I think we're reading eachother's minds - I just started Bomba in Oblivion, using Luchaire's Tabaxi race! I'd be really interested to see what you come up with, though, since she's the only one I sometimes have trouble picturing. She's the complete opposite of Nenya, far more lithe and sensual, but she's a lot older too. If I'm taking the official timeline as a starting point, she's about 52 in this fic. I can't believe anyone actually cares about my characters enough to draw them, but I've got to say, it's awesome Don't let me bully you into doing more than you want to!

Glad you liked this one!


Thanks very much Ef, I'm really pleased you enjoyed it - and fantastic on the Manic Dementia news, I was worried it was going to drop out of sight! I'm looking forward to reading more

Its not bullying, its basically more of getting your recognition. For example, imagine if someone had that oppritunity to draw an authors characters and exchange thoughts and ideas behind them. Im proud to show you my work, because it resides from great work; your work. Speaking of work, thats where i am right now...so i'll just stop before i get all mushy!

Double post? oh well.

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a328/Mikeandike1/Bomba.jpg

Its a little cartoony, I know. Its getting harder and harder to draw with a mouse these days.

If I could do something differently it'd definetly be the hair. I tried to make it as mane-like as I could. What I got was an ungroomed mess...something I think Bomba is not. I think I got the general concept of the eyes right...as cartoony as they are. They're sleek yet very intimidating. The armor is supposed to be netch.

Hope you like it! :hehe:
Keep em comming!

Well, I don't really know what to say! Except how much I value your continued support, comments and criticism. I honestly appreciate everything you have posted here more than I can tell you, you are so amazing with feedback! ^_^


Wow, awesome! She looks like she is staring me down The golden eyes are perfect; I never see Bomba smiling in my head. She's always a bit formidable. It's certainly not what I was expecting, though - and here I'm to blame, because my ~descriptive skillz~ are obviously not as up to scratch as I would like them to be. Bomba is an Ohmes-raht, the kind of Khajiit we saw in Daggerfall, which is more elven in appearance. I got Freddo to whip me up a quick Daggerfall character sheet with the original face I used back in 1999: http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t22/Rumple_teasza/Bomba%20Lurrina/Bomba.gif it is. As you can see, it's very different to Morrowind and Oblivion's depictions of Khajiit. I believe those are Suthay-raht (apparently khajiit forms change according to the position of the moons when they were born).
I fired a couple of Bomba shots off in Oblivion and this is the best I got of her:
http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t22/Rumple_teasza/Bomba%20Lurrina/Bomba1a.jpg
http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t22/Rumple_teasza/Bomba%20Lurrina/Bomba2.jpg
http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t22/Rumple_teasza/Bomba%20Lurrina/Bomba6.jpg
http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t22/Rumple_teasza/Bomba%20Lurrina/Bomba4.jpg
I'm not totally satisfied with these either though, because I ended up making her look a bit too young.

I do really love your art, and thanks so much for it! I hope the misinformation on my part doesn't put you off This is a good wakeup call for me to stop assuming everyone will automatically know what I mean when I refer to something in a previous game!

I knew what you meant when you called her Ohmes Raht. The Arena Khajiit were Ohmes. And I think Morrowind's were Suthay Raht, while Oblivion's might have been Suthay. -Raht seems to imply a greater cat-like anatomy for the breed class. I'd say Oblivion's is Suthay then because while they have the more feline face, they have humanoid appendages, while Morrowind's was much more feline.

The Ohmes and Ohmes-Raht follow that similarity. I merely forgot how Bomba looked because you haven't often mentioned her breed. Just her race.

Bombaa...

The name itself is something that sticks in the imagination, and reading your story I keep seeing Bombaa as definitely on the small side physically, which would account for both her mental quickness, agility, and aversion to hand to hand combat. Slim, too. I imagine her as having a head slightly too large for her body, and eyes that look both old as well as sly.

Rumpleteaza...

You are such a good writer that I really, really hesitate to venture a criticism (though I admit I was quite free to venture a lot of criticism on your story on the philosophy of Bishop Berkley!) here, but about this... yes, it's a bit of nitpicking, I'm afraid, but you are so close to perfect that this jars quite a bit...

"...The dwemer warhammer sang out like a shooting star..."

Now, shooting stars don't make sounds! I wonder if you meant to say the hammer SWUNG out like a shooting star? That would show vividly the speed at which she swings the hammer. Or if you wanted the sound, you could have said that the hammer - but the problem is, hammers crush, not slash, so I don't think (unlike a sword striking armour) you could use 'sang out' here.

Alas, I have probably caused a frown on your face, Rumpleteaza.

Payback is fair. Perhaps you could look at my own 'Fountain of Youth', and skewer me back with some well-derserved and trenchan criticisms and witticisms?

Lol @ Foxy.

Anyways, I told you earlier that I have in fact played Daggerfall...so I know what an Ohmes Raht is. Like FC4 said, its been a while since bomba was thrown at us..
I guess I need to refresh myself next time I make a drawing instead of going off on my memory.

Glad you gotta kick out of it though. Keep em commin. :hehe:

I agree with your classification - I had to refresh my memory on which forms had what human characteristics with regards to suthay/suthay raht, but it seems right to me.



You know, when I wrote it I wondered about that phrase myself, since I knew it didn't make sense... but in the end I just liked it too much to take out! I don't know why, it just seemed to work for me. I'm sorry it jolted you out of the story! Thank you so much for your kind comments though. And yes, I certainly will make time to read your own story - I'm afraid I've been a bit all over the place and I've been forgetting who's asked me to read what.


Oops - see, I'm misremembering all over the place! Of course, you did say you'd played it. I think the lesson here is for me to pay more attention to my descriptions!

It's also an inadvertent lore reference.

The Rourken Dwemer chucked Volendrung due west and followed the shooting star all the way to Bethlehem Hammerfell.

I'm so Lore I recite it in my sleep.

The King And I

Chapter Fifteen ? The Betmeri Question


Orsinium Castle loomed above, impressively massive in the moonlight. The outside was constructed solely of panelled metallic facing, a task of both physical and engineering triumph. The Orcs had no-one in all Tamriel to rival them in smith and metalwork.

Two guards flanked the main gateway, looking much more alert and professional than the half-hearted dozers that Bomba 'Lurrina was used to from Daggerfall. As she and Nenya approached, they crossed their spears over the doorway.

"Your business, strangers?" The left guard asked.

"We have a request for an audience with the King," Bomba answered smoothly. "May we wait inside?"

"Come with me," the first said, unlocking the door and pointing them through.

He left them in an antechamber while he fetched a superior. Nenya sat in a carven high-backed chair, looking around with interest. "They do themselves well, don't they Bom?"

Bomba overlooked the endearment. A nickname like that would have usually put her claws in the eyes of the perpetrator quicker than a drunk to the tavern on New Life, but for some reason it didn't bother her with Nenya. It was sweet, even. "I think they deserve a few extravagances, considering what they've had to put up with. Anyway, Gortwog's brought a lot of money into this province. I'm not surprised things look as lavish as they do."

"It's probably what attracts the goblin raiders," Nenya said sourly.

"Goblin raiders?" asked a new voice behind them; a pleasing, gravely voice. "You have not had trouble on the way here, I hope?"

They turned to see another Orc entering the anteroom; a tall, strongly-built youth dressed in much finer-wrought armour than the guards. He bowed; Bomba returned the gesture gracefully, Nenya rather less so.

"We happened to run into a pack roughly a mile from the gate, but luckily my companion was more than a match for them," Bomba replied with a subtle approving glance at the newcomer's physique. "Raiding parties are still such a problem this close to the Wrothgarians." She held out her hand. "We would like to request an audience with the King. My name is Bomba 'Lurrina."

The Orc's smile widened. "I thought as much when the guard said our visitor was Khajiiti. My lady, do you not recognise me?"

Bomba raised her eyebrows, her own mouth curving upwards. "I am quite sure I would have remembered such a meeting, sir."

"A clue, then," the Orc said, a spark of mischief in his bronze eyes. "The last time you saw me, I was two thirds my present height, and standing behind the throne of King Gortwog as he received his state visit from the emperor. Are you now enlightened?"

Bomba let out a sudden laugh of pleasure. "By the Moons? your Highness will make me feel old. My dear Jez?hk, it is a delight to see you once more! How you have changed? Can you forgive my display of ignorance?"

"Quite willingly, I assure you," the Orc said, kissing Bomba's hand with obvious enjoyment. "And the delight is mine. I must ask you, though, not to extort from this poor prince the compliments your disparagement demands. I am so uneducated when it comes to gentle speech. Allow me to say, though, that whatever years you own make no mark upon your beauty."

"I think we must have wildly different definitions of 'uneducated', your Highness," Bomba countered rather breathlessly.

"And who is your companion, may I ask?"

Bomba 'Lurrina looked around. Nenya had been examining the elaborate wall-hangings during this exchange, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. The Khajiit was struck with a moment of comic insight as she thought of the differences between them ? she couldn't imagine Nenya participating in the kind of sixual banter she had just engaged in so casually with Jez?hk. She had the distinct impression that Nenya trying to flirt would have all the finesse and subtlety of a brick to the head.

"Your Highness Jez?hk, may I present Nenya, the Nerevarine? Nenya, this is King Gortwog's son."

"It is a pleasure, my lady," Jez?hk said courteously, kissing her hand as he had done Bomba 'Lurrina's.

"Alright?" greeted Nenya affably, confirming Bomba's expectations with blissful ignorance.

Jez?hk, to his credit, took her unexpectedly familiarity in his stride. "My father would not normally take visitors at this hour, but of course, you are always welcome," He lead them back through the entrance and towards the inner rooms. "Would you care for refreshment? I will call for some wine."

"You are too kind," Bomba purred. "We have had a long journey."

He halted before a set of extravagantly carved doors, knocked once, and showed them through.

The room was spare, but elegantly decorated. In a chair before the roaring fire sat an Orc as tall and powerfully built as his son, the only acknowledgement to age being the streak of white in his braided scalplock. He got to his feet, an imposing figure of magnificence.

"Lady Bomba 'Lurrina," he said, his voice surprisingly melodic and refined in comparison to his daunting image. "An unexpected joy. Please, sit. Your companion also."

"Your hospitality is impeccable as always, your Majesty," Bomba said, settling into one of the fireside chairs. "And I see your son has become the very image of his father's courtesy and charm."

Gortwog laughed. "I am afraid he has developed something of a hero-worship of you in your absence. I must ask you to forgive his liberties."

"I could not possibly forgive what gave no offence," Bomba protested, a smirk of gratification not quite hidden on her face.

"But tell me," Gortwog continued, showing Nenya to a chair and fetching some crystalware from the sideboard, "to what do I owe this pleasure? The lateness of the hour causes me to think that your business here is more than a simple courtesy call." He poured three glasses of deep golden wine from a silver flagon.

"It's true that we are pushed for time," admitted Bomba, accepting a glass with a murmur of thanks. "We still have many miles to cover until we reach our next destination. There are, ah, some mysterious things happening over in Morrowind, and I knew the best place to go for information would be here."

Gortwog frowned, confused. "My lady, you give me too much credit ? I know little of the Dunmer nation. I hope your journey here will not have been wasted."

"I am quite sure that will not be the case. You see, though the centre of this unrest seems to be in Morrowind, through further investigation we have realised that there are a lot of strange connections to certain parties in High Rock."

Gortwog lifted an eyebrow., a faint trace of amusemant in his eyes "I hope you are not here for a criminal questioning, Bomba!"

Bomba laughed. "I would not dare. No, I simply wanted the benefit of your eyes and ears in the provinces. I need to know what has been happening in the Illiac Bay in the last six months ? what has really been happening. There is a strange link between Wayrest and these troubles in Morrowind."

Gortwog nodded slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. "Morrowind and Wayrest, eh? There's one very obvious link I can see there? the royal family."

"I have always found it gratifying how you so immediately cut to the heart of things, your Majesty," Bomba said, satisfied. "Yes, I believe that is part of the connection I speak of." She furrowed her brow. "Truthfully, I'm out of the loop, Gortwog. I need to know what's been going on in Wayrest."

"I have an alliance with Queen Elysana now, would you believe. It has turned out to be hugely profitable. I must say, she is a formidable woman. She has 'empire' written all over her. Wayrest's lands have tripled over the last decade."

"Much like your own," Bomba observed.

"Ah, yes. The years have been good to me!" Gortwog let out a laugh. "Orsinium is fast becoming respectable; such an agreeable turn of events. But back to your question ? as I remember, you were holed up in Daggerfall when Helseth and Elysana's squabble broke out?"

"The culmination of it, yes. I never did hear your opinion on the matter."

"Well, I don't know if this will be of much use to you; you're close about your purpose, as always. But I can tell you, Helseth was mad as a hornet to be ousted by Elysana. There could hardly be anyone each of them hate more than eachother."

"No surprise there," muttered Nenya, making her first contribution.

"Quite so, Lady Nerevarine," Gortwog conceded. "And?"

"Oh, just Nenya thanks, I'm not really much for all the pomp and circumstance," Nenya said cheerfully.

Gortwog did a double take, but recovered with admirable speed. "Your wish is my command, Nenya. To continue: if you ask me, Helseth will not have forgotten his humiliation at the hands of Elysana. She all but drove him out, you see. She used her charm on the courts like I've never seen before ? what Wayrestian would have a dour, bitter little Dark Elf when they could have a sweet and amiable Breton princess? It added insult to injury. And those Hlaalu royals hold a grudge for a lifetime."

"Oh, I don't know," Bomba said mildly. "Barenziah seemed quite gracious in forgetting the business with you and her biography, after all."

Gortwog slapped his leg. "Do you know, my dear, I had quite forgotten that! I was, perhaps, a little less professional in those days. I apologise; I exclude Barenziah from my judgement. But not Helseth, I think you will agree."

Bomba cocked her head. "And what of the third child? Morgiah?"

"Ah," said Gortwog slowly, his expression pensive. "It's funny how everyone forgets about her, isn't it? A most elusive lady. I must confess, I know little of her. She married Firsthold's king, didn't she? A curiously rapid wedding for two such high-ranking royals. I never did keep up with what happened ? didn't he die recently? Does she rule in his stead?"

"She does not," Bomba answered. "She has returned to Morrowind."

Gortwog looked like a child who has just been offered a juicy treat. "Has she indeed? Not another throne-battle on the horizon for Helseth, is there?"

"I do not believe so, your Majesty."

Gortwog shrugged philosophically. "Probably wise. I have dealt with Helseth once before, and even the simple nature of that request was enough for my liking. I am sure I would not like to oppose him in anything so serious as a race for the crown."

Bomba frowned, suddenly on the alert. "You had dealings with Helseth? I did not know of this."

"You cannot expect to know everything, my lady. In any case, as I said, the request was so simple as to be trivial."

"Will you suffer me to ask its nature?"

Gortwog raised an eyebrow. "I have been very free with you so far, my lady. Do you plan to fleece me of this information with no return? What, exactly, is this worth?"

"I believe it is worth far less than my prior-given vote of confidence on your behalf to the Emperor," Bomba replied smoothly.

Gortwog conceded good-naturedly, sitting back in his chair. "Of course, you are correct. And many thanks once again. So; I received a visit from one of Helseth's agents about six months after his removal to Mournhold. Apparently, he was doing the rounds of all the major players in the mess of 3E 410 ? which, no doubt, you remember a little of?"

"Bits and pieces," Bomba confirmed with withering sarcasm.

"Quite so," Gortwog grinned with the same mischievous glint in his eye as his son. "Well, this agent wanted to look through my records. I have amassed a fairly extensive collection on numerous subjects since I settled in Orsinium."

"What was he looking for?" Bomba asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her voice.

"Information about Numidium," Gortwog said. "He also seemed very keen to hear what I knew about the Mantellan Crux, and how it was created. I saw no reason to refuse, especially at the price he was offering. I gave him a contact on Dwemer architecture by the name of Tulius Cicero, let him paw through my few texts on the subject, and forgot all about him until now. I was not particularly keen to strike up any animosity with Helseth by offending his employees."

Bomba's mind raced. "I see," she said. Numidium? Why on earth would Helseth be scouring the whole Iliac Bay for information on Numidium? "Thank you. That is most interesting."

Gortwog took a draught from his glass. "I hope you are not going to rush off now you have picked me dry. At least stay the night as my guests. We will beak our fast together before you gallivant off into the unknown again, my lady."

"I am honoured, and we happily accept," Bomba said as they got to their feet and headed towards the door. "I am thrilled to see what you have done with the Castle since my last visit. Your Majesty has impeccable taste."

"You are too kind, my dear," Gortwog bowed, holding the door open for them.

"Maybe if you butter him up just a little more, he'll put you in a room next to Jez?hk," Nenya whispered dryly.

She was rubbing her ribs from the consequent elbow-attack all the way down the hall.


*


The city of Sadrith Mora sprawls like a living thing over the scattered islands of the Azura Coast region. The organic towers of the Telvanni here are the most impressive examples of their kind on Vvardenfell; the Council Chambers alone are a maze for the unwary, and impossible to traverse by all but those skilled in magic.

By comparison, Wolverine Hall looks something of a forlorn outcast. This imposing Imperial structure is dwarfed by the alien grandeur of the neighbouring city; whereas the Hall might have looked striking next to a settlement such as Caldera, here it gave the distinct impression of a cowed child sulking next to its older and more worldly-wise sibling.

Two small figures emerged from the Hall's ground-floor entrance, presenting much the same image as the building that hulked above them. Eadwyrd shivered, pulling his plain grey cloak tighter. The air was damp.

"Welcoming place, isn't it?"

Gwynabyth hugged her arms to her chest. "We're going to stick out like a sore thumb here. I never saw such an unfriendly place. Hospitality papers for foreigners before they can even enter the town? We won't last five minutes; I don't know what Morgiah was thinking."

"You've got to admit, it's flattering that she was so impressed by our alchemy skills that she didn't want to send anyone else," Eadwyrd admitted.

"Maybe," Gwynabyth said uneasily, "but I don't really like this, all the same. I hope this agent of hers is good. If they can just smuggle us into Tel Fyr, then that's fine. We can always use the scrolls if it looks like someone's rumbled us. It's actually getting inside to begin with that worries me."

"Well, don't worry about it until we're closer. We've got to find the agent first."

The short walk along the coast to the Gateway Inn was a cool, drizzly affair. Spring was taking its time getting going here. The still water of the Sea of Ghosts was beautifully clear, but extremely cold.

In contrast, the Gateway Inn was far pleasanter than they had expected. The place was a cheerful bustle of traders and travellers meeting contacts and waiting for hospitality authorisation. The two Bretons ordered spiced mazte and sat at a corner table in the main tavern area, feeling a little less out of place.

"At least we look like we're supposed to," Eadwyrd whispered. "Ignorant, na?ve, green-as-grass tourists. No-one could fault us for our cover."

Gwynabyth giggled.

A tall, impassive-looking Dunmer woman sat at the table next to theirs, reclining back languidly until she was in earshot. "I saw one of those mud-crabs yesterday," she said conversationally. "They're getting more numerous every year."

Gwynabyth shot Eadwyrd a look. He replied with the words Morgiah had given them, feeling rather stupid. "I can't stand those vile creatures."

The woman turned to face them fully, one carefully-shaped eyebrow raised. "Really? I mean, really?" It was quite clear she wasn't referring to mudcrabs.

Gwynabyth looked annoyed. "Look, we didn't exactly sign up for this. We thought we were just going to be giving advice. Identifying potions and things."

The woman shook her head, a wry look on her face. "Well, I suppose you'll have to do." She extended a hand; they both shook it warily. "Dralasa Llethi. I'm going to be your guide. If you're lucky, you'll get to see a few sights that only a handful of people could boast to."

"If we're lucky? If we were lucky, we'd be a hundred miles away," grumbled Eadwyrd.

Gwynabyth gave him a light slap on the arm, unable to stop a fond smile from escaping before she turned to the agent. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Llethi. I'm Gwynabyth Yeomham, and this is Eadwyrd Greenhart. We're told you need the expertise of an alchemist. Fortunately, you got two for one."

"So I see," said Dralasa dryly. "I hope you prove twice as useful. I've acquired a small fishing boat for the trip; we ought to leave as soon as you are ready."

Eadwyrd and Gwynabyth looked at eachother. The fair-haired man shrugged and downed the last of his mazte. "Well, at least we get a boat. I was worried we'd have to swim, the way things are looking."

"You're lucky I don't make you anyway. You look like you could do with hardening up," Dralasa said disdainfully.

"Oh, great," Eadwyrd muttered to Gwynabyth as they followed the Dunmer out of the bar. "A drillmistress. Just our luck."

"Let's not make this any more complicated than it has to be," Gwynabyth replied fervently. "Just get in, identify whatever this elixir thing is, and get out. We could be done in a day."

"Don't be silly," Eadwyrd said in a passable imitation of Dralasa. "That would make things simple."

Gwynabyth stifled a laugh as they stepped back outside into the misty rain.


*
*

Yay!!! I'm so glad this is continuing on. It's lovely writing! I started laughing when Dralasa said the bit about mudcrabs

:lol: I was hoping that would tickle someone! Thanks a million for reading :hugs:

The King And I

Chapter Sixteen ? Interlude Seven; How An Academic Acquaintance Was Made


Castle Wayrest, High Rock, Sun's Dawn 3E400. It is 29 years before the present day. Elysana is 12.


The upper gallery of Wayrest Palace was dark, but the lamps threw splashes of light across the gilt and velvet.

Lord Castellian made his way across the mezzanine with a deceptively strong pace. In reality, his left ankle was weakened by a crippling sprain, and his arm bore the telltale bandages of a recent patch-up job. Thankfully, the wound had been made by a knife, not the teeth of an Ary'thite vampire ? although it had been a near thing. At least three of his fellow Knights were now six feet under the earth of the Dragontails, hearts carefully staked and heads carefully severed. People didn't take chances in Ary'thite territory. The images were clear and lingering.

He stopped for a moment, the pains of his body taking advantage of the brief respite to flare up. He had searched for glory in joining the Knights of the Rose, but what he had seen in Ankhora was not glory. At least the coup had been relatively quick, the entire trip over in just a few bloody days. Funny, he mused dully, how the Princess Morgiah had been the one to put them on the right track. If not for her insight, they might still be there, spending weeks searching for their mark?

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a small vision in robins-egg-blue chiffon, curls gleaming in the light of the lamps. "Lord Castellian? Oh, but you are safe!"

Little Princess Elysana, flanked by a candle-bearing maid. Her long-lashed eyes were wide with sweetness.

"I did worry so when you told us of your awful mission! You were not hurt?"

Castellian could not help a smile; the girl was so charming, and every day growing courtlier. "My wounds are superficial, your Highness," he assured, bowing to the best of his ability. "They would be far worse without the valour of my esteemed colleagues."

Elysana beamed. "You are so gallant. Are you to come to supper? It is so dull with the Queen's miserable children. Have you ever seen them smile? I shall need you as my saviour."

Her cutting words momentarily took him aback, but her face was so endearingly capricious that he couldn't think she meant any harm. After all, he thought as he quashed the niggling sting of disloyalty, the Dunmer children were rather dour. Elysana was what a princess should be like ? all smiles and pretty dresses and sweet speech.

"I am indeed, your Highness," he replied kindly. "I have the honour of an invite from your lord father. Will you accompany me? I am sure it would please him." He angled his arm.

"Oh, I think so too," Elysana breathed, taking it gently. Her fingernails, he noticed, had been polished with pearldust to make them shimmer. "I think so too."


*


Scourg Barrow, Hammerfell, Sun's Dawn 3E400. It is 29 years before the present day. Morgiah is 24.


In the cavernous Great Hall of Scourg Barrow, two guards flanked the door that lead to the interview room.

The stream of representatives reporting to the King of Worms was usually fairly constant; he would speak to them for ten, perhaps fifteen minutes. If they had especially important news, it might be twenty or even thirty. In the last decade the number of his followers had leapt beyond all expectation, and between them they had a lot of information. Time was precious.

The door had currently been shut for one hour and counting.

The guards were too well-trained to comment, though there was a slight exchanging of looks somewhere around forty-five minutes in. It had been known for certain individuals to just? not come out. What happened to these individuals was, of course, not their place to inquire. And there had been an uproar in the last week, when it seemed as if the local knightly Orders were banding together to mark Scourg Barrow? until they diverted, and targeted the nearby Ary'thite vampire den instead.

They couldn't help thinking that the length of this interview had something to do with the near miss of the Order. Perhaps, a suspect? Stendarr's mercy, one could only imagine what had been happening to the poor soul inside?

The poor soul inside was, in fact, settled on a rather nicely cushioned divan before the fire. The room was extravagantly furnished; the taste in decoration was subtle, but expensive. Wine seemed to glow from within the cut crystal of the glass in front of her. It was undoubtedly an exquisite vintage.

Too bad it wasn't her glass. She still couldn't risk being lightheaded in this particular viper's den. Morgiah crossed her legs, discreetly ensuring her hood revealed nothing from the mouth upwards. It wasn't the best idea to stay so long, but he hadn't asked her to leave yet, and she couldn't bring herself to prompt it. She'd cast a Mark in the Palace earlier that evening, but that was a last resort? casting a Recall without the standard practice of exiting to the gazebo chamber would give her away at once.

The King leant back in his carven chair, languid with grace, continuing their conversation. "It is certainly a blessing. I had wondered for a short while whether I would be forced to make a powerful enemy of the Order; interestingly, it was not so."

"'Interestingly', sire?"

"Yes. Interesting because another Agent, based in Ankhora, tells me that the Ary'thite Vampires were not the Order's original aim. They had been tracking this very Agent to the Ankhora meeting-house for a month. It was only at the last minute that they seemed to decide ? rather inexplicably, to my view ? to target the Ary'thite instead. You see, the idea for the change came not from within their own ranks, but their new reinforcements: Wayrest's Knights of the Rose."

She nodded slowly, sensing danger. Had he interviewed her fellow Wayrestians yet? What had they told him; what did they know? She would have to tread carefully. If only she could have seen his face! It was so impossible to read, that blank fa?ade? He raised the glass of wine to the darkness in his hood, and not for the first time she wondered what was really there.

Time for disarmament; a bit of risk-taking, maybe. "I applaud their change of heart. Vampires are terribly? done. Corpses are so uncooperative when they start getting a mind of their own, don't you agree?"

The King paused, and for a moment she thought he would react to the insult ? but then came the sound of his laughter, low and (like so much of him) disconcertingly pedestrian.

"Miss Drethan, you are a delight; the Wayrest Court must positively revel in you. Such a pity you did not come to me sooner. Enough of the attack ? it is done, and we have come through unscathed. Tell me more of the Wayrest Court. How is dear Eadwyre these days? And his lady wife? Such a fascinating woman."

Morgiah felt a smile form under her hood; to hear her mother praised stirred an unexpected pride in her heart. "Barenziah is extraordinary, is she not? The King adores her. He would take the sun from the sky and thread it on a necklace to please her."

"I would not have foreseen her to settling in High Rock for all the jewels in Senchal, but after the fiasco of the Simulacrum, I don't blame her for putting an extra hundred leagues or so between herself and the Imperial City. I can't imagine the court is too happy with her."

Morgiah hesitated. She had still not managed to probe the mystery of what connection her mother had to the Simulacrum. "I am told so, yes? although why or how, I could not say."

The King cocked his head, the lights of his eyes flickering imperceptibly. "Naturally, it is not common knowledge. There should be no reason for you, a mere tutor, to be party to such information."

Morgiah opened her mouth, but said nothing. Something was not quite right about the casual nature of his voice.

"And you did not arrive until twoscore months has passed from Barenziah and Eadwyre's marriage, is that not correct? You wouldn't have seen their arrival, nor the coronation."

Now there really was something unnerving about this conversation. It was wrong. She was out of step.

"No indeed," she replied, wracking her abruptly blank memories. When had Karethys come to court? Was he bluffing? Was she making a mistake? Her hand moved automatically to her hood, and unpleasant feeling of exposure creeping down her back. Change the topic? disarm him, you stupid girl!

She opened her mouth, but?

"Stop."

The quality of the air changed. Though there was no real indication from the deep shadow under the hood, all his concentration suddenly centred on her left hand, which rested temporarily frozen on the collar of her cape.

"Your clan-ring," he said, the chill shrewdness in his voice penetrating her body and freezing her spine.

Immediately Morgiah realised her mistake, and her breath failed in her throat. Karethys wore a clan-ring of House Dres, but Morgiah's hand was empty.

She was paralysed with fear. Run, screamed her mind, run? but she had a terrible feeling that running would be ten times more dangerous than staying.

All this takes time to impart, but in reality not more than a second had passed before the King of Worms was upon her. Thrown back against the wall, her body taut, her arms seized with paralysis, fused to the wall, dazed with shock, pinned by an invisible force?

The King of Worms moved slowly towards her, holding her effortlessly still by sheer power of will.

"So," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "My elusive benefactor."

The hood of her cloak had slipped back slightly. The lower half of her face was exposed to the light, revealed? she tried to say "How?" but her lips only moved soundlessly.

His full attention on her was like a brand. "WAS IT YOU," he echoed, the mental force of the interrogation making her body stagger and her mind spin.

"Did you think the deception would have gone unnoticed? A Wayrestian Agent gave the soldiers false information to target the Ary'thite Vampire clan, not Scourg Barrow. It was none of the others. It was evidently not Karethys Drethan, whom I do not now believe I have spoken to for several months. Was ? it ? you?"

And then something happened to Morgiah. She stopped being afraid.

She could never quite pinpoint what had happened to cause this change. The heart-thumping fear was still there, but she found she could take it, fold it up neatly and tuck it away at the back of her mind. And when she stopped trying to bar herself from the intensity of his power, she found it was less controlling. This, after all, was what she had wanted. An audience with the King of Worms. And she had got it.

"Yes," she said.

They stood facing eachother from across the room, motionless. She could feel him evaluating her, exploring? he released her now from his crippling stasis, but she stayed put nonetheless. She wasn't interested in running anymore.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to meet you," she said. "And the attack on Scourg Barrow, though I'm sure it would not put any great tax on your abilities, would mean having to find you all over again. Not," she continued arrogantly, "that that would have presented an impossible challenge."

The powerful projections of his consciousness filled her mind ? he was torn between what felt like intense interest, amusemant, curiosity, and something that she hoped wasn't a whim to kill her on the spot.

"I cannot keep calling you Karethys," he murmured, slowly approaching her. If his expression were visible, would he be smirking? "And I must know who you are, or I am afraid I shall have to kill you. Elusive benefactor you may be, but it would be beyond foolish to release you with no way to track you."

She said nothing, but her mouth curved upwards, her hand almost invisibly crooking into a spellcasting gesture.

He stopped mere inches away. From this proximity she could see that the darkness under the hood was too impenetrable, the blue pinpoints of light too bright, to be natural. His presence encased her; hot as ash, thick as honey. He lifted his hands, hidden in folds of red cloak, and slowly (so slowly!) lowered her hood.

One could argue that it is not appropriate to apply the word shock, or even surprise, to the complex being that is the King of Worms. But then, not many living people have stood mere inches away from him, and looked directly into those blue pinpoints of fire.

"Hlaalu Morgiah, Royal Princess of Wayrest, daughter to Barenziah and Symmachus," Morgiah said boldly.

And in the split second his focus was elsewhere in his surprise, she cast the Recall spell and appeared, reeling, in the quiet moonlight of her Wayrest bedchamber.

And that was it. She could hardly believe she had gotten away with it.

In Scourg Barrow, the King cocked his head to one side, staring at the recently-occupied space before him. After a moment, he let out a low laugh and poured another glass of wine, then settled into the leather writing-chair and loaded a new quill with ink.

Outside the door, the guards were silent. People disappeared in there sometimes. It was just what happened. You didn't comment.

Little did they know they would be seeing her again, and sooner than they thought.


*


Excerpts from the archive of private correspondence and personal notes from Hlaalu Morgiah, Sun's Dawn 3E400

A letter:

Destination: HRH Princess Morgiah of Wayrest, Royal Palace, Wayrest-ny-Bijoulsae, High Rock.

Princess,

To my deep regret our previous encounter was cut short, due to an oversight on my part regarding the allowance of Mark/Recall spells in my interview-room.

However there are matters which I should, with your permission, like to discuss ? most importantly the debt of gratitude for the great service rendered to my Order by your Highness, the motive of which continues to intrigue me. Please find enclosed a beryl gem ? I have no doubt that you will swiftly decipher its purpose and implication, given the correct study.

Yours in salutation,

K o W

A scribbled note:

Gem; green. Shield charm cast; have no wish to end up a pile of ash. Incantation of identification. Complex, half an hour or more to identify ? style of magicka use unfamiliar, archaic. Concluded gem to be imbued with specifically pinpointed constant Recall.

He wants me to come back.

A letter:

Destination: The King of Worms, Audience Chamber, Scourg Barrow, (Westernspine) Dragontail Mountains, Hammerfell.

Sire,

I received and examined your letter with great interest. After the requested study of the kindly-given beryl gem, I believe to have discovered its use ? a remarkable weave of spells, I might congratulate ? and summarily feel that some discretion is in order. For instance, recalling your words of our last meeting, I am not entirely certain as to the prudence of being transported into your presence, only to be confronted with no return route and an upraised weapon. Please understand that such concern is a necessity of royal travel and not to be taken as a slight on your noble person.

Yours in acknowledgement,

HRH Morgiah of Wayrest

A letter:

Destination: HRH Princess Morgiah of Wayrest, Royal Palace, Wayrest-ny-Bijoulsae, High Rock.

Princess,

I beseech your forgiveness for any indication that your Highness' health or honour should be at all compromised, and seek to offer my full reassurance. You are my guest, and as such can expect to receive all appropriate courtesy.

And if I wanted you dead, your country would already be in mourning.

Yours in anticipation,

K o W


*


Scourg Barrow, Hammerfell, Sun's Dawn 3E400. It is 29 years before the present day. Morgiah is 24.

The beryl-gem reacted the instant she spoke the catalyst word; her quiet study melted from around her, only to be replaced in a second by a very different scene. A fire burnt in the grate, and a decanter of wine had been set out.

"So kind of you to come," said the King of Worms.

She felt uneasy, at first, without the meagre comfort of the obscuring hood. But she knew the very last thing she should do was show weakness. In a way, it was empowering to stand there revealed, as if she didn't need the protection of anonymity. She had come here at his invitation. She was obliging him.

"Not at all," she replied lightly, perching on the chair he pulled out for her. "It is most pleasant to visit your charming home once more."

She had already decided to keep the conversation light. In her visits as Karethys, the King had seemed to respond to her humour best of all. Given that he had invited her here personally, she felt she could push her luck a bit.

He laughed, as she had hoped he would; an oddly predatory sound. "May I offer you some wine? It is a particularly fine vintage; my personal favourite year of Karnver Falls, 387."

She twisted her mouth. She had grown fond of wine in Wayrest; her mother had seen to it that she was schooled in appreciation of the upper classes' luxuries. But tempting though the smell from the decanter was, it was probably a good idea to err on the side of caution.

"Thank you, no. I will remember the year, though."

"Ah, wise young judge," the King said softly, filling his own glass. "Though it pains me to see a guest with unoccupied hands. Princess, may I be candid? I want to know the reason for the charade you have lead me on these past months."

She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I believe that question was both asked and answered on my last visit."

He leant back in his chair, one gloved hand tracing the rim of the wineglass. "Really? So simple a reason? I assure you, Princess, whatever you want is negotiable. You have done me a favour, and now I am happy to hear your petition."

She was enjoying herself. The upper hand again! Could he, would he believe that she had no ulterior motive save pure whim? "I have no petition."

The King shook his head. "Princess, there is no need to be coy; Auriel knows you've not been a shrinking violet so far. Do you want an alliance? Tutelage? Is there someone you wish to 'speak' to, whom by various mortal reasons is now unavailable?"

"You misunderstand, my lord. I did not come here for favours. I came here because the opportunity presented itself, and I wished to satisfy my curiosity."

For a long minute, the King tapped his finger slowly against the wineglass, looking straight at her with those unnervingly inhuman eyes. She held his gaze steadily. This was the test; she must not look away or appear nervous.

"How interesting," came the reply at long last. "I believe you are speaking the truth. Tell me, then: Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"No."

Another pause. "A shame. Disappointing, to be sure?"

"On the contrary. It is most engaging."

It seemed as if a fire had been lit within her. The danger, the tension, the verbal sparring were making her giddier than any wine. She tried to reign herself in; careful, girl. You may be batting a proverbial ball of wool around here, but this is no kitten on the receiving end.

"And what," he replied softly, "of the risks involved? Are you tired of life, that you did not fear discovery and persecution? Or are you simply thoughtless, without the wit to see what might have befallen you?"

That stung, but she forced herself to anolyse the question. "I concede that my actions were impulsive, certainly. But thoughtless? no, I don't believe so. Scourg Barrow and its occupants have been on my mind near constantly this past year."

He said nothing, only looked at her expectantly. She was not sure if continuing was wise, but that silent visage was so compelling?

"I cannot account for my motivations," she admitted. "I read a name in a book and wished to know more. If I did not generally scorn the idea of our actions following to the whim of gods, I might attribute it to the hand of fate."

"I generally try to scorn the same, but unfortunately we do not always have the luxury. Gods are fickle, Princess ? especially the Daedra. They tend to like interfering with the living."

"Perhaps one day they shall be interfered with themselves; that would be diverting."

He let out another laugh. "Your tone almost makes me believe you will be the one to do it."

She smiled herself; she couldn't help it. "Who can say what the future will bring?"

"Hermaeus Mora, or so he would have you believe," he countered, answering her rhetorical question.

"Then perhaps I shall go to him next."

"Have you tired of me so soon?" He sighed, long-suffering. "Your interest seems hard to sustain, Princess."

"I am not monogamist in my academic acquaintances, Sire. I see no reason to drop one for the other."

He leant forward, interested. "Academic? A curious word to use. You see, your motivations are not so unfathomable after all ? although I admit it is amusing to hear one refer to a Daedra as an 'academic acquaintance'. I was not so far from the mark when I asked if you wanted tutelage."

Morgiah hesitated.

"That is? not quite true. As a branch of study, I have little interest in Necromancy ? saving my Lord," she added politely; after all, it would not do to offend him. "If I was indeed motivated by academia, it was a more general and less specific promise of learning that drew me."

The King put his head on one side. "If you do not want tutelage in the Grave Arts, then what?"

"I find it hard to believe that is the limit of your knowledge?"

"True enough."

"?but," she continued, "I had nothing formal in mind. In fact, if I may be forthright, I had not made any plans past this point. At the start, I did not really intend to speak to you at all. How could I have anticipated what was to come? I did not realise you personally interviewed your followers, although I must say it is an ingenious idea for a spy network."

She could see him evaluating the situation. It was hard to tell whether he was just humouring her, or if he really was interested ? although, she told herself, it would be a simple task for him to get rid of her if he was tiring of this ettiquettal dance. If she judged the circumstances correctly, their acquaintance was just as beneficial to him as it was to her. Good relations with one of the most powerful royal seats in the Bay was nothing to sniff at.

"I feel I am bested, for the moment," he said, spreading his gloved hands in a gesture of defeat. "Very well: I hand the reins to you. But before you take them, Princess, do have some wine. It was chosen quite meticulously, you know ? and I assure you if I had wanted to kill you, you'd be stone dead before the room had even come into focus."

"So your charming letter said." She debated for a moment; the charisma won. "I can't argue with that sort of frankness. Half a glass, if you please."

With a hint of smugness, he poured for her. She took a sip. The bouquet was stunning; deep tones of oak, cocoa, nutmeg and spice. It lingered on her tongue like the scent of Oblivion.

"To you, if I might make so bold," said the King.

"Absolutely not. To academic acquaintance," she replied lightly.

With an air of profound amusemant, he lifted his glass in a toast.


*


That was the beginning.

The end is yet to be seen.


*
*

Yay!! (I might change that last line to "With an air of profound amusemant", but otherwise, this chapter is LOVE )

I don't believe this... :shakehead:

My computer has been broken for a few weeks, and in that time you've updated three times from the look of it, and Alex has started his new story.

:brokencomputer: :banghead:

I shall get reading A.S.A.P. and post comments!!!

Excellent chapter. I love the conversations between the K o W and Morgiah. Just a note on your spelling of "connexion". I believe it should be "connection". I just noticed it in the last two chapters. Just thought I'd mention it.

Cheers,

Boo broken computers! Great to you see back though


Thanks, I'm glad you liked it! About the whole connexion thing... yeah, I have a quirk about this. I know it's silly. But I love using archaic spellings and language structure, especially if the tone and setting of the story are suited to it. "Connexion" is actually a perfectly legitimate spelling of the word and is found in many books (it usually crops up if the text is older than about 50 years, along with odd hyphenations like to-day and to-morrow) but obviously it's redundant and out of use now. Nevertheless, I'm fond of it. If you think it's too jarring, I'll take it out.

I have no problem with the spelling. I tend to speed-read anyways, so anything that makes me do a double-take is probably in my best interest.

Heh, I wonder if that is a legitimate scrabble word, my scrabble dictionary is at my bf's, will have to check it out...Great way to use up excess vowels and still get a good score.

Umm, yay for being off topic?

I didn't think it was jarring...

Done and done! You're right, that sounds much better. Thanks for reading!


Thank for reading Es x I decided to change it anyway. It is kind of gratuitous. By all means, use it for scrabble... but be prepared for a dictionary fight with the die-hards

GET ON WITH IT...... please....

eh, rumple dee dumple.
Sorry I haven't been keeping up with the last few chapters, I really have no way of knowing when you update this stuff. Your posting patterns are as spontaneous as my avatar. (that was the only thing I could relate the word spontaneous too.) :hehe:

I liked the role Bomba played in the chapter before this interlude. It seems like everyone has a partner except our buddy Solon Gothren. Looking at your work from a pyschological stand point, I think I may know why!

Im just playing with you.

Speaking of which, I enjoy the humour, so little hints of that never hurt! Im a little busy so i'm going to hold off on creating anymore rough sketches or ideas of what your characters look like...they also seem to take away from this thread.

Anyways, keep em comming.

Thanks Mike If you want, I can PM you when I put up a new chapter. Say if you don't want me to, though, because I don't want to bother you. And once again, thank you for your sketches - I had a lot of fun with them!


Funny you should say that... ^_^


The King And I

Chapter Seventeen ? Exposition On Memory

Nenya surveyed the road that lead down the valley to the Wayrest border, and eventually its capital city.

"It's strange to be passing so close by Wayrest, but not visiting," she mused. "When you think about it, it's sort of at the heart of this whole political spiderweb. Helseth, Morgiah, the things we've been sent back to High Rock to do? I feel it's a mistake to pass it by, like we might find some answers there."

Bomba 'Lurrina made a face. "I understand what you mean, but I would rather give Elysana as wide a berth as possible. I doubt her regard for me has sweetened in the decade of our separation."

Nenya looked curious. "I knew you had dealings with Morgiah while she lived here, but what did you ever do to offend Elysana?"

The Khajiit was taken aback. "Morgiah really didn't tell you anything about me, did she?" She shook her head. "Elysana dislikes me because among other things, I fought and killed her lover."

Nenya tripped over a tussock of grass. "Bloody hell," she muttered. "Remind me not to get in a love triangle with you."

Bomba laughed; it was hard not to. "I assure you, there was no emotional attachment on my part. Lord Woodbourne was a traitor. The very same man, in fact, who betrayed and murdered King Lysandus, formerly of Daggerfall. Bringing him to justice was the only way to put Lysandus to rest. He had been haunting the streets of Daggerfall for months, crying for revenge. This was half of the task set to me by the Emperor all those years ago; has Morgiah really not told you?"

"I don't know why you're surprised; she's cagier than an Ordinator. She probably wanted you to tell me yourself." Nenya shrugged. "Anyway, I know bits and pieces about the Warp in the West, and how you must have been involved. What baffles me is why the Wayrestians chose Elysana to reign if her sweetheart was a regicide."

Bomba scoffed. "If you had seen her at work among her people, you'd have no trouble understanding that. Look at what she's done for Wayrest; its lands have tripled since she took the throne! In any case, the vast majority of the populace believes she was duped. To the everyday Wayrestian, she's sweet as sugar. I assure you the moment a dissenting voice appears, it will be mysteriously silenced within a week; Elysana has ways of dealing with people who get vinegar in her honey." Her voice turned hard. "I have seen more of that than I care to."

Nenya threw a sideways glace at her. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. Let me say only that Elysana treats those who love her with little more affection than those who want her dead."

"Oh, come off it. You can't give a teaser like that and then not make good on it."

"Very well," Bomba relented. "When she was eighteen, Elysana had a suitor on the Elder Council ? one Lord Castellian, the youngest council member for a century. Obviously, he backed her claim to the throne. I think he genuinely loved her. Helseth needed the council's support, so he fabricated some rather unfortunate evidence that Castellian was having an illicit affair with his own sister. Obviously, it worked. There was no way Castellian could allow such a rumour to circulate."

"Play dirty, don't they, these nobles?" Nenya remarked.

"Quite. Well, Castellian had no choice but to switch his vote to Helseth. It must have been a wrench for him. But Elysana was furious at the betrayal, even though she'd had no intention of returning his affections ? she asked me to deliver a robe to him that she'd apparently borrowed weeks before and forgotten to give back. I was none the wiser, and I wanted to get in the Royals' favour."

Nenya blinked. "If that was her revenge, I'd say the rumours of Elysana's spite are rather exaggerated."

Bomba gave a grim smile. "No. They're understated. The cloak had a daedric incantation sewn into the brocade; when Castellian put it on, it melted the flesh from his bones."

Nenya pulled up short, looking as if she was about to vomit. "It ? I beg your pardon!?"

"I got the blame," Bomba related bitterly. "It was only Queen Barenziah's intervention that kept my head on my shoulders."

Nenya was still shaking her head from side to side, looking faintly green. "I've changed my mind about Wayrest. Let's not drop in, after all. If I never meet this woman it will be too soon."

A carriage turned the bend in the road, rattling steadily towards them. Bomba 'Lurrina leapt nimbly onto the verge to avoid it; Nenya followed less gracefully, scrambling through a patch of brambles just before the wheels rumbled past. As the window flashed by, there was the glimpse of a sumptuous interior, and a head full of jewelled yellow ringlets.

Nenya stumped back to the road and brushed her boots off. She was about to resume walking when she realised Bomba 'Lurrina was still on the bank, staring after the coach with narrowed eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

Bomba seemed to shake herself. "Yes? yes. I just?" she looked after the carriage again, warily. "No matter." She hopped back onto the road, business-like once more. "The nearest town with a Mages Guild is Lindayn, two or three leagues from here. I'm a member, so I ought to be able to negotiate passage for both of us. They can transfer us to Ankhora, and from there it's a day's march to Scourg Barrow."

Nenya raised an eyebrow. "You're very knowledgeable about the area."

"This is not the first time I have made this particular journey. I had hoped the last time would be the final one; alas, I'm back to couriering once again."

"You seem to be a useful sort of person, particularly where Morgiah is concerned."

Bomba 'Lurrina looked far away, as if she was back in the past once more. "I should have known that the 'last' time never really is the last. The past experiences shared between Morgiah and I mean that I would be her natural first choice for a task like this. Once you're bought by a Royal, you're on their list for life."

Nenya groaned. "Remind me again why I got involved with this circus? I hate politics! Secrets and lies and public personas versus private personas and conspiracies and power struggles and flesh melting off bones ? honestly, I'm not cut out for this."

"How curious, then, that you have devoted the last three years of your life to Morrowind's political labyrinth," Bomba teased, only half in jest. She'd seen Nenya's strength now, but the politics of the situation still made little sense.

Nenya sighed. "I didn't exactly plan it, you know. In fact, I didn't have any choice in the matter whatsoever at first, and by the time I did, well? I couldn't leave them in such a mess. I thought I might as well see it through."

"And I expect you thought that when you finished Dagoth Ur, that would be your 'last' task."

Nenya smiled ruefully, batting away a low-hanging branch from the trees that now converged on the road. "Alright, I get your point. We're both bought. But honestly, Helseth gives me the shivers. I'd rather find out what he's up to ? and fix it ? before I go on my merry way."

"The trouble is," the Khajiit said sourly, "we have a lot of suspicious circumstances and no conclusions. It's infuriating!" She raked her claws down the bole of a nearby trunk in frustration. "It's all connected. Vivec's disappearance. Shedungent sealed magically, Nulfaga apparently still inside. These mysterious black-robed people. Gortwog's information. Helseth exchanging Wayrest for Mournhold. The interest in Aetherius and Numidium? there is a link here, if only I had the wit to see it!"

Nenya shrugged. "Asking about Numidium's not so strange. Helseth's a scholar ? and besides, everyone's got golems on the brain in Morrowind."

Bomba 'Lurrina stopped, and stared. After a few paces, Nenya realised she was walking alone, and looked back in confusion. "What?"

"Golems," Bomba 'Lurrina said, like someone coming out of a long sleep. "Golems on the brain. Brains for golems."

Nenya worriedly recalled the mead at the inn last night. Perhaps it affected Khajiits more seriously than she'd thought? "Yep," she soothed, "brains for golems. Although what you really need for golems is hearts, not brai- OH!" She caught her breath, her eyes widening as the realisation kicked in.

Bomba 'Lurrina sat down, as if the answers now coming thick and fast had physically knocked her over. "What are the two things that connect the Iliac Bay and Morrowind? First: the Wayrest royal family. Second: golems. Numidium, and?"

"Not ? not Akhulakhan?"

Bomba 'Lurrina was shaking her head, beginning to laugh, though there was no humour in her voice. "We didn't see it the same way you don't see High Rock by standing in Daggerfall Castle. It's too big. Maruhkati, it's vast. Only Helseth? only him?"

"But ? but it fell apart! The whole cavern collapsed! When Dagoth Ur and I?" Nenya fell silent. "I would never have said anyone could rebuild it, but of course, this is Helseth we're talking about. Why didn't we see it? Nulfaga, Aetherius ? it all fits. The black-robes must be on his payroll, whoever they are."

Bomba had stopped laughing, the moment of hysteria past. "We have to tell Morgiah. As soon as possible."

"We haven't been to the Dragontails yet, and Northpoint is days away in any case," Nenya reminded her. "Even then, the ship will take a good two weeks to berth in Ebonheart."

"Unless," Bomba said slowly, feeling in her pocket for Morgiah's package addressed to the King of Worms, "there is another way?"


*


The Ascadian Isles are known by most of the population as Vvardenfell's holiday region. Red Mountain, that menacing chastiser, is barely visible from its calm shores. As its name suggest, land and water intertwine, forming a scattering of idyllic islands far warmer and more welcoming than its rockier and more monochrome sister, the Azura Coast.

A small passenger boat, hardly more than twelve foot long, wound slowly through the shallow channels between sandy islets. In it sat two people; two people who were as different from each other as night from day.

In fact, Caius mused as he surreptitiously studied his companion, he had misjudged Solon. For some reason he had imagined that the Dunmer would look wrong by daylight, that his expertise in the criminal arts would be anathema to the kind of tranquil landscape that now surrounded them. But this could not have been further from the truth. The sun brought out glints of red in Solon's dark hair that had hitherto gone unnoticed, and far from highlighting imperfections or a sallow complexion born of many nights awake and days asleep, all the natural light did was prove how flawless his skin was.

It was most unfair.

Caius was feeling old. Granted, people usually mistook him for older than he was ? probably due to the ten years of skooma addict 'cover', he thought bitterly ? but he had never felt quite as unkempt as he did sitting next to Solon Gothren. Caius would be forty-two this coming Last Seed, but right now he might as well have been ninety and have done with it. The fact that Solon was chronologically older than him just rubbed salt in the wound.

And yet? he couldn't find it in him to really dislike the mer. Perhaps this was because despite his knee-weakening appearance, Solon wasn't arrogant. In fact, he displayed little emotion of any kind ? apart from one, which was interest. A sort of? scientific interest, if that could be described as emotion. He had already managed to worm a great deal of personal details out of Caius, and the sergeant never realised quite how much information he'd given away until there was no way to take it back. It seemed like genuine curiosity. Caius couldn't decide whether it was flattering or downright creepy.

Right now, Solon was looking at him again. A quiet, steady gaze that made him clear his throat awkwardly and shift his position in the boat. Damn the boy ? didn't he have any sense of personal space?

"You know your way around Dren's estate?" he asked, more to fill the gap than anything.

Just as it had done in Morgiah's office, Solon's expression became troubled at the Tong leader's name. "Yes, enough for us to do what we came for. We find the records, get rid of them and get out. Dren shouldn't be returning before next week, but we can't be too careful."

Caius rested his elbows on his knees, seeing that the mer was discomfited and finding some spiteful satisfaction in the tables being turned for once. "You're really not keen on running into him, are you? I wonder why??"

Solon's mouth twisted. "It is? better that we don't meet. I would rather keep a low profile for the moment."

"Cheated him out of some money? Or took a fancy to his wife, maybe?"

Solon unexpectedly laughed out loud at the latter proposition, a hugely startling sound. "Not exactly," he confided, his grin like that of a wolf. "Though not far off the mark."

Caius shrugged. It was probably a good idea not to delve too deeply into Cammona Tong feuds.

The mer cocked his head to one side, his pupilless eyes infuriatingly unreadable. "Sergeant, I have been meaning to ask? You and Sera Nerevarine: you have spent much time together over the last few years?"

Caius groaned inwardly. He prayed to whatever gods might be listening that Solon hadn't been talking to Crassius.

"Not really," he said shortly, hoping Solon would get the point. "I was recalled to Cyrodiil about nine months after she arrived. She had to finish the assignment without me."

The mer was looking pointedly downwards; with a stab of annoyance, the Imperial realised his last sentence had caused his hand to curl into a fist. Curse it! He might as well just write it all over his face in red ink.

"You didn't want to go?"

"I don't like leaving a job unfinished, that's all."

"It sounds to me as if many things were left unfinished."

"And what does that mean?" Caius spat.

Solon chose not to respond, looking over at the shore and smiling.

"If you must know," Caius said with exasperation, "the decision was out of my hands. I would have stayed if I could. It's not fair to leave a stranger to deal with you people. You're prickly at the best of times, but this Nerevarine business? I'm surprised Helseth was the only one who took out a writ on her. Ruffled a lot of feathers, having a Nord as a Dunmer figurehead."

"Not everyone's. I found it most amusing."

Caius' incontrollable defensiveness rose before he could suppress it. "Is that so? You lot are all the bloody same. She saves your whole country, and does she get so much as a thank-you? It's enough that?"

"You misunderstand me," Solon cut in coolly. "It was the reactions of my countrymer I found amusing."

"?didn't even ? oh," Caius trailed off mid-flow. "Well, you know," he said gruffly, after a moment's sheepish pause. "She doesn't get a lot of thanks."

"I know."

"So, anyway," said Caius, looking out over the bows and trying to pretend the conversation hadn't happened. "How do you know Nenya? She never talked about you. After my time, was it?"

Solon smiled again, causing a most disconcerting lurch in Caius' stomach. "We met at the very place we're heading for. We had a? mutual interest. As for 'after your time', it wasn't long after you left. Only a week or so. I remember, because she talked about you."

It was out before he could stop it. "She did?"

"Yes. She said she needed to write and let you know she wasn't ill, because you had to leave before you knew she'd found a cure. I didn't understand at the time. But of course, now everyone knows? it was part of the prophecy that the Nerevarine would conquer the dread disease. Corprus."

Solon's words brought an unwelcome rush of emotions to the forefront of Caius' mind. The fear, the confusion? the guilt that it had been his fault she had got the damn disease in the first place? It was sharp, like a wound.

"I was always curious why you hadn't stayed to make sure she recovered. She spoke of you with fondness; it seemed you were close."

"I didn't ?" Caius was incensed at the idea of his departure being voluntary. "I had no choice! I was escorted back to Cyrodiil the very next day! I would have fought tooth and nail to stay, I promise you that!"

"I realise that now. I had wondered? It seemed so out of character. I was sure she couldn't have heaped so much praise on a person who had simply disappeared in her hour of greatest need."

But Caius wasn't listening any more. He was drowning in memories.


*


Balmora, Sun's Height, 3E428


He woke, the thoughts confused and jumbled, his head thick as if stuffed with cotton. Cursing his weakness, he knocked the skooma pipe off the nightstand ? never again, he had promised himself; never again! How could this still be happening?

He realised what had stirred him when a pounding came on the front door, heavy and loud. There was something urgent about the erratic blows. Disturbed, he stumbled to the door, catching up the poorly-kept shortblade on the table as he did so, and wrenched the handle to fling it wide.

A nightmare tumbled into the house.

Adrenaline flooding through his body, he drew back the sword, a sudden cry of revulsion escaping him as the thing clutched his arm? and then, as he raised the shortsword, the moonlight spilling through the open door, he caught the face of the monster he was about to behead. Nenya's eyes glowed up at him with appalling inhumanity.

The sword dropped from his fingers, the sound unheard through the terrible roaring in his ears.

She was trying to speak, mouthing the words as her desiccated voice struggled to sound. Her lips were cracked and red. "Help? help me? help me?"

He could hardly reply. "Nen? Talos, Nenya! What happened?"

"The priest," she croaked, falling sideways out of his grip and crawling across the floor like some kind of demented animal, curling into a dark corner. "The Cult priest, in Ilunibi? I killed him, but he cursed me. I don't know how. Corprus. Please, Caius ? please?"

He knelt slowly, his body a dead weight, hands shaking. "Corprus?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her face now half-hidden in the flicker of the single dying lamp. Pitifully, he found himself grateful. There was too much wrong, too many things in her crouched shape that hinted at deformity. "I'm so sorry, Caius? I didn't know what to do?"

He closed his eyes, unable to look any longer. Please be a skooma-dream, he prayed, his thoughts garbled and panicked. Please be the skooma?

But he knew it wasn't. The sugar was already leaving his system, the pounding in his head testifying to the empty pipe under his nightstand. When he opened his eyes, the shape was still clinging to the wall, the shoulders now moving painfully up and down. Nenya was sobbing.

"I'm sorry," she gasped again, her voice nearly giving out. "I know I shouldn't have come. But there's no-one else! I'm alone here! What could I do? Please, Caius, help me!"

He was paralysed, eyes fixed on her tears. She had never cried in front of him. Never. Since the first day he had met her, she had been cheerful and blas? ? almost exasperatingly so. The sight of her shaking with sobs horrified him almost as much as the sunken darkness of her eye sockets and the trembling of her limbs.

"Caius?"

"I?" he began helplessly, darting his eyes about the room, looking at anything but her ? and then, miraculously, his gaze fell on the tip of a Dwemer urn, poking haphazardly out of one of his old equipment chests. A wild hope suddenly burst in his chest.

Of course?Divyath Fyr!

Fewer than a dozen people in the entire country knew about Fyr's Corprusarium ? but after all, it was Caius' job to know things other people didn't. And rumour had it that he was experimenting with his patients. Working on a cure.

Crossing the room in a single bound, he wrenched the Dwemer urn from the chest and thrust it into Nenya's shaking arms. "Go to Tel Fyr. The mer living there is a sorcerer? he studies Corprus victims. Give him the urn; he likes Dwemer artefacts. Ask him to help you. There's no-one else? Nenya, I'm sorry? you have to go now!"

She struggled to her feet, pushing the urn into her pack and lurching her way to the door, reminding him unpleasantly of a drunk? or a skooma addict. At the threshold, she paused and looked back. With the moonlight on her face once more, she looked shocking. Like a corpse.

"Talos be with you," he whispered.

She disappeared.

That was the last time he saw her.


*


He'd dreamt about it afterwards, for a long time. When her letters came bearing the news of her cure, and later the victory over Dagoth Ur, the dreams became less frequent. It was only every so often when he was troubled or ill that they returned, and in those dark hours before dawn, her shaking shoulders and sunken eyes were even worse than they had been in life. And this time, there was no cure. This time, when she left, it was for good. And this time, it skewered his heart more painfully than ever because it had been his fault, his orders that had sent her to Ilunibi. He had betrayed her, sentenced her to death.

Sometimes she was a snarling monster, grotesque and unrecognisable. He would behead her, and then sob like a child in a lake of her blood.

Sometimes she was frail and terrified, and he couldn't hold onto her no matter how hard he tried. Her bones would snap under his fingers, and she would crumble into dust, wet with tears.

The dreams had stopped since he returned to Morrowind last month. And Talos willing, they would not come back? because now, he would never allow her to face anything like that alone again. Not if all the Emperor's hoards were screaming at his door.


*
*

You know, this part of your multifaceted plot - the love between Caius and Nenya - is the one part that rivets my interest (yes, I'm a hopeless romantic - so what!) for it makes both characters more vivid. But Nenya...what are her true feelings for Caius? You have hinted in many places at a tenderness for him on Nenya's part, but - I think - not fleshed it out enough. However, the plot is still unfurling...I suspect there will be a chapter where more will be revealed, and that chapter will fit naturally into the flow of the overall plot as a whole.

Very good writing. Keep it up!