“Comrade! There’s a message for you!”

I don’t know who this Dunmer is, but she’s calling me ‘comrade’ so she must be from the Fighters Guild that I totally joined and didn’t forget about.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Guildmaster Sees-All-Colors wants to see you,” the Dunmer woman says. “She’s in the Fighters Guildhall in Marbruk. And she said that she’d heard you arrived in town but you didn’t stop by so she sent me to annoy you until you came to see her.” She pauses. “I wasn’t supposed to say that last part.”

I chuckle in amusement, and go locate the Fighters Guildhall (she’s eager to tell me where it is, too, not that it isn’t obvious with the red sword flags outside). Sees-All-Colors tells me about how Merric wants to reforge the shiny thing at a special forge somewhere, and that we’re going to an Ayleid ruin whose name has at least four syllables and starts with an A. I have no idea where it actually is, but with her portal, I only need to worry about it if she dies and I have to leave myself, which is still probably not a problem.

This Ayleid ruin looks much like the others I’ve been in, but the addition of red banners with Molag Bal’s symbol gives a more sinister air to the place. I’m too busy musing about Ayleid Daedric worship to pay attention to Colors’ briefing.

“Comrade? Did you hear me?”

I blink at her. “Sorry, what?”

Colors sighs. “You are easily distracted. I’m going to cast a spell on you to give you visions of the past so we can see what happened here.”

“Oh. Uh. What are we trying to find out again? Wait!”

She’s already casting her spell. The world turns sepia-toned and a few Ayleids are talking to me. Fortunately, I can understand what they’re saying. This would be a highly unproductive trip down memory lane if I couldn’t. Sees-All-Colors follows me as a phantom glowing image. Although I’m seeing visions of the past, the angry skeletons are clearly here in the present. All around me, the sound of eerie, dramatic music plays.

“Where’s that music coming from?” Colors wonders.

“Oh,” I say, trying to will the music to be something different, and receiving even louder, more dramatic music as my reward. “Right, that. That’s me. Sorry, I can’t quite control it yet.”

“You have… music magic?” Colors wonders.

“Sheogorath gave me the gift of music for making Prince Naemon do a spit-take,” I explain.

Colors blinks. “You’re a worshipper of Sheogorath?”

“No, not really,” I say. “I have great respect for him and prefer to be entertaining rather than boring, however. That’s the best that can be done when the Madgod knows your name and has decided you’re his favorite mortal of the moment.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Colors allows begrudgingly. “Still, you probably don’t want to mention that in front of Merric. He’s staunchly loyal to Stendarr and not the sort who will tolerate dealing with Daedra, even when they’re not trying to destroy the world.”

“Noted,” I say. “Does that include any Daedra? Does he realize he’s working on a glowy thing associated with Meridia?”

“I don’t believe he considers it a holy relic.” Colors looks up at nothing, where a chorus of phantom horns have joined in with the violins and piano. “That music might make stealth difficult and you’ve probably just invited the Madgod to make strange sounds around you at inconvenient times.”

“Probably,” I admit. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Things often do,” Colors says. “You might want to associate with better gods.”

“I’ve rarely had much choice,” I say.

I run across a book titled Exigesis of Merid-Nunda, next to a skeleton and a journal belonging to a hapless explorer named Bernamot the Great. The book is considerably more interesting than the journal of someone who apparently died on their first expedition not a long ways inside of an Ayleid ruin.

“If you had a choice, which of the gods would you prefer?” Colors asks.

I glance up out of my reading. “I’m going to need to read this one while high. It’s the only way to make sense of this sort of writing.” I hold aloft the book. “Do you suppose Meridia disapproves of reading bizarre literature about her while high?”

Colors looks like she’s struggling to avoid laughing. “I don’t think so, at least. So, does that mean you’re more inclined toward Sanguine?”

“Nah,” I say. “I mean, I’d probably fuck him if I met him, but who wouldn’t? Aside from Merric, at least. Although I suspect Merric might and then pray for forgiveness afterward. Anyway, nah nah, Sanguine’s all about pleasure and fun and all that, and while those aren’t inherently bad things, I’m not reading dense mythology books while high for simple fun.”

“Hermaeus Mora, then?” Colors guesses.

“Nahhhh,” I say. “I’ve got nothing but respect for him, too, sure, but it’s not me. Oh look, more skeletons. Ah, I love fighting undead. They’re too dumb to run away and everyone likes it if you do it. Hey, this is a perfect chance to try out this new technique I’ve been working on. Watch this!”

I conjure Blinky, but instead of forming it into a piercing javelin or rapidly striking jab, I release it as a powerful sweep like a scythe to strike all of the skeletons around me. The radiant light continues to pulse, shredding every skeleton in range. A heroic fanfare of trumpets accompanies my attack.

“Fantastic!” I exclaim once the last one has been reduced to a pile of broken bones. “Did you see that? Did you see that?” I giggle like a kid at New Life Festival.

“Impressive,” Colors says. “You favor Meridia, then?”

“Die in blazing light, dead things!” I yell, charging through another group of skeletons while cackling madly, and tearing them apart as well.

“That sounds like a ‘yes’.” Colors observes.

We finally reach the room containing the thing we’re looking for. It looks like a giant, pulsating evil ball made of black wind. According to the memories of dead Ayleids, this is where some Ayleid kicked the ass of someone trying to defend the evil ball, and Molag Bal took his ball and went home rather than let the Ayleid play with it.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“This is bad news, comrade,” Colors says. “This means the Mortuum Vivicus wasn’t actually destroyed!”

I give her a puzzled look. “You thought it was destroyed? Considering the way everyone’s been talking about it, I’d imagined that it was something that would become a problem in the immediate future. I don’t imagine that Dremora woman would have been yelling about ‘Rawr, I will tear out this Redguard’s soul to fuel my evil god’s evil ball!’ if there weren’t an evil ball to kick.”

“I don’t believe those were likely to be her exact words,” Colors says. “But you make a good point.”

Colors needs to do some other things somewhere else, so she opens a portal to the Earth Forge where I meet up with Merric and Aelif. I don’t know what she’s planning on doing now, but she’s quite alarmed over the existence of Molag Bal’s evil ball, like he’s only got one of them or something.

I step out of the portal under the open sky again. A number of Fighters Guild members I don’t recognize and a few that I do have secured the area. I don’t know where this is, either, but the construction of the nearby ruin looks Dwemer while the landscape outside looks temperate. Too cold for Hammerfell, too warm for Skyrim, too lush for Morrowind. I haven’t seen any sign of the Dwemer winding up in Valenwood or Summerset. It occurs to me that I could just ask, and Merric informs me that we’re near Bangkorai.

I follow Merric inside, and as we walk, the ruins echo with low, ominous music that I don’t bother trying to change since it seems suitably atmospheric.

“Do you hear that music?” Merric whispers. “Dwemer devices are certainly strange.”

“Yeah, totally,” I agree, absently starting to hum along with it. “Did you know there are Dwemer music boxes that can drive someone mad to hear them?”

Merric tenses up, looking around in alarm.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those,” I assure him with a cheeky grin. “Probably.”

“When I found this place before, no music could be heard here,” Merric says. “Something might have been activated. Be on alert.”

Down at the bottom of the curving hallway, we come to the actual forge part of the Earth Forge. A massive Dwemer construction surrounded by lava gives me flashbacks toward Red Mountain. Kagrenac had facilities a little like this, too.

“Are you alright, comrade?” Merric asks. “Is it the music?”

I blink at him. “What?”

“You stopped walking and started swaying,” Merric says.

“Oh…” I say. “I’m fine. I just… I lost a friend in a place like this, a long time ago.”

“Ah. You have my condolences, comrade. It is never an easy thing to bear being one who lived where others died.”

We continue on, and reach the massive forge. Merric brings out the glowy thing and places it on the anvil. I don’t know that crystals are supposed to be forged in lava with a hammer, but what do I know? I’m not the legendary smith here. I assume this is actually going to do something to improve it and not simply shatter it into tiny pieces.

Merric has me operate the forge while he works at the anvil, after making sure that I’m not going to just zone out again. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to be too difficult, although I can’t imagine I was the best choice for this role. Still, it’s not like I don’t know how to operate basic Dwemer machinery.

The first stage of forging the crystal is barely done when undead appear from nowhere and begin to overrun the Earth Forge, accompanied by Molag Bal’s tiresome voice.

“I knew something was wrong here!” Merric exclaims as we start destroying the creatures.

Once we’ve defeated the first few waves of undead, Molag Bal caps off his assault with throwing at us the lady the Ayleids fought back in the ruin I’d just visited with Colors. (I can tell it’s her, despite the fact that she now has a skull-face with glowing blue eyes, because Molag Bal helpfully introduces her.)

“Queen Palolel will destroy you!” Molag Bal’s voice announces.

“Who?” I ask, deflecting the lich’s attack.

“Queen Palolel!” the lich insists. “I was the Queen of Abagarlas!”

“Where?”

“The Ayleid ruin you just visited?” Merric reminds me.

“Oh, right, her!” I say. “Okay, now that I know whose ass I’m kicking, I’ll kick your ass, then.”

Not sure why he bothered to bring out her specifically. I guess she has a more precise reason to be annoyed at the Shiny Thing of Meridia (it might be worth capitals once the legendary smith here hits it a few more times, I dunno.) In any case, she doesn’t last long.

At that point, she starts screaming as it looks like something is eating her soul or something. “But I always served you loyally!” she protests as she vanishes.

“Hey, Molag Bal!” I yell at the air. “Be nice to your servants or I’ll punch you in the face! She didn’t do anything wrong except be less awesome than us.”

“What are you doing?” Merric asks.

“I’m criticizing the God of Schemes on his employee relations,” I say. “He’s probably not actually listening.”

“Fool!” the echoing voice declares.

“Oh, I guess he is,” I say. “Hey, Bal, could you yell at me anytime or was there something special about this spot?”

He’s got my soul. He probably could if he wanted to. I hope that bit of magic jewelry I’m having made will actually help. Ask for the impossible and see if it can be done. And if a mortal can’t do it… I’m going to have to ask for help from a god I don’t hate.

“Your interference will not stop my plans,” Molag Bal interrupts my thoughts. “And that blasphemous trinket will not save you.”

Hearing his voice saying things like that suddenly gives me a flash of a reminder to Coldharbour. It finally got to the point that I did not seek salvation, as there was none to be found. (Merric is trying to get my attention.) I sought only a good fight. Getting into good fights was the only thing that kept me sane-ish, and I was fortunate in that way that the Daedra found me more entertaining to fight than to chain up and torture. (Merric grabs my hand and starts heading out of the ruin.) It gave me a measure of freedom, in a larger cage at least, and kept my skills sharp. Admittedly, I died a lot, but who even cares at that point? I was always immediately drawn back, so it’s not like it even did anything. Except pain, at least, but again, who even cares? Who even cares how many times it was, again and again and again?

Sunlight touches my eyes, and I blink to realize that I’m now standing outside with Merric and Aelif.

“Comrade, are you alright?” Merric asks.

“I’m… what?”

“Good, you’ve come to your senses again,” Merric says. “I thought that damned Daedra had done something to you and had to get you out of there.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Sunlight helps.”

“Are you scared of the God of Schemes, Neri?” Aelif asks.

“Of course not,” I say. “It’s not like he can torture my soul for eternity or anything, is it?”

A spirit appears behind Aelif, and Merric points in alarm. It’s the ghost of the old dead Nord Guildmaster again. He barely has time to say that he was murdered before he vanishes again.

“Murder, oh, of course he was,” I mutter. “This is Nirn. Who the fuck dies peacefully in their sleep around here?”

Merric clears his throat. “Most people who do not live lives as violent as ours, but I admit that I always expected Jofnir Iceblade to die in battle.”

“Still, it’s less than helpful to say you were murdered and not who murdered you,” I say. “Merric, do me a favor and if you’re ever horribly murdered and your ghost comes back so briefly as to be only able to say three words, try to make those words ‘Name murdered me!’ It will greatly help any potential investigations.”

“Aelif has some suspicions,” the Khajiit says.

“Splendid,” I say. “Would Aelif like to share them, too?”

Aelif quirks her lips. “Not yet. This one must notify the guild. Then there will be an investigation. We shall find out the truth.”

“Great, well, I’m eager to get home, let’s go,” I say.

One portal later sees me back at Marbruk. It’s kind of funny how the Fighers Guild makes more practical use of magic than the Mages Guild does. And just being back in Valenwood, it feels like some tension is leaving me. I go and find my friends in town near the wayshrine.

“We’ve been helping a mer near Bramblebreach make plant guardians with special powers,” Eran says. “And doing battle with the local wildlife to obtain materials was vastly preferable to taking a trip to the Shivering Isles.”

“Every time I got stung by one of those wasps, I thought about how glad I was not to be in Oblivion,” Merry adds dryly.

“Found a book for you, too,” Gelur says, tossing me one titled Dwarven Automatons. “Thought you might like to see what this Nord was wrong about.” She grins.

“Thanks!” I say, taking it. “Sounds like fun!”

“How did your trip go?” Ilara asks.

“Let’s go home,” I say. “I’ll tell you all about the two trips I made today. Or maybe not and I’ll just sleep. One of those.”

I teleport us back to Brackenleaf. Sleep will make everything better. I never have nightmares in Valenwood.