Double Dragon Disventure (Skyrim double SI ft. Nihilo)

[Omida]

Summary: Sometimes, your prophesized hero bites it before he can start fulfilling their prophecy. In such cases, in the interest of fairness, what can a Dragon God do but to fish for volunteers?

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Chapter 1: Noise Complaints and Airspace Violations

The first impressions tend to be the most lasting. No matter what happens later, the beginning tends to set the tone. Get swiped in an ambush to which you are an accidental victim, and your opinion of those who captured you may not be as generous as those you shared the cart with. Even the names predispose people. The Empire. The Rebels. The mind goes towards long established meanings automatically. And in chaos, snap decisions may well decide the course of the future.

But what if, just by pure chance, that was not the case? A decision of one person can create ripples which some forces may find… disagreeable. The ancient evil needs the hero to oppose it, after all. The prophesied battle needs champions on both sides. And so, should a piece be removed before its time, those forces may, ah, overcorrect. After all, the end times are now, and so, there is no time to just rise a champion from infancy all over again. Better hedge the bets, so to speak.

And so, the story begins. Not with a bleary return to consciousness, or awakening in a dark cell. Instead, there is tension in the crisp, morning air, before reality shudders, and two bodies hit the ground propelled by the push none could see, appearing as if conjured from beyond this plane. The two, man and woman, open their eyes to the vibrant, lush forest dotted with cliff faces. It is chilly, if sunny. There is a sound of the river down below them, and the rustle of the wind in the tree crowns.

And then, a thunderous roar fills the air, resounding for miles, and the deafening flap of the wings. The shadow falls over them before sliding away, and as they look up, they see the great black dragon flying away, announcing its presence with a triumphant roar. Then, as soon as it appeared, the beast vanished in the distance.

The woman is the first to snap out of the deer in headlights impression, long legs only just managing not to give and test how well her rear's abundant padding fares against the cold, hard ground. She shakes her head, the motion sending her long white hair waving as she tries to clear her mind, succeeding enough to find coherent speech return to her. "So." she says with a shaky voice, thin fingers pressed together in front of her face, all sharp angles and high cheekbones, the faint yellow tone of her skin lending itself to a sickly look coupled with the very reasonable paling at seeing a honest-to-god dragon, "That was a thing."

The man chuckles nervously, perhaps with a hint of suppressed hysteria as he stumbles back, his back finding purchase against cold, smooth stone. Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes a deep breath, letting the wind rustle his long, red hair. "So it was." Swallowing hard, he opens his amber eyes before shuddering. "It's cold." Rubbing his hands against his arms, he notices the leather bracelets on his arms. Then, he looks down. "Oh god, this does look familiar." And indeed, he seems to wear a simple armor made of hide and leather straps, something which may offer better protection against danger than regular clothes, but leaves one woefully unprotected from the elements.

"So." Looking back at his companion, he presses his hands against the stone. "So. The dragon. And this shitty hide armor. We got thrown into another world. I… don't remember the details." Perhaps for the better, he thinks. "You okay?"

"I… kinda? I got run over, then causality got twisted into a pretzel of pure ow, then I get first row seats to big, bad and scaly reeeing to the heavens." Long pointed ears twitch in time with ice blue eyes, the iris taking most of the eye, with only a hint of the sclera peeking out from its corners, "Bit numb. Bit better than freaking out." She concludes, shrugging helplessly. At least she isn't feeling cold, the thick travelling clothes see to that. And the fluffy fur cloak is something to clutch as she hugs herself, taking a cue from her companion and easing herself to the ground before she keels over.

Nodding along, he sighs again, noticing a pair of travelling backpacks lying on the ground close to them. Convenient, but he was not about to look the gift horse in the mouth. Then, he catches the sight of two more stone pillars, arranged together with the one he uses as a support in a semi circle, the crude carving of a person on each of them. His already pale skin goes just a hint paler as the realisation hits. "Fuck." Closing his eyes, he presses his hands to the face, stifling a hysterical laugh. "We are in Skyrim. The cold, cold land of multiple ends of the world starting up at the same time." Pulling his hands back to comb his hair, he looks into the sky. "And considering the signs, what do you want to bet the protagonist got themselves killed before they could do their job?" Sliding down against the stone, he sits on the ground with a tired sigh, "I really don't feel like a hero material, but well… I believe we both know how this song and dance is supposed to go?"

The elf woman sighs, freeing up one hand to slide it down her face, "Aye. Head down the path, hit up the village there, then keep on going until Whiterun. Warn them, get told to backtrack so we can hit the tomb over..." She looks up and around, head on a swivel until she zeroes in on the arches of ancient stone protruding like ribs from the snowy mountain not all that far from them, she hooks a thumb at it, "There. Head on back, get told there's another dragon sighting, go kill a dragon… then we find out if we are dragonborn, because if we can't eat their souls they are just going to keep rezzing and we're in deep shit. We probably are, kinda doubt whoever tossed us here would go through all the trouble and not include that. Although people are going to be confused, fairly sure the dragonborn business is a one-at-a-time kind of thing." She rambles, mind running a mile a minute and taking her for a ride so as to not stop and think on all those pesky implications. Like how they'd have to kill. And risk life and limb. Constantly.

It beat being chunky salsa painting a sixteen wheeler's front plate, mind you. And part of her was vibrating in place, eager to test out both the new body and the honest-to-god magic she now had. She could feel the spells rattling about her skull, an idle thought making arcs of lightning jump between her fingers, emitting a soft buzz and crackle.

But, well, it was hard to focus on the good parts when your introduction to the world was a colossal angry dragon screeching hard enough to rattle your bones.

She sighs again, shaking her head before she drags herself to her feet, snagging the nearest backpack, "Aight, we should get going. There's wolves around here. Bandits, too. I remember a mine by the path to the village, taken over by a few of them. Do you have any idea how to activate these things?" She asked, nodding at the standing stones. The mage one in particular.

Chuckling, he drags himself back on his feet and turns around. "Not particularly." The one he had been using for the past couple of minutes was the warrior one. Convenient, that. "Obviously just touching it doesn't work or I would have already got a pillar of light to the sky." Pressing his hand against the surface he slowly traces the outline of the warrior. Nothing. "Hmmmm..." Tilting his head, he raises his hand further, until he can put it through the hole in the stone. The stone glows briefly, letting a pillar of light into the sky, which fades after a moment. "Found it. Go ahead and do your thing. I think I will stick with my choice."

"Time to put on my robe and wizard hat, then." She mutters to herself, lips quirking up at the godawful reference as she easily slides her hand into the Mage standing stone. She used to be tall, now she positively towers. She can't say she isn't happy with the fact, she also can't say she isn't worried about smacking her forehead into thresholds.

The lightshow comes and goes, leaving her feeling… hrm, she actually can't quite put a finger on it. It is a faint thing, and may just be her brain tricking itself, but it does make her feel just the slightest bit better.

"Aight, that's sorted out, so…" She trails off, light tracing across her hands then her entire body as she casts Oakflesh on herself. It is a heady feeling, the rush of magic followed by her whole body suddenly feeling… solid. Steady. It feels like the safety blanket it is.

A moment later, a purple vortex blooms on her hand, her mind stretching out through it into Oblivion and tightening around her find. The nebula winks out from her palm only to gape wide open next to her, a wolf entirely composed of swirling blue-white mist stepping out.

Without any input from her higher thought, a hand goes out to scratch the beast's head, the smoke parting for only a couple of inches before she meets resistance identical to a flesh and blood body. Its tail wags, tongue lolling out.

Daedra or not, it is a good boy.

"All good to go." She says with a small nod, her hand not leaving the familiar's head.

Picking the other backpack, the man chuckles at the display. Then, humming, he concentrates, snapping his fingers and calling a small flame into his hand. "Much better." He murmurs at the warmth emanating from the spell before closing his fist and extinguishing the fire. "Now then, should we just go straight to Riverwood or make a pitstop at everyone's favourite mine..."

Before either of them can decide, there is the sound of footsteps from up the road. Turning that way, the two see a mismatched pair of men walking down the path, keeping to opposite sides of the road and pointedly keeping quiet. One of them, brown haired and brown eyed, wears a leather cuirass over a red tunic, sword at his hip. The other, blue eyed blond, in a blue coat thrown over the chainmail and a pair of hand axes at his belt. Seeing the two outworlders, their faces lighten up.

"Hail travelers!" Calls the brown haired one. "May I ask if you saw anything..." he pauses, unsure how to articulate his question.

"Dragon. Have either of you seen a large, black beast flying on wings of death straight out of legend? For Nine's sake Hadvar, only a blind, deaf elder would miss the damn thing."

"Aye, we saw big, bad and scaly. Flew over in that direction and tried to burst our eardrums while it was at it." The woman supplies, pointing in the direction the grumpy wyrm had flown off to.

"Dangerously close to Riverwood." Notes Hadvar with worry in his voice. "Would the two of you mind joining us on our journey home? It's down the road, not much longer, but due to… recent events, the roads have seen upsurge in banditry and the two of us are tired after fighting for our lives."

"Hadvar has the right of it. The forests around Falkreath and Whiterun's jurisdiction had always made it easy for criminals to hide, but with a larger group, one of us a mage, they should reconsider." Then his face darkens as he takes a better look at the woman. "Although the sign of an altmer may embolden them instead."

"Ralof..." Hadvar interrupts him with a wary mutter. The blond man watches the woman hardfaced for a moment before sighing, his shoulders slumping.

"I apologize, miss. Your kind is not well liked in Skyrim, but you don't seem to be Thalmor's agent out to harass innocent people, so I will at least try to reign my feelings on the matter. I would advise you to seek out robes with hoods. Many won't be as understanding."

She sighed, pulling up the hood her cloak thankfully came in. Ralof probably had missed it, folded behind her and under her hair as it was. "Aye, my people were very thorough in shitting the bed there." She grumbled with a grimace. Best magic affinity of all the races at the low, low price of your kinsmen being tyrannical nazi shitheels. What a steal.

"Pfft. Yeah, you are no Thalmor elf. The uptight assholes could never stomach casual profanity. They prefer their insults to be more 'sophisticated'." Ralof notes with a small smile. "Now, let's go, my sister will probably be relieved I showed up instead of an urn. Might even throw a feast for us."

"Mhm. Riverwood is a nice place, miss, even if you are an altmer, I remember we had some mer living with us so the folks might give you a chance." Hadvar notes. "Anyway, as you no doubt guessed, I am Hadvar, and my travelling companion is Ralof. What may we call you?"

The man smiles, resting his hand on the pommel of the sword by his side and gives a polite bow. "Jean-Marie Perrot, at your service."

"Aye, a Breton alright, having a name for a man and a woman at the same time." Notes Ralof with a wide smile, only mischievousness in his voice.

The woman was keenly thankful that whatever choices she'd made during the causality pretzel, it'd included a suitable name. "Erirne. Didn't care to take my last name with when I left for greener pastures." Which was absolutely true, except that she meant her old name from before she got a free resurrection. "Just call me Erin, rolls off the tongue a whole lot better."

"Will do. Honestly, that's gonna make folk like you a bit more. Aside from big families, a lot of people don't really have proper last names, unlike Altmer. We do with nicknames and honor gained titles." Ralof notes. Before the conversation can continue, however, there is a howl deep in the woods, soon joined by others. "Blast. Forgot the wolves will be hungry after winter. Normally they don't go after groups, but those seem to be crazy times."

Frowning, Jean recalls the flame back to his hand, quietly glad to have a reason to warm himself with it. "They should still be scared of fire, no?"

"Normally, I would say you have the right of it, but the dragon might've made them frenzied. Animals are sensitive to bigger predators, and Skyrim wolves have to compete with bears and tigers so as long as they are in groups they will be more emboldened to attack what they perceive as a threat." Hadvar replies. Jean and Erirne note that both men put their hands on their weapons, even if they manage to make it look casual.

Erin herself is nowhere near as subtle, electricity beginning to arc between the fingers of her left hand even as a shimmering blue-white glow fills her right. Her familiar is even less so, ethereal smoke flaring and flickering like a bonfire in a storm as it lets out a low growl, ready to pounce on any threats to its mistress.

The howling repeats, much closer, before the shadowed silhouettes of the wolves flash between the trees, growling and barking as they sprint towards the group. With a curse, Hadvar draws his blade in a smooth motion, Ralof mirroring him with his axes, except his left hand strikes forward, losing the axe which embeds itself in the skull of the wolf jumping from the cliff above.

"Heh, they were always clever about the terrain here." The man chuckles before darting towards the fallen corpse and retrieving his axe before pressing his back to the rock. Hadvar shakes his head but jumps towards the man, slashing at the snout of one of the wolves while Ralof's swing keeps the other one at bay.

Jean steps back, his throat dry as the flame in his left hand flickers. His right hand grips the hilt of his sword as he draws it with a hurried, sharp motion. It didn't really register back at the stones but now with blood in the air and frenzied barking, the reality hits home. He will have to kill to survive. Biting his lip, he notices another pair of wolves running out into the road further ahead before the hounds turn abruptly towards their group in silence. Steeling himself, the man turns his left palm open towards them, willing the flame to turn into a stream of fire. The wolves, seeing the belching flame try to correct their course but with their speed and the range of the spell, they are consumed, their pained cries drowned by the howl of flames.

Erin notices three more jumping from the foliage back up the road, spreading themselves across the entire width of the path as their muscles tense in preparation to jump. She wasn't about to let them, her left hand lashing out with streaks of lightning, soon joined by the right as the shimmer of Ward was replaced by another mass of crackling electricity, turning two of the wolves' leaps into a painful crash as their muscles spasmed erratically. The third, meanwhile, finds itself intercepted by a snarling mass of glowing mist, all too tangible teeth clamping down on its neck until they were rewarded with a wet snap.

With the wolves on both ends of the road dealt with, there is silence once more. Ralof and Hadvar stand back to back with their weapons ready, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the forest before sighing and relaxing. Taking out a rag from the pouch on his hip Hadvar starts cleaning the blood from his weapon.

"Fortunately, it wasn't as big a pack as it could be. We will need to give Faendal a word once we are back. More fur never hurts. I saw you hesitated before using your spell." He addressed Jean. "Good thinking. If you are not certain of your skill with weapons, something less demanding of finesse will do. I will advise you to seek someone to walk you through some stances and basic moves if you are intent on using a weapon."

Walking off the road to the river, the two Nords quickly cleans themselves of blood before resuming the walk. The rest of the walk passes in peace, the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the leaves the only sounds accompanying the four. Soon enough, a stone wall emerges from the treeline, with a water mill peeking from a small island on the river. The guards at the gate, yellow tunics with the white standing horse over their armor and face concealing helmets seem to tense seeing Ralof, but a quick look at Hadvar has them shrug and relax.

"Ahoy, Hadvar, Ralof. It has been a while since we saw either of you in those parts!" The one on the left calls.

"It's good to be back home, Dunn." Hadvar returns a greeting. "I am afraid we can't stay for long, but both of us are quite tired so it will be at least a day before we hit the road again."

"A dragon! I saw a dragon!" Comes a call from within the walls, quick peek revealing an old woman to be shouting from her chair. While a man dismisses her, the other guard comes to you.

"There is something to Hilda's words. Me and Dunn saw… something in the sky not too long ago. Is it…?"

"Aye." Ralof shakes his head sadly. "Me and Hadvar were in Helgen when the beast fell upon it. Burned it to the ground while we fled for our lives. At least the Legion garrisoned there was helping people run last I saw them."

"By the Nine..." The guard mutters, clearly spooked. "Bandit raids, we can handle, but I doubt we could do much for a beast from legends. Go and speak with Gerdur and Advar first."

"Will do, Lokir, don't worry." Hadvar pats the man on the shoulder as the group finally passes the gate. Ralof and Hadvar guide the group across the small bridge onto the island where a large, muscular man is hunched over the table speaking to the woman. Both men's faces lighten up at the sight.

"Gerdur!" "Uncle Alvor!" They call in unison, the aforementioned people turning around and smiling at the sight of them.

"Ralof, Hadvar, I am so glad the two of you are whole and healthy." The woman greets them warmly before embracing Ralof. "Hod said he saw a dragon flying from Helgen while he was working the lumber. Lokir and Dunn said the same. We feared the worst."

Alvor joins her side, his face serious but his eyes warm as he looks down on Hadvar. "Aye. We talked about sending someone to Whiterun, to ask jarl Baalgruf for help, but we don't really have anyone to spare, and I can see you boys are barely standing." Then, he notices Jean and Erin standing back. "And who are your friends?"

Ralof disentangles himself from Gurdur's hug before motioning at the two. "They are Jean and Erin, travellers we met on the road here. They saw the dragon too, and helped us on the road."

"For which, we are thankful. Those two always got in trouble, so it's good to hear someone kept them alive." Alvor replies, slight smile on his lips before he turns serious. "I hate to ask this of strangers, but would the two of you be willing to pass the message to the Jarl of Whiterun? We will, of course, share supplies with you, and let you eat and rest before sending you off."

"Aye. We were already planning to travel there, and even if that wasn't the case," Erin replies with a nod, before chuckling, "Well, few things justify a detour more than a dragon flying overhead." Even if they'd be running in a very counterintuitive direction for the foreseeable future.

Gerdur nods with a smile. "We will be thankful. Get yourself refreshed while me and Sigrid help Orgnar set up the hall at Sleeping Giant so we can celebrate properly." The woman stretches before walking away towards the village.

Hadvar frowns before turning towards Alvor. "Why would Orgnar need help? Isn't Delphine..."

"She had to leave suddenly, a sudden family matter she said." The blacksmith cuts in, causing Hadvar to nod in acceptance. "She should be back soon, but until then, any big feasts are going to need help. Anyway, the two of you go change. And as for you" he turns towards Jean and Erin "if you need any supplies, come with me and I will make sure those packs of yours are properly filled."

"Oh, Alvor!" Hadvar turns halfway through the bridge. "We got into a scuffle with a pack of wolves up on the road. Can you point Faendal and Sven towards the cliff just ahead of the sidepath towards Embershard? Wouldn't want the fur to go to waste."

"Will do, kid!" Shaking his head, the man chuckles. "Good kids, Nords through and through, for better or worse. Now, show me what you've got in those packs." He finishes addressing the other two.

Jean and Erin dutifully unpack their travelling bags, spreading the items on the grass as the blacksmith inspects the contents. He hums approvingly at the sight of camping gear, though he frowns as he inspects everything.. "Hmmm… Seems good, I can see you were on the road for quite some time. I will fix up your tools, wouldn't want something to give when you need it, and we will make sure your supplies are topped up. Whiterun might be only a day away on foot, but there is no reason not to be careful."

With that, the man gathered the tools into a bag and swung it over his shoulder without a problem. Before he could go his way, Jean stepped up, having to look up to even look Alvar in the face.

"I will come with you, if it's no trouble. I would like to inspect my sword, make sure it's in good condition."

"Naturally! What Nord would I be if I let a man walk with his blade dull? I have a whetstone by the forge, so you can take care of it while I work."

"Say, is there an alchemy table around these parts?" Erin asks idly as she repacks her stuff, "We only got a few healing potions left, ought to replenish the stock a bit." After all, she had a fair share of alchemical knowhow rattling about her skull. Nothing fancy, just all the dos and don'ts of working the lab, plus a few basic recipes.

"Aye, Sleeping Giant has a lab in a small room next to the hall. Orgnar tends to replenish the ingredients for healing potions and remedies regularly, so don't worry if you don't have a full set." Alvor replies as the group walks off the bridge. As they approach smithy, he shouts at the Bosmer and the Nord not-so-subtly trying to flirt and spoil each other's attempt to do so with a tall woman. Shaking his head, the blacksmith hollers at them. "Faendal! Sven! We've got a couple of wolves attacking travellers again. Grab a cart and collect the corpses before they attract more beasts!"

As the men nod and leave the woman, who loudly sighs in relief and shoots Alvor a grateful smile, the man shoots his companions a wink as he enters his forge, setting the bag with the tools gently on the ground and turning to Jean.

"Right. Show me that sword of yours. You know how to operate a proper wheatstone?" As Jean shakes his head, his cheeks slightly red, he chuckles. "Right, don't worry about that. Sit down and I will walk you through it." Jean draws his sword before carefully grabbing it by the blade and hilt and presenting it to Alvor. "Good make for an iron. A bit worn down, but in good shape." As redhead sits down in front of the whetstone, he looms over him, placing the weapon back in his hands. "Just put your feet on the pedals and carefully press the edge to the stone, at a slight angle. You want to make sure you remove any chipping, but keep your head up. Iron shavings in the eye are painful. Don't move too fast, either the stone or the sword. If the whetstone moves too fast, it can throw the blade out of your hands when you press it. If you move the sword too fast, it won't properly sharpen it."

Nodding, Jean starts pedaling, trying for a moment to find what he feels to be a comfortable rhythm before he places the sword against the stone, gritting his teeth silently as the scratching sound of the stone on metal fills his ears.

Meanwhile, Erin moved towards the Sleeping Giant Inn, the building seemingly being the heart of the village, the folk sitting on the steps or leaning on the barriers as they chatted amicably. A few gave Erin curious looks, but generally shrugged her presence off. Riverrun was, after all, one the shortest routes from Pale Pass into Skyrim's heartland, and as such, they were used to all manner of travellers stopping by.

The main hall was a spacious room, with the stone floor and long, raised hearth in the center serving to warm the building, with rows of the tables against the walls decorated with circles of snowberry flowers and candle-horns lighting the room.

It did her heart good to see that, as mentioned, the alchemy lab was in a sectioned off room rather than next to where food was laid out. Alchemy may be a whole lot less volatile than mundane chemistry, but poison was still poison. And, well, even if the fumes and dust in question were harmless, very few reagents would produce anything particularly pleasing to the nose.

She shakes her head. Enough idle musings, she had potions to make.

 

[Nihilo]

Yeet.

Now, for quick reference, we're keeping a big buffer for this. Which means something needs to go very wrong and repeatedly so to stop us from posting chapters weekly here.

 

[Crimson Reiter]

[Wild OMIDA FIC appeared]

[OMIDA FIC uses LONG CHAPTER]

[It's super effective!!]

And yeah, watched.

I really want to see the political repercussions in the background and the Thalmor and the Stormcloaks screaming as soundtrack

Man, this gonna be awesome~

 

[Nihilo]

[Wild OMIDA FIC appeared]

[OMIDA FIC uses LONG CHAPTER]

[It's super effective!!]

And yeah, watched.

I really want to see the political repercussions in the background and the Thalmor and the Stormcloaks screaming as soundtrack

Man, this gonna be awesome~

Click to shrink...

I can tell you right now that a running joke is Erin being the least Altmer to ever Altmer.

>Everyone would be questioning if the world's ending, but well, Alduin

 

[ShowbizRex]

Would be funny if Erin decided to raid the secret stash of Delphine, she not there so her reaction of her secret place being raided could be funny

 

[Omida]

Would be funny if Erin decided to raid the secret stash of Delphine, she not there so her reaction of her secret place being raided could be funny

Click to shrink...

As funny as the reaction would be, it would also trigger Delphine's Thalmor paranoia, and we are not quite yet ready for that kind of boss fight .

 

[Nihilo]

As funny as the reaction would be, it would also trigger Delphine's Thalmor paranoia, and we are not quite yet ready for that kind of boss fight .

Click to shrink...

Erin is already triggering her hard enough as-is, since Delphine is sus of an Altmer possessed of basic manners and who does not antagonise anything and everything that breathes.

 

[ArchAIngel]

Erin is already triggering her hard enough as-is, since Delphine is sus of an Altmer possessed of basic manners and who does not antagonise anything and everything that breathes.

Click to shrink...

"You're not a raging asshole? Shit, they're getting smarter."

The job of a spy is a paranoia filled one. And pretty miserable too.

 

[Crimson Reiter]

I can tell you right now that a running joke is Erin being the least Altmer to ever Altmer.

>Everyone would be questioning if the world's ending, but well, Alduin

Click to shrink...

Random NCP: "You're so Nord..."

Erin: "Thank you!"

 

[Nihilo]

Random NCP: "You're so Nord..."

Erin: "Thank you!"

Click to shrink...

Half of it is legitimately being a decent person.

The other half is chortling at the idea of how much the Thalmor will froth at the mouth.

>There will also be much chortling at the Blades
>I am halfway tempted to have Erin go "fuck that noise" at the stairway and just ring up Durnehviir


On that note, quick vague overview of what places the currently planned plot will go:

Spoiler: In case someone doesn't want even a very vague overview spoiling things

Arc 1 will be regular main quest stuff until about the first dragon kill, plus some minor detours. [This one's all written up by now, with five chapters and two interludes]

Arc 2 is getting tangled in the Dawnguard stuff, with a few bigger detours along the way. The College of Winterhold features amongst them. [We're just getting started writing this one, halfway through the sixth chapter]

Arc 3 is going to be the dynamic duo going back to their regularly scheduled world saving business by finally going off to meet Partysnacks. (Also, there's a very fun surprise in this one)

 

[Omida]

Interlude 1: Grumpy General and Hoarse Bear's No Good Very Bad Day

The distant boom of thunder drowns the monotonous sound of hooves and creaking of the carts for a moment.

The gods must hate me if they decided to send the rain now, of all time. General Marcus Aurelius Tullius thinks grimly as he looks back at the tired, dirty column of people his legionaries were leading down the road through Falkreath. At least even shaken and terrified, his men prioritize the safety of civilians. And to think that the day began with what promised to be the end of the blasted Stormcloak rebellion. They captured that treacherous murderer Ulfric, they had him on the block.

And then the sky spat out a beast from nurses' tall tales. Helgen was a fortified city, with solid walls and attentive guards, further bolstered by legion soldiers. They were ready to repulse any attempts Stormcloaks could mount on short notice to save their leader. They were not ready for a monster that didn't even notice arrow fire and shrugged magic with contempt. They were not ready for an intelligent beast from the myths that commanded the power of Thu'um.

And then the Stormcloak party stormed out of the keep, because, as Tullius would later learn, the place had a hidden entrance. Good in case of sudden siege. Not so good when you were preparing high profile execution. And so, Tullius was forced to choose. Fight the Stormcloaks and attempt to salvage his attempt at ending civil war, or stall the dragon and let people flee. Tullius knew generals who would still try to kill Ulfric. But that was not the sort of man he was. So he let Ulfric go, while he commanded his men to focus on a dragon. Almost all battlemages he brought with him from Solitude were now charred corpses.

But at least people were safe. People who, once he figured out where to drop them, would spread the word of the Empire prioritizing its citizens' safety. Maybe he would see his legion swell with volunteers. Maybe that indecisive bastard Balgruuf would finally make up his mind.

Shaking his head, Tullius takes out the map of Skyrim from his bag, trying to figure his course of action. There were only two main roads leading out of Falkreath north. One through Whiterun, where Balgruuf made his opinion on legionaries crossing his land clear. One through the Reach. Gods above, he couldn't lead the refugee column through the Reach! Forsworn would pick them apart, now that he was almost completely stripped of magical defenses. Sighing, he turns to the cart right behind him.

"Rikke." The woman looks up from cradling the pregnant woman to her chest to offer some measure of comfort to the freshly made widow. "Find me a man who is not dying on his feet and give him a horse. I need Balgruf to authorise our passage. I don't care how many of his men he will decide is necessary to babysit us." The woman nods before gently disentangling herself and hopping off the cart, her voice booming as she carries out his request.

Shaking his head, Tullius looks to the sky. I hope at the end of the day, prolonging this mess will be worth it.
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Sitting in the relative warmth of the tent in the hidden camp in the mountains separating Falkreath from Pale with a bottle of mead in hand, Ulfric Stormcloak broods as he listens to the chatter of his men tending to the wounded, preparing horses and swapping the stories. His gaze is locked into nothing in particular, simply seeing things as his mind wanders.

It was a close brush he had today, too close. He got too reckless, too assured of his familiarity with Skyrim. When he arrived in Skyrim, the military governor, General Tullius, didn't push into the holds aligned with their noble cause, choosing to instead focus on securing his hold on those who chose the Empire over Talos. Ulfric thought the man weak. Indecisive. He almost lost his head as he was outplayed. The legionnaires fell upon them on the break of dawn, when they were groggy and not awake enough. Before Ulfric knew it, he had a gag in his mouth and rope on his wrists. As did most of his men. Only their sentries were slain, in fact. A perfect ambush. Even if it did catch a no name horse thief and an unlucky smuggler in it.

Ulfric's head was already on a chopping block, the executioner's axe already raised when it happened. A dragon. A huge beast, black like moonless night sky, with eyes of crimson red, full of malice. Shining with intelligence. With intent and purpose. It spoke. It spoke in dovahzul, in the language of dragons, obviously.

Ulfric takes a deep sip of the mead.

The very first part of the training any acolytes at High Hrothgar did was learning the dovahzul. Not the Thu'um, that was the endeavor of years, if not decades of meditation. But to Speak, one must first learn the meaning of the words before they can start accepting them into oneself.

And even if Ulfric left the monastery to answer the call to war against Dominion like a true Nord should, ther lessons stuck

"Zu'u Alduin, zok sahrot do naan ko Lein. Zu'u lost daal."

I am Alduin, most mighty of any in Mundus and I have returned. Its words shook the earth and sky, and Ulfric's heart stopped at that moment, for he alone knew the meaning, and he alone knew they lived in the last age, when legends from the dawn of time returned.

"Nust wo ni qiilaan fen kos duaan."

Those who do not bow will be devoured. The World Eater has returned, and Ulfric knew, recalling his lessons at the Throat of the World. This was the Last Age, and yet, just as in the First Age, the one destined to end the existence instead desired to rule it.

And in the darkness of his tent, Ulfric smiles grimly. There was no reason for the World Eater to swoop down to the site of Ulfric's execution. There was no reason for it to announce his return in such a fashion. And yet Alduin did, and he killed the Imperial Legion. There was no reason for Alduin to come to Helgen.

Therefore, since there was no reason for that, and it saved Ulfric, allowing him to continue his noble fight, it must've clearly meant that gods themselves, that Talos himself, were smiling favourably upon him. Once upon the time, the Tongues vanquished Alduin, earning Tamriel centuries, millenia of freedom from dragon rule. There were so very few practitioners of Thu'um now, but Ulfric was one of them.

As far as Ulfric Stormcloak is concerned, the Divines themselves consecrated his cause, in fire and death, and showed him that his destiny lay beyond merely the throne of High King, beyond avenging the humiliation the Aldmeri Dominion inflicted upon men.

It is in Thu'um that the destiny of Tamriel was written before, and it is in Thu'um it will continue to be written.

---

AN: A chapter proper will be coming a bit sooner on account of the interlude being fairly short.

 

[RaptorusMaximus]

Not sure I like this interpretation of Ulfric, but I do like Tullius. Looking forward to the chapter proper.

 

[Nihilo]

Not sure I like this interpretation of Ulfric, but I do like Tullius. Looking forward to the chapter proper.

Click to shrink...

To be fair, in that segment he's both more than a bit drunk AND thoroughly rattled due to almost having his head chopped off, then having THE WORLD EATER HIMSELF swoop down to rain down meteors on everyone.

 

[Omida]

Chapter 2: Hippity Hoppity Stop Poaching in the Jarl's Property

Leaning in his chair, Baalgruf the Greater, jarl of Whiterun, the man who danced on the edge of the blade every day as the civil war raged on, frowns as he keeps listening to the hurried reports of the couriers from the garrisons across his hold. When the previous day the garrison from across White River reported sightings of the dragon flying from the Throat of the World, Balgruuf dismissed it as the minds of bored men playing tricks on them during a long, uneventful shift. Then, the men from Fort Greymoor reported the same later that day. And then a messenger bird from Fellglow Keep repeated the message. By the time General Tullius' harried envoy arrived deep into the night, Balgruuf was certain that this was no poor joke of bored guards. No, the legend apparently did come to life and swept across his lands.

The problem was, he had nothing more than reports of sightings. What was a man of his position supposed to do? His men were already stretched thin across the hold enforcing Whiterun's neutrality, but the rumours were already spreading, and people were whispering. They may not have spoken to his face, but Balgruuf could tell. They were scared. Uncertain. The rest of Tamriel forgot much about dragons, but in Skyrim, where the sacred art of the Voice was still practiced and venerated, where the stories of the Tongues of old were repeated by fireplaces, Nords told the tales of the tyranny of the overlords flying on the wings of death. Of the war against dragons that reaped the bloody toll and could be fought only because goddess Kyne gifted men with the same power the dragons held. And nowadays, only Greybeards still practice Thu'um, and their vows forbid them from battle.

What is a man supposed to do when the entire troop of Legion's mages fell to the dragon?

"My lord, I simply advise caution. The news from Helgen might be true, but they also might be a result of… misunderstanding." Proventus, his steward proposes. "The civil war has been going on for quite some time, neither side gaining advantage. It might have been a trick of one side or another, a greater illusion meant to scare people into action."

Snorting, his court mage shakes his head. "Right. 'An Illusion'. Which is how we've got a population of a small town worth of refugees currently camping on the west bank of Lake Illinata. Which doesn't even count the fact that there are too many eyewitnesses spread too wide who reported the same thing for it to be a trick."

"And, heartless as it is to say, that means they are Siddgeir's problem. We don't have enough men to act without evidence."

Balgruuf grits his teeth. That much is true, pained as he is to admit. "Still. We have to do something, Proventus. People need to know they can trust us to act when the situation demands it. And a dragon showing up...." Before he can continue, there is a commotion at the long tables down the hall. Looking up, Balgruuf can see Irileth stopping a pair of strangers from approaching. One of them, a woman, keeps a hood on until Irileth speaks sharply, although he is too far to hear what. The words however, cause the unknown woman to lower the hood, and Balgruuf can tell why she might have kept it up. Altmer were, after all, not regarded well in Skyrim, even if her pale skin and so light as to appear almost silver hair were not regular features for that particular race. The man, on the other hand, was practically mundane in comparison. A Breton, with a cloak thrown over leather armour, with a sword at his hip. Straightening himself, Balgruuf raises his voice. "Irileth! Who is that?"

"Those two come from Riverwood, my jarl." The dark elf replies as she approaches, the strangers in tow. "They say they have more news of the dragon."

Balgruuf stiffens at that, but nods at the two to come closer. "Let's hear it then."

The man bows awkwardly, clearly unused and unsure of the etiquette of a Jarl's court. "As your housecarl said, we come from Riverwood, at the behest of Gurdun and Alvor. They have sighted the dragon flying over the previous and are worried it might come around to attack the village." Pausing, he frowns uncertainly. "Although, from the things we have heard on the way up here, I suppose the news of Helgen already reached your ears? Because we have talked with a pair of eyewitnesses about that too. And, well, we saw the beast too. It flew right over us on its way north as we camped near the standing stones at lake Ilinalta yesterday morning, and flew north, over the mountains."

Snorting, Balgruuf shakes his head. "Aye. But it is good to have more confirmation." Turning to Proventus he continues. "Now then, Proventus, our people request us to protect them. Make sure a solid contingent is dispatched to the Riverwood." Frowning, he thinks for a moment. "Pull them from our immediate surroundings. We will have to count on Companions and adventurers to keep things in check until things calm down." Then, he turns towards the two. "I must thank you for the information." He pauses as Farengar leans towards him.

"My Jarl, I have an… associate, who is looking for the location of something which may help with the current situation. Given we are stretched thin, may I suggest keeping those two on call for when I need people to fetch it? If they agree, that is." The mage whispers into Balgruuf's ear.

"If they agree, Farengar. Until then, they are their own people." Nodding, his court wizard bows and backs off, retreating to his study. With that, Balgruuf addresses the two again. "Anyway, feel free to sample Whiterun's hospitality. I may have the task for you in a few days time, but until then, do as you please." With that he waves them off, clearly indicating that the audience is done.
___________________________________________________________________________

"Considering how different the events are from how it was in the game, I must say, that went incredibly well." Jean mutters as he slinks towards the hearth. "I wonder how long we will have to wait until Farengar needs his tablet? Could probably take a quick side job to make sure we have money."

"Some bounties, maybe? I remember something about this big bandit camp who focused on hunting mammoths." Erin proposes as she snags a seat of her own nearby, "Although we'd probably be better off starting with a much smaller camp. Maybe a taken over watchtower like the one near Riverwood? We're going to have to fight, and kill, bandits sooner than later, so we best get inured to it as fast as we can." The idea left a bit of a bitter taste in her mouth, right up until she reminded herself these were murder-rape happy shitheads they were talking about. Sure, they may have a sob story about how they ended in that situation, but they still went about murdering and violating wantonly.

"Mhm. Honestly, I am kinda impressed with those poachers. It takes balls to risk the Skyrim Space Program when all you have is a dinky palisade for protection."

Erin shrugs, idly tossing out her theory, "Their plan would probably be to just scurry off to the mine where neither mammoths nor giants can reach, then just rain down arrows and spells on the big chunguses until they give up."

"Either that or a giant drops a boulder on the entrance and then they have to navigate their own spike pit." Jean snorts, before grimacing. "Anyway, that's probably a good idea. Considering I hesitated even with a wolf, getting used to blood sounds like a good idea." Shooting the hearth a longing look, he closes his eyes before sighing and standing up. "Well, no time like now."

Before the two of them can move far, a black haired Nord woman approaches them from the side of the hall, decked out in full steel armor, with a shield on her arm, sword at the hip and bow and quiver of arrows on the back.

"Hail, my name is Lydia. I have overheard you were planning to take a swing at the mammoth poachers who set the camp nearby, aye?" She immediately cuts to the point. "I have been meaning to gather a few men and take care of them, but then this entire mess with the dragons happened and suddenly soldiers were needed elsewhere. I would be glad to accompany you, if you would have me?"

"I am not against the idea" Jean muses "thought I have to ask. Why the interest in a couple of morons who play the dangerous game with giants?"

Lydia looks him in the eyes. "I have been… learning the giant-tongue. Spending time with the tribe near Bleakwind Basin. They are my friends, far as I am concerned, so of course anyone messing with them deserves to be put in their place. And since they live peacefully in Jarl's hold, they are just as much entitled to his protection as the Nords and everyone else."

Erin produced a curious hum at the mention of the giant's language, mind jumping into high gear for a reassessment of opportunities and angles. That was cut short as the woman continued talking, her views on the giants' status earning her an approving grunt and nod from the elf.

Jean doesn't comment on how she words it as 'Nords and everyone else'. Instead, he shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't have any issues with that."

"Nor do I." Erin pipes up, "The more, the merrier and all the safer."

Smiling, Lydia nods. "Excellent. Allow me to grab my pack and meet me at the gates then."
___________________________________________________________________________

Peeking from behind the tree in the small grove overlooking the camp, Lydia frowns as she observes the camp through her spyglass.

"Five… no, make that six men with bows on the palisade, two playing lookouts. I think I saw movement in the shed. So that's at least seven men on the outside, then who knows how many inside the mine." Shaking her head, the nordic woman folds the instrument and puts it in the bag. "And from what the tribe said, at least two mages with frost spells."

Shaking his head, Jean kneels next to her. "You know, I have always wondered why people are so eager to use frost in Skyrim. Aren't you Nords resistant?"

Lydia snorts, before answering. "The cold bothers us less, yes, but it will eventually seep into your bones, make you sluggish and lethargic. Before you notice, you have fallen asleep, never to wake up." Then, she pats her armor. "Besides, unlike fire and lighting, it makes heavy armor tricky. It will freeze your joints in place, making you use more strength just to move. And that's assuming the spell doesn't just freeze you to the ground and make an easy target out of you. Good for capturing targets living that way, which is why any bandits who know magic will usually have learned it. Corpses don't pay ransom."

"She is right, you know." Athis notes from behind them, the Dunmer Companion rolling his shoulders, shield propped against his legs. "I have lost count of the amount of times I had to use Flames on myself after bandit fights." Besides him, a woman in scaled armor fidgets nervously as she grips the pommels of her twin swords. "Oh, don't worry Ria, you managed the initiation."

"Easy for you to say. This is my first time fighting other humans to death." She mutters, but manages to at least still herself.

"Noted." Jean answers wryly. "So what's the plan? I believe I am the only one without a ranged option."

"I could lend you my shield. Your and Athis' job would be to be moving targets, while me and Erin take care of the archers. If the mages come out to play, lighting would be a great way to deny them magicka to cast." Lydia proposes.

"What about me?" Ria asks.

Lydia shakes her head. "Storming walls, even palisades, without any protection is a recipe for an arrow in the gut. I understand you are good, but save your blades for the mine. In the corridors, there is not enough space for an archer to feel comfortable."

"Ha! Tell that to Aela, I have heard her regale us with the tale of cleaning an entire underground complex with nothing but bow and arrows." Athis interjects.

Lydia snorts and shakes her head. "Aela is a member of the Inner Circle. I would not put anything she accomplishes as anywhere approaching normal."

"Not the biggest fan of that plan, but I suppose that's what I get for not investing in learning proper fireball." Jean finally notes after a moment of thought.

"You could always try to sprint towards the palisade and smack anyone who gets out in the face with the shield. Or pray they decide Athis is more entertaining target. Which, as he is a Dunmer, is likely." The aforementioned warrior chuckles but says nothing. Before Jean can offer commentary, Lydia continues, a small smile on her lips. "Don't worry, I packed extra healing potions. If you chug them fast enough, you won't even have any scars to show."

"And I can set you two up with Oakflesh to help you along." Erin offers, teal light already coalescing into geometric lines in her hands. The balance between magicka cost and effect duration meant that it just wasn't viable to try and buff up the entire party, but just a duo of frontliners on top of herself was doable. Especially because it'd only be for a single charge, so she wouldn't have to refresh it like she was doing with her own buff.

"See? You will be alright even if you are hopeless with the shield." Lydia added teasingly before standing up and taking out her bow, notching an arrow.

"I will pass. Your friend is relatively green, so he may need all the help he can get, but at some point, he will only need warding against mages."

Erin shrugs, "Fair enough. More spare magicka to shove lightning down the bandits' throats." And less potions she'd have to chug to keep it up.

Sighing, Jean slipped his left arm into the leather straps on the shield and gripped it tight. "Right. Let's see how good at catching arrows I am." He says with forced cheer.

"Remember, head down and move in zig-zag." Erin advised as she let the spell loose, a weave of wireframe polygons flying out to enwrap Jean before the light sunk into his flesh.

Lydia nods approvingly before leaning against the trunk of the tree and drawing the bow, eyes scanning the palisade, watching the poachers lazily move over it. They are relaxed, all things considered, probably since they figure they will spot giant's retaliation coming well ahead of time.

Still, the man on the lookout spots Jean and Athis near immediately as the redhead jumps down the small outcrop the grove was situated on, the Dunmer right on his heels, his heavy plate slowing him down somewhat. The poacher shouts, alerting the rest before drawing the bow. Lydia's arrow pierces his throat before he can finish notching an arrow. He falls over the palisade, hitting the ground with a dull thud. The rest of the gang starts shouting, two closest firing blindly into the woods, their arrows going wide. Two aim at Jean, who holds the shield sloped and high, hiding his head under it as he runs, while the last archer shoots at Athis, who deflects the arrow with his gauntlet. Then, Lydia catches the flash of white from the shack.

"Hmmm. One mage outside." She mutters as she draws another arrow.

"On it." Erin replies, a Lesser Ward ready to spring from her right hand and compliment the Oakflesh she already applied on herself. Lightning was the best element to use against mages, but it had a bit of an issue. The moment she let loose the lightningbolt she was charging in her left hand, her position would be revealed. Which is why she has seen about repositioning just a tad, so when her spell streaks out a blinding line of crackling light across the field, everyone's attention is pulled away from their party's archer.

The bolt strikes true, Athis and Jean catching a faint sound of a ward breaking under the spell, before there is another white flash between the logs of the palisade and the sound of the spell settling in again.

"Rookie mistake. Probably panicked about getting it broken. He will have less magicka to use against us." Athis murmurs as he and Jean approach the gate. "Come on, shield upfront, head under it and we push."

Jean nods silently and hits the gate with his shield before curling as instructed, his feet digging into the ground. He hears the faint sound of the weapons leaving their holsters on the other side.

Meanwhile, back in the grove, Lydia looses another arrow, catching one of the poachers in the knee, the woman falling off the elevated position as her leg suddenly gives up under her. Then, she motions at Ria and Erin. "Let's go. They will be more worried about the boys than us right now." With that, she sprints from the cover of the trees, rolling after the jump to conserve her momentum, Ria hot on her heels as she brandishes her blades. Erin is only a step behind, eyes raking the walls for threats and a suitable meatshield to reanimate- oh yeah, that one would do nicely.

With a creak, the wooden gate opens, and Jean can appreciate Athis' advice as an arrow immediately bounces off of his shield. Behind him, Lydia slows her run and smoothly draws the bow and releases the arrow at the archer standing in the entrance to the shack, although the distance allows the man to duck safely behind the wall. Meanwhile, the Dunmer goes with the movement of the gate, pushing it with his shoulder as he covers himself with the shield. Then, he ducks as the warhammer strikes the air where his shield has been just a moment ago, the weapon embedding itself deep in the wood. Athis jabs with his shield against his opponent, who jumps back and grabs an axe from the table.

The two circle each other for a moment before Athis rusher forward, catching the axe on his shield and throwing his shield-arm wide to the side, unbalancing the poacher while stabbing with the sword. The man bows over, his hands instinctively going to the wound as the gurgle escapes his lips. Athis finishes him off with a quick cut over his throat.

Before the man in the shed can peek out with his bow, Ria runs through the door, blades swinging, only to be stopped on the bow. The poacher drops the weapon, hand going for the dagger at his belt before Ria headbutts him and impales him through the chest.

Meanwhile Jean spots the mage trying to retreat towards the door to the mine. He charges, shield high, hoping the poacher won't be smart enough to target his legs. The man extends his hand, glowing with pale blue light, and a spray of frost surges at Jean, who instinctively shrinks on himself as the cold hits, although to his credit, he continues moving. Before he can collide with the mage, an arrow lands squarely in the man's eye, dropping him dead. Blinking, the redhead stops before the fresh corpse and risks looking back.

Aaand there's Erin, flashing him a grin and a thumbs up from her spot behind a very dead archer who nevertheless is standing on her own two feet and already nocking in a new arrow despite the one lodged through her throat.

Jean shots her a deadpan look, mouthing 'killsteal' before snorting.

The elf woman chuckles before running up to the main group, seeing as all the bandits outside the mine have been thoroughly dispatched. The reanimated corpse follows right along, bow pointed down and its string undrawn to avoid accidents.

Erin eyes the door to the mine, nodding to herself, "Right, there's probably going to be a few traps in there, so..." A tug on the magicka keeping her new friend up and about has the corpse discard the bow, trading it for one of the bandits' crude shields and a hand axe. "May as well trip them up with an undead meatshield." She'd thought she'd be a whole lot more disturbed around death like this, but nope! She didn't know if it was just her personal cocktail of neuroses going a lot farther with the ambivalence to such things than she'd expected, or if it was her new altmer body lacking those sort of visceral responses, but when she looked at the corpses she may as well be eyeing a pile of dung. Unhygienic and vaguely disgusting, yes, but nothing worth freaking out over.

Lydia and Ria shoot the undead a look of vague disgust, although in the former's case it is clearly more about the general shambling, while the latter is more generally perturbed at the desecration. Athis just shrugs and nods approvingly.

"It should work. Don't expect it to last though. Animated corpses just don't hold a candle in comparison to draugr." The man comments with a shudder.

Jean hums, hands gripping his shield and sword to get them under control. The fact that the dunmer thought the draugr were actually dangerous meant that their eventual trip to Bleakfalls would be… a bit more complicated than expected.

Still, as the undead clumsily opens the door to the mine, it is forced back by the spike of ice impaling itself through its chest, followed by a trio of arrows.

"Divines damn it! They got a necromancer!" Comes a shout from inside. "Fall back, let the traps take care of it!"

The undead moans, driving the spike deeper into its body before putting shield in front of it and marching forward, the group following behind it.

"Hmmm… They have more brains than I would have thought. Normally, bandits panic and forget about removing torches." Lydia comments as she brings her shield up the corridor further down completely vanishing in darkness. "Say Erin, do you know magelight? We can use our own torches, but that will remove a weapon from the equation."

"Aye." She knew it and Candlelight. They were actually the same spell, just with varying levels of control and skill behind them. Much like Sparks and Lightningbolt, really. "Any particular placements plan, or should I just throw a handful wherever?"

"By the ceiling would be lovely. That way, you won't need too many and we won't miss anything by being blinded by the light." Athis replies.

She nods, making a small contented noise as she visibly tucks away that bit of wisdom for future use. Moments later, her hands are full of light, which she wastes no time throwing in to stud the ceiling. Magicka usage isn't that big a worry right at the moment, given that she can just take a breather for a few seconds and let it refill naturally. Or take her time chugging a potion if she's pressed. The wonders of having an undead meatshield keeping people busy.

As if to punish her for feeling safe, there is a loud snap as Erin's undead minion trips the wire on the way down the corridor. For a moment, all is relatively silent before the section of the ceiling opens and the zombie is crushed underneath falling boulders, the stones rolling down the corridor.

Shaking his head, Athis chuckles. "Just to be expected, and now we can add navigating the stones as we advance." Moving with Lydia to the forefront, he continues. "Cheer up, it was inevitable. Zombies aren't the best jumpers. And this style of trap is popular in practically every overtaken mine I have seen."

She sighs, shaking her head, "Fair enough. Well, no time to go out and grab another corpse, so onwards we go."

The group proceeds deeper into the mine, stepping over some of the stones and moving around the larger ones, all the while there is no sign of the rest of the band they came for. Then, they come to the end of the corridor, pausing to look at the empty table and the closed gate leading deeper in.

"Hmmm… Annoying. There is probably an alternate entrance, but..." Athis muses.

"It's probably where they have a trap for the mammoths, aye." Lydfia finishes before sheathing her sword and putting the shield away. "Right, cover me with your shield, Athis. I've got a few lockpicks, but I would rather not change getting hit through the bars."

The dunmer nods and moves to stand over Lydia as she kneels in front of the lock, his shield interjecting between her body and the bars, leaving only her hands visible. For a moment, the woman works in silence, only scratching of the pick on the mechanism audible, before there is a soft click and she smiles.

"Still got it." Standing up, she retrieves her shield and opens the gate. "Hmmm… We mustn't be far from the main chamber." She mutters. "The corridor further ahead is basked in shadow, aye, but it looks like there is something on the other side providing light as well."

Looking down, Athis narrows his eyes before nodding. "Seems so. And the corridor seems to be narrowing. It will have space only for one of us. Excellent place for them to hit us." The two of them look each other in the eye. "The best of three?" Athis offers, only to be met with a snort.

"Against the fastest hand in the Jorrvaskr? Fat chance Athis. Even Farkas knows better than to play Boulder-Scroll-Sword against you. Farkas." The dunmer chuckles as he shakes his head.

"Fair enough. I will be on point then."

With that, the elf walks through the gate, shield held up as he carefully feels the ground in front of him with his foot, Lydia behind him, then Ria, Jean and finally Erin. As they go deeper, they can feel the air getting warmer, and hear the sound of some sort of liquid pouring on the ground. Then, they arrive at the wooden wall placed almost certainly for the sole purpose of narrowing the corridor. Taking a deep breath, Athis grips his sword tighter before crouching low. Then, he breathes out and shoots forward, hiding his body behind as much of the shield as he can.

There is a sound of ice breaking on it and arrows hitting the walls and embedding themselves in the wall as the cave suddenly comes to life with the shouting of the poachers. He impacts the mage, bawling the man over the railway into the floor below. At the same time, Lydia comes sprinting towards the stairs, followed by Ria. Jean runs towards the railing and peeks from behind the shield on the floor below.

Oiling the entire floor might be… a bit too much, surely? He muses, before flicking a short burst of flame towards the ground below. On the stairs, Lydia catches Ria before either of them can step to the floor as everything below, including a mammoth carcass, is swallowed in the flames, the mage screaming as the clothes on his back catch on fire.

"Shield up!" Athis cries and Jean follows, not too soon as a group of archers fire from an elevated platform on the opposite end of the cave. "Great way to deal with their trap, but it has downsides!" The dunmer shouts before grinning. "Now watch my back!" With that, the man jumps over the railing into the floor below landing on the screaming mage, completely unconcerned with the fire. Rising his shield, he stomps on the poacher's head, silencing the screams.

Meanwhile, lightning streaks through the cave, lovingly addressed to the bandit boss courtesy of Erin. It wouldn't do for the shithead to be able to get out any clever orders, now would it?
The warhammer-wielding orc is hit directly in the chest by the lighting, the force of the impact throwing him back against the wall. One of the archers panics and shoots blindly, his arrow hitting the stone wall next to the entrance to the corridor. The other three keep firing at Lydia and Jean who can merely cover behind the shields.

Then, the orc shakes his head and roars, standing up and in a few jumps closing the distance between Athis and the stairs to the platform, seemingly unconcerned for the flames as he swings his warhammer in a downward arc. Athis' eyes widen before he sidesteps, the hammer striking the ground and sending flaming rubble flying. The dunmer charges unconcerned, thrusting with his shield, only for the poacher to let go of his weapon and catch the shield with both hands, the two wrestling for a moment before Athis slips his hand free of the shield just as the orc heaves and rips it out of his hand, throwing it against the wall.

Erin racks her brain for a tense second, weighing her options and examining angles of action before resolving into an only slightly harebrained scheme. One involving a daedra wolf spirit leaping out of a purple bloom near the mine's ceiling, flaming ground far under it as the creature sails through the air to meet the unfortunate archers on the platform.

In the chaos of their boss exchanging blows with a dunmer amidst burning floor and trying to keep a mage and pair of warriors at the distance, the archers miss the low hum of the portal opening or the brief flash of purple light before daedric wolf lands on one of them, toppling the woman over and ripping her throat open. Her comrades drop their bows in panic as they jump back, one falling over the bed while the other hitting a table.

On the floor below, Athis dodges the punch before slicing the orc's stomach, the poacher grunting and twisting to follow dunmer's movement but giving no indication as to having noticed the wound. Instead, he grabs his warhammer and swings it wide one handed, Athis ducking below, wincing as the flames lick his exposed face. Still, the Companion jabs with his blade, severing tendons in the orc's knee. The berserker stumbles unbalanced trying to right himself with a roar, which is cut short when Athis's sword pierces his throat.

Up on the platform, the daedric wolf turns toward the poacher who fell over the table, the man drawing his dagger in panic as he shields his throat with the other hand, crying in pain as the fangs pierce his skin. Blindly he drives his weapon into the wolf's side, the familiar only growling and mauling his hand more ferociously.

Meanwhile, Erin sends off another volley of lightning, aiming for the one bandit in the platform both alive and not busy getting mauled. Her summon can handle itself well enough.

The poacher who previously hit the table draws his mace, but before he can help his comrade, he is hit by the lighting and hurled against the wall. Unlike his boss, he does not stand back up. Meanwhile, Athis walks to the man struggling against the familiar and tips the scales by slicing the man's skull open.

"I hate fighting orcs." He mutters as he kicks the corpse off the bed and sits on it, waiting for the flames to die off. "You either kill them fast or suddenly they are raging and don't notice they should be dying."

Soon enough, the fire finally dies down, leaving the cave dry and uncomfortably warm.

"That should be the last of them, yeah?" Erin asks, eyes raking through the mine and familiar set to sniff around. The daedric hound wanders around the chamber for a moment before settling down next to the charred mammoth's corpse.

"Seems like it." Lydia notes. "I will check that tunnel, while you can look around for anything interesting." With that, she grabs a torch from one of the walls and moves deeper into the corridor opposite of the stairs they all came from.

Jean sighs and checks the table in the corner right before the stairs to the ground level. There are some potions, although there is no indication about the effects of each of them. He supposes the poachers didn't need them when they had the brewer on hand to tell them. Still, if he could find someone to appraise them, they could sell for a reasonable price.

Meanwhile, Ria joins Athis at the platform doubling for the sleeping area, moving straight for the large chest at the end of it. The dunmer stands up and checks the other table, raising an eyebrow at the lumps of iron ore accompanied by silver and gold, as well as a spell tome. Humming to himself, he opens the book and leafs through the pages for a while.

"Looks like our giant angering friends also dabbled in a bit of magical counterfeit." He notes. Seeing Jean shoot him questioning look, he continues. "Their mages were using Alteration to turn iron into precious metals. The spell isn't even hard. Quite common in fact. That's why no respectable merchant will give you a good price for an ingot of the stuff. Gemstones can't be transfigured, so there is no risk of undervaluing. And transfigured metal is shit at holding enchantments. There are still buyers of course, mostly if you want expensive looking jewelry without actually paying the price."

"Huh. So the book is..." Jean trails, unsure if game mechanics would still translate in such a way even useless spells could be used for level grind. Athis chuckles.

"Oh, it still has uses. I am no mage, shocking as it may appear, but I know a thing or two, and the basic thing is, magicka is like any other muscle. You train it and your reserves get stronger."

"Ought to have use when diving into tombs and whatnot. If you need to bruteforce something, better have it be a soft precious metal." Erin pipes up from where she's standing, currently putting Clairvoyance through its paces. As it turns out, that little piece of spellwork was a LOT more versatile than the game depicted. It took a bit of tuning, but it did a wonderful work of drawing her attention to little valuables she may have otherwise missed.

Immediately, she notices the chest directly under her feet, as well as the ring on the orc's finger. Off to poke that, then. Meanwhile, Ria finishes rummaging through the poachers' chest and drops the valuables on the table. Mostly a well maintained steel blade, a necklace and a large pouch of gold.

"Sooo, how do we split it up?" She asks.

"Neither of us needs the sword, the necklace… hmmm." Frowning, Athis takes a closer look. "Definitely enchanted. With what, I can't tell. Farengar could tell, if he isn't too busy. Until we know the effect, there is no use to argue who gets it. As such, the only question is the cut of the money."

Jean hums in agreement as he descends the stairs. From what he remembers, there should be another chest, stuffed under the staircase, with the entry a bit behind the improvised forge. However, the wall of the platform runs all the way, with no obvious doorway. Not even the way the boards are put gives any hint, the entire thing being haphazardly assembled.

Frowning, he notices Erin approaching. "Is it just me or was there supposed to be an extra chest?" He murmurs "Do you think there is a hiding space behind that wall?"

"Clairvoyance picked up a chest in there, so there's definitely some sort of fake wall involved." She replies, moving closer to start rapping her knuckles against the planks, listening for a hollow sound.

"Well then." He mutters. "From what I remember, it's all empty behind that wall, so let's just break through." With that, he moves towards the orc's corpse and, fighting down the urge to vomit, wrestles the warhammer from the poacher's hand. He stumbles a bit before grabbing the weapon in both hands. Noticing the Companions shooting him a look, he shrugs. "Erin says her spell indicated some sort of hidden compartment under the stairs, so I am just going to break a section." The two of them nod and return to counting the coins.

"As long as it doesn't collapse the scaffold." Lydia notes, reemerging from the tunnel. "As I thought, there is a spike pit at the end. They probably used Frenzy and arrows to drive mammoths towards it." Grimacing, she continues. "There was also an altmer there. He fell just right to get impaled through his guts."

Nodding and taking a deep breath, Jean returns to the wall and swings the hammer, breaking the boards as he hits. He repeats the motion a couple of times, and soon, there is a small entrance to the inside of the scaffold. Setting the weapon aside, he squeezes through, noting the wardrobes used to strengthen the structure. The space is fairly dark, but there is a glow coming through the gaps between boards giving him enough light. Walking carefully, he finds the chest he was expecting to see and opens it.

Inside, wrapped carefully in cottons, there is a bundle of mammoth tusks, another pouch, which when shaken, produces the sound of stones hitting each other as well as an axe radiating a weak trace of magic. From what he remembers, the place was supposed to have a weapon with the enchantment increasing its effectiveness against animals.

In the meantime, Erin sees about snagging the ring Clairvoyance pinged off from the dead orc's hand, a slight grimace on her face as she does. Corpses may no longer register as something worth getting worked up over, but there's still as much disgust reaction as with a pile of dung. Makes it unpleasant to touch, even with gloves. Still, it doesn't hold a candle to having to cut open those pieces of dead fish in zoology lab practice and watch all those worms crawl out. Ugh.

Emerging from under the scaffolding, Jean drags the bundle of tusks carefully, an axe on his belt and the pouch perched at the top of the ivory. "Right, found those. Axe is enchanted, I think with something to make chopping mammoths easier considering I don't see any other tools for it. Also, we have a few gemstones. Mostly garnets, but there is an amethyst too."

"And I got this ring. Clairvoyance pointed me to it, seems enchanted." Erin supplies, holding up the piece of jewelry in question.

Nodding, Lydia motions for Jean and Erin to join the rest at the table. "Ysolda and Arcadia will buy the tusks off of us. The former trades with Khajiit caravans and the cats love the ivory while the latter will buy it for its alchemical properties and either brew herself or sell off to someone who does need them. We will hold onto the enchanted stuff until we are in Dragonsreach. Even if Farengar has no time to appraise, learning how to discern it at the Arcane Table shouldn't take long, especially for the more magically gifted. Gold and gemstones, we split it even between the two of you and Companions."

"You aren't partaking in the loot?" Ria asks incredulously. Lydia shakes her head.

"I already told Jean and Erin, but I am doing it as a favour to the Bleakwind Basin Tribe. Besides, giants collect things from fools who think they can take on them. They might hang them around for decoration most of the time, but they should be fine with me grabbing something."

Athis nods in agreement before grinning. "The terms are agreeable, but. You take the amethyst." Before she can speak, he continues. "There is no way to split it, you did your share of work and it would be unbecoming of Companions not to ensure all parties involved got rewarded."

Grumbling the woman nods in agreement and stashes the gem in her bag.
___________________________________________________________________________

 

[RaptorusMaximus]

Nice. I like this.

 

[Omida]

Chapter 3: We Have Come to Bargain

The journey back to the Whiterun is largely uneventful. The plains surrounding the capital of the hold are quiet, the sky is cloudless and the wind calm. The small group makes a detour instead of going back in a straight line to visit the giant camp. There aren't many of them, merely eight, but even the tallest among the party, namely Lydia, barely reaches up to their knee. As they approach, the giants perk up, gripping their clubs tight and roaring, the sound shaking each and every one of them.

Lydia answers in a deep, guttural language which seems to calm the tribe. Laughing, the largest one, with a cloak of furs decorated with rings of iron and silver, gestures for the group to enter the camp, putting down the club and reaching into one of the leather bags and taking out a bowl even as he speaks to Lydia.

"Chief Aito wishes to thank us for dealing with those who steal their livelihoods without winning it in fair battle." Lydia translates. "He welcomes us to partake in his tribe's cheese and milk."

"Aaay." Aito speaks in strained words, his voice reverberating through bodies. "You help Tribe. Friends, aay? Eat well what Tribe make. That make you. Guests. Now and in the. Days to come."

Huh, so they had a whole thing about hospitality and guest rights, then? Useful to know, Erin tucks it away in her mind. Together with a mental note to see about maybe getting some lessons on the giant language from Lydia. They seemed like a fun bunch, and she may as well add yet another language to her repertoire. She already had spanish, catalonian, english, tamrielic and aldmeris, on top of all the bits and pieces of dragon speak she'd be picking up soon enough.

Tangent aside, she's quite happy with the offer. She isn't in the habit of refusing others' hospitality. She says as much. Aito smiles back at her as he hands her a piece of cheese and pours milk into her tankard before repeating the gesture with everyone else. The other giants sit on the rocks or lean on their clubs as they take their own cheese.

The mammoth cheese is surprisingly pleasantly smelling, with creamy texture and sharp, strong flavour to it. The milk is fresh and cool, and for a moment, everyone simply enjoys the meal in peace.

Then, everyone finishes their cheese and milk, the giants standing up and dispersing, some tending to their mammoths while others spreading to act as sentries. Aito and Lydia walk toward a small cave where the chief motions at the chest and grumbles good naturedly in his language. Lydia replies with a smile before opening the chest and fishing some item out of it and putting it in her bag. With a nod, she waves her goodbyes to Aito before rejoining the group.

After a couple hours on the road, the group nears the Whiterun, the city nestled quite literally in the centre of Skyrim, right under Throat of the World, a massive mountain peak looming over the countryside and easily visible even from great distance. Before them sprawl massive fields of Pelagia, scores of men tending to the fields or herding animals under the watchful eyes of the yellow-draped guards. The city itself is nestled on a steep bluff elevating the city over the plains. At its feet there is an additional wall of wood and stone, definitely sturdier than palisades yet not quite as formidable as blindingly white walls of the city proper.

As the road takes the group ever closer, the neighing of the horses and the creaking of the carts gets louder and louder, alongside the intense smell striking their noses. Lydia leads the party by the side of the wide, paved road, until they pass through the massive stables and under the gate where the guards let them pass without inspection, recognising the seal of Companions, as well as Lydia's Housecarl one. Beyond the outer wall lies a small tent town of its own, hugging the base of the wall. In accordance with the law of Skyrim, Khajiit caravans are forbidden from entering the cities. Jarl Balgruuf, ever the practical man, solved the problem by simply creating the space within his walls but technically not inside the city as a place where the merchants from Elsweyr could sell their wares, even granting permission for the Khajit to construct small shrines to their gods.

In fact, as the group moves along the road, they spot Cathay and Cathay-raht khajiit, the bipedal cats clad in armor, with weapons at their belts accompanying Whiterun guards in patrolling the road, keeping an eye on drunken Nords and rowdy passerbys. At the entrance to the wooden shrine, lies a Pahmar-raht, deceptively similar to Skyrim's sabertooth, lazing in the sun and eyeing the passersby, exchanging greetings in a growling, rumbling Ta'agra.

"Companions, Lydia, you are back!" One of the guards at the gate to the city proper greets them. The man, tall and well built, with long blond hair wrapped into a braid approaches them, visibly limping. "How were the giants' little pests?"

"Oh you know how it is, Dainn." Athis replies. "A couple of ill-thought traps in a mine and trying to turn everyone who approaches into pincushions. Except this time our friend" he points at Jean "turned the good old oiled floor into pyre. Got the mage to burn."

Dainn winces. "Not a pretty death. Right, just show me your seals and Ragni can go back to weaving the tale of how Hela got an arrow in his knee."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "If it's the same as he told me, you would think he married a daedric champion and not a Forsworn brawler." On the other side of the gate, Ragni snorts and leans against the wall, but offers no counter argument.

With the formalities fulfilled, the gate opens, allowing the group into the city proper. Right on the other side of the moat, there is a large smithy overseen by a woman arguing with a nord in the armour of the Legion, their voices barely heard above the constant pounding of metal on metal, hissing of heated metal being submerged.

"I will take the order, but the Jarl just put a large one for better armour and crossbows for the guards so you will have to wait, Idolaf."

"... Fine. I suppose Battle-Borns can wait. Whiterun first." The man gives the woman a court bow and walks into the crowd, his Legion armor easily distinguishing him from the crowds.

This place, the Lower Whiterun or the Plains District, also known as Zenithar's Domain is a sprawling, densely built area. Jean winces imagining what even a careless spark could do to a city so densely packed where everything is made of wood. The road eventually leads to a large, open marketplace dominated by the towering temple dedicated to the God of Trade, with shops hugging its walls from both directions. Elevated on top of the hill and put against the wall is one of the many inns.

"Erin, Jean, you two are from outside the Skyrim. Do you have any possessions backed by the Zenithar?" Lydia asks as the group comes closer to the temple, which, with some squinting, resembles a giant anvil.

Jean frowns before shaking his head. "No. We both kinda left in a hurry, so beyond what we have on our backs, we don't own much. How common is… depositing, is it, in the temple?"

Lydia gives the two of them a curious look before shaking her head. "It depends. Adventurers without family or backing of someone bigger tend to at least store their money in the temple vaults. Big clans like Grey Manes and Battle Borns or large enterprises will keep money on their possessions, under heavy guard. Jarls usually have their own vaults and security, obviously, and their stewards and housecarls benefit from access to it, even if a priest of Zenithar will usually be brought in for their expertise with money. Since the two of you are pretty much the dictionary definition of an adventurer, the temple will be a good neutral ground, and you won't need to withdraw if you are planning to visit a town with another temple to Zenithar. Which means any of the hold capitols for example."

"That does sound tempting." Jean admits. "I wouldn't want to tempt fate by lugging around thousands of septims at any given time."

"Eh, the bandits of Skyrim will shake you for a sweetroll and bragging rights, so you are going to see your fair share of highway robberies anyay." Athis pipes in from the side.

"Pickpockets, on the other hand..." Erin pipes up with a shake of her head, trailing off, "And anyways, gold isn't known for being the lightest of metals, so it is only good sense to store it away."

"Then we will collect the bounty, sell our loot and get you an account open. Arcadia and Ysolda will put your share from the tusks into the accounts after they manage to sell them." Lydia nods.

The group then walks the long stairs until they pass the inner wall leading to the Wind District. Right beside, on a large, round plaza is a large, half-burnt tree surrounded by the quiet, praying crowd. Athis and Ria wave the party goodbyes as they walk towards the stairway leading to the large upturned ship at the top of the hill. Beyond the temple of Kynareth, in a corner of the plaza next to the stairs leading even still upwards towards Cloud District, there is a large statue of a man holding a sword with a small, cross shaped altar at his feet, a priest standing in front of it, loudly preaching at the passing crowds. The Nords mingling at the plaza ostensibly don't pay attention to him, but the group notices they tend to nod in agreement whenever the sermon goes towards lambasting the Empire agreeing to the ban of Talos worship, or the glorious history of Tiber Septim, he who became Talos. The basket full of donations and the fresh flowers surrounding the altar also don't draw a commentary.

"Heimskr can have a big head, but you gotta admire the sheer size of his balls. Metaphorical ones. His actual ones, if you believe half the waitresses in the Whiterun, are nothing to write home about." Lydia mutters as they pass the preacher.

"Anything that pisses off the Thalmor gets my approval by default, so more power to him." Erin adds her own two cents in a similarly low voice.

"Mhm, Thalmor agents have a habit of disappearing anywhere outside Solitude. Dangerous place, Skyrim, a lot of places to get lost in." Lydia muses offhandedly, although Erin can see a corner of her lips quirk up.

Still, leaving the Wind District, the party climbs the staircase precariously carved out of solid rock, with a stream flowing down filling a pool underneath it. The Cloud District consists of a number of mansions sprawled around the palace of Dragonsreach, with a number of mercenaries acting as private guards for the richest, most powerful men after the Jarl. The path to the balance leads through a drawn bridge, customarily put down at all times, to represent to the population that the Jarl's hospitality towards the less fortunate is available at all times and that he will hear out their problems no matter the time. Exchanging the greetings with the guards at the door to the Dragonsreach, Lydia pushes the door open and leads the group in, pausing for a moment in front of the hearth, before approaching Proventus.

"Ah, Lydia and our fortunate messengers. I trust there was no trouble at Halted Stream?" The steward greets them with a serious face.

"None whatsoever. Well, I found a dead merchant in their pit trap. Poor man fell directly on the spike." Lydia hands the man a small brooch in the shape of the star.

"I will notify the Golden Star that one of their merchants died. Anyway, here is the bounty. Now, if you excuse me, I will be back to redrawing the guard patrols with Caius."

Nodding her goodbyes, Lydia leads Erin and Jean towards a set of rooms in the eastern wing of the palace where a mage in dark robes mutters to himself hunched over the map of Skyrim, buried in a pile of books written in dovahzul.

"Farengar!" Lydia greets, causing the court wizard to perk up. "Me and my friends encountered some enchanted items on our latest escapade. Do you have the time to…?"

The man shakes his head, but still straightens his back and steps away from the table. "I am sorry Lydia, but this dragon situation is pressing." Then, he gives Erin and Jean a good look and smiles. "I could, however, use a little break. Dragon tongue is difficult to parse at the best of times. I can walk your friends through the identification process. Altmer and Bretons have natural talent in arcane arts, so it should go swiftly, unlike with Nords."

Lydia snorts as she leans against pillar. "Are you still mad about me unravelling the enchantment on those fancy boots of yours when I tried to learn?"

"Yes. Not only were they a very warm pair, the enchantments made long hours of standing in one place a much more pleasant prospect." The man cuts back, though without much irritation in his voice. "Anyway, are you both going to try your hand?"

"Well, I thought of picking up enchanting as a side-job, so that's a definitive yes for me." Jean nods as he takes out the axe, the ring and the necklace out of the bag.

Farengar gives him a nod and turns towards Erin. "How about you, miss?"

"Hardly going to turn down a chance to learn another facet of magic." She replies with a smile. Magic is wondrous stuff and she'll be damned if she doesn't indulge in its study to her heart's content.

"Excellent!" Stepping next to the table with a troll skull surrounded by the series of green orbs and the symbols of five schools of magic surrounding the blade carved into the surface, the wizard puts his hand on it. "Now, gather around. There are two methods of learning the discerning enchantments, just as there are two ways of learning new ones to apply to items."

"The fast one is to use the Infuser here to forcibly unravel the threads of magicka binding the effect. The resulting reaction tends to… well, there is a discussion whether it simply destroys an object so thoroughly not even ashes remain or if it throws it into Oblivion. Well, it doesn't matter. The advantage of the method, beyond the speed, is that since you see how the particular spell comes apart, your mind registers the way to reapply the same effect to other objects. Depending on your experience, it might even be stronger. There are, however, some exceptions. To this day, no one has managed to disenchant dragon slaying weapons and the organisations which hold the knowledge of how to apply them tend to guard their secrets jealously. Another category are daedric artifacts." Here, Farengar lowers his voice considerably. "Although in this case it is more because the Princes tend to react… violently to the attempts. Not because they care about their artifacts being destroyed, no, merely because they are… possessive."

Shaking his head, he continues. "Anyway. The longer method has the advantage that once you have learned it, you won't need the Infuser to help you with identification. I know a fair few adventurers who managed to survive more dangerous ruins because they learned that way and found some good enchanted accessories on their runs. Now, come with your item and let's get it started."

Nodding, Jean approaches the table with some nervousness, before placing the ring on it and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
___________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Erin, Jean and Lydia were back on the road, this time bound for the place called Silent Moons Camp. The so-called Lunar Forge located at the top of the ruin supposedly bestowed unique enchantment upon anything forged there. According to Farengar, who was studying the place whenever his duties allowed him, the weapons forged there were uniquely suited towards fighting at night, with the strength of the magic waxing and waning with the phases of the moons. The recent upsurge in vampire attacks across northern Skyrim had Jarl Balgruuf sufficiently worried to decide that perhaps studying the Silent Moons effect would be a good investment. And, as if sensing an opportunity, a rather infamous band has moved in just as the news of the dragons send the Whiterun's troops into disarray.

"I have been meaning to ask, but… why the Giantese?" Jean muses as they make their way up north, this time just the three of them. Lydia looks his way before shrugging.

"Oh, you know how it is. Every little girl in Whiterun had at some point dreamed about joining the Companions and making a name for herself. We Nords are addicted to tales of glory. Most of those girls eventually grow out of that, even if they still can hold their own in a duel as a result. Those that keep chasing the dream usually do so because they found a role model, someone who they wanted to emulate. For me, that was Lyris Titanborn, hero of the Planemeld. I thought to myself, that if I learned the giants' language, there would be some connection between me and her." Snorting, she shakes her head. "Eventually, I calmed down with my obsession with Lyris, got a taste of adventuring and eventually… well, here I am."

"On the road with a rookie Breton and an Altmer?" Jean supplied dryly.

"Could be worse. Njada could've tagged along." Lydia replies. "We would've spent the entire way to Silent Moons fighting the urge to dislodge the warhammer her parents stuck up her ass."

"Wonderful. Say, I know Jarl is worried, but just how common are vampires?"

Lydia thinks for a moment before adjusting her pack and answering. "They used to be fairly rare. The big problem is diversity in their breeds. Molag Bal, monstrous as it is, tends to constantly experiment with them. After Oblivion Crysis, there were nine different breeds across Skyrim at one point, before Vigilants of Stendarr and vampire hunters put the majority of them down. The ones they didn't get just hid in the mountains. Then, there is the fact Skyrim has a lot of lycanthropes, and werebears tend to be solitary folk, so the two just sort of cancelled each other."

"But that changed?" Jean prods further.

"Aye. Merchants from Morthal are spooked by something. Hjaalmarch is apparently becoming dangerous at night. Well, more than it already was, given it's a giant swamp. Additionally, a famous vampire hunter recently just vanished there. And vampire hunters don't 'just vanish'. Solitude and Dawnstar apparently are also dealing with increased sightings. It's worrying that the new wave is coming from the sea."

"And Winterhold?"

Lydia snorts as she answers. "Say what you will about College, the mages are a force to be reckoned with. Even after the Great Collapse, the city itself could boast being considered one of the safest places in Skyrim purely on the account of the College, although the sizable Dunmer diaspora which sprung on the mountain overseeing it doesn't hurt either. No, vampires will most probably keep giving it a wide berth."

"I can only imagine the ulcers Ulfric Stormcloak must have at the thought of a large elven population to his north." Jean notes wryly.

"Say, what strains of vampirism are still kicking about nowadays?" Erin pipes up, curious. Because, first, she's likely to have to fight the bastards. Second, well, she may just have an interest in yeeting her mortality at first chance. Normally she'd be a touch worried about Molag Bal having any say on her eternal soul, but if they are right and they got an injection of Akatosh' spiritual go-juice, then that's a non-issue.

"Sanguinare Vampiris in Skyrim. Technically, there is a chance a vampire carrying a different strain has set a lair somewhere, but this one is native. Sanguinare vampires..." Lydia hums as she furrows her brow, trying to recall the information. "They are red-eyed and pale, although either of those can be misleading. Dunmer, for example, have red eyes that occur naturally, and most Nords can't tell a pale dunmer from a standard one. Their version of aversion towards the sun manifests in the form of complete stop of biological processes. Their wounds will not heal, their fatigue won't go away and they are incapable of recovering magicka from the sunlight. The starving ones are outright harmed by sunlight. Additionally, they are more vulnerable to fire, while frost magic loses its lethargic effect. Also, Sanguinare have a spell that can carry their strain as sure as feeding. One of the main reasons adventurers always lug around Cure potions."

Gripping her sword, she continues. "And even without magic… They are silent. The human ear is almost completely incapable of hearing their steps. And at night… At night they are terror to fight. They are stronger than humans, you know. Even a vampire the size of the child could easily throw a grown man across the room, or drag him into the forest."

"Troublesome. I assume they got agility and reflexes to match that strength?" Erin asks with a light grimace at the thought of having to fight the damn things in a crypt. At least lightning spells homed a great deal. She makes a mental note to pick up some detection spells from the Illusion school. It'd counter the sneaky breeky quite handily, plus constantly keeping it up ought to do wonders for her magicka reserves.

"Unfortunately." Lydia confirms. "Vampire hunting is dangerous business primarily because of just how fast they can move. Even experienced warriors tend to have trouble following their movement when they move in a straight line. On the other hand, their reflexes aren't all that better. Still, I have seen Vilkas and Aela, members of the Inner Circle, fight a vampire once. Had it been anyone less skilled, the vampire might have been victorious. Most of them prefer to throw their thralls at hunters and use magic though. A vampire fears nothing more than death. Worst come to worst, they tend to have no shame in simply running away."

"And with that speed of theirs, plus whatever enhanced senses they must have, I'd bet they're a nightmare to chase down at night." Erin harrumphs, while inwardly smiling. The sun allergy problems may be annoying, but good god did vampirism make up for it. She would no longer be screwed if someone got in melee range while she was out of magicka, she would be able to just toss them away or leap and make some distance. Or just punch their head off.

"Almost impossible, especially when you throw in 'natural' talent for Illusion. I think only werewolves would be capable of catching one in those circumstances, and that's more because Hircine very specifically engineered them to be able to hunt down anything and everything."

"Heh, daedric arms race." Jean mutters under his breath. Lycanthropy sounded tempting to him, if only for immunity to disease, although now that the world was all the more real, the haunted dreams suddenly were a much bigger concern. "You speak like you have seen a werewolf in action, Lydia."

The woman tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. "I… Yes, I did. That's all I will say. The person I adventured with at the time was a good fellow, nothing like stereotypes say. I keep their name secret out of respect, and because I don't want to endanger them by saying it even by accident." At Jean's raised eyebrow, she sighs. "Look, Silver Hand… they are an off-shoot of the Vigilants of Stendarr, dedicated themselves fully to hunting down lycanthropes. Except they take it too far. They are practically monsters. They are like Thalmor, only for the Nords. They will butcher an entire village just because it allows lycanthrope to live in peace among them." She spits on the ground. "I have seen the inside of one of their hide-outs once, you know. I have learned more about anatomy in that one trip than months of sermons at the temple would give me."

"Extremism continues to be the bane of good folk, I see." Erin says with a sad, resigned sigh and shake of her head.

By the late afternoon, the group finally saw the outline of the Silent Moons Camp, the great stairway carved into the side of the mountain, with a smoke rising lazily from the top of the barrow where the forge was located. The wall surrounding it was more a collection of rubble scattered around, with only a section directly carved from the mountain still whole. Stopping in her tracks, Lydia pulls her spyglass out and brings it to her eye.

"Hmmm… There are lookouts on those towers at the top, no doubt spotted us already. There is a small stone booth a bit ahead of the camp, I think I saw someone move there. Unfortunately, the way the barrow is constructed, it's hard to tell if there is anyone inside. And then, there is apparently some kind of barracks or at least cave entrance behind the door on the middle level of the stairs."

"Any idea how many we are looking at?" Jean asks as he checks the straps on his new shield.

"The Watchmen..." Lydia murmurs. "There is supposed to be at least fifteen of them, two mages. Might be more if they went recruiting. Some of them are probably inside that structure." She notes pointing at the blocky building. "No idea how deep it goes, so they might not come out immediately. The worst part of this will be fighting up the stairs."

"The high ground does offer its share of advantages." Jean notes with a grim humour.

"Eh, I am mostly talking about the stairs part. Makes melee a bit more tricky since you have to be more careful with your steps. On the other hand, two-handed weapons make fighting downhill significantly worse, the momentum of committed swings can send a man tumbling down."

Jean nods. "Right, so how are we doing this?"

"Take out whomever is at the booth, then go upstairs, take out the ones stationed at the midway platform. If the reinforcements don't pour out, we keep going. Shields up the entire time until Erin can get the lookouts. We will figure the rest once we get to the top."

"Sounds good." The elf nods before turning to her fellow mage, "Jean, want to load up on oakflesh again?"

The redhead shakes his head. "As much as I will probably regret it, I think I should learn to do without. Worst come to worst, I will start chugging potions until I drop from overdose." He adds with a strained smile. Arcadia was very thorough when describing the effects of potion overdose.

With that, he draws his sword and steps to Lydia's side, who rolls her shoulders. The two take the point, their steps quick but even. As they near the stone booth, a pair of Nord women in furs and leather step out, the shorter one, with her blond hair cut short resting her hands on the pommels of a pair of swords at her belt, the taller one, with long hair put in a braid resting a battleaxe on her shoulder.

"Hold, travelers!" The one with the axe calls. "You are trespassing at the Watchmen's territory."

"Last I heard, Silent Moons was considered property of the Jarl, and we are on the business of his court wizard." Lydia replies with a snort.

The woman narrows her eyes as she clenches her weapon tighter. "Tell Jarl the Watchmen will keep his property safe, for the low price of using the forge here to arm ourselves against monsters plaguing the night. For the protection of the people of Skyrim, of course." She adds hurriedly.

"Funny, that's the same reason Jarl Balgruuf gave us for making sure the Camp was available to Whiterun's blacksmiths. How come The Watchmen have not informed him of their dedication then?"

The axe wielding woman growls in frustration as she steps forward, lifting her weapon only to be stopped by her comrade's hand on her shoulder.

"Peace, Frigga. Our friend is right to be suspicious, having lived directly under Balgruuf's shield. She knows not the worries of the people who have no comfort of sturdy walls." The smaller one speaks calmly, a smile on her lips. "Forgive my friend, her blood is perhaps a touch too nordic. She prefers actions to words you see."

Lydia gives her unimpressed gaze, but lowers her sword and motions Jean to do the same. "I have noticed." She replies dryly. "And if that's the general attitude of people you select to greet outsiders, small wonder The Watchmen have the reputation of being little better than bandits." The shorthaired woman's smile strains a bit, but she says nothing. "Still, that leaves us with the problem of having the Lunar Forge be open to Whiterun's blacksmiths. From what you say, your little group seems intent on using it for yourself. Maybe we can talk some sort of deal?"

"Not my place to decide. Frigga, go tell Ormund the Jarl send folks to talk about the rights to the camp." The taller woman looks conflicted but eventually nods and turns around, jogging up the stairs. The other one takes her hands off her weapons and leans against the wall of the booth. "I am… sorry. It's just… well, people took Ormund's warnings lightly. Said the vampires and undead and lycanthropes were of little concern, that between Vigilants, hold troops and travel restrictions caused by the civil war there was no need for another group dedicated to protecting people." Shaking her head, she crosses her arms. "Those people seem to forget many villages don't even have walls, and bare minimum troop presence at the best of times. Most of us have a monster attack in the dead of the night behind us so we tend to get angry when they dismiss those concerns."

Lydia shakes her head but sighs and sheathes her sword. "While understandable, you couldn't pick worse time to move into Silent Moons. All sorts of trouble seems to have decided to crawl out of the dark all at the same time, so people get nervous when groups with poor reputation make themselves at home close by."

Sighing, the blonde hangs her head. "Figures. Well, I've got a couple bottles of mead to share before Ormund gets here. We can drink and put the bad first impressions behind us, aye?"

Lydia smiles, even if she doesn't take her shield off. "Aye. I am Lydia. The elf prefers to go by Erin, the Breton is Jean. We are pretty much killing time while we wait for what was implied to be an important errand."

"Ooooh? Sounds interesting. Oh yeah, name is Ingne. I am from Shor's Stone." The woman leads the group inside the booth and grabs a couple of bottles from the table, tossing them at each of them before opening her own. "Ormund invited me after he saw me haul a pair of kids from one of the tombs in the area. Dumb brats thought the draugr were just nuns tales."

Lydia grimaces at the thought. "You fought the draugr? That's fairly impressive. I have known adventurers who got killed because they thought that just because they could bust a zombie or a skeleton, draugr would be no issue either."

Jean frowns as he takes the gulp of the sweet alcohol. "I know I am sounding like one such a dumbass, but while I have heard of the draugr, I did think that, their origin aside, they are pretty much like other undead?"

Ingne snorts into her mead and laughs. "Gods no! You're right, they have different origins, but that's just the start. Draugr are ancient, no one today knows all the little details of the rites that went into making them, but the point is, the magic animating them is far, far more complex and intricate than just shoving a spirit into a corpse and calling it a day. Whatever our ancestors did with them made them hard to put down. Cut off a limb and they won't even notice."

Lydia nods as she leans against the table. "She is right. I saw a man get a sword in the guts after he thought decapitation would take care of it. You either need to dismember them completely, burn the body, have them soul trapped or, and this is risky since it involves daedric worship, somehow gain Meridia's favour and be chosen her champion."

Ingne frowns as she takes her sip. "Which one was Meridia? I am just a village bumpkin, not really learned."

Jean takes another swing before picking up, the memory of the daedra's preferred way of chatting flashing in his mind. "She is the Prince of Dawn, really hates the undead."

"All about throwing sunlight and fire around to reduce them to ash, if memory serves." Erin adds, inwardly wincing at her own memories of the lady's volume in the game. Hammiest daedra prince of the lot, if you asked her. And someone she'd rather never cross given her plans of joining the ranks of the undead.

"Mhm. I have only heard the stories, but her sword, Dawnbreaker, is supposed to reduce the undead it strikes to ashes instantly." Lydia adds. "Good luck finding her shrine though, between Oblivion Crisis and Vigilants being really indiscriminate, her cult have gone to the ground."

Ingne chuckles as she shakes her head. "Sounds like something I would love to get."

"Probably more trouble than it is worth, she'd be yanking you around all of Skyrim to purge every last undead and necromancer she catches a whiff of." Erin pipes up with a shake of her head. Meridia really needed to go spend a fun evening or three with Sanguine. Lady needed some chill.

"Probably, still..." Ingne pauses at the sound of approaching footsteps.

The man who steps inside the booth is large, broad, tall and muscular, with well kept beard and short brown hair and brown eyes, clad in stylised steel armor with a helmet resembling a bear's head. He looks over the group before his eyes widening at the sight of Lydia.

"Lydia!" He roars, actually roars, happily, opening his arms to embrace her. "It's you!"

"O-ormund." She replies weakly as she allows the man to squeeze her tight. "I wasn't aware it would be you. I thought you were still with the Vigilants?"

The man shakes his head before grabbing a bottle of mead. "Ha! I wish, I wish. Honestly, after our little adventure together, I took a good solid look at ourselves and… well. You remember Isran?"

Lydia frowns as she tries to remember. "Isn't he that old asshole constantly grumbling about vampires? I distinctly remember you talked with me about him leaving the ranks."

"That he did. Anyway, after that, and some soul searching, I have decided to follow his footsteps, except a little more broad. The man has a heart in a good place, don't get me wrong, but he is too focused." Ormund shakes his head. "Sure, vampires have always been a pain in the side, but there is more danger in the night than some bloodsuckers and the Vigilants… they grew complacent. Between busting disorganised daedric cults and hunting down solitary folk they lost their edge."

"Surely it's not that bad?" Jean asks, even as he remembers the Vigilants tended to have problems with fights against more than a singular opponent. "I mean, they have been at it for a couple centuries now?"

Ormund snorts. "Nah. There is a temple to Meridia near Solitude, did you know that? They got wind of it, only some ten or so years ago, no matter it was probably there since Potema's times. They dispatched a large group to tear the statue down and consecrate the temple in Stendarr's name."

"From the way this talks goes, I imagine that is not what happened." Lydia notes dryly.

"Yeah. Some necromancer managed to take over the place." At the stares he is given, he holds his hands up. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, somehow he managed to butcher everyone inside and turn them into wights. With her temple crawling with undead and her faithful hunted down, Meridia couldn't throw him out. So when the Vigilants came, the guy sent his minions to add them into his force. No idea why, if the statue went down, I am pretty sure Meridia's power, at least in Skyrim, would be done."

"Probably a power trip." Jean notes. "Can you imagine what must be going through a head of necromancer at the thought of humiliating a Prince legendary for her hatred of the undead like that? He might've left the statue intact just so he could wank off in front of it when he felt like making a point."

Ormund grimaces as he gulps more mead. "Thank you for that colorful image, my friend." Shaking his head, the man sighs. "Anyway, Frigga said you came on the orders of the Jarl, right?"

"Aye, Balgruuf is worried about the news of vampire sightings flowing from the north." Lydia nods as she puts the empty bottle back on the table. "His court wizard was studying the forge before the news of a dragon came, so he decided arming the night patrols with something more effective will be a decent stopgap before he can figure out a better solution."

Ormund scratches his beard for a moment before chuckling. "That so, eh? First time we stop in Whiterun hold, so can't say I am familiar with how the place works. Still, it might be the opportunity the Watchmen has been looking for." Waving the group, he steps out of the booth. "Come along, I will let you get a look at the forge and we will discuss the details."

"Mhm, I am actually interested in seeing how the enchantment works. The idea of a conditional one is… well interesting." Jean offers as he falls behind the man.

"Mmmaybe. Couldn't tell you much, I am no wizard, just studied enough Restoration school to patch people up, maybe let them fight sickness better. That's more of Talis and Sings-at-Dawn's thing. Sings-at-Dawn in particular. Talis is more of an Alteration type of guy."

As they move up the great staircase, Jean and Erin note the scaffolds erected along the walls, the signs of repair work clear on the ancient stone.The entrance to the barrow is hidden behind a large piece of cloth with a roughly sewn white torch over it. The inside is lit by a series of lamps swinging from the ceiling, and noticeably warmer, even as the center of the burrow's roof turns out to be open to the sky above. Most sound is drowned by the steady beat of hammer on the anvil, the grindstones sharpening the metal, the furious hiss of hot metal doused in water and the hum of the flames. Rounding the path, the group ends at the arc cut in the stone wall leading to the forge where a Redguard and the Nord toll away at the forge under the watchful gaze of a Bosmer and Argonian.

Ormund watches for a moment before speaking loudly. "Alright you lot, take a break. Jarl has sent people over to discuss the forge. Sings, Talis, you stay." The men working the forge look over and nod silently, although it takes them a moment to finish their work before leaving. "Now, let's talk about the details." He smiles.

 

[RaptorusMaximus]

...huh. This is really cool. I like that you're adding a lot more depth to the world and resolving things with more than just spells and sword.

I really look forward to seeing what you both get up to in this story.

 

[Nihilo]

...huh. This is really cool. I like that you're adding a lot more depth to the world and resolving things with more than just spells and sword.

I really look forward to seeing what you both get up to in this story.

Click to shrink...

Once you remove the constraints of game mechanics

It Just Works.

 

[krahe]

Always love when writers expand pretty shrinked down Skyrim. This new faction also feels pretty in place

 

[Omida]

Chapter 4: I Prepared Explosive Runes This Morning

By the evening, the group has returned to the Whiterun, this time with the addition of Sings-at-Dawn and Ingne who were selected by Ormund to represent Watchmen in the ensuing actual negotiations with Balgruuf. As the group entered the Dragonsreach, they were quickly approached by Ilireth, the dark elf shooting a quick glance at Sings and Ingne before focusing on Lydia, Jean and Erin.

"Good, you are back. Farengar needs your services. This is connected to the dragons." She announced before turning on her heel and walking towards the court wizard's quarters without checking if she was followed.

"Dragons? As in, multiple?" Jean prodded as the group walked.

"Aye. Initially, we thought it was just one flying all over the place, but reports keep coming of simultaneous sightings all over Skyrim." The woman replies grimly. "Farengar! They are back!"

The man looks up from the map he was bowed over, whispering something to a hooded figure by his side.

"Excellent! I see you got some extra companions?"

Lydia shakes her head. "Ah, no. They are here on behalf of a group called the Watchers to discuss Lunar Forge with the Jarl. It turns out, I know their leader, so I will have to sit this one out to be present for the talks. I will be waiting with them in the main hall." She adds to Jean and Erin.

"Right, straight to business, come here." Farengar motions. The map he is hunched over turns out to be mainly focused on Whiterun hold, although the pair can see it is stacked on top of pile of other maps. The wizard motions at the mountain peak south of Whiterun. "Right, my associate here managed to locate a Dragonstone, a tablet which supposedly contains some sort of dragon lore, or prophecy from the Merethic Era concerning dragons. It's not much, but it may give us a clue about what we are dealing with. It is located in Bleak Falls, an old Nordic ruin. And given it dates back to dragon cult, almost definitely crawling to the brim with the draugr."

Jean sighs as he recalls that apparently, the undead were much harder to deal with in reality. "So two adventurers against a tomb of the undead? Are you sure about this?"

"We don't have time or resources." Irileth interjects. "Companions mobilised against reported Forsworn raiding party crossing from the Reach, the troops are spread trying to bolster settlements across the hold and we are still debating if we should properly mobilise. Besides, Bleak Falls is not noted as a burial site of a dragon priest, so you shouldn't have to deal with too dangerous draugr."

"Don't misunderstand, I wasn't declining. We are just worried since Lydia laid down the differences between draugr and regular undead during our trip today."

The cloaked figure snorts before speaking. "Just use fire. Always a sure bet against the undead."

And hello to you too, Delphine. Jean muses before tilting his head. "I have wondered about that, you know. Why is fire recommended solution when in the underground caverns and tombs?"

"That would be the influence of Kynareth, mainly. She is one of the oldest gods of the Nordic Pantheon, and as a goddess of sky and wind, that means Nordic tombs are constructed to let her air flow freely." Farengar supplies. "Anyway, the time is of essence. Jarl has instructed the stables to prepare horses for you. You will be going with the first rays of sun. Wouldn't want the horses to break their legs in the darkness after all."

Erin pointedly didn't mention that she could probably spin up a few instances of candlelight to deal with that. It'd make them a beacon for anything going bump in the night. No thanks. "Fair enough. Say, how effective is lightning against draugr?"

Farengar scratches his sideburn in thought. "Well, it obviously will ravage magicka if any of them are capable of utilising magic. But on your level?" He shakes his head. "While more powerful lightning spells are as good, if not sometimes better, as fire, I would recommend sticking to the flames for now. You would need to chug the potions for every… say, two draugr you deal with that way?"

Erin winces. Yeesh. She'd be better off just smacking the things with a torch while hopped up on Oakflesh and a Ward. "Ugh, this is what I get for spreading myself too thin across the schools. Hey, Jean, think you can give me a crash course on magicka-enabled pyromania? It is that or I shell out the gold for whatever fire spell Farengar has on stock then cram like a madwoman."

"I can do you one better." Farengar interjects with a sly smile. "Since this is about dragon studies, which is something of a passion of mine, I can give the two of you lessons for free. I am not much of an expert in Destruction, I prefer the enchanting and generalist approach, but I have picked a thing or two about fire."

"Oh thank the Divines." Jean sighs. "Flames are nice, but not exactly the longest ranged spell."

"And having a teacher is always far and away better than relying only on a book." Erin adds with a wide grin, almost glowing with gratitude. Teachers were a blessing and she'd fight anyone who said otherwise, "Thanks, Farengar, you're a lifesaver!"

Farengar and Irileth blink, the Nord looking at Erin as if she grew a second head while Dunmer rubs her eyes before narrowing them. The hooded figure just tilts its head.

"Right. Well, I can teach you firebolt, the fire rune and, well flames since you don't know them." Waving them over, the wizard leads them deeper into his quarters and through the door into the courtyard by the walls overseeing the cliff face of the Whiterun.

"Say" Jean muses "you mentioned offering your teaching services for free. How does this whole side-income thing work for court wizards, exactly?"

Farengar chuckles. "Well, it's as you say, mostly for a bit of cash that isn't tied to jarls. Being a court wizard is pretty much a patronage. You don't have to worry about money, but you are expected to offer your services to whatever projects the jarl might need you. However, what you do with your own money is your own business, so you will find most court mages tend to run a side business of offering lessons and spell tomes to adventurers for a reasonable fee. I am simply lucky enough that my personal interests tend to align with jarl Balgruuf's needs most of the time, so I can afford quality of life purchases instead."
___________________________________________________________________________

As Irileth said the previous evening, there was a pair of horses already saddled and ready for journey when Erin and Jean made their way to the stables at dawn, the city still asleep with the exception of hold guards moving to and from the city in small squads. The two got a nod from the stablemaster, as well as jarl's seal which they were to present at the garrison at Riverwood where they would leave the horses before climbing up the mountain.

The ride was largely uneventful, the two only passing a pair of Vigilants of Stendarr travelling slowly in the same direction who moved off the road to let them pass before quickly vanishing off their sight. By the early afternoon, they crossed the bridge into the village, leaving the horses under the eye of the guards as they took a break to get their bodies recovered from the rigors of hours of fast paced horseback travel. Which, thanks to wonders of Restoration, wasn't long.

"Good to know adapting to horseback will be more pleasant than the last time I tried it." Jean mutters as the two of them slowly make their way up the dirt path up the mountain.

"Mhm. So, how do we want to deal with the Dunmer nasty crime boi?" Erin asks idly, "Assuming he's still alive in the spiderweb, I mean." Could very well be that all they'd find was a corpse from which to pry the claw.

Jean grunts as the dirt slowly gives way to the snow. "Knowing our luck, and how things went in a more realistic direction, I wouldn't bet against him being just another slurped corpse." He shudders at the thought of making contact with giant spiders first-hand. "And if I remember correctly, there should be a tower just ahead with some lookouts."

And indeed, soon after, just as the wind picks up and the snow starts falling in a perfect microcosm of Skyrim weather, the two of them can see the outline of the tower jutting out of the slope. As they slowly close in, they notice the bandit leaning against a tree who in turn notices them right back and draws his greatsword before he rushes at them with a cry.

Jean responds by hurling a firebolt at the man, the ball of fire hitting the man square in the chest and pushing him back, but the bandit just grinds his teeth and jumps right back towards them, the blade descending in an overhead chop. Jean darts to the side, letting the blade dig harmlessly into the snow before losing another bolt at the Nord, the spell pushing the man off the ledge. Jean stares at the spot for a moment before swallowing hard and turning towards the tower from which a pair of heavily armoured bandits rush towards them, one with a mace and shield, another with twin axes.

Preparing his own shield and drawing the sword, Jean steps between the bandits and Erin.

The elf woman rolls her shoulders, a bloom of purple magicka opening a portal for her Familiar to appear right behind the charging bandits while her other hand hurls a bolt of lightning towards the shield-bearing bandit.

The lightning, unsurprisingly, strikes true. However, the bandit, having noticed the magic use earlier, manages to take it on the shield, the metal covering the wood visibly heating as the snow hisses under the man's feet. Unfortunately, it does nothing when the daedric wolf jumps on his back, tackling him into the snow. Meanwhile, his companion finishes closing in, his axes cutting diagonally down. Jean holds his shield high before thrusting it, the bash sending the axeman staggering back. Jean thrust his sword, the attack hastily parried by the swing of an axe as his opponent manages to regain his footing. The two eye each other warily, although the bandit breaks eye contact when the sound of wolf on man struggle is suddenly cut down. Seeing the opening, Jean charges, shield close to his body as he stabs with the sword.

The axe wielding bandits turns back around just in time to receive shield to the face before Jean's sword pierces his barely existent armour and impales him through the stomach. The man spits blood, eyes wide in incomprehension before he stumbles backwards, the motion almost ripping the sword out of Jean's hand before the redhead blinks and hastily pulls it out the wound, the blood flowing freely as another gurgle escapes the bandit's mouth as the man falls over.

Gritting his teeth, Jean quickly slices the man's neck open, closing his eyes as the gurgling and rasped breathing cuts of. Stepping back, he breathes in the cold, crisp air slowly, trying to calm his stomach as he feels something vile build up in his throat.

With shaking hands, he wipes his sword before sheathing it.

Erin makes a concerned noise in the back of her throat. She may be running on different wiring and be dogshit at the whole social cues thing, but you'd have to be blind to not see how rattled Jean is. "There's probably somewhere to sit in there, let's take a break."

"R-right… thanks." Jean mutters. The look the Nord gave him. He shakes his head, trying to get it out. Suddenly vampirism and lycanthropy sounded much more enticing, if only so he wouldn't deal with… this.

The two of them move on, getting inside a small watchtower. The inside is fairly cramped, but a small fireplace and couple of lamps, as well as glass in the windows and solid wood doors manage to keep the howling wind and cold at bay. There is even a chest under the stairs, although the head of morningstar on a chain tied to the underside of the stairs is rather obvious in its purpose.

Jean sighs and sits on the stairs, leaning against the wall as he closes his eyes, his stomach just about managing to calm down.

Acting on a sudden spur of thought, and hoping to the Divines it doesn't backfire, Erin tugs on her mental link with the daedric wolf. It'd been happy with her patting it moments after summoning it, after all, and from what she could tell through her bond with it, it'd be just as content playing therapy wolf.

She was atrocious at the whole comforting thing, so it only made sense to delegate. Humans liked big, warm and fuzzy things, right?

Jean startles and blinks as the wolf puts its head on his lap, but stays put, his hand instinctively petting the canine as his fingers scratch the daedra behind the ears. It's… peculiar feeling, not bad, but he can tell it is not a flesh and blood creature. He could be fooled though, especially as distracted as he is.

Eventually, however, he sighs and gets up, still hunched to scratch the wolf even as he shakes his head.

"That was, nice. Good boy." He adds, the wolf barking happily. "Still, we are on a timetable. I can feel sorry for myself later."

Opening the door to the tower, he grimaces as the wind pushes the snow in his face before he pulls a scarf over his face and pulls the hood over his head. The snow still gets in his eyes, but at least he can sort of see where he is going that way. Which is good, given the tower is connected to the mountain path by a small bridge, and a fall, while not lethal, would still break a limb.

"Lovely weather we're having, huh?" Erin snarks with a snort, a lot more comfortable than her companion courtesy of the thick travelling clothes she'd been given as part of her isekai care package. A Ward took care of the rest, blunting the wind and snow somewhat.

Shaking his head, Jean huddles up as he moved up the mountainside. "It's always like that. This mountain, I mean. The second you step to a certain point, the blizzard just starts. No matter when you come. Might've been scripted, but it doesn't explain why it's still true now."

"Some sort of magic worked into the burial site, maybe?" Erin muses, ears minutely twitching under the hood of her cloak, "A blizzard would help deter intruders."

"Makes sense. If I remember correctly, the boss here has both a cold enchanted weapon and uses frost magic, in addition to shouting. Might have done something just to flex his skill with ice on the future generations." Jean agrees.

Rounding the snowy path, the Bleak Falls Barrow, or at least its silhouette, appears in the distance, dark, stone arcs and columns towering over the mountain, large staircase further elevating the tomb over the surroundings. If possible, the wind picks up in strength even more.

"At least the weather will make peppering us with arrows pretty much impossible." Jean notes. "And visibility is shit, so the sentries won't be as effective."

"Plus my Familiar" Erin really had to give the daedra wolf a name one of these days, "Blends in perfectly with all the powdered snow flying all around. Send him off to hit the sentries and then lure the bandits into a few fire runes?"

"That works." Jean nods, eyeing the approach. "Creep to the base of the stairs, get Familiar up, then we mine the bottom and make ourselves visible then?" He proposes, fishing out a magicka potion out of his pocket.

The daedric wolf, seemingly completely understanding the plan, runs up the stairs a bit before stopping halfway up the first set and looking back.

"Thinking about it, it's probably one of Hircine's… No wonder it comprehends ambush tactics so easily." The redhead muses as he applies the rune to the rightmost edge of the staircase. The rune glows brightly as it burns into the ground for a moment before the light dulls and snow covers it up. "Heh, even easier then."

"Divines, do I ever love being a mage." Erin whispers from behind her scarf, setting up her own fire rune.
___________________________________________________________________________

Bjorn was, as one might call it, less than fortunate man, in his humble opinion. A third son of a blacksmith in Dragon Bridge, Bjorn had to, ah, vacate his home when he got into a drunken brawl with a Bosmer in the inn. A Bosmer who, as it would turn out, was a Thalmor informant, and who didn't hesitate to settle a grudge by bending the truth in regards to weeding out Stormcloak sympathisers. So Bjorn had to leave his home, after leaving the damn knife-ear with his best knife between ribs. Apparently, killing Thalmor informants still counted as murder, so Bjorn was now a wanted murderer in addition to treaty-breaker.

Additionally, the hasty way he had to leave meant that he miiiight have, but just might have relieved a few travellers of their coin. And food. Still, he made sure not to kill anyone else, because he fancied one day paying off that bounty and extra corpses tended to raise those considerably. He would have probably got killed by a bounty hunter or just caught by the guards had he not met Arvel. Sure, Bjorn's first instinct might have been to split the Dunmer's skull, an instinct which was held back by the virtue of Bjorn's aforementioned policy of no killing. And the bows Arvel's men were pointing at him at the time. Mostly the bows.

Still, the dark elf was impressed with Bjorn, he told him, with how fast he tended to react. Arvel needed men like Bjorn in his group, he said. Someone who could act on their feet in the middle of chaos was useful, and Arvel's band was getting big enough that they would need more men of action instead of men of ambush. So, all in all, following a damn elf was fairly decent, especially as Arvel was also a big believer in not killing people. At least not where there might be someone to report it.

So he helped the group, made use of the skills his pa taught him to maintain the gear, to pick locks and give his opinion on any fancy weapons they got their hands on. Essential man, if not too important, which was good. Infamy would mean it would be harder to pay off his crimes.

Although there were jobs like this one. Arvel getting word of some ancient treasure buried in some ruin and deciding that honest work won't hurt. Which Bjorn generally agreed with. Even if it meant standing watch atop the mountain, in the middle of a blizzard, with the wind so cold Bjorn could feel his balls freezing off even through the thick layer of furs and coats. And the blizzard around Bleak Falls was freaky too. It had been already raging when they arrived after robbing a merchant in Riverwood for some sort of thingmajig related to the temple, and it has been raging for the three days they have been camping in the antechamber.

Bjorn was about ready to leave his post for the well deserved rest and warmth of the antechamber when he spotted a movement down the stairs. Shouting to get others' attention, he ran towards the staircase, drawing his mace as he strained his eyes to see what was approaching.

A wolf?

Well, it was. Kinda. The unmistakable glow and wisps of energy radiating from the beast marked it for what it was.

"Mages!" Bjorn shouted as he grit his teeth. He hated mages. If you didn't get a drop, they tended to fry everyone pitted against them. Or just summon some abomination to do it for them.

At his cry, the rest of the lookouts, seven in total, started cursing, but to their credit, they gathered. Fjolla even threw him a spare shield. Because if you couldn't get a drop on mages, hiding behind a sturdy shield and hoping they run out of magicka before you run out of shield was the best bet. And if there were more of you, there were more shields to defend against the mages. So they formed a line, arms pressing against each other as they huddled behind their shields and walked down the staircase. The not-wolf growled but didn't try to attack, whatever infernal energies substituting for its brain clearly recognizing the futility of hitting a shield wall head on.

Then Tolric thrust his shield forward, intercepting a bolt of fire flying from behind the rubble down the road. Bjorn couldn't help but snort. At least the damn coward made them warm. He would have to offer a prayer for the bastard's soul at least for that. Then Alvith's shield rattled under the lighting strike, but the woman just grit her teeth and kept moving. Bjorn, for his part, kept his eyes on where the spells flew from. The pile of rubble wasn't big, and there didn't seem to be more movement.

Just two?

That was ridiculous. Stupidly overconfident and, frankly, suicidal. Bjorn could feel his grin. Some rookie adventurers hoping to get a discount from a distraught shopkeeper then? Easy pickings.

They moved slowly, until the wolf jumped off the side of the staircase, clearly uninterested in dying with its masters. Typical daedra, no loyalty whatsoever. Then, they reached the foot of the staircase and Haren's foot stepped into the snow.

There was a flash and a noise like a dragon's roar, and Bjorn was suddenly very warm. And then, he was no more.
___________________________________________________________________________

Jean grimaces as the six fire runes set off at once, the sound momentarily drowning out the wind. Peeking from behind their rubble, he notes that the foot of the staircase had been very thoroughly cleaned off of the snow. And the bandits. The bodies were strewn across the approach, necks bent at unnatural angles, heads cracked open on rocks. One of them was absent completely, probably thrown down the side of the mountain. One of them was lying against the staircase, moaning pitifully, his skin charred, crispy mess. Then, Erin's Familiar snapped its jaws on his neck, reliving the man of his suffering.

Shaking his head, Jean stands up from behind the rubble. "Okay. I… was not expecting that. You think we accidentally hit some sort of feedback loop and made a stronger spell?"

Erin hums in thought, a gloved finger sneaking through the layers of cloth and fur to scratch at her cheek, "Well, they are runes. Might've linked together into something Mr.Torgue would be proud of. We should be careful about stacking them too much while we're in narrow tunnels and whatnot, don't want to cause a cave-in." She pauses, tilting her head before amending, "Well, not on accident."

Snorting as the two of them slowly walk up the temple's stairs, Jean shakes his head. "Worth asking Farengar about when we come back." Stopping by the wrought iron door, he hefts his shield, hiding his head and as much of the upper body as he can squeeze behind. With that explosion, any hopes of sneaking on the bandits in the antechamber was gone, and as Lydia said, for all that the guards Skyrim over loved to joke about it, an arrow to the knee was far simpler to fix than one to the throat.

"Hold on, let me send in an undead arrow sponge first. Catch their attention while my Familiar" Erin still needs to decide on a name. A better one than Spot or Fido, at least. "Flanks and we toss in some spell fire."

She already had a purple bloom in her hand, eyeing the corpses strewn around before finding a relatively intact one. In that it had only gotten flung out and gotten a terminal case of cracked skull against the nearby masonry. It was fine, zombies didn't need much in the way of intact brain matter. "Up and at 'em, buddy."

"Still, never too early to get in some good habits." Jean backs off, courteously opening the door for the shambling undead. "Shield up, buddy, we are going to need you for longer than just entrance." He mutters as the undead passes him by. Whatever animates the corpse complies, lifting the slab of metal which, Jean notes with a wince, seemed to have been welded to the gauntleted hand.

The moment the undead passes the doorway, a series of clangs ring off the shield, the arrows bouncing off the raised shield as curses echo from within the room. The undead moves slowly, so Jean tosses a firebolt over its shoulder and into the fireplace, sending the sparks and wisp of flame all over. One of the bandits curses as their bow catches on fire and drops it, instead drawing their axe, soon joined by two more, one of whom takes the point with their shield. The last one hangs at the back, arrow notched while they watch for the opportunity.

The Familiar springs from behind the zombie, taking advantage of the wide, spacious antechamber to vanish behind one of the columns before the bandits have the chance to react. Meanwhile, Jean tosses another firebolt at the shield-bearing bandit's feet before drawing his sword. The man staggers back as the flames lick his legs, his companions cursing as he trips and falls back into them. The archer loses an arrow towards Erin, which Jean intercepts by stepping in its path, the projectile harmlessly bouncing off of his shield. Then, the wolf falls upon the woman, the tackle sending her sprawling to the floor stunned as her head hits the stone floor, a distraction enough for the daedra's jaws to close on her neck.

"Ella! You bastards!" Cries one of the axe wielding bandits, shoving his companion off of himself. "You will pay for this! You're dead! You hear me?! Dead!"

He falls upon Jean, the axe swinging wildly. The redhead hides behind his shield, each hit sending a shock up his arm as the sound of metal hitting metal rings through the room.

"Gods dammit Hrodi! Aggh, Odar, take care of the familiar, I will get the last one." Shouts the bandit with the shield. Odar, the bandit with an axe in one hand and the dagger in another, turns around to face the wolf which growls as it stalks between the pillars.

Which means that the unfortunate bandit isn't looking Erin's way when she lets fly with a lightning bolt. The bolt of energy burns the skin on his back and sends the man flying into the campfire, dead before the flames can even start licking his face. The sudden death, and flash of lightning, distracts Hrodi from his assault, the man visibly blinded by the flash of light, which Jean capitalizes by putting his sword through the man's throat. There is a loud bang as the zombie catches an axe strike on its shield before clumsily retaliating with its mace. The last bandit dances away from the strike, looking at the bodies of his comrades, the daedric wolf, Jean, Erin and the zombie surrounding him and sighs before his face hardens. He throws his shield away and charges Jean.

"Victory or SOVNGARDE!" He roars defiantly as he rises his axe above head, the madness burning in his gaze.

Jean stumbles back, even as the Nord shoulder checks the zombie aside in his charge, before rolling out of the way, the axe sending a shower of sparks as it hits the pillar. The bandit grunts and swings in a wide arc, the redhead crouching to avoid it before slicing the bandit's hand off. The man cries in pain and clutches the stump before roaring and headbutting approaching Breton in the chest. Caught off guard, Jean hisses as the air is driven from his lungs, although he doesn't let off his sword, instead thrusting it in his opponent's gut. The man chokes, before stumbling and falling over.

Grimacing, Jean wrestles his weapon free while massaging the spot the bandit headbutted.

"Crazy Nords." Shaking his head, he looks back at Erin. "Right… shall we?" He asks, motioning with his head at the corridor leading deeper into the temple.
___________________________________________________________________________

 

[RaptorusMaximus]

Not enough shameless looting, 6/10.

Still good tho

 

[Omida]

Not enough shameless looting, 6/10.

Still good tho

Click to shrink...

If we stopped to describe every single septim we take, this would take far longer.

Also, without game mechanics granting us technically infinite inventory space, lugging around fifty iron daggers and other assorted garbage is suddenly less profitable .

To balance this, the value of gemstones has been fixed to their maximal value according to quality.

 

[Crimson Reiter]

Take those fifty iron daggers and turn them into Yondu's arrows, charm the hell out of them

 

[Omida]

Interlude 2: A Cold Reception

Ulfric breathed out, the air coming out in a small cloud of steam as he slowly climbed the last steps of his journey. The snow crunched under his feet and the wind howled triumphantly around him as it tumbled his cloak. Before him, towering over the seven thousand steps stood massive, dark walls of High Hrothgar. There was something foreboding about the sight, ironic, really, considering the same walls were like a second home to Ulfric back when he was young and full of hope.

It's nothing. You are just imagining things, and truly, after what you saw, who wouldn't? Yes, that was it. His mind was still weighted by the events he had witnessed scant days ago. Shaking his head, the jarl of Windhelm pressed onward, slowly coming up the stairs before stopping before towering doors of the monastery. Pressing a hand against the cold metal, he swallows, hesitant, before grunting and pushing, the doors giving up easily and opening with a groan.

The audience chamber is spacious and dark, illuminated by only a number of candles as always, and even those are disturbed by the wind suddenly invading before Ulfric closes them behind. For a moment, the chamber is silent before steps resound through the monastery. Ulfric looks up, and his face lights up as he recognizes master Borri, the elderly Nord's beard as immaculately kept as he remembered it from the days before he left for war. On his side there is Arngeir, his beard tied into a small knot.

"Ulfric of Windhelm." Arngeir greets him with a nod which Ulfric returns. Master Borri silently bows to him, but says nothing.

His Voice grew too strong then. Ulfric realizes with a sense of loss. Master Borri's voice was always… warm. Welcoming and friendly. Back in the days of his youth, it was Borri who was responsible for speaking for the Masters of the Voice. And he missed the last chance to truly speak with his old mentor…

"Masters." He answers. "I have come to you to plead for your help. Skyrim is in danger. The..."

"The World Eater has returned." Arngeir finishes for him and Ulfric can only widen his eyes in surprise. The Greybeard chuckles at his shock. "Do not act so surprised, Ulfric. Where, exactly, did you think Alduin manifested first? The Throat of the World still bears the scars of our attempt to stop him. It is, we have no shame to admit, a battle we have lost. Not surprising. We are scholars, not warriors. Some of us fear even this much is to go against the teachings of Jurgen Windcaller."

Shaking his head, Ulfric tries to imagine how such a confrontation would have looked like. He could only imagine the world itself shaking in its foundation as Thu'um clashed against Thu'um, only ancient blessings of Kyne preventing the rest of Skyrim from suffering from the power of the Voice spilling down the slopes of the mountain.

"Then, you know that this is serious, Masters. I have come to you to seek strength to protect my people, to protect Skyrim and all of Tamriel from the depredations of our ancient enemy."

Arngeir is silent for a moment, his brow raised and his arms folded as he gazes upon Ulfric, who barely resists the urge to look away like a shamed child caught stealing cookies from a platter.

"Do you now?" The Greybeard eventually speaks. "You should know that Thu'um is not something one can master in weeks, or months. Even the practitioners in the Imperial College know that it takes years of dedicated study to be able to use it effectively for battle. Years which, I will note, you have decided against dedicating to it."

"I realise that, Master Arngeir! However, I could not return to High Hrothgar after the war… I… I could not..." Ulfric's voice breaks as the memories resurface. Gods, even after all this time, it hurt.

"We know." Arngeir speaks, this time softer. "You are not the first acolyte who had to break his tutelage to answer the call of other duties expected of them. We do not begrudge you, Ulfric. However" here, his tone returned to carefully maintained neutrality "even so, you did not dedicate even a little time to pilgrimage to High Hrothgar at all since then. I would say, you outright hid from us."

There are murmurs around them, Ulfric realises, and a quick, discreet look confirms that indeed, there are acolytes who came to watch his talk. Men and women of differing ages, who paused in their contemplation and study because two of five Masters greeted an outsider.

Still, he will not stand for whatever grudge Master Arngeir might have with him. "That is because I dedicated myself to protecting our way of life, Master. Surely even isolated from the world at large, you have heard of the travesties that were inflicted upon our ways? I could not, not in good conscience, not without throwing away my identity as a Nord, allow the Dominion, and Empire, to tarnish our ancient ways."

Arngeir frowns. "Our ancient ways, you say? It is interesting that you would speak of honouring our ways, when you so clearly broke them when it was convenient." He accuses.

"When I left for war, Master Borri..."

"He gave you, and all other acolytes who wished to fulfil their duty to the Empire, a dispensation to use your Voice, yes, I am aware. And all others, those who survived the war at least, returned to these halls. Some returned to their lessons, some simply wished to give their goodbyes, feeling themselves unworthy. All of them, however, gave their promise to keep following our ways."

"My duel with Torygg, while against the laws of the Empire, was within our customs." Ulfric defends himself, clearly seeing where the discussion was going. Not the first time he had to defend his actions, not the last one.

"That is not the part we take offense to. Whether that duel was legal, and whether its outcome should be binding is not something we concern ourselves with. What we do take concern with is that to win said duel, you broke your oaths. The oaths that you never returned to be released from. Silence." Arngeir speaks before Ulfric can voice his protest, and Jarl finds himself closing his mouth to listen. The Greybeard didn't use Voice, and yet… "You claim that you fight to defend the ancient ways of Skyrim, you use those ways to shield yourself from accusation, and yet you go against the tenets of our Way. You took the steps on the Way of the Voice. To never Speak with intent to harm. Never in aggression. To teach. To protect. To contemplate. Yes. But you Spoke to kill. Your Thu'um may not have been what killed the High King directly, but it was because of your oath breaking that he lay dead. How, in this situation, can Greybeards trust you with the power of the Voice?"

"Because Alduin has returned! Because if those are the End Times, then it is my duty, both as a Nord and as a Tongue, to seek any power that will shield my people from the rage of dragons. Any power to ensure we will not pass into the night unremembered! The ancient Nords overcame the World Eater once, and we can do it again!" The acolytes murmur amongst themselves, and Ulfric can tell, satisfied, that there are those amongst them that are nodding alongside his words, those with whom he resonates. Then, he almost steps back at the look of cold anger on Arngeir's face.

"Power." The man almost spits the word. "You speak of power, to protect, you say with your words, while your breath carries lust for it and greed. You have already demonstrated that tradition means nothing as long as your goals are accomplished. And we have heard of your… Stormcloaks' heed. 'Skyrim for Nords', was it? 'Your people', Ulfric, seem to consist of a small portion of Tamriel. Very small indeed. I wonder, should you somehow shield Skyrim from dragons, would you still fight to protect others from them?"

"Yes." He answers unflinchingly. "I would, because dragons are our enemy, and even if they left Skyrim, they would subjugate others as they have done our ancestors, and use them to wreck their vengeance. So I would fight them still. I would fight until they crawled back to their hiding places, or until my arms could no longer hold my axe and my throat could Speak no more. I would not rest until all dragons are de-"

"ENOUGH!" Arngeir speaks, and although it is not Thu'um, the air still shakes and the earth quakes, and Ulfric needs to bend his knees not to fall over. "You have said enough, Ulfric of Windhelm. Your words are like poison, and your breath betrays your lusts. You have lost your Way." Arngeir speaks through clenched teeth, his face visage of cold fury. "Leave."

"B-but dragons..."

Arngeir chuckles, a dark, humourless laugh. "You know your songs, Ulfric, you know that alongside Alduin, a hero is supposed to appear. Go back to your petty squabbles, Ulfric, to force people to break one of their oaths and kill their brothers and do not concern yourself with the fate of the world. With time, a man or woman whose fate it is to face the World Eater will arrive at our doorstep. Until then, our gates will remain closed, so as to not allow such venom to poison the Way of the Voice."

Ulfric glares Arngeir into the eyes, until he can hold the eye contact no longer and turns on his heel, marching steadily back towards the exit. He is not running away, he tells himself. No one stops him, and no voices ask him to wait. There are no footsteps following him even as the gates of High Hrothgar close behind him and the sound of a lock turning resounds through the mountaintop.

Only then, Ulfric allows himself to release his breath, in a shuddering, uneven release. That, he reflects, could have gone better. Much better. Still, while having a teacher was the best, one could still learn the Voice with practice and meditation. It would be a longer, rougher road, but he will get there. Ancient Tongues managed, and so would he.

The howling wind was his only answer and companion on the long way down the mountain.
___________________________________________________________________________

AN: Proper chapter will come later today.

 

[Crimson Reiter]

As a teacher, waiting for a troubled student to come for help is not always an option. Sometimes you have to go, approach and ask if everything is ok, if they need to vent about something or just talk about it.

Many times that's the only thing a teacher can do.

(And it sucks hard)

I can't blame them for kicking Ulfric after his barely concealed battlelust and POWAAAAAH boner... but I have this feeling that part of the rage in Arngeir's voice is due to how they didn't check out if Ulfric was ok, especially considering he was the only one that didn't come back... maybe I'm projecting x'D but I have that gut feeling

 

[Petrox]

I really like this last interlude. From all the fics of skyrim I've read, this give more in depth with Ulfric and the greybeards. How Alduin appeared and the greybeards did something for the world. In the game they were almost oblivious of the end of the world and hold many secrets to the dragonborn. Yours portrait a more in hands approach against the apocalypse. I also love the consequences of Ulfric use of the voice. His use of it on the duel would make everyone think that the thru'm is a weapon. Of course the greybeards would be furious.
Can't wait for the greybeards to discover there are 2 dragonborns ( i hope both are). I hope Thru'm combos to exist with 2 dragonborns. Like someone making fire and the other wind. dragonrend with mark of death.

 

[Omida]

As a teacher, waiting for a troubled student to come for help is not always an option. Sometimes you have to go, approach and ask if everything is ok, if they need to vent about something or just talk about it.

Many times that's the only thing a teacher can do.

(And it sucks hard)

I can't blame them for kicking Ulfric after his barely concealed battlelust and POWAAAAAH boner... but I have this feeling that part of the rage in Arngeir's voice is due to how they didn't check out if Ulfric was ok, especially considering he was the only one that didn't come back... maybe I'm projecting x'D but I have that gut feeling

Click to shrink...

While not something I thought about at the time of writing, I will admit that your reading is valid and adds to the scene. Of course, Ulfric didn't help his case by jumping all over the one big red button Arngeir does have. Additionally, Arngeir always stuck me as one of the more... strict and unyielding Greybeards when it comes to the Way of the Voice, for better or worse (in canon it takes an open scolding from one of his seniors to reconsider his stance on Dragonrend after all).

Funnily enough if Ulfric ever presented his argument to a dragon, had any cared about it, they would side with him. Maybe excepting Paarthurnax, but ol' Party has been interacting with humans enough and has been living the Way for long enough to be at least able to understand others' opposition to Ulfric's argument.

I really like this last interlude. From all the fics of skyrim I've read, this give more in depth with Ulfric and the greybeards. How Alduin appeared and the greybeards did something for the world. In the game they were almost oblivious of the end of the world and hold many secrets to the dragonborn. Yours portrait a more in hands approach against the apocalypse. I also love the consequences of Ulfric use of the voice. His use of it on the duel would make everyone think that the thru'm is a weapon. Of course the greybeards would be furious.
Can't wait for the greybeards to discover there are 2 dragonborns ( i hope both are). I hope Thru'm combos to exist with 2 dragonborns. Like someone making fire and the other wind. dragonrend with mark of death.

Click to shrink...

The main crux of Greybeards' irritation with Ulfric isn't even about using Thu'um in a duel. Imperial College of the Voice exist, and they don't begrudge it, after all! It's literally about the fact that Ulfric defends his position with Nord culture when the same culture venerates Greybeards and the Way of the Voice. Of course that loops back to what Reiter said, that if Ulfric returned, or Greybeards summoned him after waiting for some time to discuss his place at High Hrothgar and the vows he made, the debate would probably end on a more peaceful note, and possibly with some acolytes departing with Ulfric.

Meanwhile, their greater activity against Alduin/concern with the outside world is largely on the fact that, thanks to some perfectly logical expansion of the monastery and inclusion of some acolytes who can interact with outside world, they are not as completely separated from it as in the game.

 

[Omida]

AN: There is a lot of dragon language scattered in this chapter. Nothing critical, but the translations are provided at the end.

---

Chapter 5: G'day, I'm Erin the Necromancer and Today We're Doing an Unboxing

Heaving, Jean stumbled away from the corpse of the giant spider finally, finally laying dead in the corner of the room. The stench in the chamber serving for its lair was unbearable, and that was before he got multiple opportunities at close inspection of victims of spiders' dietary habits. A shudder ran up his spine as the memory of the eight beady eyes, long, hairy legs, clicking jaws and the screeching of the monster.

Shuddering as the healing potion finished cleansing him of the last traces of the frostbite's venom, he straightened up and looked at Erin.

"And now I know for a fact I am arachnophobe. Also, we were right, Arvel is spider food." He looks toward the opposite end of the room where the dried husk hangs in the web, still not wrapped up, but unmistakably sucked dry. For a pretty long time too, considering the chamber and the preceding hallways were completely silent as they approached. The golden claw, at least, was glistening faintly in the torchlight at the bandit's belt.

"Aye. Let's get the poor thing down." Erin says, before she lets out a tiny fork of lightning to sever the spider silk holding the carcass up, to predictable results. "Alright, spider chow, let's see what you got." She mutters as she reanimates the corpse, bidding it to hand over its valuables. Bit more of a workout than a corpse that hadn't yet so much as cooled down, but doable.

The corpse of Arvel, once called the Swift, readily hands over the claw and jerkily pulls on its finger trying to take off the ring until eventually, the undead simply rips off its finger and hands it over, the bit of jewellery registering as carrying the enchantment of, well, Swiftness, quite possibly explaining the dark elf's moniker.

The necromancer hums happily, tossing the claw into her backpack before she pulls out her steel travelling knife and goes to work on helping that ring loose from the torn digit. The knife would need a touch of fire afterwards to clean it off, while her hands would be alright after she let lightning play along them for a few moments. "Ring of swiftness, you interested?" Erin didn't have that much use for it, she was a backliner through and through, and she already had a ring of magicka regen to help with that. Cost a pretty penny in Whiterun, but damn if it wasn't a lifesaver with how many sustained spells she tended to run.

Grabbing the ring, Jean hummed as he inspected it. Swiftness… That would be relevant to one-handed, if he connected the dots correctly. Better footwork, faster swing, improved reaction time. It was fascinating to see how a multitude of small effects worked themselves into a single enchantment meant for increasing combat ability. Then, he called fire into his hand, letting the ring bask in the flames for a moment to clean it of the dead tissue.

"Won't say no to any bit of advantage I can get." He grins back. After letting the ring cool, he takes off his glove and puts it on, immediately noticing the effect. Oh, it's not like there is any big shift in him, but he realises he feels way surer about the sword at his hip, and his eyes catch the details a bit more clearly. "Huh. So that's how it looks. Right, now that we've got past the arachnids of unusual size, time to get deeper. Draugr and actual traps."

Because what they encountered until now could have hardly been called traps, let alone anything to really slow them down. Which made that bandit who didn't quite seem to realize he had an answer to the pillar puzzle in front of his face all the sadder when he knelt over dead from having his entire front turned into poisoned pincushion. The educational standards these days.

"Aye, I got half a mind to just blast those damn swinging spike walls off their hinges." Erin grouses. It was a really obvious trap, yes, but that was only when you had the time to keep track of where the pressure plate was. When there were four draugr wailing on you, that became a touch harder, and she'd rather not test her Oakflesh against that much pointy metal death backed by that much mass and momentum.

Leaving the spider nest behind, the two walk through the empty, candle lit (mages) halls, with only the howling wind and the corpse of Arvel for company. Eventually, they pass through a chamber with a corpse laid on the table surrounded by the embalming tools and multitude of jars. Worryingly enough, the corpse belongs to an Argonian, and is quite fresh, no more than a couple of months, excellently preserved by the cold and mummification. What mummified it, they do not find, yet. The chamber is also in a much better condition than the ones they passed before, the stonework bearing the signs of regular maintenance, the broken urns diligently put in single place. Even torches and candles are surprisingly fresh. The corridor after the mummification chamber is much rougher, less a temple and more a tomb carved into the mountain, with arched ceiling and much rougher walls.

Then, there is a sound of footsteps ahead of them, and stopping, Jean and Erin can hear the hollow grunts and the sound of shovels and pickaxes at work.

Frowning, Jean stops in his tracks as he listens for a moment. "Are they… digging out the collapsed parts? Huh. I suppose that was supposed to be part of their purpose." He mutters as he calls the flames into his hand.

Erin grunts quietly, hands likewise filling with fire, "Can't very well guard the place if they just sit by as it crumbles around their ears."

The two of them creep closer, Arvel's animated body shuffling awkwardly in front of them until they enter the chamber. A group of draugr, seven in total, work at a collapsed staircase, tirelessly breaking stone and shuffling it to the side, the monotonous tasks accentuated by the undeads' grunt and short, quiet curses spoken in dovahzul. Their armour was dull grey and the leather parts visibly falling apart. All of them had an axe strapped to their belts, with the exception of one who stood aside, a two handed axe in draugr's hand, head resting on the ground. More lied silently in their niches, some reduced to nothing but bones covered in barest tatters of material, others dried, withered husks, and some surprisingly healthy, as long as one excluded deep, death-like slumber.

"No good way to go around them. Not with mister stumbly over here." Jean mutters while pointing at Arvel's corpse. Then, he calls fire into his hand. "He is not going to be much use, so how about he provides distraction while we make some fire. Hmmm… Do you think you can put a rune on him? I doubt mine would do anything but explode immediately, but if it's your magic, it may not explode prematurely."

"Only one way to find out. Do get ready in case it gets their attention." Erin replies with a wide smile as she carefully retreats at a safe distance from her zombie before applying a fire rune smack dab on its chest. Her eyes gleam dangerously as the magic takes without issue.

---

Jean keeps an eye on the draugr while Erin tries to find the limit to how many runes it was possible to stack on the smallest surface area possible. Even with a faint blast sound of the magicka searing itself into the flesh, the working draugr do not turn around, and neither does the sentry.

Probably thinks it's us fighting our way through the tomb closer to the exit.

Finally, the sound of casting stops, and Jean turns to look at the zombie before blinking. Arvel is glowing with runes. From what he can distinguish, there are at least two on each limb, one on the head and three on the torso. Probably an overkill, but given all the stories they have heard so far, it's better safe than sorry with the draugr. Shooting Erin a look, and gesturing towards the group, he gets a nod in return. Backing to crouch beside Erin, he puts his shield in front of them. Who knows how big the explosion will get.

The corpse of Arvel starts shambling its way forward, the draugr on the watch perking up and turning its cold, burning gaze towards it before barking the warning to others. The six working on the staircase immediately stand up from their work, turning around and readying their axes, although one of them still holds its pickaxe in the other.

"Paak dilon!" The battle axe wielding draugr called, laughing coarsely at the sight of the zombie before he gazes into the corridor beyond. Hefting its weapon, it points at Jean and Erin. "Dir volaan. Mu gaar aar."

The draugr swings its axe, the corpse of Arvel not even trying to shield itself as it simply ran into the group. Then, the blades of the draugr dig into its skin and disrupt the delicate, finicky balance of the runes. With the flash of blinding light, the room shakes at the thundering explosion and is swallowed in the fireball as the flames eagerly devour dry bodies, dust and linen, the wave of heat hitting Jean and Erin and making it harder to breathe. Not impossible, thankfully, the quirk of ancient Nordic tomb architecture letting the cold air flow through the tomb. Still, the two are thankful to be crouching, heads kept below the cloud of smoke and where the air is still the freshest.

After a moment, the smoke drifts away, revealing the chamber to be cleansed of undead, including those who were resting in their niches. Some of the rubble removed previously was flung across the chamber and triggered the pressure plates, the spiked wall dangling uselessly on one hinge.

Standing up, Jean chuckles. "Well, that's one way to disarm a trap."

Erin, meanwhile, is nowhere near as restrained, letting out a full on cackle, "Man, oh man we really need to spend a day or two fucking around with runes in a stretch of plains nobody will mind a few craters and fires in. I'm sure with a bit of work we can make bottle rockets out of anything."

"No shortage of those around." Jean agrees.

The two of them move on past the broken trap, the corridors twisting and turning seemingly just to make the route deeper into the complex take longer. At the turns, the draugr stand-sleep on the pedestals dug into the wall, pretending to be the world's most fleshy statues. Jean lobs a firebolt at each of them, the undead crumbling in flames, the body twitching as the magic maintaining them fades.

The only surprise is when a pair of draugr round the corner, one bearing a shield, the other having the mist of mage frost surrounding its hand. The draugr cry in surprise while Jean bumps into a wall before letting loose the torrent of flames, which is met by the stream of cold. Erin sticks in her oar, letting loose with forks of lightning to counter the undead caster.

The other draugr tries to awkwardly pass the clash of elements by the wall only for the flame to lick its clothing, setting it on fire. Meanwhile, the other draugr grunts in annoyance before backing behind the corner where the wave of lightning cannot catch it. However, the damage it has done to its magicka is enough to tip the scales and it, too, is soon swallowed by flames.

The encounter done with, Jean and Erin continue deeper into the tomb until the corridor ends with a series of swing blades along the length of far, far smaller passage.

"Well then." Jean speaks as he eyes the intervals in which the blades swing from between its places in the walls. "If I remember correctly, there is a lever on the other side that disables this thing. Though I don't enjoy the prospect of timing our way through the blades. Think you can conjure your familiar on the other side?"

"Was just thinking that, yeah. Not really excited about testing my Oakflesh against that," The elf replies, nodding towards the swinging blades, "So let's hope this works."

And with that, she summoned her Familiar once more, purple blooming beyond the reach of the swinging blades. She'd let the wolf return to oblivion once they'd started with the draugr encounters, given how the only major help he'd have been would be by pinning one of the undead so she could burn it, but that'd catch her familiar and- no, just nope. She may be a pyromaniac, but she had standards, thank you very much.

Tangents aside, all it took was a single tug on the mental link to have her daedra friend bite down on the hoop of metal and pull on the mechanism's chain, the blades swinging one last time before audibly locking into place within their slots in the walls.

"There shouldn't be much more after this, right?" Erin asks idly as she steps through the trapped corridor, "There's that troll hole and then we get to the spicy unboxing."

Walking through the passage, Jean frowns. "The room ahead with the group of draugr, one ready to burst out of its coffin, the hole and one standalone draugr. Not sure how the hole will work. On lower levels, it usually has a draugr instead of a troll, so it can be really easy or really unpleasant."

"So maybe the draugr killed the thing. Maybe we'll have to do it ourselves. And try not to break our skulls like that one guy who slipped." Erin muses with a shake of her head, "At least we're packing plenty of fire magic."

"Yeah. Good thing we are going to be seeing the manager of this place soon, so we can file a safety complaint with him." Jean snickers before ducking as the arrow bounces off of the wall to his side, a raspy laughter of a draugr resounding through the room. Three more descend the wooden stairs, so Jean lobs a firebolt at the archer and readies the shield.

Erin chuckles, Ward springing up even as her other hand fills with wire, "Right, back to it."

---

Walking to the door hiding the Wall, Jean rubs his shoulder. Fire, as it turns out, was godsend when dealing with draugr and their dried asses. Except for the one smartass whose coffin was just plopped by the stream just flowing through the tomb. That one was too moisturised for flames to really work, so they had no choice but hack its limbs off. And even then it kept glaring at them with its burning blue eyes. Creepy.

Then, the delicate stone bridge over a ravine. The question of whether they would encounter more draugr or a troll turned out to have a third answer. Both, as it turned out. Troll's natural, ridiculously fast regeneration meant it took a lot of draugr losing their weapons when the wounds closed around them to bring the monster down, which, in the meantime, kept ripping them apart. And if a live troll was a stinking mess, a dead one was not something anyone would want to be near, for any length of time.

"Finally." He grumbles. "We can deal with mister shouty and go home. Just need to do the puzzle" Walking over to the door, Jean carefully turns the rings on the door twice. "I could do this one combination with closed eyes at this point, so let's just stick the claw and go on."

Grabbing the offered item, he presses the golden key into the holes in the door and turns it before removing the claw. The door shakes as the ancient mechanisms slowly turn the rings back to the required combination and slowly slide the door down with a rumble of stone grinding against stone. The tomb blends into the natural cavern, lit by the light shining from somewhere above. As the two move towards the Wall looming in the distance, they pass the rows of coffins resting on the stone floor, ducking to let a swarm of bats fly off squeaking. As they come closer, crossing a small stream, they can hear the chanting coming from the wall, even from the base of the pedestal.

"Hmm… That sarcophagus shouldn't pop open until one of us gets the Word blasted into the brain. What do you say we mine the shit out of that draugr?" Jean proposes with a smile as he holds the rune spells in both of his hands.

"It is that or trying to weld the damn coffin shut. But that'd mean no loot, soooo~" Erin trails off happily both hands alight with magic fire.

Walking up to the jet black sarcophagus, the two of them place a pair of runes each at each side of the coffin. Then, they walk up to the Wall (although not before Erin calls her Familiar back out from Oblivion just in case), the chanting intensifying and getting louder as they come closer. Their vision blurs as one word stands out amongst others. Their vision is naturally drawn to it, the only thing that can be seen with any clarity, and both of them can feel as it asserts itself in their minds. They may not know the language, or how to Speak it, but they know the meaning.

The moment of elation is interrupted at the sound of the coffin bursting open, followed by an explosion and a wave of heat, although even the explosion is not enough to drown out the chanting. Turning around, they can, barely, see the form of a draugr fall back into its sarcophagus after it was thrown in the air, its gangly limbs sprawled out as it curses trying to get up.

"Kul, lir." It grumbles before backhanding the Familiar out of the way. "Sovngarde balaan."

The draugr stands up fully, tall and thin, its muscles visible even under the plates of its armour, before its gaze sweeps the cavern in search of its blade which the explosion ripped out of its hand. Jean forms a quick firebolt and throws it at the undead.

"FUS!" The wave of force disperses the fireball and throws Jean against the Wall where he groans.

"Zu'u tahrodiis nid zun." It exclaims proudly as it stares the two of them down.

"Right… I have no idea… what he says… but any plans?" Jean chokes out as he staggers back on his feet.

A double handful of firebolts flying out before a Ward hastily raises leaves it quite clear what Erin's game plan is.

The draugr inhales to Shout again before it… coughs and chokes? It looks as surprised as Jean feels, before its face is obscured by the pair of firebolts splashing against it. With a cry, the undead washes itself over with a wave of frost, killing the flames. In the meantime, Jean springs off the Wall, flanking their opponent with shield in one hand and firebolt in another. Still, the draugr laughs, without even a hint of mockery, as it sends an ice spike at Jean while turning around and charging Erin. The conjured ice crashes against redhead's shield, pushing him back from the force of impact. He regains his balance fast and throws the bolt at the back of the undead which staggers it, sending it stumbling to Erin's side even as it regains some balance.

Which was enough of an opening for the elf to let loose with lightning, hoping to trash the damn thing's magicka and with a bit of luck get those dried old muscles seizing up.

Imbalance as it is, the bolt of lightning sends the draugr crashing into the stalagmite, the undead grunting as its body breaks the stone on impact. Pushing itself on its feet, it inhales, only to be interrupted as the Familiar jumps on its back, biting its neck, claws gouging the lighter armoured back, the nascent shout leaving deep gouge in the ground.

"Ruth deyra!" It roars, stumbling around as it tries to grab the wolf. Jean needs not to be told to take advantage, sending another firebolt at the draugr, aiming for feet so as to not hit the Familiar. Still, he could feel the sweat forming on his back, and the slight tremble of his hand as he cast the spell.

I will probably manage to squeeze one more spell and that's it. The spell hits, lighting the undead's legs, though a stumble through the stream mitigates the damage.

"Tough bastard…" He chokes out as he tries to come up with the next plan. "Which means we can forget about anything else being levelled to us." His eyes widened as an idea came. An insane one, one that would leave him sitting duck if it didn't work… but given how utterly nonchalant about magical damage the guardian of Dragonstone was turning out to be, some sort of magical protection was the only explanation. Which meant finding a method of delivering the fire that won't be easy to counter or mitigate.

As the draugr finally finds the purchase in the daedra's fur with a victorious shout and throws the Familiar away with a chunk of its flesh, Jean draws his sword and hastily casts a rune on it. The blade flashes red before settling for a dull, warm aura. The redhead steps closer, the draugr turning its burning gaze towards him, head tilted curiously as it steps heavily towards the two of them.

"Pruzah krif." It nods, spreading its arms, cold gathering in them. "Nu, Sovngarde saraan."

With a cry, Jean throws his sword at the same time as the spell starts manifesting around the draugr, the metal impaling it and breaking the rune. There is a bright flash and the blade explodes into a cloud of shrapnel inside the undead, flames devouring it inside out. There is a gout of flame bursting from its throat before it falls to the ground, its blue eyes dimming considerably.

"Zu'u… Vah...lok." It mutters, the hand twitching towards its chest before the body finally stills.

Then, Jean falls to his knees, ragged breath leaving his mouth. "Finally… C-can you… check the damn thing's coffin… while I catch my breath?" He asks Erin.

Glancing blearily around the cavern, he notes a part of the stream where water froze over, the dark shape jutting out of the ice signifying the place where the draugr's weapon was thrown by the explosion. Closing his eyes, Jean shudders as he swallows, fighting down the urge to heave, instead gritting his teeth and standing up, the world spinning for a second.

Hope that hit against the wall didn't give me a serious concussion.

Shaking his head, he stumbles towards the stream and grasps the sword, his mind analysing the enchantment on the fly. Frost, obviously, both because of the effect it had and because the draugr's overall theme seemed to be ice and cold. Pulling it, he notices a small problem with its current position, namely being stuck in its own ice. Sighing, he gathers the absolute last remnants of his magicka and sends a short lived gust of flame downwards, noting it's not enough to melt the ice completely, but apparently hot enough to loosen the blade, which comes off with no further issues.

"Yeah, no, I am completely spent." He notes before slowly coming back to the draugr's corpse. He notices a necklace resting under its armour and pulls it out, the piece of jewellery moulded in the image of a silver dragon. "Magic resistance… of fucking course." Other than that, the only thing he is interested in is the draugr's scabbard at its belt, which he slowly went to unbuckling to get for his new sword.

"Well, that was a fucking trip of a fight." Erin groaned as she ambled over to Jean, done with her own looting. That ring of fortify destruction and magicka regen was delicious and she hadn't wasted a single second putting it on. "Here, chug this while I work you over." She said, handing over a magicka and stamina potion in one hand while the other glowed with the soft light of restoration magic.

Jean accepts the potion and chugs it readily, shuddering a bit as the liquid goes down his throat. He is not quite anywhere close to unsafe toxicity levels, but the repeated use throughout the dungeon left an unpleasant aftertaste nonetheless. Still, his limbs stop having trembling fits and he feels generally… well, not energetic per se, but less likely to crawl into the coffin and sleep it off. His dizziness and headache go away as well.

"Thanks. Now, let's get out of here and deliver this damn stone."

"And the claw. Ugh, hate how we can't crash for a little bit at Riverwood's inn." Erin muttered mutinously. Not much to be done about it, though. They had no idea how fast that dragon would be popping up at the tower. And sweet merciful Divines, a dragon fight after this rollercoaster was not her idea of a good time.

"Eh… we will need to crash somewhere anyway, or else we will fall asleep on the road and get eaten by the wolves. Or robbed. Maybe both. The world will still be there tomorrow, unless Alduin decides to really pick up his eating stuff problem." Jean jokes, though he is feeling tired enough he barely sees the humour in his own words. "Besides, I would actually kill for a warm meal."

The two move through the pedestal with a small detour behind the stairs to the exit tunnel, where behind the stream, hidden in the shadows is another chest. A quick application of transmutation and a hit with the pommel of the sword gets the lid pried off for the reward of a few potions of unknown effect and some more gold coins with the image of the dragon on one side and a tiny script in what both of them guess to be written form of dragon language on the other.

A short trip up the stairs and a lever later, the two pass into another cave, this one with a small pedestal with a skull on top of it surrounded by a girdle of flowers and a few candles. Dropping down, the two get out of the cave, greeted by the clear, evening sky. The way down is slow and careful for the lack of actual path, so the two have to resort to slow if short climb before they are left standing on the shore of the lake.

"Right… Well, by the shore it is." Jean mutters as the two of them continue to walk through the steadily darkening woods.

Soon, the sun sets completely and Jean takes out the and lights the lamp before tying it to his belt. Coupled with cloudless sky and full moons, there is enough light left to continue walking the northern shore accompanied by the cries of cicadas. That is, until sounds of spell work resound through the forest and there is a flash of light in the distance, alongside cries of combat.

The two of them pause unsure if they should investigate before a woman moves out of the shadows carrying a torch and a mace, although she keeps her weapon low. She is in plate armour, with a yellow and green robe thrown on top of that.

"Halt there travellers! Why are you walking off the well tread roads?" She calls, tense but with a calm voice.

"I could ask the same." Jean notes. "But in the interest of spreading things along, I will admit that we are on an errand for the court wizard of Jarl Balgruuf."

The woman nods and puts her mace on her belt. "Fair enough. We are Vigilants of Stendarr. Me and my brother and sister wandered into these woods following a confession of a witch. She reported her mentor has recently begun trying to convince her to begin a ritual to transform them into hagravens." The woman spits to the ground, scowling. "Daedra worship is ugly thing most of times, but hagravens are some of the worst outside of direct service to the Princes."

She pauses as her companions come closer.

"Sister Elle, who is that." The male one asks, holding a letter and a bag in his hands.

"People in service of the jarl, Harald. Have you found any evidence?" Elle asks.

"Aye. Bete and me found a trapdoor to the basement. There was an enchanting table and the alchemical lab there, alongside the letter containing evidence aligning with the confession of the woman who directed us here. As well as a whole slew of ingredients used in dark rituals."

Elle nods before turning to Jean and Erin. "I can see that the two of you are barely standing on your legs. If you can wait until we dispose of the daedra worshipper's body and offer her soul to Stendarr for judgement, we can camp together around the hut. It will be safer than trying to get to the next village in darkness."

Jean sighs and gives the woman a tired smile. "That would be great. Can we look forward to something warm?"

Chuckling, Elle nods. "Obviously. The hut is in decent condition, so once it is purified, we can at least have a roof over our heads for the night."

The two accompany the Vigilants uphill back to the small house, one wall of which bearing the burn marks as well as an ice spike jutting out of it. Another woman is putting the body hidden in black robes atop a small pyre of straw and firewood.

Then, the Vigilants encircle the dead witch and light the pyre, holding their amulets above their heads as they pray.

"Merciful Stendarr, the guardian of Man, the lord of Justice, we bring before you the wayward soul of a worshipper of Oblivion. May your light guide it back into the Mercy and Righteousness of your embrace, forever safeguarded from the temptation of daedra."

The burning pyre flashes as the flames grow momentarily, before the Vigilants lower their amulets and hide them beneath their robes again, watching as the flames burn the body until only ashes and bones remain. One of them collects as much of the ashes as he can into an urn before putting it in a shallow hole where they surround it with the bones. Then, they cover it back with the ground and put a large stake and hang another horn-like amulet on it.

Turning towards Erin and Jean, Elle gestures towards the hut. "Thank you for patience. Now that our duty is over, at least for the moment, let us retire."

Short time later, the group of five is huddled together in the only room of the hut, bowls of soup in hands.

"So is the wandering knight errantry the usual way you operate?" Jean prods as he slowly eats.

"Pffft. Interesting way to put it, but aye." Harald nods. "While the Hall of the Vigilant and Stendarr's Beacon are our headquarters in Skyrim, they are merely resting places, and repositories for dangerous artefacts we stumble upon. Most of this work involves travelling the roads, keeping an ear to the ground for rumours. Sometimes we need to pass down judgement when villagers accuse one another from petty spite and greed." The Vigilants' faces darken momentarily before they calm down again. "Generally, we make sure people know not to bring falsehoods before Stendarr's judgement. There are, unfortunately, times when zeal and lack of experience end in deaths of innocents, aye, but were men infallible, we would not be needed."

"Besides, that's another reason why there is always at least one experienced Vigilant in every group. To make sure we've got it right." Bete adds.

"Sensible enough." Erin says with an approving nod, already done inhaling her serving. Her body had demanded warm calories and she wasn't in the habit of restraining herself on account of decorum unless she absolutely had to. "I take it you lot also have a bunch of caches and boltholes strewn all around? 'S what I'd do if I were planning things out for a group operating like that, at least." After all, rooting out cults and other shit going bump in the night would take subtlety. Boldly rolling into a settlement with their vestments and amulets on display would only serve to have all they were after to go to ground.

"Here and there." Elle admits. "As well as… less eye-catching members of the order to investigate if we cannot afford to 'just' show up. You will only see our kind when we are sure of our target, or if we stumble upon the problem on our journey. Nowadays, the order is less centralized than it was in the years following the Oblivion Crisis. The necromancers and daedra worshippers are still there, just like they have been here for millennia, but there is less of a need for the Vigilants to move in full force."

"Might be again." Jean pipes in, settling his empty bowl. "Not sure how seriously you guys take it, but there is a lot of rumours of some massive vampire activity primarily all across the northern Skyrim trickling down through merchants visiting Whiterun."

Bete grimaces. "Aye, we have heard the same, and it's worrying. Skyrim has always been fertile ground for them, given the weather, but..." Looking down, she sighs. "Keeper Calcette… She is a stubborn woman, and after the huge fight with one of our brothers who have been focused purely on vampires to the exclusion of anything else… She and the rest of the senior Vigilants at the Hall might dismiss the worries as people mistaking increased bandit activity for vampire attacks. Or think it's a weak coven being smart about their picks."

"To be fair Bete" Elle notes "Isran was a paranoid fuck who saw vampires in every person who wore their hoods up during day and cast that annoying sunlight cloak of his on every shadow he didn't memorise previously. The man was, is, if he is still alive, obsessed. Not that I don't agree that the rumours need to be at least investigated."

The silence falls on the room before Jean jerks up. "Oh, that reminds me. We found a soul gem on our errand through the Nordic ruin. Black one. I was wondering if there is..."

"A way to free the soul?" Elle finishes for him before shaking her head. "Far as I know, none. You may ask the mages in Winterhold, but no one has ever heard of the soul being freed of the gem after death. It is possible to escape the entrapment if you don't die while the curse is upon you, but afterwards?" Shaking her head she continues. "Who knows what happens to the souls of the trapped people."

Grimacing, Jean nods. "Figured we would at least ask. And what a wonderful topic to end the day on." That, at least gets a morbid chuckle of the Vigilants.

"Speaking of ending the day, I will take the first watch." Elle speaks up. "Then Bete and then Harald. The two of you rest, we have offered you our hospitality, so it would be unbecoming of us to demand you share the watch,"

"I would argue, but honestly, I am too tired." Jean answers, which is greeted with a smile.

---

After a quick stop by Riverwood Trader to return golden claw (and explaining it via learning about theft from bandit's journal) and getting a permanent discount in gratitude, Jean and Erin hopped back on their horses and by noon, were back in Dragonsreach. Seeing the two of them, Farengar perks up.

"Ah, you have the Dragonstone! I was worried for a moment. I trust there has been no trouble?"

"Unless you count one very persistent draugr as a problem, no. We had some fun blowing other draugr up with runes."

The mage chuckles as he accepts the stone tablet and puts it on the table. "It is one of the most fun ways to do it, yes. Now, let's see what it sa-" He is cut off however, as there is a commotion in the main hall as a haggard looking guard with cloak bearing serious signs of fire comes running, clearly out of breath. Everyone's eyes turn to him, even as he stumbles on the stairs.

"Dragon! At the Western Watchtower!"

Then, the man collapsed, clearly exhausted. For a moment, there is a silence before the hall explodes into chaos.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Jarl Balgruuf shouts over the crowd, stone faced. Slowly, the worried faces turn towards him as people stop their arguments and wailing. "Irileth! Gather the men to go to Western Watchtower! Someone run to Companions, have them bring as many as they can spare! Caius, put the city on alert, I want the people off the streets and men on the walls."

The people spring into action, Balgruuf overseeing them from his throne for a moment before turning his gaze towards Farengar, Jean and Erin.

"My jarl, I will accompany… " Farengar begins before Balgruuf interrupts him.

"No. I need you in the city Farengar, in case things go wrong." The blond man shakes his head, even as his voice breaks down by the end before he turns towards Jean and Erin. "You two already helped, but this is an emergency, so if I can ask you to help, I would have the two of you accompany Irileth to the Watchtower. I want that dragon dead before it gets to the Whiterun."

"Not like we have better things to do." Jean says jokingly, earning Balgruuf's somewhat strained smile.

"Aye. Thank you. Now go."

With that, the jarl goes with Farengar into the wizard's chambers as Irileth leads Erin and Jean with her. By the door, they are joined by Lydia, who hands them a pair of crossbows.

"Just in case." She says. Irileth doesn't say anything, merely shaking her head.

Outside, the streets of Whiterun are chaotic as the guards direct people off the streets or move along the walls, preparing ballistae and catapults. From Jorrvaskr, a group of heavily armoured and armed Companions join the group on the way through the Wind District, their helmets stylised after wolves, a pair of dark haired twin males with great swords, an old man with a battle hammer, a bald man with sword and shield and a redhead woman stands out in her leather armour and with a bow and sword by her side.

Lydia glances at them, before shifting her gaze away.

"Irileth." The old man greets them as he falls in line with them, the rest moving behind. "And Lydia."

"Kodlak." Lydia returns the greeting. "It's… good to see you."

"Heh. What Nord would not jump at the chance to fight a dragon? Even in my old age, I just couldn't resist. Especially now."

"Personally, could name quite a few." The woman notes.

Moving through the streets, the Companions, accompanied by Lydia, Jean and Erin move through the gates while Irileth organizes the guard, her very loud inspirational speech earning a chuckle from the Companions. The Khajiit tent city is chaotic as well, the tents are packed and the valuables stored in the chests which in turns are put on the backs of senche Khajiit, all overseen by the watchful caravan guards.

Moving through the road to the west, the group is soon joined by the column of the Whiterun soldiers led by Irileth, and after an hour of a trek, the tower comes in sight, overseeing the plain alone, surrounded by a small stone wall, which has parts of it blown apart and scattered wide around it, flames licking what was once a courtyard. Immediately, the Whiterun guards spread over, taking their wounded fellows inside, spreading over the wall and running to the top of the tower.

Meanwhile, Irileth comes to one of the still uninjured men. "Report."

The man swallows and salutes before speaking. "It fell upon us from the west. Flied from the mountains in the Reach. We had barely any warning before the wall came flying, ma'am. Made a couple of circles around, burning us before flying off. Clearly toying with us." He finishes bitterly.

"Have anyone seen which direction it flew off to?" The dark elf asks.

"It came back where it came fro-"

"It's coming back!" Comes a shout from the top of the tower. The guard pales, but gives a salute and runs off to join others at the walls, bow in hand.

"Right." Kodlak speaks. "Unless it lands, not much for us to do, and the yard is too small for it to land. Skjor, Farkas, Vilkas, we are coming out, we will hide amongst the rubble and wait for it. Aela?"

"Coming with you. Walls and tower will be packed, and I want to be mobile."

The Companions take off, Irileth turning to Lydia, Jean and Erin. "I am joining the men on the walls, you three I will trust you to pick where you will be the most useful."

Erin nods, making a beeline for the tower. She needs the vantage point to rain down spell fire. She can only hope her Oakflesh and ward will hold well enough should the dragon take direct offence. At the top of the tower, some of the guards managed to drag a ballista to the roof, hastily assembled and pointed at the sky.

The men on the walls likewise hauled ballistae and net launchers normally used to restrain drunk and drugged giants that occasionally wandered from the camp at Sleeping Tree. None of the guards knew if they would work much, it had been centuries since Nords cowered in fear under the shadow of the dragon wings, but they had to try anyway.

And slowly, from over the western mountains, a dark dot in the sky grows larger and larger, taking shape. A distant roar makes its way to the watchtower as the wings become visible. A cruel, joyful laughter as the dragon's head became distinct from its body. Even as the soldiers point their ballistae at the beast sailed on the wind.

"Open fire!" The order rings out, and with a creak, the great crossbows hurl their bolts at the approaching dragon, which flaps its wings and dives, the projectiles sailing harmlessly over it. The arrows rain upon it, only to bounce off the scales without more than a chuckle in response.

"Sahlo! You will need more than this to hurt me." The dragon laughs as it flies over the watchtower and circles right back. The men pale even as they reload ballistae, trying to keep their minds off of the fact the beast was intelligent.

Then, Irileth makes herself known, lighting erupting from her hands, smacking the dragon into its side, the electricity heating its scales, dancing across its huge side as the air around the dark elf fills with the cackle of static. A hasty shot of ballista, barely aimed yet lucky strikes the same spot and penetrates. The dragon roars, half enraged, half amused, stopping its flight to hover outside of ballistae elevation as the torrent of energy runs its course.

"Krif krin! Pruzah!" Then, from deep within its belly, a sound arose. A deep rumble, like a volcano awakening to life, a hum of the raging forest fire building and rising in intensity as the very promise of fire flickered around the dragon's fangs as it opened its maw. "Yol..."

From the gatehouse, Jean peeks out, the crossbow resting on his shoulder as he takes aim at the opened jaws. His finger squeezes, and the heartbeat later, the bolt embeds itself in the soft flesh inside the jaws at the same time as a loosened arrow from a Companion does.

The dragon screams, more irritated than pained, and what would be a torrent of hellfire intense enough to melt stone comes out a fireball, one that washes over Irileth's hastily thrown ward, drying the air but leaving the men atop the wall unharmed.

The net launchers ring out, and distracted by the stinging pain, the dragon doesn't dodge. One wraps itself around its jaws, snapping them shut. Another bounces off the wing, tearing the membrane a little but otherwise having no effect. The last one catches the beast's tail, fluttering uselessly on the wind.

With a snarl, the dragon snaps the net open, the flap of its wings carrying it over the wall, the net around its tail catching a group of soldiers and throwing them against the wall of the tower. One unfortunate soul dangles lifelessly by the foot caught in it. The arrows still rain upon it, the soldiers trying to pierce the membrane of its wings as the dragon circles around. Erin's lightning bolts join them, actinic light snapping through the air as it attempts to rip into the creature's wings and ground it.

"Pruzah! I had forgotten what a fine sport you joor provide!" It cries in joy, eyes shining in its skull even as large tears form on one of its wings. It glides more, refusing to strain the wounded limb but refusing to land. "Therefore! Allow me to answer to your ahkrin, courage, with my full might!"

It rises on the wind, straining its wing but rising.

"FUS..." It sucks the air in, and the sound from within its belly is like a rumble of the oncoming storm, the sound of the avalanche coming down the mountain. Even down on the ground, the sound is almost deafening. "RO DAH!"

The wave of the force is less a push like what Jean was hit by at the Bleak Falls, and more like a furious hammer of a wrathful god. The condensed wave of pure force slams into the wall, Irileth having less than a heartbeat to throw her hands up to form the ward, the shimmering barrier surrounding her even as the stone breaks and rains over the surroundings, breaking the wall of the tower, embedding in the ground and the men's screams are drowned. Some of them are outright vaporized by the sheer concussive force that hits them. Jean dives from under the collapsing gate, coughing as the dust slowly settles.

And as the cloud settles, only a little, shaking pillar of stone still stands, Irileth panting on her knees as the ward pops like a bubble. The dragon hums approvingly as it stares at the dark elf.

"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor." The woman snarls in answer and fishes out a vial from her pouch, ripping the cork with her teeth and gulping down the contents before shakily standing up.

"I am not dying here. Not today, dragon." The lighting gathers in her hands and she hurls a lightning bolt, bright and deafening at the other wing, tearing it as the electricity dances upon it.

With a roar of surprise, the wings give under it and the dragon falls from the sky, its crash quaking the earth. Shaking its massive head, it chuckles.

"Pruzah. Yol!" The burst of fire incinerates guards on the wall and the pair of ballistae, even as the men scramble for cover. Then the Companions fall upon the beast, their two handed weapons digging into the scales even as the dragon shakes its body, sending one to the ground just by colliding its body with the charging man. The jaws snap, almost snatching Kodlak who dances with surprising agility out of the way of the fangs, the old warrior's hammer sending the colossal head reeling to the side upon impact. A pair of crossbow bolts embed themselves in the scales on its neck, Lydia peeking from behind the rubble before diving right back while Jean hangs his back and draws the sword before jumping from one pile to another, hoping the Companions will distract the dragon for long enough for him to get in position.

Then, a shadow falls upon the tower and the men scream as the enormous claws catches a pair of them and throws the ballista down to the ground. The men cry as another, smaller dragon sails over, roaring at the sight of the downed one.

"Mirmulnir! Hi paak!"

"Fus!" The downed dragon Speaks, sending the Companions tumbling. "Nid. Joor los balaan krif."

The dragon in the sky snorts before it circles back. "Fo!" Its breath sends a torrent of ice, freezing the courtyard, and turning all who are caught in it into statues.

Shit. I forgot this may not be like where they patiently wait their turn in the game. Jean thinks as his heart stops just for a moment. One dragon was already hard as it was. Two? Still, that meant they had to hurry. Even as Companion got back on their feet and resumed their dance around the dragon, the steel clashing against the scales, diving to the ground as the tail swiped. And Jean climbs the pile of rubble the dragon so helpfully provided and backed under, trying to get the warriors less directions from which to attack.

Meanwhile, Irileth directs the soldiers against the other dragon, who laughs cruelly and spits frost, only to be countered by ward and flame. It is unconcerned with the arrows as the gust of wind from its wings deflect any projectiles aimed for the sensitive spots. And then, there is a guttural growl and a boulder the size of a cart crashes into it, sending it crashing into the tower, which shakes precariously.

The confused soldiers risk looking in the direction it flew from, and spot a group of giants waving their clubs while one grabs another boulder from the back of the mammoth.

Erin cackles from her perch in the tower, underlining her old mental note to learn the giant's language. They sure knew how to approach warfare. It is only a small corner of her mind that does so, the rest is busy keeping a firm enough footing on the shaking tower to rain down lightning on the scaly shithead. That and a few fire runes lovingly placed right next to where the thing's wings and head lay.

The runes explode near instantly as the are placed, keeping the dragon off balance and burning its wings further even as Irileth adds her own lighting, the two spells converging together and dancing over the beast's skull as it roars and trashes in pain, crushing less fortunate, brave fools who thought to fight it up close underneath it.

Meanwhile the giants hurl the next boulder at Mirmulnir, the Companions backing off. The dragon grimaces as it notices it and twists, its tail lashing up and batting the rock to the side. The ground quakes as one the giants charges it, the club held firmly. Mirmulnir laughs and breathes in.

"Giant! Foolish worm, had to make it harder! Fus… " The air rumbles again, the giant's eyes widening as it digs its feet to the ground, clearly ready for what is to come.

Jean draws his sword. It is now or never. He will have to thank the giants to force Mirmulnir to put its head directly under the rubble. Swallowing hard, he jumps off, sword held in reverse and pointed at the skull.

"Ro!"

The shout is cut short as the blade digs into the scales, the enchantment freezing the flesh and sapping energy from the titanic beast. Mirmulnir trashes, crying in pain as it feels its brain freeze, Jean holds with both hands to his weapon as he loses his footing and ends dangling from the side of the dragon's head. Mirmulnir hits the rubble, and Jean's grip slips, leaving him hanging one-handed before he grabs a spike on the top of the head and pulls himself, even as the beast starts flapping its wings.

"Get down you crazy moron!" Comes a shout from… one of Companions. Gritting his teeth, Jean ignores it and straddles the neck of the dragon before freeing his sword and driving it into its eye. Mirmulnir jerks and buckles, throwing the redhead off, before stilling.

"What is this fee-..." Its words come panicked as Jean pants from the spot he hit the ground on, propping himself to watch as the scales start flaking from the beast, the previously invisible energy that covers them suddenly encompassing the beast.

"What in the..." Kodlak mutters.

Meanwhile, between rain of arrows and crossbow bolts as well as continuous assault of lighting, the other dragon croaks, the sound truly coming undignified from the creature. Then, it stills as well, its eyes widening in shock.

"Daar haalvut?"

The same energy encompassed it, before it burst in wisps, and at the same time with Mirmulnir's it begins to be sucked into Jean and Erin's bodies, the two of them freezing as the feeling of… power, of time and age compressed into form comprehensible to mortals infuses them, as the word that seared itself into their minds takes on clarity, sharp and understood, to the very core.

And with its last breath, Mirmulnir glances at Jean.

"Dovahkiin? Heh… Brit grah… May you be… more honourable… than Miraak. Both of you." Then it stills completely, the energy completely vanishing.

"By the Nine… " One of the guards whispers, something akin to worship in his voice. "Dragonborn! Not just one, but two!" The other soldiers pick up the whispers, throwing the elf upon the tower unsure looks. Still, none of them could deny their eyes. "Dragonborn!" One of them shouts. "Prove yourself! Try Shouting!"

"Heh… Excitable kind, aren't they?" Kodlak snorts as he offers Jean his hand, helping the redhead stand. "Go take your sword out of that dragon, kid. And congratulations on being a legend twice over." Seeing a questioning look, he snorts. "First dragon slayer in centuries, in addition to turning out to be THE dragon slayer."

Nodding, Jean trots to the corpse, putting his hand against the still warm side of its skull and pulling his sword, with some difficulty, damn the overeager freezing, out. In the distance, he can see Lydia speaking to the giants. Probably drilling them over why they came.

Erin, meanwhile, points her face skywards, feeling the power pool around her lungs and throat as she shouts, "FUS" a pulse of raw force distorting the air as it streaks into the clouds.

Not a moment later she's whooping in joy like an excitable child, a wide beaming smile pulling at her face. Her joy is reflected in cheering guards, before Irileth, shaking her head snaps at them, directing them to the grim work of gathering the fallen and preparing them to transport back to the Whiterun.

As soon as Erin joins them on the ground, Lydia slides next to them, shaking her head. "Turns out, the other dragon amused itself by burning the Bleak Wind Tribe's camp and stealing a mammoth for a bite. They have been hunting it since last afternoon. Good thing the dumb worm went this way, or the other dragon would've killed way more people before we managed to take it down."

Kodlak shakes his head as he smiles. "Aye, even the other dragon seemed to regard it for a dumbass."

The rest of the way back went in comfortable silence, even if one of the twins, as well as one of the dragonborns for that matter, was very visibly giddy with joy, something the other Companions, and Lydia, seemed to regard with fond amusement as they shook their heads. Upon seeing their arrival, the guards at the walls cheered as well, which intensified when they were told not one but two dragons lay dead at the watchtower. Jean has no doubts that by the time they step into Dragonsreach, all of Whiterun would know. However, before they can enter the city proper, the air shakes and the voice thunders over the planes.

"DO-VAH-KIN!" The guards look at each other uncertainly, but whisper frantically to each other.

By the time they climb up to the Wind District, life returns to the streets, with people shooting Jean and Erin awed looks, speaking to each other in hushed whispers. The Companions wave them goodbyes as they separate from the group to return to Jorrvaskr, which is returned, if a bit awkwardly on Lydia's part.

Jarl Balgruuf's sigh of relief and big smile as he sees them return also speaks volumes.

"You are alive!" He greets them jovially, before tilting his head. "Is Irileth…?"

"She is fine, uncle." Lydia answers. "She left behind to oversee the… clean-up." Balgruuf visibly deflates, worry completely vanishing from him as he sits back on his throne.

"Well then, the entire city is already buzzing with rumours and news. Two dragons!" He shakes his head. Then, his voice turns… reverent, almost. "And the Greybeards called for Dragonborn. Which means the legend walks once more upon the face of Tamriel. Tell me friends, which of you have been blessed by the Fate?"

The trio looks at each other, before Lydia speaks. "Errr… Both of them, uncle. Me, Irileth, the Circle and the surviving guards saw some sort of energy pass from the dead dragon upon them."

Balgruuf blinks, before erupting into laughter. "Hahahaha! I see, I see! Certainly, a cause of even greater celebration." Shaking his head, he chuckles as he stands, striding down towards the group. "I appreciate your actions." He addresses Jean and Erin. "You have helped Whiterun when you didn't have to. For that, I would be a poor jarl if I didn't reward you appropriately. I name the two of you Thanes, and you will be rewarded with enchanted artefacts of your choice to represent your status." Then, he looks somewhat guilty to the side. "Normally, I would assign housecarl to each Thane, but currently, there are not enough souls that I trust with the title. Only Lydia, in fact." The woman's eyes widen, but she keeps silent. "So! In recompense, I gift you a home, and will make sure it is properly furbished by the time you move in! In addition to Lydia's services." He adds, eyes twinkling.

"That's… well, that's an honour." Jean stutters. Erin, meanwhile, for all that she doesn't speak is quite clear with her reaction, eyes all but glowing at being given a place of her own to call home.

"Well deserved, I would say. Now go, rest and relax. The journey up the Seven Thousands Steps is long and arduous, even if necessary given the Greybeards called you."

The group nods, and leaves, slightly dazed to fulfil the order.

"Are you sure about it, sir?" Proventus leans from the side. "I don't question they did a great deed, but isn't it still a bit… hasty?"

Balgruuf chuckles as he watches his newest Thanes leave. "Ah Proventus, it is not just about having famous people in my court. It is about what those famous people are." Given the questioning look, the jarl reclines on his throne and continues, somewhat smugly. "Dragonborn are legendary, yes, but the legends also speak of their might and wrath. Having two of them bound so closely to Whiterun… Why, I believe both Ulfric and Tulius will be discouraged from trying anything funny if it risks the wrath of legends. Especially Ulfric, if he is as absorbed in old songs as I believe him to be."

---

Walking into the Bannered Mare, the group is met with silence, which is easily broken when Jean, feeling increasingly restless under the scrutiny, shouts "Drinks on me!" Which breaks the hall into mighty cheer, as the gathered folks rise their flagons.

"Haha! I like your idea!" Shouts a man in plain, black mage robes from the corner. "Everyone, let's see who can drink others under! The King of Mead shall be decided!" His proposition is met with yet another joyful roar even as bottles of mead are thrust into Jean, Erin and Lydia's hands. "Drink my friends! Life is too entertaining to not spend at least part of it drunk!" With that, he downs his mug in one go, grinning wide.

---

Spoiler: Dovahzul dictionary

Dir volaan. Mu gaar aar. - Die, intruders. We (will) release (your) slave.
Paak dilon - Shamed dead.
Kul, lir. Sovngarde balaan. - Good, worms. Worthy (of) Sovngarde.
Zu'u tahrodiis nid zun - I am dangerous without weapon.
Ruth deyra - Damned daedra.
Pruzah krif. Nu, Sovngarde saraan. - Good fight. Now, Sovngarde awaits.
Zu'u… Vah...lok - I am... Vahlok (Guardian, but in this case a name)
Sahlo - Weak
Krif krin! Pruzah - (You) fight couragously! Good.
Balaan hokoron - Worthy opponent.
Hi paak - You (are) shameful
Nid. Joor los balaan krif. - No. Mortals are worthy fight.
Daar haalvut - This feeling
Brit grah - Satisfying battle

 

[Flygar]

Haha! I like your idea!" Shouts a man in plain, black mage robes from the corner.

Click to shrink...

Hello Sam.

 

[Petrox]

Hello Sam! Are you interested in a new drink i made called Vodka? It would make even a "DAEDRA" drunk and happy and maybe recompense us with some nice Daedric gear!