By Tricatel, Cataloger of Creation's Mysteries

Few mortals dare plumb the secrets of Oblivion's infinite planes. At best, the unprepared researcher may learn things to trouble their sleep for the rest of their days. More likely, the very act of inquiring draws the attention of Daedric powers and arouses curiosity—or hunger.

Fortunately, I am no unprepared amateur. I long ago left the Sapiarchs' empty rituals behind. I pored over countless tomes. I consulted scores of sages and seers. And, under carefully controlled conditions, I visited planes of special interest to catalog their Daedric denizens for posterity. Therefore, I can now report my findings from a visit to the grim plane of Coldharbour, domain of Molag Bal.

Most of the Daedra of Coldharbour are rather well-known, since Molag Bal inflicts his minions on the mortal world at every opportunity. Dremora, Harvesters, Daedroth, Ogrim, even Titans: all have their entries in common compendiums. But I lately came across a mention of a Daedric form known as a "Maldrith," and resolved to devote my incomparable intellect to the challenge of describing this mysterious class of being.

With the assistance of a Dark Seducer of Fargrave who can arrange certain meetings and safe passage (for a princely sum!), I traveled to a prison of black stone and blue flame in the heart of Coldharbour. My guide showed me over a dizzying footbridge of iron to the warden's tower. And there I met the Daedric inquisitor Valdezzan the Maldrith.

Standing half again as tall as an Altmer, Valdezzan was certainly an intimidating specimen. His head resembled a ram's skull, his muscular body was covered in dark scales, and he walked on cloven hooves with a long, lashing tail that ended in sharp spikes. He regarded me in silence for some time before he spoke, his voice a sepulchral rumble. "This is a new thing," he said. "Never before has my quarry so foolishly sought me out and presented itself to me."

I reminded Valdezzan of the bargains that had been struck on my behalf, which would create serious consequences if he offered me harm. That only seemed to amuse the Daedra, who shrugged and answered, "Perhaps."

With that settled, I proceeded to question the maldrith as to his purpose and duties in Molag Bal's realm. Maldriths, it appears, are roaming inspectors and rectifiers of Coldharbour. When Molag Bal's prisoners escape their bonds or his minions transgress in their duties, a maldrith is soon upon the trail. In a sense, maldriths are extensions of Molag Bal's will. Wherever they go, they carry the Lord of Domination's authority. Not only do maldriths terrify the hapless Soul-Shriven of Coldharbour; all lesser Daedra fear their corrections, too.

At the conclusion of our discussion, I excused myself and turned to go. "I have answered your questions, mortal?" Valdezzan asked.

"All I deemed it wise to ask, yes," I agreed.

"Then my bargain is fulfilled. I offered you no harm until your business here was concluded." The maldrith laughed softly—a particularly unpleasant sound. "But here you stand in my prison, mortal. Why should I help you to leave?"

"I was promised safe passage!" I replied.

"I did. You may go where you like." Valdezzan gestured at the chamber's iron door and tiny, barred windows. "Exit the room, if you can. I will not impede you."

With some concern, I tried the door. It opened to a lethal fall. The bridge I had crossed on my way into the tower now stood retracted. No doubt the maldrith could leap the gap if it so chose, but I certainly could not. "Bring back the bridge!" I demanded.

"You are fond of bargains, mortal," said my host. "What do you offer me to retrieve the bridge?"

Suffice it to say, I found it necessary to strike a new bargain in order to leave Valdezzan's tower. A soul serves little purpose until death arrives, in any event. I have a lifetime to devise a stratagem for reclaiming mine from that duplicitous fiend!