Elo Aran

On Vivec

5th of Hearthfire,

So I finally laid eyes on the holy city. I’ve got to hand it to the tyrant-king; his will keeps a firm hold on this place, though it leaves little room to breathe. On the outside it boasts and looms, all stone and monuments to its own glory. Inside, people suffocate under its weight. Divided by race and creed, kept in line by their divine mandate. Funny thing is, I think I’m finally starting to understand Morrowind. Turns out it fits neatly inside one city.

At least Caius will have something to gnaw on. The information came easy. People were ready to talk, and ready to settle old favors. Whatever Caius did for them, it stuck. Easy or not, it was a reminder of why Argonians like Huleeya keep their heads down, and why inconveniencing an Imperial bureaucrat comes naturally to me. Mehra’s a different story, I think she’s in trouble. Made Caius make more sense though. Think I finally get what game he’s playing. Loves Morrowind. Loves the Empire too. That contradiction seems to be the point. Their worries are the same, and it might cost Mehra her head. Ordinators are closing in on her. Heretical doubts. Friends already in hiding. If anything goes wrong, she’ll leave a message. Amaya. Seems I don’t get to keep that to myself.

Temple’s hand is all over this. Too tight. You don’t hunt prophecies like this unless they matter. Way I see it, Tribunal took power and forced their truth across the land. Ashlanders rebelled, grew desperate, and now cling to their old tales of old generals returning from Oblivion to save them. Same old story. Can’t say what’s real. Only know it’s not their holy truth.

3rd of Hearthfire,

Thirty two. Guess I made it this far. And I get to celebrate under clear skies without chains. Spent the whole day walking around lake Amaya. Sun on the water, quiet on the roads and a bottle of brandy I’ve been saving up. Woke up sweating this morning though. A tall man with a golden mask greeting the dead and leading me amongst them. Tried to shake it, but it’s hard to enjoy a birthday when you keep seeing dead men walking. Still, the lake helped. Just like old times at Rumare, although today the water had to soothe the mind instead of my father’s discipline. Strange I haven’t thought of them in a long time, and not of the warm light on the rice paddies or the calls of the creatures that calmed me back then.

Anyway. I got here by helping an old pilgrim, Nevrassa, find the Fields of Kummu on my walk along the Odai. Woman asked all sorts of questions that left me uneasy. Must be why I’m so damned sentimental right now. I wonder if my mother walked these shores before she left me at Rumare’s. Funny thing, how I check every tomb for her and my name. Aran. Means nothing, except that it ties me here; the land of ash and salt. That old phrase came back to me. Learned it from a merchant’s son when I was eighteen and Vvardenfell first opened its borders. We sat on the crates all night, and talked like fools while pissed on cheap wine. Never learned his name but I remember our hands brushing. Didn’t mention it. Still, a warm memory.

On the road to Arkngthand

Banter with Nine-Toes

After talking to Caius, Elo decides to buy some more Mazte at the South Wall and bring it to Toes. He heads in and holds the bottles up high; “thirsty?” “Not doing much else,” Toes says. Elo tells him about the Guild job before they move on about Caius:

Elo: "So I drag myself to Caius, yeah? First thing out the old man's mouth is, 'are you here to finally discuss your orders, Elo Aran?' Like I haven't been running his subordinates' chores for two weeks. Calls me green and says I look it."

Toes: "You do look it, beeko. There's no denying that."

Elo: "Guess so. Called me eager for pressing on anyway. Damn right I am. I needed answers."

Toes: "Did you get any?"

Elo: "No, not really. Nothing useful at least. Another errand. Two cults to sniff out, and apparently impressing him with history lessons later. 'No point in being part of history if you're too ignorant to understand it.'"

Toes: "Ha. Sounds like him alright."

Toes: "He's fine. Sour. A worrier. But he knows his job. Lets us handle ours without breathing down our necks."

Elo: "Wonder when I'll get that treatment. Slapped two hundred drakes in my hand too. Like I can't take care of myself. Living on Imperial Charity now."

Toes: "Quit your whining. Drink. Empire's not so bad, kept the peace and quiet for centuries."

Elo: "Right. You're right on that at least. And I'll drink to that. What is this anyway? Better than that swamp water ale they peddle in the Imperial City."

Toes: "Mazte, beeko. Fermented saltrice. Beer, but done proper. Now, these cults of yours. Spill, maybe I can help."

Elo: "Two of them. Nerevarine cult, and something called the Sixth House. Caius wants me to ask Haspat Antabolis at the Guild."

Toes: "Nerevarine cult's just a bunch of Ashlanders, mostly. They're our enemies. They'd be glad to see us gone from Vvardenfell, preferably dead. But truth is, they're just a few suborn barbarians. Really, they just want to be left alone."

Elo: "Doesn't sound friendly."

Toes: "Sixth House though... I've heard next to nothing, just whispers and vague rumors. But something is different recently. There's always people with secrets around here. Smugglers, syndicates, Daedric cults, but lately folk seem to be a little uneasy. Like there's a new player on the board, and nobody knows much about him, and nobody wants to get caught with their guard down."

Elo: "So much for 'quiet for centuries.'"

Toes: "Not anymore, no. Maybe that's why they've got me stuck charting swamps and rivers. Maybe it's bigger than smuggling. Maybe... they're planning on moving Legions through here, if it all goes bad."

Elo: "Ah well friend, not our burden. Let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing. Best they keep their secrets."

It’s barely been a couple of weeks, but the past feels like a distant dream, and I was just coasting along. Bribing guards, watching doors, flipping coins. All bad tosses. And I ended up with the smell of mildew, stale bread, and any tattered tome I could get my hands on. Last few days shook me awake, and Ald’ruhn doesn’t let a man drift back to sleep. Hard not to stare at the carapaces, halls, and the ghost gate looming overhead. Harder still when even my own people ask what I’m doing here. Guess I never belonged anywhere. Told the census it’s Aran instead of Garrana, thinking it might mean something, open doors maybe. Foolish, childish dreams. Never even met them. Don’t even know if they’re alive. Name doesn’t mean much, still… can’t help but think about them. My mistake, reading those books too well. “Do not grieve for the dead. Take shelter in their arms, and …” Yes, yes, very moving. And yet, I went and talked to a priest. Can’t believe I did that. Odd, that.

And a stupid plan it was. Been a few days now. Had my reasons. Was hunting those four for days. Well I found them. What was I thinking? Chasing drakes, that’s what. Prison must’ve knocked the sense right out of me. Alvaleg’s dead. Easy, he was alone. The rest’s all together, all teeth. I barely got out with my skin. Hauled my ass back to Balmora, to Caius, tail between my legs. Didn’t tell him much ‘cept I’m with the Guild now. Need more training. He didn’t argue, gave me new names instead. Surane Leoriane in Caldera, mage. Sjorvar, who I met while out hunting, seems alright. Master at arms. And Gildan, in Ald’ruhn, a nightblade. There’s Guild there too, run by one Precius Mercius. High-rank work only, but Caius trusts him. For what it’s worth.

Not sure I trust Caius though. Not sure about his skooma habit either. Could be just that. Could be an act. “Let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing,” all-right. Been giving the Imperials too much faith because I know their ways. But knowing where the knife’s coming from doesn’t mean you won’t bleed. Just means you’ll watch ‘em wipe the blade after. Still, can’t shake the thought; Emperor sets me loose, no answers. Why me? Too many questions. Can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it.

Regardless, Caius had one more name for me. Elone, down in Seyda Neen. First one to extend a rope when I washed up here, wrote me down directions to Balmora. Figured I owed her. Can’t leave a debt like that. Turns out she needed some help too. Looking for one Calcius Pontanian. Went missing in some grotto, Nimawia. Said I’d take a look. Went diving around to try and find him. Water was warm, reminded me of Rumare in summer. Got a bit distracted by it apparently because I walked into the wrong damn hole. Smugglers found me, first one came at me with an axe. I was bare-arsed but still held on to my sword. Put him down, the other three too. Guess they thought a naked man’s an easy steal. Guess I’m better with a blade than I thought. Smugglers were sitting on a pile: weapons, armor, pearls and slaves. I took what I could and set those poor bastards free. Said to seek them out later, guess they felt indebted. No need.

I ended up staying with Toes that night. Not like I planned it, but he’s got a roof. Went out to the South Wall and got more Mazte. Went out and got drunk too. Let a few things slip, but nothing serious. Man can drink, I’ll give him that. And standing on his balcony later, I realized I hadn’t felt that free in years.

Next morning I dragged myself over to my new employer. Fighters Guild. Eydis Fire-Eye runs the place, and she gave me the kind of look usually followed by, “don’t touch anything.” I enrolled and she pointed me toward the supply chest, but I’m not in the habit of taking what I haven’t earned anymore. Fasile said it was fine, part of the deal, so I took a few things. First job was clearing rats out of an old woman’s house. She’s hoarding pillows for reasons beyond me, but the rats didn’t care. Second job was egg poachers. Did it. Didn’t like it. Not as different from the rats as I’d hoped.

Then another new contract from Eydis. Four Telvanni agents in Caldera. Four. I’m starting to wonder if I’m just murder for hire now, another sellsword who thinks too much about it. They’re not just common thieves either; they’re tied to the mess at the ebony mine. Missing guards, stolen ore, escaped slaves. Eydis gave me their names. Alvaleg, a Bosmer. Alynu Aralen, ex-Fighters Guild, which could be trouble. Fothyna Herothran and Sathasa Nerothren, both Dunmer. All thieves guild. A merry little band.

Spent my hard-earned coin on more bonemold and managed to rouse a bow for only nine drakes. Smith’s name’s Thorek, got it right this time. If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it at a distance. Took it outside the city that afternoon and shook the dust off. Not deer this time. These ones might shoot back, and I’m not exactly thrilled about the upgrade.

Yesterday’s rain bought me a day to think. Also gave me the bright idea to make a plan, though planning’s a fancy word for guessing what comes next. My ‘trainers’ go by Nine-Toes, Rithleen, and Tyermaillin. Rithleen and Tyermaillin have this way of making you feel like you wandered into the wrong room. Nine-Toes at least looks you in the eye. Asked me to follow some ‘nix hound’ tracks and kill the beast. Simple, if you skip the part where the hound tries to chew your leg off. On that note, the dagger I nabbed gave out, blunt blade snapped clean. Went to the local smith, Thorvald or Thormund or whatever his name was. Close enough. Was eyeing on an iron sword, but he talked me into laying down extra coin for a longsword. Said he’d show me how to use it, guess I must’ve looked like I needed the help. Alright, offense sorted.

Took a look at the rags I bought back in Seyda Neen, frayed edges, muddy, and more than a few bite marks. Seems everything in this land tests its teeth on strangers. Ended up at some Bosmer’s shop, Meldor, I think, who convinced me I needed “real” protection. Walked out with a pair of bonemold boots. Sly little man. Still, better the boots take the bites than me.

When the guards wake you before dawn, it’s never for fresh bread rolls. Dragged out of my cell without a word, and hauled east like cargo. Thought I was headed for a meet with Arkay, or the chains of some Dunmer slaver.

Didn’t matter in the end, instead I get a barrage of Imperial bureaucrats proclaiming me a free man. Just like that? ‘Course not. Last one of them I faced was one Sellus Gravius. And that’s when the real weird started, and I’ve seen some weird.

Man starts talking about how his Majestic Highness Uriel Septim VII wanted me out here. Says he signed off on my release personally, like the man’d recognize me in a crowd or something. Maybe he would, maybe the Empire’s got a ledger of every poor sod they’ve ever hauled in. Wouldn’t put it past them. Either way, he wanted me to find some Caius Cosades in a nearby town.

And find him I did. Place smelled like a skooma den because it was. Caius himself looked like he’d been wrung out and left to dry in the sun. Handed him the package, and just like that, his whole manner flipped. Starts in with the questions, most importantly whether I was “willing to serve the Emperor and the Empire of Tamriel.” Really? Like I had a choice. Sure, I could’ve walked out, but when the whole damn Empire’s breathing down your neck, you play along. Guess they figured I owed them. Guess I should’ve been worried about Imperial slavers in the end.

And, I guess dreams really do come true, I’m a novice Blade now. Someone pour the brandy. Tried to look like I knew what my new spymaster was on about, nodded along like I knew exactly what the Blades are. Truth is I’ve got no idea what I’m doing. Every job he sends me on through these so called ‘Blades trainers’ just makes me feel like a bigger fool. Still, I suppose it’s better than having a prison guard breathing down my neck every hour. Took to wandering around this town too. Balmora. Looks nothing like the Imperial City, feels nothing like Cyrodiil. Different air, different stone, even the rain smells foreign.

But there are comforts if you know where to look. This diary, for one. A rented bed, of all things. Rain’s coming down today, so I’ve traded ‘training’ for sitting in this little room. Strange thing is, it doesn’t feel like a cell.