#winirel

They have taken you to the Imperial City's prison, first by carriage, and now by boat. To the east, to Morrowind. Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen.

Winirel awoke to urgent shaking. She blearily opened her eyes—where was she again? And who in the world was trying to wake her up?

As she slowly returned to reality, she remembered. She was on a boat, an Imperial ship. A prisoner. Or, perhaps more accurately, a prisoner soon to be freed, if she had been told the truth when they loaded her onto this ship. The man shaking her was also a prisoner, presumably also one whose freedom was in reach. Jiub, if she wasn't mistaken. He was a thin Dunmer man who looked like he had seen his share of hard times, judging by his single blind eye and the scars on his cheek. Still, he seemed to be well meaning. In fact, she noticed that he seemed rather distressed, as her eyes focused on him. She sat up from the hammock she'd been assigned and rubbed her head.

“Are you okay?”

“I...what happened?”

“You were shaking—dreaming, I think.”

“Must have been a bad dream...” Yes, she had been dreaming. She could hardly remember it now, though—a woman's voice, hazy red images, loud noises, it had been very chaotic. But she had been shaking? Strange. She could hardly remember most of the dream now. Perhaps it had been more frightening than she remembered.

She stood up, though she found that her legs were surprisingly unsteady. Jiub took her by the arm and helped her up, then he nodded reassuringly as she managed to stand on her own.

“Thanks,” she murmured, half-heartedly straightening her rumpled clothes. She'd been wearing them since they left Cyrodiil weeks ago. By the gods, she needed a bath. “How long was I asleep?”

“Hours. Not even last night's storm could wake you.”

“Is that why you were shaking me?”

Jiub shrugged. “I heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go soon, wouldn't want you to sleep through that.

“I hope so. They've spent so much time dallying on our way here. I just want to be out.”

He chuckled in agreement. Their “quarters” had been cramped, and the soldiers hadn't been terribly accommodating when they requested to stretch their legs or get fresh air or even, gods forbid, walk around the small area below deck. Not that she was surprised. The reason she'd been in prison in the first place was because she had been caught stealing. She hadn't asked, but she had a feeling Jiub had been imprisoned for a similar reason. No guard was going to let someone like that wander around where there were things to be taken.

Jiub peered out the doorway, then he ducked back into the room, quickly sitting on a barrel.

“Quiet, here comes the guard.”

Winirel assumed a similarly nonthreatening position, sitting back down on her hammock. Her knees were still a bit weak. It wouldn't hurt to sit for a little while longer.

The guard, a stocky Imperial fellow with a beard that desperately needed trimming, appeared at the door with a stony expression. “Here's where you two get off. Come with me.” He promptly spun around and started heading back toward the stairs at the other end of the ship. Winirel raised her eyebrows at Jiub, who shook his head resignedly. The two of them stood and hurried after the guard.

A few other soldiers were standing around below deck, but none said anything as they passed. The stocky guard stopped at the stairs leading above deck and gestured toward the trapdoor.

“Get yourself up on deck, and let's keep this as civil as possible,” he said curtly, inspecting them as they passed.

“I didn't think we were being uncivil...” Winirel murmured, earning a sharp look from the guard. Well, she had never been good at holding her tongue, and it was a stupid comment, in her opinion. She heard a soft snort from Jiub behind her, too.

Before the guard could take offense, she hurried up the stairs and heaved open the wooden trapdoor. It wouldn't do any good to get in trouble with the law as soon as she was free. The sunlight was surprisingly harsh on her eyes, even dimmed as it was, shining through the heavy trees and drooping moss. It was wonderful to be outside again, though. The air smelled...different than Cyrodiil's, but it was still pleasant in an earthy way. Or maybe she was just too used to tar and pitch and wood. She could catch something vaguely damp and rotted in the air, too, but it was overwhelmed by her positivity.

“This is where they want you,” a pleasant Redguard man said, gesturing to the gangplank leading off the ship. Another guard, though this one was infinitely less grumpy. “Head down to the dock and he'll show you to the Census Office.”

At the bottom of the gangplank, on the short dock leading out to the water, there stood another guard. It seemed like everyone topside was much more friendly than the stocky guard below deck. This man smiled at Winirel as she approached, then he pulled out a small writing board with parchment on it.

“Winirel?”

“That's me.” She tried to peer over the board—not a difficult task, given she was a fair bit taller than the guard—but he tilted the board back toward himself. He smiled politely, but there was a bit of tightness to his eyes. Perhaps she shouldn't have done that.

“Glad you've arrived safely. We show you've come from Cyrodiil, but we need record of your birth province as well.”

“Oh, uh. It's also Cyrodiil.”

“Is that so? Well, there are plenty of others around from Cyrodiil these days. I'm sure you'll fit right in.” He turned and gestured down the dock, which led to a large, Imperial-style building that seemed to arch over beyond the wooden gates that surrounded the dock area. “Follow me up to the office and they'll finish your release.”

“Just like that?” She tailed after him as he started toward the door.

“Just like that. Most of your paperwork is already complete, we're simply filling in some routine information that wasn't provided.”

That was convenient. She glanced behind her, where Jiub was waiting with the guard on deck, chatting mildly with him. She wondered if he would have an easy release as well. He was a good man, at least from what she could tell from their brief travels. She hoped he wouldn't run into any trouble.

The guard opened the office door for her and ushered her inside, then he returned to his post. The door quietly shut behind her and she looked around. The office was lit warmly, all wood floors and carpets and plaster walls. It felt a lot like home, but she supposed that was a result of the Imperial décor.

A balding man with a beard looked up from his seat at the desk and smiled. He stood briskly and offered a hand to Winirel, who jumped into motion to cross the room and shake it.

“We've been expecting you! Welcome to Morrowind, Miss...”

He glanced at the papers on the desk, presumably seeking her name. “Winirel,” she answered quickly. She nearly added a wry comment about expecting someone whose name you didn't know, but the man talked right over her.

“Winirel, yes. Now...let's see, you'll have to be recorded before you're officially released...” He started shuffling through the papers on the desk again, and Winirel frowned.

“The guard said you had most of my information already.”

“What? Oh yes, we do. But this is standard practice, you understand. It won't take long. Ah, here we are.” He grabbed a paper and ran a long finger down the paper. “Yeees. Now, what is your profession, my dear?”

Winirel opened her mouth and immediately shut it. She had been very close to saying she was a thief. No, those days were behind her. At least as a profession. She hoped. She quickly sought out an answer. “Um, I guess I don't really have one. Adventurer? There are adventurers in Morrowind too, right?” Most people she'd met who didn't do anything but travel called themselves adventurers. That would have to do for the moment.

“Yes, we certainly do.” The man chuckled and scribbled at the paper. “And what is your birthsign?”

“The Warrior.”

“Really? How peculiar.”

“It is?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you know what they say about birthsigns. I'd have expected the Mage, or one of its charges for you.”

“Oh. Uh. I guess I'm just weird that way.” Well, it wasn't the first time someone had been surprised about her lack of magical prowess. This time it was just in the form of her birthsign, rather than her actual talent. It had long since stopped bothering her.

“Mm. Interesting. Now, before I stamp these papers, make sure this information is correct.” He handed her the paper on which he'd been jotting notes. It looked like rudimentary information about herself and, sure enough, it was all correct. She handed it back with a nod, and the man shuffled it away into a stack of parchment on his desk. There was a scroll set aside that he scooped up, signing the bottom. He rolled it quickly and handed it to Winirel.

“Here are your papers. Show them to the captain when you exit and he'll give you your release fee. He'll be in the next building over. The door on your right when you leave will take you out to the courtyard, I'm sure you can find your way from there.”

“Um, thanks.” She clutched the scroll, glancing down at it. Was she supposed to read it? He didn't seal it or anything. Then again, it was probably just basic information for processing immigrants. She gave the balding man one last polite smile, but he was already back at his desk and frantically looking through his papers.

She headed out of the room and into a small hallway that branched off into what must have been some kind of break room. There was a table with a place setting and some food, and there was a knife pinning some kind of note against the table. She glanced back toward the door, which was now shut. She was alone in here. Well, that was fine by her. She didn't mind law enforcement, no, that would be an exaggeration. But she didn't really want to look around if they were watching her.

She stepped up to the table and peered at the note. It looked like some kind of threat from someone named Ganciele, whoever that was. She thought about taking the knife that was stabbed into the table, but then, someone would probably notice that. On the other hand, it looked like there was a lockpick lying on the other side of the table. That she couldn't help but slip into her shoe. Nobody would notice that, right?

The rest of the room was filled with bottles, cups, plates, and all other sorts of tableware. There was a book on star signs on the shelf, which she carefully picked up and flipped through, but she really didn't have much interest in birth signs. In her experience, they didn't mean as much as some seemed to think.

She glanced over a loaf of bread sitting in the corner. Surely they wouldn't notice a bit of missing bread. But no. No! She was starting over in Morrowind. She tried to promise herself that she wouldn't steal anything from here on out. ...Not counting the lockpick, which remained safely in her shoe.

Muffled talking from beyond the door signaled her departure. Time to finish up this whole process and get on the road to freedom. ...Well, that was a bit dramatic. She quickly headed out the door that led to the courtyard, and from there it was only a few steps to the next building. She opened the door and poked her head inside. A tall man with impressive armor was sitting at a desk. So many armored men and desks around here.

He stood and nodded to her, holding out a hand for her papers. Well, this was obviously the captain. She put the scroll into his hand and he unrolled it so he could glance over it, murmuring thanks.

“Winirel?”

“Um, yep, that's me.”

“Welcome to Morrowind, Winirel. I am Sellus Gravius. Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday.”

“Is that typical?” From the way he brought it up, it didn't sound like it was. She tried to subtly look around the room, but the look she was getting from the captain made her straighten her back and keep her eyes on him.

“...No, not particularly. We usually get a bit more notice.”

“Why such short notice then?”

She received another rather piercing stare. “...I'm sure I don't know. In fact I don't even know why you're here, in Morrowind. Or why you were released from prison and shipped here. But your authorization comes directly from Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself. And I don't need to know any more than that,” he added, as she opened her mouth to comment. The emperor himself had authorized her release from prison? Why?

“Now, when you leave this office, you are a free woman. But before you go, I have instructions on your duties. Instructions from the Emperor. So pay careful attention.” He leaned over to the desk and picked up a small package, which he then handed to her. “This package came with the news of your arrival. You are to take it to Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora. Go to the South Wall Cornerclub, and ask for Caius Cosades—they'll know where to find him. Serve him as you would serve the Emperor himself. I also have a letter for you, and a disbursal to your name.”

She took the package, the letter, and the disbursal, which appeared to be a goodly sum of money. At the very least it was a fair bit more than she had now, which was a grand total of none.

“Uh, thanks.” She turned toward the door, but she paused. “Um, are we in Balmora?”

Sellus Gravius raised his eyebrows, but he shortly shook his head. “No, we're in Seyda Neen. Balmora is north of here, you just follow the road past Pelagiad Village and Ford Pelagiad, then you'll pass Fort Moonmoth and cross the Odai River. You'll see the city walls of Balmora by then. Elone at Arrille's Tradehouse down the road can give you more detailed instructions, but take my advice. You're new here. Take the silt strider to Balmora. Fast, cheap, safe. Cross the bridge and head east, you can't miss it.”