Editing Openai/6940dc36-f820-8002-8656-3492c2d4fc89 (section)

=== Assistant: Very well. ===
Very well.

The scratch of a quill echoes through the Census and Excise office as Sellus Gravius finishes copying the final lines of your release documents. Outside, the soughing of winter waves against Seyda Neen’s stilts carries faintly through the shuttered windows, along with the muffled sound of villagers preparing for Hearth-Tide, a local Imperial-Dunmeri winter festival marked by lanterns, spiced sujamma, and offerings to both the Tribunal and the Nine. A sprig of frosted marshmerrow hangs awkwardly over a ledger shelf, clearly someone’s attempt at seasonal cheer.

Gravius blots the parchment, clears his throat, and slides the papers across the desk toward you. “Uncle Eevee. Male. Khajiit. Spellsword. Born under the Ritual.” He pauses, glancing at you over his spectacles. “No objections from the Emperor’s office. That makes you a free mer—er, cat—as of this moment.” He presses the final seal with a dull thunk and stands aside, gesturing toward the office door. “Take your papers to the exit clerk when you’re ready. And try not to make trouble. Seyda Neen has enough of that, holiday or no.”

As you gather your belongings, you feel the faint, unsettling warmth of the Ritual within you—restorative magic ready to be called upon, but demanding care lest it drain you in turn. Somewhere outside, a guar bell jingles cheerfully, and the smell of roasting scrib jerky drifts in from the square. Your new life in Morrowind begins now.

What would you like to do first?