It was true what they said, Solstheim didn’t have weather, just ash. The women pulled their scarves tighter around their faces as they trudged toward the fort. The lulls in the storms were long enough to gain some momentum, but when the winds blew, the ash whipped around them, settling into the cracks and creases in their clothing and skin. It was terribly unpleasant and Evangeline was beginning to regret pushing them to go to the Fort. Continue reading
(Author’s Note: This chapter picks up from here.)
Arkay says: Honor the earth, its creatures, and the spirits, living and dead. Guard and tend the bounties of the mortal world, and do not profane the spirits of the dead.
~ The Ten Commands of the Nine Divines
“I said no.”
Xeri rubbed the back of her neck. She wasn’t used to this. In Cyrodiil, when Xeri Tharys demanded something, it was hers. But here in Castle Dour, she had no clout, no connections. All she had was a made up story and a strong admonishment from Nerussa forbidding any physical altercations. On this last point she conceded—reluctantly. Initially, Nerussa was meant to contact Jarl Elisif’s court but the number of Thalmor seen wandering in the city put Xeri in the castle in her stead. Continue reading
Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures.
~ Pocket Guide to the Empire, 3rd Edition
“I’m the innkeeper. It’s my business to keep track of strangers.”
Xeri was about to tell the irritable and anxious Breton exactly what she could do about her business when Nerussa sidled up and shoved a tankard of ale into her hand. “Please excuse my friend,” she said, scowling at Xeri, “we’ve had a very long day. And I can assure you, we’re leaving in a couple of hours.”
Before Xeri could protest, Nerussa gripped her arm and dragged her to a table on the other side of the tavern and away from the curious eyes of the innkeeper. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” she asked as they settled into their chairs.
The Dunmer ignored this question and gestured to the papers that Nerussa was pulling out of her bag. “Have you translated that scroll yet?” Continue reading
In your tales you have many names for her: Al-Esh, given to her in awe, that when translated sounds like a redundancy, “the high high,” from which come the more familiar corruptions: Aleshut, Esha, Alessia. You knew her as Paravant, given to her when crowned, “first of its kind,” by which the gods meant a mortal worthy of the majesty that is killing-questing-healing.”
~Morihaus from The Adabal-a
“You know how much I love Skyrim, really and truly,” said Xeri, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but shouldn’t this ritual take place in Imperial City where—at least, where the statue of St. Alessia once stood?” She frowned and pulled her cloak tightly as she looked around the snow-covered clearing. Continue reading
“Ladies, if these ruins frighten you, take comfort in the knowledge that I am here.”
Xeri scowled as the pretentious mage stepped ahead and up to the platform where Nerussa has used the aetherium shards to raise the enormous entrance to the ruins of Bthalft, where the ancient forge was said to be housed.
“Remind me,” she said as he moved out of earshot, “Why did we hire a mercenary? I could be a mercenary. You should be paying me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Evangeline, taking care to keep her voice down although she was certain that Marcurio knew exactly how the ornery Dunmer felt about him, and he simply didn’t care. “It’s my fault.” Continue reading