Esteemed and Venerable Molto,

You'll find below a collection of notes detailing everything I dug up on the Night Market's enigmatic Curator. Someone who, I believe, has made a great deal of effort trying to erase his past. And he's done a fine job of it, if the meagerness of this dossier is anything to go by. Nevertheless, I hope you find the enclosed illuminating.

The Curator was present at the first opening of the Night Market, in so far as he was listed as a member of the Pathfinders, a coalition of explorers formed when it was assumed that the districts would become permanent additions to Fargrave.

He was skilled at finding rare treasures within the Fetid Maw, a plane contained within the rotting mouth of an impossibly immense beast. Thanks to his efforts, the Pathfinders quickly became frontrunners in the race for control over the Night Market, but, tragically, a number of its members were left behind when the districts suddenly sealed shut. When the doors eventually reopened, the remaining Pathfinders were horrified to realize that the districts were different and that their friends were gone.

After this event, the Pathfinders disbanded. The Curator would go on to serve under each of the remaining factions until eventually he was respected enough to oversee the Night Market as a whole and became the primary recruiter of mortal explorers.

Now, it should come as no surprise that the Curator is not his real name, and I am certain that even he believes that his true name has been erased from Fargrave's records. And it likely would have been if not for the industrious Madam Whim.

At some point between the opening of the first districts and now, the Curator rewrote his name across not only its physical occurrences, but the memory of it as well. It should go without saying that this is a powerful display of magical skill. It's possible he had done so with the aid of a Daedric Prince, but I'm hard pressed to think of what the Curator could have offered in return for such a powerful glamour. My theory? The Curator may be in possession of a district relic we do not know of.

Now, where Madam Whim enters is in her meticulous tracking of Fargrave's inhabitants in a warded ledger. No one enters or leaves this city without her knowing and noting. And thus, his real name. Narilaz Keth. Shimmering on the page, flickering between title and name, still struggling even now against Madam Whim's wards. And next to it? A note. Unknown origin. Appeared during the chaos of the Night Market's grand opening.

When I asked Madam Whim if she was aware of this magical obfuscation, she said simply that she was keeping eye on him. It's likely they have made a deal of some sort, one that my personal curiosity was not in direct conflict with.

Now, if you'll permit me some idle conjecture.

As you well know, we've yet to decipher the true nature of the Night Market's districts. Whether they are a confluence of planes or divergent paths is anyone's guess. The theory I'll posit doesn't hinge so much on the answer, but rather a matter of probability.

You see, over time, those who manage the Night Market have taken great care to ensure that nothing escapes the districts. Safeguards, factions, even mortals, they all play a role in keeping the skittering and biting on the other side of those doors. It's safe to say we have gotten very good at it, but that hasn't always been the case.

There was a time, during the early chaos of the first open districts, that their denizens were able to break through into Fargrave. Many were captured, most were killed, but one does wonder if all were dealt with.

The districts have shown us planes devastated by calamity and overrun with Daedra, many of whom seem mindless. Directionless. Driven only by base needs such as hunger, fear, anger. But then there are the Gilded. The Opulent. Titles we've given to those with a degree of influence over their districts. Now, what defenses do we have in place in the event one of them tries to break into our plane using not force, but charm? Wit? Patience.

I believe the Curator is from one of the original districts. An interloper of sorts biding their time. For what? I'm not sure. Perhaps he only wishes to return home and is awaiting the day the doors open up to familiar wastes? Or, he doesn't wish to return at all, and his being here is simply a new beginning free from whatever devastated his plane. And, of course, there's always the chance he was the cause of its devastation. But like I said, this is simply idle conjecture. At the very least, I've sensed no malice from him. So, only time will tell.

Now, I believe this makes us, how do the mortals say it, square? You saved me a great deal of work, helping me take the shape of a Vermai. A shame this form has fallen out of fashion. I've grown to enjoy its long arms. Alas, all good things come to an end.

Until next time,
Ezhkel