Before I return to Coldharbour, I have a brief meeting with the Argonians of Haj Uxith. A number of their warriors are coming back to Coldharbour, on the promise of revenge. I’m definitely not going to complain about having more warriors on my side, and they at least seem less likely to be in need of rescue than the contingent I went into Coldharbour with originally.

  “Malacath demands that we seek revenge against those who wronged us,” says their head warrior, whose name I still can’t spell. “His burden is still lighter than the one Molag Bal placed upon us.”

  I nod. “I’ll be glad to have you at my back. How are your people settling in?”

  “It is… strange, to feel the sun on our scales, but it is not a bad thing. It gives people hope. Life is precious and must be preserved.”

  “Have you had any trouble with your new neighbors?”

  He shakes his head. “None. Your word seems to carry a lot of weight. The Wood Elves, Orcs, and Khajiit have all come to visit and welcome us. They’ve been more than a little confused about how our village appeared here, but mostly they’ve been curious and friendly. It shames me to think that this is why we were in Coldharbour, out of fear of change and those who are different.”

  There are more meetings in the Hollow City as well. There are always more meetings. Everyone needs to talk about things before moving. I don’t begrudge them that, but I feel that many words are being spoken and few are being listened to. At least King Dynar doesn’t try to give anymore speeches. One was more than enough. I think the only one who actually found that speech inspiring was Sees-All-Colors, and I doubt she understood all the archaic words.

  At least the people who actually work are actually working. Equipment is sorted out and distributed, troops arranged and support gathered. Allies from Coldharbour and Tamriel make ready to storm Molag Bal’s defenses. The obstacles he put in the way of anyone that might eventually come out of the Hollow City and its vicinity. He’s had thousands of years to prepare. Nobody wants to talk about our chances, aside from Vanus, whose supreme confidence I don’t bother trying to discourage.

  “Yes, Vanus, you’re totally awesome,” I say. “Just remember you have an army on your side. You don’t need to go it alone and try to save Nirn by yourself. Besides, I’d be very disappointed if I didn’t get some good fights in.”

  With all the meetings and preparations out of the way, it’s time to move on to our next big obstacle in Coldharbour. Which is kind of the opposite of an obstacle, really: The Chasm. With a capital C and everything. If anyone were so inclined, we’d be able to just levitate straight across, if it weren’t for the evil rocks that are maintaining a magic barrier over it.

  According to Cadwell, we will need to break those magic rocks to get through to the gatehouse, where we must beat up Molag Grunda, a Winged Twilight who is referred to as Molag Bal’s daughter. I don’t want to know how that works and neither does anyone else here, not even the flirty Breton knight.

  We step out of the Hollow City and into the dismal blue of Coldharbour once again, the monochrome palette broken only by the red flames of our mages who are probably only using red flames to keep themselves warm and break up the monotony. The Chasm is comprised of more ominous ledges and drops into churning clouds than usual, but it’s not a complete abyss with no way across. Aside from the pipes spanning the span, there’s a winding pathway swarming with Daedra, ready to harry us at every turn.

  I recognize the setup when I see it. This isn’t meant as an impossible task. Molag Bal could easily keep us from doing this at all if he were so inclined. He didn’t have to put a path here. Not everywhere in Coldharbour has a path leading to it. No, this is a challenge. While the scattered detritus of southern Coldharbour was merely a place to toss fools, this is clearly a test. He isn’t going to make this easy on us, but he wants us to try nonetheless.

  I don’t voice aloud my observations to the bulk of the army. Only to my friends and Cadwell. Even these common fighters and mages who are quickly becoming veterans of Coldharbour wouldn’t understand. It might demoralize them. They wouldn’t understand that this means we might actually succeed at this. Nothing happens in this realm without its lord’s permission.

  “Neri, are you feeling alright?” Eran asks me quietly.

  “Pretty good, all things considered,” I reply. “Why?”

  “I’m just worried,” Eran says. “You’re always on at us about making sure to do mental health checks in a place like this. I’m doing you a mental health check. You’re babbling about Molag Bal giving us permission to test ourselves against his defenses.”

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  I chuckle softly. “Yeah. Thanks. No, really, I’m fine. I’m serious that this is an encouraging prospect. Daedra are immortal and the Princes are gods, especially in their own domain. He knows we’re here, especially after we smashed up his forge and big fuck-off Anchor, but he probably knew we were here from the start. We weren’t especially subtle about it.”

  “So why would he just let us thwart his plans?” Eran asks.

  “Why do people put rats in mazes?” I ask.

  “I don’t see how Daedric Princes thinking of us as rats is at all reassuring,” Eran says.

  Tom Gautier and Theryn Teldras are right behind my team. While we’re getting ready, Theryn goes over to speak with an Argonian woman, asking something about Stonefalls, and Tom approaches that knight, Darien Gautier. Some cousin or nephew of his, I suppose. They don’t seem terribly fond of one another, but we’ve all got a common goal in mind so Tom is willing to set aside that Darien turned out to be a staunch beacon of light and flirtation and Darien to set aside that Tom is a sketchy necromancer who frequently solves problems in questionable ways. I gather Tom is something of a black guar of the family.

  We head in. I take point, with Eran at my side and my friends and allies trailing behind me. As we head through fighting Daedra, I shout out information about their types and expected abilities. This has the dual effect of educating my allies in how to best kill our enemies, and pissing off our enemies.

  “Ogrim!” I yell out. “They like to charge, and will plow you over. Dodge to the side when they crouch. They’re also too dumb not to charge even though I just warned you about it. They’ll be dizzy if they charge and don’t hit anyone, so take that opening to strike!”

  People pass along my advice up the line to anyone that’s out of earshot, and we make for quite the effective force. Gelur and I make sure that anyone near us that gets injured stays in the fight and isn’t about to bleed to death on the field. While I’m sure most of them are destined to wind up in Aetherius rather than be trapped here for eternity, that’s by no means a certainty in this place. Most of the people whose souls are in Coldharbour already shouldn’t be here. Like me.

  This is actually a point where having a small army at my back is finally helpful in this place. There are infinite Daedra that can be thrown at us, or the same Daedra over and over if need be, and any of the guild members that survived are perfectly capable of holding off Scamps and Churls on their own. As my party breaks evil rocks and claims portals, the expedition forces move in behind us to secure the area.

  Cadwell actually seems happy to be meeting Molag Grunda again. I don’t imagine that she’s just going to invite us in for tea and moon sugar biscuits, though, but I won’t rule it out. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen this era.

  “Do you frequently have tea with Daedra?” Eran wonders.

  “Whenever I get the chance!” Cadwell replies. “Sadly, that chance is not very frequent. Knowing Molag Grunda, she won’t be happy to see us at all. Expect biting sarcasm and probably some literal biting.”

  “The floor says ‘Molag Bal rules Coldharbour’, by the way,” I tell Eran. “In case you were wondering. Although it looks like it was carved by someone who can’t read since some of the letters are fucked up and backwards or upside down, but at least that’s what it was trying to say.”

  Eran groans. “The least they could do is write their tacky slogans correctly.”

  “Ilara-daro must learn this alphabet,” Ilara says. “Then she can vandalize the tacky slogans properly. Make it say ‘Molag Bal likes moon sugar’ instead.”

  Cadwell’s expertise of Coldharbour comes in handy. He was always one who had more or less free reign over wherever he went, and nothing could really hold him. He appears wherever he wants to, and only didn’t bother to escape because he didn’t want to and actually likes it here. And they called me mad. To open the gatehouse, he tells us, we need to pull a lever or two, spin a flywheel, and so forth. While beating up all the Daedra that attempt to stop us from doing so. Honestly, we could probably have figured that out ourselves. In my experience, every lever should be pulled. That’s what levers are for, after all.

  “Molag Grunda!” I call out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! Cadwell has been telling us all about your grace and charm!”

  Molag Grunda replies with a harpy-like retort dripping with screeching grace and charm.

  “Why, that’s positively rude!” Cadwell says.

  Molag Grunda has a pet Flesh Atronach she refers to by the name of “Tiny”. The sort with a mace as one hand and a torch as the other. The unlife of a Flesh Atronach is a sad lot, even one that’s so babied and being sent to rip apart uninvited guests. After we rip apart her precious darling instead, she swoops down to attack us herself.

  The enraged Winged Twilight might be slightly larger than usual, but she’s hardly the toughest fight I’ve ever had. And considerably less irritating than fighting the winged menaces of Vvardenfell. Nonetheless, the battle inspires some truly epic theme music.

  One of the mages comments on the music making them feel more inspired. It seems they think making music sound around me isn’t that weird, but is some form of exotic music magic. I guess that makes sense. That’s the sort of thing the Dwemer did, after all, although they were a lot more stolid about it. Let me tell you, the Dwemer might have really been into their tonal architecture or whatever, but there was little that other races would consider aesthetically pleasing about their music. It’s like a schematic versus a painting.

  I had no idea what I was getting when I made a deal with the Madgod on a whim while higher than Masser and Secunda. That could have gone so much worse. It seemed like a hilarious idea at the time, but I’m not sure if I would have done it now.

  I think I’m just stressed. When this is over, I can go back to fun and games and accidentally taking over Nirn. When this is over.