#fayrl indoril

[mazurah]

Fayrl Indoril, for @talldarkandroguesome

Made with Artbreeder and a whole lot of Photoshop.

[fayedrawsdaily]

Doodle dump time! As always: elves

Pic 1: Fayrl Indoril, who belongs to @talldarkandroguesome

Pic 2: a doodle of Malari, belongs to me

[talldarkandroguesome]

18th of Frostfall, Morndas

How horribly embarrassing!

Not only did I fall asleep atop my journal and have stained everything with ink, I had to woken up for the farewell breakfast that the wise women of each camp put together as a thank you for my assistance with everything.

They each prepared a dish to symbolize their strengths and to show the extent of their gratitude. I was touched, if still rather embarrassed about having to be sent for as the guest of honor.

Not only that, I had to ask them to wait, for as Seryn pointed out, I had ink staining my face in the shape of something rather unsavory, so I had to make a go at washing it off as best as I could and apply makeup to cover the rest. It took far too long and I had to ask Seryn to make excuses concerning my packing and make countless apologies on my behalf.

Seryn gave me a tight hug before I left. She thanked me all over again.

I told her that it was my pleasure to help the Velothi people and to do my duty before the Lady of Dusk and Dawn by supporting Her champion.

Seryn told me to not say that, for not only did she not feel any more special, she had truly hoped that we were friends.

I told her that we were certainly friends. I also reminded her that even if she felt no different, being chosen as champion of any Prince came with responsibilities and blessings both. That she would just have to wait and see what mysteries would be revealed to her.

She laughed and asked me if I were a poet or a wise woman, rather than someone sent by the Houses to make peace.

I told her, perhaps she was simply a good influence on me.

Since the others were a ways behind, I took out a special extra gift for her, aside from just the usual host gifts I had already disseminated.

She took the small box and looked to me with the most inquisitive expression, asking what this was all about.

I told her that while, true, this was not the usual method of things, I wanted to give her something to remember the strength she had and our adventure together, as hard as it was and would continue to be. For she was truly an inspiration and she should not forget the strength she showed. After all, she was Azura’s vessel over and over again and managed to continue to fight, while the one time I was a vessel of my Prince, it nearly cost me my life.

I pointed to the streak of white hair I still bear as proof.

Her eyes got wide and she opened the small box.

It was not much and not nearly as well finished as she deserved, but I am only so skilled in the art of illumination. I had little time to dedicate to it, as well. But I wanted something that would give her pride.

Inside was a small scroll. Contained upon it was the words, Seryn, Azura’s champion and savior of Vvardenfell’s people. It had the image of Seryn, the moon and star above each shoulder, staff extended outward.

She looked at me confused and I explained what it said, motioning to each of the words in turn.

In particular, she seemed focused on tracing the pattern of her name.

I also told her that at the bottom was the inscription, Forever friend of House Indoril and welcome to the manor of Indoril Fayrl Indoril at any time she so chooses. My official stamp and that of my House overlapped besides the inscription, to verify that this writing was my own and I was providing her protected passage as a guest of the House. With this, as long as she were to be within Indoril or neutral territory, she should have no problem with any guards.

This much I told her and explained how she can use it if ever she is in need of help. And that it could also be used at any Tribunal Temple to assure that a message can be sent to me directly. I also told her if she could get in touch with Tel or Gethan, they would gladly relay messages to me as well.

We parted soon after, she seemed speechless.

I know it was a strange gift, perhaps, but I wanted to provide as much protection as possible to her.

Yet I was hardly to the front of the encampment when I heard a hostile House voice. The wise woman there was seemingly being harassed by a Redoran noble.

Of course, seeing my profession as a possible answer to this problem, I approached and interceded, asking the wise woman and then the noble what was going on.

Apparently, the noble, whose name was Drelyth Hleran, had been demanding information about his family’s lost tomb without making the offerings of respect. Even when it was explained to him that he had done so, he seemed to refuse.

According to Drelyth, he knew about these offerings that needed to be done, but had been so... how did he describe himself... ah yes, overzealous, that he had not had the chance to actually provide the offerings.

I believe that this shows his ignorance or entitlement to a great degree.

He asked if, as a fellow Housemer, I might be able to help him rectify the situation, if I could make the offerings on his behalf and put in a good word for him.

I could see that, after the situation in Balmora, any Redoran that was trying to go about this nonviolently should be encouraged. So I said that as our Brother House, I would be happy to try and reconcile the missteps he took.

So I went and sought out Farseer Kuamta, as the first thing you are supposed to do in such a situation is to pay respect to the Farseer and, should she being making a pilgrimage, as Farseer Kuamta is, send her off with well wishes.

When I arrived, surprising those who were gathered to pay their own respects, I offered mine and Drelyth’s as well. Kuamta had just had a blindfold tied around her eyes as part of the ceremony and was the most surprised of all to hear my voice, though she said she wondered why she was smelling my perfumed clothing again so soon.

I explained the situation to her, including that I thought it best to try and help this Housemer in order to prevent his more militaristic fellows from following with even poorer manners.

The wise women gathered there took my words very seriously and looked to Kuamta to make the decision.

In the end she agreed to allow me to take part on the Redoran’s behalf, provided that I do my best to not share any of their secrets with him and not to place their people in any danger.

I agreed and she asked me to wait until the ceremony began to gather the offerings for honoring each tribe and their ancestors.

So now I wait until everyone has finished gathering, before I go to begin the ritual of honoring the first Ashkhans. Then I can join the others in gathering offerings and placing them in each tribe’s camp. Let me hope that I can easily find all of the offerings quickly. I would hate to have to actually kill and burn a guar if I do not need to.

[thatoneshadyshop]

A Hogwarts AU

So @warmsandstraveler and I may have gotten slightly carried away by these asks, and encouraged by a visiting friend, may have ended up filling the entire faculty of Hogwarts with characters from our ongoing RP... So without further ado, I present to you Hogwarts, if it were to be within the universe of our Elder Scrolls AU. Please note that the Houses are those we personally thought were a best fit, and the creators of the characters may have different, better fitting opinions.

Headmistress: Profressor Aiq-Dra (Gryffindor House) [Clan Mother of Qau-Dar’s Clan]

Deputy Headmistress: Professor Mao-do (Head of Gryffindor House) [Qau-Dar’s mother and head warrior of the Clan]

Transfiguration: Professor Vallilina (Head of Slytherin House) [Lillandril’s grandmother, on his mother’s side]

Charms: Professor Min-Daro (Ravenclaw House) [One of Qau-Dar’s spouses]

Potions: Professor Lillandril (Ravenclaw House) [I’m not sure I can help you if you’re here and don’t know who Lillandril is...]

Defence Against the Dark Arts: Professor Mao-do (Head of Gryffindor House, Deputy Headmistress)  [Qau-Dar’s mother and head warrior of the Clan]

Flying Instructor: Professor Sina Nightshade (Slytherin House) [Rialas’ mother]

Herbology: Professor Speaks-Too-Soon (Gryffindor House) [One of the main characters of the RP]

History of Magic: Professor Qau-Dar (Head of Hufflepuff House) [One of the main characters of the RP]

Divination: Professor “Mama” Magula-gra-Rolfish (Hufflepuff House) [”Mama” Mags, Madam Matron of the Den owned by Lillandril and Rialas]

Astronomy: Professor Mehra Indoril (Slytherin House) [Fayrl’s mother]

Arithmancy: Professor Cyrillon (Head of Ravenclaw House) [Lillandril’s maternal grandfather]

Ancient Runes: Professor Avon Alari (Hufflepuff House) [Fayrl’s oldest friend and guardian of Sildras, one of the point of view characters of the RP]

Care of Magical Creatures: Professor Rialas Nightshade (Slytherin House) [One of the point of view characters of the RP]

Muggle Studies: Professor S’Fair (Ravenclaw House) [One of Qau-Dar’s spouses]

School Nurse: Madam Ko’Aahni (Hufflepuff) [One of Qau-Dar’s spouses, chief Healer to the Clan]

School Librarian: Master Lovillon (Gryffindor House) [the Altmer representative to Qau-Dar’s Clan, married to the Heir-presumptive of Aiq-Dra]

School Groundskeeper: Silas Nightshade (Ravenclaw House) [Rialas’ brother; a Hivemouth]

[shadows-of-almsivi]

Have you ever heard about or read journals of mer called Fayrl Indoril? You might find them interesting.

((Oh yes, I’m very familiar. It’s been great watching them grow, Fayrl is a darling and so is his mun.))

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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31st of Sun’s Height

The most unbelievable thing has happened. Azura wants us to rescue her priestess.

When we got to the ruins of Laeloria, it was already late afternoon, and we only had an hour or so of sunlight left. I told Fayrl we might as well check the place out while there was still some light left, and he agreed. Better to see what we are dealing with than be ambushed in the dark.

The rumors of Daedra were not exaggerated. It was obvious as we approached that the place was crawling with clannfear and scamps. I was ambushed by a clannfear as soon as we entered, but Fayrl was kind enough to rescue me.

The place was not quite how I imagined it. It was almost completely walled, and in amongst the ancient crumbling Ayleid ruins there was a house of more modern architecture. Directly in front of the house was a domed arbor with a statue of Azura.

As soon as Fayrl and I stepped closer, Azura spoke to us. I am not sure if the voice we heard was actually audible or if the Prince merely projected directly into our minds, but it was obvious from the look on Fayrl’s face that she was speaking to both of us. Fayrl immediately went forward and knelt in front of the shrine and began praying in what sounded like Velothi.

Her voice had a quality to it, not unlike that of Lord Vivec, which sounded as though many voices were layered into one. As best I can recall, she worded her request as follows:

“Mortals, you stand above the sealed ruins of Laeloria. Within is a gateway to Coldharbour, where my priestess Culanwe suffers at the hands of Molag Bal. Her pain is so great, it has torn a hole between worlds. This injustice must end. I would have you end Culanwe's endless torment. Long ago the wizard Vastarie came to Laeloria. She sought to end Culanwe's suffering. But Vastarie failed, and was lost. Go to Vastarie's tower. Retrace her path into Laeloria. And mortals, set Culanwe's bones to rest. Vastarie kept careful records of her struggle to pierce Laeloria's seal. They remain scattered in her tower. Find them. Use them to breach the seal and recover Culanwe.”

“Hang on…” I said, “with no disrespect, why is Laeloria sealed?”

“I sealed it away from your world,” Azura said. “Laeloria is the mouth of a bottle that floats through Coldharbour. My seal is the cork. Should I release the seal, Molag Bal's servants will pour into Laeloria until they have nowhere else to go but here. Vastarie found a way to slip past the seal. As must you.”

Fayrl then said something else in Velothi that sounded like a question.

Azura responded, “The wizard Vastarie was able to slip past my seal. Her notes should contain all the information you need to replicate her method.”

Fayrl said something else in Velothi, and bowed very low, touching his head to the ground.

That sounded like enough information to get started to me, so I said we would go do that, and retreated out of the arbor.

The door to the house, presumably Vastarie’s ‘tower’, was locked when we tried the door, but I used my birth gift to get it open. The inside was incredibly dusty, but thankfully Daedra free.

At that point I was still in a state of amazement at having received a request directly from a Daedric prince, but I was slowly starting to analyze our options.

This request means we will need to go to Coldharbour again. That fact is a double edged sword. On the one hand it gives us the opportunity to search for our lost souls in addition to fulfilling Azura’s request, but on the other, we will have to brave the terrors and dangers of Coldharbour, and risk being trapped again--not an experience I am looking forward to. I am not even sure if I am prepared enough to undertake it yet. We could decline, but declining the request of a Daedric Prince is a perilous thing.

I tried to convey my line of thinking to Fayrl and he accused me of being heartless. How could I even consider letting someone suffer in Coldharbour like that, he asked. We only had to suffer in Coldharbour for a few weeks, but this priestess has likely been there for decades. He wanted to know if I was considering this because the priestess follows one of the Anticipations.

I assured him that was not it at all, but that I was simply not sure if I was prepared to enter Coldharbour again so soon. On the other hand, I am aware that it is always a bad idea to ignore a Daedric Prince’s mandates unless they’re telling you to do something so terrible that you couldn’t live with yourself if you followed through with it. This is not one of those situations.

Fayrl admitted he was afraid of returning to Coldharbour as well, but he empathized with the priestess too much to walk away. He also pointed out that perhaps this priestess might be able to help us find our souls, and the pathway to Coldharbour is perhaps one that we can continue using in the future as a safer, stable means of entering Oblivion.

Of course, he is right. Fantasizing about running away gets us nowhere and is simply indulgent cowardice on my part. Running away from problems never solved anything. This is an opportunity we can’t pass up for a multitude of reasons.

So I changed the subject and asked Fayrl what he was saying to Azura in Velothi, and he told me it was a lot of small prayers that the Ashlanders taught him. He said that he had made a promise to the Farseer that given the opportunity he would make the proper Ashlander rites to Azura in exchange for the teaching he received about their culture and religion, which they do not normally share with outsiders. He also said that he does not speak much of the Ashlander tongue, only a few words and phrases, but now that I think about it, not everything he said must have been a prayer, because he asked at least one question. I’m not sure what to think about that.

In any case, we agreed to split up and search the house. By the thickness of the dust, it has been undisturbed for decades, perhaps longer, but all the books and papers are in fairly good condition. The interior is remarkably waterproof, and managed to keep the humidity of the jungle out, so the worst we have to contend with is cobwebs.

It is a wizard’s tower though, and like most wizards, this one seems to have been obsessed with the written word. We have what must amount to a veritable tonne of papers and books to sort through, many of which are not in a language which either of us can read. Fortunately, most of the notes the wizard herself kept seem to be in Cyrodiilic common.

I left Fayrl sorting through a pile of them and went to make dinner. In fact, it should be about ready by now.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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1st of Last Seed

Fayrl is taking this research far more seriously than I would have expected. He very nearly refused to eat dinner last night because he was so absorbed in studying the papers of the wizard Vastarie. I had to tempt him away from the work with the promise of removing certain articles of clothing.

This wizard Vastarie seems to have been a fascinating character. She has all kinds of strange artifacts lying around her tower, including all kinds of statues and crystals that Fayrl says must have been taken directly out of the Ayleid ruin. She also has a few other artifacts that exhibit some kind of magical property, like the sword that seems to provoke a taste of blood on the tongue upon touching the hilt, or the strange mirror that feels as though it is trying to suck you into its depths, or the Argonian idol which is remarkably free of dust and feels warm to the touch, or the stone tablet with an inscription upon it which seems to dance when viewed out of the corner of your eye. There is also what looks like a collection of skulls, including one that I can only assume is a dragon skull. I can’t imagine how she got it.

So far we have discovered very little in Vastarie’s notes that make any direct mention to the priestess Culanwe. We did find an excerpt from Culanwe’s journal which Vastarie had translated though. It details an incident in which Culanwe tried to broker peace between a group of Ayleids and Nedes. It seems that Culanwe had the unique ability to speak words into reality in a way that I have only before heard of the ancient Nordic Tongues doing. Perhaps it is the same talent, but used to influence people. I can’t imagine how she might have learned it; from her manner of speech it seems that Culanwe was neither Ayleid nor Nede. Perhaps she was Aldmer. Her name sounds mer-ish at least, and I can’t imagine her being of human origin, or the Ayleids would not have been willing to take her seriously.

In any case, Culanwe seemed to be hesitant to wield her power in any decisive way, and I can’t say that I disagree with her logic. She wanted to negotiate a lasting peace, and feared that using the power of her voice would merely be “a bandage on an infected wound.” An apt metaphor, it would likely just have caused the anger between the two peoples to fester. I also got the impression that perhaps she took pride in being able to facilitate a lasting peace without relying on her gift.

Her negotiations came to a halt when one of the Ayleids was murdered. An uninvolved Ayleid and Nede couple discovered that the culprit was not one of the Nedes, as the Ayleids suspected, but rather an agent of Molag Bal. I can understand why the Lord of Domination would be interested in preventing a race of former slaves and their erstwhile masters from reconciling. The thought gives me pause, in fact. It is not a line of thinking I have encountered before in Temple teaching. I wonder what the Dres and the Telvanni would have to say about it. Yet another reason to be proud of the Pact, our very existence is a slight to Molag Bal.

In any case, it seems that with this revelation, Culanwe was able to conclude the peace negotiations between the Ayleids and the Nedes, and likely earned the ire of the opposing Prince in the process. That explains how she got into this situation in the first place, now to figure out how to get her out.

Perhaps Fayrl has discovered something more.

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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21st of Sun’s Height

Oh sweet Lord… Blessed Almsivi, Mercy, Mastery, Mystery… hear the prayer of your supplicant. I fear this trial may yet prove to be too much for me.

I delivered the book of Bosmeri stories to the storyteller at the carnival today. He was absolutely delighted, despite--or possibly because of--the language in which it was written. My mind had only just begun to form the first wisps of thought regarding what I should do with the rest of my day, when a sound like a deafening foghorn the likes of which will haunt my nightmares resounded throughout the firmament. When the reverberations faded somewhat, and I regained full employment of my hearing, I heard a sound halfway between a thunderclap the likes of which I have never before heard and a tonne of metal falling onto solid bedrock from a great height, swiftly followed by the sound of gargantuan chains clanking taut over the solid surface of the largest windlass Nirn has ever accomodated. My gaze snapped to the tree canopy in the direction of the sound only to witness what was unmistakably a Dark Anchor portal hovering over the landscape to the southwest, spiked metal chains already straining to drawn Nirn into its hungry maw. Clouds darker and more menacing than those producing the slow drizzle of rain around us crept toward the gaping hole in the sky as though it was sucking the life out of even the air of that vibrant jungle.

I nearly succumbed to panic in that moment, but the pandemonium in the carnival around me drew my focus out of the intrusive memories of Coldharbour and the knowledge of everything that Anchor represented. I swiftly located the carnival mistress and told her to take the entirety of her troupe to Elden Root while I scouted the Anchor. I told her to send someone to alert the Fighters Guild as well.

I made my way through the underbrush toward the Dark Anchor. It took me what must have been over half an hour to get there from the carnival grounds. I had overestimated its closeness because of the sheer enormity of the thing. When I arrived I clung to the side of an embankment, hidden in the foliage, and observed from above as I witnessed Daedra crash to the ground beside a small group of cultists. I made note of the variety; first, Dremora, as expected; next a trio of Clannfear plunged to earth beside the self-condemned cultists that had summoned them and began ripping them to bloody shreds; and finally a hulking Ogrim descended with a bellow and an explosion of smoke and dust.

I did not stay to watch their forces accumulate. I had ascertained the Anchor’s exact location and enough information about the invading force to flee back toward Elden Root. After a very long, three hour trek in which I was constantly glancing over my shoulder for pursuers, I made it to the Fighters Guild with a breathless report. They had already mustered over a half dozen people into full gear by the time I had arrived, and my account sent their already hurried activity into a frenzy.

I made a mad dash back to the Den to try to recruit Fayrl’s assistance, and, after failing to find him in the entirety of the Den, I finally discovered him in his room. Honestly, I should have checked there first, but I was not thinking as clearly as I should have, fighting as I was the panic that clutched at the tail of every rational thought. I don’t know why my emotions spiraled so out of control. I have training almost my entire life for how to conduct myself in an emergency. I’ve been in worse situations before, situations with more immediacy and tension to them, and never had this kind of all-consuming fear inhibit my thinking. It must have something to do with my previous encounter with Coldharbour. Perhaps I am not coping as well as I thought. I wish I could talk to my captain about it. She would know what was wrong with me. She always has the answers.

Upon hearing Fayrl’s answering call through the door, I opened it without thinking, only to discover him stark naked, cock in hand.

I closed the door immediately of course, but didn’t let my respect for his modesty prevent me from relaying the necessary information. I told him I would get my armor on and meet him by the front door in five minutes.

Of course, he had to go and take what seemed like a quarter of an hour instead, and nearly made us miss the Fighters Guild heading out toward the Anchor’s location.

It was nearly dark as we began the long hike to the Anchor, and the Fighters Guild handed me and Fayrl a lantern and a handful of night vision potions for use once we got to the site. The day’s rain had slowed, and finally stopped by the time we got there, for which I was grateful. It was not a clear night, but at least the sky wasn’t drenching us.

The fight was…. Actually, I’d rather not talk too much about the fight. It went better than it could have, but you never get used to losing comrades in arms, even ones you only just met. May the Three, or whatever gods they worship shelter their souls. Fayrl and I were the only people who could use any kind of offensive magicka in the entire group, and I stayed back and hit the Daedra with mostly ranged attacks. When it was over, three of the nine Fighters Guild members were dead, and I didn’t have a scratch on me.

There were injuries, but I was fortunate that the Fighters Guild was so well prepared that I didn’t need to offer my healing abilities. The battle fatigue hit me like a charging Ogrim as soon as the Fighters Guild successfully unmoored the Anchor and we were no longer in danger of attack. I felt nearly dazed as they informed us that they were going to leave a pair of guards at the Anchor base, take their dead back to Elden Root, and send for stonemasons and volunteers to begin dismantling the stone of the ritual circle so that Molag Bal could not send the Anchor down again. I desperately needed rest, so I told them I would return in the morning to assist them. Fayrl was already urging me back to the city.

I walked the long, tense road back for the fourth time that day in full darkness. The Fighters Guild lent me a lantern, for which I was grateful, because I easily imagined Dremora jumping out of the blackness to capture me and Fayrl again, despite the fact that we had only just finished closing their doorway to Nirn. The pool of lantern light was an island of safety in that dark jungle, and my fatigued mind conjured all kinds of fantasms, mostly from Oblivion, to pursue us just out of sight in the shadows of the trees. I was grateful too that Fayrl agreed not to touch me, because I would have probably jumped out of my skin, or pissed myself, or broken down crying, or something equally embarrassing had he tried.

This is not the conduct of a Buoyant Armiger! What is wrong with me that makes this emergency so much more difficult to cope with than any other emergency I have previously encountered? Rationally, I knew that the likelihood of Daedra popping out of the underbrush to take me and Fayrl captive was very slim, but the possibility tormented my mind. I prayed to my Lord under my breath for comfort almost the entire way home.

“The fire is mine: let it consume thee, And make a secret door At the altar of Padhome, In the House of Boet-hi-Ah Where we become safe And looked after.”

When I got back to the Den I requested a bath in my room, and let myself soak away the stench of sweat and panic. The silence was finally too much for me and I broke down in tears in the bath, sobbing to my Lord for forgiveness for my weakness. It is not weakness, I know. I did everything right; I did not abandon my training. I did not let my fear prevent me from performing the tasks I needed to perform, but it feels like such weakness to return from a battle and cry about everything that might have happened, both good and bad, had I done even the slightest thing different.

Could I have saved those three that died at the hands of the Daedra today if I had entered the fray instead of relying on my ranged abilities to fight? I don’t know. I am better at ranged fighting, so probably not, but the possibility torments me. What is worse, I am plagued with the troubled thought that I have destroyed yet another pathway to reclaiming my soul. What should I have done though? Was I supposed to climb up the chain? Leaving the portal open would have been an act of supreme selfishness. I engrave upon mine eyes the image of injustice; I cannot suffer it to stand. Besides, what would I even do once there? I could not predict what I would find, and thus I had no plan. Nothing good could have come of it. I know better than to gather seeds in the fields of hell.

I spent over nine hours today in a state of abject terror, not to mention the time spent in full-scale battle, and my body was so exhausted that I nearly thought I couldn’t lift myself from the bath. Tomorrow I am returning to the Anchor base to assist the Fighters Guild in its dismantling. I don’t know how well I will cope. Hopefully, better than I did today. I suspect the anxiety will not diminish until I have completely wiped that accursed artifact from the face of Nirn. I have never been more fully aware that the slave labor of the senses is as selfish as polar ice. I have often heard the concept preached as an admonition against excess, but it works the other way as well, with feelings we don’t want, and can’t get rid of.

I know what I must do. I shall let faith be my only law. I shall forge my faith most keen in the crucible of suffering. It is not something I enjoy, but it is something that I need. Faith conquers all. I shall yield to faith.

That is not to say I shouldn’t take care of myself. Fayrl has kindly left me a plate of food outside my door. I should avail myself of it.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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2nd of Last Seed

We have made incredible progress! Yesterday Fayrl and I discovered a set of notes detailing the wizard Vastarie’s attempt to translate that strange stone tablet. We dismissed the notes as irrelevant at first, but today we discovered a later entry that seemed to indicate that the tablet can be used to call upon a Winged Twilight who once served the priestess Culanwe. Unfortunately, we appeared to be missing the set of notes describing the summoning process.

Fayrl seemed to think that I should be able to summon this Winged Twilight myself with no trouble. While I appreciate the vote of confidence, I had to disabuse him of the notion. Summoning specific Daedra is very different than summoning just any Daedra, and besides, I’m not actually a mage, and I never learned the spell for summoning any Daedra at all.

Frustrated, Fayrl asked me if I couldn’t just use the Twilight’s name, Irrai, to summon her. As soon as he said the name aloud, she appeared. Fayrl gave me such a look, I’m sure he’ll never let me live it down. How was I supposed to know that would work?

Irrai is probably the smallest Winged Twilight I have ever seen. She seemed surprised to see us, and said something along the lines of “Here again? I mean… yes mortals?”

Fayrl immediately switched to Velothi. At this point I’m fairly certain that he’s misleading me about how much Velothi he knows for some reason, because what he said didn’t have the quality of a prayer. What he actually said though, I have no idea. Neither did Irrai, actually. She gave him the most scathing look I’ve ever seen on a Daedra.

Fayrl tried a few other languages, though she didn’t seem to understand them. Why he went to the trouble, I have no idea, because she addressed us in Cyrodiilic common to begin with.

I got fed up with his fumbling after a few moments and just greeted her in Cyrodiilic common, which she promptly returned.

Fayrl didn’t waste any time and got right to the point, asking her assistance in freeing Culanwe from Coldharbour.

Irrai told us that Vastarie pierced the seal with a relic known as the Twilit Heart, which still stands before the gates of Laeloria drained of its magicka. She told us we would have to feed it souls to use it again, and suggested that we soul trap some of the scamps outside for that purpose. Then she had us go find some sigil geodes, which I believe are a kind of naturally occurring soul gem.

I felt a bit uncomfortable with the idea of soul trapping a living creature after what happened to us, but Fayrl pointed out that we had little choice. This is how Vastarie got past the seal, and it is how we shall have to do so as well. I suppose they are just scamps. They are impishly malevolent little buggers at the best of times. I wonder if they reappear in Oblivion like they normally do when their physical bodies are destroyed if they are soul trapped in the process.

When I brought the geodes back, Irrai told us that there was some unspeakably bloody terror on the other side of the seal. She also said she would help us even if we were Molag Bal, and when Fayrl assured her we were not, she made a joke about my height, saying she would have expected the Harvester of Souls to be taller. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be insulted, the jab was so absurd coming from such a tiny Winged Twilight.

When I asked her why she would help Molag Bal, she replied that perhaps I should try waiting in a rock until someone calls my name, then watch them reduced to a smear of viscera the moment I do what they ask me to do. She said she finds joy where she can; the joy of aiding another, of course.

I’m… not actually sure I believe her. A little later Fayrl whispered to me in Dunmeris that he thinks perhaps something is off about Irrai, and I’m inclined to agree. She seems to take an awful lot of pleasure in vivid descriptions of violence, but then again I’ve never actually had an extended conversation with any of the lesser Daedra before. Maybe they’re all like that.

In any case, Fayrl and I soul trapped three scamps, and we’re about to head out to go hunting so we have more supplies for this trip into Coldharbour. We will make the attempt to get past the seal first thing in the morning tomorrow.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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27th of Midyear

It’s been an eventful few days. I finally made it out to the colorful tree building the Bosmer have in the middle of the lake. It’s apparently a temple to their god Y’ffre. I learned quite a bit about the god from the priests there. My most interesting discovery is that Y’ffre is referred to with both he and she pronouns. I couldn’t figure out what determines the usage though; it isn’t alternating. As far as I could tell, it’s just whichever the speaker favors.

Y’ffre is a singer and storyteller whose domain is the present moment, as well as the Bosmer connection to the natural world. From what I can gather, Y’ffre is a much more personal god than any of the other Divines. Still not nearly as good as having a living god, but I suppose not everyone is as fortunate.

I also took a full circuit around the Elden Tree, discovered an Ayleid ruin on the far side of the tree (which was unfortunately locked with no discernable locking mechanism), and stumbled right into the middle of a compound of buildings with architecture that was distinctly non-Bosmer before I realized it was actually the Altmer Consulate. I’m lucky nobody noticed me.

When I left the Altmer Consulate I found a group that called themselves the Undaunted. From what I can gather, they are a group of fighters who have made it their life’s mission to perform the most daring deeds, hunt the most vicious monsters, explore the most formidable ruins, or die in battle so that songs are sung about them. The group I found had a pavilion full of trophies and even captured animals in cages. I had a great deal of fun talking with them.

Today I took a long hike half a day’s journey to the north and caught a glimpse of some more Ayleid ruins. I’d never seen Ayleid ruins before I got to Valenwood, and I’d like to be able to explore them, but the ones on the west side of the Elden Tree seem to be locked up tight, and I didn’t have time or the proper supplies to explore the ones I saw today before I had to head back to the Den. I’m sure I’m not well equipped enough to go exploring a ruin just yet, especially not one I would have to spend the night away from the Den to access, so perhaps I’ll take another hike in a different direction or recruit Fayrl’s aid before I attempt it.

I saw a Bosmer woman leaving Fayrl’s room when I got back to the Den this evening with two children in tow. I don’t understand why there are so many children in this establishment. It’s downright embarrassing if you ask me. A whorehouse is not a proper place to raise children. I’ll have to ask Fayrl who the woman was when I next see him. If she was just a prostitute, I doubt she’d bring her children along.

Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry 1, Entry 2 Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1, Entry 2, Entry 3 Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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20th of Sun’s Height

I went to the Elden Root market yesterday and sold a batch of paintings. I outfitted myself for an expedition to an Ayleid ruin, and bought enough supplies to last me about six days on my own, three if I’m with Fayrl. I now have a small tent, a bedroll, camp cooking supplies, preserved foods, and whatever counts as a fire kit around here, among other things.

Now that I was actually supplied, I went to ask Fayrl about joining me on this exploration mission. A few weeks back when I had asked him if he wanted to explore an Ayleid ruin with me, he dismissed me as unprepared and impulsive, and said I obviously didn’t know anything about how to prepare for a dangerous mission. I’m getting real tired of people accusing me of things like that. You don’t get to be a Buoyant Armiger without developing a certain level of competency. I was just asking Fayrl if he would be interested in going with me so I could determine if I should make the preparations, and he turned it around and said since I hadn’t already made the preparations, I was obviously not competent enough to go.

I learned my lesson this time. If I’m going to ask Fayrl if he wants to do something with me, I have to show I’m prepared to go through with it. This time I had supplies and information at hand when I asked him if he was interested in going to see an Ayleid ruin with me, and this time it worked.

At first he was skeptical of my information. He said something along the lines of, “I asked if you'd done research, not asked some alcohol reeking sellswords what they may or may not have seen running half-arsed through a ruin as sober as a fish is dry.”

I told him he wasn’t giving me enough credit. The Fighters Guild has been performing scouting missions to look for Dark Anchors for months, and my information about Ayleid ruins in the area was validated by their hall steward, who was in charge of scouting assignments. If it’s not reliable, I don’t know what is.

Then he tried to protest that we didn’t have the equipment to go exploring any ruins. I was happy to inform him that I had in fact already outfitted myself for just such an occasion.

Then there was discussion of which ruin would be appropriate. Fayrl was as wary as I was about the unpredictability of what we might find at Ne Salas. Best case, the place is actually abandoned, but worst case, it’s overrun with bandits or some such, and they might very well try to stage an ambush on us. I told him I’d rather visit the ruins of Laeloria instead. It might be overrun by Daedra, but at least we know that in advance, and besides, there’s a shrine to Azura there. I would like to see an ancient shrine to one of the Anticipations and see how it compares to the ones I’ve seen in Morrowind. It’s not an opportunity I’m keen to pass up just because of the dangers involved.

Fayrl agreed to accompany me there, but he wanted to know about travel plans and what I knew of the layout and possible defenses. I gave him as much information as I could, but I only know what the Fighters Guild told me.

He’s apparently been worried about me going off by myself. I told him he didn’t need to worry. I haven’t even been exploring very much recently, just painting. Besides, I can take care of myself. I’m a Buoyant Armiger for Vivec’s sake.

He pointed out that I was a Buoyant Armiger who had managed to be captured and killed at least once already, which… is a fair point, but who expects little old ladies to stage ambushes in their homes? I’m used to helping the public out. People respect the Armigers. Ambushing an Armiger in Mournhold would be like trying to ambush a Hand of Almalexia or something.

Fayrl pointed out that assassinations of that kind are not unheard of. Put in that light, I couldn’t deny it. Gods… I really was assassinated, wasn’t I?

Fayrl told me I shouldn't be so ready to trust people. I told him I couldn’t neglect my duty to the public. He said he wasn’t asking me to, he just wanted me to be better prepared. He wanted to know if I could truly account for all the unknown variables in an expedition like what I had planned. I told him of course I couldn’t, all I could do was prepare as best I could, and that’s what I’d done. I’m not going to pass up the chance to see an Ayleid ruin in person. The contribution to my artistic repertoire alone is invaluable.

We ended up talking about happy memories. I told him about my days in the Armiger training citadel, and what drew me to Lord Vivec. He played the lute and we sang a few songs, and then he spent the night in my room, which was a nice change, even if he did wake up with nightmares in the middle of the night. He tried to claim it was a cramp at first, and then caught himself and admitted it was nightmares. I’m glad to see he is actually making an attempt to be more honest with me.

I walked in to breakfast this morning to find Fayrl talking to Qau-dar about our plans to visit Laeloria. Qau-dar said he wanted to come along. I was thrilled! But I had to temper my enthusiasm. I’ve never seen Qau-dar fight, and it’s quite likely we’re going to be fighting Daedra. If he doesn’t think he can handle it, he shouldn’t come. He seemed more concerned about who was going to care for his daughter while he was away though. If he can work it out, I do hope he comes along.

Fayrl said he needs a couple of days to prepare and give Qau-dar a chance to decide, so we’re not leaving yet. I can’t wait to go! It’s going to be so great.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1, Entry 2 Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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9th of Sun’s Height

Well then. Today has been eventful. And exasperating. And a bit embarrassing.

I’d been feeling progressively more guilty because of Fayrl’s reaction to me prying into his private affairs, so when I didn’t see him around the Den this afternoon, I went to find him. He was in his room, writing something, which he burned as soon as I came in, which only made me curious, but I know how poorly my last attempt to ask him about himself went, so I let it be.

I decided to just apologize for my behavior and get it over with, but he acted as though it was nothing at all. Perhaps I was wrong about it bothering him? Maybe he has something else going on that has been weighing on him and that’s why he’s been in his room so much? I’d thought he might be avoiding me, but perhaps not.

In any case, I invited him to play a strategy game with me, and asked him to choose the game. First he accused me of apologizing just to get him to play with me again, and then, in typical Fayrl fashion, he went and retrieved a sex game, complete with leather restraints. Now I wasn't born yesterday. I know a sex game when I see it. I’ve played a fair few in my time, and seen many more, so I shut that line of inquiry down right quick. He looked disappointed though, so I told him I might play it with him eventually, just not now.

We ended up settling on one of the games I learned in the Armigers, Gahmerdoohn’m Sorilk. As a side note, the Den’s selection of board games is absolutely amazing. I've never seen so many games in one place before, much less ones of such high quality. The board we ended up playing on was made of ivory, or possibly bone, and inlaid with mother of pearl. It was the kind of board that ends up getting gifted to Lord Vivec as an offering by some rich f’lah hoping to get the attention of a living god.

Fayrl played decently, but I've had enough practice playing against the other Armigers that it would probably take a lot better than decent to beat me. During the game, the conversation turned to the rules I have regarding casual sex. By the end of the game, I was fed up, so I told him to follow me so we could talk to Qau-dar and get this thing settled once and for all.

I found Qau-dar watching Lillandril’s children along with Ma’Riahni. I asked him if he could step out into the hall for a moment. He didn’t want to, but I wasn’t about to have that kind of a conversation right in front of children. The conversation went something like this:

I said something along the lines of “Hey, so Fayrl says that you don't mind him having sex with whoever he chooses, but I didn't want to make any assumptions or get in the way of your relationship, especially since we'll be travelling together, so I wanted to get your permission first.”

Qau-dar said… nothing, so I kept going, worried that I had brought the subject up too soon and now Qau-dar was just going to refuse. I said something like, "I mean, I'm not planning on getting in the way of your relationship in any way, it's just casual sex. I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you so we don't have any jealousy issues down the line. I've had that happen before and I'd rather not have that happen with my only friends on this side of Tamriel."

Fayrl was hiding his mouth behind his hand and he looked like he was about to cry--probably from laughing at me, the fetcher.

Qau-dar asked if this was the reason that we had taken him away from his warm tea, and asked if we were in such a hurry that we couldn’t wait.

I was really nervous, but I tried to reassure him. “Well, I know it probably sounds silly especially with such an established relationship like yours, but I've had enough issues in the past that I think it is important.”

Qau-dar turned to Fayrl and asked why I was asking him.

Fayrl said he’d tried to tell me but that I wouldn’t believe him. It’s not that I didn’t believe him--actually, me believing him was probably part of the problem--it’s that I’d rather establish a good relationship with my partners’ partners beforehand rather than risk a miscommunication. It’s just good policy!

Qau-dar asked Fayrl why I thought I needed permission from Qau-dar, and what kinds of things he’d been telling me.

Fayrl responded that he’d told me about their marriage in Skyrim, but that he’d also told me that this business was just between him and me.

Then Qau-dar asked if I was even old enough to be having sex at all. At least, I think that was what he said. I didn’t ask him to translate for me this time. Fayrl thought this was hilariously funny and burst out laughing. I was indignant and told Qau-dar I’d been old enough for intercourse for almost a hundred years now.

Qau-dar said, yes, mer live a long time, but is it old enough for mer? Fayrl assured him it was, and Qau-dar huffed and asked why I was asking him at all.

I said something like “Well you mentioned that Fayrl had already asked you, but I wanted to make sure there weren't any miscommunications. I don't want to get in the way of your marriage.”

Qau-dar turned to Fayrl, gave him a look, and asked what he’d been telling me.

Fayrl started recounting how he’d told me about his wife and about the two of them getting married in Skyrim and such.

I felt like I was missing some crucial context, so I asked if there was a problem.

There was. It turns out they’re not actually married in any sort of a relationship sense, just in a legal sense, and that neither of them actually view the marriage as legitimate. Qau-dar is happy with his three spouses and his children, and Fayrl isn’t interested in romantic relationships anymore (which would be a relief to learn if I didn’t have to go through so much embarrassment to learn it.)

Of course, learning that Fayrl had been misrepresenting himself this entire time was… frustrating to say the least. I should have known. Fayrl has a problem with compulsive lying. I know this. And I still believed him. I’m just not certain how I could have avoided it. I can’t very well go around doubting every word he says, and double checking the truth of everything he tells me would just be rude, assuming he caught me at it. Besides, he told me he was married to Qau-dar before he made the promise to try to be more honest with me. I should have known to doubt it. I mean, he is apparently married, but only being married in a legal sense is no marriage at all, and misrepresentation is as good as a lie when it leads to the same results. The results being me horrendously embarrassed apparently.

I apologized to Qau-dar, and Fayrl told me he hadn’t meant to deceive me; that he’d tried to tell me that everything was just between him and me.

I told him I’d heard that before from the mouth of someone trying to cheat on their partner and I wasn’t about to accept that kind of an answer when they clearly were in a relationship of some kind.

He gave me a half-arsed apology for not being clear, but I wasn’t about to try to deal with that then, and in a last ditch effort to salvage the conversation without completely wasting Qau-dar’s time, I asked Qau-dar if he wanted to join me and Fayrl if we ever managed to work out our miscommunication, assuming his spouses were alright with that.

He looked me up and down and said I wasn’t to his taste, but he was honored anyway.

That was the most embarrassment I could handle at one time so I told him fair enough and made a hasty retreat.

I went back to my room and started painting to try to recover my composure. Fayrl knocked on my door a few minutes later.

I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly in the most communicative mood at first. I may have made some sarcastic jabs at him.

He said something like, “I suppose you must have some questions?” to which I responded “What? No, you were so clear before!”

He said he felt like, perhaps the things he had thought were obvious might not have been so, to which I could only respond “You think?”

He protested that he was not used to this. I asked, “Not used to someone calling you on your guarshit?”

He said that wasn’t fair, that nothing he’d said was actually a lie.

I told him it didn’t matter, the result was the same. I still ended up horribly embarrassed in front of someone I was trying to befriend, and I had no idea how I was going to show my face to Qau-dar.

He tried to tell me that if I’d told him what I was trying to do he could have stopped me from embarrassing myself, and besides Qau-dar had treated me gently and kindly throughout the whole thing.

Sure he might have treated me gently and kindly, but it’s probably because he thinks I’m an idiot. He might not be too far off either.

Fayrl said he thinks most people are idiots, including Fayrl, but that wasn’t a deterrent to their friendship.

That doesn’t even make any sense to me. I wish I was back on Vvardenfell with people who actually make sense. I wish I didn’t have to deal with losing my soul and with the constant worry that the gem in which my soul is trapped might be used to power some enchantment somewhere, slowly killing me. I was doing well for myself before this whole mess started.

Fayrl was sympathetic, and tried to assure me that neither he nor Qau-dar nor any of Fayrl’s servants were trying to cause me distress; that he wasn’t trying to hurt me.

I told him I knew that, and that’s what makes this whole situation so difficult. Despite his compulsive lying, Fayrl isn’t acting maliciously, and I shouldn’t treat him like he is. He told me that telling the truth has endangered his life in the past, as well as the lives of people he cares about, and that he is just used to obscuring the truth in order to protect himself. Knowing what I know about House politics, I can believe that. There’s a reason I try to avoid getting involved with any of the Houses.

Fayrl told me he doesn’t always remember how his manner of obscuring the truth affects other people. I told him congratulations, he’d sure affected me by giving me a headache.

He offered me a potion or some brandy. I said an apology might work better.

And he apologized. He told me he was sorry for putting me in an awkward situation.

That actually made me feel a bit better despite myself, so when he asked if there was anything he could do for me, I just asked if he could explain why he was not actually married despite all evidence to the contrary.

Apparently Fayrl and Qau-dar got married on Hearts Day in order to get a week of free meals and a room. And Qau-dar just likes communal sleeping arrangements. I feel like an idiot.

Fayrl tried to reassure me that the situation wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought, but I was still far too embarrassed to be able to see it from his perspective just then. I said I wouldn’t be surprised if Qau-dar told me to leave him alone from now on. He told me that Qau-dar wouldn't do something like that, but I’ll have to find out for myself in the morning before I believe it. Fayrl suggested that I do something nice for him, or offer to help him with chores. Perhaps I’ll do that.

Oh, also, it turns out that Fayrl isn’t paying for the rooms like I had thought. Lillandril and Rialas just own the place and are letting us stay for free. Fayrl said he’d been helping out and providing entertainment when he could to try to pay them back. That puts a new light on the Den employees asking me for help, and now I realize I’ve inadvertently been an arse and a poor guest again. I’m never going to be able to show my face to anyone ever. I’m just going to have to avoid painting at the Den so I don’t have to abandon paintings half-finished and ruin my brushes by jumping to assist everyone that requests my aid. Despite how it sounds, I’m not actually bitter. I’m mostly just frustrated that nobody saw fit to tell me this pertinent information in the first place.

At least I got Fayrl to model for me. He wanted to model naked, but I wasn’t going to even attempt to deal with that today. That’s a problem for after I’ve dealt with some of the rest of the mess this day has already brought.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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4th of Sun’s Height

I went to the Mages Guild today. I tried to get Fayrl to go with me, but he was convinced it wouldn’t help, and that Altmer would try to cut me open once I told them my story to find out why I was able to survive Coldharbour. I told him that was ridiculous. The Mages Guild is not in the habit of dissecting people without their consent, and in any event, I had no other leads, so I still had to try.

I’d been avoiding the upper levels of the Elden Tree because I’d expected them to be out on the branches or something, but the second level was all contained within the trunk. Apparently I had nothing to worry about as far as heights go. There were even railings on most of the ramps and stairs.

It was easy to find the Mages Guild. The doorway was huge, and the hall even huger. I don’t know why Fayrl thought that the Mages Guild would be entirely run by Altmer. Altmer didn’t make up even a third of their membership, though the people who were most helpful to me were Altmer. I mostly saw Bosmer, though I’m sure some of those were just guards. The master of the guild hall was a Bosmer woman with one blind eye, though I didn’t talk to her, I just had her pointed out to me. There were even a few Dunmer, though the one I talked to just tried to recruit me to go hunting cursed relics of Sheogorath for him. I had to tell him I’d already had enough trouble with one of the Corners, I didn’t need to go attracting the attention of another.

I met a friendly Breton man, who wanted to know if I was looking to join the Mages Guild, and when I explained what I was looking for, he directed me to the Guild’s enchanting specialist, an Altmer woman named Earnaana. She was wearing Daedric armor, which she told me she had enchanted herself. I took that as a promising sign. She obviously knew enough about Daedra to create a set of Daedric plate armor, so I thought perhaps she could help me with my questions.

I sat her down and started to tell her my story. After a few minutes, she told me to stop and brought over another Altmer woman named Andorie who was apparently the hall’s Mysticism specialist, and asked me to start over. When I said that I’d been soul trapped and lost my soul, Andorie cast some kind of detection spell on herself that made her eyes glow, and confirmed that my soul was still gone, but that I had some strange kind of soul-like tether attached to me leading into one of the outer realms. She suspected that was how I was still able to survive without a soul. They were both very interested in my story. I even showed them the lash scars from the Dremora whippings.

I expressed my worry that the gem my soul had been trapped in would be used, and Earnaana told me that was a legitimate concern. She did reassure me that I wouldn’t die immediately from it though, unless the gem was used in such a way that depleted all my soul energy all at once. More likely, I would feel the drain on my soul happen slowly. Most enchantments, she said, such as the enchantments on a weapon or armor, use up the imbued soul energy gradually, and eventually have to be recharged. That was both a relief and also another source of worry. At least I’ll likely have some warning when my soul gem gets used, and I may have enough time to stage a rescue, but on the other hand if I can’t locate my soul, I will die a slow, wasting death as my soul’s energy gets used up by whatever enchantment it powers.

I asked them all kinds of questions. How is it even possible for me to be alive like this after I was murdered? (They didn’t know.) Am I really alive? (Yes, as far as they can tell.) If I die again, will I reappear like I did in Coldharbour? (Again, they didn’t know and they suggested I not test it.) Would it be possible to summon the gem my soul has been trapped in? (No, probably not.) How can I locate my soul? How can I get back to Coldharbour without getting trapped there again?

They gave me the best answers they had for those last two questions. If I’m close enough--as in, within the same room as my soul gem--I can probably use a detection spell like the one my birth gift provides to identify the gem my soul has been trapped in, but as far as finding it before then, they didn’t know, although there was some suggestion that I find someone more knowledgeable about spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism magic, and ask them about coming up with a method to follow the soul-like tether I’ve got. I can get to almost any Daedric realm by opening a portal there, however such portal spells are difficult to master, and easy to mess up, and I’d almost certainly have to get an expert in portals to do it for me rather than learn to do it myself, and they didn’t think that I would be able to convince any portal masters to come with me to Coldharbour in order to ensure a means of return.

After they answered all the questions I could think of, they took me to see the guild hall’s Restoration specialist, an unpleasant Altmer who was quite annoyed at us wasting his time. I think he must be the kind of Altmer who Fayrl was worried about finding--Earnaana and Andorie were perfectly nice to me. He did comply with Andorie and Earnaana’s request though, and ran a full set of diagnostic spells on me, grumbling the whole time about how I was perfectly healthy and that his skills were only for emergencies. He didn’t find anything I didn’t already know. There is nothing wrong with my health, other than being slightly underweight, and nothing Daedric or otherwise unusual going on in my physiology other than Vivec’s gift.

The only other useful piece of information I got from my excursion today was that the Fighters Guild has been staging a resistance against the Dark Anchors. I might go see if they know more about what’s going on with those later.

On my way back to the Den I found a merchant selling a wide variety of art supplies. A good thing I found him, too. I was running out of the chalks I’d gotten at the Den. I got myself a lovely set of brushes, watercolor paints, oil paints, a few inks, and some proper pastels of both the chalk and oil variety. He didn’t have any proper canvasses, but I got the largest book of blank vellum pages the mer had, so hopefully that will hold me over until I can figure out how to stretch vellum over a canvas frame. I also used the last of my money to get a few tins of raw pigment so I can mix my own paints. I’m officially broke again now. At least I’m rich in material.

I reported my findings to Fayrl, and I think he took it alright. When I told him we needed to find someone who’s an expert in spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism, he told me he actually knew someone. I asked who it was, and he said it was an Ashlander wise woman. I was hesitant. Ashlanders don’t exactly have any formal education, and as far as I know they can’t even read, but I’ll take any hope over none.

We got to talking about Fayrl’s experience in House Intelligence, and why he was forced to retire. He demonstrated a skill of his to make himself appear younger. I’ve never seen such a thing! He really did seem like he was a young fifty year old again, full of self doubt and shyness. It was actually pretty adorable.

Too adorable maybe. I gave him a hug, and Fayrl took that as indication that I was alright with physical affection, which… He’s not wrong, I’m fine with being affectionate with my friends, but he did come onto me very suddenly. My mission to make friends with his husband is suddenly a much higher priority.

In fact he’s asleep on my bed now. I should probably stop writing so I don’t wake him.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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20th of Midyear

I’m in shock. I can’t believe Fayrl would betray me like this. I don’t know what I ever did to warrant Fayrl’s blatant lies, even as far back as our first meeting in Coldharbour. Almost everything he has told me has been a lie.

I had just come back inside from another day of exploring the area around Elden Root. I’d lost my shirt due to a run in with some small, mischievous, but otherwise friendly mammals I don’t know the name of (I drew a picture of them at least, maybe someone can help me identify them) when I overheard Lillandril, the Altmer guide Fayrl has hired, chewing out a small Imperial woman for nearly giving away the presence of a secret menu of vegetables to a Bosmer client. Amazingly, the mer managed to keep on his stage persona the entire time, and didn’t even break when I started talking to him. I suppose he needs to remain in practice. I’m sure coming up with such a wide variety of insults is a difficult task. I would be impressed if I weren’t so upset by this new development with Fayrl.

I wasn’t able to get much information from the Altmer about how I could gain access to the secret menu, but the mer let slip some very interesting information in the meantime. Fayrl has a wife, Urtisa, with whom he is apparently estranged, and has a natural born son with her. I was surprised because he hadn’t mentioned her, so I prodded for more information, and what should come out but that Fayrl is actually a high ranking Indoril noble of the Indoril family proper! The mission on which he has been sent is actually some sort of diplomatic mission. His marriage to Qau-dar also seems to be in contention of some kind, which I can understand if he was unable to have his previous marriage annulled or dissolved. As he has a son with her, I can understand that much.

Finally, to top it all off, the guide hasn’t even been hired to take the party back to Morrowind, but to Skyrim instead! I don’t particularly want to go to Skyrim! Fayrl did promise that he was headed to Morrowind, but I’m beginning to have my doubts!

Of course, Fayrl had warned me about the Altmer’s notorious untrustworthiness. I suspected that he might be crafting an elaborate lie for me for some purpose beyond my comprehension, so instead of prematurely confronting Fayrl about something that might turn out to be a hoax, I went to find Fayrl’s manservant, Ulyn, instead.

It was difficult to get him to talk to me at first. That mer is as stuck up and rigid as any House mer I’ve ever seen, but I strongly implied that I already knew everything about the mission and Fayrl’s family and everything else that Lillandril had hinted at, and pretended to be trying to make friends with Ulyn for the duration of our travels together, and Ulyn eventually opened up.

As I feared, he confirmed everything that Lillandril had said. Fayrl does indeed have a wife and son, and is in fact from the Indoril family line, and of a significantly higher status than I had suspected, and the mission is in fact diplomatic. The only good piece of news I could garner is that Ulyn is under the impression that they are heading back to Morrowind, not Skyrim.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this information. I’ll confront Fayrl about it I suppose. I wish I knew more about what this mission they’re on is actually about. I think I will attempt to gather more information from Qau-dar about it first before I approach Fayrl.

What I don’t understand is why he decided to craft such an elaborate lie for me from day one. He said he was a travelling bard from a small village in Deshaan, and that he often sent money back home to his parents. Obviously none of that is true. If his parents are of the Indoril bloodline, they have no need for more money. I discovered that Fayrl is a prostitute, but I’m even beginning to doubt that. Why would a noble of the Indoril family line be a prostitute? Especially while on a diplomatic mission? Nothing about it makes any sense.

I really hope that Qau-dar has answers for me.

Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry (written just before his exchange with Tel) Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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18th of Midyear

Uuuugh. Qau-dar hated the drawings. Or rather, I think he liked them until I apologized, and then he turned cold and accused me of trying to buy his forgiveness. What was I supposed to do? Present my apology empty handed? That would be the height of rudeness! I would never in my life consider apologizing without even so much as a flower as a token of sincerity! ...was the gift too much? Not enough? Did he just not want to forgive me for my accidental insult? I don't know. Khajiit are a mystery to me.

At least the little Khajiit--Khes everyone calls her--liked hers. Sort of. Fayrl told me that she said it needed more fire and mammoths. I have never seen a mammoth before, so I am going to have to go find one so I can get a good look at it.

Fayrl came to talk to me while I was drawing. He wanted to talk about our experience in Coldharbour. I was hesitant at first. He doesn't seem the type of person that likes to talk about feelings, so I suggested that maybe we should see a healer instead. It’s a healer’s job to ensure the health of the mind as well as that of the body. He told me he didn't want to talk about what had happened to us to anyone else because they would probably think we are crazy. I pointed out that wasn't necessarily true, especially if we found someone who is experienced with matters of Oblivion, such as someone in the Mages Guild, but Fayrl wouldn't have it.

We talked a long time, discussing what had happened from our own individual perspectives. He was asking the sorts of questions that make me wonder if he has some experience with military style debriefings. As I thought though, Fayrl did not want to speak about his feelings without prompting, and even then he was vague.

The conversation was still productive though. When discussing how this experience might affect my life, he offered to lend me the money to hire a courier to send a letter back home to let the Captain know that I'm not dead. Oh but apparently Fayrl didn’t realize I was in the Buoyant Armigers. I don’t know how that happened. I’ve been talking about them constantly.

A letter might take a few months to get there, but it’s better than nothing. I think I will do by best to salvage my writing from my imprisonment, and send a fresh copy back to the Captain along with a my explanation and a few of the drawings. The water damage isn't too bad.

I asked Fayrl about his ability to create shadow copies of himself. He said he had learned to manipulate his birthsign in an unusual way to perform the ability. I’m not sure if I believe him. I’ve never heard of something like that before. If he didn’t want to tell me where he learned it, he could have just said so instead of making something up.

I did find out that he is not married to a Bosmer like I had thought, instead he is married to Qau-dar. At one point, Fayrl started flirting with me, and I may have freaked out a bit. I told him that cheating on his husband is probably the worst reaction to a traumatic incident I've ever seen. He just laughed. They apparently have an open relationship. Also apparently Fayrl considers little Khes to be his daughter in spirit. I am mortified.

Fayrl also reminded me about the Green Pact of the Bosmer. I was horrified to hear that the rumors I had heard about Bosmer eating people are not in fact exaggeration. Fayrl tried to play it down, but he acknowledged it. He told me not to harm what he called the Green. I can't eat, or even so much as disturb any plants or mushrooms (I asked) while I am in Valenwood. I’m going to have so much trouble making paints around here. I may have to buy them. This is enemy territory, I can’t afford to have anyone even think I’m violating their laws. I also have to keep being a Buoyant Armiger a secret. Fayrl wants me to pose as a full-time artist instead.

Speaking of which, he and I have come to an arrangement about traveling together. He said he is going back to Morrowind soon, and I may accompany him if I fill in for a missing party member of his. Fayrl is completing some kind of mission for a noble he offended in exchange for his freedom. He needs me to complete his party so that he does not fail his mission. He didn’t specify what the mission was, but he said he had already completed it. I’ll have to ask him for more details later.

Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry

[mazurah]

Escape from Coldharbour

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Tel stumbled back into their cell and the Dremora slammed the door behind them. It had been a bad shift. Tel had been caught stealing paper, and had been whipped within an inch of his life.

He fell to his knees in the center of the cell, panting in pain.

Fayrl went to Tel’s side as soon as the Dremora were out of earshot. “By the Three, they really took it out on you, didn’t they? I’d normally offer you a flask of whiskey and a healing potion, but being dead has its drawbacks. Anything I can do to help soothe your wounds?”

“It… It’s fine.” Tel tried to look over their shoulder at the whip lashes on their back and sucked in a breath. “Gods, that looks bad, but I think I can heal it. I wish I had some food. Healing always drains my energy.”

“I don’t have anything to give you now. But you can have my breakfast in the morning if it will help.” Fayrl looked over the whip marks, it called to mind his time passing through Dres territories and the Telvanni slave camps in Black Marsh. “I wish I had my salves on me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I… thanks, but you need your energy as well.” Tel put his hands on his shoulders and concentrated. The lash wounds closed under a glowing light, and Tel rotated their shoulder blades experimentally. “Does it look bad? I don’t think there’s anything I can do if it messed up my tattoos.”

Fayrl watched the flesh grow and rejoin. He examined the tattoos, they weren’t exactly as they had been. “They aren’t too bad off. Not perfect, but it could certainly be worse.” He ran a soothing hand over the recently healed flesh.

Tel closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “You know, this sounds awful, but I’m glad you got picked to be my cellmate.”

Fayrl laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the noise. “I’m relieved you’re who I had to share my cell with as well.” He leaned up against Tel’s side. “I only wish we had a few bottles of liquor and a plush couch to recline on.”

Tel glanced at Fayrl out of the corner of his eye, then jumped in alarm as a door in the adjacent chamber banged open, and the sound of mortal and Dremora cries filled the air.

“What on Nirn…?” Tel ran to the bars of their cell door and peered through the darkness. Their Dremora guards were bolting toward the exit where a crowd of unrestrained prisoners were pouring through brandishing makeshift weapons. At the head of the crowd, Tel spotted the tallest woman he had ever seen fighting back to back with an Argonian.

“What’s going on?” asked Fayrl standing and coming up to Tel’s side.

“Prison riot! Dear gods, this might actually get us somewhere! We have to get them to let us out of here!”

Fayrl’s heart lightened. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up too high, but it was hard not to. Even if things didn’t succeed, he could always slip away by turning invisible. And perhaps he could get his hands on a blade or two.

Tel dove for the pile of straw under which he had been keeping their journal pages and drawings hidden, and rolled them into a tight cylinder, tying the pages closed with a piece of loose string from their ragged clothing and securing the whole bundle to the waistband of his pants.

He returned to the bars of their cell and watched the mob progress. The few Dremora guards were losing ground.

“Hey!” yelled Tel. “Let us out! We can help!”

The tall woman turned and made a push for their cell. “Stand back!”

Tel and Fayrl stepped back from the door, and the tall woman bashed in the lock with her axe. There was a shower of sparks and the woman pushed the door open. “The name’s Lyris. I hope you’ve still got some fight left in you. You’re going to need it.” There was a cry behind her and the woman turned around just in time to parry a blow from one of the few remaining Dremora.

Fayrl moved in a flash and appeared behind the Dremora, grabbing his wrist and twisting, struggling, even with the shadows of invisibility keeping him hidden. He managed to catch him just off guard enough to yank his sword free of his hand. Finding himself suddenly weaponless, the Dremora turned and punched in the direction of Fayrl’s invisible form, catching him square in the jaw and knocking him off his feet.

Lyris gave a hair-raising warcry and swung her axe down onto the Dremora’s shoulder, staggering him.

Seeing an opportunity, Tel called his magic to themself, feeling his hands slip into the familiar invocation positions with ease. The spirit of a cliff strider shrieked into existence above the Dremora’s head and dove, clawing at the Dremora’s face.

Fayrl held his jaw as he pulled himself back to his feet. He took a deep breath and rushed back at the Dremora, spreading a net of spider web over him while lunging at his back.

Beset on all sides, the Dremora lashed out with a yell, dispersing the cliff strider spirit Tel had summoned and kicking at Fayrl’s webs. His foot stuck, and Lyris used his momentary confusion to decapitate the disoriented Daedra. He staggered and fell. Lyris straightened and scanned the room for more enemies, but the rioting mob of Soul Shriven had dispatched them all.

Tel ran forward to Fayrl. “Are you alright?”

Fayrl smiled, giving the sword a look over. It felt good in his hand. It was well forged and gave him a feeling of security. It was power and freedom in his hand. “I feel much better with this little thing in my hand. It’s no lute, but I think I can do something beautiful.”

He turned to get a better look at their rescuer and realized that the tall woman was not deathly pale like the rest of them. “You’re alive!”

Tel glanced between Fayrl and Lyris. “You know her?”

Fayrl shook his head. “But look at her! She’s not pale and her eyes aren’t white. She’s still living.”

“Right. I wasn’t sacrificed.” Lyris hooked her axe to her belt and looked around at the crowd of Soul Shriven. “I was brought here… conventionally, if that makes any sense. But I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

The Argonian Tel had noticed before walked up to Lyris. “We can’t stop now. We need to keep moving. More guards are on the way.”

“He’s right,” Lyris said. “Get everyone who’s still responsive out of those cells and follow me. If you’ve got a weapon, keep it ready and stay sharp. This place is full of surprises.”

Fayrl nodded to Lyris. “I’m right behind you.” He turned back to Tel. “We have numbers and the advantage of surprise. Don’t know how long it takes those Daedra to regenerate, but I assume we have limited time until they raise the alarm.”

Tel pressed his lips together and nodded firmly.

The crowd of Soul Shriven bashed the doors to the rest of the cells open, and Lyris led the mob into the next room, where they swarmed a lone Dremora that had been loitering. The mob quickly dispersed pieces of its armor to those who were strong enough to wear them.

Tel fell in step beside the Argonian who seemed to be Lyris’ second in command. “What’s the plan?”

The Argonian shook his head. “Ask her,” he said, nodding at Lyris. “My plan is to keep moving and avoid the guards, but she might know more about what’s going on around here.”

An Orc woman on the Argonian’s other side punched her hand and bared her teeth. “I say we give those bastards as good as they tried to give us!”

“I wish I could gut that Altmer who ran a dagger through my chest,” said Fayrl. “Feed him back to the Dremora who have been serving him.”

A glowing figure appeared in front of the group, and a hush fell over the crowd of Soul Shriven.

“The Prophet!” Lyris exclaimed.

“Greetings Vestiges,” said the glowing old man. “Like you, I am a prisoner in this place. You must rescue me. And I, in turn, must rescue you.”

Tel took a step toward the old man’s projection. “Where are you? You know how to get out of this place?”

The glowing figure faded before Tel could finish speaking.

Fayrl stared at the fading afterimage of this so-called Prophet. He felt as though he was missing some essential part of the goings on around him, though honestly his biggest concern was to get out of this alive. And if possible, help Tel get out too. The guy had been pretty nice to him after all.

Lyris raised her voice. “Hold a moment. Gather around, we need to talk.”

The Soul Shriven crowded closer and Lyris cleared her throat. “That was the Prophet. He’s a prisoner here too. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you, even for a moment. He must think you can help me.”

“Help you what?” the Orc woman beside Tel asked.

“Break him out, of course! Believe me, I can use all the help I can get. That blind old man is the only person alive who can help us get back home. Tamriel’s a long way from here.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” said Tel. “If he can get us out of Oblivion, I’m in.”

“How do we start?” asked the someone else at the back of the group.

Lyris pointed at the closed door across the room. “These tunnels will eventually take us to the Tower of Eyes. That’s where we’ll find the Sentinels.”

“The what?” asked the Orc.

“Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour,” Lyris explained. “The Sentinels are connected. If we destroy one, the others will be blinded. With any luck, that will buy us the time we need to free the Prophet.”

“Well that’s a design flaw,” Tel remarked. “How are we supposed to destroy these things?”

“I’ve no idea.” Lyris ran a hand through the front of her hair. “Brute force? We’ll find a way. We have to. Be ready for anything. I doubt Molag Bal left the Sentinels unguarded.”

“I was hoping she’d have more of a plan than that,” Fayrl whispered to Tel, “but I’ll take any chance to get out of here and back home.”

He noticed a few eyes on him. “So who exactly is the Prophet anyhow?” he asked Lyris. “A great wizard? A politician?”

“He’s a strange one, no doubt about it, but he’s the wisest man I’ve ever met. He sees things. The past, the future.”

“So a seer then,” Tel murmured.

“Wait,” a young Breton man at one side of the crowd piped up. “I died. I remember dying. Are we all dead?”

Lyris gave the man a sympathetic glance. “Yes. You’re dead. You’re all dead. I’m sorry.”

“If we’re dead, who killed us?” asked the Orc woman next to Tel.

“A man named Mannimarco,” Lyris answered.

“He’s an Altmer, isn’t he?” asked Fayrl, his voice colder than it had been. He could picture the mer’s face in his mind even now. If he knew his name too then he might be able to do something about him. He had a contact in the Morag Tong. He could try and arrange things.

“Yes, he’s an Altmer. His Worm Cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. They sacrificed you, and everyone in this prison, to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. After you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven.”

“What does that mean?” asked the young Breton in a tremulous voice.

“It means you’re a slave and you’ll spend the rest of eternity here in Coldharbour, working under the lash of the Daedra. Unless of course, you come with me.”

“Right,” said Tel. “Let’s get moving.”

Fayrl went to Lyris’ side. He was ready to get out of this place.

“Alright, the Tower of Eyes should be up that path.” Lyris gestured behind her. “We will have to be inconspicuous. We just got free of this place. The last thing we need is to get recaptured. I’ll take one or two of you with me, and the rest will wait here. Er-Jaseen, you’re in charge until I get back.”

The Argonian nodded and stepped back.

“Alright, as for the rest of you…” Lyris gave the group an evaluative stare. “Who’s had combat experience before now?”

A significant number of the group raised their hands, Tel and Fayrl included. Tel glanced at Fayrl in surprise.

“Alright,” Lyris continued, “and of those with combat experience, who thinks they can be stealthy?”

Fayrl stepped forward. “I can move unseen,” he said, gathering his shadows to himself and vanishing from view, reappearing behind Lyris a moment later.

“Excellent.” Lyris gave him a wry look. “I won’t ask how you learned that skill.”

“I’ll come too.” Tel stepped up to Fayrl’s side. “Not going to let you run into danger all by yourself,” he told him in a low voice.

Fayrl smiled. It seemed his charm had won him an admirer. If they both managed to escape and meet up again, he would have to take advantage of such admiration.

“Alright, we have our party. The rest of you stay sharp. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Er-Jaseen, a word.” Lyris took the Argonian aside.

“That’s a neat trick you have there,” Tel told Fayrl. “You’ll have to show me how to do that sometime.”

Fayrl put a hand on Tel’s shoulder. “Perks of my birth sign, I’m afraid. You’d be better off asking a mage how to use a similar spell. It comes in handy when you’re living hand to mouth though, I can tell you that.”

Tel raised their eyebrows, but before he could comment, Lyris returned and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “Ready to go?” She looked at Tel and frowned. “You’re unarmed?”

“I know a bit of conjuration, but I’m not the best in close combat unless I have a quarterstaff. I’m better with a bow.”

An older Imperial woman stepped forward and handed Tel a broken-off broom handle. “Here. If I’m just going to be sitting around, you might as well use this. Just be a dear and bring it back, would you?”

Tel smiled and gave a half bow, accepting the makeshift quarterstaff. “You are very generous, muthsera. I am in your debt.”

The three embarked up the long winding path to the Tower of Eyes, dispatching the straggling Daedra on the path until they caught sight of an enormous glowing blue eye set atop a short pedestal. Its gaze darted too and fro, as though it was looking through the stones that surrounded it.

Lyris ducked behind a boulder. “I’ll keep watch.”

Fayrl crouched down beside her. “Do you think a sword is enough to take that eye down, Lyris?” He peered up at its erratic movements.

“I dunno, it looks kinda delicate to me,” said Tel. “And if a sword doesn’t work, we could always try setting it on fire.”

Fayrl grinned. “That I can certainly do.” In a flash he was gone from view. He crept up the steep pathway towards the eye, his footsteps making no sound as he continued to the entrance of the stone encircled terrace in which the curious construct stood. Silently he readied his sword to strike.

The eye swiveled around to face away from Fayrl and he took the opportunity to slip up behind it. It turned almost all the way towards him again and he retreated to the side hastily to keep himself out of its line of view. It was quite likely that such a thing could see through his invisibility.

As soon as it paused its flickering Fayrl lunged forward, wreathing his blade in flame, and gouged the center of the eye with his full strength. He could feel tissue tear beneath his sword’s edge, and he twisted it until the eye burst.

A wave of energy dispersed from where the eye had been, leaving only an empty pedestal in its wake. Fayrl hoped that was a good sign as he rushed back down the path to where Lyris and Tel were waiting.

Lyris jumped out from behind the boulder as Fayrl approached. “Quickly! While he’s blinded, we must get to the Prophet’s cell!”

The three of them ran back down the path as fast as their legs could take them and met up with the waiting group of Soul Shriven.

“Quickly! This way!” Lyris gestured to the group, and they scrambled to follow her.

They picked their way across the rocky landscape of Coldharbour, meeting no organized resistance, and easily dispatching the sparse scattering of Daedra they encountered until they reached a metal gate. Lyris ran up to it, and a glowing blue ward flared to life on its surface.

“Fools!” An ominous deep voice boomed around them. “You will never escape my realm.”

“May Vivec preserve us and the Four Corners pass us by!” Tel whispered fervently. “It’s the Lord of Domination himself!”

Lyris banged on the gate in frustration, her fists bouncing uselessly off its glowing surface. “Herma-Mora’s wagging tongue! The door’s warded. We’ll never get in this way. Damn it! Destroying the Sentinel must have triggered these wards. We’ll have to find another way in.”

“Maybe someone here knows some way around,” said Fayrl. “There’s enough people here one of them might have some sort of information.”

Lyris’ face brightened. “You’re right! Maybe Cadwell can help us.”

“Who’s that?” Tel asked.

“He’s the oldest of the Soul Shriven. After years of torment, Soul Shriven usually go insane and turn feral, but not Cadwell. He was already insane before he left Tamriel. Mad as a box of frogs, but completely harmless. You’ll see.”

Fayrl gave Tel a nervous glance. “He was mad enough that a plane of Oblivion didn’t make him go mad and you think he will give us enough information to escape?”

“Cadwell sees things as he wishes them to be.” Lyris turned to Fayrl. “To him, Coldharbour is a wondrous place. It’s his home. And he knows it like the back of his hand. He’s usually down by the river. Let’s go find him.” She turned and motioned for the group to follow her.

Fayrl gave Tel another look. “I hope she’s right. It would be worse than anything else if we failed here and now.”

Tel pressed his lips together. “Well it’s the best chance we’ve got. I certainly don’t know how to get out of Oblivion.”

After some hesitation, the group followed Lyris down the slope toward what appeared to be a small shanty town on the shore of the glowing blue river. As they approached, they could hear the sound of laughter, and see the flickering of the light of a bonfire on the sides of the motley collection of ramshackle tents and lean-tos.

Lyris directed them toward a figure wearing a pot on his head, currently occupied by playing the lute in front of the fire and singing off-key.

“One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead kings got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their bows, and stabbed themselves!”

Fayrl’s fingers itched to get the lute in his hands. The fact that the music kept going off-key didn’t help his desire to play instead. If the madman had a lute, perhaps he also had alcohol. He glanced around to see if he could see any bottles that looked like they might contain liquor or wine. He’d even take a fruit cordial if it meant something soothing on his throat.

Tel glanced back at the party behind them and then at the strange man by the fire.

“Hello, what’s this?” the man called to them. “Out for a stroll, then? Lovely day for it.”

Tel’s mouth quirked upward into a reluctant smile. “You must be Cadwell.” He stepped toward the man.

“Sir Cadwell, yes indeed. A pleasure! And fair Lyris! Good to see you, m’dear! How are you, then?”

Lyris grinned. “I–we have a little problem you might be able to help us with. We’re trying to get inside the Prophet’s cell. The door is sealed.”

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Cadwell shook his head. “Well that is inconvenient, isn’t it? I’ll tell you what–I happen to know another way in! Much more of a scenic route. Rather a fun little jaunt, actually. Full of traps, and corpses, and nasty beasties filling up the bits in between.”

Tel shot Fayrl a nervous glance which Fayrl returned. He wanted that drink even more.

“Well, sounds like there’s nothing to worry about then,” said Fayrl in a sarcastic tone. “I’m sure there’s an easy way through all that. I take it, Sir Cadwell, you will lead us through all of this somehow?”

“Oh dear me, no! I’ve already accepted the engagement with these fine people for the day!” Cadwell leaned forward and whispered to Fayrl conspiratorially. “Besides, between you and me, poor Lyris is as mad as Sheogorath’s jammies. Heart’s in the right place, I suppose. Says she’s got to rescue the Prophet to save us all from eternal torment. How an old blind man could do that is quite beyond me!”

Lyris rolled her eyes.

Fayrl laughed. “I suppose we’re desperate for the help. And as you say, you’re too busy today. We’ll give her a shot for now, what do you think?”

“That’s the spirit!” Cadwell grinned up at Fayrl. “Nothing like a good epic quest to get the blood pumping! In any case, follow the river. You’ll find the door to the undercroft at the water’s end. Once you’re inside, stick to the light, and you’ll find a ladder that will take you right up to the Prophet, straightaway. Do give him my best!”

“I will, Sir Cadwell,” Fayrl assured him. “Do you know the Prophet well?”

“Not personally, no. All I know is he’s an Imperial gentleman. Apparently he was once a powerful mage, but the years haven’t been kind. Lyris says he knows of a path back to Tamriel. I rather think that if one existed, I’d have found it by now.”

Tel blinked at the man. “You don’t think there’s a way out of here?”

“You know I hadn’t actually given it much thought. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Truth is, I’ve been here so long, this place feels like home. But a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, so where’s the harm, eh?”

“Oh, I like your spirit, Sir Cadwell,” Fayrl responded jovially. “It’s only a shame you won’t be joining us for the excitement. You sure we can’t persuade you to just give us a head start?” He wanted to gauge how crazy this man actually was. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the Prophet any more.

“You know, if you’d asked me any other day, I would have jumped at the chance. I’m always up for a good romp around Coldharbour, you know. Unfortunately, I’ve already given these lovely people my word. Can’t very well go around making bad on my word now, can I? Best of luck, though. Do check in now and again, won’t you?”

“Oh, I understand,” said Fayrl with a downcast look. “We will miss you though. We’ll make sure to let you know how things go.” His voice was somber, but he had no intention of seeing Cadwell again unless something went horribly wrong with their escape attempt.

Lyris led the party down to the glowing blue river and followed the current along the bank until the shoreline became too rocky and vertical to proceed. Lyris made a face and waded into the sluggishly flowing goo.

Tel sighed and waded in after her. The substance around them wasn’t water, something Tel had discovered early in his time in Coldharbour. It had the consistency of syrup; much more annoying than water to wade through.

They were immediately confronted by a trio of feral Soul Shriven. Tel had seen beings like this from a distance, but hadn’t realized exactly how badly their bodies were falling apart. Their skin was sloughed off in raw patches, and their already tattered rags were so threadbare that Tel wondered why they bothered wearing them at all.

Fayrl tensed. These Soul Shriven reminded him of the zombies and draugr that lurked in tombs. His heart raced as he gripped his sword in both hands tight enough his knuckles were white.

The hostile Soul Shriven lunged at them, screaming in incoherent rage. They were quickly knocked out by the group. Tel flipped one who had landed face down in the glowing river and dragged her to shore so she wouldn’t drown. There was no sense in adding to the suffering of these unfortunates.

Fayrl stared at the unmoving bodies after they had fallen, a part of him sure that they would stand back up at any moment. When it looked like they were all truly felled, he dashed over to Tel’s side, keeping Tel between him and the feral Soul Shriven.

The group followed the slow, winding path of the river until they came to a rocky overhang that then became a cave. Tel recognized the cave as the place he had appeared after that first, ill-fated escape attempt.

Lyris led them into the back of the cave, and toward a door that had been partially obscured behind some large rocks. “This must be it.” She tried the door. “Damn! Locked. Anybody know how to get this open?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Tel stepped forward and touched the lock. It clicked open. Tel turned and grinned at Fayrl. “Perks of my birthsign.”

Fayrl gave a bright smile. “Lucky us!” He was still shaken about the feral Soul Shriven and the idea that their failure would mean that they would either be as mad as Cadwell, content to be in Coldharbour the rest of eternity, or they would become feral as well, mindlessly attacking even those like them. The thought chilled him to the core, beyond even what the natural coolness of Oblivion brought with it. He had to get out of here.

Lyris hesitated with her hand on the door. “Cadwell seems to think the undercroft is a delightful place. That probably means it’s a death trap. We’d better be careful.”

She opened the door and everyone filed in after her. They were immediately assaulted by a clannfear, which Lyris dispatched with a deft stroke of her axe. She nudged at it with the toe of her boot. “Ugh. This place stinks of death and decay.”

They continued through the winding cave, dodging flame traps and spikes. After one person got badly singed, Lyris rearranged the group to tackle the traps methodically.

Fayrl couldn’t help but feel a tug of nostalgia. It was like the old days of exploring Dwemer ruins and ancient crypts. Slogging through such dark and reeking corridors was somehow comforting. This was something he had done before, something he knew how to do. Spotting the triggers was a task he had been trained in and even paid to do. More world encompassing matters were out of his skill set, but this, this he could do.

They were travelling along at a slow, but steady rate when a cry behind them made Tel glance back. The older Imperial woman to whom he had returned the broken broom handle had gotten caught on a rocky outcropping and been impaled by an unseen spike trap. Tel rushed back to her and cast a healer’s detection spell. The spikes had punctured her stomach. They withdrew into the wall, and the woman fell with a gurgle. Tel caught her and laid her gently on the floor. She was already unconscious.

“I… I don’t think there’s anything I can do…” He turned and gave Lyris a pleading look. “She’s fading fast. Even if I could stabilize her, she wouldn’t be able to move.”

Lyris put a hand on Tel’s shoulder. “It’s alright. She won’t die, remember? She’ll reappear in a few hours and be perfectly fine. We can’t wait for her though. Let’s keep moving.”

Tel put their arms around themself miserably. “I hate being a healer.”

Fayrl turned his sword over in his hand. “Are we just going to let her die slowly from that? That kind of injury is long and painful to die from.”

He looked between Lyris and Tel. A part of him wanted to end the woman’s suffering, but he didn’t want his new companions to think him cruel.

“You’re right.” Lyris looked grim. “She may be unconscious now, but it would be better if she didn’t wake up alone and in pain.” She pulled Tel back from the woman and swung her axe, decapitating the woman in one clean blow.

“It’s better that she felt no further pain,” Fayrl said in a low voice. He was thankful that Lyris had acted quickly and that he did not have to push to be the one to do it.

Tel whimpered. He hated this. It was his fault the woman wouldn’t be able to continue with them; his fault that the woman would wake up alone, and likely become captured by Dremora and put back to work again. She had been kind to them. It wasn’t fair. Tel picked up the woman’s fallen broom handle and sighed. It would be pointless to leave it behind. The woman would never be able to retrieve it from this place alone, assuming she even retained her freedom. Tel turned back to the group with a bleak expression on their face. “Alright, let’s go.”

They continued through the tunnel, more carefully this time. There were no more incidents, and they discovered the ladder Cadwell had spoken of. The group climbed up, one by one, until they all stood in the room above.

“The Prophet’s cage should be just ahead,” Lyris told them. “Quickly now! We haven’t much time.”

They passed through an open doorway and discovered a massive chamber arched with stone beams carved with Daedric sigils. Pools of the glowing blue substance stood about the floor, interspersed with circular platforms of stone, also carved with Daedric script. Dark soul gems sat in piles around the room, and circles of candles surrounded the remains of glowing rituals on the floor. In the center of the room floated a whirling bubble of energy which contained the restrained figure of an old man in a hooded robe.

Lyris stopped in front of the bubble of energy. “There’s a trick to opening the cell. The only way for a prisoner to leave is for another living soul to take their place. I need to swap places with the Prophet.”

“What?” The Argonian, Er-Jaseen, stepped forward and confronted Lyris. “You’re leaving us? There’s no other way?”

“Believe me, I wish there was. But… I don’t see anyone else here with a beating heart, do you?” Lyris glanced up at the bubble of glowing energy. The Prophet looked like he was in pain. “If Molag Bal isn’t stopped he’ll destroy everyone and everything we’ve ever loved.”

Fayrl looked around. No one seemed ready to take action. That never boded well. Lyris was clearly desperate. There was little choice. They needed to do this and fast. “So how do we activate this then? I assume there isn’t much time.” He hoped that this Prophet was going to be in good enough shape to help them get out of there. He was old, and clearly suffering. If the Three had any love for what was good, he hoped they would aid this small group.

“I’ll activate the transfer.” Lyris faced the Prophet, then glanced over her shoulder at the group behind her. “Trigger the pinions when they start glowing. Once it’s done, get moving. The Prophet will know where to go, but he’ll need your eyes, and your protection.”

Fayrl went to one of the strange, diamond shaped metal objects on either side of the platform. He peered at it, poking at it until he found a way to get it to move. “Tel, there’s another one on that side.”

Tel walked to the other side of the platform, and Lyris stepped into the center of the ritual circle. It glowed, and the little metal objects beside Tel and Fayrl opened like a blossom and began pouring chains of magicka at Lyris, lifting her into the air. She struggled against the sensation of weightlessness, flailing ineffectually.

Tel grabbed the glowing pinion and shoved its pieces together. “Now, Fayrl!”

Fayrl pressed the pieces together quickly hoping he had been fast enough that if there was an element of timing involved it would still work. Both pinions slipped into the square holes beneath them. There was a great roaring noise and a crackle of electricity as Lyris and the Prophet switched places. The Prophet went limp and fell to the ground, staggering, but upright, leaning on his staff.

“Freedom!” he gasped. “I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting though, if Molag Bal has his way.”

Tel hurried to the old man’s side and took his arm. The Prophet turned to face him with milky-blind eyes. “Thank the Divines, you are all safe. There is that, at least.”

Tel cast a glance down at the floor. “We lost one of our party in the tunnels on the way to your chamber. We could not wait for her to reappear.”

“It will have to be enough,” the Prophet told them. “Lyris sacrificed everything that we might go free. Her sacrifice must not be in vain.”

Er-Jaseen stepped up to the Prophet’s other side. “Is there no way for us to take her with us?” he asked in a low voice.

“I wish that were possible,” the Prophet responded. “But I promise you, once we escape Coldharbour we will find a way to rescue her together, Vestiges.”

“Vestiges?” the Argonian asked.

“That is what you are,” the Prophet explained. “You are but a trace of your former selves. Soulless ones. An empty vessel that longs to be filled. It is as the Scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined.”

“But if we don’t have our souls, then where are they?” asked Fayrl. He did not even know if he truly wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to know.

“I imagine that Mannimarco has your souls in soul gems somewhere,” the Prophet replied in a grim tone.

Fayrl’s eyes narrowed. “The Altmer is going to pay for this.”

“In due time. Quickly now, we must make haste to an Anchor. I can use one to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it.”

“Alright,” Tel responded. “Someone come take the old man’s other arm.”

Er-Jaseen hooked an arm under the Prophet’s, and the party began moving again.

“Up the stairs, to the Anchor mooring!” the Prophet urged them.

They crossed the room, past Lyris’ entrapped form, and helped the Prophet ascend the stairs.

“There it is!” the Prophet hissed as they passed through the doorway to the next chamber. “The Dark Anchor mooring! I can sense it!”

Fayrl spotted the Anchor. It was even more intimidating up close the ones he had seen looming over the horizon back in Cyrodil. But if Daedra could be sent to Nirn through such a passage, and if this Prophet was as powerful as Lyris had said, it might just work to take them back home. He wasted little time in scanning the enormous room, trying to make sure there were no traps about.

As they approached the base of the Anchor, a huge, spectral being made of smoke and fire materialized within the rings of the Anchor. “The mortals think they can defy me!” it boomed. “Futile. Soon your world will be in my chains.”

The monster waved its massive, taloned hand, and a creature made entirely of bones assembled itself in front of them. It lumbered forwards, blue flames shooting from the three fused skulls at its neck and from the joints between the bundled rib cages and spines that made up it’s arms. It seemed as though it was wearing armor made of bones, held in places by metal and strips of a leather, the source of which was likely better left unspoken. Huge boney spikes protruded from its back and shoulders and a cold dread seemed to radiate off of its frame in waves. Several members of their party screamed in terror and cowered. The others held up their weapons.

Fayrl raised his sword in a defensive stance. He hoped that the others had some fighting experience. Large creatures like this were always a challenge to take down, and the battles often had fierce collateral damage.

“Tel, get the Prophet somewhere safe and protect him. If he goes down, none of us are making it out of here alive.” Fayrl realized his poor choice of phrase after the words had already left his lips, but had neither the time nor the desire to correct them.

“No! I can protect you!” The Prophet ran forward, brandishing his staff. He wove a spell in the air and sent it hurtling toward the bone creature. The spell burst into blinding light on impact, and the creature recoiled.

Tel gave a shout and ran forward after the Prophet. “Old man, you are our only way out of here!” He summoned a cliff strider to attack the creature, and tried to herd the Prophet back toward the doorway.

There was a fierce cry behind them and the Orc woman ran past them with a pickaxe and launched herself at the bone creature. There was a resounding crack as she struck its upper thigh, and the rib cage that had been encircling the bundled bones of its leg went flying.

The creature shrieked in anger and made a grab for the woman, but she dove out of the way, and its hand met solid stone instead.

Fayrl called the shadows to him, this time creating two clones of himself. There was a time for secrets and restraint, and a time for survival, and this was most assuredly the latter. The two shades rushed forward swinging their swords at the creature’s legs. Fayrl put a hand to the ground and suddenly teleported behind the creature, thrusting his sword up into a kneecap, trying to limit the bone beast’s mobility.

“By the Divines, he’s onto something!” cried young Breton man. “Go for the joints! Let’s bring it down!” He ran forward, bashing at the other kneecap with his shovel, denting the metal as he broke off chunks of bone.

The bone creature took a great swing at the Breton and Fayrl’s shades. The Breton stepped back, and lunged to the side, driving his shovel into bone as though it were tough soil to be aerated. The shades ignored the creature’s attack, and its arm passed straight through them.

Er-Jaseen waved his sword in front of him and hissed through his teeth at the bone creature, standing in front of the Prophet and the rest of the party in a defensive stance.

The bone creature stomped the ground, causing it to tremble, and making several members of the party lose their footing. Tel steadied the Prophet and summoned another cliff strider, beginning a continuous stream of conjuration to summon cliff strider after cliff strider to bash the bone creature and weaken its leather bindings.

It screeched a grating howl and rushed at Tel, but intercepted Er-Jaseen instead. The Argonian drove his sword between the creatures bundled bones, then shouted in pain as the creature kicked him and sent him sprawling back with his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Panicked, Tel called upon the spirits of a healing grove, sending spectral saplings shooting upward with a wave of healing magic. It was not a perfect solution; it would not set broken bones or restore lost blood, but it accelerated and fortified the body’s natural healing to an enormous degree, preventing anyone within its range from taking any more damage.

Fayrl raised his weapon. He focused on the vitality of the creature and his sword glowing red as he lept upwards, grabbing onto one of the ribs and hauling himself up its back. He threw the greater part of his body weight into the swing and he aimed for the creature’s shoulder.

The joint popped out and Fayrl hacked at the spot with his sword until the arm came off and fell to the ground.

The skeleton grabbed Fayrl with its remaining arm and tossed him across the room where he struck a large stone vase. He winced as he felt something crack in his chest. He didn’t have time to give in to the pain now. He dragged himself to his feet. He had to get back into the fray.

The Breton chipped away at the bone creature’s kneecaps with help of Fayrl’s shades and several other members of the party. “The Eight take you!” the young Breton hissed, digging his shovel between bones.

The Orc woman jumped forward again, joining the Breton, and with a crack of her pickaxe, the creature fell forward as one of its legs gave away. They switched to the other leg and made even faster work of that one.

The creature fell onto its face and began to scream as it clawed with its only remaining arm towards all in reach.

Tel ran forward and cracked his broken broom handle down on the creature’s arm, then deftly inserted the end of the makeshift quarterstaff into one of its eye sockets on its central head. With a grinding of bones Tel wrenched the entire skull free of the creature’s body. The glowing blue fires on its shoulders and joints flared wildly, then died completely, and the creature went limp.

The remaining party members ran forward and began ripping the creature apart, ensuring that it did not rise again. Fayrl smiled through gritted teeth, holding his ribs.

Tel sat down on the ground in front of the remains of the creature, panting in exertion and the remains of adrenaline. “Is everyone alright?” they called. “Argonian, sorry I didn’t catch your name, are you alright?”

There was a groan from behind him, and Tel twisted around to see the Prophet kneeling over the Argonian’s fallen form.

“He will live,” the Prophet told Tel. “I have tended his wound. Come, the rest of you, a moment, if you please.”

Fayrl took his hand from his ribs and turned his grimace of pain into a smile. “If he’s healed we should keep moving. We need to get out of here before they send anything else.”

“Indeed,” the Prophet said gravely. “The Dark Anchor’s portal is high above us. I will prepare a spell to lift us to it. But first, you must re-attune yourselves to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard.”

Tel blinked in surprise. He’d heard of skyshards before, but only as magical curiosities sought out by mages as external sources of magicka. “Why do we need one of those?”

“They are shards of pure Aetherial magicka that carry the essence of Nirn. Some link them to Lorkhan, the Missing God of creation. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form. I will summon one for you all to absorb.”

The Prophet turned and walked past the fallen bone creature until he was standing in front of the Anchor. He raised his arms to the sky.

“Shard of Aetherius, fall upon us now and anoint us with your blessing!”

There was a crash and a sudden bright light, and a large crystal of blue magicka larger than any Tel had ever seen landed in front of the Prophet.

“There!” The Prophet’s voice sounded triumphant. “Quickly! Collect the skyshard.”

Tel stood and turned to help the fallen Argonian to his feet, leading him toward the glowing crystal. The rest of the party rushed past them and placed their hands upon its surface, gasping as it suffused their forms with glowing light, and their skin returned to health. Even their eyes were restored, no longer the milky white they had been.

Fayrl watched to see what would happen to the others before joining them. If this was some sort of elaborate ruse to crush hope even further, he did not want to be party to it.

As he watched, the others seemed to become… alive? Well, alive again perhaps. They looked vital. He turned to Tel. “Do you think this is real?”

“I think there’s only one way to find out.” Tel reached down and touched the shard along with the Argonian. Light filled their bodies as well, and Tel felt like laughing. He hadn’t realized just how much pain they had been in until it was suddenly no longer present. Tel felt as if they had suddenly been cured of a thousand maladies he hadn’t even realized he had.

“I… It’s real!” Tel turned back to Fayrl with a brilliant grin, dark amber-red eyes flashing in joy.

Fayrl felt like he was seeing Tel for the first time all over again. He took a deep breath and touched the stone himself, closing his eyes against the brightness and praying to the Three that this wasn’t the end of him.

The light filled him with a sudden warmth and took away a weariness he hadn’t known had been aching within him. He took a deep breath and started coughing at the stab of his ribs.

The Prophet had not been idle. He stood facing the three upturned rings of the Anchor, staff raised in supplication. “Great Akatosh, Dragon God of Time!” he called, and his voice was filled with a power and authority it had not previously possessed. “I require your strength! Let the way be opened! Let these wandering souls return home! Let the will of Molag Bal be denied!”

The air glowed with magical power and the Prophet turned back to the group. “Hurry, we must go now!” He jumped into the open air below the Anchor and began to rise upwards to the portal.

Fayrl took a step backward. He looked around, waiting to see what the other people were going to do. He was not sure if he was ready to put his faith in the Prophet just yet. Where was the man going like that? Were they just supposed to jump out into that hole and hope they floated upwards?

Tel didn’t hesitate. “Come on!” they cried, “Before it closes!” He grabbed Fayrl’s hand and pulled him forward, up the steps to the edge of the platform. As soon as their feet touched the top step they began floating upward.

Fayrl grasped at Tel’s arm reflexively. He hated not being in control. Right now, this was multiple levels of being out of control. This whole time in Oblivion had just been a series of his greatest fears and dislikes coming true. It really was a slice of hell.

Tel gripped at Fayrl’s hand harder the higher they rose. Heights always made him dizzy. Heights were just the worst. He hated heights! Hated heights, hated heights, hated h–

They reached the portal and their bodies began to pass through to the other side. The whole world went white.

This is one of only a few entries in Tel’s story that is not in journal format. It was written in collaboration with @talldarkandroguesome.