Frostmoth Legion Fort, Solstheim

5 Sun's Dawn, 4E 05

It could have been morning or evening; Zaryth could not tell. She wasn't entirely certain if hours or days had passed in that muddled darkness of her mind, the varying stages of consciousness brought on by exhaustion and dehydration. She was curled in a fetal position in the boat, listening to the sound of the waters lapping against the hull of the small craft.

Stagnation. She was akin to a canvas sack filled with metal ingots. Too much effort to sit upright anymore.

The grainy ash forced her to keep her eyes shut, and she no longer had the energy to navigate the ship. She wondered if she'd ever reach Solstheim, or if she'd simply continue to drift in this cloudy ash-gray Void. What if she died here? Who would remember her? Was there anyone alive who still knew her name? She thought of these things, but was too lethargic to care much about it...

Zaryth never thought she would have to face death like this, drifting out on a boat over strange waters, not even knowing the time of day or her general location. She was lost; she had a compass, but she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her due to the thick smoke.

This was what it felt to be truly alone... How many more hours until she died? Would it be of thirst? The toxic air she was forced to breathe? Or would her ship eventually sink under the weight of the ash...?

"Anybody alive out there?"

Zaryth woke up.

It was a male voice, cutting loud and clear. Whoever it was, they were close. Very close. Unless they were a hallucination.

She heard the voice again, speaking more words this time. Zaryth couldn't hear the entire conversation, but she began to hear two different voices.

Divines...! Who...haven't... none from Morrowind... found Carius... any survivors... dead... ought to head to Raven Rock...

Her body jerked into an upright position, but she swooned, lightheaded, her vision darkening into a tangled mass of stringy lines. Nausea curdled her stomach and she gripped the mast with one hand to steady herself. When Zaryth recovered, her bleary eyes could only make out the blurred orb of a distant source of light, perhaps the glow of a lantern.

She tried to shout to get their attention, but her throat was raw from ash. She only managed to make a short gasping sound which quickly turned into a painful coughing fit.

Zaryth's vision blurred again. Fearing she may faint, she bit down as hard as she could on her tongue, until she could taste the metallic blood. The pain sharpened her wits enough for her to focus on casting a spell.

Her magicka reserves still recovering from the arduous journey, she held out her shaking hands and attempted to cast a weak light spell, but the dim orb flickered and faded within seconds.

Thankfully, it seemed like they had noticed her. A distant female voice began shouting orders and the glowing light moved closer in her direction. She slumped back down against the stern and waited. And waited...

When an armored hand gently nudged her awake, Zaryth panicked, having lost all sense of time and believing she must have been out for hours, days, even months.

She was about to ask what day it was, where the sun was, and why her bones felt so weak, but she still could only choke on the ash caught in her throat.

In the background Zaryth heard a murmuring sound... someone's voice, a female.

"Can you hear me?"

They sounded like they were underwater.

It took her a few seconds to realize they were speaking to her. She nodded weakly. Slowly opening her eyes, Zaryth saw a legionnaire standing in front of her in a closed steel helm and a chainmail cuirass. She grew more aware of her surroundings. Her mouth tasted like ash. Yes. Red Mountain truly did erupt. That wasn't a terrible nightmare... it was a terrible reality.

"This one's alive. Nuncius, see to her physical state. She doesn't look well."

"Yes, Captain."

The female gave this order with such certainty, Zaryth understood she must have been the man's superior. Imperials had a lot of different ranks, she thought sleepily. The general was the most important, she thought, and then the general had their captains who did... the important things that the generals didn't feel like doing, and then there were so many arbitrary titles in between that and the lowly guards who wore those gaudy purple skirts over their greaves without realizing how ridiculous they looked.

The legionnaires were tying the two boats together with thick rope, but the Dunmer was barely paying attention, still pondering the complexities of the Imperial chain of command. The male handed Zaryth a flask of water, which she drank from eagerly. He cast a few necessary healing spells to cure the worst of her burns and abrasions, though the Telvanni was still in such a daze, unable to process everything that was happening. The captain half-carried her to their vessel, as her legs were all but useless until she could recover her strength. After her thirst was quenched she began to feel much better, not only because it cleared away the fog in her brain but also because it washed down much of the debris in her throat. Yet she was still exhausted, and just wanted to go to sleep for a very long time...

The man who had healed her looked up at her again. He now had a journal and a lead pencil in his hands. Zaryth didn't know where he got these items from.

"Your name, ma'am?"

Zaryth cleared her throat.

"My... name?" she repeated, her voice quiet and unsteady. It hurt her throat to speak.

He was asking her name? Morrowind was gone. Vvardenfell was gone. The great cities of Vivec, Balmora, and Sadrith Mora had to be smoldering ruins by now. Tel Fyr was probably gone too. Baladas was gone. Divayth Fyr... she didn't know where Master Fyr was, but it was more than likely he was dead too. What was she going to do from here? She was so alone...

Zaryth stared straight ahead of her, unblinking, not remembering the original question.

The two watched her patiently as she went into her trancelike state, but after an entire minute of silence the male piped up again, jolting her back into reality.

"We've been keeping a—"

"List. Yes. Of course you are," Zaryth rasped, regaining her clarity at an alarming rate. She kept her eyes narrowed at him with suspicion.

Upon closer examination Zaryth realized he was no legionnaire. He wore robes. Robes covered in gray ash, their original color a mystery. A priest, perhaps. That would explain the healing spells.

The female legionnaire cleared her throat and quickly spoke up.

"Please excuse his tactlessness. We're... still accounting for our own dead at Frostmoth Legion Fort, but we have been recording the names of any survivors that may come through. If any loved ones should come searching-"
"Zaryth Velani." She said this mainly to get the Imperials to stop talking. Everyone who cared about her was dead. No one was going to come looking for her.

The healer quickly jotted this down, the pencil making an audible skritch skritch against the paper.

She realized that she ought to tell them that Baladas was dead. She couldn't save him. He had far more associates and connections than she did. She couldn't save him.

"The one in my boat, his name was Baladas Demnevanni. You can scribble his name on your 'dead' list."

She couldn't save him.

The Telvanni started twisting the ring around her finger nervously. The heat from the metal band had burned her skin, and as the ring rubbed against the wound the pain reminded her that she was still alive.

She couldn't save him.

"I'm... sorry about your loss. Please, let me know if there is any way my services could be of-"

Zaryth silenced the priest with a withering look.

"Sorry about what? Baladas, or all of Morrowind?" she quipped.

The woman laid a hand on her comrade's shoulder and whispered something in his ear about not saying anything at all if he couldn't stop himself from making foolish remarks. She was the one who continued speaking as they began to row the boat towards the fort.

"I apologize for the brusque introduction. This is our priest, Antonius Nuncius. I'm Captain Gaea Artoria-" The woman swallowed hard before she continued. "Our commander, General Carius... perished when the earthquakes collapsed most of Frostmoth. As his highest ranking officer I have taken command of the fort and its remaining troops. We're still sorting everything out here and trying to get the rest of our own to Raven Rock. We'll give Frostmoth one last search and then we'll take you to where the other refugees are staying. We don't have the proper resources yet to help for much, but I'll make certain they give you fresh clothes, and some food. You must be starving."

There it was. So typically Imperial. Did all Legionnaires receive an etiquette manual as soon as they were recruited? That obligatory display of goodwill and welcoming hospitality towards some foreign n'wah on a land that they've captured and annexed, without taking into account the – no, that wasn't right. They had just saved her life. She couldn't afford to be scornful of them. Not here, not now.

"You know... other than a group that came in on a barge from Blacklight, we've not seen any dark elves come through. Mostly the native Nords from the outlying villages on Solstheim seeking shelter from the ashfall. I know this must be hard for you to talk about, but can you tell us what part of Morrowind you came in from? I've been told everything north of Mournhold is just... gone..."

Zaryth didn't know why Artoria needed to know, or why she was still trying to conceal her curiosity under a thin layer of officialism. She just wanted them to leave her alone. That would be nice, for a change.

"Not... not the mainland. Vvardenfell. I was in Sheogorad when it... erupted."

It was still difficult for her to speak, and the gritty, broken-glass feeling in her throat made it painful. They had to give her more water before she could continue, going into a detached, clinical assessment of the damage in Vvardenfell.

"It's still burning, all of it, but soon enough there will only be ash-wastes left. From where I was, I managed to get to Gnisis and escape by boat. Some time later, you found me. Assume anything within Red Mountain's direct blast radius, which includes all of Vvardenfell, is completely uninhabitable by now. Coastal towns are collapsing into the sea, everything is buried under ash, the lava sets fire to everything it touches, and fissures will be spewing toxic gasses into the air for a long time. And those hardy enough to survive all of that won't live for much longer, not when the water supply is heavily contaminated with sulfuric acid."

She felt nothing as she related the disaster to them just as they wanted. Callous, emotionless. It was the only way she could speak of it. She buried her emotions into an unfathomable abyss so that she didn't have to endure the truth.

The two Imperials maintained a heavy silence for a long while.

"Akatosh deliver us..." breathed Artoria finally, staring at the Dunmer woman in admiration and terror. "That must have been – "

"Horrible? Yes. I'd prefer not to speak of it anymore."

Neither Captain Artoria nor the priest said anything else for a long while. Zaryth liked this silence. It meant she didn't have to talk to them.

As they pulled closer to the docks, Zaryth discerned through the haze that Frostmoth Legion Fort had also suffered severe damage from the earthquake, its towers crumbling. She did remember the captain mentioning something about accounting for their own dead, and their old commander having died. Perhaps Morrowind was not the only region affected...

Artoria fearlessly strode through the broken door of the fort, searching for survivors as she had said she would. The priest remained seated in the boat with Zaryth.

They did not say anything to each other for a while, but Antonius was the one who broke the silence, speaking gently this time, without his Imperial punctiliousness.

"So... are you from House Telvanni?"

Zaryth's eyebrows raised. That was an unexpectedly perceptive remark from the otherwise tactless priest. As she gave no immediate answer he continued, flustered.

"My apologies, am I incorrect? I only assumed, it's, well... your name sounds Telvanni, and your robes gave me the impression that you were a mage. I know that dark elves take pride in their Great House affiliations..."

Zaryth couldn't hold back a short sob, but it might have been mistaken for a cough. She nodded at the priest. Tears stung her eyes.

For whatever it was worth, she was still a Telvanni. Red Mountain spared her that much.