#madstone

“Trouble with the Ahemmusa,” Ku-vastei said. She raised and jingled the Madstone in the air. “We’re helping this lad get it sorted.”

Vivec leaned his face in to examine the amulet. “Interesting design. Dwemeri, I take it.”

Ku-vastei took a closer look at the Madstone. “Is it?”

“May I?” Vivec asked, hand outstretched. Ku-vastei tentatively handed the Madstone to him. “Yes, but of very ancient make. Likely fashioned prior to a law that standardized their more utilitarian style. A law passed long before even our war with the Nords.” He smiles sadly, his eyes seeming to look beyond the amulet and into the distant past. “This really brings me back.”

Kassur managed to catch a glimpse of the amulet in the god’s hand, his first real look at it since they retrieved it. It had a round blue stone engraved with a radiant eye, cradled in an inverted crimson crescent that looked like horns. 

Vivec then casually flicked the Madstone with his finger; a loud, clear tone rang out from the stone. Kassur instinctively covered his ears, even though the sound wasn’t necessarily painful. 

“Before they became atheists,” Vivec began when the sound diminished, “the Dwemer feared the Daedra. They lacked their later, more complete understanding of metaphysical tonality, but still vaguely knew the importance of fundamental tones. They crafted devices such as this to ‘scare away’ the influence of the Daedra.”

“Seems the Ahemmusa somehow obtained one and used it to keep Sheogorath away for generations,” Ku-vastei filled in. 

“Interesting,” Vivec mumbled, scratching his chin. “I wonder how it came into their hands. No matter, I suppose.” He looked again at Kassur. “I suspect whatever issue your tribe faces, this device is instrumental to its salvation.”

“We think so, Lord Vivec,” offered Aryon when Kassur didn’t reply. 

“Oh, please,” said Vivec with a dainty wave of his golden hand. “I’m barely a ‘Lord’ anymore. Call me a saint still, if you want. But I’m more part of the common rabble these days.”

Kassur somehow doubted this. How could a god become a mortal so easily? This was, of course, assuming he was ever truly a god in the first place, something Kassur’s people readily questioned. Regardless, there seemed something insincere, or at least unbefitting, in his stated humility. 

Moving right along, Vivec said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be coming with you.”

Ku-vastei barely suppressed a hiss. “That won’t be necessary, Vivec.”

“Oh, please,” Vivec said again, clasping his hands and stretching his arms in front of him. “I’m bored out of my mind here. Endless bureaucracy. And there’s only so many ways you can say, ‘Get rid of that rock in the sky.’” 

He cast a glance upwards at Baar Dau, which Kassur only just now noticed. It was indeed a giant rock in the sky, crawling with miners like kwama, bits of excavated stone falling into the water by the Temple canton. 

“Won’t leaving the city put its stasis in jeopardy?” Ku-vastei asked. 

“No, I can handle it from afar well enough, especially seeing as it’s quite a bit lighter these days.”

Ku-vastei swished her tail and scratched her chin. Finally, she acquiesced. “Fine. You can come. But not like that.” She made a gesture with her metal hand, dividing her face into two halves.

“Of course,” Vivec replied. “I can be discrete.” In an instant the gold faded from his right side, leaving him fully grey, like any other Dunmer. “Completely inconspicuous.”

“Fine,” Ku-vastei grunted. “Just don’t make any kind of scene. This doesn’t have to be a big ordeal.”

“As you wish, Hortator,” Vivec answered. Kassur was amazed by how easily Ku-vastei commanded the (former) god, and how readily he submitted to her whims.

“Let’s be on our way then, shall we?” asked Aryon. “We’ve got the better part of the island to cross.”

Ku-vastei shrugged. “We’ll just teleport to Sadrith Mora, take the boat to Vos, then walk the rest of the way to Ald Daedroth. Not too complicated.”

- - -

And it wasn’t too complicated. The teleport to Sadrith Mora (which Kassur handled even better than the last three, getting quite used to it), the walk across town, and boat ride to Vos, were mostly uneventful. But it was far from boring, as you might imagine, being a trip with a powerful wizard, the leader of a nation, and a god. To Kassur it went by in a blur; either Aryon and Vivec were in heated debate about the Dwarves, which Ku-vastei moderated, or the three discussed political matters so far over Kassur’s head in their import that he simply tuned it out and focused on not getting seasick. Gals Arethi kept a baleful eye on Kassur, but apparently the esteemed company Kassur traveled with kept him safe from the shipmaster’s wrath.

When they arrived, Sedyni the Vos shipmaster was not there. The four travelers stepped off the boat and glanced around. The nearby tradehouse seemed unusually quiet. Gals shrugged and sailed off back to Sadrith Mora.

“Where is everyone?” Kassur asked. At this time of early evening, the village was usually buzzing with activity.

Vivec closed his eyes. “The chapel is empty.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Ku-vastei, planting a metal hand on her hip. Kassur wondered about that brass gauntlet she wore – it was incredibly ornate, and had an air of being impossibly ancient and powerful. But he had no idea how to ask politely.

“I can still feel it,” Vivec said, opening his eyes again. “Most people still revere me as a god, especially this far removed from the official temple in my city. So the Tribunal holy places are still attuned to me.” Kassur had no idea what he was talking about.

Aryon was oddly quiet. In the short time Kassur had known him, he’d never acted like this; he was the type of consequential mer to always have something to contribute to a conversation. It was barely perceptible, but Kassur could swear he saw a slight tremor in Aryon’s hands. But Kassur couldn’t tell if it was fear…or rage.

“Aryon?” asked Ku-vastei. “Are you alright?” She seemed to notice the same thing Kassur had.

“Check on the village,” Aryon said, his voice dry. “I go to the tower.” And so he did, flying off fast through the air, much faster than they had in Vivec. As Kassur watched him disappear into the sky, he saw a dark cloud in front of the setting sun. Or…was it a pillar of smoke?

“This bodes ill,” Vivec said, frowning. “Kassur, stay close. It’s quiet, but I suspect danger.”

Kassur felt a sudden pang of guilt. He realized he was more like a liability to these powerful beings, someone they had to keep close and protected because he was so weak and helpless. He could barely conjure a flame, and didn’t know how to use a weapon. In a fight, he was worthless. He began to wonder why they’d brought him along at all. A sneaking suspicion told him they thought he would be useful only as a bargaining chip, of sorts. A sort of intermediary to help them accomplish…whatever grim task they meant to do.

The thought escaped his lips just as he thought it. “Don’t kill them,” he blurted. “If it is the Ahemmusa. Please.”

“Kassur…” Ku-vastei began, turning to face him. “That might not be –”

“You have our word,” Vivec interrupted, placing a delicate hand on Kassur’s shoulder. “No excessive harm shall come to your people.”

Ku-vastei scoffed, snapping her head towards Vivec to glare at him, but after a moment sighed and shrugged. Kassur wasn't sure if he could trust the word of the false god – or if the Nerevarine had any interest in going along with him. 

They proceeded towards the town walls, which were actually the backs of the tightly-crowded huts of the village, no space left between their rounded stucco corners. There were no guards posted at the gate, the town’s single entrance, and beyond them was still silent. Down the single street they could see that many of the doors were half-to-wide open, but there were no obvious signs of a struggle.

“Vivec,” said Ku-vastei, “take Kassur to check the chapel. I’ll check on the houses.” Vivec nodded and gently directed Kassur towards the chapel as Ku-vastei began picking her way from hut to hut.

Vivec and Kassur passed under the chapel gate into the meager courtyard. The small alchemical garden the two priests maintained there was not overgrown or choked with weeds. “They haven’t been gone long,” Kassur observed out loud. 

Vivec noticed Kassur examining the garden and nodded. “Good,” he said, smiling at Kassur. “Let’s check inside.”

The door was closed, and unlocked. But the chapel never locked its doors, not even when the priests were both asleep. Vivec cautiously pushed through the threshold, Kassur following close behind. “Hello?” called out Vivec. “It’s alright. We’re here to help.” 

There was no answer. The chamber within was nearly pitch-dark, only faint light coming through the stained glass domed ceiling. Vivec cast a Light spell for them to see by as they entered.

It was a mess. The Tribunal tapestries on the walls were torn to shreds, and the murals defaced with what Kassur hoped was paint; candles and torches were snuffed out; the prayer-stools were upturned and thrown about; loose ripped-out pages of books were fluttering in the breeze visiting from outside; ash and bones from the circular Waiting Door on the floor were spread across the room haphazardly. Kassur held no great faith in these things, but it still pained him to see such desecration of a holy place. 

“Be on your guard,” said Vivec stiffly. “In this state I fear I could not trust my divinity to tell if we’re alone. There is little holiness left here.”

Kassur’s muscles tightened. He still didn’t understand how Vivec could know such things. But if he truly was anything close to what he claimed – an ancient mortal-made-god, a living deity – then it was difficult to doubt him.

They slowly circled the Waiting Door, more carefully inspecting the scene, but there was no more evidence of exactly what had happened. At least there’s no blood, Kassur thought. He remembered his teacher, Yakin Bael, and said, “There’s a bedroom downstairs. We should probably check there, too.”

Vivec nodded in agreement, and led the way down the steps, his orb of magical light guiding the way. The priests’ bedroom was not saved from the sacking: pots and urns of various alchemical and cooking ingredients were overturned and cracked open; broken glass from shattered bottles littered the rug underfoot (Kassur was for once glad for his shoes, and Vivec hovered an inch above the ground); the desk had its drawers yanked out, scattering torn papers and writing implements, and its stool and tall candlestick were toppled; the privacy screen was ripped open; and the beds were torn apart, sheets and blankets strewn and split.

Vivec stopped to inspect some of the loose pages of sermons and notes on the floor. Kassur went up the short ramp to the beds to look more closely. He knew the bed on the left was Yakin’s – they had a few lessons down here, when the upstairs chapel was too busy and loud. He picked up a pillow from the floor, gashed open and spitting up dried wickwheat stuffing, and gently laid it back on the head of the bed. He knelt down, and quickly realized that under the pillow was Yakin’s spectacles, broken and bent at the nose and lenses shattered. He gently took them in his hands, careful of the jagged edges of glass, and stared at them.

Just as he was getting used to his new life in Vos, now it seemed to be ripped from him again. Even the only real friend he had among the housemer, his teacher Yakin Bael, seemed to be in some unknown peril. And, useless as always, Kassur could do nothing but follow along with the real heroes, who actually had power to do anything about it.

“Here,” said Vivec, startling Kassur from his misery. A second orb of light appeared, floating near Kassur by the beds. 

“Thanks,” said Kassur. Vivec smiled and kept reading a document in his hand.

Kassur looked back down, and something immediately caught his eye. Just under the edge of the bed was a bright gleam, reflecting the magical light above. Kassur slowly reached for the shining object and pulled it out. 

It was a short sword, still in its sheath; its metallic hilt had been catching the light. He removed the sheath noiselessly and beheld the glistening steel blade, sharp as the day it was forged. “Vivec,” he called, “he had a sword. Yakin, that is. And he didn’t use it.”

Vivec dropped what he was reading and floated up the ramp to Kassur, looking down at him and the sword. “Hm,” he pondered, tucking his legs up under him as he floated and placing his hands on his crossed knees. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t a struggle. Those spectacles are broken. No blood?”

Kassur looked around again. On a whim he grabbed the pillow he had adjusted earlier and turned it over; sure enough, a small bloodstain seeped through the cloth case.

“Punched in the face,” Kassur suggested. “Nose bled, maybe broken. No other signs of a struggle, that I can tell.”

“Fair analysis,” Vivec said. “I don’t think there’s any other clues here. Let’s go meet up with Ku-vastei.”

Ku-vastei had just come back from the end of the street to the chapel by the time Kassur and Vivec came out. She was alone.

“I see you didn’t find any survivors,” Vivec said, frowning. “Any dead?”

“No,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of any struggle. Everyone is just gone. What of the chapel?”

“We found no one, but the chapel was desecrated. The homes were untouched?”

“That I could tell, yes. Some doors were left open, and the breeze disturbed some belongings, but that was it.”

“Hm,” Vivec said, stroking his solid grey chin. “Perhaps they’re sheltering at the tower?”

All three turned west towards Tel Vos. The pillar of smoke was rising higher, and blacker. Without a word they began at a quick pace towards it.

- - -

Aryon had put out most of the flames by the time they arrived, but the damage had been done. There was nothing left of the Telvanni fungal roots of the tower but ash, even Aryon’s personal pod at its peak. The tendrils which had so integrated themselves into the stonework of the Imperial fort no longer held it up, causing several portions to collapse into charred bricks.

Ku-vastei and Vivec readied their spears (Kassur hadn’t noticed the god had been carrying one until now) while Kassur cowered behind the two. But it made him feel like a coward, so he tried his best to straighten his back, puff out his chest bravely, and at least put his hand on the sheathed sword of Yakin Bael, even if he didn't have the nerve to actually draw it.

Aryon knelt in front of a smoldering pile of bodies. It was hard for Kassur to make out in the carnage, but it seemed like a mix of guards, tower servants, and Ahemmusa raiders. He might have recognized some of the latter, if they weren’t all so horrifically burned.

“Master Aryon?” asked Vivec. “Are you harmed?”

Aryon turned his head slowly. There was no evidence of weeping on his face, but he looked like a man completely exhausted. Kassur understood the feeling immediately. “No,” Aryon said. “They likely went north before I arrived.” He stood and wiped his hands on his robes. “To the old camp. What of Vos?”

He’s held together by a thread right now, thought Kassur. There was a haunted look in his eyes. He’d just lost everything. Kassur could relate – although he’d ran from his old life, instead of having it torn from him.

“There was no one there,” Ku-vastei said. “No sign of a struggle, except that the chapel was ransacked.” She took a cautious step forward towards Aryon. “Are you sure you’re –”

The wind changed suddenly, and Kassur caught a big whiff of the corpse-smoke. He gagged loudly, covered his mouth with the collar of his robes, and fled towards a nearby wall. He planted his free hand against the stone as he tried to calm his retching before it grew into something worse. He could feel three pairs of eyes on his back, and he resented it. He let go of the wall and looked at his hand; it was completely covered in soot. The wall now had a relatively clean handprint on it where he’d stolen the blackness. “I’m fine,” he shouted, although the act nearly made him gag again. “I’m –”

There was a loud crack somewhere above him. He only had time to look up at the top half of a tower rushing towards him, but not enough to move out of the way. He closed his eyes.

Something hit him hard, but not at the angle he was expecting. The collapse was deafening, its roar of crumbling stone erasing all other sounds. When the sound had settled, Kassur opened his eyes. Ku-vastei had him in her arms; he could feel the cold metal of her right hand pressing into his spine through his robes. 

Vivec and Aryon appeared in the air above them, their feet glowing with pink light. “Are you two alright?” Aryon asked.

Kassur felt a soothing energy enter his body from the gauntlet, and he felt less sore from the tackle. “Yes,” Ku-vastei said as she stood up, lifting Kassur with her. “I’m fine, and he will be.”

Kassur caught a glimpse of Aryon’s face, wrinkled with worry, before it relaxed into relief. Then he put on a new mask, a mask of cold wrath. A cascade of facades to make Mephala proud.

“Good,” Aryon asked. “We need to go to the old camp and see if they’ve taken the citizens there.”

Aryon turned, and with a mystical wave of his hand, buoyed up the rubble in mauve smoke and flung it aside. “Come,” he said once the crashing din faded. “We have work to do.”

“Okay,” Kassur said. He didn’t know what kind of name that was, but it didn’t sound like Velothi to him. Of course it didn’t, she was an Argonian. For some reason he expected the Nerevarine to have at least a Dunmeri name.

“What was your complaint?” Ku-vastei asked. “Something about your tribe? Erabenimsun? Your scouts didn’t report anything the other day.”

“No,” Kassur said, shaking his head. “Ahemmusa.”

“Did someone take Ald Daedroth again?”

Something about the question irked Kassur, but he couldn’t place a finger on why. Besides, he was too wrapped in awe to display any displeasure. “No, Ku-vastei,” he said. “They’ve gone mad. They’re holed up in Ald Daedroth.”

“And they might be building an army,” Aryon interjected politely after Kassur paused to look for words.

“An army. The Ahemmusa? Are you sure?”

Aryon smiled. “That’s why I said might, Ku-vastei. Kassur left months ago, but indications seem to suggest they could be. Which would put Vos and Tel Vos at risk, potentially even the rest of the eastern coast.”

Ku-vastei glanced at Kassur. “Is that so?” Kassur nodded solemnly. “Explain what you mean by ‘gone mad,’ Kassur. Do you think this is the doing of Sheogorath, perhaps?”

Kassur nodded again. “Yes, Ku-vastei. He has long antagonized our people. His presence is strongest in Ald Daedroth. And without the Madstone…” Kassur again struggled to find words.

“The Madstone?” Ku-vastei asked, tilting her head. “The trinket the Wise Woman gave me when she declared me Nerevarine?”

“No mere trinket, it seems,” said Aryon. “It appears to hold back Sheogorath’s influence.”

“We need it back,” said Kassur.

“Hm,” said Ku-vastei, rubbing her chin in thought.

“Please,” Kassur said, not well hiding the desperation in his voice.

“Oh, no,” Ku-vastei said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll give it back. I’m trying to remember where I left it.”

Aryon groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “In a Mage’s Guild Hall, perhaps?”

“Yessssss,” hissed Ku-vastei. “Balmora, I think. Let’s go.” She briskly set off past Aryon and Kassur, and the Ordinator at the door.

“Bye, then,” said Llethym, who had seemed to meld into the shadows as the others conversed. The sudden reminder of his presence made Kassur jump. Aryon pulled on Kassur’s hand as he followed swiftly behind Ku-vastei. Kassur found it nearly impossible to keep up without almost running.

- - - - -

Ku-vastei was fast. She pushed her way through the crowd in the Hlaalu plaza like she owned the place, and nobody seemed to mind. Once they slipped through the open plaza doors, they squinted in the morning light as they identified their destination canton. Again they skywalked across the air to the Foreign Quarter, Kassur a little more confident this time, but still holding Aryon’s hand. Inside the Foreign Quarter plaza Ku-vastei was just as to-the-point and forceful, like a hammer on the anvil that is her destination: the Mage’s Guild.

They descended into the structure until they returned to the Guild Guide. “Flacassia,” Ku-vastei said abruptly as she nearly bumped into her. “Take us to Balmora, please.”

“Where is Balmora?” Kassur asked Aryon as they stepped onto the platform.

“Northwest of here, southwest corner of the island,” Aryon said. “Big Hlaalu town. I’m not looking forward to this.”

Before Kassur could interrogate Aryon further, Flacassia’s casting completed, sending them through Oblivion to the Balmora Mage’s Guild.

This time the sudden jolt nearly took Kassur down, but Ku-vastei caught him in her surprisingly strong arms, hidden under the folds of her robes. “Alright?” she asked him as she set him on his feet.

“A-alright,” Kassur mumbled, blushing again.

“Mhm,” Ku-vastei muttered before letting go. “Ajira,” she said with a quick wave, and a Khajiit - or so Kassur has heard the cat-men are called - in the corner waved back with what Kassur guessed was a smile. 

“Have you had a chance to search for the ring this one mentioned to you, Archmagister?” the Khajiit - apparently Ajira - asked.

“No,” Ku-vastei said. “I’ve been busy.”

“Ah,” Ajira replied. “No rush. Artifacts don’t tend to wander too much.”

Ku-vastei nodded and swiftly went into the next room. In the far corner by the opposite corridor was a small screened-off section. When Kassur approached he saw benches laden with hundreds of glowing, shining objects - rings, amulets, weapons, pieces of armor, rare books, and more. 

Ku-vastei perused the items on display, searching bench by bench from one end to the other. Then she started over from the beginning and searched again. Then another time. Finally she gave up and stuck her head out of the enclosed space. “Sharn?”

“Yes?” A robed figure in the far corner opposite the corridor turned around, revealing a rough green face, sprouting two white tusks from the corners of its mouth. “Ah, Archmagister, hello.” Her voice was as aggressive as her visage.

“Sharn, where are my artifacts?” Ku-vastei asked calmly. But Kassur noticed a twitch in her tail, and some instinct told him this was not a good sign.

“They’re all right there, aren’t they?” Sharn asked, clutching a book to her chest tightly.

“No,” Ku-vastei insisted, her voice raised slightly. “I’m missing an important amulet, and several other things besides. What happened to them?”

Sharn seemed to look around nervously before settling her gaze on the Archmage’s bare reptilian feet. “I…let Galbedir borrow them. For experiments.”

Ku-vastei ran a hand down the side of her face in ill-hidden exasperation. She spoke again, her composure barely maintained, and patience fading, as indicated by the erratic movements of her tail: “Why, exactly?”

“Well, you see…” Sharn began to explain, “She kind of just came up, took them, saw that I saw her taking them, and told me they were for experiments. And not to tell you.”

“You’ve done well to tell me anyway,” Ku-vastei said, “albeit a bit late.” She glanced around the room. “Where is Galbedir?”

“She took them to some ruins nearby, I think. Dwemer if I recall. Ark…Arkung…”

“Arkngthand?” Ku-vastei groaned.

“Yes!” Sharn said, excited. “Precisely the place.”

“Well,” Ku-vastei said, turning to Aryon. “I suppose we have another detour to make.” She turned back again towards the adjacent corridor, but stopped for a moment. She looked around the room again before spotting someone, a Dunmer in an opposite alcove. She swiftly approached him, nearly startling a book out of his hands. “Marayn?” she inquired forcefully.

After regaining his composure, Marayn answered, “Yes, Archmage?”

“You’re a Dren, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Marayn, offering a shy smile. “Marayn Dren, at your service.”

“Do you know of a Galmis Dren? Distant relative, perhaps?”

“Not so distant,” Marayn said. “He’s my older brother.”

“Were you aware your older brother was a slave smuggler?”

Kassur felt a bit left out of the loop, here. This conversation wasn’t for him to observe, it seemed. He glanced at Aryon, who smiled and shook his head pointedly. Let it happen, that gesture seemed to suggest.

“Well,” Marayn said, looking away. “If you know who our father was, then it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“I hope you won’t give me any problems, either, Marayn,” Ku-vastei said, the young Dunmer’s name passing almost like a curse from her lips.

“I was…disowned long ago, you could say,” Marayn replied. “It’s won’t be an issue, Archmage.” He looked back up at her. “But what of Galmis?”

“He’s dead,” Ku-vastei answered. “Executed for the crime of slave trafficking in Telvanni territory. And for trying to assassinate me and the Grandmaster of House Hlaalu.”

“O-oh.” Marayn seemed to look through Ku-vastei for a moment. Finally his eyes snapped back to reality. “I suppose it’s for the best.”

“Quite,” Ku-vastei said. “Good day.” She turned to leave, and Aryon and Kassur followed her out of the Mage’s Guild. 

Just as they had descended into the Mage’s Guild in Vivec, they ascended out of Balmora’s. Kassur expected them to arrive at the top of a towering canton again. But when they emerged from its front door they were at street level, under a stone awning lit by a blue lantern. 

Balmora seemed to be a city of smooth rectangular mudbrick structures, an architectural style wholly unfamiliar to Kassur. His people used simple yurts made from wood, corkbulb, and guarhides; the Telvanni used fungal pods and towers, and at Tel Vos adopted the stone-wrought architecture of the Imperials. He supposed these buildings were most similar to the smaller houses of Vos proper, although the corners of these were notably curved so as to avoid true angles. These Hlaalu must be a superstitious lot, fearful of their Four Corners. Many of these buildings rose into the air two or three stories, and if the rest were anything like the Mage’s Guild, they likely descended into the earth a few levels, as well.

Before he could investigate the city any more, Kassur was swept swiftly along by Ku-vastei and Aryon down a main street to the city’s gates. Outside he was faced with a high-cliffed canyon with a mighty river flowing through it, which the city seemed to straddle as it flowed out to the coast to the south. This land was similar to the land he’d glimpsed from afar from the dizzying heights of Vivec’s Foreign Quarter, green and dotted with trees and Emperor Parasols, littered with corkbulb shrubs and flowering bushes of golds and purples and blues. It felt so different from the Grazelands of his home somehow, although that place had almost all the same things. The colors were all darker, more vibrant here; the sky felt bluer and the grass greener. It almost felt like too much for his unadjusted eyes, so he narrowed them to limit his sensory intake.

They crossed the river via two bridges meeting on a small island in the middle, and then they carried on into a darker place. The foliage seemed scarcer and scarcer as they delved into the mountains, and the color faded into a myriad of grays and blacks. In the distance Kassur could see what looked like the Imperial part of Tel Vos, a gray-stone fortress wreathed with red banners. But before they arrived, they took a left, and the dismal environment swallowed them up.

“What is this place?” Kassur asked.

“Foyada,” Ku-vastei said before Aryon could answer. “Mamaea, to be precise. Old lava flow from Red Mountain. You’ve never seen one?”

“This is the first time I’ve come this far from the Grazelands,” Kassur admitted shyly. 

“Hm,” Ku-vastei said, never once stopping her advance. 

They climbed a steep hill until they reached the top, where an ancient-seeming bridge of stone and brass railings crossed a terrifying gap. On the far side emerged from the earth a series of spires of the same brass, which had been obfuscated by cloud cover along the way. Now that they had risen above the cloudline, they could see it in all its abandoned glory: Arkngthand.

The main structure didn’t seem to have a door; there was just a brass sphere jutting out from where the door might have been. Nearby was a brass post rising from the ground. There was a strangle semi-circular handle of some sort hanging from it. 

“Kassur,” Aryon said, “if you would be so kind as to turn the crank for us.”

Kassur obliged, approaching the strange post. He tentatively reached for the horizontal protruding rod of the crank, and looked to Aryon for affirmation. Aryon simply nodded, and gestured vaguely to continue. Kassur expected the crank to turn slowly, based on its apparent age, but its movement was smooth, as if well-oiled. As the crank turned, the sphere on the wall opened up from a vertical seam in its center, revealing a pair of matching doors within its recesses. 

“Very good,” said Aryon. “Let’s go.”

Kassur let go of the crank, which earned him a scathing glance from Ku-vastei as the sphere began to close again. “No,” she said. “You can’t come.”

“The Dwemer had door-guards, you see,” Aryon explained, “whose job was to open the doors to strongholds when people needed to enter or exit. You’re going to be our door-guard.”

“Plus,” Ku-vastei added, “it’s for your safety. We don’t know what’s in there.”

Sighing, Kassur grabbed the crank again and turned it back to its fully open position. 

“We’ll be back with the Madstone shortly,” Aryon said. Then he and Ku-vastei disappeared into the tower, the stone doors closing behind them with a loud thud. 

Thankfully the crank wasn’t difficult to hold open, but Kassur couldn’t sit down while keeping it turned. Even if he could, he didn’t want to get the pretty robes Aryon had given him dirty on the ashy stone ground. So he stood there, awkwardly, bored, for several minutes. 

Then he heard a sound. It was a low, rumbling sound, very distant. But it began to grow louder. And louder. Until it was almost deafening - and that was when he felt the wind pick up. And with the wind came ash, brushing against his skin roughly, like a thousand tiny pumices. Visibility began to diminish until he could barely see the open sphere in front of him.

That’s when he abandoned the crank and ran for the doors. 

He barely made it inside before the sphere closed shut behind him. There was barely enough space in the sphere for two people to be squeezed up against the stone doors. He pushed one open and slid inside, glad to be free of the ashstorm. 

Inside was dimly lit by giant but guttering Dwemeri torches ensconced on the walls; Kassur’s eyes had to strain to see. He was on a brass platform that seemed to end not far from the doors, but as he approached he noticed a crumbling stone ramp that led down into the depths of this massive chamber. He stumbled through the shadows at the edges of the pathway, taking each tentative step down until he trusted the walkway would be stable enough.

About halfway down he found a small outcropping which opened up onto the scene below. On the left were two more brass platforms stacked on top of the other, the upper story accessible only by another stone ramp. At this top platform was a short woman, some foreign kind of mer, standing in front of a table laden with arcane implements Kassur didn’t recognize at all. She was surrounded by men of various races, all heavily armored and armed to the teeth. She shouted across the way at Ku-vastei and Aryon, who stood at the base of the semi-circular stone ramp Kassur found himself on.

“You always favored that nasty cat, Ajira,” the short woman yelled. “Helped her to advance, even though I was more qualified! Nepotism, pure nepotism.”

“Irrelevant, Galbedir” Ku-vastei called back. “Give me back my artifacts and I won’t kill you.”

“No!” screamed the woman, evidently Galbedir. “This is how I’ll make my mark on the Guild, earn my rank as Wizard! You’ll all see how powerful I truly am!” She raised a wicked curved dagger into the air - Kassur faintly recognized it as one of the feared Daedric weapons.

“You’re a fool of an enchanter,” Ku-vastei said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Galbedir whispered something to the nearest guard, who nodded, shouting something to the others which prompted them all to advance on Ku-vastei and Aryon. Ku-vastei readied her spear and snarled.

“This is a mistake, Galbedir,” said Aryon, raising his own hands, preparing to cast. “You can still get out of this clean. We can help you work on your advancement another way.”

“Oh, and now I’m supposed to take the advice of some Telvanni?” Galbedir scoffed, before screaming, “I need more time! Kill them!”

The guards charged at her command; Kassur guessed there were six of them. There was no way his companions could -

It all happened in a blur, before Kassur could even finish the thought. Aryon lobbed a fireball, taking out two of the guards instantly. Ku-vastei lunged forward with a yell, skewering straight through the heavy armor of another. Lightning burst forth from Aryon’s fingertips, chaining between the remaining three; two of them fell, but the last persisted. Ku-vastei slashed from a distance, extending her spear as far as it would go, slicing the final man’s throat. He fell to the ground, clutching his neck and spasming.

Just then, a gray hand covered Kassur’s mouth, smelling of ashyams. A gruff voice whispered into his ear, “Scream and I’ll cut your throat.”

Kassur felt the sound rising, but he killed it in his throat before it cost him his life.

Something sharp at his back prodded Kassur forward, down the shadows of the stone ramp and behind Ku-vastei and Aryon, who were still negotiating with Galbedir. Kassur stumbled a few times, both on juts of rock and with his captor’s feet kicking into his heels from behind, but they still didn’t seem to make a sound.

Galbedir saw all this and smiled. After coaxing Ku-vastei and Aryon closer to her with her words, she inquired, “And is this a pet of yours? Perhaps a slave?”

The two turned around to see Kassur emerge from the shadows, the dagger now at his neck. 

“N’chow,” swore Ku-vastei. “We told you -”

“A slave then,” said Galbedir, laughing. “Those hardliners were right, weren’t they? All this ‘abolition’ business was just so you could turn the tables on the Dunmer.”

Ku-vastei turned her head to glare at Galbedir, but quickly returned her gaze to captured Kassur. She took a step forward, but the Dunmer holding the dagger wagged a finger and dug the blade closer to Kassur’s skin, almost drawing blood.

But Aryon reached out his glowing gloved left hand to stop her, twitching his fingers in a strange way. “You’ll let him go now, won’t you?”

Something changed in the captor’s stance, and his eyes seemed to flicker yellow. His head twitched slightly, and then he let go of Kassur. Kassur ran towards Aryon and nearly fell down at his feet.

“Very good,” said Aryon, grabbing Kassur by the shoulders. “Now, cut your own throat.”

The captor’s dagger-hand shakily rose to his neck, and in one swift motion, he sliced open his neck, sputtering blood everywhere. He fell to his knees, then all the way to the floor, motionless.

Ku-vastei looked impressed. “I thought you couldn’t Command someone to hurt themselves.”

Aryon smiled as he inspected Kassur’s neck for wounds. “I went above and beyond with my Dominator, all those years ago.”

Galbedir screamed incoherently from behind them. “No, no, no! It will not end this way!”

The three turned to face her, just as she stabbed her Daedric dagger into her own hand. Daedric runes formed out of the blood, floating in the air, and an ominous shrieking filled the chamber. Her body began to stretch and mutate, her arms becoming wings, her feet becoming talons, and her form becoming massive. Kassur knew this monster could be only one thing: some sort of gigantic Winged Twilight.

What was once Galbedir screeched, splitting Kassur’s ears. It lunged forwards, clawing with one its wings, straight for Kassur -

When he looked up from bracing for impact, he found he was safe and sound. Her claws had collided with some purple barrier that Ku-vastei put up, protecting him from harm. 

Then Aryon raised his gloved right hand, which glowed brilliantly gold. A cloud of smoke appeared between the Twilight and the three, and from the mist appeared three figures: a Flame Atronach, feminine form burning bright; a Frost Atronach, an ice-spiked soldier; and a Storm Atronach, bundle of rocks held together by lightning. At once they assaulted Galbedir, their elements colliding and fusing into pure magic, a concentrated attack of unrelenting power. 

She shrieked from the burns, the freezes, and the shocks, and her Daedric form was ripped apart until nothing remained but ash.

Ku-vastei slapped Aryon on the back. “Very well done, Master Aryon. Those gloves sure do come in handy.” She began to climb the stone ramp to where Galbedir had stood to collect her artifacts.

“Quite,” Aryon said, before turning back to a stunned Kassur. “Now, why exactly did you abandon your post outside?”

“Ashstorm,” Kassur said, forgetting to speak Dunmeris for a moment.

“Ah,” replied Aryon, stroking his chin. “Very well, I suppose.”

“Found it!” Ku-vastei shouted from above, raising an amulet over her head in triumph.

“The Madstone?” Kassur asked.

“Yes,” Ku-vastei answered after she returned to the two. “We’ll have to teleport out since we’ve no one to open the door. Almsivi, Aryon?”

“Seems appropriate enough,” Aryon said.

“Here,” Ku-vastei said, offering Kassur one of her rescued artifacts, some kind of necklace. “Enchanted with Almsivi Intervention. It’ll take you where we’re going, too.”

“How do I use it?” Kassur asked, accepting the amulet.

“Rub the stone and think of a Tribunal Temple,” Ku-vastei said. “Doesn’t have to be a specific one; it’ll take us to the same place regardless. Works on proximity.”

“Okay,” Kassur said. 

Ku-vastei popped out first with a spell, then Aryon. Kassur rubbed the amulet, closed his eyes, and thought as hard as he could of the chapel in Vos. Which reminded him: he still had his Dunmeris lessons to think about. But before he could think any more on that topic, he was whisked away through Oblivion.

- - - - -

Before he opened his eyes again, he was immediately hit by the smell of the sea. But it was different from that of the northern coast by his home. It was almost like -

“Aryon,” Ku-vastei asked, “Why are we in Vivec?”

Kassur opened his eyes, and sure enough, they were on one of the many floating cantons of the great city of Vivec. 

Aryon looked around and scratched his head. “I’m not sure. We were closer to Balmora’s temple. Maybe the ashstorm sent us off course?”

“Can they do that?” asked Ku-vastei.

“Theoretically,” Aryon said, “if the storm contains some residual Blight. The Blight is known to affect magic in strange ways.”

“It is a byproduct of the Divine Disease, after all.”

Ku-vastei, Aryon, and Kassur turned to see who had spoken. Kassur had never met him before, but he knew from his skin that he was -

The name escaped his lips before he could control it.

Kassur shooed Jerky off the bed and stood. He lit the fire in the center of the yurt with a quick spell. It often wasn’t until he did this that he remembered precisely where he was. He’d stolen this yurt, disassembled, from the Ahemmusa camp before he left in the middle of the night, sneaking away right under the night sentinels’ noses. It took several trips to carry everything, and he still had to find some of his own materials (mostly to patch up holes in the rarely-used guarskin canvas), but it was worth it to start out fresh with a sheltered place to sleep. 

Kassur’s stomach rumbled. He reached into the sack of ashyams by the bed - no luck, all empty. Damn. He’d taken that sack when it was taut full with them. He couldn’t risk going back; even though they’d abandoned the old camp north of Vos, they’d no doubt have people coming by periodically to make sure the supplies they left behind were unmolested. They’d have his hands for sure if he was caught. 

Kassur sighed and opened his basket of wickwheat flatbreads and threw one on the grill over the fire. He also dropped a trama nub into the pot of water he’d gathered last night and hung it over the flames. 

Kassur sat on the floor of the yurt and soaked in the heat. He leaned his head back on the bed and started to doze…

He snatched his hand away before Jerky could bite it again. He quickly grabbed the hot flatbread from the grill before it burned, but the grill marks were very dark. He sighed and poured himself a cup of over-steeped trama tea as he took a bite of the bland bread. He took a sip and relished the warmth and lifting feeling of the drink, seeming to elevate his mind and wake him up. 

Once he finished eating and drinking, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. It was a terribly itchy garment, of House mer make, and he hated wearing it. But he needed to make an effort to blend in, and what he’d rather wear would make him stand out more than he already does. 

Kassur glanced at the shoes in the corner. He shook his head and walked out of the yurt without them. The soft Grazelands earth was soft beneath his bare feet. 

Kassur had set up his yurt very close to Vos, just around a small hill. He could look northwest and see Tel Vos towering in the distance. He spat in its direction and made for Vos.

Vos was a tangle of squat adobe buildings and giant fungal roots. It reminded Kassur of a trama shrub deprived of its thorns. 

The thorns are the people, Kassur thought cynically. But he cleared his mind of the idea as he stepped through the gate, a ring of fungal mass attached to the rest of the tendrils. There was a saccharine kind of pleasantness the House mer put on constantly, and he tried to emulate it. It seemed pointless to him, to wear a disguise like that. But he needed to get used to their ways. He was stuck with them, now. 

He tried to cheer himself up by pretending he was Mephala wearing one of her many masks. That made sense to him; keep a hand behind your back when near your enemies. But these House mer didn’t even worship Mephala, so he didn’t understand where they got it from. 

Kassur approached the Chapel’s doors and hesitated, as he always did. Was he really ready for such a leap? To abandon his ancestors and throw in his lot with the three impostors?

He shook his head pointedly, although no one saw him. He didn’t have to make that decision yet; he was just learning Dunmeris right now. He opened the door and strode in confidently. 

Yakin Bael was sitting across the room, holding a small prayerbook in one hand and studying it. At Kassur’s entrance he looked up past his small spectacles. 

(Spectacles. What a strange invention of the House mer and outlanders! Magic could just as easily repair poor eyesight. Why rely on thin circles of glass to do the same, such easily shattered things?)

Yakin was an old mer - almost preternaturally so, given that he was probably Telvanni. Despite this, his hair was dark reddish-brown, with scarcely a gray hair in sight. His longevity, he would say, was owed not to any magical prolonging, but to simple good health. Kassur knew, however, that he was a master of the art of Restoration, and was likely lying.

“Welcome, Kassur,” Yakin said, in Dunmeris, putting down his prayerbook. “Shall we get straight to your lessons?”

Kassur knew enough Dunmeris to be slightly dangerous. So long as someone spoke slowly - as Yakin did by his very nature - he could make out the gist of what they were saying. He struggled, however, with producing some of the strange sounds the language relied on. He was also being taught to read and write, and while he could almost reliably do the former, his hand shook too much for the latter; he could never get the grip on the pen or brush right.

Thankfully, Yakin was not only a patient teacher, but a native speaker of Velothi, too. This helped immensely to help translate certain nigh-untranslatable things, as well as in giving Kassur an out when he was too tired to speak Dunmeris. 

As he was now. He needed to save his energy for later today. “Can we keep this lesson short, kena?” Kassur asked in Velothi. “I am expected in…Mushroom Forest later today.”

“Sadrith Mora,” Yakin corrected, still speaking Dunmeris. “And yes, that is amenable.” He gestured towards one of the walls, upon which was a mural of the three impostors. 

“Azura’s starry tits,” whispered Kassur before raising his voice to reply, “Not there.”

Apparently Yakin heard the expletive. “You should say something like, ‘Seht’s shiny beard’ instead. Or even ‘b’Vehk.’” He seemed to blush as he caught himself. “But I shouldn’t be encouraging you to say profanities.”

“Sorry, kena,” said Kassur, emphasizing by speaking polite Dunmeris. “Can we study over there, please?” He pointed at the wall of the chapel with the mural of Veloth leading his people to Morrowind.

After leaving, it was almost seven o’clock, the sun still struggling to rise. Kassur left the walled portion of Vos and headed for the docks. 

He was admittedly worried about this trip. Not just because of his purpose, either - he’d also never been on a boat before. The Ahemmusa usually fished from the shores, or from water-walking spells provided by the wise women. He was uncertain as to how his stomach would hold up.

He walked past Varo’s Tradehouse - where he’d bought his House mer clothes by bartering ashyams - and came upon the shipmaster. She was a simply dressed woman, but with an elaborate bun tying up her hair. She was busy picking at her fingernails.

“Hello,” Kassur said in Dunmeris. 

Without looking up, the shipmaster said, “Yes? What can I do for you?”

“I would like to travel to…Saddith Mora,” Kassur said, trying to remember what Yakin had told him the name was.

The shipmaster finally looked up. “Sadrith Mora,” she said, then asked, “You’re that new ashlander, aren’t you?”

Kassur wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded. Was it that obvious? He’d worn the right clothes, and he didn’t think his accent was that bad. Maybe Yakin was right to insist he wore shoes; maybe that tipped her off. Not discouraged, however, he tried again. “Can you take me to Sadrith Mora?”

“Yes,” the woman said, expressionless. “For a price. Fifty drakes.”

Kassur frowned. That was much more than he’d expected the fare to be. He pulled out his makeshift coinpurse and started counting out septims. He only found eighty-two. How was he going to get back to Vos?

No matter. He needed to go to Sadrith Mora. He’d figure out a way back somehow. He handed over fifty coins to the shipmaster.

Finally she smiled. “Very good,” she said. “The name’s Sedyni Veran. I’ll be your captain for this voyage.” She chuckled at herself. “What’s your name, ashlander?”

“Kassur,” he said, blushing.

“Just Kassur?” Sedyni asked as she put the coins away in a nearby lockbox. 

“Just Kassur,” he affirmed. He’d once had a family name, but he didn’t want anything to do with it anymore.

“Very well. Climb aboard, ‘Just Kassur.’” She hopped onto the ship from the dock, and beckoned him to follow.

Nervously, Kassur took a tentative step onto the boat. Immediately he could feel the wobble of the water, and being half on land and half at sea made him feel ill at ease. He quickly put his other foot forward, planting them both firmly on the deck. He took another step forward toward the mast, but almost tripped as the boat lurched casually, doubling over to catch himself.

“No sea legs, eh?” Sedyni asked as she began to tend to the rigging. “You’ll get used to it. Just head below deck and have a seat. Try not to throw up on my ship.”

- - - - -

The voyage was miserable and exciting all at once. Kassur refused to head below deck, so that he could see the world around him as they passed it by. They sailed between the Grazelands and some islands, past Tel Mora first. He’d heard of the place - it was a place of only women. He liked the idea. 

Next they passed an evil looking place on the following island. It reminded him of the ruins of Kushtashpi, west of the old Ahemmusa camp. He asked Sedyni about it.

“They call it Esutanamus,” she answered. “They say Molag Bal is worshiped there, Vivec curse his name.”

After Esutanamus, on the west coast this time, they spotted a great fortress. Sedyni, expecting Kassur’s curiosity, explained. “That’s Indoranyon. Old Dunmeri stronghold from the days of Resdayn. You know, when Nerevar led your people and mine together against the Nords and Dwemer.” She sighed. “In better days, at least. Now it’s home to Daedra worshipers. Bad Daedra, that is,” she corrected quickly.

After Indoranyon, they headed southeast away from the mainland of Vvardenfell, passing through some small islands. “We’re almost there,” Sedyni said. 

Thank Boethiah, thought Kassur. He stood from where he had sat, head against the mast, and leaned against the railing. He could see the mushroom towers now, standing tall over the rocks.

Finally they arrived at the docks, which were made of fungal roots, rather than wood, like the one at Vos. Sedyni handed Kassur off to the local shipmaster, who she introduced as Gals Arethi.

“Go easy on him,” she whispered to Gals, but Kassur could still hear. “He’s some sort of exile, I think. Not used to the world.” Gals nodded, but his face frightened Kassur. He looked so stern and irascible.

“New to Sadrith Mora?” Gals asked, speaking the kind of quick Dunmeris Kassur hated. “What would you like to know?” He had to repeat himself several times before Kassur could make out what he was asking. 

“Wolf…a ring, hall, please,” Kassur murmured, unsure of the words. They were Cyrodiilic, and he knew no Cyrodiilic.

“Sorry?” Gals asked. “Speak up, boy.”

“Wolf-a-ring-hall,” Kassur said, speaking quickly to hide his lack of confidence.

“Wolverine Hall, you mean?” Gals pointed southeast. “Opposite side of town. Good luck.”

Kassur wondered what Gals meant by “good luck,” but didn’t ask. He walked on the spongy fungal floor until he reached real solid ground. Oh, he could just fall down and kiss it! But he decided it wouldn’t raise Gals’ already poor estimation of him, so didn’t. 

Kassur approached the giant round gate of Sadrith Mora, the coarse stone beneath him rough on his bare feet. He made to go through the gate, but two armored guards with squid-like helmets crossed their spears before it. 

“Papers?” one of them asked, his coarse Vvardenfell accent coarser than most’s. 

Kassur shook his head. Papers? What did he mean by that?

“No entry,” the other guard said. “Or go see the Prefect upstairs.”

“Okay,” said Kassur. He stepped back from the gate and looked up. There were two arms of spiraling stairs reaching a door at the top, directly above the gate. The entire structure was one enormous mushroom. Kassur ascended the left side and opened the door. 

Inside a mer sat at a desk to the right; to the left was another spiral staircase up. The Dunmer didn’t look up from whatever he was doing. “Yes?”

Kassur cleared his throat and asked, “Papers?”

The seated Dunmer looked up, a wicked smile on his face. “Ah, so you’ve come to the Prefect of Hospitality for your Hospitality Papers, eh?”

Kassur scratched the back of his neck. “Yes.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” the Prefect said. He lifted a sheet of paper from his desk. “I just finished making this copy.” He extended an empty hand towards Kassur. Kassur just stared at it. “It’s not free, you know,” the Prefect said. “Twenty-five septims.”

Kassur frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Need to go back home, too,” he said. 

“Well, you should have planned ahead,” the Prefect tutted. “Have you the gold?”

Kassur reluctantly took out his coinpurse and counted out twenty-five coins. He only had seven left - not enough to make it back to Vos, for sure. 

He dropped the coins in the Prefect’s waiting hand, which quickly closed around them. The Prefect made a show of counting them out, then put them in the pocket of his robes. He handed Kassur the Hospitality Papers, which Kassur couldn’t really read. “There you go, young man. Enjoy your stay in Sadrith Mora.”

Kassur grunted and went back outside, descended the stairs, and approached the gate again. He held up his newly-acquired papers for the guards. One of them bent forward a bit to loosely examine it, but not for very long. 

“Looks good to me,” he grunted. The two guards uncrossed their spears and began to open the strange circular gate. It was hinged in the middle, spinning on a central axis. Kassur walked through it on the left side, squeezing past the guard who refused to budge from his post. 

Yakin had told Kassur about Sadrith Mora before, the capital of Telvanni power on the island. It was, as its name suggested, a forest of mushrooms. As far as Kassur could tell, there wasn’t a single normal building here; they were all made of giant mushrooms. 

It wasn’t midday yet; Kassur had about an hour to kill. He’d planned it out this way - he wanted to roam the circular streets of Sadrith Mora and take in the city before his lunchtime appointment. 

After he was free of the structure containing the gate, he was face to face with an enormous mushroom tower, climbing high above the city in its center. Its bulbs and horns and stalks were interwoven into a complex building - which seemed to lack stairs entirely. Were they inside? How did you get to the top?

After his awe at the massive building subsided, he hung a left and began to circumnavigate it. The first thing of note he found was a covered marketplace, with several merchant stalls serving a sizable crowd of people. Kassur had to avert his gaze from the items on display; he didn’t have any money to buy anything, so why get excited?

Adjoining the marketplace was a raised trio of fungal pod-cages. In his best Dunmeris Kassur asked a nearby guard about them. 

“Old slave market,” the gravelly voice behind the helmet said. “Closed down about a month ago by the new Archmagister.”

A slave market, Kassur thought. Ahemmusa hadn’t kept slaves for generations. The concept of it made him feel sick. He was glad for the Archmagister’s decision, whoever they were. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by some shouting in the market. He saw a Dunmer arguing with one of the merchants, who was short and brown-skinned. Kassur wasn’t sure what kind of mer he was. The argument was in Cyrodiilic, so Kassur couldn’t tell what it was over. 

Suddenly, the Dunmer reached up to hit the smaller mer. But someone from behind caught his arm. 

In elaborate robes and with a massive metal gauntlet on one hand was the first Argonian Kassur had ever seen. They were tall and lean, their nearly golden scales glistening in the morning sun, save for a black mark on their throat. In their offhand they leaned on a fully metal spear with more spikes than Kassur had ever seen. Something about them, perhaps just the alien nature of their race, struck Kassur, gluing his feet to the spot, and his eyes on them. 

Kassur couldn’t make out whatever the Argonian said to the Dunmer - it was in Cyrodiilic again, no doubt - but whatever was said, the situation was resolved. The Dunmer seemed to apologize to the Argonian and to the smaller mer before heading towards the giant central tower of the city. Kassur’s eyes followed the Argonian and their two Dunmer companions as they left the city. 

Kassur stood there, lost in some kind of awe before a guard bumped into him, tearing him from it. He scurried along around the city. 

On his left he came across a tall building. It wasn’t tall like that central tower - this one was built on fungal stilts, with a long spiral staircase rising up to meet it. It gave Kassur a dark feeling, so he hurried past it. 

Kassur circled around the back of the great central tower. There weren’t any homes in this eastern half of the city - just a street between the tower’s ditch on the right and a large hill closing in on the left. He carried on southwards, a mostly straight-shot to Wolverine Hall.

The fort was enormous. It was made in the same style of hewn stone as the lower half of Tel Vos, but without all the fungal growths piercing through it. Kassur passed by a strange wooden building on his left and crossed the bridge into the fort proper.

This was about as far as he could manage on his own. He knew he was looking for the Mage’s Guild, and that was it. Inside the fort was all the same grey stone walls, large courtyards with no doors in sight. Kassur slowly started to feel his way through them.

Rounding a corner to the left he found another courtyard, with a stone staircase to his right, and a fire surrounded by a couple of Imperial guards to his left. One of the guards squatted near the fire, tending to a pot hanging over it, while the other worked a sword on an anvil, periodically checking its straightness. Kassur tentatively approached, and asked in Dunmeris, “Where is Mage’s Guild?”

The guard tending the pot looked up at Kassur, then glanced at his companion. “Dunmeris,” the squatting guard said. The anvil guard nodded and approached Kassur, sword in hand. Kassur took a step back, intimidated. But the guard smiled and said, in Dunmeris more broken than Kassur’s, “Up stairs. Through chapel. Up stairs. First door.”

Kassur nodded slowly, and said, “Thank you.” He backed away and then turned to hurry up the steps. At the top he finally found a door, and went inside.

Inside stood a man bent over a table laden with alchemical ingredients and apparatus. He turned, mortar and pestle in hand, and smiled at Kassur. “Greetings,” he said in suitable Dunmeris. “How may I help you?”

“Mage’s Guild?” Kassur asked, pulling the collar of his shirt from his neck anxiously.

“Ah,” said the man, frowning as he pointed at a nearby door. “Go into the stairwell there and head upstairs. Should be the first door you come across.”

“Thank you,” Kassur said. These directions made more sense to him. He waved farewell as he went through the indicated door. He went upstairs and into the next room.

It was a relatively small room, but full with people - Kassur guessed eight. There were men, tall golden-skinned mer, a couple of Dunmer, and even an Argonian, which excited him again for some reason. 

But it was the Dunmer woman behind the desk in the back that Kassur had come to see. He quietly asked a nearby woman in Dunmeris if he could speak with her. She didn’t seem to understand. Exasperated and embarrassed, Kassur simply called out, “Minabibi!”

The entire room, which had been abuzz with quiet conversation, fell silent, and everyone looked at Kassur.

The woman behind the desk looked up at the newcomer in horror. She tilted her head at first, then frowned, nearly knocking a candlestick off the desk as she swept around it. “Kassur!” she whispered in Velothi. “Please. No shouting in the Guild. This isn’t the Fighter’s Guild.”

Kassur apologized, and raised an eyebrow. “There’s a Fighter’s Guild too?”

“These Imperials and House mer have many Guilds,” Minabibi said, shaking her head. She grabbed Kassur by the arm and turned towards the Argonian, saying something to him in Cyrodiilic. He smiled and nodded, waving the two of them away. Then Minabibi led Kassur out of the room, back down the stairs and outside. 

“Who is he?” Kassur asked. He was relieved to be able to speak Velothi again.

“Skink?” Minabibi asked. “He’s the head of the chapter here. He’s the one who invited me to study at the Guild. Although sometimes I think he intends to study me more than the other way around.” She led Kassur out of the fort and to the strange wooden building Kassur had passed before. “Let’s grab lunch,” she said, taking Kassur inside.

The door opened onto a hallway, but Minabibi quickly turned left and took Kassur up the stairs. At the top was a massive woman, tall and well-built.

“Hello, Helende,” Minabibi said. The woman grunted but smiled. Kassur kept close to Minabibi as they passed by her.

To the right at the end of another hall was a bar. The bartender smiled widely and said, in Dunmeris, “Mina! The usual, today?” She glanced at Kassur. “For two, maybe?”

“No, Muriel,” Minabibi said, smiling back. “We’ll split a racer egg and a bottle of shein.”

“You’re lucky,” Muriel said as she reached under the counter and prepared to cook. “I was saving this last egg for somebody else. But I think I can make an exception for you two. He won’t be happy, though.” She made some kind of rude gesture. “But fetch ‘im! He can deal with it.”

“Thank you,” Minabibi said. She took a seat at a table in the corner, and Kassur followed suit. “What’s brought you here, Kassur?” she asked as she poured shein into Kassur’s cup. 

“I’m not with the tribe anymore,” said Kassur.

“Ah,” Minabibi said. “Well, I’m not really either. I haven’t spoken with anyone from home in months. You’re the first in that much time.”

“There’s a reason,” Kassur said.

“Oh?” She leaned forward after filling her own cup. 

“They’ve all gone mad.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Minabibi said before taking a long draught from her cup.

“No,” Kassur said. “You don’t understand. They’re lost to Sheogorath.”

“Lower your damn voice,” Minabibi said, looking around. “But explain. Quietly.”

“You know how the Nerevarine cleared out the old shrine?”

“Yes, I heard about that. That was after I left, though.”

“Well, a few weeks afterwards everybody moved there permanently.” Kassur slowly took a sip of his cup, but twisted his face at the taste. “Tastes like guarpiss,” he said - quietly, this time.

“Yeah,” Minabibi agreed. “But why would they fall to Sheogorath? They have the Madstone.”

“Some s’wit gave it to the Nerevarine as a ‘token,’ or something.”

Minabibi nearly spat out her drink. “They moved into the shrine without the Madstone?”

“I don’t know who made the decision. Sinnammu, maybe. Or maybe Urshamusa had a vision - sent by Sheogorath, no doubt.”

“Well,” Minabibi said. “There’s no saving them, then.”

“Of course there is!” Kassur said, raising his voice. “There must be!”

“Sheogorath is a tricky Prince. Hard to come back from madness.”

“But it must be possible!” Kassur nearly shouted. He lowered his voice, looking down. “It must be.” He looked back up and planted an angry, shaking finger on the table. “I left them behind. I cobbled together Imperial coin for this trip, to come see you, to get help. And all you can say is ‘There’s no saving them’?”

“You’d need a lot more help than I can give, Kassur.” She sighed. “Even the Guild likely couldn’t do it.” She shook her head. “Assuming they’d even want to.”

“Oh,” Kassur said. “So they get their wise woman and now they’re happy to let the rest kill each other?”

“It’s…it’s not all bad,” Minabibi said after a pause. “It’s better, living this way, I think. They couldn’t accept it. So maybe…”

“So you think it’s okay, too,” Kassur said. “They don’t deserve to live, because they live differently.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Minabibi said.

“Weren’t you, though?”

“One racer egg, coming up!” Muriel approached the table and placed a platter down with a massive yellowish hard-boiled egg on it, drizzled with some dark sauce. 

- - - - -

Kassur crossed the large fungal-root bridge leading to the Telvanni Council House, passed through a circular root gate like the one at the entrance to Vos, and went inside the large mushroom building. 

A Dunmer woman stood in the foyer, leaning against the opposite wall. She glanced up from a book at Kassur as he entered. She looked back down to continue reading as she asked, “What do you want?”

Kassur swallowed heavily before speaking. “Work,” he said. 

The woman swore under her breath. “Gotta be Telvanni to get work, ashlander.”

Kassur ignored the intended insult and persisted. “I’ll join.”

The woman lowered the book to evaluate Kassur completely. “And why would we take you?”

Kassur didn’t know. He thought for a minute before snapping a small flame onto his fingertips. 

“Parlor trick,” the woman scoffed. “Anyone can light a small fire.”

“I can learn,” said Kassur, desperate. 

“Whatever. Your funeral. Go in and talk to one of the Mouths.”

Kassur walked past the woman, making sure to keep a wide berth around her, and went through the next circular door. 

The ensuing chamber was massive, and interpenetrated with giant, azure-violet crystal growths. Seven raised platforms ringed around a larger central crystal, smoking from within its fungal sconce. Some of the platforms were empty, but mer stood on the central five. 

Kassur took the steps down to the walkable platform around the central crystal, by which one could access the people on the platforms. He started on his right and addressed the first mer he came across, the only one in mostly plain dress rather than elaborate robes. “Hello.”

The mer seemed distracted by the wisps of smoke hissing from the central crystal. He looked down at Kassur and said, “Hello. Archmagister’s Mouth, Edd Theman, at your service. How can I help you?”

Kassur tried to twist the Dunmeris from his dry tongue, but to little avail. So all he said, again, was, “Join Telvanni.”

“Ah,” Edd said. “That can be arranged.” He pulled out a small book from a back pocket and flipped through it. “I hope I don’t need to give you the whole spiel about rules.” Kassur looked blankly up at him; he was speaking too fast, and he barely could make out what Edd was saying. 

“Ah, here,” Edd said, pulling a pen from another pocket. “Your name, son?”

“Kassur,” Kassur answered.

“Uhhhhh-huh.” Edd started writing some sloppy Daedric, and then showed it to Kassur. “Did I spell it right?”

From what Kassur could tell - it was very sloppy Daedric, and he struggled enough to read proper Daedric - Edd had written “Casser.” Kassur closed his eyes and nodded. Maybe the curse he was bringing upon himself by joining this House wouldn’t take effect if they got his name wrong.

“Alright,” Edd said, putting away the pen and book. “You’re now a hireling of House Telvanni.”

“Work?” Kassur said.

“Ah, you require a chore,” Edd said. He pulled out another book from another pocket and started flipping through it. “Well, there is something I need somebody to do. I was going to get somebody higher-ranked to do it, but you seem capable enough. Plus I’m running out of time.” From yet another pocket he pulled out some kind of amulet. “In an hour or so on the east end of town, down the road past the cornerclub, there’s going to be a little meeting between a couple of important people. I want you to wear this, hide nearby, and report back to me on what they talk about. Understood?”

Kassur took the amulet from Edd’s hands. It had an ordinary leather strap but a rather enormous sapphire embedded in the six-pointed talisman. He wrapped it around his throat and clasped it behind his neck. It felt warm to the touch as it activated.

“Well then! Where’d Casser go?” Edd said. “Haha! I know you’re still there. It’s quite an exceptional necklace, so do bring it back. Archmagister’s property.”

Kassur looked at his hands and could barely see them. All that remained of his body was a faint shimmer, like a mirage on a hot ashland day. He took off the amulet, and his form returned to normal. He put it in his pocket, waved Edd goodbye, and left to cross town again. 

- - - - -

The sun was hanging low when Kassur hid behind a rock, put on the necklace, and waited. This side of the island was devoid of civilization, besides an abandoned ancient Daedric ruin like the one Kassur had passed on the ship. The boulder he chose to hide behind was large and mossy and covered in racer droppings.

Eventually, two people did show up. One was Helende, the enormous mer from the cornerclub, armored with netch leather. The other was the Mage’s Guild Argonian, Skink, who wore commoners clothing, but had a glass dagger on his belt. Kassur leaned in slightly to listen to what was said. 

They were speaking Cyrodiilic. 

Kassur pressed his palms into his eyes and suppressed a sigh. This obviously wasn’t going to work. He waited for the two to leave before he removed the amulet. 

What was he going to do? He had nothing to report to Edd, because he didn’t understand a word that was said. He needed to get the hell out of this town.

But right now, he was exhausted and needed a bed to sleep in. He pulled out his coinpurse and counted out his seven coins. Suddenly, he remembered the small book in his other pocket, the one Yakin had given him, and he had an idea.

Kassur crossed the town again and made for the market. There was the strange short mer from earlier, seemingly closing up shop. Kassur approached, but the mer saw and shook his head. “Closed for the day,” he said in shaky Dunmeris.

“Just want to sell something,” Kassur said.

“Too bad. Wait until morning.” The little mer finished packing up his goods and left for his home.

Kassur sighed. He decided to make his way to the inn where he’d purchased his Hospitality Papers, and hoped he could beg his way into getting a room for the night.

He went up the spiral stairs to reach the front door of the inn and went inside. There he saw the Prefect again, dozing at his desk. “Hello,” Kassur said, carefully shaking the Prefect from his tenuous slumber.

The Prefect straightened his back and looked up at Kassur. “Ah, need Papers?…Oh, of course not. What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” Kassur asked.

“Ah,” the Prefect said. “Talk to the publican, Ery, two stories up. She can get you signed in.” He waved Kassur off, presumably so he could resume his half-sleep at his desk uninterrupted.

Kassur went up the spiral stairs, first passing a floor with a couple of empty but candlelit tables, then up another flight to a bar. At the center was a dark-skinned woman in a brownish-green robe. “Ery?” Kassur asked tentatively.

“The one and only,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” 

“Ah. That’ll be ten gold.” 

Kassur frowned and held out his hand, filled with his last seven coins. “Enough?”

Ery took the coins and counted them out. “No, not enough. It’s ten gold.”

Kassur rubbed his forehead. She was really going to make him do it, huh…He pulled his book from his pocket and handed it over as well. “Enough?”

Ery took the book and flipped through it. “I don’t buy books, sera.”

“Please,” Kassur said.

“Don’t look so desperate, sera,” Ery said. “I’ll take it, and your coin. I happen to like books like these. But you’re getting the shit room, just to let you know.”

She took down his name in a logbook and gave him directions to his room, and he followed them. He probably could have gotten more for the book than three drakes at an actual bookshop, but he didn’t have the luxury of selling it at one at the moment. He closed the door to his room behind him, and, having nothing to put away, he simply threw himself on the bed, and tried not to fall apart again. He was completely out of gold, stuck in a foreign town, with no way home. And this room reeked, like the smell of burning shock magic. It gave him a very uneasy feeling. He didn’t know how he was ever going to sleep here. Much less how he was ever going to get home, and even much less how he was going to save his tribe.

As he stared at the high ceiling, tied up with fungal roots, he was unable to close his eyes for sleep. But suddenly, he had an idea.

Tomorrow morning, he was going to go back to the docks.

- - - - -

Kassur made sure Gals Arethi wasn’t around before he carefully stepped onto the boat, warmly magical amulet around his neck. He made an effort to do it more gracefully than he had yesterday. Crouched low, he nearly crawled upon the planks, trying to be both steady and unseen. Of course, with this necklace, no one was going to see him, anyway.

Thankfully, the hatch to below the deck was propped open. Kassur approached and was just about to make his way down when Gals Arethi’s head poked out of the trapdoor and looked around. Kassur crouched even lower, sitting perfectly still.

But Gals didn’t seem to see him. He went back down the stairs into the ship.

Kassur waited for a moment before following him down. This level of the boat was stocked with barrels and crates and chests and sacks. He decided to take a spot behind the stairs to hide, and hoped Gals had no reason to come down there to that particular place. Anxiously he waited for Gals to go back up the stairs and close the hatch behind him before he began to relax.

Eventually Kassur heard some creaking of the deck above him - had Gals heard that when Kassur boarded? - and soon felt that uneasy feeling of movement through the water. Gals should be busy above-deck until they arrive in Vos, and then Kassur could sneak back out when they get there.

Suddenly, the trap door opened again, and Kassur saw two furry feet descending the stairs. It was one of the cat-men, which he’d never seen before. He took a look around, and, seeing something nearby Kassur, his feline eyes lit up. He came behind the stairs - Kassur held his breath and stayed perfectly still - and picked up a lute leaning against the hull of the ship. He gave it a strum, adjusted the pegs on the head of the instrument, and took a seat on a nearby stool.

He was just about to start playing when he said, in strangely-accented Dunmeris, “Do you have any requests, invisible man?”

Kassur’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He held up a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Ah,” the cat-man said, “S’Bakha sees. Or, doesn’t see. Maybe you will like this song, anyways.”

Then he began to play. He didn’t strum the entire collection of strings, but instead plucked them in a style of claw-picking Kassur had never seen or heard before. The instrument, although somewhat ill-tempered by the salty sea-air, still produced a beautiful sound with every note, playing a foreign song. Eventually S’Bakha began to sing, which wasn’t as good as the lute-playing, and Kassur didn’t understand the words. But Kassur relaxed as he listened. It helped to keep his mind off of things, such as his people’s plight, and more presently, the rocking of the ship.

It barely registered to him that the amulet was growing colder and colder.

- - - - -

They finally arrived, but seemingly much too soon. Did Gals take a shorter route? Or did the cat-man’s music just make the time seem to go by faster? S’Bakha set down the lute and rose to make for the deck. Kassur quietly followed after a moment or two.

The morning mist had mostly cleared, and the sun hung high in the sky. Crouched low on the deck, Kassur saw Gals conversing with his legitimate passengers. To Kassur’s surprise, it was the Argonian from Sadrith Mora’s market the day before, and one of their earlier compatriots, a Dunmer man. S’Bakha went to join them, which caused Gals to turn his head. 

He saw Kassur.

“You!” he said, marching up towards Kassur, who stood up straight, knowing there was no escape now. “Ashlander! What are you doing on my ship?”

Kassur was too paralyzed to speak. 

“What’s going on here?” asked the imposing Argonian.

“It seems to me,” Gals said, “that this low-life has stowed away on my ship without paying fare!”

“Gals,” the robed Dunmer next to the Argonian said, “if that is the worst thing that happens to you today, consider yourself very lucky. Young man,” he said, addressing Kassur now, “Where were you hoping to go?”

“V-Vos,” Kassur managed through trembling lips.

“The poor chap didn’t even get where he wanted to go. Shame.” The Dunmer turned back to Gals. “Let him go. See if he finds Tel Aruhn any better a place than Sadrith Mora.”

“Wait,” the Argonian said, sauntering up to Kassur. They took hold of the amulet around his neck and plucked it off forcefully. “This is mine. How did you get it?”

“Edd gave it to me,” Kassur croaked. “For a chore.”

“Typical,” the Argonian said, pocketing the amulet. “And you’ve drained it, too.”

“Wait,” Kassur said, realizing. “You’re the Archmagister? He said it was hers.”

“Yes, despite all challenges,” she said. 

“I need your aid,” Kassur said. “Ahemmusa needs your aid.”

“Again?” the Archmagister laughed. “Do they need me to clear out another shrine?”

“No,” Kassur said. “They’ve gone mad. They need help.”

“Aryon’s jurisdiction,” she said, glancing at the Dunmer at her side. “And we’re both busy at the moment.”

“Meet me at Tel Vos tomorrow,” Aryon said with a polite smile. “We’ll see what can be done.”

“I can’t get there,” Kassur said. “No money.”

The cat-man, S’Bakha, stepped in. “Gracious Archmagister, S’Bakha believes there is the small matter of payment for his humble aid in your recent quest?”

“Hmph,” said the Archmagister. She fumbled around in a pocket of her robes - which Kassur just now noticed had a great gash in it, which hadn’t been present yesterday, revealing her armor underneath - and handed S’Bakha a bag full of coins. “Not sure how much that is. But you can have it.”

The cat-man, shrewd as Kassur had heard his kind to be, opened the bag and started counting. “Most gracious Archmagister,” he exclaimed, “this is nearly a thousand drakes! Are you sure?”

“Take it,” the Archmagister said with a nod. “You’ve earned it.”

“Well,” S’Bakha said, turning to Gals, “How much fare for a mer to get to Vos?”

Gals grumbled. “Fifty septims.”

S’Bakha casually grabbed a hearty handful of coins and handed them to Gals. “That should be enough, plus a tip, for you being such a compassionate man. Take this young man home.”

Kassur stared at S’Bakha, wide-eyed. “But…I barely know you.”

“You were a good sport, listening to S’Bakha play and sing,” S’Bakha said. “A good audience, even when you were invisible. Usually the performer is paid by the audience, but, well. The performer has suddenly encountered a great windfall.”

“Thank you,” said Kassur. 

“Archmagister,” Aryon said, placing a gentle gloved hand on her armored shoulder, “We have our…bloody business to attend to.”

“Yes,” she said, and the three turned to depart the ship, leaving behind Gals and Kassur.

“You’re lucky the Archmagister’s pet intervened,” Gals said. “Now get below deck. I don’t want to see you until we get to Vos, or I’ll throw you overboard.”