Interrogation transcript: STRIDENT operator (designate S). Scrivener Volter Piil, Provincial Trade Offices (Standard), primary agent, interrogator.

(excerpt)

[Volter resurrects STRIDENT operator (designate S).]

V: Back with me? We're going to talk.
S (gasps): What the hell is an ichthyjinn?!
V: Heavens, you come back from the dead and that's the first thing you want to know?
S: (pause) Delayed question. You killed me as I was thinking it. Must've gotten stuck.
V: Ah. Well, it's going to be a whole day of questions for you. You can sit up.
S: Is it still on me?
V: See? (pause) Yes, it's still squatting on your shoulders. Ugly thing. Imagine a boa constrictor fucked a genie.
S: ... (pause) I can't.
V: You're probably better off. (pause) It's a nasty bit of business, your ichthyjiin. It's a sand ghost, pre-Nirn. Rock hits, bam, it wakes up in the wrong world, so it needs a host body. That's you in a few weeks. You'll lose your legs in a day or two, they don't need them. Like most things bad in here, ichthyjiins travel snakewise. The Blanket brought all kinds of that shit with it.
S: How'd I get it on me?
V: Best guess? Your handlers gave you stolen intel about this place before you set out. You read it. You came in here having read it. For reasons I won't get into, doing things in that sequence makes you a target for temporal shenanigans with ill intent. In your case, you got merged with someone else who doesn't belong here. Only thing is, the other guy's going to come out on top.

[Volter sits down. Cocks his head.]

V: I really thought Strident would've been more prepared. You boys have a reputation where I'm from. My branch manager is going to be disappointed.
S (pause): You're Trade Offices.
V: I am.
S: So I'm dead twice in one day.

[Volter pulls out an empty soulgem and puts it on the ground between them.]

V: You are. But this can catch you. If you answer my questions, I'll put a request in my final report for you to get installed into something nice after time served. Full sentience. A nice sword, maybe. Fit for a nobleman.
S: I don't want to be a nice sword.
V: A host body for a snake genie. Just plain dead. A third life as Duke So and So's famous talking sword. Those are the options. (pause) Now: where's your camp and who's waiting for me there?