With this illusion, the caster makes the target friendly, more cooperative. How this is achieved may vary according to Caster. Some Illusionist may make the target see the Illusionist as someone else, someone they are friendly with. Or they may make the target feel that the Illusionist is a very friendly person and respectable. Like the other ‘emotion’ spells of Illusion, variations in the methods exist, but the outcome is the same.<br>
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PARALYZE<br><div align=left>
The Paralyze spell affects the target’s mind, going straight to the center of movement control. The magic enthralls the target into believing they cannot move, while actually never altering their bodies at all. Their mind believes itself to be cut off from the body, and therefore immobile. However, with time the target will come to realize they never had lost control of their body.<br>
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COMMAND<br><div align=left>
Often mistaken with Hypnosis, Command spells are actual true magic. Hypnosis is a parlor trick, and will not be studied here. It works along the same principle as Charm spells, making the target believe that the Illusionist is sensible and trustworthy, and a friend. As a result, while the target will not follow commands, they will feel compelled to protect the caster from harm, and fight for the caster’s cause. The more capable of independent thought and rationality the target is, the less likely the spell will succeed. This is why animals are easier to Command than humanoids. While one might feel this spell could be included along with Charm as the ‘Emotion’ spells of Illusion, it is more an exertion of will than a manipulation of emotional thoughts.<br><div align=center><br>
INVISIBILITY<br><div align=left>
Arguably one of the most difficult spells within the School, mastery of Invisibility is a feat. The target of the spell, typically the caster themselves, is enwrapped in a shell of magical energy. This magical energy reaches out to the world around the target, and mimics the light waves of the surrounding area, making the target appear to blend into the surroundings perfectly. However, even a master of this spell cannot avoid its limitations. Quick movements cause rippling in the air as the magic tries to replicate the surroundings rapidly, and the drawing of a weapon or handling of an item pretty much ensures the caster is detected, as the spell wears off. Scholars are unsure why, but it is believed that the spell effect is very specialized to work only on the body and anything on the body at the time of casting. By touching a book or a door, the spell will try to encompass the new object as well, as if it were a part of the body. Trying to change the magical shell ends up dispersing and unraveling it, resulting in the spell wearing off prematurely. Connecting with another body through attacking can have the same effect.<br>
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CHAMELEON<br><div align=left>
Chameleon is a cousin of Invisibility. It is also a far more thorough effect. The magical shell is not as complex in the weaker castings, resulting in partial camouflage of the target, which is easily detectable through close observation. The target appears more as a faded form of themselves, transparent. However, the target is also harder to see when moving, and the effect will continue despite attacking or item manipulation, because of the slight variation in the weaving of the spell. The spell, being more thorough in the casting, while recognize an item on the caster’s body from an item picked up after the spell is cast, and focus only on the caster and items in their possession at the time of the spell casting. In this way manipulating objects will not cancel the effect. The complete transparency of the target is harder to achieve than an Invisibility spell, and shows true Illusion Mastery.<br>
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LIGHT<br><div align=left>
A Light spell works similar to a sound spell. By weaving the spell to mimic the properties of light, the caster creates a magical light fueled by the magicka within them. The magicka spreads out in a spherical formation from the caster, and weaved in certain ways creates different colors of light, though the most common and easiest of colors is green. When the eye sees the magical sphere, it sees it as light. However, the amount of light in the world does not change. When the spell is unraveled darkness returns.<br><div align=center>
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NIGHT-EYE<br><div align=left>
Night-eye differs from Light in the fact that it does not replicate light waves in the air. Rather, Night-eye focuses on how the mind processes the light it detects. By replicating the light waves received by the eye, the spell increases the light seen by the target, and therefore makes visibility within near total darkness possible. Night-eye requires at least some amount of light to be present, however, so is useless in total darkness.<br><div align=center>
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MYSTICISM<br><div align=left>
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The least understood and most complicated of the magical Schools, Mysticism is also referred to as the Old Way by the Psijic Order. How the effects of Mysticism are derived is shrouded in mystery. What is known is that the spells of Mysticism seem to thrive on the chaotic and unpredictable threads of magicka inherent around the mage. Some speculate that the powers of Mysticism are granted by Aetherius itself, or even from the realms of Oblivion. Some scholars postulate that the power of Mysticism takes its roots from the unused energies of successfully cast and failed spells. Either way, Mysticism seems to take its power from paradoxes and conundrums.<br>
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Recall previously in this text that it was stated that magicka was present throughout the world around us, in chaotic threads with ever-changing patterns and little purpose. This is another theory as to the origin of Mysticism’s power. The mage casting a Mysticism spell seeks within the random threads of magicka in the world a certain pattern, and replicates that pattern with their own magicka from their body. The result is the effect derived from the weaving pattern is cast as a spell. It is up to the Mystic to discover which natural magicka patterns yield which effects, and be able to recognize those patterns consistently. For the purpose of this text this theory will be referred to as the Environmental Thread theory.<br>
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No matter what it is that drives the School of Mysticism, it is obvious that it is the most versatile and varied School, the spells classified within it seeming to be just thrown together because they fit in no other School. The only similarity between the Mysticism spells is that they are so dissimilar.<br>
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DISPEL<br><div align=left>
Dispel magic is difficult to cast successfully. According to the Environmental thread theorem, within the chaotic threads of magicka in the world are certain patterns that weave themselves easily into forms that can unravel other magical weaves, ‘dispelling’ the spells they encounter. This is sometimes known to occur naturally, and might possibly account for why some master spellcasters can still fail to cast a spell. Stronger, more complexly woven spells are very resistant to these dispelling patterns and therefore difficult to negate.<br>
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Those who support other theories of Mysticism’s methods feel that Dispel works by channeling raw magicka, unwoven and untouched, through the hand to the spell one seeks to undo. The raw magicka overwhelms the spell, unweaving it and destroying it. The writer feels that either method is equally plausible, though how the raw magicka is channeled is uncertain.<br>
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SPELL ABSORPTION<br><div align=left>
Souls naturally draw magicka to them, aligning it to their own spiritual energies and therefore replenishing lost magicka. Spell Absorption seems to display a similar mechanism in its effect, though the exact method this is achieved is, like all Mysticism spells, not certain.<br>
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According to the Environmental thread theory, there exist within nature patterns of magical threads that act like the soul and ‘capture’ magicka around them. By replicating these patterns, the Mystic can multiply their natural Magicka regeneration to such a degree that even spells cast against them are disassembled and absorbed into the body.<br>
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Other theories suggest that Spell Absorption works similar to Dispel, creating a shell around the caster of raw magical energy that is very loosely organized so that the Dispel will disassemble spells, and the magicka of the spells will be sucked into the mage by the magical shell of energy tied to the caster.<br>
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SPELL REFLECTION<br><div align=left>
Spell Reflection is a prized spell effect that can be difficult to understand. Most scholars feel that magical castings carry a signature of their caster, and that by manipulating the weaving of the spell it can be turned to focus on the caster of the spell, rather than on the spell’s target, reflecting the magic back at the caster of the spell.<br>
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The Environmental thread theorem follows a similar line, though with variation. Every spell is weaved a different way, and stray threads of magicka weaved into the spell lag behind the spell, trailing it and connecting the spell to its caster. Certain patterns within nature utilize this property, and by replicating and focusing these patterns a Mystic can reflect a spell. They magically entrap the spell, and force it to travel back along the path it had once come, following the threads that tie it to the caster, and reflecting the spell.<br>
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REFLECT DAMAGE<br><div align=left>
This is a class of magic that is not really well understood, a fact shown by the use of this magic as an enchantment and yet no one seems to know how to make a spell for it. For this reason, what is explained here is a theory as to how the enchantment works.<br>
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Reflect Damage is often seen on articles of clothing and armor, particularly shields. The magicka that creates the spell effect is designed to activate when something comes in contact with the enchanted object on a certain side. Like, say, the outer surface of a shield. The magic of the enchantment pours into the offending object that has made contact with the enchantment, streaming itself through the material and anything holding the material, like an opponent’s arm holding the sword. The magicka that streams into the opponent’s body then manipulates itself into the form of the common Damage spell of the School of Destruction, and brings magical harm to the opponent while negating any damage to the enchanted item or person wearing it. How the enchantment would be able to change its own structural weaving and stream itself through a weapon is not certain, and this mysterious property of the magic is what lends it the status of a Mysticism spell.<br>
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SOUL TRAP<br><div align=left>
Soul Trap is a controversial spell, as it concerns the manipulation of souls after death. This has resulted in some feeling the spell is linked to Necromancy, a feeling that has only grown after the Third Era, when Black Soul gems were discovered in Necromancer lairs that could trap human and elven souls. There is no real difference between the many theories of Mysticism as to how this spell is used, but the method of entrapment of the soul is still uncertain. The spell encases the body of the target in a magical capsule, and when the body dies the soul attempts to escape. However, the magical shell contains the soul, and upon capture of the soul the capsule returns to the spell caster. If the caster holds a soul gem on their person that is of high enough quality to contain the soul entrapped, the capsule and the soul within it enter the soul gem. Without a soul gem the spell falls apart quickly and releases the soul.<br>
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What happens to contain the soul within the gem is not known for certain, but breaking of the gem can release the soul.<br>
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DETECT LIFE<br><div align=left>
Another spell focusing on souls, Detect Life allows the caster to see lifeforms even through a wall. The exact method of creating the hazes that signify life are uncertain, but many believe the magicka of the spell is focused within the caster’s eyes, and radiate out from there, reflecting off of any souls they encounter and returning to the caster’s eyes. Magicka is not bound by the laws of nature, and so it could traverse a wall, making sensibility as to how Detect Life allows one to see life through walls. A side-effect of the use of Detect Life is a caster’s eyes may take on a violet hue of color.<br>
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The theory of using magicka signatures to detect life also can explain why Undead can be seen with this spell despite not being alive. It also can explain why the spell responds to Dwemer constructs: these constructs may be like enchanted objects, but the spells sustaining the construct are generally considered more complicated than a simple enchantment, as the magicka animates the construct, rather than has a certain spell effect. This is merely speculation, however, as only the Dwemer truly knew their own constructs.<br>
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DETECT ENCHANTMENT<br><div align=left>
Detect Enchantment works along the same principle as Detect Life, searching for the magical signature of enchanted objects and relaying these discoveries back to the caster in the form of faint purple clouds that take the shape of the object.<br>
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TELEKINESIS<br><div align=left>
This spell is probably one of the most difficult to understand. The casting of the spell is signified by an aura of violet light around the manipulated object, and the caster moves the object with their mind. One theory for Telekinesis is that spell effects can be manipulated by the emotions and thoughts of the caster, and this spell focuses its magicka on the caster’s own thoughts.<br>
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Another theory is that the spell creates conduits of magicka between the caster’s body and the object manipulated, and movement of the hand causes the object to move. This would explain why oft times a Mystic using this spell can be seen moving his hands constantly, grasping and twisting and spinning the threads of magicka that connect them to the object they manipulate.<br>
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Telekinesis can be used not only to reach the top shelf, however. Using the spell in a short burst of power can have combative usage. By connecting themselves to the target for a brief time, the Mystic can telekinetically push away oppressors or redirect projectiles.<br>
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NECROMANCY<br><div align=left>
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The School of Necromancy is notorious for its ill reputation throughout Tamriel. The Dunmer in particular who practice ancestor worship despise necromancy, even though they themselves summon the souls of their dead. But they are strict, only raising ancestral souls, and the raising of the dead by an outlander is blasphemy at best.<br>
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Near the end of the Third Era, Necromancy –which was once simply ignored by the Mage’s Guild- was officially banned by Hannibal Traven. The prosecution of Necromancers that followed has been received with mixed emotions, and many Mage’s Guild supporters, Mage Council members, and mages within the Guild abandoned the Guild as a result. What happened thereafter was an outright war amongst mages, resulting in Hannibal Traven’s death and the supposed destruction of Mannimarco, King of Worms, by the Arch-mage’s successor.<br>
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Necromancy is still banned, and even before its banishment from the Schools of magic it was a despised art, a Black Art. This text will not go into detail as to the spells within this perverted School, but instead seek to explain how it is not like Conjuration, its accused cousin.<br>
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True, Conjurers summon undead beings, but their method is not the same as a Necromancer. What little could be gleamed from the more legal texts show that a Necromancer must exercise extreme patience as they prepare the corpses, and elaborate rituals must be used to imbue a dead spirit within the body and bend it to the Necromancer’s will. In Conjuration, the summoned Undead has no soul: the will of the summoner is the soul of the summoned. But in Necromancy, it would appear that souls are forced into servitude of the necromancer, and the body’s rotting processes are stopped. Conjuration does no such things, and therefore does not defile the dead to the extent of Necromancy.<br>
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The writer has never personally dabbled into this School in any extent, so does not know exactly how accurate these statements are. They have been gleamed from a few easy to obtain texts for research purposes that were later handed over to the Mage’s Guild for containment. The texts hinted, however, at other uses for the School outside of raising dead. Further research was impossible.

Three

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Author's Note: This tale was told to me during my travels, around a campfire. The time period in which the tale takes place, and the truth behind it, is unknown. So, do not look for facts among its words, only wisdom. If there be any… <br>
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Three<br><div align=left>
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Sir Edwin sat by the fire, next to his father, in the lounge room of his father’s estate, in the kingdom of Wayrest. He looked sadly at the fire, as he spoke with his father. Or, listened to his father, rather. There really was no ‘speaking’ to the man, no chance of holding a conversation. For a few minutes, the old man could talk sensibly. But after that, he went off on some tangent, talking utter nonsense. It had been that way for years now. Sir Edwin knew that the Prince of Madness was slowly taking his father from him.<br>
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“In battle, my boy, the stick shall be your greatest weapon.” Edwin’s father cut into his thoughts with the sudden remark, after talking about his long dead mother for a time.<br>
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“Yes father.” Edwin said simply to please the old man. <br>
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Three months later, Sir Edwin went to battle, against a group of bandits who had threatened his estate. His men fought valiantly, Edwin the most zealous among them. With such strength did he fight, that he broke his sword. In desperation, he grabbed a large branch nearby, continuing the fight. He nearly lost his life against the bandit leader, until the man suddenly dropped dead. He learned later from his estate alchemist that the man had suffered from a fatal allergy to maple sap. By sheer luck, Edwin had been fighting the man with a maple tree branch.<br>
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The stick shall be your greatest weapon…… That’s what Edwin’s father had said. If not for that maple sap allergy, he would have died against the bandit. How had his father known? Sir Edwin shrugged it off as coincidence.<br>
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Three years later, Edwin sat with his father again, discussing his engagement to the daughter of a neighboring lord. <br>
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“Pie is poison, my son… unless taken with pudding. Three is your greatest enemy.” His father suddenly proclaimed, and Edwin replied simply, “Yes, father.”<br>
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Three days later, his father died of old age. Three is your enemy…. Could his father have prophesized something, like he had with the maple branch? Or was it the babbling of a man blessed by Sheogorath?<br>
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Three weeks later, Edwin married the neighboring lord’s daughter, Rebecca. Three months later, she brought him news of her pregnancy; their first child. When he was born, they named him Jacob, after Edwin’s father. Jacob was born three days after the anniversary of his grandfather’s death. Three years later, Rebecca gave Edwin his second child, a daughter, Jessica. When Jessica was three years old, Rebecca announced yet another pregnancy.<br>
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By now, Edwin had forgotten his Father’s warning words. How could three be his enemy, when so much joy had come in threes? <br>
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Rebecca was in labor, and Edwin sat by the fire. One of the Housewives came to him, her cheeks washed in tears. “Its dead, Sire…. Its dead..” Edwin’s heart sank. His third child was never born. It had been a stillbirth.<br>
<br>
Three months later, when Rebecca had gotten over her depression form the loss of her child, she sat by the fire with her husband. His face was lined with worry. “What is the matter dear?” He told her of his father’s warning; of the pies, the pudding, and the number three. She sighed, and got up from his lap.<br>
<br>

“Stop worrying. That was the ramblings of an insane old man.” Rebecca scolded. <br>
<br>
“But he had been right about the maple branch. And now… our third child….” Edwin sighed. “Maybe you’re right, honey.” <br>
<br>
In the next three years, Jacob and Jessica grew to be outstanding children, showing great promise as nobles. In the winter months, they played in the snow under the watchful eyes of the servants. Edwin had been growing worried and paranoid again about his father’s words, and ordered them to be under constant watch. However, while the servants were gossiping and discussing their lord’s paranoia, Jacob and Jessica slipped away, going to play by the frozen lake. Jacob, at nine years old, and Jessica at six, were still into the daring game. Jacob dared her to walk across the frozen lake.<br>
<br>
It was not thick enough, and cracked under the young girl’s weight. Jacob called out for help, running to the servants. They tried desperately to get Jessica out. She died of hypothermia at the lake shore.<br>
<br>
Edwin had the servants executed, and his son severely punished. He was not allowed outside again, and he didn’t want to be outside. He never wanted to be near that lake again. To give him something to do, the nine year old boy started to practice sword fighting. He showed great promise, and Edwin felt immensely proud. During one practice, Jacob cut himself. Nothing fatal, only a scratch. He cut himself again, later on. Edwin shrugged it off. But when Jacob cut himself a third time in practice, Edwin had him see the best healers he could afford, despite the wound being shallow, and not even very painful. Jacob was not allowed to practice swordsmanship again.<br>
<br>
Three months later, Rebecca had had enough of her husband’s paranoia. She took Jacob, and left for her father’s estate, leaving Edwin. He sat by the fire after she left, his father’s words ringing in his mind. Three is your enemy……<br>
<br>
Three decades after his father’s death, Edwin sat at the dinning hall table, alone. In the time after his wife’s departure, he had slipped deeper and deeper into depression, and had made enemies in his ragging tantrums and paranoia episodes. Three servants brought him his meal, and he ate it happily.<br>
<br>
Then it was time for dessert. The head chef came to him, informing him of his masterpieces. A delicately made cherry pie, and then, a real treat. An exotic pudding, made with ingredients from across Tamriel. He had a choice of one or the other. His father’s words rang in his head.<br>
<br>
….. Pie is poison, my son… unless taken with pudding….. <br>
<br>
Edwin decided he would try both. They were presented to him, and he ate the pudding first. It was disgusting, utterly horrid, but he finished the cup nonetheless, so as to not offend the head chef, who was the only one who seemed a friend to Edwin now. He then turned to the pie. It was delicious, unlike anything he had ever tasted before, completely cleaning his mouth of the taste of horrid pudding. He finished the piece, and asked for seconds on the pie, and not the pudding.<br>
<br>
“I’m not really in a pudding mood tonight, perhaps tomorrow.” He had told the chef, so as not to offend him. He finished the second piece. Then he ordered a third, it was so delicious. The warning his father gave him was nothing but an echo in his mind.<br>
<br>
Three hours later, Edwin was not in his study, which worried the servants. One of them went to his room to check on him. <br>
<br>
They found the poor lord dead in his bed. The alchemist determined it was poisoning. A simple poison, used by what must have been a novice assassin. After examining all the food of the meal, the pie was discovered to be the poisoned item. And, the alchemist discovered that the exotic pudding had certain ingredients within it that acted as a natural antidote to the simplistic poison, if taken in a dosage equal to the poison amount.<br>
<br>
If only Edwin had eaten three puddings.

Declaration of Rights in the Empire

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<div align=center><font face=3>
Emperor Uriel Septim's Decree of Sentient Rights,<br>
3E Year 393<br>
<br><div align=left>
It is well known that the prestigous Empire of Tamriel has been for a long time; the fairest, and most opportunity-giving state compared to any monarchy, or any other nation. Unlike other nations, the empire gives you true freedom in many different ways, and any more suggestion for human rights is simply pompous. To clear any confusion, disregarding the law of Tamriel; this decree will show you all of the people's freedoms.<br>
<br><div align=center>
Economic Freedoms<br><div align=left>
The economy and property rights within the empire are unmatched compared to any other nation around. The civilized society we have in the empire revolves around its glorious economy, and should be mentioned here.<br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom of Pricing<br><div align=left>
Unlike the other barbarian nations, in the empire, you have freedom to own a business, and price the way you wish. Obviously there is a limit, and if we view you are pricing in a corrupt manner, then we will remove your store from the market, but simply price in a normal matter and everything is fine. The empire is also a place where anyone can own their own business, no class is punished from their status here. <br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom of Ownership<br><div align=left>
You have the right to own what you buy, and that is solely yours. Nothing, unless it's contraband, can make it un-owned unless sold. Whether it's a piece of cheese, or a home, it is yours if bought. <br>
<br><div align=center>
More Freedoms<br>
<br>
Freedom from Poverty<br><div align=left>
You live in a society where we try our very best to keep you from being impoverished. We have done our job nearly to a full extent. Many of the people in the Empire have basic food, necessities, and shelter to live, compared to other societies. <br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom of Education<br><div align=left>
"If you work hard enough, the empire will allow you to succeed." This is the saying that applies to anything within the empire, but even moreso with education. To get an education, you must find a scholar to teach you, or learn at the chapel. Work hard enough, and you may enter the prestigous Arcane University in the capital. Education can be had, with work.<br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom of Some Religion<br><div align=left>
This right is up for some debate if you will, but currently, you may worship anything you'd like, as long as it does not disrupt the empire. This means, no cults against the empire, or something of that nature. This means, daedra worship is tolerated, but not encouraged. The official religion of the empire remains the Aedra and the Nine Divines. <br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom from Corruption<br><div align=left>
The glorious empire of Tamriel sheds away any corruption found within. We inspect all parts of the empire, and make sure everything is done accordingly. Should there ever be any corruption reported, simply talk to the nearest guard, and they will have something done for you.<br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom to Adventure<br><div align=left>
After reviewing the rights document, you should find the empire is a truly tolerable place to live. The majestic empire gives you true freedom of property rights, and what-not. Yet, what was missing was the true amount of adventure you are entitled to have. We allow anyone to journey throughout the empire to achieve a goal, and in fact, encourage it.<br>
<br><div align=center>
Freedom of Guild-Choice<br><div align=left>
The empire covers a vast area, and within it, there are various guilds and factions. We allow you to align yourself with quite a few of them, as long as they are not against the empire. A guild is a truly wonderful experience for any Imperial Citizen. <br>
<br>
Thus, the Imperial Rights declaration is complete. For any more information, please talk to or send word to the Elder Council.

Regarding Dragons in Nirn, 2nd Edition

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<FONT face=1><DIV align="center"><br>
Regarding Dragons in Nirn, Second Edition<br>
by Gilsa Hlervu<br>
<br><div align=left>
Designed to give you all the information you need about the mythical dragons of Tamriel, this is an updated version of the previously biased and in-accurate report detailing that dragons throughout Tamriel did not exist. I have evidence that that is incorrect, and I'll assuredly give you a nice read on some of the least known entities to roam Tamriel.<br>
<br>
Unlike any previous accounts, where dragons were perceived as evil, felonious beasts, this was hardly the case. Although the word "dragon" corresponds much of the time to Akatosh, they in fact are not simply part of a god's being. Dragons have helped the empire in service, as well as Akavir...for quite a few years. <br>
<br>
Looking for a dragon? Well, it may not seem so easy especially considering that they often seclude themselves deep into mountains or deserts, and even so, when you do it may not be the most pleasant encounter. While dragons, such as the red dragon Nafaalilargus have spent quite a lot of time in endearing service to the empire, they still can be quite sensitive; especially in regards to anyone stealing their valued rewards. Nafaalilargus by the way, was sent by an Imperial Commander, Richton, to attack the crowns during 2E 864, and was paid rather handsomely. Although eventually slain, by the Redguard mercenary Cyrus, Nafaalilargus put up quite a fight, one in fact to be remembered. <br>
<br>
Not only by the evidence of this one dragon, but by the various sightings of Dragons found in Resdayn, along with the Alik'r desert, can we conclude that dragons may still be living in Tamriel today, just very secretly. However, before you think of finding a dragon in Vvardenfell, remember that in that place, they likely have been driven out long ago.<br>
<br>
The answer from a previous, unaccounted for source, is that the cliffracers drove these dragons out of Vvardenfell. Believe it or not, the great amount of cliffracers came upon the dragons like locusts, and the dragons were forced to move elsewhere, perhaps to northern Cyrodiil, or back to the Alik'r desert. Perhaps, even to Akavir. <br>
<br>
Speaking of Akavir, although not many records are here from journeys to visit the akaviri continent, we often hear Akavir as the "Dragon Land", as that is it's literal translation. Like Resdayn though, dragons in Akavir are likely extinct. Although the name corresponding to the continent is true, they seem to have perished in a war between the races Tsaesci and Po'Tun. Although this seems like a problem, this source was cited from Mysterious Akavir, and well, Mysterious Akavir simply is not the most accurate source. <br>
<br>
Overall, we still all have some hope to see a living dragon somewhere, someplace. It is quite unlikely you'll want to see one, and even more unlikely to find one, but the intelligent creatures could likely still exist today; perhaps in places more unknown than I suggested.

A Travelers Guide to the Jerall Mountain

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<div align=left><font face=1>
A Traveler's Guide to the Jerall Mountains<br>
By Mabrel, Explorer<br>
<br>
I must say, the Jeralls are quite a bit chillier than the Nibenay Valley, where my last expedition took hold. After exploring the depths of the Jeralls, with great difficulty, I feel I've discovered some interesting locations of note for an adventurer, or hunter. The rough sort is the type going here in the first place, and it's not an area for the faint-of-heart. <br>
<br><div align=center>
GEOGRAPHY<br><div align=left>
As you could expect in a mountain range, the Jeralls are a barren, cold, and rather uninhabited. The least amount of civilization you could possibly expect resides here, with only the small town of Bruma calling the Jeralls home, and they lie at the foot of the peaks to the north. These are the greatest peaks in Cyrodiil, stretching across the entirety of the Cyrodiil-Skyrim border, to the west lie the Colovian Highlands, and the east lie the smaller, albeit still imposing on their own; Valus Mountains. Two of the most notable peaks, Gnoll Mountain, with a tower on the peak home to a secluded wizard; and Dive Rock, one peak I myself could not manage to reach. <br>
<br><div align=center>
TRAVELING<br><div align=left>
Trekking through the Jeralls is often one of the most treacherous journies you'll find in Cyrodiil, and the few passes to Skyrim are often closed off to traveler's due to tremendous amount of snow, ice, or attack of dreaded frost giants. If you are seeking something in the Jeralls, it's likely you're a daedra worshipper, as these devotees have various shrines along the peaks. Of course, a historian may be enticed by the ayelid ruins, or a hunter by the frolicking deer, or challenge of the timber wolf or brown bear. Whoever you are, be prepared with a heavy coat, preferably fur; and some sort of weapon, as their are great beasts aplenty throughout the mountains. <br>
<br><div align=center>
FLORA<br><div align=left>
If you are the rare alchemist, or university scholar traveling into these parts, there is an abundance of tundra flora that have some interesting alchemical properties. The unique Wormwood Leaves are the crown jewel, and most abundant plant in the region, with powerful properties if matched up with another ingredient. Clouded Funnel Cap, and Tinder Polypore mushrooms grow here as well, along with Lavender, Milk Thistle, and Motherwort. <br>
<br><div align=center>
HUNTING<br><div align=left>
A hunter can make certain profit in the Jeralls, if he is careful, and follows the roads as not to get lost in the peaks. Boars, deer, brown bear, and the occasional dreaded frost giant are all animals commonly found in the mountains, yet all of these, except deer, should be taken with great caution. Various pelts and clothing are made from the pelts of animals up here, and if you are a gifted hunter, this can be quite an interesting place. Be sure not to venture too high however, as the colder and loftier the peak, the tougher and arguably stronger the animal lies ahead. <br>
<br><div align=center>
ADVENTURER<br><div align=left>
If you are not here for the thrill of the hunt, and wish to serve your empire greatly, as well as making a bit of profit for thyself, it may be an interesting thought to explore the various forts, ruins, and caves throughout the mountain range. It may be hard to pinpoint, but you some hotspots for adventuring exist in Kingscrest Cavern, Plundered Mine, Rielle, and Silver Tooth Cave. <br>
<br>
Whether you are an adventurer, hunter, worshipper, or simply a traveler, the Jeralls can be a somewhat interesting location for the tough-minded. Those in love with nature will love the views, and on a very clear day, you may see the Imperial City from a truly high peak. <br>
<br>
I hope that was an interesting background to the Jeralls, one of the truly most natural regions in all-Cyrodiil.

Commentaries of the Lover-Prince of Taneth

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=3><BR>Quotes and Ideas,<BR>

Said By the Lover-Prince of Taneth<BR>

As Written by Rakaan<BR><DIV Align=left>

<BR>

The Lover-Prince of Taneth, know by those of the city as "The Idiot", "The Wanderer", and "The Coward" is one of the most intriguing figures to ever be heard of in the province of Hammerfell. The identity of the prince seems to have varied, but various members of Hammerfellian society have secretly passed down his quotes and scriptures and word has passed of him all over Tamriel. He often wrote and sent out these quotes during times of trouble, and war. The redguard was of noble birth, hence the "prince" in his name, and was also known for other ways around fighting. He wished always for peace, not for the brutal, warrior-like atmosphere of Goldmoor, of the Alik'r, and of Sentinel. Thus his pen name was born, 100 years after the start of the Alessian third era. <BR>

<BR>

This written peace is not meant to categorize his life (though it will state and determine when scriptures were written) and instead, it visualizes his ideas. It's a commentary of these quotes, and I'll try to share a point of view represented by redguards of 300 years after. After all, it's not even known whether it was one identity writing the sermons, poems, and short stories of the Prince during these times. <BR>

<BR>

"No not love, then no not sympathy. Should a raging hand touch an innocent man, the flame can be quenched if the assaulter loves. No sympathy is given back should they ever be seen again, perhaps his titles will be stripped of his loins."<BR>

<BR>

This odd, vague remark is one of the Prince's early scriptures. It was released en mass magically, another taboo of redguard tradition, during the time of the war on Pyandonea. However, this first work was hardly anti-Imperial, it was against the Pyandonean armada, at least that's likely. The no sympathy given back is after Orgnum lost his coffer, and Pyandonea ceased to become a world power, after showing a "raging hand" on the Imperials previously. <BR>

<BR>

Over time, the Prince's views began to change, and he showed a general outlook on his disgust of the warlike redguards and nords, in his sermon in 3E 114. <BR>

<BR>

"They are not homely,<BR>

They are not friendly,<BR>

They are not ridiculed,<BR>

They are not wise,<BR>

They are not special,<BR>

They are not intriguing,<BR>

They are not intelligent,<BR>

They are violent."<BR>

<BR>

This to the point, poem/sermon offered info on the prince's beliefs at this time. "They" are the redguards/nords, whom upset The Prince, simply because of their warlike ways and thoughts. Homely and friendly refer to the nords, who are thought by some as inhospitable to other races. Not ridiculed is the thought that the Imperials often treat the redguards and nords as their greatest soldiers, and keepers of the Imperial pride. Wise and Special refer to how magic is either shunned, or simply not practiced in nord/redguard communities. Intriguing refers to the lack of libraries, and philosiphies in the provinces, and how they neglect those like the Prince. <BR>

<BR>

His protests were let out once again in the same year. Desti Melarg, well known writer for the redguards died that year. The Prince's radical views thought it was of assasination, and he wrote so.<BR>

<BR>

"You wither,<BR>

He bothers, <BR>

Come Hither,<BR>

You say nothing,<BR>

It is time for a meal,<BR>

He calls you,<BR>

says you are frail.<BR>

You gather yourself,<BR>

share the wealth, <BR>

of your feast.<BR>

He comes toward you, <BR>

greets you,<BR>

then promptly poisons you."<BR>

<BR>

Of all the Lover-Prince's writings, this one is the most obscure. In fact, since the writings were released to the Mystic Archives a few years ago, there has been debate on whether this is even written by the Lover-Prince. Desti Melarg was a well-known writer, and there seemed to be no reason for an assasination. Still, this poem/verse hybrid writing showed the story of a man's assassination, often whom is thought to be Melarg.<BR>

<BR>

The Lover-Prince of Taneth then vanished for a few years, and followers generally preached his sayings secretly. However, when Kintrya becomes empress, the Prince can no longer contain himself, and a radically new Prince vision is shown. <BR>

<BR>

"Alas!<BR>

Our great lady has surfaced,<BR>

New and surprising,<BR>

this Imperial feeling.<BR>

The other,<BR>

commander of the wolves, <BR>

adds nothing but jealousy.<BR>

Of diamonds the wolven-queen strikes,<BR>

of diamonds she tears away,<BR>

Our great lady from her halls.<BR>

Alas!"<BR>

<BR>

This is about the Wolf Queen of Potema, who started the War of the Red Diamond in a surprise attack on the Empire. This is just after Kintrya had been crowned empress of Tamriel, and Potema, jealous and of the same Septim bloodline as Kintrya, wishes to seize power. This is also debated on whether or not this is the Prince, as it's a very different, Pro-Imperial view, and this poem was actually allowed to be read at universities and mages guild.<BR>

<BR>

The next writing surfaced a year later, on magic:<BR>

<BR>

"Flick your finger,<BR>

and he'll see nothing.<BR>

You'll see everything.<BR>

In your dreams, <BR>

you can freeze the hearts of many.<BR>

In your eyes, <BR>

you can see the friends of Lovers gone by. <BR>

Through your mouth,<BR>

you can see the warming of a friend.<BR>

In his dreams, <BR>

he can't."<BR>

<BR>

This writing was obviously about magic, and how redguards did not practice it, because of many of their limited abilities, and the idea that magic was sin, and persecuted in Hammerfell. The Lover-Prince was, as told by his followers, "Deeply enriched in the thoughts and processes in magical sciences." He also was supposedley a necromancer, as evidence by "The friends of Lovers gone by." This is the Prince's most famous writing, and outlawed throughout Hammerfell. "Freezing the Hearts of Many" refers to destruction magic, a bit contradictory to the thoughts and philosiphies of the prince. "The warming of a friend" refers to charms, and how they can beguile others into liking you. <BR>

<BR>

This next scripture is the last writing by the prince, at least the last one recovered by the Mages Guild. <BR>

<BR>

"Love.<BR>

Love is a clever word.<BR>

It is disregarded by men and women alike,<BR>

yet it's the most important word of them all.<BR>

Without love, <BR>

where is the hate.<BR>

Two extremes must follow one another,<BR>

and without one,<BR>

the other cannot follow.<BR>

Hate.<BR>

Hate is a silly word. <BR>

It is impossible not to hate.<BR>

Yet you shy away from hate,<BR>

but don't turn to love.<BR>

You are not enlightened."<BR>

<BR>

This scripture many do not understand, and I may be one of them. But, it does mention that love and hate are opposites of the other, and my guess is that you must be enlightened to know how to understand both. The last writing of this interesting man is still one that puzzles us.<BR>

<BR>

Keep in mind that the Lover-Prince may have been someone famous, but also, at the time in Hammerfell, many people weren't opening their minds into something other than war. That is still true in some parts today, but thanks to the Lover-Prince, philosiphy and free thinking have began to take their course. At the same time, the Lover-Prince was a radical, and his followers were as much as well. It is not advised to share the views of the Prince, but it is advised to understand them. <BR>

<BR>

Martin

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<DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><FONT FACE=1><BR>Martin<BR><DIV ALIGN="center">Martin<BR>

<BR>

By Anoriel, Scribe<BR><Div Align=left>

<BR>

The most recent emperor Martin Septim was never supposed to be. Even looking upon his death several months ago, many of us hardly knew he existed until a few days before that time. Yet, his impact is extroardinary. <BR>

<BR>

Martin was hardly a saint before he knew he was the heir of the emperor. In fact, Martin is something that Uriel should be known for in his cons. He was the illegitimate son of Uriel VII, hidden away, and raised by simple farmers. Martin knew nothing of his heritage, and lived an interesting life away from the throne. It has been recollected by the champion of Cyrodiil in fact, that Martin had studied and experimented with daedra worship in his youth. It is likely that he worshipped the ideas of the god, Sanguine. Later, he threw away those ideas however, and became a chapel priest.<BR>

<BR>

There was no specific time as to when Martin became the priest of the Kvatch chapel, although it's believed to be around 3E 421. He sought knowledge, solitude, and praised the nine, and for twelve years, he did just that. It was recalled by surviving Kvatch guard, Savlian Matius that, "Martin was a fair and honest priest, yet we saw the charisma and determination in his eyes, and thanked Akatosh that he was leading our sermon." Turns out that he led much more than that. Obviously, until 3E 433, there wasn't too much that was eventful previously around Kvatch. Sure, the emperor was aging, but his two sons would vie for the throne. It's interesting to think of what Uriel thought about his lost son, and it's been rumoured that often ever-kind Uriel sent word to the former-Blade grandmaster Jaufree, who kept a close eye on Martin. <BR>

<BR>

Martin felt that the nine were his protectors, but on the 3rd of Hearthfire, that was simply turned on its head. In a Kvatch survivor's recollection, Tavia states: "There was fire at every corner you looked. The look of death itself, and there was no where to run to. All I could do was sit in the chapel, and watch as others fended for not only their lives, but mine." Martin certainly was strong with a blade, but had only had to use one quite sparingly. However, he was defending his chapel, his people, and it was his thing to do. Holed up, with less and less supplies, the survivors viewed that staying in the chapel was their death sentence, yet they were saved by the Hero of Kvatch; later the champion of Cyrodiil, on the fifth of Hearthfire. From that point on, Martin had severe doubts of the nine. Can you blame him? The city burned, for what reason? Yet, on the fateful day that he and the other chapel members were saved, he thought he may have been delirious.<BR>

<BR>

After all, the proclaimed Hero of Kvatch told him he was the emperor's heir. Escorted by Jaufree and the Hero to a Blades sanctuary for to the north, it may all have been a blur to Martin. After all, simply a month ago he was leading the Sundas sermon, now he became one of the empire's hopes. Truth to be told, Martin was a bit reluctant to lead a nation, especially from hiding. Yet, he became accustomed to his role, and amazed at the fact that the Champion of Cyrodiil always without fail, and with boundless courage accepted and succeeded at every perilous quest he was assigned. "The champion gives me hope" are some of Martin's last words, those before the Battle of Bruma.<BR>

<BR>

Speaking of which, the Battle of Bruma was the emperor's coming out party. Occurring during the holiday of North Wind's Prayer, on the 15th of Evening Star, Martin inspired those to fight for him, including blades and hundreds of guard/legion members from around the empire. From just outside the chapel of Talos in Bruma, Martin gave his only speech to those living within the empire. The crowd erupted racously, and saluted their emperor, yet also fell into great solitude. The entire empire was tremendously nervous, as it seemed to be the empire's dying day, against a wave of change and revolution caused by Mehrunes Dagon. Under Martin's command, the empire just barely held on. The champion of Cyrodiil destroyed a great gate to Oblivion, and halted the advancing daedra in their tracks. It was marked as an honorable day in the history of the empire, yet also a solemn one. <BR>

<BR>

In just a few days however, it was the Champion's job to escort Martin to the Temple of the One, and light the dragonfires once and for all, taming the threat from Oblivion once and for all. Now with the amulet of Kings reclaimed, Martin Septim marched throughout the Imperial City, his city. At the Imperial Palace, he is greeted by Ocato, ready to be crowned as emperor. Yet, that was not to be, as it had been alerted to all of them that the Oblivion gates had opened within the city, and in fact, Mehrunes Dagon was inside. <BR>

<BR>

Here is where Martin came up with his greatest plan. Being part of the dragonblood, it was only he who had the chance to destroy the threat of Dagon. The amulet of Kings shall be used to infuse Akatosh's blood, with his own, and in theory, he'd sacrifice himself for the empire. Wonderful people do extroardinary things, yet Martin's sacrifice left us all amazed at the selflessness. Praising the nine for his life, Akatosh pushed out Mehrunes Dagon, and closed shut the jaws of Oblivion. <BR>

<BR>

It is now, in this period of turmoil; that we can see the impact Martin has left for us. He is a symbol, a symbol of courage, of hope, and also, of loyalty. The graciousness of the gods gave us Martin, and he helped us survive the Oblivion Crisis. <BR>

<BR>

<BR>

A Traveler's Guide to Nibenay

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<FONT face=1><DIV align="center"><br>
A Traveler's Guide to Nibenay<br>
by Mabrel, Explorer<br>
<br><div align="left">
Before I begin, let me tell you what a pleasure it has been to work with the late great, Arch-Mage Traven, who allowed me to use his services to my advantage in chartering the great Nibenay Valley, and how he didn't bother to care how much this expedition may have cost. <br>
<br>
Both the Nibenay Basin and Valley are an interesting phenomenon, stretching from just south of Cheydinhal, heading southeast toward Lake Canulus, and following the north end of the Panther River into Niben Bay. This gorgeous River Valley varies in both climate, fertility, and interest, and is quite a spot for an adventurer, or explorer like myself. After taking the chances of exploring the valley for a number of years, I feel its in my best interest to share to you some excellent spots for the vacationer, the adventurer, even the merchant, as well as sharing some secrets, facts, and opinions about this great valley. <br>
<br>
ON CIVILIZATION IN THE NIBEN:<br>
The most interesting question I have about the Nibenay Valley, as well as the large river basin is that there is so much room here for civilization to thrive, to co-exist, to farm. There are quite a few resources available here: the Valus mountains not far to the north-east, and the rivers of the Corbolo, Silverfish, and the Panther supplying an excellent irrigation source, as well as plenty of open land for setting up a town of sorts. Perhaps I'm wrong, as I don't know so much about farmland, but it seems like the Nibenay could seem like a worthwhile place of setting up some kind of town or city. The people who do live here however, exist as indifferent to each other, spending time individually, and only venturing into the towns for supplies if needed. Cropsford for example, is a commissioned farming village, but the settlement has been torn apart by warring goblins. The people here still seemed hopeful, that perhaps an adventurer could save them from these troublesome creatures. <br>
<br>
Drakelowe, an isolated settlement directly south of the starting point for the Reed River, was quite different than the hopeful Imperials of Cropsford. Here, a witch calmly, but strongly told us to be on our way, and the expeditioners and myself simply were...on our way. The place seemed that there was something amiss, a place which an enlightened adventurer could be interested in. <br>
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Travelers along the yellow road, or fisherman among the many Nibenay rivers could easily find these next two inns as familiar locations. The Imperial Bridge Inn, ran by Publican Davela Hlaren, lies on the north bank of the Silverfish River, and just off the Yellow Road. A cheap place to stay, the Bridge Inn is nothing fancy, but offers a nice rest stop for adventurers, scholars, and mages. It also offers beautiful views of both the Imperial City, and the river at night, and at dusk/dawn. Another Inn, the Drunken Dragon offers an excellent place for food and drink, and Andreas Draconis offers a slightly nicer room for double the price of the Bridge Inn. Since it lies a bit south of the Panther River, you could be inclined to stay here if you're on a short move from Leyawiin. <br>
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As you can see, the citizens of the empire living in the Nibenay are not numerous, but do offer something in the way of services and hospitality. If you aren't looking to see people however, but wish to vacation here, or see some breathtaking sights, or even take a pilgramage to a wayshrine, there are various points of interest in the Valley.<br>
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Those who wish to see gorgeous scenery could be inspired to take a trip to Lake Canulus. Although the lake is quite far from civilization, and you may stumble against something as strong as a wolf or bear, Canulus has some breathtaking sights, and staying a night just out in the wild can be an exhilarating experience. Farther up north, close to Cheydinhal is Lake Poppod. If you're in town, and wish to take a day's trip, Poppod is a nice place to go. The lake is not vast, but does offer some nice scenery, although you may want to drift away from the daedra worshippers on the western bank. <br>
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For those interested in exploring and adventuring, Nibenay is dotted with ayelid ruins, caves, and lost forts. The most unvisited in my opinion at least, can be yours for the plundering. There are so many lost ruins, and what-not, that I'll only make a list of those of interest for the adventurer, and those are: Fort Cedrian, Fort Facian, Fort Cuptor, Malada, Wendelbek, Deserted Mine, Squandered Mine, Crayfish Cave, Lost Boy Cavern.<br>
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And last but not least, those who have taken the time to conduct a pilgramage in their devotion to the nine divines should note that there are wayshrines of both Julianos and Kynareth here. Of course, being the devout follower that you are, conducting this pilgramage should not come along with hints from myself. <br>
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I hope I could help give a background of the Nibenay Basin, perhaps persuade a few people to build one of their own homes here. All travelers in the Nibenay Basin should be noted of where they are going, and hopefully that is what this guide accomplishes.

Sermons of the Daedric Priests

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<FONT face=1><DIV align= "center"><Br>
Sermons of a Daedric Priest<br>
by Gualva Gloriosus, Daedric Researcher<br>
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: After undergoing a series of translations, and decryptions at the Arcane University, my associates Sondil, Ardarume, and I have finally discovered an excellent collection of sermons from daedric priests throughout Tamriel. I've travelled for 17 years to obtain these sermons, and each spot I had encountered was as dangerous as the previous. The only sermon that escapes this rule is the final one, which managed to fall directly into my hands from an unknown source. Oddly enough, you'll find that these sermons are more of daedric poems, rhyming often, and in harmony as perhaps sang in song. After an obsessionist amount of traveling, decoding, and fighting, we're proud to deliver these to you, however interesting your reaction may be. <br><div align=center>
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Sermon One, found 3E 408, High Rock<br><div align=left>

Grab the wine! Kill the swine!
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We will feast and we will drink!
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Loose your constricting morals!
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Dance until the night fades to day
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So says Sanguine, lord of all debauchery
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Make new friends tonight and sing
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And perhaps fill the inn's beds tonight
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Let not the ever-loathing guard stay your hand
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If he should try to ruin the mood
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See to it that you spill his blood
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And then dance! Dance through the night!
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Make jest and be in revelry
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Bring the wine! Kill the swine!
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We will feast and we will drink!
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Loose your constricting morals!
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Praise to Sanguine and revelry to all!<br><div align="center>
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Sermon Two, Found 3E 410, High Rock<div align=left>
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I say to you all that there is no other
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Who is like Dusk and Dawn's mother.
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She holds in her hand a brilliant star
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Her grace and kindness reach far.
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But though you see the Dawn
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the details of Dusk are not drawn.
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Cold and manipulative is she
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Mortals her puppets will be.
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Nerevarine, proud hero of us all
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Unwittingly came to answer her divine call.
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The Three who ruled the cursed race
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Met in person with Death's face.
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The keeper of the Star holds the strings
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Over all peasants, merchants, and kings.
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But fear not my good people of faith
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To your loyalty the queen shows grace.
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Hold true to the Dawn, the Dusk, and the Star
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And your riches shall extend far.<br><div align=center>
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Sermon Three, Found 3E 416, Skyrim<div align=left>
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Shadows moving, webs unfurling
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In the darkness, gears are turning
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Friendship and love grow thin
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As dissent does begin
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Ties shatter, blood spills
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Spinner laughs over merciless kills
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Friend becomes greatest foe
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Murder of reason unknown
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A town becomes a true hell
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Families hear the tolling of Death's bell
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Few emerge through the blood
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Peace's web dies in the flood
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Spinner laughs, her dark deed done
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In the end, the victor is none.<br><div align=center>
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Sermon Four, Found 3E 422, Summerset Isles<div align=left>
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In the beginning there was chaos, Anu and Padomay and Sithis
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Then came the Aedra, and along with them the Daedra
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Hero was he great Trinimac of the Aedra, But in death the outcast became a Daedra
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Malacath emerged, and the Orsimer were forged
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The sixteen princes left for their new home, Trinimac's brothers by murder became stone
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Orsimer tall and proud, became covered in hatred's shroud
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Exiled were they, to the Outcast they did pray
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Wrothgarian and Dragontail became their home, mountains of the Earth Bones
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Boethiah's enemies lived on, but years passed until their acceptance was won
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Trinimac's people proud and tall, lived on past their god's fall
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Loyal to his people is the god, on his people no one will trod
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Slaves were the ogres to men and mer, but Malacath saw that it was no more
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Outcast's grace never fades, praise to Malacath for all our days.<br><div align=center>
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Fifth Sermon, Found 3E 425<br><div align=left>
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They say they say that one fateful day
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An evil race was born, created were the vampires of Nirn
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Who could defile, forge a creation so vile
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King of rape none could defy, that day did the Earth Bones cry
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Lamae in her screams Arkay did hear, but he could little more than shed a tear
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Her dark awakening did spread, creating the progeny of the living dead
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But what the great give the great take, vampire's curse was an avoidable fate
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Satisfied not the corruptor went on, searching from dusk until dawn
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Til he did find one lost soul, and on this man came death's hard toll
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Rewarded was he that became a tool, only in debt was the fool
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King of rape was he, and none have done fouler deed
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But forget not his sphere, or you shall find divine wrath to fear.<br>
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NOTE: It is suggested that there is a sermon for every daedric prince, and although this gives an interesting representation of every daedric prince, it does not teach us all we need to know. I will continue my work, categorizing all the findings of my research, until I grow even older still. <br>

Si j' avais su qu' il y avait autant de bouquin jamais j' aurai pris cette traduction c' est abusé pour un mod d' amélioration de ville . Et encore je met pas les petites notes et compagnie .