Halloweenization.


Not sure what it is, maybe the eyes, but I think she looks a bit drunk.

Probably the shadows around the eyes Maybe I'll just stick with the old one.

If it looks like you Hell YEAH!!!

And I must say that this new Ada is just as riveting as the old!

Well it is a Nord head after all. :rolleyes:

Chapter 2: Performance Anxiety

I did my best to concentrate on the task ahead as I packed for the journey to Mournhold. I knew how important it was to ‘block out’ other distractions during a mission; you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by personal problems when people were trying to kill you. In a way it was almost a relief to be getting away for a while; it meant I had time to sort my head out before going back to my job and my boyfriend. If I even had either of those things by the time I got back.

At least they couldn’t just kick me out for being an Imperial spy, I thought. For once, House Redoran’s idiotic rules would work in my favour; the only way to get rid of an Archmaster was by defeating them in honourable combat. Varvur… now that was a different matter.

I was fully aware that I’d left Athyn to deal with the fallout from my ‘revelation’, but then it was entirely his fault. Well, mostly his fault. Even if he did have a point about the Blades, I was still pissed off with him for telling Varvur when he’d promised not to. If he thought it was so important, why couldn’t he have got both of us together and let me explain everything? (I ignored the little voice in my head telling me that he might have done, if only I’d told him the truth about me and Varvur in the first place.)

It was only when I’d finished packing that I realised I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d never felt less hungry, but I forced myself to swallow some food, hoping it hadn’t been poisoned. How long before the assassins thought to try that, I wondered?

Before setting off for Ebonheart, I spoke to Viras Guls – the hetman of my stronghold – to explain where I was going and what I was doing there. I also left a package for Varvur, containing my old journal (it had filled up so quickly that I’d had to buy another one) and all the letters and documents Caius Cosades had left regarding my service in the Blades. In the past I’d thought about burning them to make sure they didn’t fall into the wrong hands, but now I was glad I hadn’t. If Varvur could just read those, I thought, maybe he’d understand.

Asciene Rane was still waiting in the Grand Council chambers when I arrived in Ebonheart. “Ah, Sera Ventura! You’re back,” she said cheerfully. “Have you changed your mind about travelling to Mournhold?”

“Yes, I have. Can I trust you not to say a word to anyone about this?” She nodded, and I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “I need to go there because someone’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to attack me. I want to find out who’s responsible.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my! I can see why you’d want to get that cleared up. That’s dangerous business, though. I can’t say I’d be happy to send you off on that sort of fool’s errand.”

I had to fight back a smile; she reminded me a little of my Aunt Sybilla. “Danger isn’t a problem, believe me. I’ve handled worse things than the Dark Brotherhood since I arrived in Morrowind.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said doubtfully. “I suppose I can oblige you. If you need to return to Vvardenfell, speak with Effe-Tei in the Royal Palace. But take care, friend –those people are not to be taken lightly.”

She cast the spell as she finished speaking, and moments later I found myself standing in a room I’d never seen before. It was some kind of reception or waiting area, carved out of rich green marble and sumptuously decorated. A lone guard in crimson armour stood in one corner, holding an adamantium claymore. His helmet covered his entire face, yet somehow he still managed to look menacing.

The mage standing next to me, a well-dressed Argonian, smiled at the bewildered expression on my face. “Welcome to Mournhold, sera. Have you just arrived from Vvardenfell?”

“I have, yes,” I said, pulling myself together. “Would you mind telling me what part of Mournhold this is?”

He smiled again. “This is the reception room of the Royal Palace. Your first visit?” I nodded, realising this must be the ‘Effe-Tei’ whom Asciene had mentioned. “Would you like me to help you get your bearings?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said gratefully.

“Well, the doors just here will take you out to the courtyard,” he said, pointing. “South is Plaza Brindisi Dorom; north is Almalexia’s Temple; and to the west and east you have Godsreach – the residential district – and the Great Bazaar. Here in the palace you’ve got the Legion barracks and an Imperial Cult shrine… and the Royal chambers, of course. Queen Barenziah holds court here, if you have any reason to see her.”

My mouth dropped open. “Hold on… did you say Barenziah? The Barenziah? Here in Mournhold?”

Effe-Tei nodded. “The old king, Athyn Llethan, is dead. Long live King Hlaalu Helseth. He and his mother have lived here in Mournhold since she abdicated her throne in Wayrest. Now that her son has become king, you might expect him to respect her counsel and experience.” He paused. “Or not. I pay no attention to my mother.”

“Same here,” I admitted. “So… the new king is a Hlaalu?” I vaguely remembered hearing about King Llethan’s death, but I hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Everyone knew the King of Morrowind was really just an Imperial puppet.

“Yes, technically. But he has plenty of enemies even in his own House.” Effe-Tei sighed. “He wants to transform the role of King into a powerful head of state along Western lines, and a lot of the Dunmer traditionalists aren’t happy about that. They prefer the old system of council rule. And there’s always been hostility between the Temple and the Imperial administration, but since Helseth’s accession, the tension between Imperial-leaning Dunmer and Almalexia’s supporters is much worse.”

I nodded politely, but I wasn’t really interested – I had enough of politics back home. Far more interesting to me was the fact that Barenziah, one of my childhood heroines, was here in Mournhold. Like most other kids my age, I’d spent a good part of my teenage years trying to track down an uncensored copy of The Real Barenziah. I’d never imagined I might actually get to meet her in the flesh.

Get a grip, Ada, I thought, giving myself a mental shake. You’re here to track down a bunch of deadly assassins, not to fawn over the Queen Mother. “Well, thanks for your help,” I said to Effe-Tei. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a place to stay?”

“The Winged Guar in Godsreach,” he said, so quickly that I wondered if someone was paying him to advertise the place. Well, it was all the same to me.

I headed out into the courtyard, where I paused for a minute to take stock. Since I’d only just arrived here, nobody knew who I was, which meant I probably had at least a day or two before I had to worry about assassins again. I decided to head for the ‘Great Bazaar’ Effe-Tei had mentioned to buy some provisions before going to Godsreach.

I left the courtyard through the southern gate – smiling at the elderly, well-dressed Imperial who nodded to me as I passed – and found myself in a vast plaza surrounded by thirty-foot-high walls, all made of the same green-and-white marble as the palace. In the centre was a large fountain with a statue of two figures doing battle. There were a few more of those crimson-suited guards wandering about, as well as some others who looked a lot like the Ordinators from Vivec. They wore the same creepy mask-like helmets, but their armour was even more ornate, and each of them carried a vicious-looking ebony scimitar.

I wandered towards the fountain to have a closer look at the statue. The figure with four arms was presumably Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, but I wasn’t sure about the other. Whatever myth or historical event this was supposed to depict, I wasn’t familiar with it.

“Mournhold!” a voice growled behind me. “City of Light! City of Magic!” I turned sharply round and found myself staring at one of the Ordinator-alikes. I swear they do that just to scare people.

“Excuse me,” I said coolly, trying to pretend he hadn’t startled me. “Could you tell me what’s being shown in this statue here?”

“It honours the Lady Almalexia and her defeat of the Daedra Prince Mehrunes Dagon,” he said promptly. “The battle levelled the city, but the lives of many were saved by the goddess’ valour.” He gave me a penetrating look through the slits in his helmet. “This is her city, outlander – and we are the High Ordinators, the protectors of Mournhold. Behave yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll be good.”

He snorted and turned away without a word. For once I was more amused than annoyed; it was almost refreshing to be treated with contempt again. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if he knew he was talking to the Nerevarine.

I wandered east across the plaza until I came to a much smaller gate set into the wall. On the other side was a large, crowded open-air marketplace which I took to be the Great Bazaar. I noticed with interest that there was an open-air theatre of some kind in the centre, with a crowd of people gathered round it. Once I’d got hold of my would-be assassin and wrung his neck, maybe I’d have time to take in a show.

The steps down to the marketplace took me directly in front of the theatre, and as I got closer I could hear confused murmurs from the crowd. The stage was dressed for a play – a very simple set, with just a rug, some banners and a wall with one door in it – and a Dunmer actress in full costume stood near the doorway, but nothing seemed to be happening. What was this, one of those weird ‘experimental theatre’ pieces?

I picked my way round the edge of the crowd, heading for a trader’s stall, where I bought some provisions. As I was leaving, I accidentally trod on a sheet of printed paper which someone had dropped on the ground. Picking it up, I saw that it was some kind of newssheet, copied on cheap paper under the heading ‘The Common Tongue’.

As I skimmed through it, one article in particular caught my eye. It described a number of mysterious deaths in Wayrest, during the years when Barenziah had lived there as Queen. “I have a little list,” it began. “They never would be missed.”

I read on with increasing astonishment. The article was basically accusing Barenziah’s son, Prince Helseth – now King Helseth of Morrowind – of being responsible for dozens of poisonings, all of people who had posed an ‘inconvenience’ to Helseth in some way or other. “The Common Tongue does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is a poisoner,” it finished, with blatant untruthfulness, “or that the recent death of King Athyn Llethan’s was a poisoning, and not a natural death. The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. And the Imperial coroners have ruled that Athyn Llethan died a natural death.”

Good grief. This was certainly a lot juicier than the stuff you’d find in the Black Horse Courier, Cyrodiil’s own state-funded newsletter. I wondered if the King knew what people were saying about him?

I left the newssheet where I’d found it and set off towards the smith’s stall on the other side of the marketplace. As I passed the back of the theatre, I saw a well-dressed man pacing up and down outside the stage door – the manager, perhaps? I hadn’t gone more than a few steps further when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” It was the man I’d noticed a few moments earlier. “Sorry to bother you but I thought perhaps you could help me. I’m Meryn Othralas, founder of the Mournhold Players.” He had a pleasant, well-modulated voice – an actor’s voice.

“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now – ”

“Oh, I understand,” he said soothingly. “It’s just that I saw you walking by in your fine armour, and I just had to ask. The show must go on, you see.”

“What do you mean?”

Othralas sighed. “Well, I’m afraid our troupe has its own drama at the moment. Wouldn’t you know that the very day we’re supposed to debut our show, our lead actor Tarvus Beleth comes down with collywobbles? So now I’m desperately trying to find someone who looks like Tarvus to take his place.” He paused. “You know, you kind of look a little like Tarvus…”

I looked at him incredulously. “I look like a male Dunmer?”

“Well… a bit like Tarvus. Close enough, anyway.” He hurried on. “So, what do you say, Imperial? Would you like to take on the part of Clavides, Captain of the Imperial Guard, in our production?”

Okay, this had to stop right here. “I’m sorry, Ser Othralas,” I said, “but I really can’t help you. I’m a fighter, not an actress.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said airily. “There’s not much acting involved – all you need to do is stand there and say the lines. If you were a professional, of course, that would be different… but needs must, eh?”

I’d never been in a play before, but I was willing to try almost anything once. If I hadn’t been so busy chasing assassins, I might have given it a shot. “I’ll do it if you’ll tell me where to find the Dark Brotherhood,” I said, not thinking for a moment that he’d actually be able to.

“The sewers beneath the Great Bazaar,” he said promptly. “That’s what they say, anyway. Though I don’t know why you’d want to go looking for those demons… still, it’s your funeral.”

I stifled a groan. Sewers! Why did it have to be sewers? I still hadn’t got over that time I’d had to crawl around in the Vivec underworks.

“So,” Othralas continued, “you’ll take the part, then?”

Sh*t. “What is the play?” I asked, stalling for time.

“The Horror of Castle Xyr. I’m sure you know it, don’t you?”

“Well…” Actually I did recall seeing that play when it was touring in Cyrodiil a few years back – though all I could really remember was that it was about a crazy mage.

“Fantastic!” Without waiting for me to finish, Meryn pressed a copy of the script into my hands. “No need for a lengthy rehearsal, in that case. Review the script for the next two minutes, then talk to me again.”

I goggled at him. “But hang on, I – ”

“No time!” he interrupted, grabbing a box of props. “People are starting to gather, so we need to get this show started. Just make sure you’re back in two minutes!”

He disappeared round the side of the stage, leaving me doing my best impression of a stunned slaughterfish. Two minutes? I couldn’t learn an entire play in two minutes!

I opened the book and leafed through the first few pages. The dialogue did sound vaguely familiar – though some of the names and references had been changed in the version I remembered, presumably to suit the local politics in Cyrodiil. I’d just have to learn as much as I could, and rely on the book for the rest.

“Why me?” I muttered in exasperation. Why did I keep on finding myself in these crazy situations? I bet Athyn Sarethi would never have let this happen to him; he’d just have said “Forgive me, sera,” in that quiet, dignified way of his, and walked on. Maybe there was some sort of support group I could join? “Basic Assertiveness Training: How To Turn Down Insane Requests From Total Strangers”?

By the end of two minutes I had just about managed to learn the first couple of pages, and was trying not to panic. I’d never acted before in my life – at least, not in front of a proper audience. What if I got out on that stage and just froze up in terror? I’d ruin Othralas’ play, not to mention looking like a complete idiot.

At that moment, Othralas himself came striding back round the corner. “Ah, good job! You’re right on time,” he said, beaming at me. “Let’s get this show on the road. All you have to do is head out through the door, hit your mark in the centre of the rug next to Gureryne – that’s our leading lady – and deliver your lines.”

Desperately I racked my brains for a way out of this. “Captain Clavides is supposed to be a man,” I protested. “Won’t the audience notice he’s being played by a woman?”

“Oh, never mind that!” he said impatiently. “If the audience can buy a Dunmer as an Imperial captain, they can certainly cope with him being the wrong six. Besides, you’ll be wearing a helmet – here.” He rummaged around in his box of props and handed me an Imperial silver helmet. “Just be careful, because they all know the play well, and I’ll be counting your mistakes.”

Then, to my utter horror, he took the script out of my hands. A wave of panic swept over me. “B- but I…!”

“Off you go!” he whispered, ignoring me completely. “Break a leg!”

He wrenched open the stage door and practically shoved me through it. It was almost as if he didn’t care how badly I ended up performing. If I hadn’t been so flustered, that might have tipped me off that something a bit strange was going on.

I landed on a rug in the centre of the stage, facing the actress I’d seen earlier. “Good evening to you, serjo,” she said instantly, in a rather painful imitation of a lower-class Dunmer accent.

There wasn’t even time to panic any more. I took a deep breath, trying to put myself into the role of the stereotypical pleasant-but-dim Imperial captain. “Good evening,” I replied, making my voice as deep and gruff as possible. “Is your master home?”

And we went on from there. Amazingly, I managed to remember most of the lines, though I did hear a few ‘boos’ from the audience whenever I made a minor slip-up. Clearly Othralas had been right when he’d said they all knew the play.

Before long we had reached the last part of the script which I’d actually learned. It was taking all my concentration to remember the lines, but at the same time I was dimly aware that everything was about to go haywire. What was I going to do next, just improvise the rest of the play?

“Please, serjo, go wherever you want,” Gureryne was saying. “We have nothing to hide. We’re loyal Imperial subjects.”

“As, I hear, are all Telvanni,” I said with a completely straight face, as directed in the script. (In the Cyrodiilic version, that line had been “As, I hear, are all Colovians.”)

There was a ripple of laughter from the audience – and then, suddenly, terrified screams. I whirled round to see that a black-clad Dunmer had leapt up onto the stage, brandishing some sort of Daedric dagger. “You die now, actor scum!” he roared, hurling himself at me.

I’d drawn my own sword before he even got close. There were gasps from the audience as I neatly sidestepped his first blow and grabbed his other arm, shoving him off balance. He slammed into the wall behind me – luckily it was a proper stone wall, rather than a flimsy stage set – and managed to raise his weapon for another strike, then suddenly hesitated. There was a shocked expression on his face, as if he’d seen something he hadn’t expected to see.

I didn’t give him time to recover. The audience shrieked with fear and excitement as I drove the blade of my glass frostsword into the assassin’s stomach. Some of them even clapped – I think they must have thought it was part of the play.

The man slumped to the ground as I pulled out the blade, and I paused to catch my breath. For a moment I thought this must have been another Dark Brotherhood attack – but if so, why had he called me ‘actor scum’? Suddenly it hit me: he’d thought I was Tarvus, the actor who’d fallen sick. But in that case –

I pulled off my helmet and swept an ironic bow to the crowd, who erupted in cheers, then ripped down one of the ‘Mournhold Players’ banners and used it to wipe off my sword. A trembling Gureryne hurried out of my way as I marched through the stage door, yanking it shut behind me. Meryn Othralas was waiting there, looking just slightly nervous.

I slammed my sword back into its scabbard with a force that made him wince. “What. The hell. Was that about?”

“Ah. Yes,” he said, rather faintly. “I hope you can forgive us, but we knew that an assassin would attack sooner or later. There’s a good reason,” he added hastily, seeing the expression on my face.

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. “This had better be good.”

“Yes, well, you see –” Meryn was starting to recover his confidence. “Our lead actor, Tarvus, recently had a somewhat indecent tryst with the daughter of a Telvanni diplomat. The diplomat caught him in the act, and vowed revenge. Since Tarvus changes residences frequently, we knew an attack would come during his performance, when the diplomat could be sure of Tarvus’ location.”

“And you didn’t tell me this why, exactly?”

“Well, I thought you might refuse to take the part,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, since you were able to dispatch the would-be assassin, hopefully the diplomat won’t try again. I know that the services of the Morag Tong are very expensive to enlist. I apologise for using you in this manner, sera, but I hope you understand why it was necessary.”

I briefly considered giving him a mouthful of broken teeth, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Whatever,” I said with a sigh. “I assume I’m getting paid for this?”

He cleared his throat, looking slightly relieved. “Ah yes, well… I do intend to pay you in full. Let’s see: during the play you only made two mistakes. Not bad – for an amateur,” he added graciously. “But your acting skills could definitely use some improvement. Here, take this gold and this amulet that will improve your acting abilities whenever you need it.”

He handed me an enchanted amulet and a pouch containing 1,800 septims. I thanked him grudgingly and went on my way, heading for the smithy to buy some armourer’s hammers.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realised what I’d done, and then I wanted to smack my head into the nearest wall. I’d come to Mournhold anonymously, hoping to track down my assassins before they realised I was here, and what was the very first thing I’d done? Taken the lead in a hit play and foiled a Morag Tong attack in front of a huge crowd. I might as well have unfurled a huge banner saying “Look Out, Mournhold: Ada Ventura Is Here!”

As I was heading back up the steps, a young Dunmer woman shyly approached me. “Excuse me, sera,” she said. “It was you in the play, wasn’t it?” I nodded resignedly.

“You were so brave.” She hesitated for a moment. “I wondered… is it true that you’re the Nerevarine?”

Good gods, how had that got out already? “Yes, it’s true,” I said with a sigh, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around. I’m… here on a rest break and I don’t want everyone pestering me for autographs.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed light purple. “Well, in that case… I’ll just leave you alone, then. I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”

Oh, crap. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying you wanted an autograph?”

“Well… yes, I would quite like one,” she said, blushing even more deeply. “If you really wouldn’t mind?”

For a moment, wild paranoia gripped me. What if she was a spy for the Dark Brotherhood? Then I realised how stupid I was being. She wasn’t, and even if she had been, what difference did it make now?

“Okay, then. Just for you.” I slid my pack off my shoulders and began to rummage around in it for a quill and inkwell. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Marena Gilnith.” She gave me a small handbill advertising The Horror of Castle Xyr, and I signed it for her with a short, friendly message. “Thank you,” she said, as she took it back. “I can’t wait to tell everyone back home that I met the Nerevarine.”

“You’re not from Mournhold, then?”

She shook her head, looking a bit wistful. “I grew up in a small village in the south of Morrowind. Believe it or not, I had no intention of working here when I came to Mournhold… but you probably don’t want to hear my sob story, do you?”

I hesitated. It was a warm summer evening, and it would still be light for several hours yet; what harm could it do to stay for five minutes? “No, go ahead.”

Marena sighed. “Well, it’s mostly my fault, really. My parents cared for me a great deal, and only wanted the best for me. But when they arranged my marriage to a wealthy nobleman, I couldn’t take it – he was disgusting, and I wanted nothing to do with him. So I ran away, and ended up here in Mournhold.”

I felt a twinge of sympathy for her. My parents hadn’t tried to force me into marriage, but apart from that, her story sounded all too similar to my own. “So what were you hoping to do here, if you didn’t plan to work?”

She blushed again. “I know it sounds silly, but I was convinced that I’d be able to find the man of my dreams.”

“Never rely on that,” I warned her. “Seriously.”

“I was foolish about it, to be sure. I never considered that I’d need money to survive on my own… but I was determined not to go crawling back to the village and beg forgiveness. I’d make it on my own, and only then would I contact my parents and let them know where I was.” She sighed again. “So I started working... and now it’s all I do. I never have time to meet anyone.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

Marena shrugged. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let me know if you meet any nice, single men, will you?”

I doubted that was going to happen, unless she was into guys who hung out in sewers and worshipped the Night Mother. Still… she seemed like a nice woman, and I felt sorry for her. It couldn’t hurt to keep my eyes open, could it?

“What sort of guys are you looking for?” I asked. “Any particular type?”

“I’m not sure… someone charming and worldly, I guess. Someone exciting.”

Not exactly much to go on. Still, I’d already hooked up a noblewoman with a highwayman and a Redoran councillor with his own bodyguard; how hard could it be to find someone for Marena?

As I walked off to look for the entrance to the sewers, I found my thoughts wandering back to my own home in Cyrodiil. I still hadn’t heard anything from my parents; either my letters just hadn’t reached them – which wouldn’t be all that surprising, given the recent troubles – or they still hadn’t forgiven me for running away. Or… well, I really didn’t want to think about the alternative. I hoped Marena would manage to make things up with her own family before it was too late.

It took me nearly half an hour to find the one sewer covering in the entire bazaar. I set a Mark in case I needed to get out in a hurry, then hung around awkwardly for a while, wondering how to look inconspicuous while pulling up a sewer grating. In the end I just lifted it casually and climbed in, and the few people nearby didn’t seem to notice or care.

Beneath the covering was a ladder leading down into the Mournhold underworks. There was a shallow pool of water at the bottom, but luckily it seemed to be just rainwater rather than… any other kind. To one side was a rocky cave which was mostly submerged; to the other was a crumbling stone archway leading into a wide passage.

My plan was to scout out the place briefly, then come back later to tackle the Brotherhood – hopefully with reinforcements. I cast my Amulet of Shadows before heading through the archway, and moments later I was glad I’d taken the trouble – the first thing I saw there was a shifty-looking Khajiit woman mooching around in a corner. I didn’t know if she was anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood, but I didn’t want to risk it.

As I looked around me, I realised that the place didn’t actually look much like a sewer (or smell like one, to my great relief). It was large and airy, with very little water around, and the floor was paved with mosaic tiles – a bit like a corridor, or even a city street. Weird.

I crept through the maze-like passageways until I came to another small archway, leading into a natural cavern. Through a grating in the side wall I could see a skeleton warrior armed with a silver katana. If the Brotherhood really was here, how the heck did they get past these creatures whenever they came in and out? Had they come to some sort of agreement with the skeletons?

I cast my Chameleon enchantment again and crept past the skeletons until I reached a chamber with two exits – one of which was heavily flooded. Damn, I thought. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that this might happen? If I went the wrong way, I could end up wandering around here for hours. Maybe I should have hired a guide.

Then it occurred to me: why shouldn’t I hire a guide? I could afford it. There had to be mercenaries in Mournhold, and some of them (okay, maybe not the more reputable ones) probably knew their way around the sewers. If I managed to find someone trustworthy enough, they could even act as a bodyguard.

Enough exploring for the day, I decided. It was time to find somewhere to stay the night. I used my amulet of Recall to take me back to the Bazaar, then re-entered the Plaza Brindisi Dorom and headed towards the Godsreach district.

Hurray! I already want the next chapter!

It's close now!

That's not fair, the one day I'm not online you post!

That one was... interesting for sure

There really should be one

Totally hooked on this story. Awsome stuff, Helena.

Can't wait to have my dedicated Morrowind rig back up and running.

Screenshots from the first few chapters:

http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f332/ecucej/MGEScreenshot006.jpg
http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f332/ecucej/MGEScreenshot041.jpg
http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f332/ecucej/MGEScreenshot042.jpg

Chapter 3: O Brother Where Art Thou

Godsreach was an upmarket residential district, its tidy, well-kept streets lined with imposing two-storey mansions. It was far too small to be the only housing district in Mournhold, so I guessed this was just where the wealthiest citizens lived. It was quite impressive – though nothing compared to the Imperial City, I thought, with patriotic pride.

But there was something about the place – the whole of Mournhold, in fact – that made me feel slightly uneasy. Maybe it was the high walls that surrounded each district, blocking out the view of the outside world. Maybe it was the fact that everything felt a little too clean and shiny. Or maybe it was the High Ordinators that lurked on every corner, watching you like a hawk from behind those creepy face-shaped helmets.

The Winged Guar was in the north-west and wasn’t hard to find, as there were quite a few people outside on the terrace enjoying the warm weather. The large buildings nearby seemed to be public halls of some kind – I’d have to check those out if I got the time.

Inside the Winged Guar were a good number of outlanders as well as native Dunmer, and I counted at least one of almost every race (me included). I was a little surprised to see that the guy behind the bar was a Khajiit – not that it’s especially unusual for Khajiit to run taverns, but I hadn’t really expected to see it in an upper-class Indoril district. However, when I spoke to Ra’tesh (that was his name), he told me that the actual owner was an Altmer named Hession.

I’d had a tiring day, mentally as well as physically, so I rented a bed from Hession and went to bed as soon as I’d bathed and had dinner. My room contained three single beds and not much else – it looked like a dorm in the Fighters’ Guild, only more comfortable. Before going to sleep, I locked the door carefully and dragged one of the bedside tables in front of it. I wasn’t really expecting to be attacked by assassins that night, but if they did try anything, at least I’d hear them coming.

But none came. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, I went to the Bazaar and asked the Redguard smith there about mercenaries in Mournhold. Since I didn’t want to let on that I was planning to hire one, I pretended I was looking for mercenary work myself.

“Well, there’s plenty of work around,” he told me. “With all the troubles on Vvardenfell, any decent mercenaries demand fancy wages there, and get them, no questions asked. Doesn’t leave much choice around here for hiring. That Imperial fellow at the Palace, Calvus Horatius, is the only one I know about.”

“Calvus Horatius?”

“He’s new to Mournhold. No reputation, no references – but he looks like a veteran, and has an honest face.”

I thanked him and set off for the Royal Palace, guessing correctly that I’d find Calvus in the courtyard. He was a stocky Imperial man in his early thirties, with auburn hair and dark-blue eyes – probably Colovian, then. His gear was fairly simple – chainmail armour and an Imperial steel broadsword – but as the smith had said, he looked like a veteran. It was something about the way he held himself.

We stood there for a few seconds, sizing each other up, and then he smiled at me. I smiled back.

“If you’re looking for someone to watch your back, I’m available for hire.” He didn’t sound very hopeful.

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

“Really? I’m surprised. You look like you can take care of yourself.”

I couldn’t help feeling rather pleased. It was a long time since I’d had an honest compliment from someone who a) knew what they were talking about and B) didn’t already know who I was. “I can, but I still have to sleep now and again. I need someone to guard me from attacks by the Dark Brotherhood.”

He drew a sharp, hissing breath. “The Brotherhood? Wow. How did you get mixed up with… hold on, I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if you did,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve no idea who hired them to kill me. I’m hoping I might find some answers in their lair down in the sewers. Do you know your way around down there?”

“I do, as it happens. That is, I’ve never been to the Brotherhood hideout myself, but I can take you there… if you pay me enough.” He held out a hand. “Calvus Horatius, by the way.”

“Ada Ventura.” He didn’t react to the name. That was fine by me; I certainly didn’t feel like explaining my whole life story.

“Well, my fee is 250 septims for 30 days. I’ve got my own gear and gold, but you could always buy me better gear if you want to improve my effectiveness. Think of it as an investment in your future,” he added with a wink.

250 septims a month wasn’t a bad deal – it was roughly what I used to make in Cyrodiil, before any extra loot I managed to scavenge along the way. “Okay,” I said. “Deal. Here’s half the money, and I’ll pay you the rest once the contract is up, presuming you manage to keep me alive.”

“At your service, ma’am. He saluted smartly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. I liked the guy already.

We headed off to the Bazaar to buy Calvus some better gear. Unfortunately the smith’s selection wasn’t great – mostly low-grade iron and steel stuff – but I didn’t have time to search around town for something better. I outfitted him with iron greaves, boots and pauldrons, and then we set off to find the sewer entrance.

Calvus told me a bit about himself as we went. He was Colovian, as I’d guessed, and he’d grown up in a small village near the city of Skingrad before joining the Legion as a guard. He was a bit evasive about how he’d ended up in Morrowind, and I didn’t press him to tell me. We all had our skeletons in the closet, after all.

“What about you?” he asked. “Hold on, let me guess. You’re too pale to be a Heartlander, and your accent… hmm, Chorrol?”

I laughed. “Close. I was based there for a few years, so I guess I must have picked up the accent. I actually grew up in the Imperial City.”

“Ah. Nibenese.”

There was just something about the way he said it that set up my hackles. “Is that a problem?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“No, no,” he said innocently, but I could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. We Nibenese – people from south-eastern Cyrodiil and the Heartlands – have always been at odds with the Colovians of the north and west. It’s a friendly rivalry these days, but still a rivalry.

We’d almost reached the sewer grate when it occurred to me that I was running low on Cure Poison potions. Considering who we were about to fight, it would probably be a good idea to fix that. There were a bunch of indoor shops in the Bazaar as well as the open-air stalls, but I wasn’t sure if any of them sold potions. A young Dunmer in Western-style clothing was hanging around nearby, so I decided to ask him.

“Excuse me,” I said. The man turned towards me, and his face lit up.

“Well, hel-lo there,” he growled. “Aren’t you a tasty dish? You must be new to Mournhold – I’d have recognized that beautiful face otherwise.” He swept an overly-elaborate bow in my direction. “Fons Beren at your service, milady. A man who loves beautiful women.”

I nearly burst out laughing. He couldn’t be for real, surely? He sounded like Crassius Curio with a bad chest infection.

“Nice to meet you, er... Fons,” I said, managing to keep a straight face. “I was wondering if – ”

“Yes indeed,” he interrupted. “A great lover, by all accounts – feel free to ask around, of course. But let’s not waste any more time. Shall we skip the formalities, and just head back to my manor?”

I heard a choking sound from Calvus behind me, followed by what sounded like a heavy coughing fit. Bastard.

“Don’t worry about my friend,” I said loudly to the puzzled-looking Fons. “He can’t help it. Colovian, you know. Anyway… I’m sorry, Fons, but I already have a boyfriend. Besides, you’re… not really my type.”

“Not your type? Take another look, baby – I’m every woman’s type!” I gave him a Look. “…No, eh? Well, do you have any cute friends?”

I thought briefly of Marena Gilnith, but instantly dismissed the idea. The poor girl hadn’t done anything to deserve this. “No, sorry. I don’t know anyone else in Mournhold.”

“Well, I suppose that figures.” He sighed. “You know what they say about the cute ones – they always have ugly friends, anyway. But, ah, let me know if you should happen to run into any cute girls, will you? I’m sure they’d be anxious to find out what you’re going to miss out on...”

I murmured something non-committal and turned away, deciding I could do without the extra potions. We hadn’t even got into the sewers yet, and already I felt like I needed a bath.

Calvus was still grinning as we walked towards the sewers. “If you want me to pretend to be your lover, ‘milady’, you’re going to have to pay me extra.”

“What?” Suddenly I realised what he meant. “Oh… no, I really do have a boyfriend. In fact, we’re engaged… well, sort of.”

“How can you be ‘sort of’ engaged?”

I didn’t exactly feel like telling him the whole story. “He’s… a Redoran nobleman’s son. His family aren’t happy about it.”

“Ah.” He didn’t ask me anything more.

The Khajiit woman I’d seen the day before was still hanging around in the sewer entrance. She didn’t look pleased to see me and Calvus, but she didn’t attack us either. “Nice day for it,” I said, keeping my hand on my sword hilt.

The woman scowled. “Ahnia does not know you, so Ahnia has nothing to say to you.”

“Fine. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone, OK?” She shrugged, and said nothing. I kept a wary eye on her until Calvus and I had rounded the corner.

We retraced the route I’d taken the day before, Calvus leading the way. I mentioned how weird it was that the sewers didn’t really look like sewers. “That’s because they’re not,” he said.

“No?”

“Well… not originally, at least. It’s a sewer now, but most of the tunnels down here are actually what’s left of Old Mournhold. The place was destroyed at the end of the First Era, and the new city was built on top of it.”

“Really?” I shivered. It was slightly creepy to think we were walking through the ruins of a buried, forgotten city.

By now we had almost reached the place where I’d seen skeletons earlier, and I could hear them rattling around in the distance. No point trying to sneak past this time – I had a Chameleon amulet, but Calvus didn’t. He watched with interest as I carefully drew my glass frostsword from its sheath.

“Nice sword.” He winked. “Like me to show you how to hold it?”

I glared at him. “No, but I’ll tell you where you can shove it, tomato-grower.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my proud tomato-growing heritage, city girl. Besides – ”

We must have been whispering a little too loudly, because at that moment I heard an echoey roar and the sound of skeletal footsteps clattering towards us. Both of us grabbed our swords and prepared to attack, forgetting our regional differences for a moment.

Fighting side by side, it didn’t take the two of us long to clear out all the skeletons. Most of them carried weapons as old and mouldy as their ‘bodies’, but one had a silver katana that was in relatively good condition. I pulled it out of his bony hand and handed it to Calvus with a flourish.

“There,” I said with a wink. “Now you won’t need to be jealous of mine.”

“Thanks.” He took a rag from his pocket and attempted to wipe the blade. “Where’d you get that glass thing, anyway?”

“I found it in a cave.”

“What, just lying around?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “It’s amazing what you can find just lying around in caves in Vvardenfell.”

“Ah yes, Vvardenfell. Land of milk and honey.” He sighed. “I should have headed that way myself, shouldn’t I?”

By this time we’d reached the chamber with two exits. “This is as far as I got yesterday,” I whispered to Calvus. “Know which one leads to the Dark Brotherhood?”

He nodded, and pointed towards the lower passage – the one that was half-filled with water. I groaned. “Think it’s shallow enough to wade through?”

“I doubt it. I haven’t tried it myself, but I hear the water’s twelve foot deep in places.”

We exchanged glances. “Crap. Oh well, I guess there’s only one thing for it.”

Calvus folded his arms and grinned as I began to unbuckle my armour. “Well, it didn’t take you long to start getting your kit off,” he remarked. “I mean, I’d heard things about Nibenese women, but – ”

I lunged at him, but he dodged the blow. “Hey! I’m supposed to be protecting you, remember? Besides, that was just payback for the ‘tomato-grower’ comment.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned away and ducked behind a pillar to finish undressing. I finally emerged, stripped down to my underwear, to find Calvus had done the same. He was strongly-built and muscular, and I felt an instant flutter of attraction towards him. In the past I wouldn’t have minded, but now it made me uncomfortable – it felt like a betrayal of Varvur.

Calvus’ reaction to seeing me near-naked was a bit less subtle. “Holy [censored].”

He was staring directly at my chest. My hands were already balling into fists when I realised what he was actually looking at – the scars. “What the hell did that? A werewolf?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said stiffly. Even half a year on, I was still self-conscious about those scars. Besides, if I had to explain all about Dagoth Ur and the Nerevarine prophecies now, we’d be here for the next month.

Swimming across that underground lake, carrying our armour and weapons across piece by piece, was a long and tedious process. If either of us found it sixy to start with, we definitely didn’t by the end. It was a major relief when we could finally get out of the water, dry ourselves off and put our gear back on.

A little way down the next sewer ‘street’, Calvus suddenly caught at my arm. “Hold on. I thought I heard something.”

I strained my ears to hear. Yes, that definitely sounded like footsteps somewhere beyond the next corner. I motioned to Calvus to take point, and he carefully peeked round the corner, hiding behind a large rock which had crushed half the passage.

A few moments later he drew his head back. “Dark Elf woman,” he whispered. “Looking the other way, so she’s probably not a lookout. Doesn’t look armed, but she might be a mage or have a dagger or something.”

I thought for a moment, then scrabbled around in my pouch for the Chameleon ring which Larrius Varro had given me as a ‘present’. I handed it to Calvus, who nodded and slipped it onto his finger. The enchantment wasn’t powerful enough to keep the woman from seeing him, but it would allow him to sneak up on her without being heard.

Calvus hurried forward, whilst I crept along several paces behind him. As soon as he reached the woman he grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth and pressing his blade against her throat. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

I hurried up to join them as he loosened his grip on her mouth. “Okay, girl, you got any weapons? If so, you’d better tell me about them right now.”

The woman shook her head, obviously too terrified to speak. She was middle-aged, rather haggard-looking, and wore nothing apart from a dirty green robe – not even shoes. I got the feeling our ‘prisoner’ was just some poor beggar who’d made her home down in the sewers.

“Wh- who are you?” she finally managed to stammer.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said sharply. “Who are you, and what are you doing down here?”

“N- Narisa Adus.” She was quivering like a pile of jelly. “You frightened me! I thought you were members of the Black Dart Gang!”

I frowned. “The Black Dart Gang?”

“I think I’ve heard of them.” Calvus relaxed his grip on Narisa, but kept his sword near to her throat. “They look like harmless beggars, and they hang out in the sewers, waiting to ambush adventurers who come out of the ruins loaded with loot. They use darts – deadly poisons, enchantments, that sort of thing. Never heard of anything so evil.”

Narisa nodded. “They ambushed my lover and me in the Temple Sewers. Variner held them off while I ran, and when I turned to look back, he was down.” Her voice shook. “Now Variner’s ghost comes to me at night, begging me to come to him, to rescue him. He says he has a message for me... but I can’t go down there. They’d kill me for sure.”

I exchanged glances with Calvus. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“Yes.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I’ve been here for days. If only I could see Variner’s ghost, and speak with him... but I’m not even sure exactly where he is. I – I don’t suppose…?”

Oh bloody hell, no. I was not going to get sidetracked with another bunch of random favours for total strangers. Besides, I wasn’t even sure if her story was true – though if the smell of her was anything to go by, it might well be.

“If I happen to run across your lover’s ghost,” I said at last, “I’ll definitely try to get his message. But I’m not making any promises. Let her go, Calvus.” He lowered his sword cautiously. “No sudden movements, OK? And don’t even think about trying anything funny while our backs are turned.”

She shook her head, then pointed towards the large gate just in front of us. “If you’re going down there, be careful. I think the Dark Brotherhood live in these caves. They never come this way, but I’ve sometimes heard them talking behind the door.”

So we’d found what we were looking for. That was something, at least.

Inside the gate, some steps led down into another passageway carved out of natural rock. Calvus and I hadn’t gone far before we heard more footsteps and voices in the distance. Using Larrius’ ring for concealment, Calvus went ahead to scout out the terrain, and was back within about half a minute. “Two guards, looking right this way.”

“Okay, let me deal with this.” I cast the Amulet of Shadows – hoping this would be the last time I’d need to use it – and slipped round the corner, running silently up to the two Brotherhood guards. Like the two who’d been sent to kill me, they wore black leather armour which completely covered their heads and bodies – and that gave me an idea.

I slipped around the back of the first assassin, who was standing slightly behind the other, and used the good old Star of the West power to silently knock him out. The other one didn’t even notice. Then I snatched up the biggest, heaviest-looking rock I could find, crept up behind the second assassin and hit him with every ounce of strength I could muster. Not even the leather helmet was enough to protect him from the force of the blow.

I pulled off the unconscious guards’ helmets and bashed their heads in a few more times – nasty, but I couldn’t risk them waking up again – then hurried back to Calvus. “OK, I’ve knocked them both out, so we can take their uniforms. I had to use my Star of the West, though – so don’t waste yours unless you absolutely need it.”

Calvus raised an eyebrow. “Resourceful. Shall we dump our own gear somewhere outside, then?”

“Good idea. We don’t want the Brotherhood to find it.”

We went back into the sewers and hastily pulled off our armour in front of an astonished-looking Narisa, then hurried back to the guards and stripped them of their armour. Luckily the uniforms fitted us both reasonably well – well enough for us to pass as Brotherhood members, anyway. “Here,” I said to Calvus, handing him my Divine Intervention amulet. “Use this if we need to get out in a hurry.”

“What if someone tries to talk to us?”

“Mmm… good point.” I mulled it over for a while, until a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Never mind, I’ll handle it. Just let me do the talking.”

Calvus looked skeptical, but didn’t object. We walked on, picking our way over fallen columns and stonework that littered the rocky ground – relics of Old Mournhold, I guess – until the passage ended abruptly at the entrance to a vast cavern.

Calvus and I found ourselves staring down into what looked like an ancient courtyard, half-buried in rock. The few remaining buildings were mostly in ruins, but a few were still standing – they had a strange, twisty conical shape, like swirls of ice-cream. Black-clad Dark Brotherhood members stood, walked and talked amongst the ruins. It looked almost like a normal city street scene, except that the ‘street’ was underground and the ‘citizens’ were all assassins.

“Gods,” Calvus breathed. “There must be dozens of them.”

I nodded grimly. There was no way we could possibly fight them all at once. “What now?” he whispered.

“Not sure.” I paused. “We look for whoever’s in charge, I guess.”

“Where shall we start?”

On a ledge just below us, at the bottom of a rickety wooden ladder, was one of those strange swirly buildings. “Let’s try there,” I murmured. “Try to act natural, but be prepared to fight.”

We made our way down the ladder and through the heavy, circular stone door that led into the building. The two Brotherhood assassins standing nearby didn’t seem to notice anything, which was a good sign. As soon as we entered the building, I cast the enchantment from the amulet Meryn Othralas had given me – the one that was supposed to improve my acting skills.

The building, which seemed to be the remains of some old manor house, was littered with rocks and debris. The Brotherhood had hung glowing red lights around the place, giving it that extra touch of cliché – gods, what a bunch of posers they were. Clearly the stories I’d read about them hadn’t been exaggerated.

Most of the Brothers in the house just nodded to us or ignored us as we passed, but as we approached another of those round stone doors, two guards blocked our way. “What do you want with Vules, brothers?” one of them said in Dunmeris.

I crossed my fingers, praying this would work. Thank Akatosh I’d taken all those extra language lessons with Varvur. “Urgent message for him,” I replied, hoping I was right to assume that ‘Vules’ was a man.

It worked! My voice actually sounded like a male Dunmer’s throaty growl. The guard hesitated for a moment. “What’s the message?”

“I can’t tell you, brother. It’s for his ears only.” I was using as few words as possible, trying not to make any grammatical errors.

The guard sighed. “All right. Be quick. You know he doesn’t like to be...” I didn’t recognise the next word, but I assumed it was ‘disturbed’.

The moment we were inside the room, I quickly recast the enchantment. “How did you do that?” Calvus whispered.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later.”

We rounded a corner and found ourselves in a makeshift bedroom, with a fire in one corner and several bedrolls spread over the floor. The man called ‘Vules’ was sitting on a bench, reading a book. He wore full Dark Brotherhood armour, but without a helmet.

I cleared my throat, and Vules looked up. “Yes?” he said sharply. “What do you want?”

“A message for you, brother.” I thought quickly. “It’s… about the Ventura contract.”

Vules tensed up immediately; it was obvious that he recognised the name. “What about it?”

“The last two attempts failed. The ‘client’ isn’t happy about it.”

He ground his teeth. “His Majesty is well aware that this is… a difficult assignment. There is no need for him to be concerned. If he needs reassurance, I will – ”

I wasn’t listening. His first two words had driven everything else out of my head. “His Majesty?” I blurted out, realising too late that I had spoken in Tamrielic – and with my own voice.

Vules’ eyes bulged out. In the half-second it took him to realise what was going on, Calvus had stepped forward and cast his own ‘Star of the West’ spell. The assassin staggered backwards, grasping weakly at his sword, but didn’t collapse altogether.

I couldn’t risk him shouting for help, and there wasn’t time to think of another plan. As he began to draw his sword, I seized my own blade and thrust it into his chest, aiming for the heart. The sword slipped from his fingers and he clutched at his chest, opening and closing his mouth in a desperate attempt to speak.

“No...” he gasped. “Tell my liege... I have... failed h...”

His eyes went blank all of a sudden, and he slumped to the ground. My liege?

“Damn.” I spun round to face Calvus. “Quick. Search this place for books, documents, anything like that. We need to get out of here fast.”

He nodded and began to look around by the bedrolls, while I quickly searched Vules’ pockets. Buried deep in one of his pockets was a folded piece of paper. I quickly opened it out and read the contents, which were in Tamrielic and signed with an official-looking seal:

The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Ada Ventura, an Imperial recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the afore-mentioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document.

I stared blankly at the page in my hand, my mind a whirl. ‘H’? “His Majesty… tell my liege I have failed him…” What was the new king’s name again? Helseth…

I swallowed hard. Calvus’ hand grasped my shoulder. “Ada? Have you found what you need? We should leave before they get suspicious.”

“Yes. I’ve found it.” I folded the paper and slipped it into my pouch, then quickly wiped off my sword. “Okay, let’s go.”

We headed back out through the door, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. I wondered how long it would take the Brotherhood to find out what had happened. Hopefully not until we were well out of this place.

As soon as we got back to the passage where we’d left the guards’ bodies, we stripped off the Brotherhood armour. Then we hurried back into the sewers, where we put our own armour back on as quickly as possible. Narisa Adus watched us, quaking.

“Just a hint,” I said to her, as we were about to leave. “I think some of the Dark Brothers may be coming this way soon. You might want to hide yourself.” She hurried off with a faint squeak.

Calvus and I cast our Divine Intervention spells, and found ourselves inside an Imperial shrine. From the look of the place it was part of the Royal Palace. Before I could do more than glance around, Calvus pulled me out through a nearby door into the courtyard where I’d first met him. I’d lost track of time down in the sewers, but it seemed to be mid-afternoon.

“Sweet Mara.” He leaned back against the wall, mopping his brow. “I can’t believe we got out of that place alive. So what did the letter say?”

“We can’t discuss it here,” I said shortly. “Come with me.” I dragged him through the gate into the Plaza Brindisi Dorom, and we walked to a secluded spot well away from any of the guards. Then, without another word, I handed him the contract.

His face turned pale. “Holy…! Ada, do you realise whose seal this is?”

“I don’t, but I can probably guess,” I said. “The Royal Family of Mournhold, right?”

He nodded rather grimly. “My liege… Good gods. I don’t know how you’ve managed to piss off the King, but you seem to have done it pretty thoroughly.” He paused for a moment. “You know that people say he – ”

“ – poisoned loads of people, yes.”

“And murdered the old King. And the old King’s heir.”

“What?”

“Talen Vandas, Llethan’s nephew. He was very popular with the people, and they say Llethan was grooming him for the throne. Then he was killed in a hunting ‘accident’, not long after Helseth arrived in Mournhold.” Calvus shook his head. “I wish I’d known about this before we settled our fee. I’d have charged you double.”

I said nothing. A cold, sick feeling was spreading over my entire body, but it wasn’t fear. It was anger.

“Well, what do we do now?” Calvus said eventually. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. And hungry. And I wouldn’t mind a bath either.”

I wondered briefly why I didn’t feel tired, and then realised that it was the ring Azura had given me. It had an enchantment which kept my stamina levels high. I didn’t wear it much except on missions; otherwise I’d forget to sleep.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Let’s have some dinner, and a bath. Then I need to write a letter to someone.”

“And what then?”

“Then…” I smiled grimly. “We pay His Majesty the King a little visit.”

Calvus’ face was an absolute picture. “Lead on, my lady,” he said hoarsely.

Hehe, so how did you actually do it? Or is there a mod that allows you to dress up as a DB member?

Sadly, no. I just killed everyone. It would be possible to use a Chameleon spell/enchantment to sneak past the others and just kill Vules, though.

lol
It ought to be fairly simple to create a mod like that. The only downside I can see now is that applying a script to the DB helmets would stop them from stacking in your inventory, that and it'd probably be incompatible with quite a few mods

It would be fairly simple to make, yes. You could (for instance) add a script similar to 'LegionUniform' to each piece of Dark Brotherhood armour, setting a global value to 1 if the piece is equipped, and then add a script to the Dark Brotherhood assassins to change their Fight values if the player is wearing the entire set. But you're right, it would conflict with a lot of other mods (such as ones that change the appearance of DB armour, unless they're pluginless).

Of course this story wouldn't be nearly as interesting if Helena would restrict herself to vanilla gameplay mechanics. :hehe:

I must say, I started reading this on a whim, having never read your previous fanfic, and I find myself LOVING Ada and the other characters. She comes off a little over-powered, but with good bloody reason, and her character is the kind I like in real life; optimistic (sort of), a strong humor bone, and determination and loyalty to those she loves.

Kinda sounds like my fiancee, actually... and they're both red-headish, light coppery haired... disturbing.

Anyways, you have been quoted in my sig and your fanfic is awesome in-and-of-itself, independent of the first installment.

Hey, thanks! I think that's the first time a quote from my fanfic has been sigged. I'm sure you'd like the first half just as much, though...

Yeah you miss out on a lot if you skip the first part!

No new chapter for a month? Stay with us Helena! We love you! Give us a sign, oh mighty writer!

I'm still here, and the chapter is being written - just progressing rather slowly, I'm afraid. I'm going through a dry spell right now in terms of creativity.

Drink a potion of restore fatigue or fortify writing skills to increase your succes chance!

Have a http://www.gildedquill.net/Graphics/Gilded_Quill.gif!

Every time I see that this thread has updated I gleefully check just to find no more Ada Ventura

(Was her name a play on "An adventurah I presume" that some of the NPCs greet you with?)

Just the word 'adventurer'. The chapter is coming along, but unfortunately I'm suffering from a nasty cold and don't have much energy to write for long stretches at once.