07: Ambivalence

Some of the villagers had seen me start the fire, and as I watched they turned and fled back towards Khuul with their news. I was in no hurry to beat them to it as it seemed best to let the rumours spread, reverberating and amplifying from each mouth to the next. I had wanted a reputation after all. Time would tell whether the decision had been wise.

Sitting cross legged in the grass I sank into thought. She had indeed practiced necromancy, hence a witch, though it seemed likely that this had been the smallest part of her story. But also the final part, as the blaze in front of me now attested. The heat was scorching my face, the smoke causing me to cough and my eyes to run, but I stayed in place. I wanted to feel something. Satisfaction would be nice. Pleasure? Perhaps that would be a little disturbing under the circumstances. Sadness? A bit suboptimal, but better than nothing. But I did feel nothing. It had pretty much been this way since the ritual. Before that I had been trained to keep my emotions well under control, but they had been there to control. I tried to think of a time since then when emotion had gripped me, without any real success. Perhaps I had felt the echo of anger when Sepia had damned the undead, but was that anger my own?

Time to return to the immediately practical, a decision on how to proceed. I needed to locate my target before I could kill them, so that seemed like the logical step. At the same time, if I returned to Khuul and started asking after Sujata Hlallu immediately, having just killed someone, it would be almost the same as announcing that I was after her life. Better to ask elsewhere perhaps. It would also be better if I could establish my reputation as a Witch Hunter in a more balanced way, but I didn't think this would be too easy in Khuul after the events of this evening. Finally, and perhaps not the best reason, Khuul was just a pathetic community. If I wanted both good quality information and good quality lodgings, I would have to move on.

Gnisis is the largest settlement immediately due south of Khuul so I decided to make it my next destination. I had had the foresight to bring my belongings with me from the lodge, so starting my journey immediately made sense. Sleep in the day, travel at night... well, it suited me just fine.

I used the fire light to inspect the bottles I had gathered from the witches hut. They were almost all healing potions, many of apparently high quality. Something to barter, or that I could use to establish a brighter side to my reputation. Some aspect of granting aid to those in need, to contrast with the Hunter who had raised a cloud of ash over Khuul this evening. The house would burn throughout the night, but I didn't stay to see the dawn.

06: Witch Hunter

I wouldn't describe myself as a particularly charismatic public speaker, but I had no fear of the task, and Witch Hunters have a reputation more in common with the sinister than the flamboyant. There were some magical tricks one could use to boost your voice, but I had no access to these, and again it would not be in common with the role I was assuming. Instead I simply stepped forward and cast the die.

"I am a Witch Hunter, you will leave this matter to me."

It was quite a bold gamble to give a command from the very first, but one has to act with conviction and an almost reckless confidence when speaking to such a group. They were taken aback and fell silent, except for the victim cum narrator who looked at me with doubt.

"Ain't never seen nor heard of you before. One of Akobians ilk huh? With the Inquisition?"

"If you need to ask, then you don't need to know. Even mentioning those names in public speaks volumes of your ignorance."

I had replied with a cold arrogance that seemed to quiet even her for the time being, but there was some truth in what I said. Only a fool would name the Inquisition lightly, not to speak of the menacing High Inquisitor himself, Lord Akobian. The leagues between Cyrodiil and Morrowind were insufficient to prevent the spread of his malignant reputation, and a shiver ran through the group.

"Lead me to within sight of Rilos Bael's house."

The group complied, shuffling like a reluctant herd from the village until some few moments later we sighted a wooden hut in the distance atop a shallow hill. I gestured for them to leave me and was gratified to see all follow my command, muttering amongst themselves and occasionally making protective gestures. Soon I was alone.

So far so good, but now would come the difficult part. I had felt that the covering role of Witch Hunter would suit me well due to their free agency, giving an explanation and excuse for the carrying of specialised forms of equipment such as poisons, and the generally sinister reputation that would leave many reluctant to questions me. This, not to mention that my deadness to magic seemed ideal for such a role. But the fact remained that a Witch, a magic user turned against their community, was a powerful adversary not to be underestimated. Especially one capable of necromancy, though it seemed that until recently Bael had not been so hated by her neighbours. The proximity of her house to the village indicated at least that much.

The front door was open, but otherwise there were no signs of activity in or around the house. I circled to the rear before beginning to climb, moving as quietly and discreetly as possible. This would be the first proper test of my apparent immunity to magical detection. I again ran through the story the mob had been only too happy to lap up. The woman had claimed to have come to the house to console Bael in her distress. Distress about what exactly? Why had her husband been dead and fit for raising in the first place? And why had the curse cast upon our teller of tales left her unmarked and in apparent good health? All important questions, but the crucial information from the story was simply this. One target, the Witch. One known guard, the Zombie husband.

Reaching the rear of the house I crouched, listening. Slow shuffling footsteps within, and the sound of a woman sobbing quietly. Raising myself carefully I peered in through a glass window. The house was just one large room consisting of a bed, table and chairs, and a kitchen area with an open fireplace. All very modestly furnished. There were however a great number of bottles and containers, of the type used to store plant samples and other alchemical reagents. This point interested me a great deal, but first I would have to deal with the occupants.

I could see the woman sat on one of the two chairs, but her hands framed her face and I could not see her expression. It looked like I could have a clear bow shot from the front door if I so chose. As for the so called zombie, I could see the shape of a man shuffling in repeat circle of the room, twitching occasionally. An Imperial by the looks of things. Interesting and surprising, Imperials had not been welcome guests to the Dunmer of Vvardenfell for many years. He appeared to pay no special heed to anything in particular.

Suffer not the undead to exist in this world!

I had never heard Sepia cry out in anger before now, and a shout from within one's own mind is unpleasant to say the least. Was she trying to startle me into being seen? I struggled to maintain my composure and push away the sudden distraction.

A plan was called for, and I gave it some thought. Typically in these situations the undead was a servant bound to the command of their master. If the man had been raised by the Witch then he would only attack me if directly ordered to do so by her, or if he had been told to kill all intruders. Either way he would be much less dangerous with her out of the picture, and she was the main threat. I couldn't assume that her 'curse' would be benign if it landed upon me. Sneak around the the front door, wait until the zombie was out of sight, one shot the Witch, proceed. Simple but to the point. The only finesse that required further thought was the choice of poison for the arrow that I would lodge into her throat. I had brought a few types with me, basic poisons that attacked the target directly, in addition to several others with properties such as brief paralysation or, as I chose here, one with an ability to silence the target for several seconds. Enough time for a second shot if needed, without them being able to summon magical aid.

Crouching again, I slowly made my way around the building, staying below the windows and mentally rehearsing the plan. If all went well it should be almost trivial. Though I had some doubts about this 'Witch', I still needed to be careful not to underestimate her. Reaching the doorway I paused to listen. Memorising the pattern of guard movements by ear is a pretty basic skill for a Morag Tong initiate, and when the only guard is a zombie incapable of varying his pattern of behaviour spontaneously it's pretty easy. After hearing three almost identical laps I carefully withdrew an arrow from my quiver, applied the poison of silence, fitted the arrow, and then waited patiently for the perfect moment. The sound of slow footsteps grew louder, was steady, and then began to fall away, and I took this as my cue to pull the bow string tight, and calmly step up to the doorway.

The woman was sat as I had seen her before, except that she happened to be looking directly at the doorway, and at me, an expression of sorrow, despair and, on seeing me, shock. I fired instantly. The shaft flew true but for the fact that she had raised her arms in a defense, and the arrow pierced her left forearm instead of her neck. Her mouth opened and voiced a spell or scream, but all was silence. She staggered to her feet and started reaching towards a potion nearby, but I was too fast for her. The second shaft took her through the throat and she pitched forward, knocking the bottle to the ground, scattering shattered glass and fluid. She convulsed briefly, but it was all over very quickly, and soon she moved no more. A old harmless woman dead on the floor.

The zombie completed his latest lap, passing face to face with me without missing a step. Exactly as I had planned, right up until he saw the body of the woman. He froze for a moment and then, as I watched in near disbelief, sunk into one of the chairs and stared at her body, unmoving. This was not how zombies were supposed to behave. But it was clear from the bludgeoning wounds to his head that he had indeed already died a mortal death, quite recently by the looks. I waited, but he remained in place.

Ah, such craft and misplaced skill. Elements of his identity were retained. Now I understand everything. But you must end this travesty of unlife.

Sepia seemed calmed now, and if anything her inner voice even had an edge of sadness to it, which made it all the more difficult to ignore. Again I decided that the practical thing to do here was to leave the reflection until later. Moving around the house I gathered all the ingredients and potions I could find, without spending any time examining them.

I moved to the fireplace, dragged a log from the flames, threw it on the carpet and, with scarcely a backward glance at the static tableaux, exited by the door and closed it behind me. Within moments the house was ablaze. The Witch was dead.

05: An Angry Mob

The weather was quite still throughout my moonlit crossing, making for a trouble free if depressingly slow passage, however it did give me time to reflect. Why did Sepia think that the newly established and likely fragile peace in Vvardenfell was tied to the purpose of my mission? The simple answer as I saw it was that my target Sujata Hlaalu was an important figure who either needed to die so as to destabilise the peace process, or who needed to be killed before she herself destabilised it. Right now I had no way to tell which it might be. In some ways it felt like a line of thought that was academic, as it was my mission either way, but at the same time learning more about Sujata would be helpful if only to guess at those who would seek to revenge her death.

Khuul had established itself as one of Vvardenfell's main ports, but I began to doubt the wisdom behind this decision as I tacked my boat around what seemed like the hundredth rock to loom out of the water. This challenge was certainly not helped by it being night time and my having avoided any lighting. Illumination from the moon had seemed more than sufficient during most of the crossing, but the lights of Khuul across the water ahead had ruined my night vision. And I had no spells of Starlight or Nighteye available to me now. I skirted slightly to the east of Khuul, eventually coming ashore at an inlet just shy of the mountain border dividing the western grasslands and the norther ashlands, the sun now beginning its slow climb into the clear sky of a new day.

Leaving the boat behind I made good speed towards Khuul on foot. This region was relatively attractive to the eye. Green grass, flowing streams and even a couple of wild Guar. Relatively distant from the Redoran stronghold of Ald' Ruhn and far from Hlaalu holdings, the area seemed to have escaped the brunt of the conflict. A guard strode out to intercept me as I approached. Yes, I was a mercenary. Yes, I knew the war was over. Thank you. Was I lost? Not any more, but thanks again!

I moved on into the settlement looking for a place to lodge. It was less impressive than I had imagined, mainly consisting of wood huts, although a few stone structures appeared to have been erected in the last, say, two hundred years. After barely five minutes of searching - during which time I managed to circle the settlement twice at walking speed - it became clear to me there was no inn as such, and I approached a hut with a sign advertising lodging. The proprietor appeared distracted as I haggled a price for lodgings for the day, but thanks to travel fatigue the same could be said for me. Rooms are cheaper in the day? What capital news! Wonderful! Now please let me get to to bed. Now.

I slept well, right up until the point where I was woken by the sounds of an angry mob outside. Angry over what? Did that even matter? Drawing my short sword I swiftly moved to the side of my door and waited for a time in ambush, listening carefully. The volume grew louder, but not closer. Having reassured myself that they were not here for me, I took a moment to compose my appearance before stepping forth.

"Witch! Witch!"
"Undeath! Soul Stealer!"
"This cannot stand!"
"She cursed me with vile magic as I fled!"

The latter cry came from a Dunmer woman, obviously a local, and now the focus of the group. She appeared to be enjoying the attention rather, and - as if for my own benefit - began to repeat her tale.

"Rilos Bael! Hearing of her distress and filled with pity, I visited her. Pity for a witch! And I was attacked! Would ye credit it? Would ye believe?"

"Unbelievable!" cried the assembled group, as if on cue, though judging by their enthusiastic response they did indeed believe her.

"Quaking in me shoes but resolute, I reached her home, but scarce had I knocked at her fancy door than it was flung open by... a zombie! Her dog of a husband... Undead! Undead! Undead! Would ye credit it?" With each cry of the word 'undead' her voice grew higher in pitch, her pronunciation stretching the vowels. 'Uuundeeeeeeaaad'

"Unbelievable!" cried the assembled group again, evidently reluctant to expand beyond their limited mob vocabulary.

"Attacked me. And I ran and ran, blood weeping along with me tears. And she... that witch... she shrieked after me and cast vile magic. I felt it sweep over me! A curse I'll warrant!"

"Curse! Curse! Undead!" The mob was getting even more excited.

The woman stood silent for a moment, chest heaving from the exertion of her erudite narrative. Her clothes were torn as if by attack, but I could see no sign of any injury. How accurate was her tale? Again, the matter was almost academic to me. This was an opportunity, and one I seized upon instantly. The opportunity for a better cover than 'unemployed mercenary'. That of Witch Hunter.

04: Blacklight

The Morag Tong Citadel was located a day's travel south of the coastal village of Blacklight, and I didn't anticipate any great difficulty in that leg of the journey. From there I could charter a boat and sail the short distance to Vvardenfell, landing either at the port settlement of Khuul or some more clandestine location. Now my initiation was complete I was minded to make good speed with little delay before leaving. My fellow initiates appeared distrustful of me, and having spent so many years around this area I was keen to explore.

Vvardenfell had always existed in my mind as a great symbol, the ancestral home of my kin, the war torn wasteland devastated by the Demi-God Dagoth Ur and redeemed by Lord Nerevar reborn... yet war raged on. The Great Houses Redoran and Hlaalu, historic enemies, had been fighting a bitter struggle for a time longer than my living memory, though the lore I had been taught pointed to the collapse of the Empire several decades previous as the trigger. Or catalyst, as a grudge had existed between the two houses that predated even Morag Tong historical lore.

As a Morag Tong I now had full access to the extensive armoury, but even a cursory inspection showed that it was largely specialised for assassination and would stand out like a sore thumb in any community. Not a problem if your writ is legal and has the backing of the authorities, but mine apparently was not. I needed a cover that would let me travel openly without revealing my true purpose. Preferably a cover that allowed me to carry at least some weaponry, and that would not appear entirely out of place on an individual traveling into a war zone. I decided to go for the obvious choice of claiming to be a mercenary, though there were admittedly some drawbacks to this - it was still unusual to see a mercenary travelling alone and with free agency. And joining a mercenary organisation did not interest me due to the inherent restrictions and likely complications.

In the end I chose to simply take the short steel sword, bow, quiver and arrows that I had trained with as a candidate. The familiarity would help and they would not draw attention. I chose a bag that ostensibly held chain mail armour, and it did have one such item for appearances sake, but for the most part it was to be filled with food and drink, camping equipment, a little money, and a basic set of light weight alchemy equipment.

Morgan had been right about something unusual and unexpected having changed in me during the ritual. I now seemed dead to magic, both magical detection by others, but also in terms of my own previous magical abilities. This was not to say that I was immune to magic however, as a quick test soon discovered, though I did seem somewhat more resistant to its effect than of old. I would have to rely on potions and poisons more than ever.

The initial journey was trouble free. I knew this area well, and it was largely abandoned. I say abandoned, but the hidden citadel had some part in this as the trainee's were encouraged to dissuade anyone who visited the area from settling. A rather trivial learning opportunity, made even easier by the bleak and uninviting mountain landscape. It was all downhill to Blacklight, and having set out with the dawn I arrived before sunset.

Blacklight had been in decline for a time, but more recently had managed a grotesque resurgence. Once reliant upon fishing to finance it's weak economy, piracy now made the waters unsafe, just one consequence of the war that had raged across Vvardenfell. But when one door closes another opens, as the desperate - or desperately self-serving - residents of Blacklight had proven in turning to slavery. The conflict had created a demand for forced labour to fuel the industry's of war. Argonians seized from Blackmarsh and trafficked via Blacklight, away from the eyes of the authorities. Or far enough to allow sufficiently inexpensive bribes and an adequate profit margin.

I made my way towards the village inn, a newer brick structure that tended to house both travellers and these wealthy 'merchants'. A good place to arrange transport and catch up on news, but as I approached it was unusually quiet, and the common room lacked the typical trappings of decadence and conspicuous displays of wealth. I drew a chair up to the only occupied table and ordered a drink, exchanging the limited pleasantries necessary with my companion. A Dunmer trader fallen on hard times judging by appearances, which he soon confirmed.

"The life blood has left this village these last weeks, the cold life blood that should have been filling those cages down by the quay fit to bursting. Now they're empty. No demand. I had my last shipment sat here for almost a week with no buyers, just spoiling. Eventually I had to cover what losses I could with blunt butchery. But let me tell you, the price for the Argonian hides didn't even cover the gathering costs, let alone that of conveying them from Blackmarsh. And the meat is just sitting there spoiling. Everyone says they don't like the taste. That, or the 'morals'. Such rubbish."

Frankly it was news to me that anyone had ever considered eating Argonian meat, let alone selling it. This trader was clearly in a class of his own in some respects. I asked about the drop in demand.

"You haven't heard? The war in Vvardenfell is over. Never thought I'd see it happen, and never thought that its ending would sadden me, but that's business see. Now my livelihood is done, and I won't go back to fishing for fish. House Indoril has sponsored a peace deal between Redoran and Hlaalu, fantastical really. Fan bloody tastic. You're a mercenary, right? No point going to that ash island now"

Ah, interesting. The resurgent house Indoril. Lord Nerevar again attempts to unite the Dunmer under one banner. Now I can guess why you were given your task.

My 'inner voice' again. Silent for most of the journey and largely unresponsive to direct question. It sounded female, in as much as an inner voice can sound like anything. And it had told me to call it 'Sepia', though there seemed little point as even calling upon this name didn't always work in eliciting a reply. For now I filed away her comment and returned my attention to the trader. I would think about Sepia's observation later.

The merchant was right about it not making much sense for a mercenary to visit a peaceful land, but I decided to stick with this cover for the time being anyway. I organised the hire of his old fishing boat for a pittance. He was bitter about circumstances, drunk, and a fool. But for all that, come the morning he would doubtless repent of the price he had agreed, and it made sense for me to sail across the narrow straight between Blackwater and western Vvardenfell under darkness if I wanted to avoid being seen arrive.

Walking past the empty cages on the quay and struggling to ignore the stink of rotting meat from a nearby warehouse, I found the fishing boat and pushed out to sea.

03: Initiation

Waking up in an unfamiliar place in complete darkness can be disorienting at the best of times, and this was certainly not that. I levered myself onto my side, feeling quite solid physically but with a poor sense of balance. It felt as if the unseen cavern was spinning all around me, but surprisingly I didn't feel the least panic, or indeed any strong emotion. I crawled around the island but could find no sign of the woman. Where the statue had stood there was only an empty pool of water. Curious.

Gradually the sense of disorientation receded and I again entered the lake, having worked out a general idea of direction by the footprints I had left on the island. There were no other footprints. Despite the circumstances I swum with a sense of confidence. Quiet confidence, now that the waterfall had gone. The ache and numbness in my body had also melted away and I felt energised.

In time I became aware of a dim light ahead, which completely failed to illuminate the cavern but was never the less quite conspicuous. Approaching closer I could see a doorway on the shore, sat on the far side of this the Grandmaster, his robes glowing softly. He appeared to be meditating, facing the lake with his eyes closed.

Finally I felt solid ground beneath my feet and stood at the waters edge, the noise of this startling Hsiang out of his apparent reverie. He leaped up, the first time I had ever seen the Grandmaster surprised, and stared at me for a moment, his hand having darted towards a knife at his side.

"Well done... I did not sense you approach"

He looked at me searchingly, searching I supposed for signs of...

He's looking for signs of insanity.

A voice in my head, now laughing softly. I was sure this should have left me astonished and afraid, but instead it seemed only right, only natural. I decided to bow my head towards the grandmaster, a sign of deference to his rank. When I looked up again he appeared more reassured.

"You may speak. Tell me of your ordeal" invited the Grandmaster

But not about that island, the temple, or the Lady.

The internal voice again, not unwelcome. I went with it

"Master Tong, after you left me I swum across the lake. When I came to an island I took the flask and, in unbroken meditation, I drank from the water. A sensation swept over my body but this passed with time. My fears receded, and I swum onward until I saw your glow."

This was the first time I had ever lied to any among the Morag Tong, but again it seemed natural and I spoke calmly. I watched Hsiang carefully while speaking and he had not visibly reacted to the lie, though he continued to study me uneasily, looking me up and down.

Following his cue I looked down at myself only to see that my body seemed... darker... than it should. The light from Hsiang's robes were not illuminating me properly. Perhaps an artifact of the magic suppression from the cavern or lake water? But then why was Master Hsiang surprised? Evidently I had passed the 'sanity test' however, as he released his knife handle and passed a black robe into my arms.

"Dress. Your kin will welcome you into our ranks. And then for your first task"

We walked along the upward sloping passage. There were carvings along some of the walls, invocations in text and painted image to Boethiah, Lord and Patron of Assassination. Shafts of natural light fell from above and the air warmed, until we reached a large anti chamber. A stone statue of Boethiah took pride of place at the centre, a pile of human bones at his feet...

They failed the ritual.

...and a ring of Morag Tong initiates standing assembled before it. Some I knew as those who had taught me, and some were older peers who had taken the initiation earlier and survived, but many were unfamiliar. Among them I recognised Magnus, an old friend of mine whose safety I had feared after he left for the initiation and I heard no news for over a year and until now. But seeing him I felt none of my past warmth toward him.

The remaining ceremony need not bear detailed recount, beyond that I ascertained that all others I spoke to had experienced only the simple initiation that I had lied of having. I was congratulated, but felt no pride or indeed any strong emotion. It should have been slightly disconcerting.

When each Morag Tong agent approached me individually the 'voice in my head' spoke up.

See how she looks nervously at the Grandmaster? She has failed him in some way, and fears of it.

His strength lies in magic, but he thinks something unexpected has changed in you, something that defies his ability.

This one is interested in you. He seemed surprised when you were given the dagger after you were with the group, which must mean this was not standard procedure. He wonders if Hsiang is unsure about you.

Your friend, Magnus. Despite how he looks pleased to see you, I do not think he is. He is not as you remember him.

This complete, the Grandmaster addressed the group.

"We are honoured to welcome our newest initiate, and in ancient tradition I offer him both a Writ and a Name. Alseki, your writ is to execute Sujata Hlaalu of Vvardenfell..."

See the surprise in the faces of your peers? Something is unusual about this task.

Indeed behind the carefully blank masks of the group there seemed a sense of both shock and ...disapproval? But none spoke in protest.

"...and your task complete, return to us a true member of the Morag Tong. Farewell"

Having finished his address, Hsiang left the room immediately, already wrapping a travel cloak about him as if he had a journey ahead. Maybe returning to Mournhold, if the rumours among the candidates held true. Some of the assembled took this as their cue to drift away, while among others muted conversation broke out. Only one approached me. Magnus.

"Alseki, you should know that this writ is not legal, like so many we serve these days... if you are caught they will treat you as a criminal. Presenting the writ may gain you aid from some quaters, but not from the authorities. Also, I was just talking with Morgan. He says that you've changed in a strange way... he says that, magically speaking, he can't sense you. And he says he has never encountered it before... needless to say he doesn't like it. But maybe it will help you." Magnus looked troubled, and his optimistic comment sounded slightly hollow.

I didn't stay to chat. I had to prepare to travel, from Blacklight to Vvardenfell. There to find and kill Sujata Hlaalu.

Besides, I seemed quite capable of hearing a voice solo now. What need of company?

02: Darkness

I gathered my thoughts. I had never relied upon magic, having an almost uniquely poor level of magical strength among the Morag Tong trainees despite being a Dunmer. But this situation was a little different, and a little bit of magical light would have gone a long way, and helped me go a long way. Presuming there was even a long way to go, it was too dark to tell. In an attempt to be positive I registered the observation that others before me, perhaps relatively more reliant on magic, had coped with this same challenge. I simply had to have faith in my training, though admittedly I had not had any training on a situation quite like this. The Morag Tong are assassins but during this exercise the only possible victim could be me.

The cavern sounded large, but how large? I crouched down and searched for a rock, finding a suitable one quickly. Then I threw it as hard as I could at the ground. It shattered with a loud snap, gravel and small chunks of stone striking my legs and loudly splashing into pockets of unseen water. I listened for an echo. In vain. No echo meant that, in theory, this was a big cavern, or at least a noisy one. There was an advantage to this noise however, because I could hear that somewhere to my front right was what sounded like steadily falling water, which gave me a vague sense of direction.

As I saw it I had two options... follow the cavern wall, or head straight across the center towards where the exit presumably lay. The former sounded slower but safer, the latter potentially more risky. The latter it would be. I did not want my memories of the Morag Tong initiation ritual to largely involve scrabbling alongside a wall in the dark. Besides, some of the rocks were pretty jagged. I cast aside my sandals and robe and plunged into the lake before me, flask in hand.

The water was cold and deep. I kept my head above the water. The Grandmaster had made it sound like a bad idea to swallow any water from here without some preparation, and if I had to resort to meditating mid swim I would just sink or freeze. Breast stroke also meant I could listen to the waterfall and vaguely judge my direction. Leaving my clothes beside the rock face that had once been an entrance would allow me to recognise it if I did end up hopelessly lost and following the cavern walls with my hands, unglamourously.

The following swim was long and tiresome, with little to mark the passage of time beyond a growing numbness from cold and ache from fatigue. That and the waterfall sounds slowly reorienting from my front right to my right. Then my knees kicked into the ground painfully and without warning. I found that I had entered an area of small islands. Islands on which to drink and then meditate I supposed, though they seemed quite empty and otherwise uninteresting. Did it make any difference which I chose? I wasn't really sure what criteria to go by, but on island after island the thought came to my mind 'not this one'. Eventually I noticed something interesting, the waterfall sounded like it was water striking a solid surface as opposed to water striking the lake. Maybe there would be something there. I swum toward it, a fine spray of mist striking my face heralding my arrival.

Unlike the other islands this one was not simply a flat expanse but had pillars of crumbling rock, and at the centre of these the metal statue of a woman. It was upon this statue that the falling water fell from above, striking her head and arms before flowing down to her feet and onward to the lake. A significant location then, relative to the emptiness I had encountered in this place to date. I was anxious to get this ritual over with and reached the flask to the statues face, catching the water as it fell from her lips and chin. Then I found a dry part of the island and sat cross legged, the full container resting lightly against my thigh as I prepared to meditate.

I thought back to the training and meditation that all candidates had been taught. The suppression of pain or any distraction, the focus of attention and of poise, and patience. Essential for an assassin. I steadied my breathing which was slightly ragged, stilled my shivering and summoned my confidence.

'Meditate... immediately... to protect your mind... during the process'

What the process would entail I had no idea. Some sort of change. Initiation. Probably accompanied by pain. Apparently a process that could drive you mad if you left yourself unprotected. But, presumably, a process that had useful lasting effects. I needed blind faith unwavering.

The meditative state was surprisingly easy to summon here from an environmental perspective because there were no distractions of light or changing sounds, but suppressing my thoughts was more difficult. My final sane thoughts possibly. That thought didn't help either, but a sense of calmness finally gripped me. I reached for the flask, raised it to my face, paused, then poured and swallowed without letting it even touch my lips.

Describing the initial sensation would be difficult because I was doing everything possible to focus on something else, on an internal mantra. But it was not pleasant. I could feel a kind of numbness creep from my stomach, across my torso and out toward my limbs and neck. Compared to my training however it was was bearable, and I did not let myself get distracted. My hands grew numb and the sensation crept over my face but my internal mantra was unaffected.

My concentration was perfect... right up until two hands clasped the side of my face and an unseen face planted a kiss on my lips. My eyes snapped open (uselessly) in surprise and in an instant my mind was assaulted by that same numbing sensation. I could feel a female body gripping me in a hug, but I could also feel my consciousness slipping away.

She whispered to me "Men hold some things to be wrong and some things to be right, but to one who transcends, all things are fair and good and right". Her voice was both soft and harsh

Then true darkness.

01: The Chosen Candidate

The assemblage knelt as Hsiang Tong, Grandmaster of the Morag Tong, entered the room and stood before us. An electric silence filled the air as the group waited in anticipation. Finally he gestured for one of the candidates to rise. Me.

"Your time has come"

With those words I left behind the life, friends and training that had made up my childhood and adolescence and stepped out into a larger world, via the tunnel that so many promising candidates had followed Hsiang into throughout the years. And not all had returned, it might be added. The Grandmaster walked with a confidence that I struggled to imitate as we started our descent toward the caverns below.

The air was cold and mineral scented, the passage pitch black and lit only by the starlight spell on Hsiang's ceremonial robes.

"After today you will no longer be a candidate. You will either survive the ritual below and become an initiate of the Morag Tong, or fail and die, possibly by my hand... though I am confident in your talents."

Without preamble he pressed an empty metal flask into my hand. It was undecorated, or too tarnished to tell. We walked downward in silence for a few more moments, a distant sound of water dripping onto stone. The air grew cooler. More silence. I couldn't ask any questions, or speak. Silence was part of the ritual, my part. I knew that much only.

"The ritual is simple enough. Soon we will arrive in a cavern, mostly filled with streams, pools, stone. When we reach the entrance on our side I will leave you, sealing the door behind. On the far side is the only exit. I will wait for you there."

"During your crossing you must choose a place to drink from the water using this flask. Upon drinking you must meditate, immediately, to protect your mind. Absolute concentration, without even an instants distraction, until the process is over. Those who have failed have lost part of their sanity, and I have never suffered such to leave with their life."

The sound of dripping water was louder now, the path growing less steep and the bare stone floor giving way to smoothed rock covered by a fine layer of gravel. As Hsiang finished speaking we reached a doorway cut into the rock. Evidently he had given this speech on sufficient occasions to master the timing of delivery perfectly, doubtless helped by the fact that no one had ever been able to ask any questions. He stood by the doorway and I saw no value in hesitating, walking past him without changing my pace. Ego, on the inside I was terrified. I never got a chance to see if my apparent show of confidence had impressed Master Hsiang, as he simply closed the door behind me. I say a door, from this side what had been an entrance felt like unbroken stone.

I stood in the darkness, listening to the sounds of water. Feeling the cold stone beneath my feet. Smelling the mineral smell. And seeing nothing. It seemed pitch black, but for the phantom pseudo-images the minds eye always creates in complete darkness. I sensed nothing living, and after a moment longer in thought I decided to just approach this as a task, pragmatically.

I raised my left arm, a gesture to summon a magical light source. During my training they had apparently purposefully neglected magical training, and from what I had been able to tell I had little talent for it anyway, but I knew at least this much.

Nothing happened. The cavern stayed stubbornly and rather intimidatingly dark. I experimented further without success. Magic didn't work here. I would have to do this the hard way, blind.