By Constanto Lemarte, Antiquarian

For years, I had encountered veiled references to the ruins of Mor Naril in my research. Finally, I set aside the necessary time and funds to visit the place in person. Solstice is not an easy island to reach, but I booked passage to Sunport with a Khajiit trader out of Leyawiin. There I provisioned myself for several weeks of exploring, and ventured into the wild eastern half of the isle.

I have visited a few Daedric ruins in my time—Vvardenfell and Stonefalls are home to quite a few. They can be eerie and unsettling, but whatever evil they once held departed our world long ago. At first glance, Mor Naril did not seem much different from the ruins of Morrowind. It is certainly better preserved than most, but as I approached the ancient temple I encountered nothing more threatening than the moaning of wind over dead stone. I made my camp on the outskirts of the ruin. The next day, I commenced a serious exploration of the site.

I soon found that Mor Naril was much larger than I expected. The place appeared to be a vast, walled temple complex, not unlike the larger monasteries or abbeys of Cyrodiil or High Rock. I wandered through huge courtyards and looming shrines, carefully poking through rubble and searching for better-preserved chambers where I might have some hope of finding some potsherd or historical relic overlooked by previous explorers.

In my first few days of exploration, I collected a few small stone carvings, curious figurines marked with odd glyphs. But I also came to realize that it was difficult to keep my bearings in the ruins. Time and again, I would set off to return to a spot I wanted to see again, and discover it was not where I thought it was. I was forced to begin making maps of the place, although even that was not a guarantee of finding my way. On my fourth day in Mor Naril, I became so thoroughly lost in one shrine that I was unable to find my way back outside. I could not shake the impression that cold voices whispered in the shadows, seeking to lure me astray. I did not escape the building until well after sunset.

I returned to my camp, shaken by my experience. I considered the problem at length, and at last hit upon the idea of marking my path with stones or rubble. By taking care to make sure I placed each marker in such a way it could be seen from the previous one, I would not get lost again. Satisfied with my plan, I stretched out in my bedroll.

I awoke in the middle of the night with the sense that I was not alone. Over the embers of my campfire, I saw a shadowy figure and the bright gleam of eyes watching me. For a long time I dared not stir or acknowledge my wakefulness. Then my visitor spoke.

"You should go," he said in a hissing, guttural voice—an Argonian. He leaned into the dim firelight, and I caught a glimpse of strange robes and a stone-headed club in his hands. "Leave the things you have taken and your maps of the Final Dark here, and return to Sunport. Do not enter the ruins again."

Even though I was terrified, the thought of abandoning what I had collected with such difficulty was too much to bear. "I couldn't!" I protested. "I have done no harm here. And there is so much more to see!"

"You do not understand me. If you go into the ruins again, you will not come out. Something wearing your face might, though. And we will not permit that thing to leave this place." The Argonian settled back into the shadows. "Consider yourself fortunate that you have been given this chance. Some of us argued it was already too late for you."

I started to reply, but then I heard a soft rustle behind me. Evidently, I had only seen one of my visitors. Instead, I merely nodded, quietly making plans to reenter the ruins first thing in the morning and finish what I could before I left. But I must admit I did not sleep again that night.

When the sun arose, I found myself alone, with no one in sight. Nor was there any sign that someone had been in my camp. Then, I saw it: a dagger with a stone blade, left stuck in the ground between my boots where I had left them the previous night. Suddenly, the idea of testing the limits of the warning I'd been given did not seem quite so clever.

"I can always come back another time," I told myself, and gathered my things. But I left my sack with its curious ancient carvings, and the parchment on which I'd been sketching out the path of my explorations. Whether there was any real danger of losing myself in the ruins or not, I still do not know. But I am very certain I would not have been allowed to leave Mor Naril alive otherwise.