“I’m going to regret coming along on this, aren’t I,” Eran mumbles.

“Nah,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun!”

“Your idea of ‘fun’ involves copious amounts of fire and sharp objects,” Eran says.

“Very true!” I exclaim. “Oh, hey, look, there’s someone by the road.”

Along the side of the road, a Khajiit and an Argonian are arguing loudly over a campfire (unlit). From the sounds of it, they’re having difficulty getting it lit. Clearly, neither of them is an expert in survival skills nor a novice at minor spells. I do the courteous thing and go up and light their fire for them.

“There, see?” I say aside to Eran as we move on. “The ‘fire’ part of that has been covered already.”

Eran smirks. “That was totally not what I meant and you know it.”

At the end of the road, an Altmer woman wearing a red dress stands at the near side of a crumbling stone bridge, calling out a name. We approach and ask her if there’s a problem. She introduces herself as Elanwe and explains that her son, Sorondil (who I am going to call Sorry because he sounds like he’s going to be) has gone into the ruins looking for treasure or something. We agree to head in and look for him and make sure he’s okay.

We head into the ruins past some unusually passive skeletons who don’t even move as we go by. And then we come upon a guy who is yelling something about his birthright and waving magic around, and a voice from nowhere calls him a bastard and the skeletons promptly start looking a lot more murderous.

“Well, that looks like it could have gone better,” I say. “But did he really need to call you a bastard for it?”

The mer (Sorry, probably) clears his throat. “Well, it was impolite but I am fairly certain that he did mean it in the ‘illegitimate son’ sort of way. My mother was his mistress, not his wife. But I am still a Rilis by blood, whether he acknowledges me or not!”

“Sure,” I say with cheerful apathy. “Are you alright here? It looks like those skeletons have just turned fun! Want me to go hit them for you until they stop being fun?”

Sorry gives me a strange look as I go knock one apart.

Eran sighs. “Don’t mind him. He’s completely insane. Your mother mentioned you were looking for some sort of treasure here?”

He starts ranting again something about how his mother doesn’t believe in him until I stop hitting skeletons for a moment to interrupt him.

“Hey, Sorry?” I say. “Honestly, I don’t care if your father is Auri-El himself. I’m just here to prove myself Undaunted aside from the fact that they were a little vague on what they wanted me to do aside from the fact that it was in this general vicinity and involved some dead king or something. Am I in the right place?”

Sorry also sighs. “Yes, they were probably referring to the Banished Cells. No, that’s a different part of the ruin from the artifact I seek, but so long as you are here ready to hit things for glory, are you willing to hit things for pay as well? Seeing as you seem intent upon bashing apart all the skeletons here anyway, I’ll give you coin to bash apart the ones between me and the wards I need to lower to claim my birthright.”

“Sounds good!” I grin. “Point the way, Sorry!”

“Would you please not call me Sorry?” Sorry groans. “My name is Sorondil. ‘Sor’ if you’re feeling particularly lazy, but only my mother ever called me ‘Sorry’ and I was only twenty!”

“Sorry,” I say cheekily.

“I hate you so much,” Sorry says.

“Want me to hit him for you?” Eran asks.

“Ugh,” Sorry mutters. “Just… come on, the first ward is over this way. I will just stay behind the two of you.”

We traverse the ruins hitting skeletons, some of which are tougher than others and spew taunts and insults at us (or maybe just at Sorry). Sorry waves his hands at some crystals and makes them stop glowing different colors. That’s when a particular Altmer mage shows up.

“Neralion?” Merormo says. “I should have guessed you’d be involved in this somehow.”

“Merormo!” I exclaim. “What are you doing here? To be fair, I had nothing to do with the skeletons becoming pissy. I’m just forcefully making them passive again.”

“Yes, I noticed that when my quiet contemplation at the grave marker on the cape was interrupted with the sound of distant battle.”

“This is really just a tragically violent island,” I say. “Did you visit all the graves?”

Merormo nods. “It has been a—”

“Excuse me, who is this mer?” Sorry demands. “Is he with you?”

“Sorry, this is Merormo,” I say. “Merormo, Sorry.”

“Sorondil,” Sorry insists.

“I am grateful that you have not started calling me Merry,” Merormo says.

I cock my head thoughtfully and grin. “Well! Okay, you’re Merry from now on. You suggested it!”

Sorry and Merry put their faces in their palms.

Eran clears his throat. “Merormo, was it? My name is Eranamo. A pleasure to meet you. We appear to be acquainted with the same lunatic with a battle axe. Would you like to assist us in recovering a treasure for this young mer, so long as you are here?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I’m not that young,” Sorry mumbles in weak protest.

“Yes, come join us, Merry!” I exclaim. “We’re hitting skeletons and I think we’re about to go inside now that the wards are down. I’ll bet there will be more things to hit down there. There might even be traps!”

“You sound entirely too excited by that prospect,” Merry says. “Fine, I will accompany you on this errand.”

The four of us head down into the vault, Sorry bringing up the rear because he’s unarmed and useless, although he insists that once he gets this magic hat he’ll be invincible or something. I am very much doubtful that it works that way, but it might be a pretty powerful magic item. More likely it’s a mildly useful magic item with a powerful legend behind it bolstered by the fame of those who used it.

There are no traps in the vault. Just incredibly annoying ghosts that stalk us and occasionally send more skeletons at us. Then, we come to a large room with a hole in the ceiling letting a shaft of sunlight fall upon a pedestal. (If I could levitate, I could just go straight out of here!)

“The helm!” Sorry exclaims, rushing across the room. “It’s mine! It’s all mine! I am a Rilis! I am a Rilis! I am a Rilis!”

“I feel like he’s the only one who cares whether he’s a Rilis or not…” Merry mumbles as we follow after the fool before anymore skeletons show up.

Sorry grabs the helm in wild glee and shoves it onto his head, then immediately starts writhing in pain. A few more ghosts appear and start calling him a bastard some more, and denounce his ‘impure’ blood. (Really? His mother looked like an Altmer to me. Or are some high elves so racist even other high elves aren’t good enough for them? Or do the Rilis just marry their sisters or something?)

My musings on Altmer blood purity are interrupted by Sorry screaming and turning into a werewolf. Sorry growls and charges at Merry, but Eran steps in front of him and knocks him onto his tail with his shield.

“I knew this artifact sounded bad,” Merry says with a sigh, quickly freezing the werewolf in place with a spell while Eran has his attention.

“He’s kind of an idiot, but do we need to kill him?” Eran asks.

“If we got that helm off him again, would he change back?” I wonder, approaching the immobile werewolf. “Wait, the helm fused into his body? Shapeshifting magic is guar shit.”

“I believe I may be able to force a reversion to his original form,” Merry says. “You are fortunate that a transfiguration expert happened to be available. Were I a more religious person, I might imagine that it was the grace of the Divines that led me to be in the right place at the right time, by setting me on that pilgrimage.” He shakes his head. “Neralion, Eranamo, I will need the two of you to restrain him while I attempt to work this magic, as I will need to undo the first spell I cast him on him before I can attempt to revert him.”

“I’d object, but considering the alternative is being forced to kill him, I don’t imagine you can make things worse,” I say, then pause. “Just don’t turn either of us into a werewolf, summon Daedra, or collapse the remainder of this ruin on top of our heads. Or some other way I haven’t conceived of immediately to make things worse.”

“I promise I will not make things worse,” Merry says in a strained voice.

Merry releases the werewolf from his spell, and Eran and I proceed to keep his attention while Merry tries to do his work. Sometimes it’s harder to not kill something than it is to kill something. Still, dodging and rolling is fun, and I’m sure Eran is having a blast blocking and bashing with his shield.

“I don’t suppose you can hurry this up, Merormo?” Eran asks.

“Don’t rush me!” Merry says. “This is a very delicate spell!”

The werewolf swipes his claws furiously at Eran’s shield. I sweep the beast’s legs out from under himself and send him sprawling.

“Almost there…” Merry says, the glow from his hands intensifying.

Suddenly, the werewolf’s body shrinks and warps, and when the magic is done, one very puzzled-looking yellow rooster stands in its place. The helm clatters to the floor and rolls away. The cock cocks his head, ruffles his wings, then pecks Eran’s boot.

“Congratulations, Merry,” I say, picking up the helm for safekeeping. “You have, indeed, managed to change him into something other than a werewolf.”

“Just, maybe he’d rather be a mer again rather than poultry,” Eran adds.

“I meant to do that,” Merry says.

“Really?” I say.

“Yes,” Merry insists. “A chicken’s head is too small for that helmet. Anyway, I’ll turn him back into a mer now. You might want to bag the helm so he doesn’t just grab it again if he’s feeling particularly foolish, because if he does I’m just going to leave him as a chicken.”

I shove the helm into my pack, and nod to him. Merry waves his hand, and the chicken expands and returns to his former self.

Sorry pats his body and looks down at himself. “I’m—I’m me again? Oh, Divines, that was horrible! The pain! Pain and all-consuming rage!” He sits down on the ground, clutching his head. “The helm… it was supposed to give me great strength and power. It was supposed to make me into a great warrior. I would have been able to protect my mother, and everyone I cared about.”

“Sorry, you don’t need some crazy old helm to be a great warrior,” I say.

A ghost appears, and says, “So, the bastard lives. He is fortunate that he did not have to pay for his mistake with his life.”

Other ghosts drift through briefly, each of them speaking bits and pieces of bloody tales ending in the deaths of family members at their own hands.

One last ghost stops before me and says, “Put that back before you leave, lest you be cursed as a thief.”

“Okay, great,” I say. “You’re even sensible enough to threaten me with curses seeing as that’s about all you’ve got on me since it’s not like your skeletons can stop me. Also I don’t actually want a cursed helmet anyway.” I pull out the helm again and say, “Sorry, you’re not going to try to grab this again, are you?”

Sorry refuses to even look in my direction. “Leave it and let’s get out of here. I need to see my mother.”

I put the cursed helm back on the pedestal and bid the ghosts good day as we leave the vault. Outside, the skeletons have pulled themselves back together but are no longer inclined to attack us on sight.

Sorry’s mother is waiting for us outside, and she runs up to hug him when she sees him. “Oh, my dear boy, are you alright? I was so worried about you.”

“I… I think so,” Sorry says. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now, though. I was counting on that relic to make me a mighty warrior, but it’s a cursed thing and makes people into monsters instead.”

“If I might make a suggestion?” I put in. “If you want to be a mighty warrior, why not earn it for yourself? In fact, there’s a college just down the road that can teach you to fight.”

“Yeah, let me tell you, Neri and I aren’t relying on fancy magic items just to be able to fight,” Eran adds.

“The College of Aldmeri Propriety?” Sorry’s mom (whatever her name was) says.

“They recently had some problems due to some staffing irregularities but the students are good folks and I’m sure they’ll start regular classes back up once they bring in some new teachers who aren’t secretly plotting against the crown and also assholes. Long story, I’m sure the kids will tell you all about it if you decide to head there.”

“You really think I can do it?” Sorry says. “On my own?”

“Absolutely,” I say with a grin. “Just whatever you do, don’t be a racist asshole. What in Oblivion were those ghosts on about purity for, anyway?”

“The Rilis were… just a long line of bloodthirsty madmen,” Sorry says quietly. “After hearing their stories, I wonder if I ought to be glad I’m a bastard.”

“Can you handle working with Khajiit and Bosmer, though?” Eran asks. “There’s going to be a lot of those at the college.” He looks at me. “Actually, did any of the Altmer at the college survive?”

“I think we didn’t kill the janitor,” I say. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t Veiled Heritance. He could go five words without insulting any non-Altmer within earshot.”

“Good point,” Eran says.

“I haven’t really had a chance to meet a lot of Khajiit and Bosmer,” Sorry says. “But I’ll give it a chance.”