I had this up at TesFic, but lost interest in continuing it since that forum is quite dead. Anyway, this story takes place in an alternate world. The Nerevarine, Hortator and Incarnate, failed, and Dagoth Ur took over all of Vvardenfell. All connections with the outside world were shut off, although foreign Dunmer born in Morrowind are encouraged to move back to Vvardenfell. But that's enough, I won't reveal any more now...
It's short, but then it's just the prologue. Enjoy.

Bitter Indulgence
The story of Ienas Verothan

Prologue

Even this far from the coast, the night air had a clearly sulphurous odor. Ienas Verothan sniffed contemptuously and strained his eyes to see the destination his ship was heading to. He couldn't see much, as the ship's lanterns were lit, but he thought he could detect a weak light flicking in the distance, like a firefly in the void.

Has to be that lighthouse, he thought. Just great. The grandest technological achievement they have, and it was built by Imperials... don't they get it that without them they'd still be in the First Era, chasing hounds in the Grazelands?

The ship that carried him was built in the traditional Dunmer style, with a curved design and a single large sail. Beside him, there were six people on the ship; all were Dark Elves. His kinfolk. Yet they were so different, so alien to him... There was the shipmaster, of course. He was a grumpy old mer who spat into the water every half a minute. One passenger just stood in the ship's bow, smoking a pipe and gazing up at the stars. Two, a man and a woman, obviously a couple, looked strange. They were dressed in Dunmer garments, but looked uncomfortable wearing them. Ienas couldn't quite decipher the look on their faces. They looked scared, but there was also some hope mixed in the expression. They eyed the other people aboard suspiciously and looked generally ill at ease.

Then there were two males. He couldn't tell why, but they looked... evil, somehow. Even if he ignored the facts that they were clad in leather armor and carried bows and swords, with hoods on their heads, he still didn't like their faces. Ienas had seen many cynical people during his life. He'd also seen men hardened by trials of a long life. Well, these looked both, and more. They weren't young, and their lined faces indicated much sailing on the waters of worry and stress. As far as Ienas could tell, they hadn't spoken a word during the voyage.

I'll have a nap... he thought. It's still a few hours till we reach the coast, and if I'm not going to wake up, that creepy shipmaster's probably going to wake me in some very corny way. Yeah, I'd better wake up by myself...

He didn't wake up by himself. He was waked by the man he'd observed smoking the pipe. He recognized him right away when he opened his eyes, reacting to a shake of his shoulder. "You better get up," the mer said quietly. Somehow, Ienas understood his tone, even if he didn't even think about it. In this moist, heavy darkness, it felt natural to speak quietly. Shouting would have unnerved him.

As Ienas gazed up at the face, he instantly anolyzed it, as he habitually did always when he met a new person. The Dunmer had red, crudely cut hair, as if someone had used an axe to cut it. It was of same length everywhere, ending at the height of his jawline. His eyes were very human-like, only the irises burned with the crimson Dunmer color. They held a kind of dreamy look that made Ienas feel inexplicably sad for him. Or maybe it was the rest of his face; the fellow looked seriously starved, his cheekbones looking like they could puncture his skin anytime. The skin itself was grayer than an average Dunmer's.

He's Imperial-born, Ienas thought. Wonder if they'll let him dismebark. Whatever is he doing here, anyway? To the other he said, "What, are we already there?"
"Seems so," the sad-looking elf said. "Come on, get your belongings, and let's go."

Ienas frowned at this. Let's go? He's speaking as if we have a common destination. And as if we have known each other for years! Curious figure...

Ienas collected his luggage - not much, really, - and walked onto the ramp. He was intercepted by a guard clad in red and black armor wielding a nasty-looking spear. He noticed that the other passengers had already left. It was just him and Sad Lad left.

"Name, business and papers," the bored-sounding guard said in the raspy Dunmer voice. Ienas winced as he remembered that he had to act a 'non-outlander' here.
"Ienas Verothan," he groaned in the half-forgotten Dunmer tone. "Papers are here." He took out a parchment from his bag and handed it to the guard, who ran his eyes quickly over it. Then he said:
"Seem to be in order. But I still need to know your business here."
Ienas shrugged. "The business of any sensible Dunmer. Heard that somebody out things in order here, so I thought that I'll leave Imp-Land and get back to the home turf."
The guard looked at him approvingly. "Yea, brother," he said, his tone friendlier now. "So. You're cleared.
"Welcome to Seyda Neen"


From Ienas Verothan's diary

Welcome to Seyda Neen.

That was what the guard had told me at the docks. Ridiculous; I only have to act a little and I'm at once a home-comer greeted with open arms. I wonder how did the others get through...

But whatever the guard says, I do not feel welcome. This place stinks. Literally. The atmosphere is bad enough: it feels like the sky would drop on me at any moment. The night air feels smoky - even the torches and other light sources seem to carry less light here. And the smell -

Sulphur! Sulphur everywhere! How can these people stand it?! Of course, speaking of the people, they seem like they'd endure anything without as much as a grunt. In fact, they seem completely indifferent. When two of them pass on a street, they don't even glance at each other. I'm sure that if somebody would collapse, nobody would help - cynical laughter would be everything he'd get.

So; quite a paradise has Ur created. Back in Cyrodiil, I was horrified that I was sent here; but now I'm almost glad I'm here.

I need to make a difference.

Chapter I
Welcome to Seyda Neen

From Ienas Verothan's diary

I am writing this in a dirty three-storey barrack house in the little port town the locals call Seyda Neen. I've been told that once this place was a cozy tradehouse/inn, before it was "refitted" and "fixed up". Now it's a monster of a building. From outside, it looks very much like a box with windows, made out of stone and wood. From inside it's even worse: it's dark, smelly and very, very dirty. The spiderwebs in the corners look like they've been collecting dust for eons, the tableclothes have sometimes been red or something - now they're black, although on some there are still some desperate patches of gray that are still struggling to survive. The glasses themselves are, well... not very appetite-arousing - which is not necessarily a bad thing; I couldn't afford a decent meal anyway - and the bar counter has several cuts and holes, like somebody's been cutting it with a knife. And given the condition of the knives, the theory isn't necessarily exaggeration.

So, I was wondering about these things and why doesn't the place's owner keep things in order to the chap sitting at my table. Well, he shared his wisdom by telling me that places like this aren't privately owned, but are ran by the government. And as all restaurants, bars, inns and diners are also owned by the government, anywhere people eat, it's income for House Dagoth, so it's pointless to spend taxpayers' gold on something as pointless as general d?cor.

I didn't inquire about "House Dagoth" - although I had no idea that such a House existed -, I simply assumed they're the ones who rule now.

As I wrote earlier, I'm writing this in this so-called "Portside Inn". Yes, the place is called that. I checked three times, and am still in doubt. Yes, it's near the harbour, but this has never seen an inn in its life. Anyway, I'm sitting in a dark corner, at a knife-scarred table illuminated only by a small red candle. From my vantage point I can see everything that's going on. Two soldiers, one clad in the red-black rig I saw on the customs guard, and the other in tan-colored, heavier-looking armor, are complaining about their ales' cost. The bartender eyes them darkly and tells them to take their complaints to Endus (whoever that is - my briefing would've been really inadequate, if I had any). Now the tan-clad troop elbows the other and declares loudly that "Eno would lose his job freakin' quick if he had a nasty word with Endus". Eno snorts and says that "Endus is playing a queer game if he pays the Sixth soldiers less than is the cost of an ale". Then he looks around and says to his colleague that "the guy at that table looks rich. He can pay our ales". His buddy guffaws loudly and walks to the victim, his thumbs in his belt. Casually, he cuffs the unfortunate fellow's head so that it slams into the plate of hot soup he was eating. At least it seems to be hot, as the poor lad let out a muffled cry of pain as his face submerged in the plate. The guard pressed his head in the dish for three seconds, then grabbed his har and pulled his face out. The
victim gasped for breath, his eyes half-closed, the whole face red. The guard now levels his face with the other's and asks mock-kindly:

"Oh dear sir, would you donate to the thirsty soldiers' fund?", then searches the fellow's pockets and puts his coins on the counter.
"Here, look," he says to the bartender, "he paid for us!" The tender just shrugs and takes the money. Then the black-clad soldier - Eno - says casually:
"But he was so kind. Maybe we should help him out?" and inclines his head towards a window. He seems much more disciplined than the other troop. Maybe he's of higher rank, and the armor indicates that? The other soldier, of course, clutches his belly, he laughs so hard.

During this, the unfortunate victim has struggled to his feet and started towards the door. Eno takes his arm and says, "No-hoo, this way," and leads him to the window. There the two soldiers catch him and throw him out. I hear a scream and a wet thud. Apparently the poor fellow found a wet landing site...


Ienas closed his diary and stood up. Now is the time we meet him in earnest. He's a Dark Elf of average height and build, with nothing really remarkable except his hair. It's shoulder-long, curly and totally white, which is highly irregular for Dunmer: their hair doesn't gray even as they get old. He was once caught in an accident in an
alchemical laboratory: they were mixing an extremely volatile mixture, and of course - as everything that actually can go wrong, goes - it blew up. Ienas's face was burned totally, and for some strange reason, his hair became white. His face looks like he's constantly suspicious: his mouth is a thin line and his eyebrows are low above the nose.

The two thugs were busy looking out of the window and laughing, so he didn't expect trouble on his way out. Outside he saw the unfortunate robbed elf. He was lying on a cart of vegetables of some kind. Considering the wet sound the impact had made, they weren't very fresh. Another man was helping him get up. Ienas frowned as he caught a few words of the conversation. Where had he heard that voice?

"Aaaah, no, it hurts, hurts, hur- AAAaahh!" Thus says the victim.
"Relax, you're alive," says the man with the familiar voice. "Can you move your legs?
"No, it- aah- it hurts!"
"W-hell..." Here Ienas saw some blue light at the two figures' direction.
"Well, better now?"
"Bet- yes, much better. What did you-"
"Nevermind. Here. Take these coins. Maybe they're enough to cover your loss."

Ienas was taken aback. Such courtesy! Here! Not did this guy only help the victim up, but even gave him of his own money!

Then the donating Dunmer turned around and Ienas saw his face. With the sight, he gasped. With the gasp, the other smirked. It was the sad-looking guy from the ship.

"Fancy meeting you here, Verothan," he said.
"How- how did you now my name?" Ienas asked, his voice amazed. "How did they let you land?"
He shrugged. "Common sense."
"What is?"
"What's not? See you around, outlander."
Ienas started forward, startled, as the other turned around and started to go away - "Hey, wait!" - but the other waved his hand, and for a second Ienas found himself blinded by a bright green light. Cursing, he slapped his eyes, muttering all the time how "those damn rude foreigners have to learn manners". When he managed to blink the light away, he noticed - to his not very modest surprise - that Sad Lad had left. For a moment, he just stood there,
contemplating the impossibility of someone just vanishing into the air.

Spell? Recall? Intervention? What the hell?

Ienas looked around, seeking for anyone else who might have spotted the strange phenomenon, but nobody, absolutely nobody seemed to have noticed, which was odd, as the town seemed really a place where a flu would count as big news. Hell, there was even a tramp sitting three meters from him, his back to a wall, and even he seemed oblivious to the disappearance of the charitable elf. He didn't dare to ask the bypassers if they had noticed anything; they'd think he was insane. But the feeling gnawing in him was even worse: if he was the only one who had seen this... event, then he most likely was insane.

Hey, relax, Ienas, he thought. Insane people never doubt their sanity. So you're at least marginally sane.

Comforted by his indomitable reasoning, Ienas went to ask a guard about means of transportation to a town called Balmora - and if there even was anything like it in an hour so late. He was told that a "silt strider" - whatever the hell that was - would be the only choice besides walking on foot. He was given the direction to the port, and so he found it. The port was just a small elevated wooden pier-like construct on the top of a hill outside the town. A sleepy Dunmer female was sitting there on a small wooden chair, head bobbing as she dozed. Ienas approached her.

"Excuse me..."
No reaction.
"Eh, madam?" He grabbed the woman's shoulder and shook it gently. Suddenly she snapped wide awake, startled.
"Aren't you getting your hands off me!" She yelled.
Ienas almost got scared of the woman's thunderous reaction. "I- I'm sorry-"
"You s'wit scared the [censored] out of me! Coming like that, in the middle of the night!"
"I already said I'm sorry," snarled Ienas. He was getting annoyed by the woman's screaming, and, after all, he had
much better things to do. "I'd like to kn-"
"Next strider leaves at dawn."
"Ah. Oh, okay. Thanks."

Ienas walked away from the port, his mood darkening. At dawn; that meant he was stuck in this mudhole for at least five hours. Brooding, he walked back to the sad excuse of an inn and entered. Earlier, he had been on the bottom floor of the blockhouse. Now he walked up the stairs (the really squeaky ones) to the topmost floor to see if the thing was more bearable there. It wasn't: although there were no bullying soldiers there, the place was filled with drunks and other noisy parasites that tended to flood places with alcohol.

Apparently only soldiers couldn't afford enough ale.

Ienas walked to the counter and sat down on one of the high chairs opposite of it. Beside him sat a fat Dunmer, one that you wouldn't hold up as a good example of the Elven race. He bellowed to the bartender that he wanted a drink "hella fast". He got it, all right, but as soon as he paid it a loud cry was heard from behind them:

"HEY! Gidar's buying his drink with OUR money!"

There was a hiss of air, and a knife hit the counter five centimeters from the fat man's left hand. He roared a curse and wrenched himself up from the chair, drawing a knife of his own from inside his shirt. As he left to begin another of the numerous fights in the area, Ienas glanced at his drink. Normally he would have left it there; but
he was annoyed, angry and, worst of all, thirsty. He couldn't afford a drink of his own, so he took it and left to a table in the corner. He doubted that Gidar or his foes would mind.

He tasted the drink. It was remarkably akin to western beer, but it tasted more... natural, that was the only word he could think of. Like it was made of freshly picked ingredients. It was stronger, too. Surprisingly good for a place like this. He drank and drank, until there was nothing but him and the glass. He had never been much the drinker, and so the single glass of beverage was enough to make him feel sleepy. The fact that he hadn't slept well in twelve hours helped, too.

When he awoke, a cold, pale light was upon him. He rose slowly from the table, blinked a few times and yawned mightily, stretching so that his joints cracked. As his gaze focused, he saw that there was a woman standing in front of his table. A woman wearing a startlingly short skirt and a loose tunic. Both garments were old and dirty. She had no shoes, and her hair was a messy, black mane that looked like the nest of some animal. Ienas said stupidly, "Uh, can I help you?", his eyes still in slight defocus.

The woman laughed mirthlessly. "You help me? Oh, no, darling. It's you who needs my help here."

Her voice was low but still reedy, and it made his neck bristle. It was like the thought of fingernails being scratched on bare rock. "What do you mean?" he asked, although he was quite sure.

"Oh, you've had a rough night, darling. I bet you would enjoy waking up in the company of a woman." She leaned forward so that Ienas could have a glimpse oh her briasts, which were in plain view through the neck of her tunic. "A nice... woman."

There were whistles and calls from another table. Obviously they wanted to get the attention of the "nice woman", but she ignored them. Ienas knew that he was pretty striking, with his white hair and grim-looking features. However, he wasn't interested in the woman, and, unlike so many, could keep to his wits in female company.

"Sorry, miss, but not interested. Find another customer."
The prosttute smirked and stretched. "Oh, you'd regret that."
"No, I won't. Now get out of my way. I need to catch the silt strider."
"Oh, you wanna do it on the strider? Nice; that'd be a novelty..."
Ienas had had enough. "Turn, buzz off and belt up, [censored]! I'm in a hurry." He rose from his chair and a grin spread on his face. He couldn't resist adding: "Besides, I wouldn't do you even if you paid me. So goodbye."

The woman was aghast. "How dare you?! HOW DARE YOU?!" She slapped him on the cheek and spat on his shirt. Then it was Ienas's turn to go mad. He took the now empty glass and hit her head with it, splintering it into approximately two hundred little fragments. The prosttute shrieked, went limp on the floor, moaning in pain and anger. Breathing hard, Ienas looked up. The whole bar was gaping at him, completely silent.

He saluted and exited the blockhouse, running to catch the departing silt strider.

Chapter II
Arrival


The silt strider came to a halt at the stone platform. It was morning, the trip hadn't taken very long. The dawn sunshine had painted the few clouds in a distinct pink-orange color. There were, however, almost as a reminder of the brooding darkness of the night, a few dark clouds moving in a different direction than the others. As the normal clouds moved from east to west, these ones seemed to come from roughly northeast.

So different from the one I just left, Ienas thought. Man, this place looks almost civilized. A sudden idea flickered through his head. Maybe this place was chosen as the place of rendezvous because it's not Dagoth territory? But no, there was one of the tan-uniformed soldiers. And there another one. They didn't seem to be paying attention to the passengers on the strider, and come to that, why should they? The island of Vvardenfell was shielded from the dangerously influental outside world, but from the inside, it was being eaten by criminals, so-called keepers of peace - more grandiose sounding, but just as dangerous, and corrupt politicians, ruling bribed or intimidated, or both. Intimidated or bribed by House Dagoth. Ienas wondered how could they keep the nation together. Most likely by fear of force rather than by force itself. If everyone revolted, the Dagothists would be squashed, if only by numbers.

Ienas walked down the port's stairs and asked a guard about directions to "Old Terrace Street". He was told that it was on the east side, on the second level. So Ienas took himself together and crossed the river to the east side, wondering what the guard had meant with the "second level".

His wonderings were cut off harshly as a horn blared behind him. Startled, he turned around - to see a strange entourage come up on him. Strange, and not a little dangerous-looking. In the middle walked a very tall being clad in a blood-red robe. His skin was ashen, like a Dunmer's, perhaps a little grayer than usual. He had a black beard but no moustache or hair. His ears were Dunmer-ish, too, but he still didn't quite look like a Dunmer - in Ienas' opinion - should. He was listening to a shorter creature, one that looked like a hunchbacked man with snouts coming out of his face. Actually, he didn't look like a man at all. He made hand gestures as he spoke, clearly emphasizing his words, but the taller being seemed to be listening with only half an ear. The two were flanked by warriors in the red-and-black light armor he'd seen before, but these had black hoods on their heads and equally black scarves covering their faces from nose downwards, leaving only their burning red eyes visible. They carried spears and had sheathed swords hanging from their belts. As Ienas looked around, he saw that people were hurrying from their way, and, astonishingly, kneeling down and bowing their heads in a humble show of respect.

"Out of the way! The lords Dagoth have come!"

Ienas didn't consider himself a suicidal person, but something about the scene activated his rebel instincts. The whole town bowing and scraping before a handful of people? What had they done to these poor devils to make them this respectful, this afraid? He would stand. He wouldn't budge. He didn't care if they'd drag him into jail for it. He-

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. He cried out in surprise, drawing curious glances from people beside him. The hand pressed inexorably, and soon he found himself kneeling. He looked over his shoulder - to see nobody at all. Had he imagined it?

Suddenly, the column of venerable elves stopped. The hunchbacked one stopped talking - Ienas' instant anolyzing had labeled him such that he rarely did that, and the bodyguard ring opened to let two of them pass. Ienas craned his neck to see what was going on. He soon saw more than he needed.

There was one man standing. The two soldiers moved toward him, spears thrust forward, ready to impale him. Just as they were about to do so, the tall red-clad figure raised a hand and said in a gravelly voice,
"Hold."
The soldiers stopped, but didn't lower their weapons. The lord - Ienas automatically assumed he was some kind of lord, even if he hadn't had heard the exclamation about the 'lords Dagoth' - folded his hands behind his back and walked slowly to the rebellious man, who was trembling now, with fear and anger. The lord stopped in front of him, tilting his head. The man stared back, breathing heavily. A couple of heartbeats passed in complete silence. The man broke it.

"Filthy s'wit!" he yelled. "I'm not going to bend knee before you! Never!"
"Why?" the lord asked. His voice was deep, nothing like the raspy speech of normal Dunmer. He sounded calm, but there was still an edge in his voice as he said the monosyllable.
"Why should I?" the man countered. "I didn't kneel before the Hlaalu. Nor before the Redoran or Telvanni. Never been any Dres or Indoril here on the island, but I'm hella sure I wouldn't have knelt before them, either. Why should I kneel before the Dagoth?" He spoke quickly, as if he had practiced the words before and now wanted to get over it.
"You know you're doing blasphemy," the lord said. "Dagoth is not only your house, but your gods, too. I am one of the eldest of them, one of the appointed priests of the mighty Ak-"
"You're no gods! You're heretics! You- you killed Vivec!" The man was losing control now.

The lord took a step forward and grabbed the man's collar, lifting him easily off the ground. "Watch your tongue, underling," he snarled. "The Tribunal are the heretics, and traitors, too. They betrayed Nerevar and killed him. They broke their oath. They betrayed Azura. And they corrupted Lord Reborn, sending him to his death." He dropped the man and turned away, walking to join the hunchbacked creature. "Kill him," he said to his guards, almost casually.

One of the guards gave his spear to the other and grabbed the now sweating man by the hair, lifting his head up. He drew his sword. There was a glint of steel, a whoosh of air and a muffled thud, accompanied by gurgling cut off sharply. The other guard put the spear upright between the stones of the street, took the man's severed head and put it on the spear's point. The guard who had killed the man wiped the blood from his blade on the head's cheek.

They returned to their places in the column and the entourage marched away.

Insistent muttering began to spread in through the crowd. They were close to revolting now, Ienas saw. Demonstrations like this kept the populace in order, but also fed their rage.
"Sons of an Ogrim."
"They should be fed to the nix hounds, all of them."
"They're not even full Dunmer. And they want to create the Dunmer promised land...?"
"If they didn't have a stomper, I'd rush them now and here..."
Ienas hurried away before the discontent would make them do something stupid. The guards would probably mass him into the same category as them, and he preferred keeping a low profile. But what in the worlds was a 'stomper'? He'd have to ask Givil Rotheran about it.

His musings brought him to a small building - actually a part of one of the large buildings the city seemed to consist of - whose banner read 'The South Wall'. He remembered the name from his instructions and headed inside.

He had expected a place like the Portside. It was therefore a surprise to see a clean, well-lit place with at least marginally well-behaving patrons. A flight of stairs extended upwards directly to the left of the entrance. The main corridor - or what he assumed was the main corridor - turned to left as soon as it had room to do so. A simple question brought him to the owner. An Imperial.

Ienas blinked in surprise as he faced the man. He hadn't expected to see any outlanders in Morrowind - or Resdayn, as it was again called. A Bosmer or Breton would have been easier to stomach, but an Imperial, a Cyrodil? How come this one wasn't exiled yet?

The man gazed at him uninterestedly. "Can I help you?" he asked indifferently.
"Yeah. I'm the delivery boy." Ienas answered in the appointed code words.
"Ah, I see. Well, I want you to carry some Kwama eggs."
"Where to?"
"Old Terrace's end. Grump will take them from you. He'll pay, too."
"Great. Gimme the wares."
"They're outside the building in a basket. Bring the basket, too. No need to return it."

Ienas found the eggs were they were supposed to be. A short walk brought him to the last house of Old Terrace Street. Tucking the egg basket under his left arm, he knocked at the door.

The answer took longer than he had expected. Or probably not. If this place was some kind of hideout, security was in place. He noticed the faded and scratched nameplate on the door. It was mostly worn so bad that he couldn't decipher the name. It was Ca-something-des. This was as far as he got before the door opened and he was unceremoniously pulled inside and dumped on the floor.
"Ow!" he protested, trying to get up. A sword pointed at his chest stopped the attempt. "What the- oh. Yeah. Hi, I got some eggs for Grump."
The man with the sword smirked slightly. "Grump's away."
"Too bad."
"But I'm Sal. I can take them."
"Right." Ienas puffed. "Your people really should have worked out a better recognition code."
"Better? Hey, if it works..." The man offered his hand. Ienas took it and was hauled to his feet. The help to rise turned into a handshake. "You're Ienas Verothan, huh? Welcome to Balmora. I'm Salvor Dareleth," his smirk turned a little bitter, "former House Brother of Great House Redoran, presently second-in-command to Raven Rotheran."
"Pleased to meet you." Ienas looked around. The house was small and barely furnished. There was a bed, a small table, two chairs and a closet. Two Dunmer flanked Dareleth, both with swords in their hands. One was female, a very common-looking and one you would forget the instant you looked away from her. Got to be a spy, Ienas thought. The other resembled Dareleth so that Ienas automatically assumed they were relatives. He was shorter and a bit thicker built, and, opposed to Salvor's long black dreadlocks, had short red hair. His face was a bit softer-looking thanSalvor's, who had a large pointed nose and prominent cheekbones. Other than them, there was nothing in the house. Was this Rotheran's great hideout?
"These are Talmeni Tenim and my brother, Rindral Dareleth," he said and gestured towards them. Ienas nodded to them, getting a smile from Talmeni and a small, grim nod from Rindral. "And now. Follow me, please." He stepped to the closet and yanked it open. Rindral stepped in - to Ienas' great astonishment - and disappeared. "After you," Salvor said, gesturing toward the open closet. Hesitantly, Ienas obliged, almost not noticing the ladder before hitting his nose on it. He climbed it down - to find himself in a completely different world.

The ladder had led him to a small tunnel, apparently just dug in the dirt. The walls, however, had supporting planks, and the place looked like done for long-term occupancy. He made these observations in near darkness, as the only light source was the light coming from the gap through the closet. He wondered how could he do anything there, as a bright light flared behind him. He turned, to see Salvor and Talmeni come through, the latter carrying a torch.
He turned again, just as Rindral opened an old wooden door reinforced with iron strappings. "In here," he said. "Rin's the gatekeeper," Salvor explained as the quartet stepped through. "Security is paramount. There are only three keys carried by us, all three by gatekeepers. There's always one of them living up in the house to let us go in and out. We're taking no chances with the authorities."
Ienas nodded his understanding as they entered a room about five meters long and wide. It was obviously an antechamber of sorts, given the name-signed racks and doors leading out of it. There were three of them, one on each wall, plus the one they had stepped through before.
"What is this place?" Ienas asked, awed. "How come there's a place like this under a house in an ordinary town?"
"You better ask Raven about those," Salvor said. "Come on, I'll get you to him."
Ienas looked around at the 'I', to see that Rindral had gone back to the house, and Talmeni was disappearing through the door on the left wall. "She's going to her bunk," Salvor explained. "She's been up for eighteen hours. Raven'll tell you more about the place."