Vos was a cute town. The houses were neatly arranged, the tavern had ample variety in drink to keep one amused and the local magistrate wasn’t completely unreasonable. Or so I thought.
She’d sent goons to collect me, her Mouth, who I didn’t immediately find offensive, and some well armored guards. I complied, if only because I had yet to work up to burning down another village. Yet.
Dratha was everything you would expect of a Telvanni. An air of superiority, well-dressed, ample living quarters. What surprised me was her detached management of the village. Something about ‘treating people like adults’ or some such. I could really grow to like it here.
It remained to be seen just how insane Dratha was. A close brush with death had set her determination in achieving Immortality.
This is normally where I bow out of conversations. I’ll pay my tab, pack my bags and leave, promptly. Quests for immortality usually involve a lot of blood and a great deal of screaming. I would have done just that and left but guards at the door didn’t have the look of complacency and visions of a nice safe bed hundreds of miles away vanished as quickly as it arrived.
So I listened. Something about Daedric ruins, a handful of magic stones and a dark prince. Yup. I should never have left Murkmire. At least the locals were more rational.
I never advise bargains with Daedra. In the book of bad ideas, all chapters start or stop with Daedra. And I was being asked to fetch some magic rocks all so some witch could wrangle madness long enough to stave off her twilight years.
I plundered a number of ruins, some more ruined than others. I was shocked to see a handful of very reasonable cultists and scholars gathered in Ramimilk. My sense of foreboding went off the proverbial charts so I grabbed what I needed and left. But not before stealing a look at the flow of lava within a stones throw of the chamber.