I realized I hadn't posted this here, or at least haven't posted the fully updated version of it. Special thanks to Michael Kirkbride for giving me permission to write it and I hope you all enjoy it as always. Oh, and Ovaltine.

“Is that the sky? But we’re underground.”

“We’re in the last section of my Spire before you reach the Top. I didn’t take you up there because you’re not ready for that yet. Besides, I fear you’re probably not interested in seeing it anyway. This will simply have to do, hopefully.”

“That’s not answering my question.”

“You really are persistent, aren’t you? The Spire’s multiple sections attune themselves to different aurbical notes, as that is the nature of Talk. They exist in when and in where and in what, like I do. This one is a sky because–”

“You know what? I don’t want to know anymore. When the others told me you were the God of Talk And Makes Others Listen, I thought they were just exaggerating.”

“If that’s the form you’ll be more comfortable with… now, does this shape make you feel more at eased?”

“If you think turning into a Yokudan with the head of a bat is going to intimidate me, you might want to think up another magic trick.”

“Everyone is intimidated by Talk, and you are no exception. You just don’t care enough to admit it.”

“Sorry, I’m just not seeing myself being afraid of something as irritating as you.”

“Your courage knows no bounds, sura. These last few minutes have actually been delightful. Are you sure you don’t want to keep having this conversation with me?”

“I’m sure. Now, I’m going to ask for the final time: where’s my jewel?”

“Do you speak of the same jewel which I now speak of? The one you stole from the Hist, who were and still are my companions during my long years in exile? If we do in fact speak of the same jewel, then you already know that I cannot let you have it.”

“Oh really? And why is that? Because the Hist is your friend, is that it?”

“I thought you out of all people Yokudan would appreciate and respect the notion of what you all of quick lives call honor.”

“I do respect it. And any other day I would respect you for wanting to avenge your friends. But I stole the jewel fair and square; now I request again that you give it back.”

“Ah, I see. Did you know that I knew you were going to say that? I shall tell you something, Yokudan: For everything you’ve ever said, have said, and will say I was the one that let and will let you utter it. Stealing it fair and square does not matter to me. When I heard you voice it, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Then let me say this, since you already know I’m going to say it anyway: You may be Hoodoc, but I don’t care. The Eye is mine, and I’m leaving with it.”

“And are you so certain about this rash belief of self-entitlement that you would challenge me and risk your life over it?”

“If I have to cut my way through you to get it, then that is what I intend to do.”

The crew of the Carrick had been sailing east from Argonia for some time now, and the captain had given them no clear indication of changing course. It had been weeks since they had left the land of muck and death, and the lizard-men had been happy to see them go. Luckily for the crew, they had restocked the Carrick’s stores in Morrowind before they entered the marshes at the behest of their captain, but they were now running low on both food and drink and hadn’t stopped at a port of either friendly or foreign origin since their departure. But the captain himself seemed unperturbed by this; he mostly stayed in his cabin reading ancient tomes and star charts, and telling the crew to watch out for Hist. Even now the others could not remember the events of their excursion into the marshes, nor would Cyrus tell them of his quarrel with the trees. All he would do when asked was place his hand on the pouch the Eye of Argonia occupied, attached to the buckle opposite his sword, and leave to another part of the ship. The crew grew worried by this behavior, but at the same time knew that their captain had faced worse challenges before and let such concerns fade from their minds.

At first they had traveled southern-east, following the constellation of the Warrior as it cleaved its way through the sky before shifting slightly north to avoid ramming into a large cluster of barnacles as described on one of his maps. When the gentle sea breeze gave itself away to tropical storms, the captain told them to maintain their course through it. With the Padomaic bubbling with rage beneath them, the Carrick only succeeded from splintering in the water because of her skilled crew, and they passed through the lightning clouds and entered a stretch of peaceful yet strange water. For days the crew bobbed lazily, the already dwindling supplies nearly reaching their end, before Cyrus pointed towards an island group in the distance and marked it as their destination.

As their vessel drifted towards the foreign landmass, tired and estranged, it was Coyle who finally got up the nerve to ask the captain the question they all wanted answered.

“Sir, why have we traveled so far east? What’s so important that we come here?”

Cyrus turned around and looked at the man, rolling the map he had been currently viewing back into a scroll and sliding it through his buckle.

“Ask me that again when we get there,” the Redguard said with a half-smile. “It’d spoil the surprise if I told you now.”

The land party walked through the sandy turf of the shore, dotted plentifully with large clusters of grass that made the ground look like gritty gold pierced with stalks of emeralds. As he passed by a palm tree, Cyrus frowned and bent down near its base before picking up something long and metallic, and caked with ages of dirt.

“What is it Captain?” Borden asked as he walked towards Cyrus, who turned around with the object in his hand. He had knocked off most of the dirt from it, revealing the dull brass underneath and scrawled in a forgotten language men and mer can only halfway understand.

“Dwemeri pipe, or what’s left of it anyway. So she wasn’t lying when she…I’m actually surprised. And if that’s the case…” He tossed the scrap back onto the ground and continued farther inland, taking out his map to read it. The others exchanged nervous looks at the mention of the Dwarves, their minds set ablaze with the tales of how they disappeared. Coyle called out to the captain, suddenly reminded of something Cyrus mentioned from earlier.

“Dwemer? Lying? On the ship you said I could ask my questions again when we hit the shore, so I will. Why have we traveled so far east? And what is this place?”

Cyrus looked up from his map, and for a second the shipmate was startled at how surprisingly old and young the captain looked. He saw wrinkles where he didn’t remember them being before, and his beard was tinged with just a bit of gray. The captain gave him a gruff smile.

“What is this place? I don’t know to be honest. I was just given a bunch of old maps and star charts. Why have we traveled here in the first place? Just to prove that it exists.”

“You want me to do what now?”

The atmosphere in the Broken Kwama Cornerclub was rowdy enough that the other residents didn’t pay no attention to the Dunmer mage woman talking to the Redguard in the back. An old map sat between them on their table, dusty and scrawled in both Dunmeris and Daedric script.

The Telvanni raised an eyebrow, and pointed to the spot on the map that was circled in red ink dulled from the passages of time. “I want you to explore this area around this part of the sea."

Cyrus drank the rest of his sujumma, and placed the empty bottle near the edge of the map. “You’re asking me and my crew to search for a place that may not even be real. That’s not typical Sellsword work.”

“I said it was out of your usual criteria. But I’ve heard of your reputation, and I believe that you have the necessary skills to see this through.”

“I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me lady, but me and my crew only stopped in Necrom for more supplies for the ship. I have my own objectives at the moment; we’ll be sailing for Black Marsh as soon as we can.”

“And you can still continue your objectives, Captain Cyrus. When you get finished with them, you can easily travel onwards to the destination on the map. As you can you see, the marker is not far from the coasts of Black Marsh.”

Cyrus rubbed the sides of his face, thinking. “So you want me to go to this place, that may or may not exist, and return with proof of it’s existence? Do you want me to go ahead and try to find Aldmeris too while I’m at it?”

The Telvanni was not amused. “If I wanted to find Aldmeris I would hire an entire fleet, not one vessel. As I said before, you will be receiving payment if you agree to this job.”

“How much are we talking here?”

“Two thousand septims. You’ll get one thousand up front, and the rest when you return.”

The Redguard whistled, and nodded his head at the map. “That’s a lot of gold. Fine, I’ll do it. But if you mind me asking, why do you want to find this place? What’s your story?”

The woman drew her arms across her chest, frowning. “My master in his more youthful years ventured into the Dwemer ruins near this city, searching for anything interesting the Deep Folk could’ve left behind before their disappearance. In his last excursion, he was able to translate a set of dusty tomes that seemed to detail a large group of them leaving when the Chimer and the Dwemer united against the Nords in the aftermath of the War of the First Council. Unlike the Rourken, they fled eastward on sailing ships and supposedly made landfall on an island in the Padomaic midway between Tamriel and Akavir. My master wanted to make an expedition to investigate this island, but he grew ill before he could do so. I look after him myself and will not leave his side, so I want you to bring back as much physical evidence on your ship if it indeed exists as possible, to ease his spirit before he passes.”

“Dwemer? You didn’t mention anything but Dwemer earlier. This ‘simple errand’ could turn out to be dangerous.”

The woman smirked. “You can always back out of the agreement now if you want to, you know.”

Cyrus grinned, and signaled the serving girl to get him another drink. Out the corner of his eye he saw a pair of young Dunmer lads carrying a rather large chest between them that clinked as they walked. He placed a hand on the map.

“Where’s the money in that?”

Cyrus and his men made their way across the sandy prairie as night began to fall, the light of Masser and Secunda illuminating their way. Although the captain didn’t know exactly where he was going, he recognized the architecture of the Dwarves rising high in the distance almost instantly. He had had his own experience with exploring Dwemer ruins, and he knew that they were usually teeming with interesting devices mages and scholars were more than happy to part gold with to buy.

But as they drew to the ruins, Cyrus began to feel an uneasy feeling build up inside his chest and he stopped as he neared the base of the closest building. He turned to Gar, who looked back at him with a similar expression. They both sensed it; the whiff of something magical scheming in the air. The captain slowed down and placed his hand on his hilt.

“Something’s not right here. I’m sure of it.”

The others exchanged glances, their bags of island evidence hanging heavily over their shoulders as they reached for their own swords. Suddenly, a deep pvssyr began to echo through the growing darkness. Cyrus signaled for his men to light the torches, and he took one himself as he eyed his surroundings warily, the pvssyring noise refusing to cease but instead growing stronger.

“Whoever is out there, if you show yourself now I promise not to kill you. Just let me and my men be.”

The pvssyring grew even louder, and Cyrus frowned. He finally drew his sword, even though it was little nothing more than a bluff.

“I’ll only say this again! Show your–”

The pvssyring grew deafening, cutting the Redguard off, who suddenly realized something he hadn’t realized before. A mistake in his logic. A very costly mistake. He turned to stare at the architecture surrounding them, and nodded his head to confirm it was true and that his weren’t playing tricks on him due to the low light.

“These aren’t Dwemer ruins.”

The pvssyring abruptly stopped, and the crew of the Carrick stood as still as they could.

And then with the sound of a thousand swords attempting to slice through solid ebony a wave of pure darkness exploded upwards with a fleet of bats trailing behind it, solidifying into an almost makeable form of a man with the bats circling his outstretched hand, and then they themselves forming into the blade of deadly scimitar which gleamed with their reflections on the blade.

The bat-headed man turned to stare at the land party that stood near it’s hovering feet, and a blood-tinged smile suddenly crossed its face. It raised it’s scimitar into the air, preparing to strike.

The wave of darkness sliced the air but it made not just one sound but many. It smiled as it twirled the scimitar in its hands again, this time looking at the spot that it wouldn’t miss on purpose.

“Forget the proof. Back to the ship,” Cyrus said calmly, and the entirety crew threw down their sacks and ran back towards the beach.

Cyrus (holding his left arm, which is bleeding): That was a dirty trick you just pulled there.

Hoodoc (calmly wipes his solarite blade on his bat-skin robes): How was it dirty?

Cyrus: You cheated. There’s no way you should be able to move that fast.

Hoodoc: I am Sound. I am Talk. What moves faster than Talk? Nothing, Yokudan. Everything that Talks is under me and my will only, and it is always my domain.

Cyrus: Oh, is that so?

Hoodoc: I am the truth and the lies, and the truth within the lies. Such is what I speak of, and thus it is so.

Cyrus: Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve just figured you out.

Hoodoc (tilts his head to the side, not getting it): I knew you were going to say that, but even now I still don’t understand what you mean by those words.

Cyrus: You’re the God of Talk. You know exactly what I’m going to say, and because of that you know what I’m going to do. So that means I just need to do one thing.

Hoodoc: And what one thing was and is that again, Hoon Ding?

Cyrus: It’s simple, really. I’ll just have to stop talking. Constantly.

Hoodoc: You can’t do such a thing. It’s impossible.

Cyrus: You sure about that? There’s a lot of things people say are impossible but I’ve done them anyway.

Hoodoc: This is one of those things that you simply cannot do. To stop talking across all existence would be like telling someone to stop existing on a smaller scale. Not even you can accomplish such a feat.

Cyrus: You think so?

Hoodoc: I have already listened to your defeat and my victory, Yokudan. I have already listened to my footsteps delivering the jewel back to my friends. It is not simply a matter of what I think. This, swordsman, is matter of what I already know.

Cyrus (raising his sword in his hand): Then how about a little bet, Hoodoc? If I don’t die during the next clash of our blades, I’ll show you what happens to people who steal things away from me.

Hoodoc (also raises his sword, taking on a new position): I have already heard the sounds and speech of that battle as well, Yokudan.

Cyrus: You have? Good. Then I hope you wont mind hearing it again.

The Carrickers ran faster than water through a stream, no longer slowed down by the sacks of supplies that they had been carrying over their shoulders. They maneuvered the palm trees that had once seemed so safe, now possible ambush points of unseen enemies. Coyle tripped over a rock, and Cyrus quickly tugged the man to his feet without slowing down.

“We have no time to lose. Keep with the pace!” he said in the shipmate’s ear as they continued running. They were almost to the ship when suddenly there was an explosion so dark that it felt like the night had given birth to another, even blacker night.

And then he stood before them. He had the physique and appearance of an athletic Redguard, but his head was the head of a black-furred bat, his eyes glowing a bright silver. His fangs were as white as the stars in the night sky, and he wore a pair of strange robes that flowed like silk as he walked. In his left hand he held a sword, but its blade appeared to be fluid and intangible.

Coyle whimpered. “No. Hoodoc, God of Talk And Makes Others Listen.” The other sailors in turn gave out wails of despair.

Cyrus frowned at the shipmate. “God of what? ‘Talk and Makes Others Listen’? Never heard of him.” The Yokudan God turned to face the captain, his eyes a milky silver that gave the impression of foggy windows gazing outwards into the true depths of eternity.

“You say that you do not know of me, but I know of you. I have listened to your voice before you were even born and had a voice to speak with. Sooner or later, it will die out and leave just an echo on the wind.”

The Carrick captain looked at the strange new being and laughed. Hoodoc tilted his head, confused at the sudden outbreak of laughter.

“What do you find so humorous?”

The captain stopped his laughing. “Because I originally came here searching for evidence that this place existed, but now you show up as the perfect proof.”

“This place is merely a measure of my will only, and that is what it protects. But I am everywhere, Hoon Ding, and I heard it when it cursed your name. I have come here for the jewel that resides at your waist, Hoon Ding.”

“First off, I’m not the Hoon Ding. Don’t call me that again. Second, the Eye is not for sell.”

“You are and not the Hoon Ding, until you aren’t and are. That is how it always has been. I didn’t say I wanted to buy the jewel; I said I came here for it.”

“The Eye does not belong to you, Hoodoc.”

“It doesn’t belong to you either. I request that I return it to its original owner(s), so they can sigh in peace. You come to my realm with a stolen apparatus that belongs to those I call ‘friend’, and thought I would not care?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were even here when I arrived and so I didn’t care that much.”

Hoodoc smiled warmly, but with a tinge of sadness inside his eyes. “Regardless, you are a guest in my house, and that makes me your host. It is only befitting that a guest does one request for their host. Would you deny me that request?”

“I think you should change your name to God of Talks To Much, fits you better.”

“I am him as well; your ancestors carved me into many new shapes because the sheer power of Talk was unable to conform to one. Hoodoc, Hrahn, Hr’andyl; you people do enjoy having a god for every occasion, don’t you? Regardless of what you call me, you still refer to the true me as well. The power uncontained.”

Hoodoc’s form shifted in the briefest of moments like sand on a beach caught in the gust of wind, revealing a silver form of glowing light in the shape of a bat-dragon that vibrated at every intensity. And then as fast it was visible, it was gone. “I am HRAHNDEYL, the God of Talk and Sound.”

“I’m not even going to try to pronounce that.”

“At least you leave me that courtesy, to not hear my name spoken imperfectly. And now while I do appreciate speaking with you Yokudan, I would like for you to answer my question: are you still denying me my request for the jewel?”

Cyrus threw his torch into the water. He had always preferred to fight with just a sword in his hand and nothing else. He tightened his hand on the hilt, and Hoodoc watched him with an almost curious gaze as he did it.

“I’m denying your request. The Eye is mine. Now, please remove yourself from between me and my ship.”

The God of Talk And Makes Others Listen frowned, but it was not of anger but instead of one of pity. “You’re answer both saddens yet does not surprise me, Hoon Ding. Hopefully the next time we speak you will be wearing a better skin.”

“Better skin...”

With a speed no mortal eye was able to see Hoodoc sliced through Cyrus’s lower left chest and out the back, slicing not only through the skin and muscle but also through the essence of his sound as well. With an equally fast maneuver the sword was pulled delicately out of the captain’s stomach and returned to its scabbard. The whole of that took place in only two seconds, yet it looked like Hoodoc hadn’t moved at all.

Cyrus stared downward at his chest, a question of confusion written across his face. “What in the…” Suddenly, the wound appeared etched onto his chest and blood and sound sprayed forth from it like rain gone horizontal. “How…?”

“You stole from one of my most beloved companions, Hoon Ding. I cannot simply let you get away with such a crime, for such an action would violate the Law of my very own people.”

The captain descended to his knees, still grasping his sword, as both blood and talk trickled steadily from the wound. While the blood soaked into the sand, the talk flowed into Hoodoc and the god sighed as his form grew more intense. He began to slowly walk forward towards Cyrus, who appeared to be trying to speak even though no sound came forth from his lips.

“I do not have quarrel with you Hoon Ding nor your skin. But there are some things that even I must act upon personally, such as this. If you were the one wronged, I would come to your aid as well. Heal of your wounds and leave my realm. It would be best for us all if you did.”

Cyrus struck with his sword, but his attack was both clumsy and weak, only succeeding in ripping a piece off Hoodoc’s robes. The sword clattered into the surf as the Redguard fell into unconsciousness on his side, his hand still outstretched towards his blade. Hoodoc shook his head pitifully at the fallen warrior, before crouching next time to him and taking the jewel from its pouch at his waist.

“At least you tried. For your efforts.”

A small black jewel fell materialized in the Yoku god’s hand, who let it fall into the surf near the captain’s head. And with that the Talk God disappeared in a cloud of bats, leaving Cyrus to bleed out both blood and tones in the sand where he laid while his crew ran towards him, without the strength to rise. Only then did the crew realize that they had been magically restrained from movement when Hoodoc had first appeared, and rushed to Cyrus’s side.

I’m still not the Hoon Ding. And what Spire?

You’re waiting for me? Why?

Ugh, I hate riddles. Where’s your Spire, Bat-God?

Why help me find you?

Like you running me through with your sword?

Shut up and let me heal. Even in my dreams you’re annoying.

I said–

Cyrus awoke with a start in his bed, with Haekele and the Khajiit sugar surgeon standing around him. He groaned and looked down at his chest, where the scar from the music blade left tonal ruptures in his skin.

“This one was barely able to keep you alive after such a wound,” the surgeon said calmly. “But we were able to make it right in the end, with some help of course.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Four days, captain. We were down to our last amounts of food and drink before a group of bat-people brought us more. We almost killed them until we found out Hoodoc sent them. They also healed you.”

“Healed me? What for?”

Haekele shrugged his shoulders. “They said to us that Hoodoc knew that we would never be able to fully heal you ourselves using our own means, so he sent them to help us. They said that you and him have unfinished business to attend to.”

“Aye, that we do. I take it we’re still near the island, then? We haven’t set sail for Tamriel yet?”

“Yes and no, sir. We were waiting for you to wake up before we decided on a course of action.”

“Good,” the captain said with a pained groan, and then with a grunt began to push upwards from the bed. The sugar surgeon and the shipmate immediately went to Cyrus’s side, but he merely pushed them away.

“Captain, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m going to go find him.”

Haekele looked worried. “But sir, your wounds haven’t–”

“He has the Eye,” Cyrus said with determination, shooting Haekele a look. “I need to get it back.”

Haekele had seen that look on the captain before, and he knew what it meant, even if he refused to say it out loud. “I’ll go retrieve your sword; Borden has been sharpening it.”

“Fine lad, that Borden, when he’s doing actual work. Tell Coyle he’s in charge of the ship while I’m gone. Tell him to not let anyone on or off the Carrick until I return.”

“Aye, sir.”

“But before you do any of those things, I have a favor to ask of you. Can you tell me everything you know about Hoodoc?”

Cyrus walked into the Number Incalculable Section of the Spire with his sword bloody and in his hand, a look of calm determination worn on his face. “It took me forever to find you, you know.”

Hoodoc tilted his head from the seat on his throne in the middle of the room, his sword lying across his lap. “You killed my people on your way here. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I’m sorry for that, but they got in my way. You should’ve ordered them not to attack.”

“You have a point there, my friend.”

“I am not your friend, so don’t call me such.”

“But you are my friend, at least the you who is the Hoon Ding is my friend.”

“Everywhere I go, I have to listen to someone say that. I. Am. Not. The. Hoon Ding.”

Hoodoc nodded, acknowledging. “You are right, you aren’t. At least, right now you aren’t.”

Cyrus begins to wipe his blade on a piece of cloth he took on his way through the Spire, the blood from the warriors of Hoodoc staining it a dark crimson. “At least right now I’m never is more like it.”

“Why are you here, Cyrus?”

“Don’t play games with me. You know why. The Eye, return it.”

“The Eye is where it has always been, Hoon Ding. In the Sky.”

“What? What Sky?”

Hoodoc: How do you feel, Yokudan?

Cyrus: I feel as if you’re stilling being a cheat.

Hoodoc (chuckles): Talk does not cheat, Cyrus. But it does advocates the nature of cheating and other things as well.

Cyrus: We made a bet, do you remember that Hoodoc?

Hoodoc: I remember everything which as been spoken and will be spoken. We have clashed blades again yet you have not fallen. I see you are growing into your new role Yokudan. That is a good thing.

Cyrus: I don’t need a new role. I’m going to defeat you as me and me alone.

Hoodoc: What you state can never be done.

Cyrus: Watch me. I told you this was going to happen. You should’ve just gave me the jewel.

Hoodoc-anon HRAHNDEYL: I create the impossible with my existence, but you cannot do this. Turn back now, Yokudan.

Cyrus (speaking with a voice that is own but isn’t): Do yourself a favor, Hoodoc or Hraey or Hrahn or HRAHNDEYL or whatever you call yourself, and shut up.

HRAHNDEYL (astounded past words): …

HRAHNDEYL (enraged): You would dare…

Cyrus-anon Hoon Ding: I do. You should’ve just taken the offer. Time for your impossibility to become possible, am I right?

HRAHNDEYL: What are you doing? What did you just say? That voice…

Cyrus-anon Hoon Ding (no longer but is still within the Spire): […]

HRAHNDEYL: THIS IS UNNATURAL! STOP! STOP!

Cyrus-anon Hoon Ding (no longer a part of the Talk mythic; status TEMPORARILY REMOVED): […]

HRAHNDEYL: WHERE DID YOU GO?! WHY IS EVERYTHING INVERTED?! YOU--

The Talk God stops abruptly, and a look of confusion is written across his face as he stares down at the tip of the sword sticking of his torso. He frowns, and blood sputters from his mouth.

“I see…you are truly magnificent.”

The Hoon Ding smiles from behind HRAHNDEYL, his hands resting on the hilt of the sword as if there was no sword there to begin with.

HRAHNDEYL swings around, but the Hoon Ding is already gone, moving at a speed that not even Talk can follow. No, not even a speed, for the Hoon Ding is not even running. Talk simply cannot track him.

The Bat-Headed God takes another stance, this time with his sword tip balanced on the palm of his hand. He stares into the walls of his Spire, that fragment and form new images and messages that he frowns at.

“You have removed all manner of your speech from past to future come; I cannot hear you, not anymore. But such things are trivial. If I cannot hear you, than I will simply see you. In all places at–”

The Hoon Ding’s sword is at the Talk God’s neck. HRAHNDEYL stops breathing, and screams in more than simple tongue.

“YOU!!”

[There Exists A Certain Form Of Talk That Can’t Be Heard By Anyone Except Those Who Use It. And After It Is Used, It Can Never Be Remembered.]

HRAHNDEYL sits on his toppled throne, with the left foot of Cyrus-anon Hoon Ding planted firmly on his chest and his sword vibrating at his throat.

“You are as powerful as ever, Hoon Ding.”

“Do you make way, Hoodoc?”

“You’re skills are as unmatched as the day you wore the skin of Leki, or Frandar before becoming his son Divad in a strange pseudo-Tsaescic semblio.”

“I will repeat. Do. You. Make. Way?”

The Talk God signed, and slowly reverted from his anthropomorphic bat appearance into Hoodoc, the Yokudan God of Talk And Makes Others Listen.

“As HRAHNDEYL, I cannot make way. If I did, I would render Talk null and my Enemy would rise against me and then you. And even though he is my Enemy, I will not let you hurt him for I love him. But as Hoodoc, I make way for you Hoon Ding, as my friend Ansu-Gurleht will make way, as will my friend the Red King, as will the Fire Stone, and the slugs of Thras. I give way to you. You have beaten Talk. Or at least, in this version.”

“This version?”

“Yes, one of two of sixty-one of eight. Some are destroyed, others give birth so that their offspring can die. Now, I would like to politely ask of you to relieve your foot from my chest. It doesn’t hurt, but it is uncomfortable. Do you mind?”

Cyrus nodded, and politely stepped off of the Yoku god’s chest, backing away from the throne. “Good things to know, the other things you said before.”

“It does not matter, for you will not remember any of it.”

“I don’t believe any of that. Now, my Eye. I think you know that it belongs to me now.”

The God of Talk And Makes Others Listen nodded and with a whisper the jewel expanded on the buckle of Cyrus’s belt, still within its pouch, and hummed for a few seconds before quieting down.

“I give you your jewel as I promised, and I apologize for taking it. I was only hoping to defend a friend, yet it turns out I’ve gained a new one in response, Hoon Ding.”

“I am not your friend. And for the last time, don’t call me the Hoon Ding. I never was and never will be him.”

“It has always surprised me how fast you are able to revert back from manifestation. Only the Hoon Ding could do what you did, and you are the Hoon Ding, even if the Hoon Ding isn’t necessarily you.”

“He never was me to begin with, so I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Without the Hoon Ding’s help, you would not have been able to do what you did. You were able to be so silent that not even LYEDNHARH was able to detect you, and he is Silence Incarnate. Do not let those thoughts enter your Ears, Yokudan. You have become Story that has fabricated itself into Myth that now stalks the Halls of Legend. Tell your Tale.”

“Lucky me, I’ve always wanted to write my own story.” Hoodoc chuckled as Cyrus returned his sword to his side, no longer viewing the bat god as a threat.

“Don’t we all? But only you can truly decide if you want to embrace or reject the change.” Hoodoc turned to stare at the shifting nature of the interior of his Spire, listening to its tune. “You may return to your ship now, Cyrus. None of my people will bother you as you leave. I warn you, however: Once you leave my Spire the memories of the events that have transpired since your arrival will begin to leave not only your mind but the minds of your crew as well. It is very likely that the next time we meet it will be for the first time on your behalf.”

“If I’m not going to remember any of this, then why do you think we’re going to run into each other again?”

“Because I can hear the words of that meeting already, Yokudan. It will be one for the ages. Until then, farewell Cyrus the Restless.”

“Farewell, Hoodoc.”

And with those last words, the Captain of the Carrick turned his back on the God of Talk and walked away.

When the Carrick sailed into the port of Necrom, the Telvanni woman was waiting there for them, having received Gar’s earlier message signaling the ship’s arrival.

As the crew disembarked off the ship, she made her way through the crowd until she saw Captain Cyrus standing there on the dock, seemingly reading the map that she had given to him the weeks prior to his expedition.

“I think I’ve earned my gold. That was more trouble then it was worth,” he said as she approached.

“We’ll see about that when I see the proof,” she said curtly. “Judging by your words, you were able to find the island? Is my master right in his belief that it in fact does exist?”

Cyrus turned to face her with a strange twinkle in his eye, before handing back the map. He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out the black jewel. The woman gasped, and accepted it with care.

“It exists. No Dwemer or Dwemer ruins I’m afraid to say, though. Just an ordinary, mostly barren island.”

“None? Ah, then my master’s theory wasn’t all the way correct. I do wonder, however; why would the Dwemer have notes of their brethren sailing east towards the island and it later turned out to be untrue? They weren’t known for making errors in their studies. Could it be that it was all just a fabrication to fool the Chimer?”

Cyrus looked upwards at the setting sun before turning to look behind him to the east, and then back at the Telvanni.

“To be honest with you mam? I think they just liked to talk about it.”