The Second Door

I had never seen a Dwemer tower before, and I couldn't help but gawk. Everyone knew the Dwemer themselves were long gone (though where and why are still up in the air), but their ruin looked as if it could wait countless millennia for them to return. The rusty round door opened easily, if noisily, when I pushed. Ma'Dar crept quietly behind me as I trod cautiously into the place.

Inside, the empty halls echoed mournfully the rhythmic grinding and clicking of strange machines the likes of which I had never imagined. Of course, because their purpose was so unclear it is doubtful that anyone could imagine such things, let alone a somewhat dim Orc. I noticed some ancient shelves that were riddled with rust, but they seemed surprisingly sturdy considering their disrepair. The Dwemer must have been great craftsmen, of a kind to rival the marvelous quality of the greatest modern Orcish smiths.

We couldn't seem to find any trace of the smugglers we were to meet up with, though. Ma'Dar continued on ahead of me, as I studied the design of a beautiful goblet of Dwemer crafting. My distraction was probably for the best; because Ma'Dar was a known Thieves Guild member (and quite a great deal sharper than I), they would likely be more receptive to her. After a few minutes, however, she ran by me in an awful fright headed toward the exit. Perhaps the smugglers were not nice people after all.

As I was her companion, and had grown somewhat attached to her, I trotted after, albeit at a more leisurely pace. I cast a glance behind us, and realized it was not smugglers she was fleeing from. Though I hadn't seen such creatures before, I recognized them instantly from childhood tales: Dwemer Spectres. Four of them chased us, and I had only the Imperial Broadsword taken from my prison guard - nothing that would injure these undead. Apparently, Ma'Dar was similarly ill-prepared.

We exited the ruin, huffing and puffing from our run, and slammed the door behind us. We waited breathlessly for the angry ghosts to simply pass through the door and continue the pursuit, but they did not. Perhaps they were bound somehow to the ruin that had housed them in life.

"Huh?" I inquired astutely of Ma'Dar.

"Deeper into the ruin, I came to a locked and trapped door." She panted (neither of the beastfolk could sweat, to my knowledge), "I tried to pick the lock, and I thought I was being quiet about it, but I think the noise attracted the Spectres. Since I was already detected, I swore loudly." She shook her head in negation, "A voice on the other side of the door warned that I had taken the wrong entrance. Then I ran."

She might have actually spoken in the third person, but I had grown accustomed to that Khajiiti habit during my stay in jail. At any rate, we explored the grounds the ruins were built upon more thoroughly, and indeed found what looked like a second entrance. It was well hidden among a patch of wickwheat, so we didn't feel as witless for having overlooked it.

Inside, we finally met the smugglers. There were just three of them, and they seemed a pleasant enough sort. As it turns out, Kievier Sounien (which I was told [several times] is pronounced Kev-e-yay Sow-neh), a Breton battlemage, had used a Turn Undead spell to usher the Spectres into the lower level. The ghosts, he said with pride, were our security system. Besides which, if anyone cared to investigate the ruin and were attacked by them, nothing would seem out of place. Among a group of thieves and a battlemage, however, I began to think myself out of place. . .