Daedra quests (final version). The only cure The appearance of aliens is different from that of the earth

Kesha the Pure, who is the guardian of the Shrine of Peryite. Peryite's sanctuary sits atop a cliff overlooking the mining town of Karthvasten. In general, you can get information about this quest by meeting a sick tramp upon reaching the tenth level, however, you are free to go to the Sanctuary without his parting words.

Shrine of Peryite

1. Poison bell (000516С8)
2. Silver bar (0005ace3)
3. Flawless Ruby (00068522).
4. Vampire Ashes (0003AD76)

Your task will be to kill the Elf Orkendor, who betrayed his master and is taking refuge in the depths of the Dwemer fortress Btardamz.

Btardamz

The reward will be the Spell Breaker shield, which has the ability to create a talisman spell when used.

Gives the task: Cache Clean
Requirements: level 10
Reward: Spellbreaker shield.

We go to the Sanctuary of Peryite:

We take the quest from the Khajiit Kesh the Pure:

To do this, you need to ask him how you can contact Peryite. Here is the answer, he will answer that he likes us and if we want to hear Peryite’s words, we will need incense. To do this you need to bring some ingredients:

1) poisonous bell grows in the icy tundra or buy from an alchemist:

2) flawless ruby ​​can be found in a chest or mined in a mine:

3) silver ingot you can extract silver ore in a mine and then smelt it into an ingot or buy it from a blacksmith:

4) vampire ashes take from a killed vampire or buy from an alchemist:

When we have collected everything, we return back to the Khajiit and give them to him. He will go to the Dwemer vat and prepare a green mixture, and we must inhale the incense vapor.

Let's go to Btardamz. To enter inside, we need to activate the lever, which will lower the spears closing the passage.

These Dwemer ruins consist of 4 parts:

1) Btardamz Upper region. Possessed people live here, spitting green liquid. There will also be a closed passage with bars, the opening lever is located opposite:

2) Btardamz Workshops. Be prepared for Dwemer spiders:

3)Btardamz Lower area. The same possessed ones, Dwemer spiders and spheres:

4) Btardamz Workrooms:

Translation by I. Bernstein

Two years ago, after finishing my internship at the clinic, in anticipation of a scholarship for further studies, I signed up for a month to replace a village doctor who was going on vacation.

When I came to him, he turned on the table lamp, directed the light into my face and asked in a rough voice, as if holding a half-chewed piece of hay in his mouth:

Your age, may I ask? Married? Are you hunting? That is, what school did you graduate from?

And he began to swing the drawers of the desk out and push them back with a bang, and then pressed the button, called the nurse and gave her some instructions about the horse. After that, he bent down in a chair and began tapping an imaginary arapnik on a tin waste paper basket, beating out the tempo of a leisurely trot. He looked not at all interested.

“No,” he said disgustedly, rising in the saddle. “We don’t need these newfangled inventions of yours.” This area is special. The one I leave in my place must first of all be a gentleman. You can stuff everyone and everything with penicillin and sulfidine. You can even put an entire parish in an oxygen tent and pump American drugs into everyone’s blood, I know the current methods; but believe my forty years of experience, a gentleman is the main thing. Would you like a drink? Are you familiar with the Fobhams?

He pronounced this name in the tone of a man suddenly dressed in court dress, and raised his head so high that he showed me the depths of his fleshy nose and the bottom of his chin. Doctor Ray was a changeable man: every phrase brought a new appearance. But after two glasses of whiskey he stabilized. A thick blush of shame poured from within onto my face, soaked my swollen ears and flowed down my neck and into my collar. Gestures became confidential, one hand rested on my shoulder, my voice lowered, and if solid worldly wisdom flashed like a blue pill in one eye, the other cautiously began to tear up with urgent concern.

It comes down to this, my friend,” he said, despising himself. “Half the village is pouring into the reception room: some have cut their fingers and are about to die from it, some are threatening to write a complaint to the Ministry of Health, why don’t you give out bandages and crutches for free... Well, like everywhere else. Work and work. It's clear? Now, forget all this. Something completely different is important.

What? - I became interested.

“You’ll hear now,” he answered more sharply. “The only people who matter here are the fifteen families of private patients.” They are a source of income. Here I feed from them, one might say, all my life and I don’t know the need. It's important to me that you don't screw things up. You have to be constantly on guard with them: you receive a call and you go straight away. I can't allow anyone to spoil my practice with all sorts of newfangled rubbish.

I just can’t afford it, to be honest,” he explained, stepped back, opened his mouth wide and began to feel his cheekbones.

“In my opinion, you are the right person,” he concluded. - Another glass? Here we have only three ailments: bridge, horses and family life. (Are you single? Glad to hear.) And there is only one cure: tact. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. - It's August now. Everyone is on the move.

That August, the surrounding parks seemed to rest under glass. The village cottages fluffed up like chickens in the sun; and the large country houses were sedately shiny. The air hung in patterned festoons from the hundred-year-old trees. Traveling around the sick, I found myself from one tropical garden to another. Men resembling pheasants rode out in hunting droshies from ancient estates; the voices of their wives exploded in volleys reminiscent of the cackling of frightened game. Large, sophisticated trout, living in the rivers, like rentiers on interest on capital, were invariably at the service of nervous, nervous anglers located along the picturesque banks. The warm, grainy spirit of the harvest hung over the fields; the pubs smelled of roses, wool fluff and tobacco smoke. Fifteen families lurked behind the walls of their 18th-century estates. There Mrs. Gluck ordered more honeysuckle to be planted so that next year she would look into all the bedrooms; here the old admiral pored over his favorite puzzles, and the young Hookhams relaxed on weekends after ascending to the metropolitan heights of the cabinet. Two miles away, Lord Fobham, wearing sneakers, was renting out an outhouse for a fabulous price and whiled away his evenings getting high on gin with Mr. Calverley, an intelligent alcoholic who, as I soon learned, kept losing some of his clothes and he spent the night, without the knowledge or consent of the owners, with all his neighbors. In the house with the araucarias, the mustachioed Mrs. Luke sat and peacefully chewed on the family fortune. Upley was home to the financier Hicks, who once shot off the head of a rock pelican on his gate; and in the former mill on the edge of the water meadow, the thrice bred Mrs. Scarborough (Pansy) Flynn nested like a partridge and caught with her sensitive ear the sounds of men's voices. And finally, there were the Basiliero couple, who brought with them the chic of a London hotel to the village - even the blue-shaven face of Jock Basiliero seemed cut out of a piece of carpet, the kind that line hotel corridors under fluorescent lamps.

I describe that August in such a way that one might get the impression of quite tropical opulence, but in reality it was one of the coldest Augusts in many years. The flu was raging in the village. Only the life of those fifteen families was tropical. At a certain stage of civilization, it warms up to downright Tahitian temperatures, even if you take it and transplant it from our temperate latitudes somewhere into a sultry climate; No wonder there was talk among the fifteen families about emigrating to Jamaica. I encountered these tropical trends almost immediately.

A few days after my installation, the Hickses hosted guests at Dr. Ray's place. I learned about this because late at night Mr. Calverley came to my office, supported by friends, with a cut head. Among the attendants was Mrs. Basiliero.

What have you done? - I asked, treating the wound.

Mr. Calverley was wearing only a collarless shirt, and he smelled strongly of ivy. He turned out to be a curly-haired brunette with a cute, helpless, brutal expression on his face.

The gutter fell on him,” one of the women replied. - Isn't the wound deep? Is there no danger? Poor Tommy. He was the one climbing towards Pansy Flynn.

Sympathy touched Mr. Calverley to the quick. He jumped up, knocking the dressing materials out of my hands, and shouting “I’ll kill you!” drove the whole company to the doors.

The financier Hicks (living proof that society still has large savings reserves; he, for example, successfully saved on vowels) said placatingly:

Sdtje, Tommy, and shut up. Look, Ray doesn't give a damn.

This is not Ray, they objected to him. - Ray went on vacation.

Lord! We just didn’t have enough shrltans! - Hicks was alarmed.

I sat Calverley back in her chair.

Yes, he won’t poison everyone! On the state property? No?

Calverley looked into my face from below with the gentle, trusting smile of an ogre.

“I’ll kill you,” he promised in a pleasant, cultured voice.

At the door, Mrs. Basiliero was loudly discussing the intimate details of the married life of some Pip and Dottie.

This morning I found Tom Calverley's tie on the reception carpet.

Over the next day or two, more and more information about the gathering at the Hickses reached me in fits and starts. Calverley climbed up the ivy-covered wall almost to the very top. Hicks kicked out the window in his living room. Two or three cars ended up in the mechanic shop to have dents repaired. And Lady Fobham, to whom I was summoned, took a bath in the fountain in front of the house.

And then they called from Basiliero. I visited the patients at the site, and the call followed me from house to house. I got to them only at half past twelve. I was told that Mr. Basiliero was “having another seizure.”

The Basiliero couple lived in a house built in 1740. When I crossed the threshold, the first thing I noticed were portraits of famous horses of the past, all wearing medals, and everywhere there was a lot of white and gilding - a typical interior of that era. The Spanish servant led me into a spacious hall, where opposite the door a naval battle was in full swing across the entire wall - a large canvas in a gold frame, all curled with small swollen waves, clouds, sails and therefore resembling the hostess's gray-lilac curled hairstyle. Mrs. Basiliero came out to me dressed, as they are supposed to do outside the city, in a tweed suit, but only in a rare sand shade. As she walked, she deliberately swayed her hips - such a gait was taught to society young ladies during her youth - and skillfully, barely noticeably, winked with one eye. She was small in stature, with thin arms and legs, a square chin and the narrow pelvis of a teenager.

They called me at the reception... - I began.

I called Ray.

Ray went on vacation.

This is a knife in the back. Ray always takes advantage of us.

She looked at me with violet eyes, as if wondering if it was possible to somehow come to an agreement with me and bring Ray back, maybe offer me a bet that if she just wanted it, he would rush to her, even from the other side of the earth.

“You drive in his car,” she said reproachfully. - And he promised that he would lend it to me.

And she looked sideways at how I took it.

I replied that the local doctor is entitled to a car.

Mrs. Basiliero slightly jerked her head and raised one eyebrow: I successfully parried her attack.

It’s a pity,” she sighed.

What's wrong with Mr. Basiliero? - I asked sympathetically. - I am very sorry about his ill health. Can I see him?

Mrs. Basiliero chuckled thoughtfully, looking me straight in the eyes. Then she jerked her head again, as if shaking off annoying troubles; trouble - it was me.

“I called to invite Ray to dinner,” she said. - I lost sight of the fact that he left. - And again she tried to bargain with me: - Maybe you will stay?

But I was informed that Mr. Basiliero had a seizure.

“Yes,” Mrs. Basiliero confirmed. - He lost his voice. Can't speak. - Her direct gaze skillfully clouded, appealing to compassion.

“I need to look at his throat,” I said.

Then she suddenly laughed like a man.

Please, if you wish. You did not understand. What a shame Ray isn't here! He can't speak in the sense that he doesn't want to. We don't talk to him. We had a fight after that evening at the Hicks'. I think you should stay for lunch. Otherwise there is no one to re-pass. Everyone left. We always call Ray when my husband loses his voice. Will you stay? I'll take you to him for now.

She walked forward, moving like a cat, and I followed her.

Look at his throat, doctor,” she said loudly, throwing open the office door.

Mr. Basiliero also turned out to be short. When I entered, he was looking at his fishing gear and did not raise his head to meet me.

“I’m damn glad to see you, doctor,” he muttered. - We're in trouble again.

“It’s sad,” I sympathized with him.

Then Mr. Basiliero raised his head and asked:

Tact, I remembered, the only medicine is tact. And I didn’t explain to him that his wife called me. Basiliero was one of those dark, handsome men whose beauty twists their face to one side, like a grimace of pain. About forty-five years old, however, he already seemed slightly shrunken inside his garishly colorful clothes - he was wearing a purple jacket with a large green check - and thanks to such camouflage, he became practically invisible in any richly furnished room. For the last twenty-five years, his face has been adorned with two prominent gray cheeks. As I later learned, Mr. Basiliero had undergone a rigorous course of treatment for alcoholism and, as a result, was slow in thinking.

I soon became convinced that his main concern in life was dressing up. From morning to night, he made sure that his suit met the requirements of the moment, although what that moment was, he did not remember. “I guess I’ll go and change my clothes,” was his constant saying. Or: “Now I’ll change my boots and go to the village.”

Mr. Basiliero examined my threadbare gray suit.

Mrs. Basiliero kindly invited me to dinner,” I told him.

We usually call Ray,” he said. - For re-passing. He understands women. Will find a way out of any difficulty. She,” Mr. Basiliero dispassionately pointed his finger at the door, “I must warn you, has lost her voice.” Can't speak.

“Damp weather for August,” I said.

Yes. “I put on a warm raincoat in the morning,” he agreed. - And a coat would fit, in this cold. When they don't answer, it's difficult to maintain a table conversation. But we have to, we have Spanish servants. - Having made such a long speech and having completely exhausted his vocabulary, Basiliero fell silent. We sat with him and silently looked at the silver figurine of a dog on his table. Salvation came in the form of one of the Spaniards, who announced that food was served.

We moved into the dining room, so high and spacious that the Basilieros were like two sea anemones rooted to the bottom of an aquarium. I, on the contrary, felt that I was growing taller and taller in an unpleasant way; I was already embarrassed enough, and then there was this fear that I would gape and bump the top of my head into the ceiling.

If you ask your husband, I’m sure he’ll give you something to drink,” Mrs. Basiliero said as we sat down.

“Won’t you bother her to bring the bread here,” Mr. Basiliero turned to me. - This Spanish servant is always missing something.

I was connected to them like a telephone cord. Turning in my chair from side to side, I seemed to accept a cue and carry it on, accept another and carry it back. In this way I informed Mr. Basiliero that his wife was leaving for London by the evening train, and informed her that her husband intended to leave for Scotland. Mr. Basiliero expressed his indignation that the cutlets contained “some kind of Spanish crap,” and Mrs. Basiliero asked me a question: if I had just bought a new lawn mower, would I allow it to get wet in the rain, and What are all these prices now? And I sat and tried not to rise up. But finally the conversation turned to what I thought was a safe topic: the weather. I already said that it was a cold August. The heating was turned on in Basiliero's house. Mr. Basiliero perked up noticeably as we touched on his favorite, or rather, the only subject that interests him.

I was thinking about putting on a warmer shirt in the morning,” he said. - Not a single warm shirt in my chest of drawers.

If both Basilieros could not speak, they could, of course, hear.

“I suppose, doctor,” Mrs. Basiliero remarked to this, “that if you don’t find a shirt in your room, you go to the linen room or, at worst, ask the maid?”

And Mr. Basiliero objected to me that, of course, in a well-organized house, in which, apparently, I live, every thing has its place and it is not necessary to turn everything upside down. Besides, he added, my maids probably speak English.

As Mr. Basiliero engaged in table conversation, he turned to the salt shaker at his end of the table, and Mrs. Basiliero looked at a huge portrait of a horse named Bendigo, which won the Jubilee Races in the eighties of the last century.

In response to these words of her husband, Mrs. Basiliero said:

You, doctor, undoubtedly speak foreign languages?

The cupids on the ceiling beckoned me upward. I made an effort and descended from the heights to the question of the weather.

“The clouds are gathering again,” I said.

But my attempt was unsuccessful.

And, of course, it doesn’t occur to you to wear warm shirts in the summer,” Mrs. Basiliero continued. - You are putting on a summer coat.

“I don’t have one,” I said.

I'm sorry, what? - Mr. Basiliero did not understand.

I conveyed my words to the other end of the table.

Good God! - he exclaimed.

Have you lost it? - Mrs. Basiliero inquired with keen interest.

Did someone steal it from you? - suggested Mr. Basiliero.

For a moment the couple almost united. They even exchanged glances, only to immediately look in different directions again.

Not really. I just don't have a summer coat.

Mr. Basiliero, like a sick person in the pillows, again sank into his suffering beauty. And he looked at me with complete disbelief.

“I thought you would say that someone took it away from you,” he said bitterly. - Tom Calverley wore mine when we were at the Hicks's on Saturday. And I put it on. What else was left?

“Men are amazing people,” his wife noted. “You, for example, are not much taller than my husband, but I’m sure it would never have occurred to you to go home in Tom Calverley’s coat.” He's a good six and a half feet tall. Imagine, a coat that goes all the way to your toes. Like at the pole. You would choose according to your height. Even if they were guests.

Calverley put on mine, and I put on his. “To be fair,” Basiliero tried to convince me.

Moreover, it’s cold at night,” I sympathized.

At three o’clock in the morning,” he clarified.

“I see you’re not on my side,” Mrs. Basiliero said and shook her lilac curls.

Of the guests, I personally could come in a mink coat,” I assured her and was not even afraid to lie: “This happened to me once.”

And with hope he looked to the right and to the left: did they feel better?

Mrs. Basiliero was a lively lady, but without a sense of humor; She didn’t appreciate the joke about the mink coat.

“What a strange act,” she remarked coldly.

Mr. Basiliero was also offended by my confession: by confusing women's clothing with men's clothing, I insulted the specialist in him. He switched off again, so to speak, and muttered something under his breath.

And Mrs. Basiliero said sharply and sarcastically:

I hope you returned it?

Of course, I replied.

In my deep conviction, if you deliberately took someone’s thing, you must return it, don’t you agree? Or maybe I'm wrong? I don’t know how it is considered among men. Imagine that long-tailed Tom Calverley coat still hanging in our closet. You've probably noticed.

But I don’t like it when people stop me from making jokes. So I continued:

At first I thought of selling it.

Basiliero perked up. His gray cheeks turned purple.

He sold it! - he exclaimed.

No, no,” I tried to calm down the owner of the house. “I’m telling Mrs. Basiliero about the mink coat that I once put on by mistake.”

Well,” he said menacingly, “if Tom Calverley sold my coat...

Mr. Basiliero was simply speechless. He looked at me suspiciously - he must have believed that I was trying to distract him from his positions.

“I put on my coat, and I don’t have the decency to return it,” he told me reproachfully.

And, becoming excited, he added:

Lacks courage. I got cold feet.

There was a long silence at the table. At opposite ends, the Basilieros were each immersed in their own memories of the evening at the Hicks'. He was the first to speak, his voice seemed to come from three days away:

And he did the right thing by chickening out.

He glanced at the sky outside the window, then looked at his jacket, wondering if it was time to change clothes.

He knows what was in his pocket.

Mrs. Basiliero pulled her head back for a moment.

But then she stood up and said:

Should we go to another room to drink coffee?

And she went forward, opening the door in front of her. Basiliero detained me.

Do you have a wife, doctor? - he asked.

And Ray doesn’t,” he said with a contrite look, as if by a whim of fate he was the only married man in the world.

You go? - Mrs. Basiliero called.

Maybe there is a bride? - Basiliero inquired with new hope.

And there is no bride.

Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said, after thinking. - The man is putting on your coat, right? You put on his coat. Right? And he has your wife’s gloves in his pocket. What should I do here? That is, what position do you find yourself in?.. You have a scientific mindset. Explain to me. What? That's it.

In the living room, Mrs. Basiliero poured coffee with her thin scissor legs crossed. One piercing knee peeked conspiratorially from under her skirt.

Sit down, do me a favor, you look so unstable,” she said, handing me the cup.

Then she poured coffee for her husband and, having given it to him, turned her back to him.

No, in fact, I have the impression,” she spoke heatedly, turning to me, “really, the impression is that men are amazing people.” Just think how modest they have become over the past two hundred years. Once upon a time, they dressed up for women to please them, combed their hair, put on makeup, and took the time to do so. And now everything is completely opposite. I think it’s very touching that you gave up all this. They all became so gray and unnoticeable. You dress the same, you can’t even distinguish your clothes from someone else’s.

She fell silent, advancing on me with her face and inexorable knee. And suddenly she completely changed her tone, as if she had decided to try to negotiate with me again:

After two or three cocktails, when one eye is on the neighbor who is interfering with pleasantries, and the other is looking for where to put the gloves, can you really tell where whose coat is? You stick it anywhere. They're all the same. Husband, not husband - no difference.

At these words, she again faintly winked with her experienced violet eye, as if saying: “Here is at least the version that you can foist on my husband.”

I realized that the critical moment had come. That's when Dr. Ray would not be confused and use his only medicine! How would he get down to business? Maybe I could make my husband talk with an anecdote about tailors, horses or fishermen? Or would he captivate his wife with a high-society crossword puzzle from Lord Fobham's pedigree? But I was so unprepared for this kind of activity that instead I began, as they say, to get to the bottom of the truth and find out what really happened. That's how we got to the night scene in my office after the Hicks' reception. Who did I have? Who was wearing what? I began to look through all those present and clearly imagined Tom Calverley sitting in a chair.

God! - I exclaimed. - I just remembered now. After all, Calverley came to me that night without a coat. In fact, he wasn’t even wearing a jacket.

I had no idea what kind of relationship Mrs. Basiliero had with Tom Calverley; but she suddenly widened her eyes, as if pictures had been revealed to her, unknown to me or her husband. She was so shocked that she didn't even wink.

That’s how it is,” she said. - So, in your opinion, he didn’t put on my husband’s coat at all?

Or I managed to leave it somewhere,” I blurted out even more tactlessly.

She looked at me with the curiosity of a natural scientist observing a rare phenomenon - a person who is not able to keep his mouth shut, even if they are glued together. Then she shook her head slightly again and for the first time turned directly to her husband:

It's clear why he didn't return it. Pansy Flynn kept it...

She pronounced this name as if she had shot it with a machine gun.

It’s not the first time your coat has been there, my dear,” she expanded on her success. - It must have wandered in, it knows the way.

Basiliero's face expressed the amazement of a man to whom suddenly, out of the blue, his own wife spoke again. He couldn't believe his ears. And only then did the meaning of her hint gradually dawn on him. He was about to open fire back at his wife, even his hands twitched nervously; but, apparently, he considered that he was not dressed properly for marital sarcasm, and limited himself to pulling the ends of his vest down, causing the collar of his shirt to stick out upward.

And then the only reasonable thought I had during the entire dinner came to me.

I'll be passing by - I didn't specify what - on my way home. I can come get your coat, Mr. Basiliero. By the way, if you like, I can grab Mr. Calverley's coat and make the exchange. And in the evening I will bring you yours.

I looked from the husband to the wife and was convinced that, having screwed up the woods at first, I could now celebrate the first victory: both Basilieros seemed slightly confused, like people who have lost their hands on a quite suitable subject of a family quarrel. Mr. Basiliero, although not immediately, was forced to admit that he had nothing to be angry about; Mrs. Basiliero, although incredulous, agreed to make peace. And now they were already arguing about which of them was leaving for London, and which for Scotland, and when exactly. In the end, inevitably for this couple, it all came down to their main family problem: he could not go to Scotland - or anywhere for that matter - since he had not yet decided what coat to go in; and she could not make plans without knowing her husband's intentions.

It's nice to do good to people. As I drove away from Basiliero's house with Tom Calverley's coat in the seat, I felt confident that Dr. Ray would have praised me. I served as their telephone, provoked a heated explanation, and then administered the “only cure.” Calverley's coat, like his disembodied ghost, fell baggy next to me. Long-length, dull gray herringbone, not in very good condition - the collar is greasy, stained with traces of the owner's personal life; the pockets were worn out, the second button on top was hanging by a thread. Wherever they threw it, in whose closets it hung, whoever delivered it back to its owner. And probably saturated with alcoholic spirit. I imagined Calverley's head above his rumpled shoulders - a gentle look, a furious outline of his mouth and a cannibal smile. An ordinary piece of herringbone tweed, traditional and respectable, but it breathed with riotousness and permissiveness, although now it hid itself slyly, lazily, it even seemed to me that it was guilty.

I drove about two miles through the greenery that had long been tamed. By the end of August, the chestnut leaves are already darkening and drying up. I did not intend to wander off into Mrs. Flynn's house, but stopped in front of Calverley's house. It was a small white house, quite picturesque, even elegant, with a boxwood bush at the gate, trimmed in the shape of a peacock. I got out of the car, took out my coat and, knocking on the door, waited, listening to the buzzing of bees under the wall. It was opened to me by a village woman who said that she was coming to Mr. Calverley to clean and cook.

“I brought Mr. Calverley’s coat,” I explained. - They switched with Mr. Basiliero the other day by mistake.

The woman took my coat with caution: over the years, she had received Mr. Calverley’s abandoned items from all sorts of suspicious characters.

What about the jacket? - she asked at the same time. - There was also a jacket.

In my opinion, they didn’t change their jackets,” I answered. - I could pick up Mr. Basiliero's coat, if you know where it is.

The woman hastened to defend her master's property.

Mr. Calverley has gone to London,” she said importantly, retreating into the cramped hallway to hang up her coat; I followed him in. - He didn’t tell me about any coat.

But isn’t it hanging there?

There's nothing hanging there.

Some jackets and raincoats were hanging on a hanger. I immediately noticed one short gray herringbone coat among them.

“I think it’s over there, under the cloak,” I said and pushed forward.

The woman, retreating, puffed up and blocked the road.

No, no, she said, this is Mr. Calverley's coat.

No, under that cloak over there.

She clasped her fingers over her stomach and stuck her elbows out.

This is his dress coat, new. Only three days since purchased.

Three days? Amazing coincidence. Are you wrong?

I'm looking after Mr. Calverley's things. “I have this coat now being repaired; Mr. Calverley had an accident with it,” she proudly laid out her trump card. - See for yourself.

She puffed out her cheeks in insult and stood aside arrogantly.

I reached over and took my coat off the hook. At the same time, a strange thing happened: it split in two. It turned out that it was torn in half from the collar and almost to the hem. Half the pocket was hanging out. The woman's face became crimson.

Mr. Calverley had guests and it broke.

And not a single button!

She didn't like my smile.

Mr. Calverley often happens to buy a thing and then finds fault with it,” she explained importantly. - He is very picky about clothes. This coat, he said, is too short for him.

The mark, of course, was with the name Basiliero.

A month later, Dr. Ray returned. Our last conversation was in some respects a repetition of the first. Ray changed his appearance again: he was tanned and had his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jacket, pulling it over his stomach; his head was crowned with an imaginary yachtsman's cap. Sitting in his swivel chair, he rocked from side to side. After hunting, he assured me, the best training for any profession is sailing. Teaches you not to jump from the start to the shot.

And this is where you made a mistake,” he told me. “Was it possible to return Calverley’s coat without first getting Basiliero’s coat?”

But I couldn't take it away. It was torn to shreds.

Haven't you noticed how Calverley's hands are? You should have seen him on a horse. Or in a restaurant, when he grabs the head waiter by the collar.

Dr. Ray called the nurse and told her to find out if Mr. Basiliero had returned from Scotland. And then, as if putting the rudder on board and bringing it to the wind, he looked at me and said:

In my opinion, you made the right choice. Stay away from medical practices. Well, what other difficulties were there? How are things with the Fobhams? Is everything calm? No squalls? Strange. They must be away too.

Wandering along the roads of Skyrim, you can stumble upon random travelers who will tell you about the mad leader of the lepers and give you a tip on the beginning of the task. However, you can start completing this quest yourself - just find the Khajiit Kesh the Pure, who lives near the Peryite sanctuary, which is northeast of Markarth.

To summon a Daedric Lord, you will need to inhale the poisonous fumes of a Khajiit brew; it can be crafted from rare ingredients that you will need to obtain. You must also be at least level 10.

Where can I find the ingredients?

1. Flawless ruby. The rarest ingredient, so it is better to start hunting for it from the very beginning of the game. Sooner or later you will meet him, and then you should start completing the Peryite quest. Flawless stones in almost all locations can be not only rubies, but there are also reliable ways to get the right stone: in one of the last tasks of the Dark Brotherhood, the stone can be found in the bedroom of “you know who”; You can also complete a very complex and difficult quest with the Crown of Barenziah.
2. Poison bell. Sold by almost all alchemists and grows in swamps.
3. Vampire's ashes. Sold by some alchemists and, of course, obtained from vampire corpses.
4. Silver ingot. You can buy it from almost any blacksmith or cast it yourself from the appropriate ore.

Bring all this to the Khajiit, ask him to brew a potion for you, and then, plucking up your courage, drink it. After this procedure, Peryite himself will appear to you in the form of a plague rat and ask you to remove his “presumptuous” servant - Orkendor, who lives in the Dwemer ruins of Btardamz. If you turn your gaze to the west, you can just see these very ruins.

Inside Btardamz you will find the standard Skyrim dungeon exploration with clearing out the local inhabitants. Your opponents will be cult ministers vomiting green liquid, who in large numbers can pose some danger. Orkendor himself is located in Arcanex and he is a fairly powerful magician. Destroy him and, if you are a follower of the school of necromancy, pay attention

Once you reach level 10, during your travels you may encounter an escaped infected who will ask you to stop the plague. When you ask about his unhealthy appearance, he will say that he is suffering from the plague and would have died many years ago without Peryite's help. Before you continue on your way, he will mention Kesh the Pure to you at the Peryite Shrine for more information. The sanctuary is located far northeast of Markarth, not far northwest of Karswasten, slightly southwest of Dragontooth Peak.

Lonely messenger

Cash Clean

Making Incense

Specifically, Kesh needs the following ingredients: Vampire Ashes, Silver Bar, Flawless Ruby, and Poison Bell Flower. During this time, Kesh will recommend you to make purchases in stores, mines for the extraction of silver and ruby, snowy tundras to search for a flower, and he will also warn you that searching for the ashes of a vampire can be very dangerous.
Note that if you already have all or some of these items in your inventory, you will have to get rid of them, after Kesh tells you to collect them, you can take them back again. Otherwise, Cash's monologue about delivering ingredients may not appear.
After you have collected one copy of each element, return to the sanctuary to Kesh. When you give him the ingredients, he will go to the cauldron and prepare the incense. He will ask you to take a deep breath to summon Peryite. If you speak to Cash before he finishes cooking, the next stage of the quest may not activate.

Take a deep breath

As soon as you inhale the smoke, the world around you turns into hazy colors and several ghostly apparitions appear. Peryite will speak like this: “Breathe deeply, mortal. I want you to hear me clearly, so let these vapors fill your lungs.” If you ask him what he wants, he will say: "I have been watching you for some time, you know. The actions you have done intrigue me. I sent the blessing of Mundus, spreading the plague and infecting the Breton villages. One of my acolytes, an elf Orchendor, was sent to gather these infected. He kept them in Bsardamz for me, but since then he has gone astray. I want you to go to Bsardamz and kill Orchendor in My name." Then it disappears and the boiler will be turned off. Returning to the real world, Kesh will point out on the map the Dwemer ruins of Bsardamz, which are easily accessible on foot from the sanctuary.

Bsardamz

The outer region of Bsardamza is as huge as the underground one. Beware of the patrolling infected and their poisonous vomit attacks. Find the entrance, pull the handle to open the iron bars and go inside. As you enter, notice the green steam cauldrons similar to the one in the sanctuary. Here they pose no threat. The infected that inhabit all the ruins attack you as soon as they notice you. Despite their illness, which makes them weak, they are very dangerous when attacking in groups. At the first intersection, head towards the gate to the north, or along the long path through the bedroom and fight the enemies. Head west until you reach a large room with four infected. Put them out of their misery and pull the handle on the northern ledge. This will lower the bars blocking your path to the south and provide access to the cave. At the next intersection, examine the room to the east, but beware of a surprise attack from two Dwarven orbs. Stick to the southern path, avoiding the pressure plates that will activate two blade traps. In the last room there are three infected and the entrance to the next area.

Workshop

The workshop has three entrances to the first zone of Bsardamz. You will have no choice but to take one of the two southern entrances. Both entrances can be reached from a large room in the southwest, which is guarded by three working Dwemer spiders. A door at the top of the stairs leads to a previously inaccessible landing on the top floor, from which you can reach the south door (where the map marker directs you. Take some time and look around the roof area, some finds may be valuable. You can also find the entrance to the living quarters Bsardamz's premises and after destroying several infected, open the gate to access the chest and the skill book "Biography of the Wolf Wolf" before moving to the upper landing. Find the stairs in the northeast of the entrance to the living quarters and climb to the top, all the way to the ceiling, and then go to the lower Bsardamza area.

Lower region

Go to the first room and collect useful things. In the corridor you will have to face two Dwemer spiders and several infected ones. To get rid of the remaining enemies, you can use the trap in the center of the hall, which is activated by the lever. Go east, through another tunnel, until you reach a large room with numerous platforms and a small underground lake. Climb to the top again, where you will find the entrance to the final area. Start by exploring the first floor, killing enemies in sequence if possible, otherwise they can easily gang up and attack you. Find the crank next to the trap near the northeast passage, then go up the stairs. You will have to make a detour to go further to find the door and enter Bsardamz.
You are now on the second level of the lower area, so be careful not to fall. You will see several options, and the first two options appear at the first intersection. Head right and open the gate to collect useful items, then turn west and fight four infected. Then across two bridges leading to a ledge with three more infected. Get rid of them and continue along the path south. Eventually you will find yourself in a tunnel with no enemies and will be able to enter Bsardamz, the lair of your target Orchendor.

Orchendor

This zone is reminiscent of the previous zone with several levels, infested with enemies, including Dwemer spiders and orbs. Before the final battle with the traitor Wood Elf, you will encounter a Dwemer centurion and several spiders. Orchendor is a powerful spellcaster who knows several defensive spells and magical barriers that can increase defense by up to 80%, making him a formidable opponent for mages. He also knows spells, invisibility, teleportation, ice storm, and can use the toxic vomit of the infected. After killing him, take the key and some other valuables. Go to the upper level and find a locked door. It's time to return to Peryite for your reward.

Spell Reflector

Back at the sanctuary, Cash continues to wander aimlessly. Asking for his permission to take another sip of incense will grant you entry into the surreal world of Peryite, who will say: "Well done, mortal. All is well, and Orchendor rots in the pit. His betrayal is punished, and your obedience will be rewarded." When you say goodbye to him, he will give you the "Spell Reflector", a unique shield that can protect against swords and magic.