Come morning, Lisin and I go back to Septimus to give him the Lexicon he wanted, keeping the Scroll for ourselves, of course. But when I'm turning to leave the cave, it seems like something is different.
It turns out it's a Daedric Lord, which somehow doesn't surprise me. Hermaeus Mora, he calls himself, lord of the unknowable, and tells me to help Septimus gather some blood to open that creepy but oh-so-fascinating box.
But back outside, Lisin blandly tells me I should go back to Paarthurnax and use the Scroll there. Feeling a bit winded from our time in Blackreach, I tell her instead to head back to Riften, that I'm going to be fine on my own for a while.
I regret it almost immediately, left alone with my thoughts in the cold of the far north. The daedra's work sounded like old-fashioned contract killing, but having a choice of targets unsettles me for some reason. Now, had he told me to go kill five Noses, I'd have been on it before you can say 'Hermaeus Mora'.
At least I don't have to think about which Dunmer to kill.
Azura's priestess had made her intentions plenty clear, and I've already angered Azura as much as I'm going to, so I don't think this is going too far. And finding Falmer to kill is no problem, and the number of Orsmer I've seen populating bandit havens is encouraging. And am I going to have moral compunctions about killing Altmer? Please.
But Bosmer are something else altogether. I think on it while I wander the road south from Windhelm, hoping to stumble across another orc eager for death.
I've never met a wood elf I didn't like, and they're a rare sort to begin with. Despite the thousands of lives I've taken, I'm not an indiscriminate killer. Every killing needs a reason, however flimsy. And I doubt I'm going to find a wood elf shouting dire invectives against foreigners, or trying to rob me at knifepoint on the highway.
I'm briefly distracted by a chance meeting with an Argonian from the Guild. Guy kind of reminds me of myself.
I try to distract myself by exploring a nearby cave. Sadly, I find only human witches. There is, surprisingly, the body of a wood elf inside, but the blood has long since been drained by spiders.
I keep wandering on my way, through night and into morning, until I reach Whiterun. Where I see a wood elf. I remember his name, Anoriath, and it strikes me as significant for some reason. And then I remember that before I left their employ, the Brotherhood told me to kill him.
Thoughts scream at me from both sides. Yes, yes, I know there was a time when I would've killed him without a second thought. So in a way, there's already a reason to take his life. But on the other hand, I'm not really that same person anymore. Killing Vittoria Vici was supposed to have changed me!
I need to clear my mind, my conscience, and my satchel, so I visit the shopkeepers while I mull over the dilemma before me.
Come nightfall, I realize I've already made my decision or I would've left Whiterun hours ago. Sorry, Anoriath, but just because I'm trying to kill Alduin doesn't mean I'm everyone's hero.
But Anoriath's business partner makes killing him a problem. Anoriath goes to bed at a reasonable hour, but his partner, evidently never goes to bed at all.
I check in every two hours throughout the entire night. Finally, at almost two hours past sunrise, Anoriath is still asleep and his friend ignores me for just a minute.
That's all I need. At least his soul won't go to waste.
His death would really go to waste if I didn't get the rest of the blood samples and open the box, so I take a cart down to Markarth. I remember hearing a lot of orcs live down there. And my intel is good--a couple of orcs rush me on the road minutes after I set out. Why couldn't Anoriath have done that? Then I wouldn't be so torn up inside.
I'm on a roll, so it's back to Blackreach, the one place where I'm sure to find some Falmer.
Tada.
And Altmer? Well, Thalmor are Altmer, so presumably I can find them at the Thalmor Embassy.
I only need the blood from one person, so I kill everyone in the room.
I mean, come on. They're Thalmor. If it's not Noses, it's Supernoses. One racial supremacist to the next. All will fall by my blade. More or less. If a daedra's favor is in it. Sometimes.
I'm very confused right now.
But though I won't really admit to myself what I'm trying to do, all this killing doesn't block out my ill feelings over killing Anoriath. It's Vittoria Vici all over again. I even took a souvenir. Last time, it was a wedding band. This time, it's his soul in the Black Star.
I'm ready to be done with this business, so I go to see Septimus and give him the blood. I'm glad to see at least this hasn't all been for nothing, as the box opens up right as expected.
There's some mind-crushing weirdness in how the box opens up into a room that's not only not in the right place, it's also bigger on the inside. Even weirder, Septimus turns to dust upon touching the book inside. I guess that's par for the course for servants of daedra. I guess I should keep making myself useful.
Hermaeus Mora congratulates me on a job well-done and gives me the book. I flip through it, confused, and I put it away. I'm carrying one too many literary repositories of the infinite unknown. It's time to be rid of one of them, so I'm off to see Paarthurnax.
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