The road to Dune is littered with giant scorpions. I get the brilliant idea to try to harvest their poison by wrestling them bare-handed, which just results in searing pain and a quick trip back to the wayshrine.

“Can we just kill the things normally?” Eran says with a smirk. “I’ll swipe that portable communication orb of yours and tell your wives you’re being an idiot again.”

“Fiiiiiiine.”

A nest of tigers I had no good reason to kill holds a copy of Master Zoaraym’s Tale, Part 1. (Summary: A Dunmer cleaning servant enters an arena competition, and apparently I have to find the next part of the book to find out what happens. I hate cliffhangers.)

There’s another ruined Khajiit temple off the side of the road.

“So, who wants to make bets on whether it contains bandits, undead, or cultists?” I ask.

“It might just contain moon priests and common worshippers,” Gelur says with a grin.

Ilara points at a number of skulls attached to sticks. “Look at the totems. This one says there are Goblins here.”

There’s a note in the first room from a pilgrim who I’m guessing underestimated the ruin’s danger as well as overestimated the binding on his journal that would keep random pages from fluttering out all over the place. Thunder bugs and giant bats are the first denizens to the ruins that we run across, though, as well as a Skyshard on top of an altar in one of the large rooms.

Another journal page indicates that the Khajiit pilgrim who came here believed a mathra was here. That’s confirmed once we reach the middle chamber, where a Khajiit attacks us, apologizes, turns into a mathra, continues attacking us, then dies.

“Right, object lesson here, people trying to contain mathra in their bodies doesn’t work terribly well,” I say, looking down at the dead Khajiit with an exasperated sigh. “Why do people keep thinking it’s a great idea?”

Ilara hands me a journal the monk had been carrying (and losing pages from). “We should let his sister know next time we’re in S’ren-ja.”

The other half of the ruin does indeed contain Goblins. They get very confused when I try talking to them and extolling the virtues of the Aldmeri Dominion. I’d give them pamphlets but I doubt they can read (also I don’t have pamplets). I don’t think I manage to get the point across, but since they’re not bothering anyone in here, I decide to just leave them alone.

Back on the road again, I come upon the odd sight of a bottle carefully balanced on top of a dagger stuck into a tree. There’s a note inside with a thinly veiled “riddle” regarding the Eyes of the Queen and a pass phrase to presumably give a contact in the town of Pa’alat. I pass the note around for my friends to read.

Ilara crinkles her muzzle. “This… does not seem like the most efficient means of passing secret messages.”

Pa’alat is another Khajiit-style town, and as we’re walking up the road toward it, I spot a Bosmer woman crouching behind a rock. I recognize her as being one of the Eyes of the Queen, Cariel.

From what Cariel tells us, a former Eye of the Queen named Krin Ren-dro lives here, and may have gone rogue in a different sense than just being stealthy. He’s selling Dominion secrets to the Pact and Covenant, but she has no proof, and so she has apparently been sitting around behind this rock waiting for someone to come along who might be able to help her find proof.

“You heard we were coming this way, yes?” Ilara says with a chuckle.

“You guys are pretty much the opposite of stealthy,” Cariel says. “Congratulations on becoming Grand Champion of Thizzrini Arena, by the way, Neri.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“And dealing with the cultists at the Falinesti Autumn Site,” Cariel adds. “And retrieving the Golden Claw from Do’Krin Monastery. And dealing with the Daedra at Willowgrove. And shutting down the slavery ring at Hadran’s Caravan. And stopping the skooma smugglers at S’ren-ja.”

“I see the Eyes of the Queen are on the ball too,” I say. “No mention of Moonmont?”

“I don’t know whether you congratulate you on that or not,” Cariel says. “I heard what the Khajiit ghost wanted you to do, and it’s not a decision I would have been able to make, that’s for sure. Ah, before we head into town, I should change into something a little less conspicuous.”

Cariel uses a spell of some sort to instantly change her clothes from leather armor to casual townsperson garb.

“Holy fuck,” I say. “I have got to learn that spell.”

Did she have me slowly strip to get into that Imperial uniform over in Arenthia just to watch me strip?

“Is the armor that conspicuous?” Ilara wonders. “Is that not defeating the point? Ilara-daro always thought her own armor was not especially conspicuous. We are not the only people who fight regularly.”

“Ren-dro knows my face and is expecting me, though,” Cariel says. “Though to be fair, he almost certainly knows about you, too.”

“Alright, here’s the plan,” I say. “Ilara-daro does the sneaky bit. We’re going to be the distraction.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Ah, I love distraction duty,” Eran says.

“Sneaking only gets you so far,” Ilara says. “Having their eyes on something else makes things so much easier.”

“You probably don’t need to actually climb through the windows,” Cariel says. “From what I’ve observed, their guards are not very good at their jobs.”

She goes on about the vices of the guards, their greed and lust and gluttony and such. For all that she’s been paying so much attention to learn these things, I have to wonder why she hasn’t done this herself by now. We’ve* got* to have been more conspicuous than her.

We head into town, not especially trying to be inconspicuous. If someone were paying much attention to us, they’d know to be worried if they saw four of us but didn’t see a Khajiit with us. And people recognize us when we walk by. People praise us or curse us for things we’ve done across Valenwood, some of which I didn’t even remember offhand that we’d done. There have been a lot of events in a fairly short period of time and I haven’t always been paying close attention to the details of whatever bandits or cultists or whatever we’re killing at any particular time.

The Ebonheart Pact and Daggerfall Covenant are not even being subtle in this town. They’re openly flying banners and wearing uniforms. “Diplomatic envoys” visiting a den of gambling and prostitution, and nobody’s even surprised by it.

The dancing half-naked Nord and Bosmer men in front of Captain Balrook’s office let me know quite succinctly which way his tastes fall. I don’t especially care to strip down and show my butt to him to nix out the information I need.

I stroll boldly up to Captain Balrook’s guard as if I have a legitimate purpose to be here. “I am here to see Captain Balrook.”

“Is this for business or pleasure?” asks the guard. “Because he’s only letting people in for ‘pleasure’ right now. If you have business, come back tomorrow.”

I growl. “Stand aside, whelp. I have an urgent message and you’re wasting my time.”

The guard reconsiders how brave he is feeling when faced with one angry Orc and potentially two, and stands aside. “Right, well, I can’t stop you. If he gets annoyed, that’s on you.”

The Orc captain definitely looks annoyed, but it’s mostly that Orcs often have a face fixed in an expression non-Orcs look like when they’re angry.

“Who are you?” Captain Balrook demands. “This had better be either important or that you’re my entertainment for tonight.”

“Why, Balrook, if you wanted to marry me, we should include my hearth-wife and hunt-wife in the discussion,” I drawl casually.

Captain Balrook’s already annoyed-looking face contorts even further into rage. “You think you’re important because you’re chief of some petty stronghold somewhere? Who are you?”

“Neri gro-Drublog, King of the Wood Orcs,” I reply.

Balrook barks a short laugh. “What’s a ‘king’ doing in this scum pit?”

I shrug. “It was on the way. What’s a ‘diplomatic envoy’ doing in this scum pit?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Balrook retorts. “Booze and butts. What do you want, ‘Your Majesty’? You got a problem with that?”

“No, not really,” I say. “I’m more concerned about people working against the Dominion. I hear I might have to kick a cat in the tail today.”

“Why do the Wood Orcs want to submit to the rule of High Elves?” Balrook spits. “Your pretty Queen Ayrenn has probably never been in a fight in her life.”

I chuckle. “I’ve seen her fight. I’ve seen her hold her ground against the undead and not falter. Why do you want to submit to the rule of Bretons? It’s not like they’re any better.”

“Did you just come in here to fight?” Balrook says. “Because I’ll give you a fight if you’re looking for a fight, Wood Orc.”

“Oh, no, mostly I came in here to look through your office for incriminating notes, but I’ll cheerfully kill you if you insist.”

He insists, growling and charging at me. I try to avoid damaging the office too much or splattering blood and gibs on everything. Reading notes under bloodstains can be tough. Fortunately, I don’t make enough of a mess in killing this Orc that I can’t get the information I need. I gleefully skim every scrap of paper in the office, committing them to memory before chucking them in my bag as evidence.

In the end, we get far more information than we were actually looking for, and it should not have been this easy to acquire. These people are terrible at their jobs, Cariel was right about that.

“Good work,” Cariel says. “I’m tired of sneaking around. Not that that was especially sneaky. Now we just need to get into Ren-dro’s manor. For that, we’ll need a distraction. How do you feel about setting the Pact and Covenant camps on fire?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident should the providers of their vices be a bit careless about open flame.”

I’ll be honest, here. There’s no good reason to be causing as much havoc as I am currently causing. I think she’s just been wanting to do this ever since she got here and felt the best way to accomplish that was to ask me to do it. I’m okay with that.

In the wake of the flaming camps, we slip inside the manor grounds and look around. We split up to search the interior and the yard, and I proceed to skim over any paper that can be found in here too. Once done with that, we meet up again outside and Cariel leads us around the back to something she’d found.

Cariel gestures to a hatch in the corner behind the house. “Guess what’s down there?”

“Bandits?” I say.

“Cultists?” Eran adds.

“A skooma factory?” Merry puts in.

“Skooma storage?” Ilara says.

“Regular, boring storage?” Gelur says.

“I didn’t literally mean to guess what’s down there, but okay,” Cariel says. “Let’s find out what’s in Ren-dro’s secret lair.”

As it turns out, Ren-dro’s basement is a sprawling cavern, and full of what I can only assume is Ren-dro’s own personal army of bandits. And a skooma lab. And quite a lot of storage. We don’t stop and check what’s being stored yet. That can wait until we’ve killed everything in here.

“I don’t see any obvious cultists but I’m not ruling it out yet,” I say.

We kill Ren-dro and any of his lackeys too stupid to hide or flee when we show up and start killing people. Cariel calls it a job well done and prepares to head out.

“Do you need any of the stuff down here as evidence or claims to the loot?” I ask. “Also, do you want his head, or can I take it?”

“I think I’ve got everything,” Cariel says. “Wait. Any of the stuff? What are you doing?”

“I’m about to start ‘confiscating’ everything here that could be used, sold, or fenced,” I say. “For the good of the Dominion.”

Cariel stares at me incredulously. “You guys are insane.”

“What, you’d just leave this all here?”

“No, I’d send someone else to do it,” Cariel says. “There’s a lot of stuff here and I’ve got things that need to be done.”

“Nah, I’d rather do it myself,” I say. “It’s a good way to relax after a battle, and I can make sure nothing goes missing. Not that that was a tough battle, mind you.”

“Suit yourself,” Cariel says with a shrug, and leaves.

“She could have stayed to help,” Eran grumbles, looking at all the boxes of stuff filling the cavern. “Why do bandits always have so much stuff, anyway?”

“It’s a good year for banditry, apparently,” Gelur says.

There’s a camp of Stonefire Cultists not far from Pa’alat. We kill them all and retrieve a scroll case that I seem to recall we were supposed to find… some time ago. I hope it wasn’t anything time-sensitive.

“There we go,” I say. “Got our cultist quota in for the week.”

“We do not have a cultist quota,” Eran says. “Should we? They’re all over the place, but it’s kind of hit or miss on whether we find any on a specific day.”