It’s a fine morning in Vulkhel Guard, but every day is probably a fine morning in Vulkhel Guard. I have to wonder if it ever even snows here, never mind has ash storms and volcanic eruptions. The place probably gets hurricanes rather than blizzards, and that would be less than fine but they’re probably considerably less likely when the Maormer aren’t fucking with them.

The Mages Guildhall is a large building marked by blue banners depicting a fancy eye symbol. Inside, amid the room filled with bookcases and arcane workbenches, a number of mages are working and studying. In addition to the expected high elves, wood elves, and Khajiit of the Aldmeri Dominion, there are also humans, an Argonian, and… a sort of mer I haven’t seen before. Could that be one of the dark elves my people became? His skin is ashen gray, and his eyes are blood red to the point of being almost black.

“Would you like to make a purchase, or have you simply never seen a Dunmer before and wish to stare?” he asks.

“Ah… no, my apologies,” I say quickly.

He sighs. “Yes, I’m from Morrowind. No, I do not care about the Ebonheart Pact. The Mages Guild is neutral in the alliance war and I care only about guild business. Now, unless you wish to buy soul gems, please leave me to my work. I am very busy.”

I apologize again and continue on to the other side of the guild, where I spot a familiar fuzzy face. “Sahira-daro!” I say. “Good to see you here.”

“Ah, good day, Neralion,” Sahira-daro says. “Always a pleasure. You also come here to seek knowledge, yes?”

“I’m hoping to learn a few useful spells, at any rate,” I say.

“You should certainly join the Mages Guild, then,” Sahira says.

“Well, I’m not really a mage type,” I say. “Is it necessary, or do they offer training to non-members?”

“They, strangely enough, do not seem particularly concerned over whether you can cast any spells at all,” Sahira-daro says, then grins at me coyly. “Don’t think this one has forgotten your promise to find rare books.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ll be sure to bring you anything interesting I run across, and it will likely be much more convenient if you’re here rather than hauling them out to Khenarthi’s Roost.”

“My thoughts precisely. Now that Sahira-daro’s avenue of research on Khenarthi’s Roost has failed to pan out, there was no reason for her to remain there any longer. Plus, this one has heard Valaste, the keeper of tomes here, mention a store of ancient knowledge in a nearby ruin known as Ondil. It sounded too dangerous for Sahira-daro, but you, on the other hand…”

“I’ll take a look when I get the chance,” I promise her.

I bid her good day and wander back toward the entrance to the guild hall, where Sahira-daro has directed me toward an Altmer named Curinure with a distracting nose ring who asks if I’m here on Mages Guild business. The Altmer, not the nose ring, that is.

“I’m just looking to learn a few spells,” I say. “My friend suggested I join, but I’m not really a mage, although she said that wasn’t a problem.”

“Many people know a few spells but aren’t really mages,” Curinure says. “There are many paths in the pursuit of knowledge.” His eyes fall on the battle axe on my back for a moment. “We do not demand exclusivity, either. Should you also wish to join the Fighters Guild, you are welcome to do so. Although we are often friendly rivals, there is no reason one cannot explore both the martial and arcane arts.”

“The… friendly Dunmer over there said that you guys were neutral in the alliance war,” I say. “Does that mean if I join, I would not be able to help in Dominion business?”

“What you do on your own time is your business,” Curinure says. “Just please don’t go to war whilst wearing Mages Guild robes and flying the eye banner.”

“Okay, sounds good.” I’m not sure how much I really want to be involved in the alliance war, but I’d like to keep my options open. I probably owe Raz a few favors, not the least is that he’s probably going to make me actually be a spy or something after I lied about it so much.

So I go ahead and join the Mages Guild, even if I feel a bit silly about it. And fortunately, it turns out that dirty clothes and missing pants are common enough problems that there are simple spells to deal with them. That’ll save me a lot of trouble. Admittedly, the bound item spells create items that are swirly, faintly glowing purple, but I can handle briefly wearing purple pants in a pinch. While I don’t care to put in the amount of practice and study it would take to conjure weapons and armor, clothing that doesn’t protect anything but your dignity isn’t difficult.

As I’m leaving the Mages Guildhall, an unearthly roar echoes through the air, followed by the rattle of chains. What in Oblivion? I turn to the right, and the sky over the building is crackling with lightning, and I spot a large, spiky ring materializing in the sky that distinctly reminds me of Coldharbour. I turn and race out the nearby gate.

Daedra are falling from the sky onto a stone circle marked with Daedric runes, with a raised platform in the middle of it. An eclectic band of people are already there battling the Daedra, and already seem to have the situation under control, but have no complaints over an extra blade when I pull out Stormy and join in. The fighters run around purposefully destroying each diamond-shaped pinion as they open up.

“If I cannot control your world, I will destroy it,” Molag Bal’s chilling voice echoes from nowhere.

I’m going to need to conjure myself some new pants now.

“So… who are you people?” I ask. “Were you just… camping here or something?”

A burly Nord with a huge beard chuckles and nods. “We’re with the Fighters Guild. The name’s Scregor. We take shifts watching the dolmens waiting for the Anchors to drop. This one’s particularly important, to make sure the Daedra don’t reach town. Most of these things are further out in the wilderness.”

“I’m surprised to see a Nord protecting a city of Altmer,” I say.

Scregor snorts softly. “The Fighters Guild is neutral. When on guild business, we raise no banners and bow to no kings or queens. And in any case, you might be prissy elves, but you’re still people. Nobody deserves to be torn apart by Daedra.”

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“You’re pretty good with that axe,” an Argonian who introduces himself as Tests-the-Waters says. “You should join up.”

“I think I will,” I say. “Your guildhall is right next to the Mages Guild just inside the gate, right?”

“Close enough to go back for lunch,” the Nord says.

I look up at the sky, now once again bright and sunny. “How often do these things drop?”

“Several times a day,” Scregor says. “Some cultists teleport in and start trying to sacrifice people, and we charge in and start bashing heads, but it doesn’t stop the Anchor from falling.”

“Several times a day…” I repeat. Maybe I don’t have to go back to Coldharbour, but if something isn’t done about this, Coldharbour is going to come to me anyway. Fuck.

“It’s good exercise,” Scregor says. “Keeps you sharp!”

“I think I’ll go sign up now,” I say.

I return to town and head into the building in question. The steward of the Fighters Guildhall in Vulkhel Guard is an Altmer by the name of Aicessar, who reiterates how, like the Mages Guild, members are considered neutral when on guild business, and discusses their current focus on destroying the Dark Anchors whenever they drop. I can imagine that Molag Bal deciding to set up one of these dolmens directly behind their guildhall may have had something to do with that decision. Just a thought.

“And before you ask why we don’t simply destroy the dolmens,” Aicessar goes on, “while the Dark Anchors themselves are simple enough to break once the chains fall, the dolmens themselves have proven quite resistant to damage. A more permanent solution would, of course, be ideal, once we can find one. In the meantime… we hold the line.”

“I have enough things that I need to be doing that I probably won’t be camping out in front of them like those I met out there today,” I say. “But I’ll definitely go break any I see fall.”

Aicessar nods. “We don’t expect everyone to stand out there full-time. But taking the fight to the Daedra in any way helps keep our world safe. Maybe you’ll even get a chance to meet our new guildmaster, Sees-All-Colors. It’s under her direction that we’ve set our focus upon the Dark Anchors.”

“New guildmaster?” I ask.

“Yes,” Aicessar says. “Our previous guildmaster, Jofnir Iceblade, died suddenly in his sleep, but Colors has proven herself to be an able leader.”

After joining the guild and having a quick chat and introduction with the others around the guildhall (including one who wanted me to get crafting certification, no thanks, I’m not a crafter), I bid them good day and head back outside.

As I leave the guildhall, an unearthly roar echoes through the sky followed by the rattle of chains. What, another one already? Okay, I can see how this will quickly go from terrifying to annoying in short order. Most of the people in this part of town barely even glance up at the crackling in the sky, just shrugging and going on about their daily routine as if there weren’t an army of Daedra literally on their doorstep ready to burst into the town if the Fighters Guild failed to hold the line. Admittedly they still wouldn’t get far because the Fighters Guildhall is right there and there are plenty more fighters practicing and working nearby.

Still, I pull out my axe and go to hit some more Daedra and say hi to Scregor and Tests-the-Waters and the others whose names I didn’t catch the first time around. Now I see why everyone doesn’t go running over there.

Right. Back to town. I head for the Salted Wings Tavern for lunch and out of curiosity to see just why it wasn’t considered as ‘good’ an inn as the Mara’s Kiss, considering my room at the Mara’s Kiss is little more than a closet. The place is definitely rustic, with dead birds hanging from the ceiling and a ship’s wheel over the hearth. It’s full of off-duty sailors and more Khajiit and Bosmer than the Mara’s Kiss.

There’s a bard in the corner playing a lute and singing a song about red diamonds or something. He’s a human with darker skin than I’m accustomed to seeing—definitely not a Nord. A Redguard? Sahira-daro mentioned the Redguards in her description of the three alliances but I don’t know that I’ve seen one before. At least on this side of the veil, but any I might have seen in Coldharbour would have long had their skin fade to cold blue rather than warm brown.

A look upstairs makes me glad I went to the Mara’s Kiss first. Although my room there is small, it’s at least a private space. The Salted Wings only has a common area full of bunks. Around the fire, there’s rugged-looking group that look to be adventurers, drinking. An armored Khajiit (wearing armor while drinking? There’s dedication.) who is apparently named Turuk insults me when I come close, telling me that this is where the Undaunted drink, not milksops.

“Isn’t this the common area?” I gesture around to the bunks. “And in any case… milksop? Really? Is that the best insult you can come up with? Not, say, poxy tin-clad skeever with fur full of lice?”

Turuk looks insulted for a moment, then snickers. “Not bad, but can you fight? Or have you only ever used that axe of yours on mudcrabs?”

“I was just over at the dolmen killing Daedra,” I say. “Twice.”

“Pfah, Fighters Guild business,” Turuk says. “We’ll destroy those Daedra if they come close, but no. We go after stronger opponents than that. Not for duty or honor, but to prove we are the toughest and greatest!”

“Stronger than Daedra?” I ask.

“Certainly stronger than the weaklings Molag Bal has been throwing at the world,” Turuk says. “One inebriated Nord could hold off those Dark Anchors by himself—and frequently does. No, if we go after a Daedra, it’s one far mightier than those shock troops. We seek out the greatest challenges in the dark places in the world. Seeking the thrill of battle, finding true danger!”

“Sounds like fun,” I say with a wild grin. “I’ve faced things that you cannot even imagine. I’m not afraid.”

“Hah!” Turuk says. “You think you have what it takes? You think you can handle yourself as one of the Undaunted? Then prove yourself.”

“How?” I ask.

“Let’s see,” Turuk muses. “There’s a place in the north of Auridon called the Banished Cells. There’s rumors of an ancient curse—”

“Is this the sort of ancient curse that can be dealt with by hitting the right thing enough times?” I interrupt. “Because I’m not a great fan of unleashing ancient curses upon the world.”

Turuk snickers. “This one does not know the details, but has heard that it is an undead king that has been imprisoned there. Surely hitting what has been imprisoned there would prevent it from being unleashed upon the world, yes?”

“An undead king?” I say. “Fantastic! That sounds like it would a great fight. Do you suppose there’ll be traps there, too? I love traps!”

Turuk laughs aloud at that. “Perhaps you will fit in here better than this one imagined after all. Go pay a visit when you get the chance, and find out, then come back here to tell us the tale.”

“Should I wind up getting to that part of the island, I’ll surely do that,” I say. “People around here will probably have some less worthy things to be paying me to do, and I’m broke because I spent all my money on furniture and clothes. Would you believe someone wanted me to kill rats? Undignified, but sometimes you have to make do when you’re broke.”

“Turuk understands. He, too, had to start off with killing rats in his younger years. And booze and moon sugar don’t pay for themselves. But there are far greater treasures that can be found in ancient ruins full of dangerous creatures than you’ll ever get from being paid for pest control.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

While exploring town, I run across a couple of interesting books: Frontier, Conquest and Ayleid Inscriptions Translated. They’re just laying around out in the open and nobody protests upon me picking them up. Are these fascinating lost tomes, or just casually misplaced litter? Well, they seem interesting enough to me. I take them back to Sahira-daro anyway.

“These were simply laying around?” Sahira-daro asks upon paging through them.

“Yeah, that one was just laying on a bench in the plaza,” I say. “Really, I’d think if it were valuable, people wouldn’t just leave it laying around, and somebody might be annoyed that their book has gone missing, but they really shouldn’t have left it there in the first place.”

Sahira-daro grins. “Never be afraid to take what others do not deserve to keep.”

“Are they valuable?” I wonder.

“They are interesting,” Sahira says. “Every bit of knowledge is valuable, even if people have been careless with it. Especially if people have been careless with it, sometimes. Keep your eyes open and your nose sharp for more books like these that people have carelessly left lying around, yes?”

As I step out of the Mages Guildhall again, an unearthly roar echoes through the air and that damned Dark Anchor is dropping again. Oh, for fuck’s sake. With a sigh, I obligatorily pull out my axe and run off to hit some more Daedra.