As I near a crossroads, a guttural voice from nowhere says, “Don’t believe her lies!”

I blink and look about, but I don’t see anyone nearby who could have spoken. “Her who? I’ve spoken with a number of ‘her’s lately. You’ll have to be more specific, whoever you are.”

Then I spot a book laying on top of a large tree stump. “Knowledge is power,” says a voice coming from the book.

“Oh, you must mean that her,” I say. “The ghost who was rambling about evil books or something. You must be one of those.” I pause. “And now I am talking to a book. Okay, in my defense, the book is talking back. Which is a great sign to throw it into a magic fire.” I go over to the book and pick it up.

“Revelations await!” the book tells me. A strange vision appears before me for a moment, as a memory of the last person who touched the book and was apparently devoured by a tentacle monster or something.

“Sure, whatever,” I say, shaking my head. “Now where the hell was this shrine she mentioned…”

“It couldn’t hurt to take a peek, could it?” the book says.

I spot a Khajiit woman walking down the road and wave to her. “Excuse me. Which way to the Temple of the Mourning Springs?”

“Surasha believes it is that way,” she says, pointing down the right fork. “Why would you wish to go there?”

“I’ve heard there’s some undead there that need to be hit,” I say.

“Ah. Surasha wishes you good luck with that.”

I head off down the indicated road, the book continuing to attempt to entice me into opening it along the way. I refuse to dignify this inanimate object with responding to it any longer, though. It’s very annoying. Along the way I shove it into a burning brazier in hopes of making it shut up, but the mundane fire does not harm it at all. Didn’t think so, but one can hope. Am I going to have to keep carrying this obnoxious thing around until I run across the other two? Would burying them or throwing them into the ocean be sufficient? Eh, if they’re this hard to destroy, they’d probably be able to get people to dig or fish them up, anyway.

On the road to the temple, I run across a young elf woman in mage robes. She’s shorter than these Altmer, with big blue eyes, and her face has more of a pinkish complexion than a golden one. She must be a wood elf.

“A Dominion soldier?” she says. “Oh, I’m glad to see you. I hope you’re here to help.”

“Yes, Eagle’s Strand sent me to look into the situation,” I say. “My name is Neralian.” I think that’s close enough. Either way I’m not going to keep correcting myself and making it look all the more obvious that I’m not used to this name.

“I’m Gathwen, apprentice to Rurelion. My master’s life is in danger. If he’s even still alive. The others fled when we were attacked by undead, but he never came out. I know the prospect sounds grim but we have to try to find him. He’s a powerful mage and quite capable of defending himself, but he might be trapped, or unconscious. If there’s any chance he might still be in there…”

“I understand,” I say. “And if not… we still need to find a way to stop the undead, one way or another.”

Gathwen nods with a grim sigh. “I appreciate it. If you can hold off the undead, I can disrupt the wards on the temple and get us inside so we can search the place.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a soundproof pack laying around, do you?” I ask.

“The secrets of the universe could be yours!” whispers the book.

“I’m afraid not,” Gathwen says. “I just have a regular pack, but it could be wrapped in a blanket if that would help.”

“Worth a shot,” I say.

Gathwen leads me to her camp where she brings out the supplies. “What is this book, anyway?”

“Evil book,” I say, wrapping it up and shoving it into the pack. “I don’t trust to put it down in case it convinces somebody more gullible than me to pick it up. Or just does something weird like teleport around on its own. I need to get it to a shrine to destroy it in some sort of sacred fire, but the undead here at this temple seemed like a more pressing issue.”

“Ah, good plan,” Gathwen says. “I do hope you can help here.”

While the camp is well-stocked with such supplies as clothing, food, and books, it does not appear to contain any weapons suitable for a warrior. It was a mage’s camp, after all. Still, I take the opportunity to grab a small bite to eat before we head inside.

Another Skyshard lays in an inconspicuous corner amid crumbled stone near the entrance to the temple. I might not have noticed it at all but for the column of shimmering blue light radiating from it. Does no one else notice that? More for me, then. I go up and touch it, and let its energy flow into me. Skyshards are way more addictive than skooma and I must have more.

“What did you do?” Gathwen wonders, peering at me curiously. “You… was that a Skyshard? And you absorbed its energy somehow?”

I affirm that, and she questions me as to how I did it, but I really don’t know. All I do is touch them, after all. It’s probably something to do with being a Vestige of a dead person whose soul resides in Oblivion, but I don’t really care to explain that to her at the moment. There are more pressing matters to be dealt with. I push aside the questions and climb the stairs leading up to the temple.

A skeleton blocks our path, rotting rags clinging to its bones and an unsettling dark aura surrounding it. It makes some blustering about how we should leave or die, and something about wearing people as outfits which is just downright creepy as it seems like his new favorite one is Gathwen’s master whose name is just as hard to say as the one I’ve been using. I knock off its skull with a swift punch and send its bones scattering with a kick to the pelvis, but the malignant black cloud merely slides back into the temple.

“That’s not a good sign…” Gathwen says.

“I was tired of hearing what he had to say anyway,” I say. “Let’s see if we can get in there and do something about this, shall we?”

This is definitely not a problem I can solve with an axe, but I’d very much like an axe anyway. Or a sword. Or a mace. A club would do in a pinch, too. A heavy tree branch would do a suitable job of breaking bones. In fact, I go and grab one from just outside the temple (and dub it Woody, much to the bemusement of the mage), and proceed to use it to acquire a sword (which I name Rusty) from one of the skeletons. Since the club does wind up seeming better at this than trying to stab skeletons, I put Rusty into my belt for the moment.

With me providing an ample distraction, Gathwen disperses the wards and we get inside. And there’s some sort of puzzle involving moons to which the advice of that priestess at the temple on the hill actually turns out to be utterly useless. Fortunately the solution is right on the wall anyway. It’s a good thing that it only had a few lunar combinations and not every possible one. There’s, what, like seventeen possible combinations of moon phases, aren’t there? Something like that.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Gathwen has been talking about Rurelion in the meantime, telling me about how awesome it is in such a way that just makes it sound like she’s got a serious crush on him. I make noncommittal grunting sounds in all the right places. Meanwhile, the stupid book continues to try to talk to me, albeit slightly more muffled.

We reach a courtyard and spot a high elf whom Gathwen identifies as Rurelion standing atop the platform where they discovered the Mourning Stone. He’s surrounded by that creepy black aura though, which is definitely not a good sign either. He starts blustering again about fashion and it’s really getting tiresome at this point. If he weren’t inside the body of Gathwen’s crush I’d be crushing this guy so hard about now.

After we smash some more skeletons, Rurelion suddenly clutches his head and yells, “No! I will not let you control me!” Then runs away from us down the stairs and into another door.

Upon following him inside, we discover that the room he has entered is chock full of two of my favorite things: spike traps and giant bats. I don’t know how long this temple has been here, but despite parts of it crumbling, all the traps seem to still be quite smoothly shooting spikes up and down.

“Woo!” I exclaim. “I love traps!”

Gathwen gives me a very odd look. “Well, you can go play with them then and find some way to disable them so I can get across without being impaled.”

“Will do!” I skip down the stairs cheerfully.

I put down Woody next to the stairs leading down and draw Rusty, a much better weapon to be dealing with giant bats. With a gleeful giggle, I dance among the spike traps, rolling and hopping, and stab any bats that come close in the meantime. Ah, this is what it means to be alive. When I come to the far side of the room, I witness Rurelion yelling at himself righteously, and the black thing leaves his body and retreats further into the temple. Apparently his name is Uldor. I wasn’t paying much attention to his blustering the first time around. As he’s coming to his senses, I take the opportunity to turn a control switch to deactivate the traps.

“Well, that was singularly unpleasant,” Rurelion says, rubbing his face. “Had you not shown up, I would have been nothing more than winter finery for that creature.”

“Really?” I ask. “Because it looked like you yelled him out of yourself by yourself.”

“You caught his attention, however, and it felt like he feared you for some reason,” Rurelion says. “He would not be able to wear you as ‘clothes’ like he could me or any of these skeletons laying around here. I do not know why. He simply believed that to do so would destroy him.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” I say.

“You know why?”

I nod. “I think so, yeah. It’s because I’m a Vestige. Although… I’m not entirely clear on what that means, myself. Details probably not important right now.”

“Indeed,” Rurelion agrees. “I know his plans. He means to raise up an army of undead to take over the entire island. He must be stopped.”

“How many undead can he control at once?” I ask, frowning.

“All of them.”

“Alllll of them?” I repeat. “Well, that’s bad. Do you have a plan?”

In the midst of him talking about the two of us going in there and putting some smaller magic rocks back, Gathwen jogs up to us. She’d probably spent a minute waiting to make sure the traps were actually disabled before running over them.

“Master, I can’t let you do this!” Gathwen exclaims.

“Put magic rocks back?” I ask in puzzlement.

“He means to sacrifice himself to stop Uldor!” Gathwen says.

“If he’s trapped within a living body—” Rurelion begins.

“Didn’t you just say he can control an entire undead army at once?” I ask.

“Well, yes, but we’ll still seal him inside,” Rurelion says.

“So you’re saying letting yourself become possessed is just a distraction to buy us time to put the magic rocks back where they belong?” I ask. “Okay, look. I have a better idea. If it doesn’t work, then we can try your way. Either way, Gathwen needs to hurry back and get the bigger magic rock, right?”

“But the Dominion needs him!” Gathwen says, although it’s clear it’s not the Dominion that really needs him so much as she needs him. “I could take his place!”

“Gathwen,” I interrupt her, pulling the evil book out of my pack.

“Surely these mages will appreciate the secrets I hold,” the book says.

“Please ignore the evil book,” I say. “But perhaps the necromancer will find it tempting.”

The two mages stare at me for a moment, before Gathwen says, “I’ll go get the Mourning Stone.”

I head inside, with Rurelion trailing behind me, and approach the apparition in the center of the room. He starts denigrating me something about being dirty clothes, but stops when he sees what I’m carrying.

“I’ve brought a peace offering for you,” I say, and read the title on the cover. “Masterwork of the Inducer.”

“Ah, what a lovely gesture,” Uldor says. “Perhaps I will spare you when I conquer this island, since I cannot wear you, so long as you stay out of my way.”

I place the book down before him and back away, trying not to look too hurried in backing away. Whatever that book is about to do, I don’t want to get caught up in it just by proximity. As Uldor opens the book, a portal opens behind him from which writhing tentacles emerge. A credit to his strength, he doesn’t immediately get pulled in like whoever it was in that memory I saw when I first picked up the book.

It’s still enough to keep him occupied while Rurelion and I run around the room sticking the magic rocks back onto their pedestals. By the time he has defeated the creature and turned his attention back to us, the waters have started flowing again. And I think in the meantime, Gathwen must have replaced the Mourning Stone.

“Curse you!” Uldor curses us. Hopefully not literally. “I was so close!” He sighs and slumps down, energy rapidly draining out of him. “So close…”

“Excellent! That worked better than I’d hoped.” Rurelion says. He snaps the book shut telekinetically and floats it over to me. “This had probably best stay with you for now until it can be destroyed. Some of the other mages—not to name any names—might not be able to resist the temptation of taking a peek.”

“Agreed.” I wrap it back in the blanket and shove it back into my pack.

With Uldor taken care of, we head back outside to the front courtyard. The large fountain in the center is spurting and bubbling quite happily and there’s a distinct lack of skeletons trying to kill us, which is quite the improvement. Gathwen brought Ealcil with her when she returned, it would appear, and as soon as Rurelion sees him they start up a rousing argument. Ealcil is reckless and greedy, Rurelion is too cautious, and so forth.

“Ealcil,” I interrupt. “Considering your actions almost got the island overrun by undead, maybe you should concede this one, just this once?”

Ealcil grumbles and concedes nothing nor apologizes for anything, but at least he stops arguing quite so loudly, so I’ll still count that as a win.

Rurelion takes me aside and says to me quietly, “You said some very interesting things back there. A Vestige, you say you are. Now that we are not immediately attempting to prevent a disaster, I would like to know more.”

I sigh. “Alright. But seeing as I just saved your life, I want you to promise silence on the matter. I don’t want this to get out, for a number of reasons that will become clear.” If I can trust anyone, it’s the one who thought it was a bad idea to poke a magic rock and the one who now owes me his life.

“Very well,” Rurelion says. “I promise, whatever you say will not go beyond me. I will even cast a spell to prevent eavesdropping to ensure it does not get out.” He does so.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m going by the name Nerelion now—” I pause. Was that the name? No, I don’t think it was supposed to rhyme with Rurelion. “Neralion. Can you use that name as often as possible so I can remember it? These high elf names are very pretty but…”

“You are not an Altmer?” Rurelion asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. I’m a Chimer.”

“A Chimer? How?”

“Apparently being trapped in Oblivion at the time prevented me from becoming cursed along with the rest of my people,” I say. “My true name… is Indoril Nerevar.”

“Nerevar?” Rurelion repeats. “That Nerevar?”

“Yes, that Nerevar,” I say. I assume this fellow is much more likely to have read a book at some point. “And if it gets out that I’m alive, I’m afraid that my former friends, who are playing at godhood over on the other side of Tamriel, might just murder me again. Obviously, I would prefer to avoid going back to Coldharbour just now.”

“I understand,” Rurelion says. “You were murdered… while it would be fascinating to hear your perspective on the early First Era, the danger to you is quite understandable. They will not hear anything from me, Neralion.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’d be happy to chat sometime, but I’d appreciate your help in maintaining my cover story. I’ve already had somebody wanting to arrest me on suspicion on peddling skooma just because nobody at the shipwreck knew who I am.”

“Ah, yes, I can see how that would be awkward,” Rurelion says. “Rest assured, after your assistance with Uldor back there, I will be certain to vouch for you should anyone question your presence.”

“I’m grateful. Will you be alright after all of that?”

“I am certain that I will fully recover in due course,” Rurelion assures me with a hand wave. “Do not concern yourself further for me.”

At that point, Gathwen comes up and start gushing and fawning over Rurelion, and I excuse myself to leave the two of them to their unresolved sexual tension. Aside from that, the situation here is resolved, but there are still pirates and smugglers to deal with elsewhere on the island. I bid the mages farewell and head out with a spring in my step, steadfastly ignoring the mumbling of the evil book in my pack. Right, need to deal with that annoying thing, too.