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

As I’m traveling across Khenarthi’s Roost, still not having found the correct Khajiit temple that I’ve been searching for, I come upon a farm that looks like it has been ravaged by a terrible fire. I cross a fancy arched bridge and approach to take a closer look around out of curiosity.

There’s a couple of Altmer looking around as well not far from the bridge. The one wearing fancier armor introduces herself as Officer Lorin and immediately mistakes me for a field hand.

I make a face and look down at my rags. “I really need to get some new armor.”

“Ah, you’re from the shipwreck, then?” Lorin asks. “Your armor is at the bottom of the ocean now? A shame about that.”

“Yeah,” I lie. “The name’s Nelarion.” I clear my throat. “Neralion. Recruit. Soldier. Whatever.”

“Did you hit your head on something when your ship went down as well?” Lorin wonders.

I pause and rub my forehead exaggeratedly. “I don’t remember, but come to think, I have had a splitting headache all day so I’m sure that’s totally what happened.”

“You might want to see a healer or get a potion for that when you can,” Lorin says. “Sadly there isn’t one around here. A shame, that. Azbi-ra’s father was injured in the fire. They’re the ones who run this plantation.”

“I’m probably too broke at the moment to afford potions,” I mumble.

“There might be some coin in it for you if you can assist in our investigation,” Lorin says. “I need to know if this was arson, but Azbi-ra was not particularly forthcoming. Perhaps someone who does not look like a Thalmor inspector would be able to find out more information.”

I pretend to know what the Thalmor is, assuming that it’s some sort of judicial organization if they’re inspecting potential crimes. I’m just an ordinary Altmer soldier who potentially has a head injury, and ordinary Altmer soldiers probably already know what the Thalmor is. At Lorin’s direction, I head off toward a building on the other side of the bridge that I’m not quite sure if it’s a barn or a house or something. It’s a bit open to be a house, but then these cat people don’t seem nearly as concerned about walls as people who live in less pleasant climates are.

Inside the barn-house is a cat woman kneeling by a cat man who is laying on a mat on the floor wheezing.

“Hey,” I say as I poke my head in. “I’m Neralion. I heard about the fire. Are you alright?”

“Azbi-ra is fine, but her father, oh, he inhaled sugar-smoke and now he can hardly breathe. He needs medicine, powerful potions, or he’ll surely die.”

“Maybe I can help?” I ask. “I’m not the best healer around but maybe I can stabilize it a bit?”

“You are welcome to try,” Azbi-ra says. “This one is grateful for the offer nonetheless.”

I crouch close to the Khajiit and try to focus my magicka and let singing golden healing magic flow into the man. Maybe it’s my imagination but his breathing does seem to be getting a little quieter. Or maybe it’s just that his lungs are still weakening regardless of my attempts.

“I guess that’s all I can do,” I say, examining him for a moment longer before straightening. “Maybe it’ll at least buy him some time.”

“He ran into one of our storehouses to try to save our alchemical tools,” Azbi-ra says. “They are very valuable, and maybe they could be traded for medicine that could save him, if any of them survived the fire.”

“I could go take a look,” I say.

“Would you? Azbi-ra would be grateful. Be careful if you go in there. The structures may be unstable and the skeevers have gone mad.”

Skeevers are one thing that I’d hoped not to see in this part of the world, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. They’re basically just large rats, after all, and have a tendency to find their way anywhere they feel like being. I agree to search for the tools and head back to the farm. Officer Lorin asks if I learned anything and I relay what Azbi-ra told me.

“Why do farmers need alchemical tools?” Lorin wonders.

“Why not?” I shrug. “They probably make potions with them. I wish I were any good at making potions. Good money to be had in that. Turning every random flower and weed you find on the side of the road into something useful? Hell yes. I’d be carrying a flower basket everywhere.” I pause thoughtfully. “Do you suppose there’s a good market for selling raw alchemical ingredients? I might need to start carrying a flower basket everywhere.”

“Probably, but I don’t imagine the more common plants are worth all that much,” Lorin says. “You are welcome to go inspect the ruins if you wish. Be certain to let me know if you find anything suspicious.”

“Will do,” I say.

The farm is swarming with mad skeevers who seem to be even more aggressive than usual. I probably look absolutely ridiculous as I try to hit them with my axe while they’re jumping about as if the ground were lava. And for all that, my search comes up empty. All the alchemical tools I run across have been rendered useless by the fire.

“You!” A Khajiit runs up to me. “You dare come to loot my family’s land? Zaban-ma will give you a thrashing if you do not leave now.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “You’re awfully bold to threaten someone who is carrying a battle axe, when you’ve got nothing but your bare claws. Are you the brother Azbi-ra mentioned, then? She sent me to try to retrieve alchemical tools.”

“You won’t find any. Zaban-ma made sure they were destroyed. But why would she send you instead of coming herself?”

“She stayed back with your father,” I say.

“My father?” Zaban-ma wonders. “But my father was supposed to go to Mistral yesterday.”

“Apparently he didn’t,” I say. “He was injured trying to retrieve those tools from a burning building. I don’t know why he felt it necessary… it’s just stuff. It’s not worth someone’s life.”

He buries his face in his paws and groans. “Zaban-ma agrees. He did not mean to hurt anyone.”

“You set the fires?” I ask. “Why?”

“Zaban-ma caught his sister brewing skooma last week,” the Khajiit says quietly. “Foolish and greedy, but Zaban-ma does not think his family deserves prison for it. He was trying to destroy the evidence of it.”

“There have to be less attention-grabbing ways of destroying evidence,” I say. “Forgive this humble Altmer a stupid question, but… what exactly is skooma?”

“A vile drug,” Zaban-ma explains. “It destroys the body and mind and ruins lives. It’ll make you feel good, sure, better than you ever have before, for a short time, but then you will want more, and more, and you will do anything to get your paws on another vial, and another, and another. Zaban-ma has seen good friends waste away from skooma addiction and would not wish it on anyone.”

“So she was making skooma to get more money, then?”

Zaban-ma nods. “We were in debt, and Zaban-ma knew something was up when Azbi-ra started sneaking away and acting suspiciously and then the debt collectors stopped coming. Oh, Zaban-ma should be with his father. Stranger, Zaban-ma saw his sister bury something on the beach, marked with colorful shells. No doubt it was skooma. Would you be willing to go find it so that the evidence can be destroyed?”

“Of course,” I say. “Go to your father. I’ll take care of this.”

I part ways with Zaban-ma and head down the beach in the direction he indicated. ‘Colorful seashells’ turns out to be a pretty useless description and I only wind up finding the correct spot when I run across someone digging in the sand who yells something about the Crosstree Bandits while attacking me. What sort of bandit group seriously puts the word ‘bandit’ in their name, anyway?

Oh well, after killing the bandit, I take a look in the sack that had just been dug up, full of small vials. I sympathize with these drug-dealing cat people and I don’t really see how it’s the business of the Thalmor or the Aldmeri Dominion or whoever is actually in charge of laws around here what sort of recreational substances people choose to use in their spare time. Best make sure there’s no evidence to be found here, then.

I open up one of the vials and drink it down. It tastes so sweet that it’s almost disgusting, but it tingles on the way down and prickles at my tongue. There’s more vials in this bag than I’d thought at first. It’s going to take a while to dispose of them all. I take out another vial and drink it, then another and another. I lose count as my vision becomes blurry, and spill a few as my hands start shaking uncontrollably. There! Done! Got them all!

I stand up unsteadily, accidentally stepping on the scattered pile of vials as I do. Shards of broken glass drive through my thin prison footwraps but my mind hardly registers the pain. Colors swim in my vision. The landscape warps and twists before my eyes.

I’m flying~~~~

No, wait, I’m falling.

…

I wake up naked behind the wayshrine on the hill with no memory of how I got there.

My head spins as I sit up too quickly. Dammit. What just happened? Ugh. Note to self: Don’t do skooma. Or at least don’t do quite so much of it at once. No, let’s just go with not doing skooma. That’s the more sensible choice.

I climb to a crouching position (wait, wasn’t my foot injured?) and swipe some laundry from a convenient nearby clothesline. When I slip behind the temple to get dressed somewhere out of sight, I notice a Skyshard perched on the ledge in the back. What’s one of those things doing here? I guess it either just randomly fell here or someone put it here as decoration or something. Although if it were decoration I’d have expected it to be in the front. I touch it to see if it reacts like the one the Prophet summoned did, and sure enough, a rush of energy pours into me. A much better sort of rush than skooma, maybe. One that leaves me actually feeling a little stronger than making me wake up naked somewhere. I don’t know if anyone’s going to be running campaigns on not doing Skyshards and they’re probably not illegal but who knows.

My attempt to put on my newly stolen clothes immediately fails upon realizing that they’re sized for a small, lithe cat woman. While I, as not actually an Altmer, seem to be on the smallish size compared to the Altmer I have seen thus far, this still isn’t large enough to actually fit me. I creep around toward the Dominion tents I’d seen set up on the other side of the hill to steal their laundry instead. I slink behind Muzur’s stall as he’s working on getting his business set up.

Muzur twitches an ear and looks about suspiciously. “Is that ghost back? That ghost better not be back.”

“No, it’s just me, Nerilian,” I reply. “Neralion.” Ugh, do I need to get that tattooed on my forearm or something? “Neraaalion,” I say slowly. Maybe if I say it enough I’ll remember it. I hate my fake name. Maybe I just need another one. This one’s obviously not working out very well. “You know what, just call me Neri.”

“Why are you skulking about?” Muzur asks.

“I lost my pants,” I reply.

“… How did you lose your pants?”

“Did something that turned out to be incredibly stupid,” I reply. “There’s more pants over at the Dominion tents over there, aren’t there?”

Muzur sighs and chucks a towel over the stall at me. “Here. You can say you were bathing and be a little more casual. You are no good at the sneaky thing, not like sleek Khajiit. Bring the towel back.”

“Thanks!” I reply, wrapping it around my waist.

I do my best to try to act casual as I hop down to approach the tents. Fortunately for me, the Altmer there aren’t actually paying very much attention and I manage to slip into one of the tents without anyone stopping to question me. One of the uniforms fits me well enough, at least. Hopefully they’ve got spares here or someone is going to be in trouble for missing their uniform. Once I’m dressed, I return the towel to Muzur with another thank.

Where in the world did I drop my axe?

I climb down the hill and make for the beach by the sugar farm in hopes of spotting the shiny glint of Bubbles laying somewhere in the dirt or sand along the way. How do you manage to misplace a battle axe, anyway? Of course, I wind up running straight into another thunderbug, and me without a weapon. Between my own crappy fire spell, punching it in the face, and wrestling a limb off, I do manage to kill the thing, but not before being shocked several times. Ow, ow, ow!

The worst of it is that I don’t even have the coin I’d gotten from selling the pieces of the last thunderbugs I’d killed. I sell this one to the merchant along the road in exchange for a small dagger (which I dub Poker) so that I’m at least not completely unarmed and can remove thunderbug glands without disgustingly pulling them out with my bare hands. I continue on toward the farm, having already made a mess of my freshly laundered stolen uniform. Before I get to the bridge, however, I spot the two Khajiit and the Thalmor officers standing around by the barn-house.

“You there!” Officer Lorin calls out to me as I approach. “Neralion, you said your name was?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say. “Is there a problem?”

“Father is dead,” Azbi-ra rasps through sobs, and I only then notice that she’s kneeling next to a freshly dug grave.

My face falls. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

“And I’ve been asking around about you, Neralion,” Lorin says. “Nobody can remember seeing you before the shipwreck.”

“Damn, you mean to tell me everyone already forgot about the new guy?” I say. “I didn’t think I was that forgettable.”

“You’re really not,” Lorin says. “I can’t imagine that anyone who has spoken to you for five minutes could simply forget you. Tell me the truth. Who are you, really, and what are you doing here? You’re helping these Khajiit smuggle skooma, aren’t you?”

“Honestly, I didn’t even know what skooma was until today,” I say. “Nor moon sugar, for that matter.”

“You’re twitching,” Officer Lorin observes.

“Yeah, I just punched a thunderbug to death,” I say. “I definitely did not just down a bunch of skooma or anything like that. Nope.”

Lorin stares at me for several long moments as if weighing whether or not she believes me against whether or not she wants to try to do anything about it. “Right…” she says dubiously. “You still haven’t answered my question. You stole that uniform, didn’t you.”

I sigh and lower my voice. “Fine, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. I will tell you who I am. You can’t tell anyone, though. I’m secretly a spy for the Queen.”

“You?” Lorin says, raising an eyebrow. “One of the Eyes of the Queen?”

“I think I’ve done a pretty good job of making myself look like absolutely anything but a spy, don’t you agree?” I say.

Note to self: Try to actually become a spy for the Queen just in case someone tries to look into my story who would actually be authorized to know that sort of thing.

Addendum: Also figure out what the Queen’s name actually is.

Lorin stares at me passively for an agonizing minute. “Impersonating an Eye of the Queen is a serious offense. I’m reporting you, and if your story doesn’t hold water, you will face the consequences.”

“You do that,” I say.

“Now, Eye of the Queen, did you discover any evidence of skooma at this plantation?” Lorin asks. “That man just shook himself a death. I know a skooma overdose when I see one.”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, putting on my best Hortator voice. “If there was any, the fire destroyed any evidence. But, I definitely have a lead on a skooma operation, a group that calls itself the Crosstree Bandits. They’ve been operating along the shore and may have been stealing moon sugar from the farm. They may have set the fires here to cover their tracks, or perhaps because the Khajiit here refused to play along.”

“That… is entirely plausible,” Lorin says. “I have heard of these Crosstree Bandits you mention and will need to have someone look into them further.”

I nod. “I will continue my own investigation in the meantime.”

Note to self: Figure out another way off the island just in case someone tries to arrest me, too. Possibly with actual skooma smugglers.

“Seeing as I currently have no evidence with which to arrest anyone, I believe we are done here,” Lorin says. She gestures to the other Thalmor and the two of them leave.

Once she’s out of earshot, Zaban-ma says quietly, “You really shouldn’t do skooma.”

“I’ve never done it before,” I mumble, still twitching. “And you asked me to destroy the evidence. What did you expect me to do?”

“Smash it, burn it, dump it in the ocean? If Zaban-ma had known you were just going to take it he would not have suggested it.”

“Whatever, it’s done and it worked, right?”

“Skooma is very addictive,” Zaban-ma says. “You would be wise to keep away from it in the future.”

“Oh, believe me, I will,” I say. “Second worst idea I ever had, right behind marrying my former wife.”

“Go,” Zaban-ma says. “Leave us to mourn our father who died because of that foul drug.”

“My condolences for your father. I’m sorry I could not do more to help.”

I return to the road and continue on my way, feeling a bit guilty about the entire business. Maybe I could actually become a healer. That would be a worthy use of my time, wouldn’t it? All I ever knew was hitting things, and where has hitting things ever gotten me?

Most likely the world is still going to need plenty of things hit anyway.