I Changed My Name to Avoid My Ex and Accidentally Saved the World

Razum-dar is casually leaning against a post on the bridge leading into Mistral. Is he waiting for me? I hope he hasn’t been standing there for too long. I’m sure he’s got more important things that he ought to have been doing than waiting while I run all over the island fixing everything. Hopefully I’ve actually fixed everything.

“Ah, if it isn’t Neralion at last,” Razum-dar says. “This one has heard you’ve been busy.” He lowers his voice. “This one has also heard you’ve been telling the Thalmor that you work for the Queen. Not to worry! Raz has backed up your story. It would not do for you to be mistaken for a skooma smuggler!” Although he sounds cheerful enough, he’s giving me a bit of a stern look, like I shouldn’t have said that. Razum-dar is so very not just a ‘simple Khajiit’ if he was actually able to convince anyone of that.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say. “Sorry, I was just talking guar shit to get out of being arrested for a few more minutes.”

“If that was the only way you could blend in, then so be it,” Razum-dar says. “A bit more discretion would have been preferable, of course. But it has nothing to do with Daedric Princes or falling from the sky, at least.”

“I may have told a couple of people about that, too,” I say. “But I’m reasonably certain it was ones who can keep a secret and one of them likely had already figured it out from what I was yelling about while burning my hands in a magic fire to destroy some evil books.”

“It sounds like you have had quite the adventures already,” Raz says. “And you are up for some more, yes? This one is in need of a competent partner and from what he has heard, you surely fit the bill.”

“Absolutely,” I say. “What needs to be done? Are there more things that need to be hit?”

“Not yet, but Raz fears it is likely to come to that. Here. Take this token and show it to the Silvenar in the large building in the center of town.”

Raz explains how the Silvenar is some sort of spiritual leader for the Bosmer and had come here to do some negotiating because I don’t know. Because he’s calm and is unlikely to throttle people who annoy him? At any rate, I take the token from Razum-dar, pocket it and head into Mistral.

There’s another one of those wayshrines overlooking the water. I go up and light it, watching the Aetherial blue flames dance in its brazier. I don’t know if it will actually bring me luck, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. Besides, they’re pretty.

Before I head for the large building, I take a bit to look around town so I’ve got a better feel for what I’m going to be dealing with here. I briefly peruse the shops but don’t buy anything, visit the tavern but don’t drink anything, and do some eavesdropping but don’t talk to anyone. Casual eavesdropping is a great way to find out all sorts of little things nobody is particularly concerned about you finding out.

There’s an awful lot of cats on Khenarthi’s Roost. By which I mean the small, four-legged kind and not the medium to large two-legged kind. Sometimes I could swear they’re looking at me like they’re watching me and that they’re a lot smarter than they look, though. It would be really, really easy to eavesdrop if you were a cat.

Oh, and then there’s the Maormer embassy at the edge of town. I look around, finally getting a chance to take a closer look at sea elves who aren’t currently attempting to kill me. Eyes almost completely white! How do they even see?

“What are you staring at, ground walker?” says the one I’m currently staring at. “Have you never gazed upon the glory of a Maormer before?”

“Nope, afraid I haven’t,” I say. “The only ones I’ve seen were either trying to kill me, or were dead because they tried to kill me.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“Not at all!” I say cheerfully. “If you’re not trying to kill me, then I don’t need to hit you with a sharp object. Everyone can be friends, right?”

I’m going to put in a bet right here that I’ll wind up having to kill more Maormer before I’m done here.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d be quite happy to not have to be here,” she says. “I don’t know how the likes of you and those cat men can stand not moving all the time.”

Behind the embassy, I spot another Skyshard, perched on the cliff right next to another one of those snake statues the sea elves seem to love so much. At least this one doesn’t have a cat man chained to it to power a storm spell. I’d have to start killing people if it did. I go up and absorb the Skyshard, receiving a couple odd looks from nearby Maormer as I do so. Maybe that wasn’t the most subtle, but they weren’t moving and I didn’t feel like sneaking back in later to grab it. As I turn to head off, I spot one of them out of the corner of my eye going up to touch the Skyshard to see if it would do anything for him as well, but there doesn’t appear to be any effect.

Finally, I return to the middle of town and climb the steps leading up toward the largest building. Outside, I run across a fellow whom I shortly discover is named Vicereeve Pelidil (whatever a Vicereeve is). He’s a smarmy fetcher who immediately rubs me the wrong way for some reason. While I can’t blame him for his dislike of the Maormer and I agree with his sentiment that this will all end in bloodshed, his attitude just screams ‘self-important Altmer’ from here to Sundas.

Let’s get this out here. It’s not that I dislike Altmer on principle. They’re people, same as any other, after all. They’re people with the typical variance between individuals. But there are reasons why the Chimer and they went separate ways. These Altmer seem to believe they’re the greatest, ‘highest’, thing in the world. The Chimer believe—believed, I suppose, I don’t know what the Dunmer believe these days—this one Chimer believes that he is part of this world, although seeing as his soul is currently located in Oblivion, ‘this world’ is a bit broader than merely Tamriel so perhaps ‘this universe’ would be a better description.

Anyway. This one Chimer believes he is a great warrior, very skilled, powerful, perhaps not as clever as he wishes he were, but he is still a part of this universe and no higher (unless on skooma) or more worthy than anyone else. This Chimer has also spent entirely too much time around Khajiit lately and is apparently starting to refer to himself in the third person. Dammit.

Unlike Vicereeve Pelidil, I immediately take a liking to the Silvenar (that’s probably a title but no one has mentioned what his actual name might be). He’s friendly and welcoming, offering me food and drink although too busy to deal with me directly until I show him Razum-dar’s token, and unlike some, his welcome seems genuine and sincere rather than forced politeness.

“It seems we have a mutual friend, then,” the Silvenar says.

“Our mutual friend thought you might be able to use a hand in resolving the situation,” I say. “Just point me at who needs to be hit. Or, if no one needs to be hit just yet, at who to talk at until they capitulate.”

“I should hope this doesn’t devolve into violence,” the Silvenar says. “How much do you know about the situation on Khenarthi’s Roost?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s a lot of honest Khajiit around here who grow moon sugar and would hate to see it become skooma, and quite a lot of dead smugglers who should have been rethinking their life choices. There’s some Dominion mages who don’t know when not to poke weird magic rocks, but I think they’ve learned their lesson for the moment. There’s some Maormer who for some reason have an embassy in Mistral, and also caused a hurricane that destroyed a fleet of the Aldmeri Dominion. They quite clearly don’t want us here.”

I doubt he’s interested in all the eavesdropping I’ve been doing in finding out who is dating whom and who deserted from the Dominion military.

“You probably have the right of it there, unfortunately,” the Silvenar says. “Also unfortunately, this is technically their territory. The Maormer have a treaty with the people of Khenarthi’s Roost, but no one is willing to let me look at it so that I might know the details of the terms.”

“That sounds awfully suspicious,” I say.

“Indeed,” the Silvenar agrees.

“I can see about getting my hands on a copy of this treaty, then,” I say.

Although he suggests that I talk to Harrani, the island’s headwoman, or Ulondil, the Maormer ambassador, I know perfectly well that neither of them is going to spare a moment for me if they didn’t want to talk to the Silvenar.

There are some books laying around that appear to be on local customs and information. Sahira-daro poked at me for having yet to open a book during my time on Khenarthi’s Roost, so I suppose it’s time to begin, with something innocuous and not evil at all. If someone were trying to coerce someone into being eaten by a tentacle monster, Khajiiti Honorifics is not really the sort of title I’d bother with. (But then, why not? If you’re going to make a trap book anyway, why not make it one about, say, cookie recipes?)

I scan down the information about these syllables Khajiit add to the ends of their names to denote rank and station, or more like honor and achievements, I’m not quite clear. The ‘dar’ in Razum-dar applies to a male who is ‘nimble in fingers and wits’, which seems like a polite way of saying they’re a thief, and the ‘daro’ in Sahira-daro looks like the feminine version of that. I wonder what they would call me, were I a Khajiit? ‘Neri-do’ with the appellation of a warrior? Or the highly esteemed honorific of ‘ri’ if they had any idea of who I am? That might be the equivalent of a Hortator.

“’Silvenar’ is a title, isn’t it?” I ask him. “I apologize that I’m afraid I haven’t caught your actual name.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed about that,” the Silvenar says with a soft chuckle. “Few use my real name these days. Not even my Green Lady calls me ‘Edhelorn’ anymore.”

Although I feel like it’s probably wasted effort and liable to put them on edge, I go and talk to Harrani and Ulondil anyway, if nothing else than to get to get their perspective of things and watch their body language to see just how much they seem to be hiding.

Harrani is a white Khajiit with black stripes and a very distracting nose ring. Her fur is practically standing on end from stress at the entire situation. She may not be overly fond of the Maormer, but she’s not willing to tip her paw to alter the balance of an already-fragile situation. Her island is peaceful and does not have its own army. The Maormer have allowed them to live here and protected the island against anyone else that might cause trouble or try to take over—such as, for instance, a fleet of a foreign power wanting to take over the island to use a staging ground in a war. I sympathize and believe the Aldmeri Dominion might be out of line here, but seeing as I’ve thrown in my lot with them, I’ll attempt to get them the best outcome I can regardless.

Ulondil is another matter. While it’s hard to read his milky white eyes, it’s not difficult to figure out that he’s unhappy about the Dominion being here, but that he’s also kind of a fetcher in the general. Still, as much as I’d like to hit him, I’m not going to do it so long as he’s feigning civility. Unless someone asks me to.

“I agree,” I say. “The Dominion doesn’t have much cause in being here.”

“You—” Ulondil does a double take as he realizes what I just said. “You… agree?”

“Yep,” I say. “They only want a foothold into Cyrodiil, after all, and I don’t understand the obsession with Cyrodiil. They’ve already got the Summerset Isles, after all, what in Oblivion do they want Cyrodiil for?” I pause. “I mean. We’ve already got… because I’m definitely an Altmer.”

Ulondil gives me an odd look. “And the Altmer took the Summerset Isles from the Maormer. I won’t allow them to take another island from us.”

“Sure,” I say easily. “And not like they’d cheerfully trade Summerset for Cyrodiil, either. On the other hand, if the Dominion doesn’t take control of this island, the Ebonheart Pact will be here next. We’re not that far from Black Marsh. And the Argonians can swim a lot better than the Altmer. Sinking their ships would barely slow them down.”

I have managed to look at a map in the meantime.

“If you disagree with the Dominion’s position, why are you helping them?” Ulondil asks.

I shrug broadly. “They’re my best prospect, really. Now, I know nobody seems to want to show them a copy of this treaty, but honestly, they’re not going to just walk away and say ‘oh, okay’ just because they got ‘no’. They’re not really the sort who will take ‘no’ for an answer. And it just makes it look like you’re hiding something sinister. Now, I’m sure everything here is on the up-and-up, and they’re not likely to be finding any loopholes they can use to their advantage, right?” I throw up my hands. “And even if you didn’t have a treaty in the first place, what does it matter? What are they going to do, pull another fleet out of their arses so it can get sunk too?”

Ulondil has to snicker at that. “You seem like a sensible mer, Neralion. For a ground-walker. I would strongly suggest that you find a boat to anywhere other than here and leave your Dominion associates to their own devices.”

“I will take your advice into consideration,” I tell him, and bid him good day.

They’re totally not planning something sinister.

I inform the Silvenar of what I’ve found out and he discreetly directs me toward our ‘mutual friend’ who is frequenting a local drinking establishment, so I head out to meet up with Razum-dar. ‘Establishment’ seems like a generous term for a building with one wall and two half-walls, but as always with Khajiit, walls are optional.

Next to the open-air pub, a Khajiit is showing off a dangerous caged animal to onlookers, a ‘dog’ from Glenumbra. Despite having looked at a map in the meantime, I don’t quite remember where Glenumbra is. Probably Daggerfall Covenant territory since I paid less attention to what was over that way. The animal seems pretty docile, panting softly in its cage. Someone might even find it cute, although I find it hard to call anything ‘cute’ that doesn’t have scales. I’m certainly not paying perfectly good gold for the chance to pet it.

I casually take a seat at the bar next to Razum-dar. This is hardly the most private place to conduct a spy meeting (am I actually a spy now?). Raz is clearly only pretending to drink, so I decide I ought to follow suit. They probably don’t have sujamma here, or anything else from Morrowind for that matter, so I order a bottle of a local specialty that probably is mostly made of moon sugar. I don’t plan on doing more than taking a taste at the moment, but a bottle is easy to disguise that I’m not actually drinking much.

“How is your day going, my friend?” Raz asks me.

“Ugh,” I grumble. “Having trouble with paperwork and nobody can get me what I need.”

“It’s always a shame when paperwork gets misplaced,” Raz says. “Always complicates things needlessly. Sometimes it helps to know how many drinks it takes to loosen the tongues of clerks. Three, by the way.”

“Where do you suppose the misplaced paperwork might have fallen?” I wonder.

“Hmm, this one could not say,” Raz says. “Say, did you hear the ambassador increased the guards on the embassy? This one wonders why he felt that was necessary. It’s not like they have anything to hide, after all.”

“Does make one wonder,” I say. “And he’s such a friendly and personable mer, after all.”

This Khajiiti rum or whatever is entirely sweeter than I’d prefer, but no matter. It was worth trying and maybe I can bribe somebody with it at least. I bid good day to Raz and head off toward the embassy. It’s looking like I’m going to need to do some breaking and entering, or at least entering. I stash Headache in an inconspicuous place near the bridge, since battle axes aren’t great for subtlety, before heading inside.

The clerk inside the embassy gruffly informs me that Ambassador Ulondil isn’t present, while I’m trying to discreetly case the place and determine the best way of doing this.

“I was looking to inquire about passage off of this rock,” I say. “Seeing as nobody else seems like competent sailors around here.”

The clerk has to chuckle softly at that. “Sadly there are no ships leaving at the moment, more’s the pity. I’d like to get off of this rock myself.”

“Maybe you could hire me on in the meantime?” I ask. “I could sweep your floors, clean your clothes, stab any giant bugs that wander too close?”

He sighs. “I do not have hiring authority even if I were so inclined.”

The clerk does nothing to stop me from making myself at home, however. I ‘borrow’ some servant’s clothes from a nearby room, then go to explore the place a bit further. There’s a guard inside the building at the room leading into Ulondil’s quarters. Hmm. I still have this rum, and moon sugar makes you sleepy if you consume too much of it. I pour what’s left of the bottle (most of it) into a mug and stir in a couple generous spoonfuls of moon sugar, and take it to the guard.

“Care for a drink, sir?” I ask, putting on my best servant demeanor.

“Who are you?” the guard asks.

“I’m the new servant, sir,” I say. “The clerk sent me to bring you a drink.”

“Oh, did he? Well, maybe he’s not so bad after all.” He takes the drink.

“Could you tell me where you keep the laundry, perhaps, sir?” I ask. “He said it needed to be done right away and I’m still learning my way around here.”

“It’s in there.” He points toward another room. “See to that and leave me to my drink, servant.”

I head into the next room, careful to stay in sight of the doorway, and make a show of gathering up laundry while waiting for the moon sugar to kick in. I’m not disappointed. It isn’t long before the guard is dozing away, slumped over at the table.

With the door now unguarded, I take the opportunity to slip inside and take a look around. I’d expected to have to go through desks, drawers, and bookcases to find it, but it’s just laying right out in the open. After confirming it’s the right thing with a quick skim, I grab it and return to the laundry. I hide it in the bottom of the laundry basket and take my time gathering up the soiled clothing before heading back outside. No one stops me.

While pretending to do laundry, I take a good look over the treaty to see what the deal is with it myself, and also to ensure that I’ve actually grabbed the right thing after all. The treaty favors the Maormer pretty significantly and from the sounds of things, was signed under duress and threat of violence. And celebrations catered at the expense of the people of Khenarthi’s Roost that they aren’t allowed to join in on? Now that’s just rude.

I slip out of sight, abandoning the laundry, change back into Neralion the perfectly ordinary sellsword (sellaxe?) and retrieve my axe. Razum-dar is waiting for me on the bridge, casually leaning against the railing.

“Ah, my friend,” Raz says. “Did you get the paperwork squared away?”

“Yep,” I say, passing it over to him equally casually. “What do you think? I’m not sure how favorable the trade contract might be for us, but I’m sure someone as clever as my favorite Khajiit can find a way to make it work for us, yes?”

“Hmm,” Raz says, looking it over and scratching his chin. “Your flattery does you no favors, my friend. Ah, but you should just run this over to the boss and see what he thinks.” He passes it back. “He’s staying at the house above the armory.”

“Will do.”

I can’t imagine actually wanting to live in the building where people are banging away at forges and work benches all day, but I assume that they’re not also doing it all night too. I know I’m in the right place when I spot the Silvenar’s wife reclining on a bench on the balcony outside. I don’t know her name, but her title is ‘The Green Lady’ for some reason, although she’s not actually green. I’d briefly encountered her while poking around the big building but hadn’t really spoken with her much. I was told that she represents the martial strength of the Bosmer people as the Silvenar represents their spiritual side. I have no idea what that actually means but she looks like she could break a Maormer in two if they look at her funny.

“If you’re looking for the Silvenar, he’s inside,” the Green Lady says. “Do try not to bother him too much. He’s been very busy and stressed.”

“I’m just delivering the paperwork he asked for,” I say.

She nods to me. I open the door and step inside, but freeze in my tracks. The Silvenar lays motionless on the floor, a strange red cloud clinging to him. I draw in a sharp breath—something about it feels distinctly Daedric, and a whiff of sulfur hangs in the air. I crouch down and check for life signs, but although his body is still warm to the touch, there’s no breath or heartbeat.

Rage. This was no accident. He was murdered!