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.

 

[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.
___________________________________________________________________________

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.

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

 

[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.
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"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."
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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.
___________________________________________________________________________

 

[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.

 

[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.
___________________________________________________________________________

 

[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.

 

[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

 

[Omida]

Chapter 6: My Big Skyrim Hangover

The awareness came back with the taste of sand in the mouth and a headache like a team of Nords hammering a steel plate in their skulls. Their backs hurt as they slowly came to realize that they, at some point, fell asleep on a cold, stone floor. Groaning, Jean rolls over the side, blearily opening his eyes, blinking to try and regain his sight.

"Ah, the blasphemers are finally awake. Get up, you sloshed idiots." Comes a sharp, decidedly unamused voice from… somewhere above.

Stumbling to his feet, Jean tries to shake his head, only to hiss as the movement makes the headache worse.

There is a sad, pitying sigh. "Of course. Can't even wake up properly. Drunks. Here, drink this." There is a bottle shoved into his mouth and his head tipped back to force the liquid down his throat. Jean shudders as headache fades and he no longer feels like he is standing onboard a ship in the middle of the storm.

Erin had marginally less difficulties forcing herself back onto her feet, long experience with migraines and the aftereffects of strong meds helping her cope with the hellish hangover. A few moments of running a healing spell on herself, and she feels ready to attempt speech, "Right, since I don't remember anything past the first drink, I'll go out on a leg and say I made both a complete fool and nuisance out of myself." She grimaced, sighing, "Just point me at whatever needs cleaning up. I'll also pay for anything that needs replacing, if my idiot drunk self decided to go the extra mile." She was ninety-percent sure Sanguine was to blame for this entire clusterfuck, but it HAD been her drunk ass who'd caused trouble, so she'd suck it up and deal with the consequences.

The priestess, for it is a priestess, which means it's that clusterfuck, nods, a bit stunned. "Huh, so you do have manners, even if you have left restraint behind. Well, the two of you are lucky, your Nord friend woke up a couple hours ago, so the worst part of cleaning up is done. I am, however" she continues with narrowed eyes as she points an accusing eyes on Erin "keeping my eye on you especially. You may not have made as much ruckus as your friends, but you spend the entire time licking the statue of Lady Dibella, and I don't know what 'dummy thick' is, but I don't want to know."

There is a sonorous slap as Erin's palm impacts her face, dragging down as if it could wipe the embarrassment from it, "Suddenly I am glad I don't remember a thing after chugging whatever Sam slipped into my drink." She quietly grumbles. She wouldn't be surprised if the totes-not-a-daedra-prince had slipped everything up to and including fucking Hist Sap.

Snickering, Jean gets to work on the absolutely cluttered floor. It is a small wonder they had any free space left to sleep on. "I don't suppose you could tell us what happened last night? Last I can remember was drinking in Bannered Mare."

The priestess blinks, surprised. "Bannered Mare? Isn't that in Whiterun?" Getting a nod in return, she continues to stare. "How did you… no. I don't want to know what trail of chaos you left behind. What I know is that, the first thing you did on entering the city, was stabbing a man in the back. You are lucky he turned out to be a Forsworn, or you would be waking up in Cidhna Mine."

"Lovely." Jean grimaces. "Anything else?"

"The lady he was going to kill slapped you pretty hard when you confused her thanks for an offer of sex, but I believe she will be understanding if you apologise."

Jean can feel his face burning red and instead, decides to focus on cleaning. The sooner they are out of Markarth, the better. He really doesn't want to get mixed in the whole King in the Rags mess. At least Riften was open about how much of a corrupt hellhole it was.

The two work in silence for the better part of an hour before the priestess lets them go, handing them a note from 'another one of their party, who made himself scarce before they could catch him and make him clean his mess'. Jean finds himself giggling uncontrollably at the thought of Sanguine being forced by a bunch of unamused women to wipe the floors clean. The image has the apron. And ends in an orgy, because again, Sanguine.

Lydia greets them at the temple entrance, looking as pained as they feel, and they make themselves scarce.

"I must say, this has to be one of the most unique starts to taking the position of thane I have ever heard of. "

Jean shakes his head. "I just hope my purse will survive this. I do remember funding the drinks, so I am kinda dreading the tab. Also, we need to stop by Silver-Blood Inn." At her questioning glance, he blushes and coughs awkwardly. "Apparently, I have a lady to apologise to. And apparently Sam left us a note?"

Lydia nods. "Probably about his staff. It is in… less than ideal condition. Completely in pieces, in fact. I don't remember how it ended that way, or even when he got it out, but mages. The only clue we've got" she says as the trio makes their way down the twisting, stone pathways of Markarth "is that we have passed through Rorikstead and something about a goat. I am already dreading the punchline."

Giving the woman a pat on the shoulder, Jean pushes the door to Silver-Blood Inn open, blinking as his eyes get used to the dark. It's not that the inn is basked in darkness, but the soft glow of the Dwemer lamps illuminating it is far less intense than the midday sun outside. The innkeeper, a balding, white haired nord looks up, his face lighting up in recognition as he sees Jean.

"I see you came back, boy. I assume you want a talk with the lass you… offended, last evening?"

I wonder if there is a Shout to let the ground swallow me whole. Jean thinks to himself. At this point, he is pretty sure his face will match his hair permanently.

"I… yes." He sighs, defeated. This is what he will be known for in Markarth, won't it? A guy who had sex on his mind after stabbing a man. Turning towards Lydia and Erin, he continues. "Just… wait for me. I could use some privacy for this."

Lydia gives him a pitying look, but doesn't say anything. Erin contents herself with offering a thumb's up and an awkward smile that screams 'better you than me'. The innkeeper snorts and shakes his head, but points at the door at the end of a ramp.

"There, she lives in our best rooms. I hope you have a sturdy head, because she might be pretty angry."

Swallowing, Jean nods and moves through the inn, trying really hard to ignore the amused whispers of the patrons. That just makes his mind really go for a spin just imagining how bad of a fool he made himself out. Suddenly, he would rather go a round or ten against that fucking draugr in the Bleak Falls with nothing but his fists than be here.

But here he is, and if he makes a run instead, this is going to be way, way worse. So, sighing, he very pointedly does not look back and instead knocks on the door. There is a sound of footsteps, and the lock being undone before the door opens just a little.

"What is i-… You." The woman on the other side all but growls, and Jean barely suppresses the instinctual urge to shrink on himself.

"I… yes. Can… can we talk? I want to apologise for… well, yesterday." He shifts awkwardly, breaking eye contact. The woman glares at him in silence for a moment before pulling her doors wider and gesturing him to enter. Once he does, she quickly shuts it behind him.

"You put me in a really awkward situation, you know?" She says once they sit at the table. "Don't get me wrong. I appreciate that you saved my life. And if it was just a matter of… poor wording on your part, I would honestly have forgotten about it already. Maybe even take you on it once you were sober." She adds, and Jean can only choke and cough. The woman cracks a weak smile.

Hiding his face in his hands, Jean sighs. "So what else did I say in my completely drunken stupor? Because I literally don't remember the last… Shit, how long does it take to go from Whiterun to Markarth on foot?"

She quirks her eyebrow, surprised. "Four days if you travel light and manage to not get across Forsworn ambush. Or any other unpleasantness. How are you not dead from alcohol poisoning?"

'Daedra bullshit', he wants to say. "Hell if I know. Anyway?" Is what he says instead.

The woman gets serious. "Yes. So, after you stabbed a man as literally the first thing you did in the city and turned down non-existent offer of sex, in the middle of the market, may I add" Jean is pretty sure the whine that escapes his mouth could rival that of a kicked puppy "you shouted 'Talos advises you to run' to the man who handed you something you dropped. And then, you somehow managed to imply I am part of the Brotherhood in your goodbyes."

Jean blinks as he tries to process that piece of information. So that's the conspiracy quest and… "I implied you and I were part of the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Hence me being less than amused, yes." The woman notes, before slumping. "Look, I am just waiting for the jewellery for my sister, and now Thonar Silver Blood makes not-so-subtle insinuations that he would like to hire me. Or you."

"Gods..." Jean groans.

"Yes. At least we are lucky Penitas Oculatus managed to reduce the Brotherhood to remnants scurrying in the shadows, or you and me would either never wake up or we would be strapped to a table in some dark hole."

"Yeah, I can see why you don't want me anywhere near you after that. Will.. will you be okay?"

She snorts. "I will. You were really, really drunk, so Thonar may give up soon, with some help convincing him it's all just the drunken ramblings of an idiot. And you did make my job easier." She mutters to herself, and Jean wisely decides to keep his mouth shut. It already landed him in a deep enough hole. Then, he notices an additional weight on one of his fingers. Blinking, he feels his mouth dry as the implications set in. "... Did I have that ring when I came?"

The woman blinks and looks closer, before guffawing. "By the Eight, this is gold. So you got engaged during your bender? Go, you incredible, glorious moron, because something tells me your newfound fiancé is going to be even less amused than me."

His newfound fiancé, Jean wants to retort, is a human sacrificing, possibly cannibalistic monster camping out in the wilds. He doesn't, because even he knows it's bad to admit, and partially because… well, after saying you don't remember anything, how would you explain that you do, in fact, know there is a hagraven involved.

"Kill me… Anyway, no… no hard feelings? Besides the Brotherhood thing?"

Still laughing, she waves him. "Sure, sure. If you manage to straighten this mess up, hit me next time you are in Markarth, I could really use some solid laugh."

Grumbling, Jean shakes his head as he leaves. Coming back to the counter, Lydia offers him a mug of water.

"Here, my thane. I made sure it's clear. Chug and let's hit the road."

Accepting the drink, Jean sighs. "Let's. I want to put as much distance between myself and this city as possible, for as long as I can."

"That bad?"

"Probably. Maybe even worse. We will see. Let's just grab the carriage."

Giving a vague noise of approval, the trio soon leaves the stone city, the carriage driver accepting the coin with no question as the group, plus a couple other travellers departing Markarth soon leave the 'safest' city in Skyrim behind.

---

"Say, about how costly IS a goat?" Erin asks idly, facing the very real possibility that they'd have to pay for a replacement.

Lydia sighs, sitting on the hill overseeing Rorikstead, shoulders slumped after her talk with the man their faint trail led to. "We could afford one. Hells, we could afford a couple of herds, I am sure. But." She says, hiding her head in her arms. Jean bets the clothes on his back that her face matches his hair. "This is a prize goat we are talking about. No. Don't ask me what the prize is supposed to be, but… In the countryside, this is the matter of prestige, not money. Years of careful breeding. Generations of work to show off one's prosperity."

Jean pats her on the back, staring into the clear sky. "Let's be positive. You speak giantese, we just need to find the one you apparently bartered the goat off to and reach a compromise."

Lydia grumbles into her hands. "Easy for you to say. Giants don't care about goats. Too small for even a light snack or source of milk and fur. Too delicate, relatively speaking, for a pet. And somehow, I have managed to convince one they need a goat."

"Look, all I am saying is that compared to casual murder and publicly implicating myself as belonging to Dark Brotherhood, you have it amusingly mundane. The sort of thing to make for an amusing anecdote once it's past you."

"This is not a contest, my thane."

Jean rolls his eyes. "Oh come on, you big baby. Nords get drunk all the time. Besides, that way you may learn something new about giants."

The thought does seem to spur Lydia, who sighs once more and jumps to her feet, her face carefully blank. Jean and Erin follow her, more out of idle curiosity than anything, seeing as neither of them knows a single word in giant tongue. So Lydia also has that going for her. The giant that Lydia fenced the goat off is apparently a solitary sort, not belonging to any of the tribes living in Whiterun Hold, instead choosing to wander the cliffs of the western Whiterun and overall, being a regular sight for the people of Rorikstead. Which means that, fortunately, the group doesn't need to comb the hills for hours on end, especially as the giant's silhouette eventually shows on the horizon, at which point it is only a matter of meandering between steep falls and rocky paths.

In the end, Jean and Erin stand back as Lydia speaks with the giant, who has the goat in question on a leash, of all things, the humanoid obviously amused as the talk goes on, even laughing at a couple points. It sounds a bit like a rockslide, but it also obviously doesn't plan to take offence to Lydia's attempts at getting the goat back. Eventually, the giant snorts, bends over and pats Lydia on the head, who shoots her companions a glare.

"Grok and I reached an understanding." She speaks in a strained voice, shooting Jean a glare when the redhead proves unable to contain his giggles. "So we can go and take the goat back."

Before the sunset, they are back in Rorikstead, with Grok in tow, apparently determined to stay with the goat as long as possible. The goat owner's face lights up at the sight of his animal, even if he shoots the giant a dirty look.

"A leash? Seriously? My Greta is well behaved enough not to need it!" The giant simply shrugs as it let's go of it. "Anyway. I did promise I would point you in the reverse direction of your drunken escapade. Apparently, you owe something to some Ysolda, back in Whiterun."

Lydia makes a noise between a whine and a deflating balloon.

"Personally, at this point I just want to know what Grok wanted the goat for." Jean muses.

"Want to experiment." Comes a rumbling voice, which everyone present realises belongs to the giant. "Mix goat milk. With mammoth. New cheese. Only the really good goat."

"Ha!" Ennis, the farmer, cries. "If that's what you wanted a well bred goat for, my friend, I believe we can work something out."

The giant smiles and laughs, even as Lydia's face reddens again.

"Still, the carriage already rode off, and I don't think we want to wait for the next one?" Jean prods, offering a change of topic, which Lydia latches onto.

"No. Let's go, we can camp in the wild. Western Whiterun is beautiful this time of year, and you may see the dancing lights if we are lucky."

Shaking their heads, Jean and Erin let Lydia lead the way, even if Jean has to correct her when he notices they seem to be travelling in the direction of the sun, which is the opposite of where they want to go. Sighing, Lydia takes off her map, consulting it in the last rays of the day.

"This is just not my day." She mutters, shaking her head.

"Being pranked by a giant?"

"That too. Anyway, there seems to be a landmark resembling a burial ground to the south. Not an actual mound, or I would have us go in the opposite direction anyway. Only madmen sleep in the shadow of the graves. But we can camp for the night there."

The group moves in comfortable silence, scaling the rocky hills until they arrive at the aforementioned mound, a large, clearly artificial stone hill surrounded by the sextet of standing stones.

"Huh. What do you know. We won't have any rocks under our backs tonight. Luxury."

Lydia places the firewood at the top of the mound, and the trio puts up their tents under the stones, the spikes easily going into the ground.

And then, once the fire is roaring happily, they are thrown for a loop.

"Mmmm… Who sits on top of me? Dovah, mu tinvaak?"

The trio is silent for a moment, before they simultaneously look underneath their feet. At the burial mound. A very, very big burial mound. Say... dragon sized.

"Only you, Lydia" Jean eventually speaks up, ignoring the pleading stare "would decide to camp on top of a dragon grave."

Erin, meanwhile, decides it is only good sense to answer the dragon. She's honestly delighted to have a dragon to speak with, y'know, without the whole trying to kill each other bit getting in the way, "Greetings. We're travellers, retracing our steps after a fair few nights and days of revelry."

The ground rumbles and the voice answers merrily. "Ha! Ages change but the Nords do not, it seems. Still, the question remains. I awoke feeling the presence of dovah, of dragons. Do you, perhaps, have any explanation, travellers sleeping on the graves?"

Jean pats the ground, more to gather his thoughts than out of any thought the buried dragon will feel it. "Well, it's either because the dragons in general seem to be coming back all over the place, or it is because me and my friend are Dragonborn. Whichever makes more sense."

"Dovahkiin? Interesting. I have thought only one at any given time could exist, but perhaps things have changed. Your presence is… sahlo, weak, faint. Like a newborn freshly crawled out of the cradle. Your souls must have awakened not too long ago."

"You seem to have quite a lot of knowledge about that."

"Nid. I have seen one already, had the chance to study, nothing more… Ah, but where are my manners, dovah but joor, I am Nahagliiv, Fury-Burn-Wither, once, the fierce warrior. The grave, however, put an end to the first two, and so, nowadays I contemplate Liiv, the Withering. Whenever I do not sleep that is."

Lydia blinks, staring at the ground in something approaching amazement. "I didn't realize killing a dragon would let it sleep it off."

Nahagliiv chuckles. "Dovah qahnaar dovah. Only a dragon can permanently kill a dragon, by taking its soul. Mortals may end our shell, but our sil, soul, it remains active. It is tiring, however, without a body to satisfy our nature, so we tend to slumber instead. A deep, deep slumber that does not notice the passage of ages. Similar to the death joor experience, yet different."

"Makes sense, I guess." The Nord woman sighs. "So, any idea why your… siblings? Kind, in general sense? Are suddenly back? There hasn't been a sighting of a dragon since… I think the Second Era? Currently in Fourth, by the way."

Nahagliiv remains silent for a moment, before speaking. "I have theories, yes. The most probable is that it was foretold. Prophecies are fickle things, but there is a reason joor fear and want them at the same time. The question would be, which prophecy is coming to be? Or perhaps something, or someone, brings them back to life. The amount of power that would require however… only a few beings are powerful enough to resurrect one of dovah, let alone many. The strain on the soul such a feat would put… "

Jean thinks for a moment, weighting their chances. So far, Nahagliiv turned out to be a pleasant company… Still, worse came to worse, it was still buried underground. "What about Alduin?"

Lydia pales just hearing the name and Nahagliiv chuckles, this time, the sound much, much darker. "Then, Dovahkiin, pray. The Eldest of our father is a cruel, prideful one, and if he is, indeed, back, then he shall make it his mission to make sure joor never again think to rise against him. Perhaps he might even be tempted to fulfil his role, even. And you, you two are still too young, too weak to stand against him. In such a case, he will make his way to me, and I will have no choice but to bow to his Thu'um."

"Not much room for choice when there's a clawed foot slammed down on your neck." Erin says with a rueful chuckle and a shake of her head, "Let us hope it does not come to that, or if it does that we manage to grow fast enough to challenge him." She hums, thoughtful, "And maybe give dovah who'd rather not bow down to him an alternative."

Nahagliiv hums. "Mmmm… Hind. Hope. Such a curious concept, you joor have made. Standing up against those many times more powerful, such that even gods took notice and lent their hand to you. Ha! Listen to me, being all moody! I should rejoice. I have been Liiv for too long. The winds have changed, and so did I." The dragon falls silent for a moment, before it speaks again. "Alduin already lost tinvaak once. If he wants to make me his aar, servant again, he will find I have learned the value of trickery. And" a note of amusement sneaks into dragon's voice "what greater trick is there than to make his enemy stronger? Gather Dovahkiin, and let me share with you Liiv. Let's spend the night contemplating the meaning of Withering and, if by chance, Alduin sends me your way, I hope you will show me all the ways you made it yours. Do not worry, no wildlife will interrupt our meditation."

Jean sputters as the implications catch up to him. "You want to teach us a Shout?"

"Not the entire one, never managed to get that far, but I have managed to turn at least part of my name into the Word of Power. Ahhh, it brings back the memories. Another Dovahkiin lived here once, you know, and I spoke into his dreams when he was but a child. Such was my yearning for the tinvaak with another of my kind. I am sure that child went on to make great things."

---

"Let me guess." Ysolda greets them, her eyes twinkling and a small smile on her lips. "You need to know where you married?"

Jean looks around the market and sees many, many awkward glances and hears equally many equally awkward coughs.

"However did you manage to guess?" He finally responds dryly, earning himself a giggle.

"Oh you know, just the biggest windfall in my life. I have been doing nothing but selling wedding rings for the last couple of days. Sure, most of them got returned, but enough did not to turn over a tidy profit. Amren even managed to somehow woo a giantess. We might have another Titanborn in a generation or two."

Lydia sputters from the side, choking for a while before managing to get herself together. "He what?! Ysolda, are you sure? The giantesses weren't seen since... "

"Since the Second Era, yes. Obviously, they are around, else the giant tribes would be long gone. I have seen the bride to be, by the way. Tits like boulders, so Amren is obviously not regretting the drunken decision."

Shaking his head, Jean prods further. "So he got lucky. I suppose it bodes well, but I honestly don't remember anything after Sam announced the drinking contest, so I can't tell you if you've got another satisfied customer or not."

"Pfft. Even if you aren't, nothing will top the sheer, unbridled rage Nazeem expressed when he found out his little girl used the 'got drunk at the dragonslaying party' to marry against his wishes. His face when Skati presented her husband will be my most treasured memory."

Lydia narrows her eyes as she leans in. "You are way too smug, even if we can all agree Nazeem is a condescending fuck. Spill it."

"Senche. Mazaram, the temple keeper."

"Isn't Skati… little? Lithe? And aren't Senche..." Lydia tries to find a nice, non offensive word even as she gesticulates. Somehow, Jean doubts it is just about the size of the whole body.

"Massive? Aye, turns out we've got a size queen who didn't want to just settle for a horse." Lydia just shakes her head in amazement.

"Right, as fun as it is to hear about that… where did I say the wedding was?"

"Witchmist Grove. A bit to the east of the hot springs south of Windhelm."

"... How? We woke up in Markarth." Daedra bullshit, not that he can say that.

Ysolda just laughs. "Probably daedra bullshit." At their sputters she shakes her head. "Look, half the town getting shitfaced so hard the Bard's College sent some folks just to get a song about it? The Vigilants came out of the woods before anyone could finish saying 'Sanguine'. If you are lucky, the lady to be is conventionally pretty. Daedra may require some work."

"I have apparently stabbed a Forsworn assassin without knowing about it, the first thing I did in Markarth." Jean answers dryly. "I do not have high hopes about my luck."

"Well, I did give you my nicest ring, so at least I will have that to look forward to." Ysolda comments idly as the trio says their goodbyes and moves to pick up supplies for a long, long trek to Eastmarch.

---

The way east has been peaceful for the majority of the day. Apparently, a large portion of the drunken misadventures had been local, to the quiet relief of worried families. There were still people not accounted for, mostly on the account of both distance and lack of money for carriage. Still, that left the journey uneventful, all the way to Valtheim Towers. Once a fort blocking the direct route between Windhelm and Whiterun, the twin towers have since been reduced to a pair of towers connected by the narrow stone bridge. And, with the casualties of dragon attacks, it has been temporarily taken over by a gang which stopped the group demanding a toll.

It was not a good ambush, even in Jean's inexperienced opinion. Just a group of thugs who left a sentry demanding a toll, with the majority of the band safely situated in the towers. Which meant they couldn't help their comrade when Lydia, shaking her head, simply punched the woman into her own campfire and slit her throat open before she could get the scream out. The narrow bridge helped clear the rest out without much of an issue either. Fire runes and Shouts saw to that.

On the plus side, it meant they would not be sleeping without a roof for the night. Thus, after getting their bags inside the tower and putting the pot over the fire to prepare the dinner, Lydia and Jean moved to the side of the road, after grabbing a pair of swords from the corpses. Mostly on account of Jean's enchanted sword being overkill for a spar session.

As the soup happily bubbled, Erin keeping an eye on it even as she thumbed through the tome of Stoneflesh she'd bought herself at Whiterun, the two circled around each other, quick slashes and ripostes, blocks and bashes. Even with the Ring of Swiftness, Jean found himself copying Lydia's movements as the black haired woman easily saw through his moves and all but danced around them, her sword finding its way past his guard every time. When it was her time to attack, he fared a little better, in the sense that hiding behind his shield and trusting the heightened awareness worked well enough. All the way until he ended backed into the cliff face, or a wall. Or a river. Still, as the minutes passed by and sweat formed on his back, Jean found himself surer of his movements, even if Lydia still proved to be infuriatingly untouchable.

"I think it's a good place to stop for now, my thane." She eventually says with a small smile. "A good progress, but it wouldn't do if you strained yourself too much."

"You know you don't have to call me a thane, right?" Jean asked, feeling a bit embarrassed with the complement.

"Hmmm. I was raised with the expectations of knowing my etiquette, and you did manage to do something worthy of that much respect." Tilting her head, she shrugs. "If it bothers you so much, however, I will try to at least not do so when we are in private."

Nodding Jean sits by the campfire and pours the soup into Erin's bowl before passing Lydia hers and then, finally himself. Before they can dig in, there is a sound of footsteps from up the road, and as they look up, they see a cathay Khajiit walking towards them, yellow monk hood and brown robes hiding most of his body. Seeing them, he smiles, putting his hands forward, palms open.

"M'aiq does not look for trouble, even if trouble seems to find him anyways."

Lydia snorts, but nods. "Life can be like that, aye. Would you like to camp for the night with some friendly bodies around? We will share the meal too." She adds, reaching for a spare bowl.

The Khajiit bows and sits gracefully, accepting the bowl. "M'aiq appreciates the hospitality, and will be thankful for a warm meal. M'aiq never thought he would have had enough snow before he visited Skyrim."

Jean nods. "I feel for you. You are a traveller then?"

"Aye. M'aiq was in Morrowind once, a drastically different place. Almost like an inverse of Skyrim. He was in Cyrodiil too. He has heard it became quite unrecognisable over the years. May M'aiq know what pushes the three of you towards travel?"

"We got caught up in some of the most… exciting, let's say in lieu of less kind words, parts of the Whiterun revelry or whatever the bards will decide to call it." Erin supplies with a light shrug and a wry chuckle, "So here we are retracing our steps and cleaning up after the mess our inebriates selves oh so kindly left for us."

M'aiq nods sympathetically. "M'aiq had skooma trips like that, he can understand. Fortunately, they pass quite fast."

"Can't say that's the case for us. There are a couple of days missing in our case." Lydia mutters into her bowl.

"M'aiq would say to drink less mead, but it would be like M'aiq telling the sun to not rise. Nords seem to really like their alcohol. M'aiq has yet to see a sign of water being used as a drink."

Shaking their heads, the group finishes their meal in silence before Jean and Lydia stand up, ready to get an hour or two of practice before resting, M'aiq following curiously. As they take their positions, the Khajiit steps between them, approaching Jean with a tilted head.

"Is… something wrong, M'aiq?"

The Khajiit hums, stopping in front of the redhead who suddenly realizes the Khajiit is, in fact, towering over him. His hands are warm and gentle though.

Wait, what?

M'aiq steps back, a ring in his fingers. "Now, that's a better way to practice, friend. M'aiq finds that multiplying a small number is worse than multiplying big numbers."

"How?" He had that ring on his finger, under his glove.

M'aiq radiates smugness as he answers. "M'aiq has found that having deft hands is useful for more than just practicing his one-handed skill."

Is… Is that a double entendre?

"I… fair enough. Still, do you mind stepping in as my partner in that case?"

There is a mischievous glint in the Khajiit's eyes as he pockets the ring and brings the mace that hangs at his belt.

"Very well. M'aiq finds that the practice goes best against other people anyway. And he will give you your ring back once you have won a spar."

Reassured, Jean assumes his stance again, though now, without the ring, he really notices the difference. As the khajiit lunges, he feels sluggish almost, his body taking painfully long to respond.

There is a bang against his shield and M'aiq dances away before he can bring the sword against him, circling around, forcing him to turn with his movement. Jean tries to lunge, only for M'aiq's mace to swing close to the crossguard, almost ripping the weapon out of his hand. The khajiit steps back, nodding approvingly.

"Nords make good weapons. M'aiq always worries his will break."

"You have no idea." Jean agrees. Seriously, how the hell did draugr maintain theirs? He had not seen so much as a grindstone in Bleak Falls.

Then, it's back to practice. If Lydia was untouchable on the account of always managing to parry, intercept and block his strikes, M'aiq is untouchable the same way water is, always flowing around Jean's clumsy attempts at hitting him, showcasing incredible amounts of flexibility even restricted by his robes. By half an hour mark, redhead's head rings from all the punishment his shield withstood. He is fairly sure M'aiq didn't hit his body on purpose anyway.

His shield. Jean fights down the urge to slap himself. Instead, he grunts and dive rolls away from another strike, moving past M'aiq and springing to his feet, swinging his shield in an arc. There is another loud bang and M'aiq's mace falls out of his hand. The khajiit looks at his hand curiously, moving his fingers before smiling.

"Good. M'aiq was always of the opinion it's better to hit than be hit, and he is not a fan of the shield." Then, he reaches to his back, and with a quiet hiss draws a sword. "Besides, that's why M'aiq carries two weapons."

From the side, Jean can hear Lydia snort and has a faint feeling this entire time, Khajiit has been going easy on him. Then, he is suddenly lying on the ground, M'aiq putting his foot on his chest as he puts his sword by Jean's throat. He can only gape.

"You did well, but sometimes, M'aiq wonders why people no longer teach about the importance of speed. If one can end the fight quickly, it leaves more time for more important things."

"I get it. I didn't even see you move, by the way, no way it's all natural."

M'aiq smiles, nodding. "M'aiq just loops and loops until the world gives up and gives him what he wants." Then, he steps back.

Grumbling, Jean stands up. "Again."

M'aiq just keeps smiling.

---

Still grumbling over the loss of his ring, Jean carefully goes around the basin of hot water littering the volcanically active area south of Windhelm. M'aiq turned out to be true to his word, in a very literal way. Since Jean did not, in fact, beat him in a spar, the Khajiit took the Ring of Swiftness for safekeeping. Even if he did promise to give it back if the conditions were met. Considering the skill and speed the khajiit displayed, Jean doesn't have high hopes, unless he enchants himself a new one.

"Cheer up, Jean, at least we are pretty close to your fiancé. Just behind that mountain, in fact." Lydia speaks, patting him on the shoulder as she points at the lone mountain looming in the distance.

There is a roar resounding through the sky and something takes off of said mountain. Jean gives his housecarl an unimpressed look, which Lydia has enough grace to take with a sheepish smile.

"Are you sure it's me that is the legendary dragonborn and not you, considering the track record with finding the damn things?"

"Maybe it's not going towards us? I think there is a giant camp in the area." She tries to defend herself.

In response, the speck grows larger, forming a very distinguishable silhouette. Lydia just sighs and runs towards a small grove, Jean and Erin hot on her heels.

"I have already spotted you, joor! Now stand and face me, or pay for the privilege of walking through MY land!" The dragon roars, its words echoing through the plain. It flies fast, faster than Mirmulnir and the nameless dragon at the Western Watchtower. The group barely manages to dive behind the trees before its breath freezes the ground where they stood solid and turn the vegetation into statues sparkling in the sun.

"Oh? On the other hand, I rescind my generosity. Come Dovahkiin, let us have tinvaak." It speaks mockingly. "Convince me you are worth anything."

It hovers over the grove, its crimson eyes watching carefully for any sign of movement.

Lydia takes out her shield, eyeing the beast wearily.

Erin's frown slowly shifts into a growing grin as her eyes glint with the sparking of a dangerous idea. "I got a plan."
___________________________________________________________________________

Faraanfrinofaal drowns the small grove in his Thu'um again, hoping the Dovahkiin would get over it and face him. Truly, so far the joor proved to be disappointing prey, neither facing him nor surrendering to his majesty and offering their treasures as a tribute. Was this truly what Alduin has been worried about? A pair of cowards hiding behind trees and stones?

Bah! At least the small settlement to the north of his new home had the good sense to pay him for not unleashing his wrath. The miners would be allowed to continue their work. For now. At the very least, until Faraanfrinofaal brought the giants under the heel. The big cretins didn't have anything actually valuable, so he would need to figure out the way they could pay him. Perhaps a tribute of meat? Mammoths were certainly bigger than anything the other joor could ever hope to present to him.

A movement catches his eyes and he looks back to the groove. The joor who is not Dovahkiin leads, shield shimmering with a layer of magic held up, clearly meant to try and withstand his Thu'um. Foolish. She is a warrior, not mage, that he could tell, she definitely had a weak enough grasp on magic anything she bothered with would be easily broken. The Dovahkiin walk behind her, flames dancing in their haal, hands. Bah. Clearly their Thu'um was lacking if it's not what they defaulted to when faced with one of the Dovah.

"So you finally show yourselves. Pft. Cast your lah, I will weather it easily. And then, I will show you how a dovah ought to be. Not enough to kill you, obviously. You will need to repay me for my generosity after all."

The joor bring their limbs closer, forming the balls of fire. Truly small and pitiful, compared to the glorious firestorm a Thu'um could unleash. Then, they throw them and the four balls sail towards him. Faraanfrinofaal wants to laugh, but he catches the Dovahkiin inhaling and…

"FUS!""FUS!"

Force hits the fireballs and the magicka explodes onwards, the will imposed upon the world carrying the heat and the flame faster and stronger than it has any right to be. Faraanfrinofaal screams as the flames hit his skull, his eyes bursting in the sockets. Not enough to kill him, no, but enough pain for his wings to stop beating and for his body to drop, shaking the ground under his weight.

"DOVAHKIIIIIIIN!" He lashes out with his jaws blindly, using memory of their position. His fangs met the air. His tail collapses the trees to deny them their hiding place.

"Hey, you overgrown, scaly bandit!" Came a shout from the joor. The actual joor. Faraanfrinofaal sneers as he turns his body towards the voice. Her death will be a good start. Then, he will freeze the Dovahkiin. Not enough to kill. Oh no, he is going to have fun taking his share out of their pathetic hides. He turns, his body tensing and he jumps. His fangs are too good for the joor.

Then, he lands, and the ground underneath him explodes and he roars in pain as he feels his scales fall off and blood leave his body in geysers. And as he trashes, more explosions go off, setting his blood on fire and Akatosh, his insides burn…

He howls, pain and agony carrying on the wind, drowning the sound of footsteps as he desperately tries to not move just to not risk another explosion. Then, something pierces his eye socket, and Faraanfrinofaal feels his sil be ripped out of his shell, adding to agony.
___________________________________________________________________________

"So, how does it feel to be a dragonslayer?" Jean asks Lydia as the woman wrestles her sword out of the dragon's skull while Erin slurps the beast's soul.

The woman is silent for a moment, a complex expression on her face before she smiles. "Invigorating. I know I only managed to do that with your help, but still, it feels like nothing is impossible." Shaking her head, she laughs. "And it's a second dragon you manage to kill by exploding it."

Erin snorts as the last bits of the covetous idiot filter in, "Few things that won't go down to enough explosions at point blank." Commentary done, she turned back to the soul, going with her gut to squeeze the fucker for that frost Shout. Being a dragonborn may not come with a manual, but it was a very user friendly system.

Dipping into the hot spring to clean the dragon blood off of herself, Lydia snorts. "Oh, absolutely. Now, let's finish checking out Jean's lovely bride. Then, we may check that mountain for anything interesting the dragon might have collected."

Jean sighs as he is reminded that yes, he did almost absolutely marry a hagraven and would have to become a widower within a few hours, since, if he remembered correctly, the damn thing was possessive. Though, considering the general looks of hagravens, it was probably not surprising that if one managed to land a significant other, they would want to keep them.

(Un)fortunately, the rest of the journey to Witchmist Grove goes without a hitch. Lydia casts curious glances at the absolute ton of mammoth skeletons littering the area. Once they enter the woods however, her expression grows grave as she notices the… decorations, Jean's wife put on the path. Dismembered corpses impaled on stakes, some having their hearts ripped out. Animal skulls propped on the branches, or entire heads. And, of course, an overwhelming stench of blood.

With a sigh, she takes her crossbow off her back and loads it. "Lovely. I hope you are not attached, because this shit wouldn't look out of place in the Reach."

Snorting, Jean shakes his head. "Nah. Though… the two of you should hang back. I have no idea how she will react." a small lie, but he really didn't have a good explanation for how he knew. "And that way, I will take her attention away so Lydia can put a bolt in her eye." The woman nods and waits with Erin for a bit before carefully following Jean.

The redhead approaches the small house, fighting down the bile at the sight of the fence decorated with severed goat heads. There is a screech from inside, and in the doorway appears…

Ah yes, the biggest argument against the bird girls.

The old woman is wrinkly, that much is sure, with long, crooked nose and beady eyes. Lanky, with both her arms and legs turning into bird's legs, ended with enormous claws, at least for the hands. And she is skimpily clothed. Very skimpily. Jean shudders as he suddenly finds it incredibly easy to maintain the eye contact.

"Darling!" She… it… she squeaks. "I knew you would come back! Did you finish your business in Markarth? Did you bring any gifts?"

Oh god, drunk me, what the fuck did you say? Quick, bullshit something.

"M-moira" he chokes out, managing a very awkward smile, hoping the hagraven will mistake it for a different kind of smile "I am sorry, but I had to leave it quickly. There was a Vigilant sniffing around." And it was true, even. Of course the poor fuck was snooping around the shrine to Molag Bal, but details.

The hagraven screeches, looking at him as if to check he is still there. "Are you alright, darling? My dear Anise was killed by the Vigilants recently, you know. If they had taken you in addition to my dear sister, I wou..." Jean, fortunately, never learns what exactly Moira would do if he died as in that moment, a crossbow bolt lodges itself in her eye, the monstrous woman falling back, dead, mid word.

Releasing the breath he didn't know he held, Jean turns around and gives the woman a shaky thumbs up before walking into the house in search of any clues. There is a note, by the bowl of blood, with a rose sticking out of the liquid.

Officiated at Dimhollow. If you need the Rose, a proof of the joy everlasting, repaired, come back.

Shaking his head, Jean carefully picks up the rose, as well the note, checking the back of it. There is a small, hand drawn map of the area around the Crypt, with Hall of Vigilant marked for reference. Then he leaves, carefully stepping over the hagraven's corpse.

"So, have you learned anything?" Lydia asks as he approaches her and Erin.

"Sam is waiting for us at some place called Dimhollow Crypt. He was even helpful enough to provide a piece of map to it."

"Can't say I have heard of the place." Looking over the note, she frowns. "Huh. I wonder if Ormund knows anything about the place. It's really close to the Hall."

"Worth a shot. Better than prodding the Vigilants about it, I'd rather not be on Sanguine's shitlist by 'ruining the fun' in the form of a bunch of twitchy Vigilants busting in there." Erin supplies. She held no illusion that the air of cordiality around "Sam" would dry up real fast if they rained on his parade.

Lydia grimaces as she thinks about that. "Yeah. Let's… let's just go."

---

 

[Omida]

Chapter 7: Welcome to Vlad's Crematorium, You Stake 'Em, We Bake 'Em

"Dimhollow, eh?" Ormund mutters hunched over the map of the Pale and Hjaalmarch, cross referencing it with the scribbled location. "I think I have heard about it. Adalvald found the cavern with a ruin of a tower and thought it suspicious. I mean, why would anyone build a tower inside a cave? One of the paths deeper in was caved-in gods know how long ago. According to Adalvald, the markings in the tower were associated with some sort of ancient vampire clan. Last I heard, the Vigilants were planning to excavate the corridor. They thought it might be hiding a vampire artefact."

"So we might find undead." Lydia summarizes.

Ormund snorts. "Aye. Skeletons most likely, maybe some well preserved zombies. Other than that, depends on the clan's specialty."

"You are… surprisingly helpful with this, considering a daedric prince wants us to get there." Jean notes.

The larger man sighs. "Sanguine is… well, not benevolent, no, but easier to manage. He wants revelry, wild and uncontrollable, preferably, but compared to the likes of Molag Bal or Namira, he is pleasant. And he is right there with Sheogorath when it comes to amusing himself with sowing chaos. If he wants you at the centre of some Divines forsaken vampire vault, it means your presence will cock up some vampire's plans. And that is always good."

Thinking about Harkon's innovative suicide method, Jean can agree with that. The sun would not be gone for too long, no, but it was still better to not have it gone in the first place.

"So that's a ride to… either Morthal or Dawnstar?" Lydia prods, looking at the map.

"Dawnstar. I swear to Talos" Ormund grumbles "all the maps of Skyrim are shit. Even novice Vigilants have trouble finding the Hall with one. Most of the higher ups simply memorise the route."

"Off to perform an unboxing then." Jean says. "With a carriage, we won't need as much food, but other supplies… gonna stock on potions."

Ormund nods. "That you will. Actually, hold that thought." Jean tilts his head, shooting the man a questioning look. "I wanted to give you lot something as thanks for helping straighten things up with the jarl."

"That's mostly Lydia…"

"And now that she is your housecarl, it means you are included." He waves the protest off before opening a trunk and pulling a box and a bundle. Putting them at the table, he opens the box, revealing the trio of white, softly glowing potions. "Here, Cure Disease. Vigilant fare, meant to purge even Oblivion borne illnesses. If you meet any vampires, you should be fine as long as you drink within three days of the fight."

Accepting the vials and carefully stashing them in his bag, Jean nods. "Why is it always three days? You would think Bal would change it, if only to throw the attempts to cure it off."

"Beats me. Every single case of contracted vampirism over millennia has been three days after. No more, no less. Probably some stupidly arbitrary rule of magic." Unwrapping the bundle reveals a sheathed sword. "Silent Moon steel. Works like a charm on the undead, just like silver, but it will also burn them at night as if the sun's rays were upon them. Consider it me wanting to try it out on the real deal without endangering my men."

Lydia accepts the sword, giving it an experimental swing before nodding, seemingly satisfied. "Thank you, Ormund. Is there anything else? Perhaps you have found a set of enchanted armour that makes vampires explode when near it?"

Snorting, he shakes his head. "Would be nice to have though. Scram now. Wouldn't want to see what a daedric prince does when you force them to wait."

"See you." Jean agrees. "We will come back to give you a review of the sword after this is done."

"Can't always Fire Rune away the undead, after all." is Erin's own commentary, mouth set in a crooked grin.

"Aye, a vampire will just detonate it prematurely." Ormund snorts before going back to his paperwork.

A few hours later, the group is back at Whiterun, off to prepare themselves for the final step of their adventure. Jean holes himself up with Farengar, working on another ring of swiftness as well as deciding to cash in his thane promised enchanted gear. Rifling through the vaults, he eventually settles on a pendant which Balgruuf says is called Whiterun's Mantle. Putting it on, Jean suddenly feels lighter, as if he spent his entire life walking through syrup. It is made of a dragon fang encrusted in silver and topped with a bundle of horse hair. While M'aiq might have a point, against vampires, he prefers to take no chances. Additionally, he takes a trip to the Warmaiden to get outfitted for a new armour. Leather and fur was warm, yes, but against vampires he prefers something more lasting. Eventually, he settles on the set of elven armour, or, as the Ulfberth calls it, the moonsilver armour. It's light, surprisingly so, and the inlay makes it comfortable. Additionally, unlike what the elven variants look like, it has far less in the way of visible engravings, except for wolf-like pauldrons. That or it's just Companion's influence on the city.

Lydia is left to manage their supplies, as well as to haggle with Arcadia for potions she might think will be necessary.

Erin would normally help by brewing up a storm, but her attention is instead solely dedicated to ensuring she has Stoneflesh mastered. She was interested in becoming a vampire, not getting bodied by one, thank you very much. It is with that thought in mind that she goes and finally buys herself some proper mage robes. Her travelling clothes were lightly enchanted to aid a neophyte mage, but her new Apprentice Alteration robes are a step above that, with the gloves and boots pointedly enchanted much like the hood. It is costly, but after selling her share of dragonbone and scales off to the jarl, she has plenty of funds to play with. Speaking of the jarl, she uses the visit to cash in that thane-hood reward she'd nearly forgotten about thanks to all the daedric shenanigans. There wasn't a lot of enchanted gear in the vaults meant for wizards, no, but she'd found something plenty useful nonetheless. The very fittingly named Spelleating Pendant, ebony shaped like a dragon head biting down on a mass of fire and lightning.

The next morning, they take the carriage to Dawnstar.

---

Fortunately, the journey is largely uneventful. Between small scale, short lived bouts of drunken heroics and intensive Stormcloak patrols in the territory under Ulfric's sway, the roads are fairly bandit free. They have a bit of spook on the third day when they spot a dragon flying in the distance, its roar barely reaching them. The carriage spends the next hour in the snow covered woods as they wait for the beast to vanish behind the horizon.

Eventually however, they reach the rough area where Ormund pointed the Hall of Vigilant was located, and get off the carriage and move the rest of the way on foot. As they get closer to the woods hiding it, Lydia stops, eyes narrowing.

"Something is wrong." She mutters, sniffing the air. "Something is burning and the forest is too quiet, be on your guard."

Bringing their shields up, Jean and Lydia step to the front, eyeing the trees on both sides of the path. Erin calls up her Familiar, setting it to sniff about. The daedra sniffs for a moment, pacing restlessly before shooting deeper into the woods, the party following behind.

The Hall might've, once upon a time, passed for a particularly out of the way inn, if on the large side. Now the wooden walls are either collapsed or torn apart, bearing the signs of heavy fire. The roof is simply gone, as are the windows, the shards of glass littering the ground. And then, of course, there are corpses. Most of them, unmistakably, belong to the Vigilants. There is a group of broken, ripped apart bodies surrounding a hulking, grey statue, their guts spilled on the ground. An Argonian is nailed to one of the walls, missing a head. Some are burned beyond recognition. Aside from that, the courtyard is littered with bodies of black hounds, their wounds emitting a faint mist into the air. On the doorstep, there is an absolutely giant pile of ashes with broken weapons scattered around it.

"This is… " Lydia whispers, gripping her sword tighter.

"It seems the vampires got the word of their secret lair being found out." Jean finishes. Lydia nods silently.

The most unnerving detail of the entire scene is how silent it is. Aside from the steady, dying fire and the crunch of the snow beneath their feet, the Hall and its surroundings are silent as grave. Inside there are even more signs of battle, furniture overturned where Vigilants attempted to barricade themselves off, smashed apart by more of the unmoving statues, or bodies crushed under tables and wardrobes. The altar dedicated to Stendarr stands, but desecrated, the carved liquid painted red with blood, obviously as a means of sending a message.

The Familiar moves through the ruined hall to the staircase to the basement. There is a flash of golden light and Erin can feel the daedra being banished back to Oblivion. Investigating, the group finds the corpse of a redhead woman covered in ashes, the body leaning against the door with a broken warhammer at her feet.

The group leaves, rounding the Hall, spotting the path Ormund mentioned. It soon gives space to the stone staircase, half buried under the snow.

"And they decided it might have been important just recently?" Jean mutters as they slowly climb the stairs. The damn thing was even pretty well maintained, save for the parts buried under the earth, probably more because of the passing of centuries. Eventually however, the staircase ends at the mouth of a cave, the entrance being suspiciously narrow and tight. Squeezing through, the group finds themselves in a much larger cavern, with a hum of a stream passing through. There is a lantern on the ground somewhere behind a stone pillar, as well as the sound of conversation.

Creeping closer to turn around the pillar, the group notices a pair of pale, dark haired people leaning against the sides of a gate with a corpse of another Vigilant between them, currently gnawed on by a hound.

"Tch, I thought Vingalmo said the Vigilants were weak. The damn pests did a number on us." One of them complains.

"Vingalmo is an Altmer. We could be going against the champion of Molag Bal himself, and if they weren't an Altmer, Vingalmo would think them weak. Nay, I am glad they put up a good fight. Killing them proves our worth to the Prince of Domination better that way."

"I guess so… Still, what do you think is inside?"

"Beats me. Only Lokil knows, and he is not sharing. Thinks he will advance the ranks that way. If you ask me, Othjolf will… "

The group exchanges looks before Lydia takes point, her new sword ready, shield held close. Jean stands to her side, fire dancing on his fingers. Erin is a step behind, both hands likewise full of fire.

With vampires, there's no taking chances, so it is no surprise they silently agreed to re-enact Faraanfrinofaal's death. Jean and Erin cast together, the runes being seared in a flash of heat into the ground around them, leaving only the spot directly in front of Lydia free. The flare of magic draws the vampires' and their hound's attention, the two stepping away from the gate and drawing their swords. The one on the left eyes the runes.

"Think you will get anywhere by limiting where we can go, worms?" He sneers, mouth twisting into a grin. Then, he sprints, becoming less than a blur. "Thing aga-!"

He is interrupted as Lydia's shield hits him in the face and sends him into the rune to her side. In a flash, the vampire howls as the spell explodes under him and his body is consumed by the flames. Jean quickly recasts the rune on the spot while the vampire's body turns to ashes in front of their eyes.

"Moron." The other vampire comments with an eye roll. "Right. Balin may have been impulsive, but don't think your cute trick is going to work again, mortals." Strolling nonchalantly closer, he whistles at the hound, the beast jumping in front of him. "Any last words?"

"Just one." Jean replies with a smile. Eyeballing the distance, he feels confident about the… trap. Is it really a trap when the dumbass handed himself on a silver platter? The vampire gives him a bored look but gestures him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Jean Speaks. "Liiv."

The Wither bursts forward, the runes it touches fizzling out with a gentle hiss, the rock it passes over cracking and fragmenting. And when it washes over the vampire and the hound, their bodies dry in a blink of an eye, clothes unravelling on the man's back, his sword rusting and falling apart, skin flaying away, muscles and organs rotting and decomposing until nothing but bone remains. And then, the bone itself breaks and turns into fine powder as it falls to the ground. As soon as it starts, it is over, before their enemy has a chance to so much as cry.

Lydia speaks first, inspecting the Shout's path. "Not something to use if we want to have any treasure left."

"Great for carving out a new path without risk of blowing ourselves up, at least." Erin pipes up as she dispels the runes she'd placed, familiar enough with the spell by now to be able to reclaim a fair bit of the magicka invested. The rest, her Altmer blood and all her enchanted gear see to easily enough. "Then there's draugr clearing, who don't carry much in the way of valuables anyway."

The group continues into the tunnels deeper into the mountain, the rough walls of caves giving the way for well maintained brickwork which turns back into the untreated stone as they reach the next cavern. It is dark, a few braziers scattered across the giant room barely dispelling darkness which Erin is hesitant to push back with Candlelight, not when it'd be a beacon to any vampires watching them while killing the party's night vision. In the darkness, there is a faint clatter of moving bones, as well as a dark figure illuminated by one of the braziers.

Moving slowly ahead, Lydia freezes when her foot disturbs the water flowing through the centre of the cavern, the splash causing the figure to turn around as the shadows of the skeletons emerge from the darkness, grasping ancient weapons in their clutches. Sighing, the Nord woman rushes forward, scattering the bones with swings of her shield before the undead can finish even swinging their blades. Jean follows just behind, intercepting the sword strike from the vampire who suddenly steps to Lydia's side. The woman wastes no time thinking, instead elbowing the shadowed figure in the face, causing the bloodsucker to back off with a hiss.

Spinning on her heel, Lydia pushes forward, a flurry of strikes forcing the vampire to keep backing away as it tries to slip away.

It gets a nasty surprise as Erin makes purple light bloom just behind it, an irate daedra hound flying out of the portal mid-pounce. Her other hand sees about flinging a bolt of lightning at the bloodsucker to keep it busy for a precious second.

In light of the fire the group can see the vampire's eyes widen as she is frozen with indecision as to which threat to address first, less than a second, not even a blink of an eye, but it is enough. She raises a ward, the lighting washing over the spell without effect, only to pop as the Familiar pushes her forward, straight on Lydia's sword. The vampire whimpers as the steel impales her stomach, before the blade glows a soft, ephemeral green and she screams as the wound erupts in flames. Lydia steps back shocked, pulling her weapon out as she watches the vampire scream and roll on the ground in panic and pain. Then, face hardening, she delivers the killing blow.

"Let's hope the rest is too busy to have noticed." She comments, giving the sword a look.

"And let's prepare in case they weren't." Erin adds softly. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Idly, she let a pulse of Clairvoyance light up the room to her eyes. The spell was invaluable in navigating barely lit ruins like these. And in drawing her eyes to valuables, of course.

As it turns out, after some time wandering the tunnels, the vampires have bigger problems to worry about. The tunnels echo with the clash of blades, the howl of the hounds and the battle cries in dovahzul. Slowly moving forward, the party encounters the bodies of the draugr covered in the ashes of the fallen vampires. Some dismembered, heads turning to cast their baleful gazes at them as they pass, some lying listlessly on the ground like puppets whose strings have been cut.

Guided by Erin's Clairvoyance, the group slowly makes their way through the crypt, stepping over the corpses and the piles of ash signifying the clashes between the two groups of undead. Soon enough, the walls become covered in a thick layer of webbing, the path ahead clearly hacked by blades. The chamber ahead is filled with corpses of spiders, each the size of a large dog, each accompanied by at least one corpse of the vampires' strange black hounds. There is even a pile of ash where one of the vampires managed to get killed by the spiders.

Following the trail of the magical compass, the group eventually makes their way to another raised gate, behind which they can see the corpse of an enormous spider, easily the size of a house, barely fitting the chamber. Its body is covered in wounds, its carapace cracked and leaking blue blood. Cautiously crossing the gate and walking around the corpse, the group spots a man panting in the corner, hands pressing against the wall.

"You might as well stop sneaking like thieves, mortals. I heard you coming from the chamber away. Might I inquire where the rest of my underlings are?" He calls out suddenly, the voice strong and commanding even as he turns around to display a horrific wound around his midsection where the giant spider most likely tried to bite him in half.

"When the invader doesn't use fire, draugr turn out to be quite a determined security measure." Jean provides as he tries to pass as far away from spider's corpse as possible while maintaining any semblance of group cohesion, which only earns him an eye roll from Lydia. Erin gives the corpse a speculative glance, before dismissing the possibility of raising it as a zombie. Corpses from non-sapient creatures made for especially dim undead, to the point of having serious trouble distinguishing friend from foe.

The vampire, surprisingly enough, nods. "Our ancestors knew how to make defences. It is a shame most of them around this particular crypt have eroded. I would love to study them. Now, however… " He drawls, bringing up his sword, the other hand erupting in crimson light.

"Back to trying to kill each other, huh?" Erin grumbles with a sigh, lightning hurtling out of one hand while the other snaps out a firebolt from a different angle. She'd set up a fire rune under his feet, but the bloodsucker is just a few hairs too far away. Not enough time to advance and set up the damn thing before he reacted.

The vampire reacts instantly, intercepting the lighting with his blade, the weapon exploding with a bang as he curses and dives to the side, barely avoiding the firebolt. Lydia and Jean snap into action, Lydia charging in a straight line while Jean runs for the door while he throws another firebolt. The vampire snarls and conjures a spike of ice, longer and thinner than normal and blocks Lydia's blade with it while the spell in his other hand erupts in a stream of crimson, seeping around Jean's shield. The redhead grits his teeth, choking back a cry as he feels the spell rip away something from his body. Staggering, he turns fully towards the vampire.

"FUS!"

The wave of force throws the undead against the wall and ends the spell. Before he can regain his footing, Lydia cuts his head off, the flames of her enchanted weapon immediately eating away at the body.

Erin hurriedly scoots over, letting out a "Fo" more as a whisper than the Shout it is. The guy had talked about subordinates, which meant he had some level of importance, so she'd rather have a chance to root through his belongings instead of a pile of ash. The headless body freezes, the first flakes of ash falling to the ground as specks of snow while the rest of the body, still intact, hits the ground.

"Right, let's see if we're lucky and he carried some sort of journal that'll tell us what the vampires were doing here." Erin had high hopes, the man had sounded like a scholar, so he probably liked to keep notes.

While the pockets of the man's robe are somewhat stiff and unbending due to the frost, Erin manages to rummage through them nonetheless. In his pouch there is a pile of filled soul gems and alchemical ingredients. In the bag however, she does find a journal. Leafing through it, she finds the notes detailing workings of some sort of sealing mechanism showcasing braziers and the activation method involving spike, as well as commentary about 'traitors' and 'reclaiming what was stolen through treachery'.

Erin sighs, passing the journal over to Jean. "Want to bet one of us will have to get their hand pierced by the end of this?" It would certainly be how things went if it was like in the game.

Jean winces at the idea. "I am not looking forward to that."

"Agreed. Boulder-Scroll-Sword to decide when we get there?" Erin proposes with a crooked grin.

Lydia nods along and the trio open the door and step into a chamber itself opening into a far larger cavern. Much, much larger. Slowly walking to the edge of the chamber where they can see the staircase, they freeze as they hear a bloody cough and a sound of a boot meeting body.

"D-do your worst, abomination. My faith is… stronger… than whatever sick… plays you could subject me to." Comes a weak, raspy voice.

"Hmh. Obviously, you don't know what is in here, or you would sing differently. Go, meet your god, Vigilant." There is a crunch of the bone and a silence, for a moment.

"After this… you will remember who brought the information?" Comes a quiet, female voice.

She is answered with a chuckle. "Aye. I remember who is my enemy and who is my friend. And after this… Lord Harkon will be most pleased with us."

Sheathing her sword, Lydia takes out the crossbow and motions silently to the stairs. Jean cracks a grim smile and holds the fire runes in both of his hands. 'One chance' he mouths to Erin.

She grins right back.

---

Lokil feels good about his prospects. Sure, the Vigilants turned out to be more of a problem than initially believed and they lost their gargoyles breaking the Hall down. And the tomb itself had some unwelcome surprises. Still, Lokil could always put it at the feet of incompetents he was saddled with. Lord Harkon would understand. Results were what mattered at his court after all. Shaking his head, he kicks the corpse of the Vigilant to the side. Now, he just needs to wait for Torbald to come with the instruction for the seal and…

There is a flash of light upstairs, and poor Delia falls dead, a burning crossbow bolt sticking out of her throat. Shame, but traitors tend to meet fitting ends. Instead he looks up, a pair of mages, Altmer and Breton, as well as Nord woman with a crossbow. Such a motley crew, and definitely not Vigilants, going by their very individualized apparel. Drawing his sword, Lokil bares his fangs, a grin on his face. Novice hunters then, ones who got lucky.

He sprints, faster than the winter wind, his feet barely touching the stone. Which is still enough. He has enough time to curse as the runes go off, his eyes widening as the explosion masks… something, one of the non Nords do and the wave of force hits him.

---

Stepping to look down the stairs, Jean hums as he watches the ashes the vampire turned into fall to the ground. His gaze goes to the corpse of the Vigilant.

"So… I think we have found a volunteer?" He speaks unsure. Weird magic locking mechanisms were not his thing, so who knows if a corpse would do.

"Worth a try. At least there's probably no traps it'll trigger that haven't already been sprung by these guys poking at the mechanisms." Erin muses before shaking her head, "I'm just wondering when 'Sam' will decide to pop up to say hello." And now was a good moment for it, hence her speaking of the devil.

Which is, obviously, why nothing happens. No sudden voices speaking from behind her, no light shows, no cheers of the crowd. Even Lydia seems to be confused.

"...Oh, well, it was worth a shot. Let's go poke the overcomplicated ancient Nord mechanical bullfuckery." Erin grumbles with a sigh.

The group walks down the stairs. As their feet touch the ground at the bottom, they suddenly find themselves at the beginning of the well kept stone path in the middle of the garden, the maze illuminated by the ephemeral pink lights floating above.

Lydia sighs, shoulders slumping. "Daedric bullshit."

Jean merely pats her on the arm and the group silently moves down the cobblestone towards the sound of a party. After a few false turns, they eventually arrive at the grove shrouded in light mist concealing the faces of the party goers. Except for one. A redhead Breton in black robes. The man who started this mess, in a way. Seeing them, his face lights up and he walks towards them.

"And the guests of honour finally arrive! Honestly, I was worried for a moment that putting you against a crypt of vampires might be a touch too far, but you made it!"

Jean just sights before reaching to his bag and bringing the rose out. "I am afraid the marriage fell through, so… here." He finishes awkwardly. "I am not sure about the exact procedure on wedding gifts from daedric princes, buuuuut… "

Snorting, Sam shakes his head, his body transforming mid motion. His body flashes through a myriad of forms, male and female, Men, Mer, Khajiit, Argonian and more still before it settles on a tall, black skinned man with red facial paint on and four horns protruding from his skull. Even his robe changes, a flash of black plate glowing ominous red before it turns to a comfortable set of clothes one might find at a high profile party.

"Nah, keep it. Whichever of you want it anyway." As he speaks, the Rose in Jean's hands grows, the stem growing and thickening while the flower blooms, until Jean holds a staff sized version of a flower, appropriately sized thorns included. "The poor thing didn't see much use as of late, so some fresh air would do it good."

Erin considers it for a moment. On one hand, high level daedra prancing about, on the other hand, high level daedra she can point at people she doesn't like, "Good thing Skyrim has an ample supply of bandits and Thalmor to use it on." And a good thing she was already planning to become a vampire, because the Vigilants sure were going to hate her guts.

"Hmmm, the boys and girls might be a touch bored with limited selection, so they will have to get creative." Sam nods along. "I think you will love their creativity. But! It is not just a very nice summoning staff, although it absolutely looks nice. Definitely sweeter design than Wabbajack, wouldn't you agree?"

"Do you honestly expect us to say 'no' here?" Lydia answers in a dry tone.

Sam just snorts. "Smart, very smart. Anyway, besides summoning my subject ready to party, you have noticed the thorns by now. It is a rose, after all. Just dip some water on them and it will turn into alcohol. Or a hallucinogenic. Whichever is funnier."

And just like that Erin was already making plans for that Thalmor party. It was a pity cameras weren't a thing in Tamriel, it would've been wonderful to be able to immortalise the end result.

Shuffling awkwardly, Jean picks up. "Sooo. Mind laying it out why you have decided to put the end point… well, here? I assume you know what is going on."

Sanguine's grin only grows, almost literally splitting his face in half. "Indeed I do. Me and everyone else. We noticed your arrival, you know." He adds lightly. "So, in the interest of getting to the good stuff faster, I decided a party was in order!"

Lydia just stares before walking up to a table and grabbing one of the cups lying around. Without even checking the contents, she downs it in a single go, the presumed daedra sitting across whistling appreciatively.

"Now my friends, not that I wouldn't love to have another party in the Myriad Realms with you, but I fear what others might do with me if I hog you to myself for too long. Any other questions before I sent you back to the crypt?"

"Just one." Jean pipes in. It is something of a spur of the moment, and perhaps he is still just a little shaken by his marriage. "Have you considered you would attract more followers if you lot made hagravens less… something that makes a half decomposed draugr look appealing?"

Sanguine erupts into laughter while Lydia chokes on her third mug. "Buahahahaha! Good one, good one! ...It is weird how you are the first to ask. That does sound like a fun little project. Maybe I will even tell others about it. Now, see ya, you've got an ancient vampire lord to antagonize."

With a wave of his hand, the trio return back to the cavern, right back to the same spot they had entered the Prince of Revelry's realm.

"When we get back to Whiterun, I'm buying you a drink." Is Erin's solemn vow before she turns back to the stone path leading to the sarcophagus' hidey hole, "C'mon, let's go see how we're going to piss on that vampire lord's mead."

Hefting the Vigilant's corpse, Lydia falls behind the two Dragonborn as they move toward the altar at the centre of the cavern. There is a skeleton propped against the pillar at the pedestal in the centre surrounded by the empty braziers. Setting the body down, Lydia carefully puts its hand on the top of the pillar and pushes.

Immediately, a spike pierces the hand, drawing blood. Lydia jumps back giving the contraption a suspicious look. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the spike retracts and with a rumble, the base of the platform erupts in the purple flames which give no heat, with a thin line of fire lazily connecting the base of the podium to the outer ring of the structure. Glancing back at the glaziers, she hums.

"The journal had the correct combination, right?"

Receiving a nod, the group checks the journal again before getting up to work, the flames spreading in thin lines from one brazier to the next until the flame eventually loops back to the podium. The flames flash before converging on the podium and the entire structure rumbles and slowly sinks forming a shallow amphitheatre with a coffin at the centre. The lid slides into the ground revealing a young looking woman, pale and black-haired clad in the armour of similar make to that of the vampires they have encountered on their way. And, on her back…

"Nine damnit, is that an Elder Scroll?" Lydia curses.

The vampire takes a step out and stumbles, almost falling to her knees before regaining the balance and shaking her head.

"Ughhhh… '' Opening her eyes, she blinks as she sees the three. "Who… are you?"

"The unlikely heroes Akatosh decided to throw at these troubled times. I go by Erin, that's Jean and the Nord's Lydia." Erin replies with a quiet snort, "Welcome to the Fourth Era, year 201, hope you enjoyed the nap."

The woman blinks. "Fo-fourth era? How long is that… " Shaking her head, she continues. "Right, my name is Serana. I… suppose I need to thank you for getting me out, at least. Is there any chance..."

"Before you say anything like 'show me the way out'" Lydia notes dryly "please consider that I do not feel comfortable with just letting a vampire go on her merry way with an Elder Scroll strapped to her back."

Snorting, Serana crosses her arms. "Fair enough, I suppose. Still, that leaves the question of who sent you. The place is out of the way, so I doubt you just 'happened' to venture in."

"We were on an errand for a daedric prince. And their identity might surprise you." Jean adds with a smile.

"Not Molag Bal then. Makes sense, if that was the case, you would have probably been sent by my father. Still, it would fit Mephala or Nocturnal, maybe Boethiah."

"Sanguine." Lydia answers. Serana gives her an incredulous look, to which, she cracks a smile and continues. "Let's just say it was a really wild party."

"Four days and nights. We started in Whiterun and woke up halfway across Skyrim." Erin throws in.

"You must have really made his day, considering he left you with his Rose." Serana muses as she eyes the suddenly much smaller flower pin on Erin's lapel. The party blinks and Jean looks to the arch where he put the staff sized thing against before they started on the brazier puzzle.

"Fucking daedric bullshit, how does it work?" Lydia finally speaks.

Shrugging, Serana coughs politely to get the attention back on her. "Anyway, while I understand your apprehension, I would love nothing more than to never see this cave again. How about we compromise in that case? You surely have some sort of home, so I could stay with you until I figure out what happened since I was last outside, maybe keep an ear to the ground regarding my father?"

"That still leaves the question of when was the last time you saw outside." Jean notes.

"Right, that. Hmmm… Say, who is the current High King?"

"Debatable." Lydia supplies.

"War of succession, lovely. Good to know the world didn't cease to be exciting while I was gone. So, is it another spat between Whiterun and Solitude?"

Blinking, Lydia shakes her head. "No. Whiterun is neutral. We've got Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm on one side and the widow of the previous High King, Elisif of Solitude on the other. Ulfric got half the holds, Elisif the other, plus the Empire."

"... Empire?"

"From Cyrodiil." Lydia answers confused.

"Cyrodiil is a seat of an empire?"

Bringing a hand to her face with a smack, Lydia sighs. "You have been gone for a long, long time. Cyrodiil was the heart of an Empire in one way or another since some way into the First Era, almost three thousands years ago, give or take."

"Definitely need to start figuring things out. Let's go, the cave changed considerably from what I remember, so we will need to look around."

"You know, you are oddly okay with just letting her hang around." Jean mutters to Lydia.

"I had three cups of strange Oblivion booze from a party Sanguine himself attended. I suspect I am really, really drunk right now. Besides, she has been… nice, so far."

"Agreed." Erin pipes up with a smile. It is nice to have a vampire who doesn't regard every mortal as an uppity blood bag on legs. "Anyho! I like Serana's idea of getting out of this Divines-forsaken crypt yesterday." She was really, really glad her dust allergy didn't carry over to the new body. Otherwise she'd have a hell of a time.

Idly, she spins up Clairvoyance again, letting the magic wash across the crypt and ignoring the very pointed glow from the Elder Scroll. Yes, yes, she knows it is hideously valuable and capital-I Important, thank you magic.

"We could always just backtrack you know." Lydia supplies.

"Nonsense." Jean replies. "Who knows what's deeper inside? I doubt we can just pawn off an Elder Scroll and I would like to show something off besides the daedric artefact and an ancient vampire lady for this."

Shaking her head, Lydia follows the two, Serana walking side by side with her. "I see adventurers remain the same." She whispers to the other woman, receiving a chuckle in response.

Crossing the small bridge, the group sees another pair of stairs leading to a door made in the style intimately familiar to anyone who had delved into Nordic tombs even once.

"This whole place is just one giant mess of architecture styles." Jean mutters.

"I wouldn't be surprised if someone decided to build a tomb around my little sleeping chamber over the years if only to save on the cost of carving a whole new tomb into the mountain." Serana supplies. "Also, watch out, I see a pair of gargoyles on the parapet ahead of us. I don't know if they have enough energy to move after millennia of stasis, but I figure it would be better if you are prepared." She adds pointing at the pair of snarling statues crouching on the outcrop ahead of them.

"Is that your clan's specialty?" Lydia wonders. "Well, Erin, Jean, do the thing, I would rather not snap my sword in half trying to see if the stone is soft enough."

"The thing?" Serana asks, confused.

"I think it's better to do a presentation." Jean notes idly before taking breath. "Liiv."

The force washes over the gargoyle, which cracks and falls to pieces, the rock turning into dust in a short order. The only thing left behind are a couple of gems lying in the pile. The other gargoyle remains completely still.

"Either they are broken or there is minimum safe distance." Lydia notes. "Dwemer automata love to pop out at really close ranges. Sometimes behind you. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else came with a similar mechanism."

Serana nods. "Aye, my parents, when designing them, decided they really liked people's panicked reaction when a statue suddenly burst to life in front of them." There is a nostalgic look on her face before she shakes her head. "Anyway, is that Thu'um? I see the Tongues are still warping reality."

"Mhm." Erin hums in agreement before almost idly tossing a "Liiv'' of her own at the other gargoyle, "We got that one from this Nahagliiv chap. We kiiinda wound up camping on top of his burial mound not knowing what it was." And man, does that illustrate how surreal their life is nowadays.

"Lovely. The outside must be really colourful if the Tongues can just interrogate dead dragons."

"Not really, after a defeat in their invasion of Morrowind, they reformed into monastic order. They are kind of secluded at the Throat of the World, and not really big nowadays."

Serana nods silently as the group picks up the gems from the dust and moves on. Up the stairs and past the doors, into a room with a lever, a locked gate and draugr coffins. Jean and Erin shake their heads and place the fire runes at the feet of the coffins while Lydia pulls the lever. The gate opens at the same time as a pair of explosions ring out and the burning corpses of draugr bounce off of the ceiling.

Stifling a laugh, Serana shakes her head and snags a spell tome from the table below the lever, stashing it in her bag as the group enters the well lit corridor which opens up to a giant auditorium. Thankfully, most of the seats are empty, although they can see and hear cluttering steps of skeletons and dark silhouettes of the draugr. On the opposite side of the arena, illuminated by the fire sits a draugr in a scale armour of unknown make, seemingly unmoving. And in the corner of the room on the right, a Wall.

"Bingo." Jean whispers. Serana shoots him a questioning look. "There is a bit more to our skill with Voice, but let's just say that's an opportunity to get something out of these overgrown tombstones."

"Aye." Erin says with a nod, before eyeing the sitting draugr with suspicion, "Now, let's lay some more runes before we poke that wall. I don't want a repeat of Bleak Falls."

The duo, joined by Serana, start laying runes around their end of the amphitheatre, the flashes of light drawing the attention of the undead. On the throne opposite of them, the draugr stirs, its body slowly moving as the burning blue returns to its eyes. Its eyes fall upon the group and it laughs, a rough, rumbling sound, as it stands up drawing a battle-axe from the side of its throne.

"Vokri, soslun?" It asks as its servants converge on the group's position. "Hi arhk hin aar fen dir het."

Rolling her eyes, Serana calls fire into her hands, the flames licking her hands without burning her, before the vampire sends the fireball flying at the draugr.

"FUS!" It shouts, dispersing the flames and sending portions back, which are blocked by the ward.

The other undead advance, triggering the runes and are sent flying, burning. The skeletons are scattered with a single strike of bolt and spike to not waste the more useful minefield.

"Ha! WULD!" The group barely has time to react as the draugr suddenly is in their midst, axe already on the downward swing to take Serana's head.

Lydia reacts immediately, pushing the vampire aside and putting her shield up, groaning as the strike drives her to her knees, bending the shield.

"FUS!" Jean's shout sends the draugr reeling to the side, the undead completely thrown out of balance. It misses a step and tumbles down the steps, right into the set of runes which explode and send him flying into the fire pit at the center of the amphitheatre.

"Glad to see the draugr lost nothing of their charming confidence." Serana notes as she offers Lydia a hand.

"You can understand them?"

"Indeed. Dovahzul was considered part of necessary etiquette back in my days. I could… teach you, if you want? Not sure why you would want thought, draugr are terrible conversationalists."

"Dragons, on the other hand, might be more appreciative." Jean replies.

"Plus, hey, it is always nice to be able to shit talk right back at someone in their own tongue." Erin pipes up sardonically.

"Fair. Let's get out of here first."

Walking up to the Wall, Jean and Erin once more can hear the chant as the words blend together until only one stands out. It's right there, at the edge of their consciousness, yet it escapes them every time they try to examine it.

"So if you can translate, whose grave did we just walk through?" Lydia asks curiously. Serana hums as she approaches the wall.

"Here lies the body of Svolo, who possessed strength to kill a Dragon but not the stamina to kill many. A dragon slayer then. Interesting." As she speaks the words, the little nugget at the back of Jean and Erin's mind… nudges. Not a full understanding, not near enough, but the concept is grasped enough to start.

Blinking, Jean and Erin snap out of whatever trance the Walls seem intent on putting them in and the group moves towards a large door at the back of the chamber, above the throne upon which presumed Svolo rested. Beyond the door, there is a small chamber with an iron gate separating it from the tunnel and a pull chain which raises it. The group walks for a moment in the darkness, the howling wind passing through the tomb being their only companion before there is a light at the end. Stepping outside with care, just in case the exit turns out to be well above the ground, the group tries to blink away the change of light. Serana hisses as the sun shines over their heads and pulls her hood over her head, a shadow falling over her face as the enchantment woven into fabric springs into effect.

"That's… better. Anyone know where we are?"

Taking her spyglass, Lydia takes the surrounding in. "Hmmm… I can see the smoke from the Hall to the east… I suppose if we go straight north, we will hit the road… From there, we can go to Morthal and grab a carriage back to Whiterun."

"Wasn't there some spooky shit happening around Morthal?" Erin asks with a light frown. She'd like a bit of a break before getting caught up in another wild ride, thank you. It has been hectic since they handed in the Dragonstone.

"Aye. I hope the rumours of vampires have been just the ones that came to Serana's crypt being less than subtle. We could go to Dawnstar… but the rumours from there don't look promising either." Jean shoots her a prodding look, which she takes for what it is and continues. "A plague of nightmares. The entire city, plagued by them for months. I don't know about you, but that sounds like Vaermina. And even if he was… pleasant, after Sanguine I would like a break from Daedric Princes."

"I must agree. Even if the cause is still there, some vampires being overly ambitious is easier to deal with than Lord of Nightmares. I doubt you are properly equipped to deal with that." Serana muses.

"You are strangely fine with breaking other vampires' plot on your knee." Lydia comments as the group makes their way down the hill to the small, snow covered clearing.

"As you may have noticed, my kind is not exactly united. Molag Bal likes to experiment with vampirism, so it's a bit hard to consider a vampire from Morrowind to be kin to one from Summerset, for example. There are common trends, yes, just as elves and humans tend to walk on two legs and use two hands."

"Besides, it isn't like kinship is any guarantee of cooperation or like-mindedness." Erin comments.

Lydia hums, but stays silent as the four of them trudge through the forest, eyes watchful as the arctic wind carries the howl of wolves and the snow crunches under their feet. Then, Lydia stops suddenly, eyes fixated on the treeline.

"Something the matter?" Serana asks.

Lydia doesn't answer at first, watching carefully, until a glitter in the trees catches her attention and she swears. "Ice wraiths. I don't feel like treating their bites, so let's just… move around."

"Agreed. It is that or mixing up fire magic and Thu'um into a big enough conflagration to scare them off." Erin mutters, before shrugging, "Or kill them outright. I'm not picky."

Jean and Serana shake their heads. "I would rather not light the forest on fire, if that's fine with you." The vampiress notes.

"I do have a three word frost shout, it'd be fiiine." Erin drawls out before snickering and shaking her head, letting the matter go.

Jean rolls his eyes. "Let's go, you pyromaniac. They don't even have any loot to enjoy after we burn out a patch of forest to kill them. They don't, right?" He adds, asking Lydia. The woman just snorts.

"Their teeth have alchemical properties, but if you are going to burn them, they won't be salvageable. Maybe a septim frozen in a segment of their body, but there are easier ways to earn a septim than mugging every wraith in Skyrim."

"Come on now, Lydia, where's your sense of adventure~?" Erin jokes. "Just call it a challenge run."

Carefully walking around the wraiths, the group eventually reaches the snow covered road and moves west as the sun slowly lowers itself. As the sky darkens, the group can see the light of the settlement ahead of the road, faint but well visible in the evening. Moving a bit faster for the promise of a bed and not having to camp in the snow, they reach the outskirts as the sun finally vanishes.

It's a small settlement, with a row of small huts, an inn and a large manor house.

Erin sighs, already resigned, "So, who wants to bet we'll get dragged into the whole vampire mess before morning rolls around and we can grab a carriage out of here?" They're the resident heroes, and that means that like a narrative gravity well, every single plot and scheme and issue within several miles radius is going to drift off towards them. If not slam into them like a runaway truck.

"If it does happen, I am blaming you." Lydia comments idly. "Although you are being overly dramatic. This is just a small mining village. I know Morthal has… a reputation as a hidden-in-the-swamp middle of nowhere, but it's not that bad."

"Let's just grab a couple of rooms and go to sleep." Jean mutters as he waves the guard with a pale blue cloak and a spiral on the shield. The man watches the group with suspicion but lets them pass, settling his spear back against the tree and leaning back, watching the darkness.

Erin would be sleeping with her Familiar present, she resolves. Just in case. Plus, it was nice having something to cuddle in bed. Serana and Lydia play a game of Boulder-Scroll-Sword to determine their sharing rights, and after three rounds, Lydia grumpily goes with Erin, while Serana plops herself on the chair in Jean's room, content to spend the night reading the book she took from the crypt.

---

Jean and Erin wake up to the sound of thunder going off indoors. Falling out of his bed with a curse, Jean instinctively grabs his sword and crouches, bleary eyed, seeing Serana block the door, lightning dancing on her fingertips as she drives a dagger up a man's jaw. Another man is thrown across the floor as Lydia hits him with the shield, sword drawn. She crosses the main hall into the inn keeper's room and throws her blade at the vampire pinning the owner to the bed. Grabbing his shield, Jean springs to Serana who pins a vampire to the corner of the hall, her opponent straining under the rigor of keeping up the ward. The man Lydia threw across the floor starts standing up, shambling and moaning, so Jean crosses the distance and decapitates him, the body turning to ashes under him.

Then, Erin's Familiar crosses the room and dives at the vampire holding up the ward spell, the bloodsucker's eyes widening as daedra's jaws close around his neck with a snap. Serana immediately cuts her own spell. The group is still tense, especially as they can hear the sounds of struggle outside.

Lydia walks out of the owner's room with her blade back, grim and stone faced as the quiet sobbing comes from the room. "I will stay here and guard the owner. You clean the rest."

"Aye." Erin says around the stamina potion she's chugging to kickstart her system. She may not have it as bad as her old body, but a morning person she still wasn't. "Yeesh, what a mess. Hate being right like this."

Outside, the miners' huts burn as the few guards huddle together around the fire in a circle, shields high and spears pointed at the pair of vampires. The corpses around them say all that needs to be said about how well they fared previously.

With a roll of her shoulders, Serana casts a spell around the shield wall, a thin line of runes, less a circle and more a flowing inscription forming a perimeter of dull orange.

"If you value your lives" she warns the guards "don't step outside." Then, she closes her hand around the sword blooming into existence in an explosion of purple light, the ephemeral blade surrounded by purple mist. She brings it up and it clashes against the axe strike of the blur in the darkness. Erin decides to stack the deck just a bit, hooking Serana up with a quickly casted Stoneflesh as she passes by.

Jean swallows as the other vampire flows towards them, their blade clashing in the darkness and he grunts as the vampire pushes him back. Gritting his teeth, he sucks in the cold, night air.

"FUS!" He hisses out, the shout staggering his opponent back and giving him the chance to thrust his blade. The vampire dodges, barely, before blurring again, vanishing from before Jean like a mist and running for the circle of the guards. He jumps over the line of the runes, only for it to flare and explode into flames, the bloodsucker falling back to the ground with a scream.

To the side, Serana clashes against the other vampire in a flurry of motion, both of them barely visible, more heard as they clash. Still, from what he can see, Jean notices that Serana's form is more stilted, whether by lack of exercise or lack of opportunity to translate whatever theoretical skill she has into practice. Then, he turns towards the shambling corpses of the miners and sighs as he sheathes his sword and calls the fire into his hand.

The thralls are easy to dispatch, thankfully enough, while Erin keeps an eye on the other vampire to make sure it won't make an attack of opportunity. The miners sigh as they burn, the spell animating them falling apart against the flames, giving thanks with their last breaths. Gritting his teeth, Jean continues to burn them, until only ashes remain.

Around the camp, Serana and the vampire blur into visibility, the ancient female trying to push her opponent into her runic minefield while her opponent leverages his better experience in direct combat to prevent that. Then, Serana dismisses her sword and catches the blade barehanded, the steel digging into the Stoneflesh without breaking the skin. Serana grins and quickly grabs the vampire's wrist and punches him in the gut, the force of the strike bowling him over. She calls her blade again, thrusting it into the neck and ripping half of it as she wrestles it free. The bloodsucker falls to her feet, slowly falling to ashes as she watches over him before she dismisses the spell around the guards who quickly dissolve into barely controlled prayers.

Taking a deep breath, dreading the answer, Jean approaches them. "Are there any miners that..."

"Aye." One of the men chokes out, relief clear in his voice. "Some of them managed to barricade themselves inside the mine while those monsters were busy with us." He laughs, bitterly and hysterically. "The best we could do for them. We… we will get them." With that, the guards walk towards the mine, casting fearful looks into the darkness. After a moment's thought, Erin follows them, justifying her presence with a smattering of mage lights to drive back the dark. And a Familiar to sniff out the tunnels besides.

Jean nods as he and Serana walk back towards the inn. "Those were not my father's men. Different breed." Serana mutters. "And their gift was… diluted, greatly."

"So we've got another clan wreaking havoc in Hjaalmarch. Lovely." Jean mutters.

"Mhm, I will stay outside just in case, you go check on the owner." Serana adds.

Back in the inn, Lydia stands over the door to the owner's rooms. "I take it the situation is resolved?" Getting a nod, she sighs. "He lost his wife, you know. The poor, brave woman shielded their son with her body when the vampire struck. He was going to be next. What about the miners?"

"Solid portion dead, the rest managed to lock themselves in the mine. Some of the guards died to buy them that time." Shaking his head, Jean sits by the table. "What a mess. Think the local Jarl will do something about it?"

There is a bitter laugh from the room, the inn owner coming into the main hall with his son in arms. "Ravencrone doing something? Don't joke, outsider. A house burns with a woman and child in it in the middle of the night and the husband moves in with another woman before their ashes are even cold and she does nothing, and that's right under her nose. No. I am packing my bags and taking my boy back to Solitude. If Bryling wants his mine to turn profit so badly, he can talk Elisif into making the withered crone do something" Sighing, he shakes his head as the surviving miners and guards slowly fill into the inn. "Still, we owe you our lives. If you want, you can go and say to Idgrod that her people don't trust her leadership."

Jean waves him off. "Don't mention it, we are just glad we could help." Then, he blinks as he recalls that the owner was attacked by the vampire and they don't know how long they struggled against each other. He excuses himself for a moment to dig through his bag, before taking a box he got from Ormund. Coming back to the hall he opens it and presents to the inn-owner. "Here, Cure Disease. Wouldn't want to turn after surviving." He smiles weakly, which is returned by the other man, who quickly drinks the potion, then looks towards his son. With a sigh, Jean nods and shares the second potion.

There are murmurs of agreement, dark and bitter words exchanged even by the hold guards. The people are too spooked to rest, so everyone stays huddled in the main hall, some of them falling asleep where they sit when the adrenaline finally runs its course.

The rest of the night goes in the haze of people taking shifts sleeping, even as most of them have trouble actually falling asleep. By the time the sun rises, everyone is already packed and ready to go. The small column leaves Stonehill behind, walking in the shadow of the mountains, somewhat assured by the size of the group and the clear, cloudless sky. Serana bears the sun with a stoic face, seemingly unperturbed by the light, electing to not even raise her hood.

The march is surprisingly fast, although that may be the miners' desire to leave Hjaalmarch behind them as fast as possible. On the crossroad where the fork leads down towards Morthal, the hold guards elect to stay with the miners, 'to ensure their safety' one of them says, but Jean has no doubts none of them will come back. Coming down the road, Morthal slowly comes into the view. Compared to Whiterun, it's a sad view.

There is a hastily assembled palisade with a gate cutting the city from the main road as well as a pair of lookouts on the cliffs. In the distance, the party can see a section under construction on the opposite end of town. In addition, Morthal is small and huddled together, All buildings, including Jarl's palace are wooden, with straw roofs and the city is split in two by the river lazily flowing through. There seem to be some boats on the water. The people shoot the party suspicious, scared looks, before looking away and hurrying along. There is a crowd under the Jarl's palace and even as they approach, the group can hear the barely restrained anger as the crowd argues with the man standing at the top of the stairs.

By the time the party reaches the building, the crowd begins to disperse, the man at the door sighing before he notices them.

"Hail, outsiders. I wish I could greet you properly, but Morthal is experiencing trouble right now."

"Aye, we have noticed, Aslfur." Lydia notes dryly. "And I am afraid we are going to make your day worse. May we come in?"

"Lydia!" The man exclaims, surprised. "You are back to adventuring? No." He shakes his head. "If you think it's for the best that we talk in private… Come."

He opens the door, allowing the party in. The inside resembles an inn, writ large. In the far end of the hall, a woman sits on the throne, deep in thought. She looks up as they approach.

"A colourful assembly bears the black news." She speaks before shaking her head. "I am sorry for the grim greetings. The times are hard, and the gift of prophecy doesn't exactly lend to brightening the path."

"Indgrid." The man sighs. "Anyway, they say they have more bad news, so I took them off the street. No reason to make people more jumpy than they already are."

"So which is it this time? Vampires, dragons or bandits? Maybe necromancers?" The jarl asks.

"Vampires." Jean answers. "They have attacked the Stonehills. We have managed to defeat them, but the miners and the overseer have decided to cut their losses." After giving it a thought, he continues. "Also, I wouldn't count on seeing the guards you have assigned to the place again."

The woman slumps in her seat, a hand massaging her temple. "Dark, dark news indeed. First the mess with Hroggar, then dragon burns our farmland making the food situation uncertain and now the news of vampire attacks butchering isolated settlements and villages." Shaking her head, she sighs. "Morthal is barely a hold anymore, people are terrified of everything and there are whispers of turning against the Empire, as if Ulfric gave a damn about us beyond taking another hold from Elisif."

Lydia hums as she thinks. "Do you think we could help you with at least the investigation into that mess with Hroggar? A nice, local crime being solved may lift the spirits at least a bit, and as outsiders, we could be said to be impartial."

The Jarl thinks for a moment before chuckling. "Very well. If you could do something about a dragon, that would be nice too, but small steps. First, the morale of the people. Go and investigate the house, and if anyone bothers you, just tell them you work with my permission."

Bowing and backing away, Jean mutters. "Five septims say the vampires are connected."

"Sucker's bet, my thane."

---

Spoiler: Some more dovahzul present in the chapter

Vokri, soslun? - Awake, vampire? (lit. Returned, blood-sucker?

Hi arhk hin aar fen dir het. - You and your slaves will die here.

 

[Omida]

Interlude 3: Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of our own actions

The cold winds of Skyrim bite deep into the skin and seep any warmth a man has. Nords always move when outdoors, for to stand in place is to allow the cold air to devour their strength. Their howl will lull him to a sleep, from which he will never wake. And yet, this is how the Tongue meditates. Motionless, letting the cold surround him and seep into his body. Su'um, the inner Breath has to become the only source of energy a Tongue needs. For this reason, the training emphasizes breathing exercises.

Ulfric is a restless man, that he will admit without a shame. Thus, his meditation is different from that of Greybeards'. He stands atop the tallest tower of the Palace of Kings, a lone pillar of stone carved into the mountain overseeing all of Windhelm, axe in hand, body going through well practiced motions, breath even and deep, each step deliberate. And while his body goes through the motion, warm as if he was lying under the summer sun in the South, his mind wanders.

Before he departed High Hrothgar, Ulfric managed to grasp two Words. Fus and Zun. Force and Weapon. They served him well during the Great War, until the damn Altmer captured him. In their dungeons, Ulfric first learned that even Voice could not do everything. Between him and the captured and tortured Imperial Tongues, the elves proved that well enough. They broke him enough he shied away from the ancient art, both limiting his use of it and staying away from High Hrothgar. Master Arngeir's words were harsh, but spoken in anger. Ulfric couldn't recall the last time a Greybeard spoke in anger. He must have accidentally touched a delicate subject to the Speaker if Arngeir broke the protocol as hard.

And now that the dragons returned, and Ulfric needs to regain his confidence in the Voice. He needs to learn more Words. Even if the Dragonborn has appeared. A dragon slayer of legend. The one Master Arngeir no doubt alluded. Dragonborn was only one, could not be everywhere, while dragons were swift on their wings. Thus, Ulfric needs to be prepared.

"Dah." He mutters under his breath as he pirouettes around the tower. Push. Push forward, push the obstacles aside. Advance and don't look back. Force, directed and unleashed.

Ulfric is good at pushing forward. Some would say too good, that he lets his goals blind him. Once upon a time, maybe. But Markarth… Markarth taught him some patience. Enough to never again pick traitors for allies. The Jarls of Markarth gave their words and sold him just as easily. Because it was convenient for them, because he had done his job and was no longer needed. He punished the Reachmen for their treachery in the Great War, and was rewarded like a criminal. It taught him who was his friend and who was the enemy. The core of the Stormcloaks was formed of the men and women who went with him into Markarth and who were released from the Cidhna Mine when his amnesty was issued.

They will pay. Those who stand against me because of their oaths will be treated well, but Markarth will pay.

There are sounds of the hurried footsteps on the stairs and Ulfric pauses mid-motion as a Stormcloak soldier comes running. The lad is breathing heavily, likely having run for quite some time.

"Take a deep breath, boy. Calm down so you can tell me the urgent news." He advises him, patting him on the shoulder.

The man nods and swallows heavily. "D… Dragon, my lord! It was spotted flying from the east towards the city. The beast burned Hlaalu's Farm, but the Dark Elves managed to drive it away for now. The lookouts report it's merely circling around."

Ulfric nods, grimly. The tensions between Argonians and Dark Elves were lesser now that Winterhold agreed to take all the Dunmer that preferred their community, but Hlaalu stayed behind, willing to keep working to keep Windhelm fed.

"Go fetch Wuunferth. I assume Gaalmar already knows?" The man nods and Ulfric continues. "Very well, we will begin mobilising immediately. Before going to fetch my court wizard, pass the order for the citizens to hide in their houses, preferably in the basements." Windhelm was carved out of stone, so at least there was no need to worry about dragon fire burning it down. His people would be as safe as they could be when attacked by a dragon.

Following the soldier, Ulfric's mind spins as he mulls over the news from Whiterun. Even the Dragonborn didn't use Thu'um to bring down the dragons attacking Baalgruf's city. That bode well for Ulfric. Steel and valor were the way of the Nords since time immemorial, since even before the Thu'um and magic.

---

Sina swallows gingerly as she glances at the man sleeping under the stasis on the table. Clad in furs, with the flesh in his chest carved out, still beating heart placed in a bowl and replaced with the Briar Heart, a bud of the Dragon's Tongue mutated by the energies of Oblivion. So far, the operation has been a success, the Forsworn who volunteered is still alive and will likely wake far stronger than before. Now only the elaborate spell work utilising the energies of Oblivion remained to bond the Briar Heart with the flesh.

To be honest, it is Sina's first operation without her mistress' supervision. So far, so good, but the hardest part was ahead of her.

"Don't worry, darling, I am sure you will manage. You have completed all your other trials splendidly so far."

Sina twirls around, magicka blooming in her hand at the voice. Who dared to inter-…

She steps back, the spell dying in her hand as she feels her heart go up to her throat. The tall man in the leather armour (made of human flesh, part of her mind supplies) has the red skin and horns, roguish grin and burning eyes. And yet, he is handsome and his voice soothing. Sina falls to her knees, bowing before her guest.

"Lord Sanguine." She whispers fervently. "How can I serve you?"

The Daedric Prince chuckles, the sound sending shivers down Sina's spine. "You are well into the trials your mistress set for you before you are to become a hagraven, are you not?" Seeing her nod, he chuckles as he plucks the Briar Heart out of the man's chest, inspecting it with a bored look. "Tell me, darling, do you hesitate to throw away your beauty for the power your teacher promises you?"

Fighting down the blush at the Prince's compliment, Sina carefully looks up. "I… In the service of the Princes, I am willing to sacrifice that and more, Lord…" She stops as Sanguine raises his hand, giving her a frown which causes her to pale.

"Not what I asked, Sina dear. I want to know if you sometimes regret knowing what you will become?"

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Is that it? Did she do something to offend Prince of Debauchery? No other way but forward now. "Yes, Lord Sanguine." She whispers, trying to sound as guilty as possible.

The Prince chuckles and shakes his head. "That's fine, that's fine. Tell me, Sina dear, would you like to help me in… an experiment of sorts?"

Fear wars with excitement in Sina's mind. Fear, because what sort of 'experiment' would the Prince of Debauchery have in mind? And excitement for being able to please him. "It-it would be my pleasure, Lord Sanguine!"

The Prince smiles at her, and Sina finds herself flushing, feeling peculiar wetness on her thighs. She doesn't even register when the Prince crushes the Briar Heart, causing the human one to explode, killing the man on the table. Instead, her heart skips a beat as the Prince's bloodied hand touches her lips.

"A good friend of mine gave me an intriguing idea, you see. He pointed at the fact the hagravens don't give the most… appealing impression. So, spurred by his words, I thought to myself: 'Sanguine, surely as the Lord of Pleasure you can do better?' And you know what, Sina, darling?" Sina nods to his words, captivated by his burning eyes. "I can. Be proud, darling. You will be the first of the new stock of Hagravens… Mhm, perhaps a new name will be in order. Not much of a hag after we are done."

He smiles, and bows down, his hands caressing her as he plants a kiss on her lips, and Sina feels her worries flee away as her mind falls into the haze of sensations she never thought possible.

 

[Omida]

Chapter 8: FBI OPEN UP!

As the group approaches the burned house, a piece of paper falls from the sky. Floats, really, moved by some sort of spell, as it glides into their view before landing in Jean's hands. Unfolding the paper, he reads the message.

"Your displays of Thu'um so far have been quite interesting. Since it seems you will be staying in the area for a bit, why don't you pay a visit to Skyborn Altar? The Dovah there will be a bit more challenging than Faraanfrinofaal and that way, you may still have the equal repertoire." Blinking, he stares at the letter. In the corner, it is signed with a very stylish 'F'. Or it may be a 'P'. "Huh."

"I think that's the most polite and low-key flex I've ever seen." Erin mutters with a shake of her head, "Divines, what sort of Thu'um bullfuckery are they running up there?"

"Thu'um is weird." Serana muses. "Anyway, since jarl talked about troubles with a dragon, there is a chance that's the one in question. Let's solve this murder mystery first."

Walking into the burned house the group spots the ghost of a child almost immediately.

"...Well, I suppose that'll make things simpler." Erin mutters quietly. It kinda helps when you can just ask the dead what the hell happened.

The child turns towards them, blinking as she hums quietly in the corner.

"Hello little one." Lydia speaks as she crouches in front of her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Helgi!" The ghost chirps before she puts a hand to her mouth. "Oh, but father says I shouldn't talk to strangers, sorry."

"I am not a stranger. I am Lydia, and me and my friends were asked to find out what happened."

"Hmmm… I suppose if Jarl told you… The smoke woke me up, so I hid. I was scared and cold, but now it's okay!"

"Anything else?"

"..." The child looks to the side before murmuring. "I… can't tell. Unless you beat me in hide and seek!"

"Really?" Lydia asks dryly.

"Yes! I can't speak much, unless it's after dark. But after dark, I am not here, so you will have to find me."

"Alright." Lydia nods, and the ghost disappears.

"So." Serana notes. "We went from fighting draugr and vampires to playing with ghost children. Not the direction I thought we would take."

"Welcome to adventuring." Lydia answers her. "Anyway, we've got some time to burn before it gets dark, so might as well see if the townsfolk have anything to say."

The townsfolk, as it turns out, don't have much to say, if they even deign to talk to them. Most of them scurry away when they notice the group approach, or give vague, non-committal answers. Or just comment on how Hroggar immediately moved in with a new woman. Eventually, they decide to question the man directly, crossing the town towards the mill on the other bank of the river.

The man hesitantly stops his work and walks to the side of the mill with them.

"I just try to focus on the work and not on… what happened." He says with a shrug. "Alva has been good, soothes the pain when it's too much."

"Any idea who might have burned your old house, at least?" Lydia asks.

"No. As I said, I try not to think about what happened. Easier that way."

Serana narrows her eyes and crosses the distance, her eyes flashing as she looks Hroggar in the eyes. "Enough platitudes. What do you know?"

The man stares empty eyed, before speaking in an empty voice. "Alva has me work like nothing happened, but whenever I am not at work, she wants me to stay at her home, to make sure no one walks into the basement. She doesn't tell me why, even if she spends the day there."

Serana harrumphs and steps back, snapping her fingers. Hroggar blinks again, clarity coming back to his eyes. "Come on, Lydia, we won't get anything more from him."

The taller woman just shakes her head. "Sorry for your time, we will be going." Once they are on the bridge connecting the mill to the rest of Morthal, far from prying eyes, she leans against the side of the bridge and sighs. "A vampire?"

"Almost definitely. Hypnosis is one of the more common abilities, and this one is at least subtler than most. He would keep repeating the same thing, just with different words, might even get irritable if we kept pressing."

"Still, not exactly something we can present to the Jarl as solid proof. We will need to do some breaking and entering." Lydia summarises.

"Leave it to me." Serana hums. "I can be less noticeable than the rest of you, and make sure no one finds it strange for me to ask about Alva's house."

Jean nods. "We will wait for you here, then."

The group watches Serana leave before they make themselves comfortable on the bridge, watching idly the citizens scurrying around. In the midday sun, the town looks normal. Quiet and peaceful, if a bit reclusive. After a bit over an hour, they spot Serana walking towards them.

"I must say" the vampiress comments idly "taking over entire town, even as removed from the rest of civilisation as Morthal is is an elaborate way of committing suicide."

"You have found our evidence then?" Jean asks, to which Serana procures a journal and a letter.

"Indeed. The journal has some incriminating stuff, mostly the location of the main lair, but the letter is the real goldmine. It contains the orders from Alva's sire."

"And she is…?" Lydia prods.

"Dead. She would've been executed by the Jarl or killed by her sire anyway, so she might at least die peacefully in her sleep."

"Well then. Let's just take this to the Jarl." Jean shakes his head.

---

"When I said you may investigate" Jarl Idgrod comments idly "I had expected it to take at least a full day before you came back, not a couple of hours."

"We have our ways." Jean shrugs. "Anyway, we have orders from a vampire lord on the paper, as well as the location of their lair."

The Jarl accepts the letter and skims its contents, her face growing more serious with each line. "I see." Looking up, she continues. "You have already proved yourself quick and decisive in our trouble, as well as proved your mettle against the vampires. May I hire you to help us deal with the problem permanently?"

The group looks at each other, before Jean nods. "You may consider it done."

"Mhm. I will keep this quiet until you return. It wouldn't do to cause panic, and a mob would only get slaughtered."

Nodding along the group leaves, making a stop at the inn to leave their travelling bags in the rented rooms before they follow the instructions from the journal into the swamps alongside a narrow, sneaking path meandering around treacherous waters. The air is full of the cries of insects, and at some point, they spot a colony of giant spiders in the distance. By the time they arrive at the entrance to the lair, the sun is setting down, casting long shadows.

Down the entrance, there are wooden stairs constructed into the web covered walls, with the sounds of a couple of giant spiders moving at the bottom. Serana leans down the rail and casts a fireball down the tunnel, the spell's explosion drowning out the sounds of the dying arachnids.

"Thank you for alerting the coven." Lydia states dryly. "I was worried this might not be a fair fight."

Serana shoots her a toothy smile. "This way, they have to come to us, and we get the advantage of the high ground. Now, start laying the runes." She finishes, addressing Jean and Erin.

She didn't need to say that twice.

---

The coven swarms into the pit within minutes, heavily armed thralls moving ahead of their undead masters, who glare at the group with burning red eyes as they shout orders. One of them, a woman with an elven sword in one hand, narrows her eyes as she looks on thin, red lines of Serana's runes covering the walls, partially hidden from sight by the spiderwebs. She points it to the other vampires, who sigh and settle for walking behind their thralls up the stairs.

Then, the foremost thrall, a large orc, steps into one of Erin's runes, the spell flashing bright before going off, seemingly without effect, instead triggering the next rune, which repeats the process with another one, and so on until all of Jean and Erin's runes are gone and Serana's spell glows in a bright, hot red before the vampiress snaps her fingers.

The group is forced to their knees as the explosion rocks the cave, the heated rock falling down the shaft, burying the vampire coven and burning each body the boulders touch. A cloud of dust and ashes kicks up high in the night sky as the cave entrance completely vanishes.

Coughing, Jean manages to let a Fus loose, the wave of force dispersing the cloud somewhat and letting the party see the results. The entrance is collapsed completely, blocked as it is by the red hot rocks releasing steam into the cold air. There is, of course, no sight of any of the vampires or their thralls.

"Well then… I suppose that's one way to deal with the coven. Would be nice to have definitive proof." Lydia comments.

"We can probably use the Wither shout to dust a way in." Erin supplies.

"I am game." Jean pipes in.

The two Dragonborn take a breath and Speak at the collapse, the combined wave easily turning the cracked stone into dust. There is also a scream behind the barricade and the flames illuminate enough of the other side the group can see another vampire dissolving rapidly under the effects of the Shout.

"Hm. Since he survived our trap, I am going to say this was our Master Vampire." Serana notes. "Lesser ones would have no chance of surviving the conflagration we set up."

"Still, we need to at least check. I would feel really stupid if someone survived just because we assumed." Lydia warns them.

The others shrug and humour her, carefully walking down the pit, Erin's frost breath putting down the fires. Deeper down, there is a cavern system, its walls covered in soot. The group walks through the tunnels with care, which appears to be unneeded, the flames of the explosion seemingly having burned away all bodies inside. There is a sleeping area, completely burned, as well as the main hall, with the stone throne and table surviving on account of its make, although the molten metal covering it says the cutlery fared little worse. There is also an additional chamber deeper in, which when investigated, reveals a room in a better state than the rest, with a chest in the corner being practically untouched. With an application of Transmutation and Serana's vampiric strength, the party deals with the lock to which the key was almost definitely on the body of a vampire lord.

Inside, there are mostly books and clothes, but on a closer inspection, Lydia spots a hidden compartment inside which there is a journal. Leafing through it, she shakes her head. Frowning she shakes her head.

"Well then… we've got a big name here. Movarth Pique." Getting questioning looks, she continues. "He was a legendary vampire hunter before suddenly dropping off the face of Tamriel… in the Second Era. People always assumed he just finally met his match, but this..." Shaking her head, she laughs. "We've managed to bypass a rather difficult battle, I would say."

Erin chuckles, "And that right there is why I prefer being a cheating mage rather than an honourable warrior. It saves so much trouble and lost limbs."

"That's the secret, Erin." Lydia shots back. "All the good adventurers invent their honourable combat after coming back from adventures."

Shaking their heads, the group makes their way towards the entrance of the cave, where they are met by the ghost of the little girl. She stomps her foot and puffs her cheeks as she spots them.

"You promised to play with me!" She accuses them, before sighing and giving them a smile. "Still… thank you. I will go now, mommy is waiting for me." With that, she vanishes into the night air.

"That went pretty well for a ghost lingering past death." Serana comments. "Mother once told me a story about a ghost of a child who, when tricked in a similar way, possessed a suit of ebony armour and attacked the man who promised to play as a payback before vanishing."

"Must be the lack of ebony armours in the area." Jean comments dryly.

Snorting, the group makes their way through the swamp back to Morthal, abusing mage light to illuminate the path. There is a commotion in the town square as Hroggar lies on the ground sobbing, some of the guards staring blankly into the distance as the townsfolk look unsure at them, Jarl Indgrod present as she speaks to the crowd. Then, she notices them and orders people to make way.

"We have heard an explosion in the marsh, before some of my guards, as well as Hroggar, suddenly broke down. Falion thinks something was controlling them, and whatever you did, broke that control."

"Aye." Jean nods. "We have confronted a vampire coven, led by an ancient lord. The method we used to deal with them destroyed the cavern they were using for their lair, but we managed to salvage the lord's journal."

The Jarl nods as the crowd erupts into hushed whispers. "Then, at least we are safe from that." Addressing everyone, she raises her voice. "Let's rest for tonight, for once unburdened with the fear of the night. Tomorrow, we can reward the brave adventurers who risked their lives to save Morthal!" The townsfolk roar approvingly, laughing and gossiping as they slowly disperse.

"Good job, my thane." Lydia says. "You have managed to tell the truth while leaving the juicy details up to imagination. We will make a bard out of you yet."

"Speaking of thanes, want to bet we're getting the title tossed at us for the second time in a week?" Erin says with a chuckle, shaking her head at the fucking jet-powered rollercoaster of an adventure they've been having ever since they handed in the Dragonstone.

"I want to say no, because we really aren't well known here, but the place is also smaller than the Whiterun." Jean comments. "I suppose we will see in the morning."

As they walk into the inn, Serana mouths to herself 'Thanes?'.

---

"Morthal is not a rich hold, as you have no doubt noticed." Jarl Indgrod announces to the party as they attend the morning audience. "Therefore, I can only offer you the title of thane, all four of you, as well as the plot of land in the delta of Karth and Hjaal rivers, at the coast of Sea of Ghosts. As well as services of Valdimar, a retired Imperial Battlemage." She gestures towards bald, aging Nord with a moustache clad in the suit of dwarven armour who nods at them respectfully. "However, seeing as the plot is empty, Alva's old house, now that her vampirism and machinations have been uncovered, is also yours to call your own."

"You… do realize we may not be around much, right?" Lydia asks once she manages to get her bearings together. Indgrod merely cracks a smile.

"Perhaps, but I will not have it said that I rewarded people who saved my hold inappropriately. In many holds the title is largely honorary anyway, so no one expects you to devote yourselves to this place."

If they were rewarding them like that now, Erin had to wonder what the reaction would be once they shanked the dragon up in Skyborn Altar. Either way, she was positively giddy now. A retired battlemage! He'd be able to teach her so many spells and dirty tricks!

"Right..." Lydia muttered, clearly unused to being on this side of the thane-housecarl relationship. "We… Well, we were planning to check that dragon that apparently has been giving you trouble, as well as visit a place called Skyborn Altar? "

"Mhm. Skyborn Altar is where the reports say the dragon has retreated. I do not know why you wanted to go there, but it's a lucky coincidence. The easiest way to get there is to travel through Labyrinthian, which in itself is somewhat tricky on account of frost trolls."

"Thank you for the warning, Jarl Indgrod." Lydia finishes, bowing awkwardly as the group walks away, Valdimar following them.

Once they are outside, he finally speaks. "So, dragon hunting, eh? I was expecting my old days to be quiet, but I suppose getting to fight a dragon before age does me in will be a decent wrap up."

"It quickly loses the lustre." Lydia comments as they walk through the town. "So, Imperial battlemage?"

The man nods. "Aye, I am from Morthal, but spend the best years in the legion. Back in the day, town was a little more receptive to magic, and I'd shown some talent, so I got sponsorship for the College from a court wizard. Then, the war with Dominion came and I decided to enlist." Once they pass the gates, he turns more serious. "More importantly, I must congratulate you, miss." He addresses Serana. "I've met a few vampires in my time that weren't monsters, and of them all, you are managing to hide the best."

Serana quirks her eyebrow. "If you are so good at spotting vampires, why didn't you notice there was something wrong with people? Or that one of the citizens got turned into one?"

He snorts. "Morthal is a small town, aye, but it's still a town. I cannot possibly know all the people in it and Alva worked a job that let her nor arouse suspicion with her schedule." Shrugging, he continues. "As for hypnosis? Aye, that I spotted, but couldn't bring it to attention without knowing who cast it. If we started blindly hunting, the culprit would just lay low. Without evidence of her culpability, one cannot be sure if the true culprit wasn't simply making Alva into a scapegoat. I don't know how you found out, but normally, vampire hunting in the cities is a tricky business."

"So to summarize." Jean speaks up. "You know Serana is a vampire and decided to talk because… "

"Well, it would be an awkward journey if you had to tiptoe around me. And believe me, I have heard my share of dumb excuses. That way, we are in the clear and don't need to hide anything."

"Makes sense. So, Labyrinthian. Anything you can tell us about the place?" Jean asks.

"It's an old temple complex of the dragon cult, so no wonder a dragon made itself at home at the mountaintop overseeing it. College sends the expeditions into it from time to time, but aside from clearing out the trolls from shitting around the surface, they come back empty handed. Apparently, there is some sort of enchantment laid on the underground complex that completely sucks magicka dry out of people. Probably done so only the Tongues could access deeper levels."

Erin visibly winces at the mere idea of an enchantment like that laid on an architectural scale. It'd be a fucking nightmare to try and wade through, even if all her enchanted gear and natural Altmer affinities managed to outpace the drain. She made a firm mental note to work on her Thu'um. She'd better turn it into a mainline tool than a holdout before she found herself between a rock and a hard place like that.

"Good thing we are not delving underground then." Jean comments.

"Not like you could, even if you wanted. The current Archmage locked the door and forgave any more excursions. Something must have seriously spooked him down there if he decided wrangling restless mages is preferable." Valdemar notes.

The group continues down the road south as the snow begins to fall. Fortunately, it is not an intense fall and there is no wind, so they can continue their journey unimpeded. Then, by the late afternoon, the air fills with the sound of the flapping wings, and a roar from within the woods. The group exchanges nervous looks before they abandon the road and push through the snow covered forest towards the noise.

"SLEN TIID VO!"

The forest shakes under the force of the Thu'um, and they can hear the ground explode ahead of them. For a moment, a shadow passes over them even as another roar answers, weaker, as if the dragon barely had any strength. Crossing the last metres by sprint, the group comes across the burial mound, completely unearthed as the skeleton of a dragon moves around, pacing as the muscles and scales burn themselves into existence around it.

"Well then." Jean muses. "Let's see what happens if you stop a resurrection mid way through."

Erin can't agree more, and subsequently goes for what seems like the most suited Shout to muck up a resurrection, "LIIV!"

The dragon tries to jump around at the sound of the Shout, however without complete muscles and wings, it can only trash around, the Withering Breath hitting it in the middle of its massive body. The energies of the two Shouts twist around the dragon's body, the entire sections disappearing into specks of dust only to reform in a flash as the beast freezes in space, even as the parts of the body not affected continue to reform. And yet, the dragon doesn't move an inch.

"I don't know what you did, lass, aside from that it's Thu'um." Valdimar notes grimly as he observes. "But this won't last forever, and if something doesn't tip the scales decisively in one direction or the other… well, let's just hope the result will only blow up this section of the forest."

"What's the worst estimate?" Lydia asks curiously.

"No expert on Thu'um, but if it's analogous to what would happen with spells of similar magnitude… well, Morthal might find itself on an island if it's lucky."

"Somehow" Jean notes dryly "I don't associate Morthal with having any luck. LIIV!"

The second Withering hits the dragon in the head, obliterating the skull completely. It also seems to tip the balance, as the swirling energies explode in a wave of harmless, relative to what else might have happened, force which pushes everyone into the snow and flattens the trees around. The skeleton falls back into the mound as the soul ends sucked into Jean, who just stares at the sky the entire time.

"Paaz vo..." Comes a whining mutter of the dragon, somehow. Jean decides not to question how it can say anything without mouth, or lungs. He assumes Thu'um bullshit.

"You forgot to mention you are a legendary dragonborn, my thane." Valdimar notes from where he lies buried in the snow.

"He and Erin, somehow." Lydia adds. "And honestly, would you believe it without seeing?"

"Fair enough. Anyway, it's getting dark. What do you say we make use of the bones to make the camp a bit more spacy?"

The rest of the group nods along and gets up, getting to work shuffling the surviving bones around and setting up cloth over them. Soon enough, they have a spacious tent over the majority of the mound, with fire roaring happily in the middle and the soup bubbling happily in a pot. Which is when a letter flies on the wind inside and lands on Jean's lap, who spent the time waiting for the dinner parsing through the dragon's soul in search of useful stuff. Erin getting full Frost Breath from her kill told him that the Shout acquisition was easier than in the game. Unfortunately, it seems that whomever the dragon was, it was pretty shit at Thu'um, relying mostly on speed and being granted Alduin's trust due to genuine loyalty instead of being defeated in a debate. Thus, with a sigh, he rips the knowledge of Fire Breath, feeling the soul of the dragon leave him. Sighing, he unfolds it, noting the calligraphy to be a little bit messier, as if the sender was shaking the entire time they were writing, and reads aloud.

"Marvellous, my friends, marvellous! There is not a single record of what happens when Alduin's Resurrection Call is interrupted, so for that, you have my thanks. It was a riveting spectacle to listen to, even if poor Faraanvokiir's luck seems to have stayed about the same. Still, just for the pleasure of allowing me to observe such a unique spectacle, I rate your quick thinking an excellent Nine, Ten if you intentionally picked a Shout of diametrically opposed nature."

"I did!" instantly pipes up Erin, mouth set into a wide grin. She has always been weak to honest praise.

"I do wonder who is sending us these letters. Their calligraphy is good enough I would assume a noble of some kind, but the only people who could possibly send such a message are the Greybeards." And while it's possible Paarthurnax dictates them, that still leaves the question of a scribe.

"Perhaps once you get around to responding to their call you will discover the answer." Lydia comments as she sips her soup.

"Harhar." Jean fake laughs before turning to Serana. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could teach us dovahzul. Shouting is all nice and good, but I would prefer any dragons we meet to stick to arrogant posturing instead of condescending patronizing."

"Sure." The vampiress agrees. "We will stick it somewhere between you getting your behind kicked by Lydia I suppose. Might make a good practice for slinging insults at the dragons mid fight. Anyway, the first rule of dovahzul is that there is no tense. Dragons don't really do time, so mortals have to divine that out of context… "

---

The group arrives at Labyrinthian as the sun rises to its highest point in the sky, illuminating the temple complex in its entirety, from large temples and entire stone housing blocks to grand arches and battlements, all of them in pristine condition, as if the place was simply abandoned the previous day instead of being an open air ruin standing for millennia.

"Behold, the Bromjuunar, the centre of Dragon Cult." Valdimar announces. "Nords have tried to tear its walls down for millennia, yet they still stand, as strong as mighty as in the days men rose against the dragons."

"You are enjoying this far more than I thought." Jean notes.

"I like history, actual history, not the folk tales and songs most Nords prefer. So even when I was learning how to melt a man's face off with my brain and keep guts from dissolving under the lighting bolts, I kept a few of the drier stuff on hand."

"Anyway, there are apparently a lot of trolls, so if you can bring your inner pyromaniac to the fore, I will appreciate it." Lydia announces from the back.

The travel through Labyrinthian is, despite what its name may imply, a relatively straightforward affair, something Jean feels was an intentional design. The group simply keeps walking upstairs, scaring off any trolls that emerge from the alleys and under the staircases with fire spells, the stench of burning troll prompting the group to move faster just to escape it. With Serana's help, they are even able to decipher signs in dovahzul which helpfully point them towards the path towards Skyborn Altar.

Climbing the great staircase carved into the side of the mountain, there is a roar from above, a thundering beat of the wings and a shadow which passes over them as the dragon sails over them and circles around Labyrinthian.

"Dovahkiin! Zu'u saraan fah un tinvaak!" It roars, its voice resounding through the mountains. "Drem yol lok! YOL TOOR SHUL!" Valdimar and Serana react immediately, surrounding the party with a shimmering ward as the flames swallow the mountainside, rising the heat within the bubble but otherwise the group remains unharmed.

"We should get to the top!" Lydia shouts. "We are sitting ducks here!"

"FO KRAH DIIN!" Erin lets loose, hoping to counter the onslaught of fire to let them do just that.

The frost shoots beyond the barrier, hissing as it melts against the flames but pushing the onslaught back.

"FUS!" Jean adds his bit, helping the torrent of cold push against the flames. The dragon passes over them and disappears beyond the mountainside as it no doubt circles around. The group takes the chance to run up the rest of the stairs.

"Pruzah! Onik wah krif ol gein!" The words echo through the mountains as Serana snorts. "Great, we have a dragon excited to see clever tricks."

"Less talking, more killing." Lydia shouts as she dives being one of the archways, loading the crossbow.

The dragon dives from the clouds. "FO KRAH DIIN!" It shouts as it spreads its wings, arresting its momentum over the Word Wall.

Jean takes a deep breath, feeling the air in his lungs heat. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He stands under Valdimar's ward, exhaling a torrent of fire to meet the frost, a cloud mist falling around the spot where he stands. He hears a faint twang of the crossbow loosening a bolt while Serana maintains her own ward with one hand while the other directs a stream of lighting at the dragon.

Erin, for her part, returns the favour from before, yelling out a "FUS!" to aid the stream of fire plus a couple of firebolts while she's at it. The flames surge upwards, licking at the dragon's snout before, with a flap of its wings, it changes position, the spells impacting the scales on its belly. The dragon simply roars on the wind as it turns around and dives for the altar around which the group scattered, fangs bared and claws of its hind legs stretched out to gouge them.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!"

Valdimar and Jean opt to dive to the sides in light of the dragon's desire to follow its shout with physical strike, the Shout instead turning the ground where they stood a moment ago into a patch of pure ice, at least a couple feet deep. The dragon flaps its wings and lifts up, abandoning its passage.

"YOL TOOR SHul!" Jean Shouts before coughing and stumbling, the torrent of fire instead ending a fireball which impacts the dragon in the back and causes it to cry.

"Dovahkiin, drem! Him Thu'um los goraan!" The dragon comments as it turns around. It hangs in the air, observing the altar with its eyes as it waits for Jean to catch his breath and stand back.

Erin's teeth click shut from where she was about to throw out a nasty Wither Breath with a side of lightning to cover for Jean. Instead, she tosses the dragon a grateful nod, even as she keeps her guard up all the same.

Noticing her look, the dragon laughs. "Haalvut pruzah ko tinvaak." Serana just shakes her head as she retreats behind a column, magicka swirling in her hands.

The moment Jean is back on his legs, the dragon dives to the ground, Serana looses the spell a moment before its body touches the ground, the swirling lines of runes searing into the ground and almost immediately exploding underneath it. It cries in surprise, but instead of flailing wildly, it spins in place, somewhat awkwardly, its tail toppling the column the vampiress is hiding behind while forcing others to duck and back off or risk being sent away by its body.

"LAAS YAH LUN!"

The party stumbles as they can feel the energy leave them, their bodies suddenly tired and brought down by their belongings. The Dragonborn grunt as they manage to stay on their legs.

The dragon stands on its hind legs, ignoring the bleeding, gaping wound on its chest, and speaks. "Zu'u Grahofanmindok. Daar tinvaak dovah nunon."

"I understand like, maybe two or three words of what you just said, besides introduction." Jean grunts. "So fuck you, Erin, let's give him brand new shouttery!"And if Wither didn't work, they were probably going to have a big problem on their hands. Inhaling, he notes that it's easier this time than after trying to chain it. "LIIV!"

Erin's brain kicks into high gear, blowing right through her (understandable) hesitation to get experimental with Thu'um combinations in the middle of combat. "KRAH!"

Grahofanmindok rears back in surprise as the shouts collide and twist together and hit him, the withering passage of time and biting, deadly cold fusing together, seeping into its scales, cracking the tissue and drying the blood. The dragon roars in pain as its entire torso is slowly eaten through, bloody pieces falling to the ground in dry chunks which fall apart on impact. Then, it's torso collapses on itself, decapitating the beast by the virtue of its head connecting to nothing.

For a moment, the body stills, before its soul swirls and is absorbed by Jean. With a groan, the non-Dragonborn party members manage to get back on their legs.

"Fucking Thu'um bullshit." Valdimar groans. "I really didn't want to experience what it feels like after seeing the Imperial Tongues in action."

"Well, at least Morthal will be getting a hefty influx of cash. That's a lot of dragonbone and scales to loot." Erin notes idly even as she finds herself a nice wall to lean against as her adrenaline crashes.

"Mhm… something tells me the value will soon plummet, so might as well get rich ahead of time." Serana mutters as she leans against the pillar. Groaning, she slowly slides to the ground. "It has been a long time since I felt actually tired. What do you say we just… camp here and wait until our bodies don't feel like shit anymore?"

"I can get behind that idea." Lydia answers, followed by the rest of the group.

After recovering somewhat, the party gets around to setting up a tent around the Wall while Lydia and Valdimar go down the slope to collect the firewood. The rest of the day, as well as evening, is spent with Serana tiredly drilling Erin and Jean in intricacies of Dovahzul, using the Wall as a prop. To her surprise, her students wrap their heads around the timeless structure rather easily, and pick the words faster than anticipated. 'More like they are remembering long forgotten stuff they already knew than learning something completely new.' in her words.

In the morning, they receive another letter flying on the wind.

"The first time he died, Grahofanmindok was slain by treachery in his sleep. He taught many dovah the way of Tinvaak and was respected if not for his power, then for his cleverness. It warms my heart to know this time, he not only could die the way he would prefer, but also defeated by the quick thinking and clever mix of Thu'um. Your lessons in dovahzul do not go unnoticed, so I hope once we meet, we will be able to converse in it without resorting to Tamrielic. For now, rest and prepare while I look for a suitable challenge for you."

---

They left Jarl Indgrod quite literally speechless when they informed her she would be getting two sources of dragon bone and one of dragon scales, meat and blood to sell as Morthal saw fit before resupplying and setting off on a journey back south. Following the rumours, they made their way through Cold Rock Pass, a natural cave road in the mountains separating Whiterun hold from the north, cleaning it of the group of frost trolls that took residence inside. Burning the bodies inside, as it turned out, was something of a mistake as the rest of the walk through the caverns was spent accompanied by the strong odour of burning troll, which clung to them even after a long pitstop to try and wash it off.

Coming down the slope, they have only a moment of notice before a ghostly arrow lodges itself into a tree.

"I am sorry!" Comes a wail from downhill. "I don't want this!"

Sighing, Lydia brings her shield up and looks down, ducking behind it as another arrow bounces off. "We've got a group of ghosts. There is some sort of tomb there, might be the source."

Valdimar frowns as he tosses the lightning bolt at the ghost, the spell dispersing the being. "Sounds like necromancy to me. The stereotypically asshole one. We will be doing everyone a favour removing them."

The group leaves the well tread path and carefully walks down the rocky hill, slinging lightning and fire at the ghosts, who express their thanks as the energies binding them are released under onslaught.

"Takes a special kind of sadistic bastard to keep souls bound like that." Erin mutters, mouth set in a disgusted grimace. The necromancy that she used- that most people used, really, was nothing more than bundles of magicka or low-end animalistic daedra puppeteering a corpse. Completely different than dragging a poor soul kicking and screaming from beyond the grave to do your dirty work.

"Aye lass, Necromancy is controversial no matter where in Tamriel you go, but this..." Valdimar shakes his head as they approach the entrance. "This is either an amoral experiment or someone is enjoying this." His tone of voice leaves no doubt about his opinion regarding the issue.

Inside, they disperse more ghosts under the magical onslaught. Behind the entrance, in the main chamber on the opposite side is another Word Wall, with a large chest just sitting in front of it, over the vine covered floor. The entire chamber is mossy and covered in plant life, in fact. Seeing the chest, Lydia stares, clearly unimpressed.

"This has a trap written all over it. There is absolutely no way there isn't some trick to this." Rolling her eyes, she approaches carefully, looking at the floor. "In fact, I will bet it's empty… Ah, a trapdoor, how original." Coming closer, the group can see a metal gate in the floor, alongside a long pit it is covering.

"Droll. Anyway, since we are before a word wall, does either of you want to practice before we finish our clean up?"

Jean hums as he steps around the trapdoor, the chanting coming from the wall suddenly making itself known. "Hmmm… Noble Nords remember these words of the... hoar father: Pray not for peace, for such is the wish of the weak and cowardly." He shakes as the 'peace' etches itself into his mind, Erin having the same reaction. The elf smiles as the possibilities with some of her other vocabulary make themselves apparent.

"Mhm. Takes me back. I don't think I have heard anyone swear by Hoarfather in a long time, not since you woke me up."

The group carefully backs away from the trap and goes into the side corridor, the spells making quick work of the further ghosts who seem to throw themselves at the party with reckless abandon. Eventually, they arrive at the chamber filled with cages, with a round one lacking the top and filled with water at the centre, being the obvious end point of the pit. The necromancer himself, a Nord with both sides of his head shaved, dagger in his left hand as the shambling corpses of the dead adventurers crowd at the entrance.

"Very smart!" He cries. "You are the first to not fall to my trap! What do you say, I let you go and we pretend it never happened? Eh? I will just… continue my experiment, yes, and you go home?"

Jean rolls his eyes at the blatant ass covering. There are a lot of zombies, however, and he can see the corridor on the opposite end of the room. Even a quick clean-up will let the moron flee. Until Serana catches him, but still. And hey, the new word, plus the ones they already learned gave him an idea for something more… original. No doubt, Erin had ideas as well.

Turning towards the elf, he speaks. "Do you want to deal with this moron, or should I?"

Erin chortles, but nods and steps forward all the same, "It'll make a good field-test." she comments offhandedly before taking a deep breath, the cold air in her lungs becoming something more as power pools and she Shouts, "DREM KRAH LIIV!"

The wave of force flows over the chamber, washing over the undead who promptly fall to the ground as if they were puppets with their strings cut, which is true enough. Then, it hits the necromancer, who is thrown against the wall, dead before he even hits the rock. And yet, he simply looks like he is asleep instead of instant dusting the Wither normally caused.

"Huh. I guess that's the end of our problems with undead." Lydia comments.

"And it doesn't wreck any potential loot." Erin cheered, her little magpie heart singing at the prospect.

Meanwhile, Valdimar rummages through the table in the corner, spotting a journal. Leafing through, he grimaces. "Aye, I was right. He was doing it literally just to get his jollies off. Ahhh… this is some fairy tale exaggeration bullshit."

"Let's just burn the bodies and put the ashes into urns. It is a tomb, so might as well use it for those poor bastards." Jean mutters, and the group nods along, gathering the bodies of adventurers in a single place before burning them. The necromancer, on the other hand, gets thrown outside the tomb, into the wilds, none of the Nords present having much concern for his afterlife. Then, they are off to continue their journey.

That evening, another letter floats down as they settle for the night off the road to Rorikstead.

"I had not anticipated you progressing so quickly, Dragonborn. Truly, your growth exceeds the most generous estimations. And your Thu'um… Ah, it has been so long since I have heard a new application of the Voice. I truly cannot wait until we can engage in a proper Tinvaak, I need to discuss peculiarities of your invention. Pruzah wundunne, and may our Father Akatosh ensure our meeting is sooner rather than later!"

---

After a couple more days on the road, the party finally arrives at the gates of Whiterun, where Serana walks in stunned silence, taking in the sights.

"Something the matter, Serana?" Jean asks worried.

"It's just… A lot has changed. Before I was sealed, the Nords were more racist. Definitely wouldn't allow so many Khajiit so close to their cities."

"Before you say anything more." Lydia interrupts her. "Most Nords are, in fact, still racist. My uncle simply managed to beat into his subjects that racism is not profitable."

Serana blinks, before chuckling. "Fair enough. The world is already crazy as it is."

The group makes their way to Dragonsreach to retrieve the keys to their new home, with Lydia staying behind to catch up with her family while the rest of the group returns to the Plains District.

The Breezehouse, or more accurately, the Breeze Manor, is located close to the gates, overseeing the main road of the city. The house is well furbished, and the party is greeted by a maid hired by Baalgruf to take care of the property until they finally decided to show up. The woman, young, with green eyes and platinum blonde hair cut short, isn't much broken over the time it took them to arrive, easily admitting she practically lives in the house, which is much more comfortable than her quarters at Dragonsreach.

"Eh, fair enough." Jean waves it off. "Not like we will be spending much time around. And it seems to be big enough that even with our party almost doubling in size, there are enough empty rooms for more people." Additionally, wasn't there an orphan or two wandering the streets? Might as well see if Erin is up for charity.

After claiming a room and changing out of his armour, he goes off to search for his fellow Dragonborn, eventually finding the elf in a room on the next floor, tucked into the corner as far away from the stairs as possible. Knocking on the door, he waits for response.

There's an audible grumble before the door opens a crack, just enough for the elf woman to literally poke out her head. There's a faint tinge of less-than-rational irritation in her face at being interrupted in settling down, but she's deliberately shoving it aside, "Ey, something come up?"

"Not much, at least nothing I have heard about. I just thought to myself, since we are unlikely to be around most of the time, what do you think of letting the maid live-in full time and let her house those orphans that we know roam the streets?"

Erin blinks, head tilting in a bird-like motion as she mulls it over for all of a second. She rolls her shoulders, "Sure, so long as nobody messes with my room beyond cleaning I'm perfectly happy housing other people." She'd just have to hope that the kids weren't the screechy sort. Her poor, poor ears were sensitive. Oh, well, if it came to it, she'd just see about learning Muffle.

Nodding, Jean steps back. "Great, I will notify the maid… which, now that I think about it, I forgot to get the name of. Anyway, see ya later."

"Later." Erin replies with a nod and a small pleased sound at the back of her throat, retreating back into her room to indulge in having a proper private space of her own. It was a small miracle that she hadn't gone twitchy from how long she'd gone without. Probably having pleasant company who knew the value of comfortable silence.

Coming down, Jean spots the maid in the kitchen, the woman looking up from the work as he approaches. "My thane, is there anything you need from me?"

"I have talked with Erin first, but we have decided that if you want, you can move in. Just use the same room as you have been so far."

The woman is stunned for a moment before smiling and bowing. "Thank you, it is very generous of you."

"Also, we've thought, if it's not too much trouble, we know there are some orphans roaming the streets. Neither of us are Nords, so we know how cold the nights, or even days, can get..."

"You wish to give shelter to them?" She asks, clearly stunned. "I mean, the temples tend to admit them for the night, but their rules forbid the priesthood from taking them to the living quarters, and the main halls are rarely warmer than outside, so it will be much appreciated."

Quirking an eyebrow, Jean asks. "The rules… forbid priests?"

She shakes her head. "People are gossips, my thane, and there have been… examples of less virtuous men and women following the Oblivion Crisis."

Grimacing, he raises his hand. "I get the picture, they are covering their bases until reputation recovers. If you feel you need the help with the workload, just give us notice and we will go over the options and hire some extra help. Also, no need to call us by title. At least in private." He turns around to leave, before stopping himself, feeling like slapping himself. "Also, I almost forgot again. What's your name again?" He asks with a weak smile.

"Nette, my forgetful thane." She replies with a small smile and returns to work while Jean goes back to his room to relax. Once there, he breathes a sigh of relief. That was way more direct interaction than he prefers. For weeks. He figures the only reason he isn't more snippy is because combat works wonders for stress relief.

That evening, Lydia returns stone faced, and with a long bundle under her arm. "We need to talk, in private." Is all she says before going to claim a room.

---

Spoiler: More dragon language to translate :v

Paaz vo - Unfair

Zu'u saraan fah un tinvaak - I (was) waiting for our debate/battle.

Drem yol lok - Greetings

Onik wah krif ol gein - Wise to fight as one.

Dovahkiin, drem! Him Thu'um los goraan - Patience, Dragonborn. Your Voice is young.

Haalvut pruzah ko tinvaak - It feels good to debate.

Zu'u Grahofanmindok. Daar tinvaak dovah nunon - I am Grahofanmindok. This battle/debate is for dragons only.

 

[Omida]

Chapter 9: Calling Oblivion to take its garbage back

They meet in the basement, while Nette goes to offer the orphans a place to stay at. The main room underground has a table in the centre, which is where Lydia puts her package. The rest waits patiently until she finishes unwrapping it, displaying a two handed nodachi, its black blade gleaming in the light of the lamp.

"This is" Lydia states grimly, "the Ebony Blade."

"Lass, I could hear the capitals." Valdimar sighs. "Are you telling me that this is the daedric artefact of the Prince of Secrets?"

"Unfortunately." The woman confirms. Anticipating the questions, she continues. "It has been sealed in a secret room under the Dragonsreach, my grandfather apparently hoped that they could simply prevent it from exerting influence on people."

"Clearly didn't work." Serana mutters. "So what happened?"

"My cousin, Nelkir, somehow stumbled upon the door. Mephala can't reclaim the blade, the safeties were at least that good, but she was content waiting until someone found the door and opened it. She has been whispering secrets into his ear to convince him."

"Somehow, I doubt having a literal child as her champion would satisfy her." Jean notes.

Shaking her head, Serana answers. "It doesn't matter. Ten years is nothing for a Prince. Besides, Ebony Blade feeds on betrayal. The child would grab the blade and would end dead before the day was over."

"Aye, it never stayed too long with any single wielder from what I remember. " Valdimar notes eying the blade with suspicion.

"So, what do we do about it?" Erin asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. The damn thing is apparently now on their laps and they have to decide how to deal with it. In all honesty, her gut instinct is to wrap it in as many protections as possible, then throw it to the bottom of the ocean. It'd eventually emerge again, but it'd be a good long while until that happens..

"The Vigilants had a ritual to banish daedric artefact's back to Oblivion, it even forced the damn things to stay there for a long while, but they are apparently gone?" Valdimar suggests.

"Their headquarters are gone, yes." Jean confirms.

"What about Beacon?" Seeing the confused looks, he elaborates. "It's an old fort south east of Riften. Where, precisely, it is, I have no idea, Vigilants have one of those more secret safe retreats in every province."

"So our options are to ask our former Vigilant friend and hope the Vigilants can throw the damn thing back at the owner or… dunno, chuck it at the bottom of Ilinata and hope no Argonians decide to take a dip?" Jean muses.

"No matter the decision, Mephala won't just stand by and let her artefact be removed from play for the next century. We will have a lot of surprises on our way." Serana notes.

"I thought you wanted to stay home and lay low?" Lydia asks.

Sighing, the vampire answers. "That plan, unfortunately, was thrown out of the window the moment Indgrod made me a thane. Better for me to remain on the move to keep father's men from making too big of a mess searching for me."

Shaking his head, Jean chuckles ruefully. "And here I hoped to unwind for a bit."

"We all did, but keeping this thing is just asking for a knife in the back." Lydia replies. "Well, the gates are probably closed for the night, so we will need to wait till the morning to move again."

"Nothing like the prospect of getting stabbed to get the dreams going." Jean comments dryly. "Not that we have much choice. Right, Lydia, you are keeping that thing for now, just lock the door to your room and maybe neither Nette nor the kids will stab you."

"Your concern for my well being is touching."

The next morning, after a rather nervous night where the group slept lightly, they pack supplies and depart Whiterun, to Nette's quiet amusement. The Ebony Blade, once more wrapped in cloth and protective charms provided by Farengar, rests on Lydia's back, bringing to Jean and Erin's minds the memory of Serana walking with the Elder Scroll pretty much exactly the same way. At least that problematic artefact had the grace to shrink enough to fit in the bag.

Fortunately, the journey is uneventful, boring even, and eventually, the party finds themselves once again in Ormund's rooms. The man shoots Serana a look, but doesn't comment.

"What's it this time, Lydia? Somehow, I doubt this is a social visit, you lot are way too paranoid for that." He eventually asks.

"We need directions to Stendarr's Beacon. It's important."

Quirking an eyebrow, he crosses his arms. "I would hope so, after the Hall has been destroyed I should not be sharing the knowledge of its location with anyone. So, tell me, what do you need from Vigilants that you don't seem to trust anyone else with?"

"Ebony Blade."

The man blinks, before hanging his head down. "Fuck. That'd do it. Alright, give me a map, I will mark the location. You will have to travel on foot, you don't want the damn thing near people for extended periods of time. Optimally, only one of you should be doing this, but those are dangerous times."

Looking at the map, Jean hums. "We could go through the mountains. With Helgen destroyed, there is bound to be less people on that route. After that, keeping to the main road should be enough."

"Mhm. Also, next time you come see me, it better be with a crate of mead, not daedric bullshit."

---

In the end, the party decides to take the route through the Jerall Mountains. There is a passage into the Rift east from Helgen, and with the town destroyed in the dragon attack, it is bound to be mostly empty. From there, they conclude, they can hug the roads going in the shadow of the mountain range in question without worry, as most settlements are to the north and east, with the centre of the southern Rift taken by the lake Honrich. The only real settlement on the way is the orc stronghold of Largashbur, and after their expulsion from the High Rock the Orsimer tended to be suspicious of non-orcs approaching their settlements. Oh, they respected the laws of whichever province they reside in and paid their taxes, but didn't really allow anyone they didn't trust in. Normally, the distrust would be something of a pain in the ass for the group, but in this case everyone agrees it saves on trouble.

Their journey through Whiterun is relatively uneventful, the guards and adventurers having managed to at least clear the roads between settlements to permit safe travel. Even so, despite the protections put by Farengar, Lydia keeps her guard whenever they approach other people. Once the group is well clear out of Riverwood, Jean slides next to her.

"Something wrong? You seem… jumpy."

The woman sighs. "I am… well. Technically. But Mephala, even with enchantments preventing her from acting through the blade, whispers to me. Constantly, incessantly. Whenever we pass someone, she whispers to me their ugly secrets, and I am sure she deliberately picks her words to make it sound as bad as possible."

Patting her on the shoulder, Jean gives her a smile. "She wants you to use the sword. Really wants it. Which means if we succeed, it's going to… well, it won't foil her, since daedric artefacts seem to have the ugly habit of eventually coming back to Tamriel, but it's going to inconvenience her for the next century or so."

The woman doesn't answer, merely gives a strained smile as they continue their journey. That evening, Lydia insists on sharing her watch with another person, just in case. Serana simply rolls her eyes and stays awake until it's Valdimar's turn to take watch.

A few days later, the walls of Helgen come into sight, the tower of the keep lays crumbled on the ground, some of the masonry having fallen far, far from the walls. Valdimar frowns as he sees the number of smoke trails rising above the city.

"Something is not right. The city was burned to the ground by the dragon, from what the stories say. Even so, the fires should have gone out long ago. The seasonal rains would see to that."

"Maybe some of the inhabitants returned?" Serana muses. The man frowns.

"Maybe. It's going to be dangerous for them, and they would be in danger of starvation, but it is possible."

The group approaches the half-open gates without any sign of being spotted. Giving each other an unsure look, they eventually decide to open the gate fully, with Lydia and Jean standing guard to make sure the current inhabitants are not hostile.

"They are bandits." Lydia mutters as she and Jean take position inside the city. "She told me." Jean nods, bringing the shield up as fire bolt's flames dance in his other hand.

Behind them, the gate groans and creaks as Serana pushes it open. The sound echoes through the silent city. For a moment, there is nothing, before the shouting reaches their ears. Lydia's eyes widen before she brings her shield up, Jean following suit. The arrows hit the edges of their shields before the two adjust their position.

"Heh. The troublemakers hid themselves in the ruined keep and upper floors, eh?" Valdimar muses as he walks without care, the glimmer of protective spells surrounding his form. "Well kiddos, let me and the vampire lady show you how easy magic makes cleaning fortified positions like that." Walking besides him, Serana rolls her eyes, casually sidestepping arrows aimed at her.

They cast in tandem, Serana's lightning dancing across the walls of the keep, flashing brighter as it burns the hidden archers. Meanwhile, Valdimar thrusts with pure kinetic force, collapsing the half-burnt buildings before the snap of his fingers ignites the ruins again. Together, they walk, the spells from whatever magically gifted bandits there are in the band occupying Helgen lightning up their wards with a bright white light before they retaliate, their own spells overwhelming the protective spells and annihilating the mages they hit. Lydia Jean and Erin walk right behind, careful but reduced to an audience as men and women pour out of the destroyed buildings.

"Well, that's anticlimactic." Jean mutters as the duo reaches the city centre, the plaza covered in boulders embedded deep into the ground and glinting with traces of metal. Most of the bandits disperse, running from the city or hiding in the buildings.

"Remember, we are embellishing a lot of stuff." Lydia mutters back. "Having an experienced mage in an adventuring group makes a lot of things easier."

"Impressive indeed." Comes a cheerful voice from their midst. Valdimar and Serana turn around, spells in their hands ready, before they blink. Looking to the source of voice, the group notices a shabby dog sitting between them, giving them a look.

"The dog… talked." Lydia states blankly.

"Come on, there are giant, flying lizards messing stuff all over the place and you are surprised by a talking dog? " It asks.

"Fair point." Lydia acquiesces.

"Is there anything you need, Lord Barbas?" Serana asks tensely, watching the dog with suspicion. The dog snorts.

"Oh ruin my fun, will ya? Anyway… I need a favour, and you lot seem to be competent enough to help."

"Don't take me wrong, Lord Barbas, but you and your master have a… reputation."

"Oh, it won't end like that." The dog argues. "You see, Vile might have… kicked me out, so to speak, got tired of me proposing alternate ways to go about his deals. So now, he gets to do it the way he wants."

"I am sensing a 'but' coming." Lydia comments dryly.

"Indeed, there is a 'but'. Maybe even an actual butt! You see, without me, his other half, he is weaker. Can't really work unless someone comes to his shrine."

Valdimar snorts as he thinks about it. "Right. And the bad thing about that is…?"

"Well, normally, you have some chance to actually get what you actually want. Without me? I will admit that Vile can be an asshole about the wishes, and he is like that full time now."

"Still..."

"How long, do you think, until he sows chaos by making people believe the price of the wish is doing his work for him? I know there is a rather desperate group seeking a cure for their condition at the shrine in Skyrim right now. What if he decides to tell them, for pure kicks and giggles, that the cure involves soul trapping healthy people?"

Valdimar grimaces. "Alright, alright, you have a point. Still, we are on the clock, so we might not have the time to do your little errand right now."

"Mephala's sword, right?" Taking in their surprise, Barbas barks happily. "I can smell her all over your package. Say, let's cut a deal. I may not be Clavicus himself, but I am still one half of Prince of Wishes. You go and seek Clavicus' out to learn what needs to be done for him to take me back, and in return, I will wait till dragging you there. Don't worry, the shrine is on your way so it won't even be a long detour."

"We were kinda hoping to finish an errand we got before the first of you butted in." Jean comments. "Is there any chance it can wait until we do that?"

Barbas thinks for a moment, scratching himself behind the ear. "Hmmm… High Hrothgar… I would rather not go inside, and don't fancy waiting in the snow outside… "

"You could always wait with the rest of us at the foot of the mountain." Lydia proposes. "Nine know you seem to insist on us doing this for you, and I doubt we will manage to lose you."

"Smart girl. But yes, I can wait for that pilgrimage of yours to conclude. I have waited long enough, a couple weeks won't make much difference."

"I would protest more strongly." Valdimar shakes his head. "But I would rather not have a Prince with a grudge."

The consensus reached, the group leaves Helgen behind with Barbas in tow, the half of a Daedric Prince perfectly happy to play the part of a normal dog. Jean suspects at least part of it is the daedra fucking with them, but he does sound like he genuinely enjoys it. The dog proves his value when he warns them of a hagraven camp on the cliff overseeing the road, allowing them to sneak past that particular part of the road by moving through the forest on the opposite side. From there, the journey is uneventful, even if Lydia seems to be distracted half the time, while having trouble with sleep the other half. Eventually, however, the group reaches the cave inside of which, as Barbas tells them, is the shrine of Clavicus Vile. Entering it, Serana sighs.

"I can smell blood. I think I can already tell who that mysterious group is and what they want from Vile." Rolling her shoulders, she takes down her hood and glances back at the group. "Just… let me talk to them first, alright? Let's see if they can be reasoned with."

"You just said they already butchered someone." Lydia comments dryly, drawing her sword. "I will let you try, however."

Letting Serana take point, the group descends into the cave, cleaning it out of the giant spiders hanging around the underground stream. The rest of the cave system is filled with bodies of bandits, some of whom are still alive in their cages, looking at the group with empty eyes.

Eventually, they reach a makeshift sleeping quarters, beds put against the walls of the snow covered cave. There is a pair of vampires hunched over the table who look up surprised when the group enters. Before they can react, Serana stands behind them, hands clasped on the backs of their necks.

"Now." She speaks calmly. "Before either of us does something they will regret, let's speak, okay?" The two vampires nod fearfully, trying to look back. "Good. I presume you and your coven are looking for Vile's help with cure?"

One of the vampires, a Reachman judging by the very skimpy armour, answers. "Y-yes. Uthred thought if we ask another Prince, well, they might be inclined. A-and Vile… well, he is known to make wishes come true, so we thought… "

"The part where he likes to twist those wishes somehow got forgotten?" Serana asks, and the pair can only stare blankly, earning them a sigh. "Look, me and my friends are on the errand for Vile… in a way. Just take us to the statue and after we finish our job, he may be more inclined to listen to you."

The man nods fearfully and actually sighs when Serana lets him go. He and his companion glance at the rest of the group until Serana coughs politely, making the two jump. Scurrying past them, the pair of vampires lead them deeper into the caves, where other members of the coven look in suspicion but allow the group to pass, some of them even following them from a distance, clearly curious, although some of them seem to focus on Lydia without even attempting to hide it. The woman simply tightens her hold on her sword but says nothing.

Eventually however, they reach the shrine of Clavicus Vile, which consist mainly of the giant statue dedicated to the Prince, depicted as charming youth with handsome features and muscular chest, generously bared by the slip of the robe. The statue's left hand is raised, holding a horned masque while the right hand rests in the air, as if a vital part of the statue below it has been removed. Under its feet, a large, redheaded Nord prays in silence.

He turns around as the group enters, standing up. "Leovic, why are those outsiders… here?" His voice is deep and rumbling, and the last word is almost hissed. Leovic, the Reachman, curls on himself, looking to the side.

Stepping to the front, Serana looks the man in the eyes. "I am Serana, a vampire of Volkihar. Me and my… companions, are on the pilgrimage and were requested by the servant of Lord Vile to stand before His visage."

The man's eyes widen in surprise, before he snorts. "Lies. Volkihars were slaughtered back in the Second Era when they tried to take over Skyrim. You may share our curse, girl, but don't add prestige to it by claiming the name of the extinct family."

"I don't take kindly to being called a liar. If you require proof of my lineage, however..." Serana answers lightly before her body erupts in a shower of gore, splattering the ground around her as her form twists and grows, a pair of wings breaking the skin and slowly unfurling, skin greying and claws growing. "Tell me..." Says the vampiress now easily towering over everyone in the cave. "Do you know of any other breed whose form is like mine?"

The other vampire falls to his knees, visibly shaking. "Forgive my insolence, Progenitor. I-if I may inquire about your purpose here…?"

"As I said, we were… contracted by the servant of the Vile. Meanwhile, I have heard of your reason, and I must ask. Really?"

The man, for his part, has the decency to look ashamed. "We considered other options, milady, but Clavicus Vile is the one most likely to provide us with what we seek. Hircine would simply make us into a different breed of monster, if he cared at all, Malakath really wouldn't care..."

Rolling her eyes, Serana returns to more human form, the clothes shrinking with her. "You simply didn't want responsibility. Vile would be done and gone if you paid the price, others would require a commitment from you."

"We never asked for this, milady, we turned to Daedra worship because there is no cure among the followers of Divines."

"And yet, for someone who 'never asked for this', you seem to have made yourself quite the decent living. You even keep your thralls alive to keep the blood flowing longer, instead of ripping them apart."

"They are bandits, from Helgen. There was something big happening there, so we thought we would take those who are outside the law instead of preying on innocents."

Rolling her eyes, Serana strolls towards the stature, gesturing for Barbas and the others to come with her. "Truly difficult choice. Anyway, Clavicus made a bargain that limits his influence and we are here to change that. Until then, I would refrain from making bargains."

"Oh come ooooon..." comes a whining voice. "I had a pretty good deal leading those morons by the nose. Really! A cure for Molag's little pet project, can you imagine?"

"Yes, Lord Vile." Serana mutters in a dry tone. "Really amusing."

"Indeed! I had hoped you would fight each other. That way, if they died, they would stop being vampires. There! Wish granted. But, I suppose, seeing them cover before Molag's squeeze was amusing enough to get me in the granting mood. So, mortals! What can ol' Clavicus Vile do for ya?"

Poor bastards really had no idea what they were getting into. Jean thinks to himself with morbid amusement as the faces of surrounding vampires somehow manage to pale even more, although none of them are brave enough to make a sound. Even Uthred remains still as a statue where he is kneeling.

Stepping forward, he looks at the statue directly in the face before pointing at Barbas. "We were hoping you would take your dog ba-... "

"Forget it. Request denied. No deal." Comes immediate response. "I am glad to be rid of that insufferable mongrel… Even if it means being stuck in this ass end of nowhere… in this pitiful, hidden shrine." For a moment, the Daedric Prince is silent, before hesitantly speaking again. "Weeeeellllll~... I suppose there may, possibly, perhaps, just be a way for the damn thing to earn its place at my side again. No promises though~."

"What's your demand then, Vile? Seriously, how can those morons trust that sort of name?" Jean mutters to himself the last part. Which, of course, is picked up by the Prince, who just snorts.

"I know, right? Anyway, there is an axe. Really powerful axe that I used for a deal in the past. If you bring it to me, I will have a lot of fun with it indeed. Bring it back here, and I will take the mutt in. No strings attached, no messy surprises, no fine print. If I recall correctly, the guy who I gave it to hides at Rimerock Burrow. Barbas can lead you there, he should do his portion of heavy lifting as well." With that, the statue falls silent.

"We fucked up." Uthred says eventually, earning himself a bitter laugh from Serana.

"You weren't the first to look for a cure. Many, many people tried and failed. Anyway, we will be going… but, I will give you one piece of advice, just in case you are well meaning victims." Serana waits until the man looks her in the face before continuing. "You don't need to feed on people. Any warm blooded being will suffice."

"But the thirst..."

"Molag Bal, as you might have noticed, is not exactly the most pleasant lord to serve."

The man hangs his head in silence, clearly deep in thought. Instead, Leovic speaks up. "T-there is an exit behind the statue. It leads right outside the entrance, just beyond the corner."

Serana nods. "Thank you. We cannot promise that we will be back soon, but I would still wait until we are back before making any more attempts. Who knows, he might be more amenable to present you with a solution once he is able to leave this place."

The secret passage is, indeed, where the vampire pointed, and leads the party to the well hidden cliff outside. Once they are out of the cave, Serana sighs and hunches over.

"You fine there, lass?" Valdimar asks from his spot. Serana nods as she breathes deeply.

"Yes… Just… It has been a long time since I took that form. It's unpleasant, and brings unpleasant memories back, especially coupled with Clavicus deciding to rip old trauma open."

Erin winces, remembering what is involved in making a woman a Daughter of Coldharbour. She very pointedly remains silent, because Divines know she's absolute dogshit at the whole comfort thing. Better to just shut her trap and avoid making things worse.

Jean sighs and looks at the cloudy sky. Really, there was no way to really approach the subject without coming as an asshat, was there? Best to just… quietly let Serana gather herself. Even the dog that is the supposedly better half of the Prince of Assholery is looking uncomfortable.

With the awkwardness hanging around them like a cloud of angry bees, the party carefully descends from the well hidden cliff and resumes their travel down the mountain. That night, everyone just shuffles off to sleep without much prompt.

---

Jean manages to wake up for his watch without much trouble. He has already noticed it became easy the past few weeks, probably from experience. Sighing, he crawls out of his bag, rolling his head and shoulders to get rid of the stiffness of the muscles. From the corner of his eye, he notices Lydia and Serana whispering to each other as they share a watch. He doesn't know what, but probably daedric trauma. Try as she might, Lydia slowly became more and more twitchy and pale, and he was too awkward to bring to attention, spending the majority of her sleep time twisting in her bag instead.

Shaking his head, he grabs his sword and approaches the pair who stop their talk as soon as they notice him. "Go to sleep you two." Serana quirks her eyebrow at him, to which he simply snorts. "Yes, you too. I doubt all this prancing around in the sun is pleasant to you so get some rest."

He watches the two slide into their bags before sighing and putting more wood into the fire and wrapping the cloak tighter around himself. Skyrim continued to be unbearably cold. There is a sound of the snow shuffling and he looks up, spotting Barbas walking towards the camp. He doesn't bother asking where the Daedra went. Instead, he waits until the dog lies before the fire before striking the conversation.

"So, tell me about that axe Clavicus wants back."

"Don't you already know?" The dog mutters, and he gives it an unimpressed look. It yawns before speaking. "Right. Well, it's one of Clavicus' little jokes. A mage by the name of Sebastian Lort had a daughter who worshipped Hircine. The Lord of the Hunt, as he often wants to do, gifted her with lycanthropy, which Sebastian didn't agree with. So he came to us and asked for a way to cure her. Clavicus gave him an axe."

"I thought you were supposed to be his conscience? Besides, for a contract it doesn't seem he had to pay anything."

Barbas looks at him with… some kind of look. "The price was his reaction. The axe absolutely has the power to cure a person of lycanthropy. In fact it should still have that one-use charge on it. All Sebastian had to do is to press the flat of the blade against the body of his daughter, right over the heart, and voila! Hircine's gift would be cleared from her."

"... So he thought Clavicus' response was to tell him to kill his daughter because it looked like a weapon?"

Barbas chuckles. "Indeed. Clavicus, as you might have noticed, prefers when the deal backfires on mortals that contact him. However, usually I manage to convince him that doing those little tests of character and watching mortals fail to grasp the lesson is more hilarious than just screwing them over immediately."

"This doesn't inspire my confidence in helping you." Jean sighs.

"Says the man who is deliberately planning to piss off Daedric Prince of Secrets." With that, Barbas lies down, seemingly immediately falling asleep. Jean sighs and shakes his head as he huddles under his cloak and retreats into the 'safety' of his mind to shake a dragon soul for its knowledge.

Grahofanmindok's soul awaits him in the centre of his being, curiously enough not as a dragon but a priest hidden behind a mask. The dragon looks up at him as he appears.

"Finally, I thought you would forget you absorbed me, Dovahkiin."

Jean just shrugs as he takes a sit on the chair that materializes out of nowhere. Probably weird mental plane stuff.

"A lot is happening, so it did slip my mind. Besides, unlike that unlucky bastard, you have a lot to check."

The dragon laughs, the sound distorted by the mask. "I suppose. The method of gaining power that you and your fellow Dragonborn use, it is not the most effective, but it's definitely quicker. Tell me then, what do you wish to learn? How to destroy your enemy by calling upon them the wrath of elements? Or perhaps you prefer to take life by your own hand and wish to make it easier by robbing them of their will to fight, strength to lift their arms against you? Or, perhaps, you will take something seemingly innocuous, designed to ease travel or hunt and combine it into something new with that brain the two of you are gifted with?"

Scratching his chin, Jean thinks about the question for a moment. "I don't think we really need more direct ways to kill. A bit of creativity with what we already have and mixing words should suffice."

"Good. Master what you have instead of spreading yourself thin. By making each word truly yours, you will find a great flexibility."

"I thought about taking that shout of yours that brought my friends down, but I don't think it will suit me. Especially since the enemies on whom I would prefer to use it probably won't be much inconvenienced by it."

The dragon chuckles. "Indeed. It is a rather poor counter to other dovah, especially ones as powerful as Al-du-in's closest lieutenants and my eldest brother himself."

"On the other hand, I would prefer to make sure my allies survive a battle. So perhaps something that would allow them to stand against the danger better?"

"Hmmm. An interesting proposal. Dovah are not, by nature, beings that wish to share the glory. A debate tends to be a personal affair. However, there are words that serve your purpose, yes. We, dovah, tended to use them to make our servants within Dragon Cult better in battle. I, unfortunately, never got to see the effects in a proper war, but know the words you seek."

Jean leans curiously forward. "Oh? I will trust you then. Go ahead."

Grahofanmindok inclines his head and speaks. "Then listen, Dovahkiin. The first is Mid, the loyalty, bond between allies, the trust and affection between those who plunge into danger together. The second is Vur, valour. Perseverance shackled towards accomplishment of one's goal. The great drive to push ahead regardless of danger. And finally, Shaan, to inspire. To become the presence whose very… presence, makes warriors fight all the harder, with greater courage, to push beyond the boundaries they set for themselves. Put them together, Mid-Vur-Shaan, become the beacon around which your allies bloom into legends, giants striding the battlefield without fear."

Jean nods with the explanation, but he cannot help but draw the other first word he had learned, to turn it around and insert into the words Grahofanmindok taught him. "A Shout that inspires people… Yeah, I can see that. But… I think I already know how to… invert it, for lack of a better word."

"Liiv is it not? It's amusing to think about it. I have known Nahagliiv in life, and would never take him to be one to come up with such an interestingly versatile word. I suppose he changed in death more than I did. Still, I look forward to how you utilize this Thu'um I offered you, Dovahkiin, and how you will use Nahagliiv's Thu'um to change it into something purely yours."

---

Eventually however, the group leaves behind the Jerall mountains, as much as they can with the outline of the range always on the horizon to the south. The Rift is as drastically different from the snowy roads and swamps of Hjaalmarch as they are from the vast, hilly plains of Whiterun. It's a heavily forested place, with sun filtering through red and golden leaves and casting the roads in a myriad of shades of light while the rays glitter in the waters of Lake Honrich. And this part of the Rift is sparsely populated as well, making it so there is barely any traffic on the road even after days of journey.

When they make camp on the bank of Treva river directly opposite of an old, crumbling fort, Jean walks into the woods to gather the kindling for the fire when a fallen branch snaps under someone's foot. He has enough time to see hooded, masked black and red armour before the unknown person tackles him to the ground, the redhead hissing as he barely manages to avoid a hit to the head. There is a flash of dark metal and he instinctively lashes out, grabbing the assailant's wrists before the blade can plunge into him. For a moment, he strains himself to keep the assassin from simply pushing the blade in with his weight, before an idea comes.

Headbutting the assassin to give himself space, he takes breath and whispers in his face. "Liiv Vur." The Thu'um hits without fail, at this distance impossible to dodge. The assassin jerks back as if struck by the hammer and Jean takes advantage of the chance to push him off of himself. Jumping to his feet he draws his sword, only to hesitate at the sight of his would-be killer curled into a ball on the ground, whimpering into the ground. Sighing, he hits the man with the pommel of the sword, cutting the cries short. Then, he grabs the assassin by the ankles and drags him back to the camp.

Lydia sees him and his quarry first, and after a moment to stare, she finally snorts. "I see I am not the only one getting distracted. This looks more like Serana's dinner than wood, Jean."

"Har har. Give me the rope. Dark Brotherhood assassins aren't exactly known for taking casual strolls through the woods, so this fuck is here on purpose."

She does and soon, the assassin is bound to a tree while fire is roaring. The group manages to finish their dinner and the sun hides behind the horizon by the time the assassin wakes up with a groan before tensing, the ropes straining as he tries to wiggle out of them.

"Welcome back to the land of living, although I suppose given just how much you fucked up your hit, you would prefer not to wake." Valdimar notes. "Mind telling us why you stroll through the woods trying to put daggers in innocent adventurers."

"I got five septims riding on it being because of Jean's little drunk speech in Markath!" Erin pipes up all too cheerfully. What's less cheerful is the snarling daedra hound by her side who was picking up on the murderous undercurrent beneath its mistress' forced cheer. She didn't take kindly to suicidal dipshits thinking shanking her friends would be a good lark.

"That seems… petty." Serana muses, to which Valdimar just snorts.

"Brotherhood had been one of the most fearsome organisations in Tamriel, some of the deadliest, most effective assassins in existence. Had been. The last century or so was not their time, they got hunted down and butchered in all of their hiding holes. At this point, they must be so weak they would even consider some drunken moron shouting that he is a member for an insult worthy of cleansing in blood. Isn't that right, stabby boy?" The last part is addressed to the assassin, each word dripping with mockery.

The Brotherhood assassin remains silent, but from the way he tries to look away, it's clear the words have a rather large degree of truth to them. Sighing, Jean speaks up.

"Anyway, we need to figure what to do with him. We are not leaving him alive, no, but how is the question. I… find it hard to just execute him like that. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"I mean, if Serana's up for it, we can just make him spill out info until nobody has any qualms about turning him into a smear." Erin supplies with a careless shrug. "Let's face it, if the guy would take a job like this, Divines know what sort of horrid shit he's done before."

"If he got got by Jean, and because of such a rookie mistake like a branch snapping under his foot, he is obviously not high in the hierarchy, and thus couldn't get a good job." Lydia comments dryly.

"The vote of confidence in my ability to fend off an assassin is appreciated." Jean notes with equal dryness. "Still, it's up to you, Serana?"

The vampiress hums as she thinks about it. "I doubt we will get much out of him, buuuut, I suppose knowing their hideout and numbers would be useful. And I will be able to fully suppress that damnable thirst afterwards."

With that, she stands gracefully and walks over to the assassin, forcing him to look her in the eyes before his own eyes become glazed over. The man speaks in an even, dull tone of the last sanctuary of the Brotherhood, hidden in the caverns not far from Falkreath, hidden behind the doors enchanted to open only to those with the password, and the password itself. He describes the remaining members, a small group, the last survivors of the proud, fearsome organisation. He speaks of their leader, Astrid, and her werewolf husband. Then, about an elder mage and a Dunmer woman. A Redguard male and a former Shadowscale. And a vampire forever frozen in the body of a child, using it to her advantage to evade capture.

Then, he describes his track record, which is not much, as Lydia has guessed. Sent to solve a case of 'marital disagreement', or to make a daughter of a powerful noble reconsider her dating prospects, a couple of assassinations of people inconvenient for Maven Black Briar. Nothing truly outstanding, just nice, well paying but discreet affairs. Nothing so grandiose as to bring the Brotherhood into people's nightmares. Still, the information provided is enough of a treasure trove. Serana takes the assassin with herself into the woods, and some time later, comes alone, not a spot of blood on her skin or clothes.

---

The next day, by the afternoon, the fortress of Largashbur comes into sight, off the road, surrounded by the palisade wall. And currently attacked by the pair of giants. The party stares at the sights, especially as the orcs, unusually enough for them, seem to hide behind their walls, shooting the giants to little effect, only a sheen of magic covering the wooden wall telling as to how the giants haven't broken through just yet.

"Do… do we want to get involved?" Jean asks warily as he watches a boulder the size of a horse gets sent into the sky with a swing of a club, with no sign of it coming back down.

"Not when we're lugging around the backstabbing stick, we don't." Erin counters firmly. They'd been keeping clear of people for a good reason.

"Right, that. Well then… they don't seem to be in actual danger, I suppose?" As he speaks, one of the giants topples over, appearing dead to the roar of fury from its companion.

---

Two days after passing Largashbur, the party arrives at the vast farm estate of the wealthy Snow-Shod clan of Riften, which currently seems to be busy burning to the ground.

"Huh, so… is that aggressive business competition or…?" Jean asks a guard stationed by the road. The man looks at him in silence for a moment before answering.

"A dragon. Flew down the mountain two days ago and took some livestock. Lord Vulwulf sent for mercenaries from Riften in case the beast came back, after the news that Stormcloaks managed to bring a beast attacking Windhelm down emboldened folks."

"I guess that plan didn't work out that well." Serana muses as she watches the thick clouds of smoke rising from all over the estate.

"No, it did not. The dragon decided to see the armed warriors as a reason to escalate. It came from the old overlook in the Jerall Mountains." He motions almost directly to the south, where there is no well made road.

"Fuck, We are going that way." Jean curses as realisation settles in. The guard hums before speaking.

"Anyway, that will be thirty septims."

The party double takes, before Valdimar speaks. "Whatever for?"

"Information and the tax for trespassing on the Snow-Shod lands." He replies confidently, only to shrink under the party's collective unimpressed stares. Eventually, Lydia speaks up.

"Or, and hear me out on this. We go our way and you get to keep your teeth where they should be. Or I just find Vulwulf Snow-Shod and tell him how Rift's guards run off the only adventuring party with an actual track record of bringing the dragons down."

Erin, for her part, all too happily turns to face the fire, breathing in nice and deep before Shouting, "FO KRAH DIIN!"

The wave of cold spreads over the fields like a thin, misty blanket, snuffing the fires out and covering the surviving plant life in a sparkling sheet of hoarfrost. The guard is left gaping, the party eventually just walking past him.

"Show off." Jean mutters. "Though I suppose if we need something in Riften, we may have someone inclined to smooth things over."

Valdimar just snorts. "Without getting that Snow-Shod guy's promise of reward first? Forget it. Riften is The corrupt city. He will pretend he doesn't know you unless you do him another favour."

"Speaking from experience?" Serana asks.

"What happens in Riften should stay in Riften." Is all the man says to everyone's quiet or not so quiet amusement.

The walk through the forest ends surprisingly uneventfully, despite hearing the howl of the wolves a couple of times, as well as managing to chance upon a sleeping bear. The hardest part of getting to the part of the mountain range in question is the previously mentioned lack of roads and an abundance of cliffs and slopes slowly elevating the area. Eventually however, they arrive at the foot of another stone staircase with the recognisable stone arcs usually signifying the Dragon Cult's temples adorning the approach. There is also, quite notably, an actual, well trodden path leading from the bottom of the stairs through the forest.

"He wanted thirty septims for the wrong information." Jean states blandly. "I have half a mind to find that guard again and actually punch his teeth out."

Valdimar chortles from the side. "Told you so, lad! In Riften, everyone will try to scam you just because they can."

"Lovely place." Erin grouses with a rueful shake of her head.

"Welcome to Riften, the single most corrupt city in Skyrim, although it edges out over Markarth only because it's not racist in regards to whom it is willing to screw out of money."

"Ironic, considering whom they sided with." Jean comments.

Further conversation is shelved as the group slowly makes their way up the stairs, with Valdimar opening the line in case they needed a quick ward from dragon's attack, a precaution which proves necessary when the man passes another stone arc and barely notices a flash of brilliant azure light before the soul gem put at the pedestal fires a ball of condensed ice at him. The man raises a ward without trouble before backing down behind the arc.

"I hate spellcasting traps." Lydia mutters after he finishes describing the contraption. "At least this one seems to be easy to dislodge."

"Got experience with them, lass?"

"Dwemer ruins are full of either them or their weird mechanisms. Some tombs built for notable mages tend to have them too. First time I have heard of one built in the open. Even with narrowing its targeting range to a cone, there are way too many animals that could trigger it to make it viable. At least this design is easy to disarm, we just need to drop the gem out of its stand."

"I would question how it didn't get disarmed by the wind, or storm, but I am going to assume magic." Jean sighs. "Right, Valdimar, you ward, I will shout it off."

"Let's just hope it won't alert the dragon so we can get a surprise attack off." Lydia muses.

Jean shoots her a dirty look. "If it does, I am blaming you."

Valdimar simply shakes his head and casts the rippling, translucent ward in front of him and waits until Jean falls right behind him before moving forward again. The trap flashes and spits a cloud of frost which washes over the ward, coating the mountainside with ice. Jean steps to Valdimar's side, and with a quick 'FUS' sends a wave of force which throws the gem, and the pillar it rests on, hurtling down. For a moment, things are silent before a roar comes from higher up. The party dashes up the stairs, haphazardly covering themselves with wards just in case the dragon chooses to fly by and attack them. On their way, a shadow of the beast passes over them.

"FUS!" It roars, with a voice which resembles the avalanche, the air shaking as the party's ears ring from the sheer volume. "RO DAH!"

They barely manage to dash off the stairs when the Shout crashes into the side of the mountain, disintegrating the stairs and digging deep into the rock, sending boulders flying in all directions. Cursing, the party keeps running as the stones fall around them.

"Nowhere to run, mortals!" Comes the mocking voice. Jean and Erin somewhat manage to grasp the meaning. "With each of you worms coming, my domain becomes deadlier and deadlier to you!"

Chortling as he dives behind a particularly large boulder, Jean shouts back. "Fuck you and thanks for cover, lizard with a brain of hare!"

"You dare?! I will make your death long and painful, mortal, that I swear on my name!"

"Would be more intimidating if I knew it, snake with wings!"

"It's Venahnikriin, mortal! Remember it well! It will be the last thing you hear before you reach Sovngarde!"

Guffawing, Jean hugs the boulder. "How… how am I… how am I supposed to find Swooping Cowardly Hunter intimidating?"

Serana clicks her tongue. "Current Hunter, not Swooping, but I suppose it's a close enough translation." She admits with mirth in her voice.

Any further banter is drowned out in the deafening roar of flames as the dragon covers the overlook with wide spread flames, although the boulders its Unrelenting Force rained down on it do make for an excellent cover.

"DREM KRAH LIIV!" Comes the Shout from Erin, having bid her time while Jean ran his mouth to line up the perfect shot.

Focused as he is on Jean, Venahnikriin doesn't notice Erin peering out from the side, having only a moment to realise his mistake before the Shout hits him. It roars in surprise as his wings miss a beat and he stumbles in the air, before falling to the ground with an (admittedly thunderous) whimper, further crying out as the boulders dig into his body. Still, unlike undead or a crazed necromancer, Venahnikriin is a dragon, and although fallen from the sky, he is stunned instead of comatose or dead. Which is still not an ideal situation when surrounded by people proficient in dragon slaying. Shaking its head, the dragon tries to groggily stand up and shake the stupor.

"LIIV VUR!" He adds his barely put together shout. The dragon is hit by it and slumps down, barely even fighting the effect of two shouts anymore.

A small part of Erin notes a small tinge of pity towards the poor dragon, then she remembers its boasts and intention of turning people into soul gem traps and it snuffs out. Well, with the dragon knocked for a loop like this, she may as well field-test a Shout combination she'd been toying with, "DIIN FUS!"

The Shout hits the barely awake dragon with a crack of force, washing over its body and causing its scales to break and crack apart, bursting from its rupturing body. Venahnikriin cries in pain, but even as his body breaks apart, he can barely muster enough force to move and even the roar is weak and quiet, more a whimper than anything else. And yet, even bleeding from innumerable cuts, its body pierced by the rocks, he still lives, barely clinging to life.

"I… cannot… not… this… soon..." Whatever else he might say is cut short when Lydia approaches his head and puts her sword through an eye, piercing the brain, finally finishing off the dragon. She lets go of the blade and steps back as the dragon's soul swirls and is absorbed by Erin.

"So, a big scaly coward, eh?" Valdimar grunts as he stands up and looks around the overlook. "And here I would think a dragon hated by Nocturnal with how shit his luck was would be the weirdest."

"People can be real weirdos, so why not dragons?" Jean shrugs and looks around the overlook. There are cages under the Wall, with burnt corpses sitting in them, as well as an altar with another burnt beyond recognition body slumping over it. "And it seems like the place was used by some asshole before the dragon added his own brand to the mix."

Cracking his neck, the redhead approaches the Wall, ignoring the ghostly chanting. "Here lies the body of Bard Romerius who tried to run from some Goblins but slipped." Shaking his head to clear his vision as another word burns itself in, he sighs. "I have questions. I have heard bards used to be hot shit in ancient Nordic culture, but this reads like shitpost."

Snorting, Serana rereads the writing. "Considering the lack of any grave, we can safely assume whomever commissioned the wall found the fate of poor Romerius absolutely hilarious and needed the following generations to know."

"What I do wonder if who or what sees about cramming random words in walls like these with Thu'um bullshit so dragonborns can pick up words of power." Erin muses.

"Something to ask the Greybeards about, I suppose." Jean shakes his head. "Right let's burn the bodies properly, even the asshole's and bury them so we can make a camp for the night. Then we can be off to Beacon."

Lydia nods. "What about reporting the dead dragon?"

"Somehow, I am not inclined to make Riften richer, but I suppose we can swing by Snow-Shod's with a scale or two as a proof on our way back to earn ourselves that favour."

With that, the group sets around the cleaning of the overlook, with Jean and Lydia putting the bodies together before the dragonborn burns them with Fire Breath, the ashes scattering to the wind.

"When I was a little girl." Lydia mutters. "I have had dreams of felling giant monsters and sleeping under their furs. I would have never guessed they would come true… after a fashion. Not much fur on a dragon." She sighs, leaning against the Wall before grimacing. "Gods, I can't wait until we throw that sword into Oblivion."

Jean blinks as he gives her a closer look. She is pale, he notes, almost as paler as Serana, and there are bags under her eyes. "Is anything… well, maybe not alright, given things, but are you fine?"

The woman is silent for a moment before Serana coughs quietly and she sighs. "I… don't know. Can we talk, Jean, Erin? In private?" She adds, motioning towards the hole in the mountain left by the dragon's breath.

Something in the back of Erin's brain made a noise of distress, instantly connecting the dots between the whole Prince of Secrets thing and their own circumstances. Oh boi.

Even so, she nods and follows along. The three of them walk towards the crater in the mountain, Lydia stopping just over the edge before turning around.

"I have already told you, but I think it bears repeating. Ever since I took the Ebony Blade from my uncle's vault, Mephala has been whispering to me, especially once we have decided to dispose of the sword." Grimacing, she continues. "And the worst part? Mephala doesn't lie. Never. Use the words that paint the situation to her favour? Yes. Those past weeks have been hell, with her whispering every dirty secret and ugly truth she could to make me reconsider disposing the blade. Even offered to adjust its dimensions." She laughs mirthlessly. "But when she noticed it didn't work, she brought out the big secrets. I think. She told me the two of you are not… " Frowning, she pauses, looking for the correct words. "That you are not from Nirn, that as far as you are concerned, this all is a lucid dream where everyone and everything is just a… ballad, playing out for your amusement."

Erin sighs, dragging a hand through her face and muttering some less than polite words in catalonian about Mephala before levelling a look at Lydia, "There were stories about this place back home, aye, but it is a bit hard not to treat it as real when Akatosh himself snags your freshly deceased rear, gives you the choice of a few boons to help the heroing along and chucks you into Skyrim."

Sighing, Jean looks to the sky before turning his gaze to Lydia. "Erin has a point. Sure, it has felt a bit like a bored daedra dragging a poor fuck into a realm of Oblivion styled after a book he happened to read frequently and see what the mortal does, but… Well, it doesn't make Nirn any less real just because someone who recognises stuff from their favourite book got thrown at it… I don't know if that makes it any better." He finishes lamely.

Lydia stares at the two of them, before breaking into a fit of giggles. "Pffft… You two… You two are… the worst people… at consoling someone I have… ever heard of… Bahahaha!"

"I am glad our social dysfunctionality is amusing to you." Jean deadpans.

"We got about as good a bedside manner as a constipated dragon, this is known." Erin throws in with her best deadpan, eyes shining with amusement and relief at having managed to thoroughly gut the tension in the air.

"Pfft… I… I am sorry, m-my thanes… pffft… I get what you are trying to say." She takes a breath, before stifling another round of laughter. Pausing for a series of deep breathes, she finally recovers her cool. "Still… Thank you. I let Mephala get to me, despite knowing what she is about."

"I would probably be more surprised if you hadn't so much as considered using that sword on your back even once." Jean admits. "I am sure Mephala did everything in her power to sell you on the idea, starting with any of its 'cool powers' before trying to break you with the horrible truth."

Lydia looks him in the eyes, her own twinkling with amusement. "The only horrible thing about this truth is how bad you are at explaining it. Still. Really, no daedric meddling back where you come from?" She asks incredulously.

"Surprisingly enough." Jean admits. "Even if sometimes one wonders if they aren't just subtler about it."

Shaking her head, Lydia walks back towards the camp. "Let's just go to sleep. I will be so glad when we finally throw Mephala her sword back."

---

The tower of Stendarr's Beacon is a small watch tower located atop the mountain south of Dayspring Canyon and it's a small, unassuming stone building, with only a pair of banners hanging from the sides of the door to identify it as belonging to the Vigilants. With Serana, Erin and Barbas remaining at the foot of the mountain, Lydia, Jean and Valdimar are the ones to approach. The Vigilant at the top of the watchtower observes their approach with crossbow in hand before ringing a small bell, which causes the door to open and a group of Vigilants to walk out, hands resting on handles to weapons.

"Hold, outsiders! This is a secret ground of Stendarr, how did you learn of its existence?!" Shouts the one at the top of the tower.

Jean resists the urge to roll his eyes. The paranoia is, after all, somewhat justified. "One of your ex members, a man named Ormund told us about this place when we brought a dangerous Daedric artifact to him for disposal!"

The Vigilant whispers amongst themselves hurriedly, before a female voice rings out. "Jean, is that you? I thought you and your Altmer friend were doing errands for Jarl! Stand down, brothers and sisters, I know this man!"

Jean blinks before he recognises the voice. "Elle! Are Bete and Harold with you?"

The Vigilants relax, though they give Lydia looks, clearly believing in the Daedric Artifact story, but give the group some space and invite them inside the tower. While small, there is a ladder underground, which turns out to be a large, natural cave system, explaining how so many of them fit in the small building.

Elle shakes her head. "Bete was here, before going to Morrowind. She lost an arm in a fight against some sort of living statue commanded by a vampire." Then, she grimaces. "Harald wasn't as lucky, the bloodsucker tore him apart."

Jean winces as he pats the woman. "My condolences." Speaking louder as they walk through the cave, he continues. "Anyway, Lydia found out one of the previous Jarls of Whiterun and their court wizard found the Ebony Blade and locked it under Dragonsreach, and slapped a lot of suppressing magic around the room. Worked pretty well, until a child found the door and Mephala started whispering to the poor brat. Lydia managed to convince the Jarl to move the sword before something bad happened."

One of the Vigilants winces as his imagination lets him substitute 'something' for a more concrete scenario. "Mephala… Aye, still, an impressive feat. We have kept an ear to the ground regarding Daedric Artefacts just so we can banish them right back to Oblivion when they reappear, but couldn't find even a trace of Ebony Blade. Some of us were getting worried. I suppose headquarters in other provinces will find it reassuring we could finally free Tamriel from the Treacherous Sword for a century or two." Arriving at the altar underneath a statue of Stendarr, the Vigilant motions for Lydia. "Please, put the Blade on the altar and unwrap it. Then, we will start the rite to call upon God of Mercy to throw it into Oblivion."

Lydia nods and does as she is told, exposing the gleaming metal of the Blade to the light of the torches. Some of the Vigilants back down from mere sight of the weapon, while others give Lydia suspicious glances before Elle and the man who leads the group cough.

"It's a beautiful sword, I can admit so much. No wonder men and mer killed each other over it, fuelling Prince of Secret's hold over their souls. Now, my siblings in Stendarr's guiding light, let us proceed."

The Vigilants surround the altar and begin their prayers, the cave slowly brightening as the statue begins to glow with an otherworldly, soft light, which itself causes Ebony Blade to hiss and its image to twist and ripple. Then, the cave fills with the furious whispers in a myriad of languages, causing everyone's eyes to widen as some of the words are recognised and some strike deep. The Vigilants' prayers speed up, even as some of them stumble under the furious whispers.

Then, a pair of them at the back cry and reach for their weapons, eyes crazed. Lydia and Jean swear and dive at them, tackling them to the ground, barely managing to keep them from drawing their weapons. Another, to the far left lets loose a spike of ice with a maddened laugh, goring the leading Vigilant. The unfortunate man chokes on his blood and stumbles, but keeps on praying, even as Valdimar slams the wave of telekinetic force into the madman. Jean and Lydia manage to knock the struggling Vigilants out, standing up as the ritual reaches its peak, the light emanating from the statue basking the cave and blinding everyone.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ends, with a thunderous crack as the space occupied by Ebony Blade twists and turns before imploding. With a groan, the Vigilant leading the ritual collapses to the ground into the puddle of his own blood, the others rushing towards him.

"Heh… Tell your court wizard he did a solid job… Mephala was desperate… She must have had a lot of plots in mind for Skyrim that involved the Blade." Grimacing as his breath gets shallower, he continues weakly. "Don't… hold the action of your brothers and sisters against them… they stood against the most insidious of daedra backed into a corner… " Then, he breathes out and his eyes close.

Elle shakes her head in silence and approaches the group. "We have always known our vigil is dangerous, but we stood against Daedric Prince today, and thanks to you, we not only succeeded but our losses were small."

Jean shakes his head. "Don't mention it. We couldn't just… let it happen."

Snorting, Elle continues. "You would be surprised. Come with me, I know you didn't expect any reward for this, but I doubt anyone would disagree with me on giving you something." Leading the trio to the small library, she looks through the shelves, before picking a tome. "Here. Stendarr's Aura. It will shield you from the undead and weaken the daedra touched by its rays. The undead tend to explode." She adds with a weak smile.

Lydia sighs and facepalms as Jean cheers up. "You have no idea just how much on-brand for me and Erin this thing will be." He carefully chooses not to think if the spell would backfire if cast by a vampire.

Elle just shakes her head. "I would love to give you more, but most of our enchanted weapons were at the Hall, and spells that aren't Aura cannot be shared with anyone outside the order. Even Aura is pushing it. Anyway, I am sure there is a good reason Erin didn't come with you, so give her my well wishes."

"Will do."

 

[Omida]

The trio walk down the mountain just as another letter flies down towards the group on the wind. This time, it lands in Erin's hands.

"Excellent application of what you have learned so far to come up with intriguing new applications. I must apologise for the lateness of the letter, however, the shouts you have come up with are an excellent way to make an old listener like me take their nap. Definitely an amusing side effect, as I do not remember the last time a dovah won the tinvaak by lulling their opponent to sleep. I do wonder where you will go next, as from Riften, there are few directions in Skyrim you can go that don't pass by the Throat of the World… "

"You know, I suspect our penpal might be a Greybeard." Jean notes dryly.

"The only way the hint in the last line could be any less subtle is if it was delivered by the battering ram." Lydia comments idly. "So, I suppose we are finally swinging by?"

"About time we did, aye." Erin says with a nod. She somehow doubts the daedric nonsense or the assorted hero business is going to let up of its own on their account, so they may as well take their chances when they can.

"It has been only, what, a couple of weeks since we got summons?" Jean mutters. Fucking daedric bullshit. Shooting a quick look at Barbas he shakes his head. At least this particular daedra is willing to wait.

The group dallies around for a bit longer, cleaning after their temporary camp before moving in the direction of the road leading to Riften. After so long travelling on foot, it was decided they would hire a carriage to Ivarstead. After swinging by the Mistveil Keep to check if Vulwulf Snow-Shod would be feeling indebted. At least the weather is good so far, a rarity for late Hearthfire, although Lydia proposes that they were simply lucky enough to miss most of the rain spelunking in the caves and tombs or climbing mountains.

Forcing the faster pace, the group manages to arrive at the southern gate of Riften by the evening, the guards looking up from their post as they spot them. The one on the left steps forward, hand resting confidently on the pommel of his sword.

"Hold right there. First time visitors need to pay."

Jean gives him his most unimpressed look, but pretends to play along. "Pay for what exactly?"

"Visitors' tax. Fifty sep-..." The guard pauses as he spots Erin. "Two hundred septims. Per person."

Honestly, it was starting to get weird how we didn't really have much problems with racism so far. Jean thinks to himself as he sighs. Instead, he shakes his head, locking gaze with the guard. "And I think you are full of bullshit. In fact, I am sure it will be amusing hearing you tell Vulwulf Snow-Shod how you tried to shake the men he hired to deal with the pest that burned his fields. Why, I imagine a man of such a standing might find it curious as to why..."

"Alright, alright, I got it, just keep it quiet." The guard hurriedly responds. "Just let me open the gate and we don't know each other."

Jean nods with a smile. "We've never met."

The other guard just snorts from his post. "Not sure I buy Vulwulf hiring a knife ear, but not my problem, he spends the majority of his time at The Bee and Barb. Right beside the northern part of Plankside." Jean nods somewhat grateful, although he can't shake the feeling the other guard has his own stake in being helpful.

The streets of Riften are still busy, even at the late hour, although the various shopkeepers and artisans are already packing their goods. The guards are even more active than those in Whiterun, and more numerous, lazily patrolling the streets in groups. As they slowly pass through Plankside, Lydia suddenly lashes out, catching a man by the wrist. Jean notes he almost managed to sneak his hand into Serana's bag. One of the guards notices them and approaches, shaking his head.

"Seriously, Vigrod? You just got out of the cell." Grabbing the man, he motions for his patrolling colleagues before giving Lydia a court nod. "Thank you, we will take this poor idiot from here."

"No problem. Unlike Vigrod's ability to stay on the straight and narrow, it seems?" She prods with a smile.

The guard shakes his head. "You wouldn't believe it. Thieves just don't have any luck in this city. Strange, 'cause when I was a boy you couldn't walk twenty feet without being pickpocketed thrice. The Guild must be cursed at this point."

With that, the group is free to move towards The Bee and Barb, a large inn sitting comfortably just on the other side of the canals separating Plankside from the rest of the Riften. The inn itself is surprisingly empty, with only a pair of Argonians and few stragglers remaining on the main floor. One of the Argonians looks towards them as they enter, crossing the floor with speed and grace borne of experience.

"Welcome to the Bee and Barb, milords, miladies. What is it that we can interest you in?"

"A couple of rooms for the night, if any are still free." Jean speaks, giving the Argonian a smile. "Also, we are looking for Vulwulf Snow-Shod and were directed here?"

The Argonian's head turns briefly to the corner where a balding, bearded man in clearly well made clothes and luxurious pelt cloak sits, surrounded by the empty bottles. "I would advise waiting until he can remember any conversations he has."

"You will have an easier time convincing the sun to change colour." Valdimar mutters as he notices Vulwulf looking in their direction.

"Valdimar!" The old man roars. "I thought you went back to sulk in your swamp, you old fuck!"

Rolling his eyes, Valdimar sighs. "Not so young yourself, Vulwulf." Turning towards the rest of the group, he sighs. "Go on, grab us the rooms, I will talk with Vulwulf about that favour."

"Suit yourself, milord." The Argonian sighs. Looking at the rest of the party, he thinks for a moment. "Two rooms it is. Miladies will have it a bit cramped, but at least it beats sleeping with a dog, hm?"

The group nods as they follow the proprietor upstairs, the drunken laughter of Vulwulf Snow-Shod slowly getting quieter.
___________________________________________________________________________

"Good news is, Vulwulf will remember he owes us for saving his fields." Valdimar states as the group packs themselves onto the cart in the Riften's stables. "Even managed to sell him on Erin being a legitimate part of the group."

"That bad?" Lydia asks.

"Vulw is one of those Nords who never forgave the Empire for White Gold Concordat. Used to be proud to be an Imperial citizen, now hates it with burning passion. More than even then elves, which is quite the rarity. I had to listen to Stormcloak propaganda for a couple of hours, and I am pretty sure if he ever learns of your opinions about Ulfric, he is going to be a pain."

"Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten." Jean replies. "Especially since we are not exactly planning on coming back."

Erin shakes her head, "Knowing our luck, we'll get dragged back here at some point. Let's just hope it is a good long while before that happens."

"I hope you didn't curse us, my thane. If I never have to throw another pickpocket over my shoulder again, it will still be too soon." Lydia comments as she reclines in her seat.

"I am still pretty sure we've lost a bit more coin than intended." Serana notes.

Jean suspects it's because she saw every successful attempt and was just too amused to do anything. Or maybe she just wasn't a morning person. Probably that.
___________________________________________________________________________

The peaceful ride from Riften ends when the cart approaches the patch of road near Largashbur. The driver curses and halts.

"End of the road, I am afraid. There is an entire group of giants laying siege to the orc stronghold." The man says.

"... A siege?" Lydia asks, incredulous.

The group looks over the driver, down the road. There is, indeed, a group of five giants camping on the road, with a large fire roaring just off it. The humanoids laugh as they take turns tossing boulders at the palisade wall of Largashbur which only holds because of magic.

"Well, I suppose that when you can play at being a living siege engine with nothing but a few handy rocks, it becomes a whole lot simpler to set up." Erin muses.

"I am more interested in knowing what the hell did the orcs do to those giants." Lydia shakes her head. "Like, this is ridiculously persistent for them."

"I am more interested in knowing why the orcs didn't come out of their stronghold to fight. I am no expert on daedra, but hiding like that behind wall of magic doesn't seem to be something their god approves." Valdimar adds.

Hopping off the cart, Jean sighs and addresses the driver. "Right, wait here, will you? We will try to clear the road." Hopefully without experiencing the joys of the Skyrim Space Program.

"Your money, but don't haunt me if I don't mourn you lot."

Approaching the camp, Jean gives the giants a look. "Lydia, do you think we will be able to talk them out of… whatever they are doing?"

The woman doesn't answer immediately, instead listening to the jeers and shouts of the giants, before shaking her head and grimacing. "I don't think so. They are making their position quite clear. Also, their personal decorations identify them as Bone-Crushers… a giant's warrior-raider type of clan. "

"Are… are Bone-Crushers the name of the clan or the type of the clan?" Jean asks, the name ringing… well, stereotypically evil.

"The latter. Bone-Crushers is the direct translation of their preferred lifestyle."

"Joy." Jean summarises dryly. "So, any particular plan or is it me and Erin blasting with the Voice while Valdimar and Serana use magic?"

Lydia gives him a wry grin. "Guess, Jean. Thu''um is simply too handy to just risk flying lessons from the giant's club."

"You are enjoying your current position as designated pack mule too much."

"Hey, I get to travel around, see incredible stuff, meet interesting people and don't even need to work particularly hard during any of it. Do you really blame me?"

Shaking his head, Jean walks up to Erin. "So how are we splitting the big boys? Two for each of us and then Val and Serana finish the last one?"

"Sounds good." She replies with an idle nod, "What flavour of cheese for today? Instant death Thu'um or explosive runes?"

"Thu'um bullshit. I don't think they are going to be inclined to come to us politely when they can just toss a big rock." Jean answers as he watches a boulder bounce off of the palisade. "The orcs must have a really talented mage in that stronghold to keep this up for this long."

Though given he didn't learn Frost Breath yet, it meant improvisation when it came to his own Thu'um. Sure, he could probably use Wither with parts of Battle Fury again, but wasn't the point of it all to cobble together new, amusing ways to bend reality over?

Splitting up into three groups (or more precisely, Lydia staying at the back while Jean and Erin flank the giants, with Valdimar and Serana approaching by the road), the party closes in on the giants.

Jean darts into the tree line, musing over his, admittedly limited, arsenal of Words he actually Knew how to use in Shouts. Having the similar instant death shout to Erin's would be handy, but he lacked the word that could string Peace and Wither together like that, which meant improvisation.

Hmmm… End with Wither… Start with Force or Fire? Or maybe Inferno? Actually, yeah, Inferno should be better for this, implies a bigger area…

Drawing a deep breath, he steps out of the woods, unnoticed so far mostly on the account of the giants being really focused on the stronghold.

No time like now, I suppose. "FUS TOOR LIIV!" He speaks, and the air ignites, the torrent of flames swallowing a pair of giants before they have so much as a chance to react, the sudden spike in temperature instantly drying his throat and skin. The giants try to turn towards him, but even a small movement makes the flames intensify as they greedily devour flesh, burning bright and fast before dying down, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

Huh. I suppose I have found my version… for now. Not something to use near flammable stuff.

Erin, for her part, decides to put to work two of her new Words of Power, one from the scaly chicken and another from the last wall, topped off with the classic, "RII RU FUS!" Literal translation would be Essence-Run-Force, what it actually meant here was Lifeforce-Flees-Forcefully. The invisible force washes over the pair of giants, who simply stop. The boulder one of them was lifting drops as the giant's muscles stop working and he topples over from his unbalanced position, while the other simply keeps standing there, eyes unseeing. Meanwhile, Erin is hit with an infusion of full stamina of a pair of very active giants. Suffice to say, it is an experience. At least her amulet sort of helped, modulating the intake somewhat.

The last giant roars as he lifts a boulder before it explodes into shrapnel as combined lightning hits it. The raider cries as the shards of stone dig deep into his skin, before his head is consumed in a fireball.

With that, without spending even three minutes, the 'siege' is lifted. Jean grimaces as hearches for a canteen, drinking the cool water greedily to soothe his incredibly dry throat. "Right… Let's see what that was about. If the orcs decide they are feeling hospitable."

Approaching the walls, a female orc on the watchtower greets them. For a certain definition of greeting. "Halt, outsiders! You have no business here! The Orsimer need no help."

"Obviously, lass." Valdimar agrees dryly. "Which is why Orsimer, some of the greatest warriors I have had the pleasure to meet are content to hide behind their dinky palisade, held together by spit and prayer. And the incredible skills of your mage."

The woman, alongside a number of other orcs on the wall grit their teeth, glaring at the old battlemage, but their silence is telling.

"Open the gate for them!" Comes another voice.

"But Atub, Yamarz ordered..."

"Yamarz 'orders' ended in giants almost crushing our walls. Open the damn gate, fools."

The orcs grumble, but step down from the walls and after a while, the wooden gate opens, permitting the party into the stronghold, which seems to have seen better days. Some of the buildings collapsed under the boulders giants have been throwing, with many orcs laid about, wounded or sick.

"This is not natural." Valdimar comments as the party takes the fort in.

"No, it is not." Answers an orc woman in the dark blue robes. "I am Atub, the appointed priestess of Malacath of this stronghold." Giving a shallow bow, she continues. "You have my thanks, but I would like you to help us."

Jean thinks for a moment before sighing. "We are not going to say no immediately, but we are kinda on the schedule. Could you explain what you need from us? And why, if that's not too big of a problem?"

The woman sighs before leading the party deeper into the stronghold. "Our tribe is cursed. I do not know why, but our warriors are struck with weakness, and our people suffer from sickness. So far, we have managed to hold off the giants that sensed the weakness, but I am afraid it won't last. I need to seek an audience with Malacath to learn what needs to be done in order to reverse our fate."

"Calling a Prince forward… A ritual is doable, but a direct line to one would require specific ingredients…" Serana muses. Atub nods along.

"Indeed. For Malacath, it is troll fat and daedra heart. Fortunately, we still have some of the fat saved from the hunts against overly courageous trolls. Daedra heart on the other hand… " Her face becomes grim.

"Not exactly a common ingredient to be found." Valdimar agrees.

Jean gives Erin's brooch a look before sighing. "We may actually have a way to get it pretty easily."

"For a given value of 'easy'." Erin grumbles back even as the brooch seems to flicker from existence for a moment to reappear in her hand as the full staff, apparently reading her intent. Fucking daedra bullshit.

The Rose almost hums audibly with power, eager to be used. A simple gesture with the staff causes a humanoid daedra to step out of the blooming portal. It resembles an altmer, although visibly, literally pink skinned, with flowing, long hair the colour of the white wine. Smells like wine too.

"Finally!" It cheers, sounding just a bit slushed. "We've been considering starting a pool as to when you will call one of us. So, what's the occasion?" It asks, looking around at the laid down orcs. "Oooh, are we fucking sickness out of orcs? Should have called Steiah, she would enjoy the orc orgy more."

"Well, the initial plan was to ask one of you lot to fetch a daedra heart for a ritual to dial up the Prince they worship, but your way sounds like a lot less of a headache." Erin comments with a shrug, completely blase. These people were daedra worshippers, they ought to be used to the nonsense. Plus, their object of worship would almost surely ask them to do some errand or other to fix the mess and they were on a timetable here.

The elf turned to her companions and the orc priestess, "Any objections?" She was expecting objections, but it was worth a shot.

Serana and Jean shake their heads. "My family were, are, daedra worshippers, I get it." "If it spares us yet another detour."

Valdimar grimaces, but shrugs. "Orcs were never exactly hidden about their worship, and not even Vigilants mess with them for it. Not openly, anyway."

Lydia sighs but shrugs. "I don't think it's going to be that easy, and if it turns out to be, I am buying some more of your weird booze." She adds, addressing the daedra, who cackles.

"Once you taste the alcohol from the Thousand Realms, nothing else will satisfy you."

Atub and some of the still standing orcs give the daedra a suspicious look, though eventually, the wise woman sighs. "I am not sure Malacath will be pleased with this solution, but if it's for the good of the tribe… "

"'Good' of the community… Ha! I can tell you will be a fun on…-" The daedra approaches the shaman only to step back, eyes wide. "Tch."

Jean raises his eyebrow. "Tch?"

"Fucking for health is fun, but this is a little above my paygrade, mortal. I try to lift it and the Prince of the Ostracised will crush my head and slurp my soul."

Realising the message, Atub sighs. "So, our god is displeased with the tribe." The orcs who are within earshot begin whispering to each other, exchanging short, sharp words. "Then I need to implore Him for the way we could be forgiven. Is there anything we can do for you to provide us with the heart needed for the ritual?"

The daedra hums, before a roguish grin splits its face. "Sure, I will fetch one, but me and Steiah will stay and get our victory orgy from you lot when the curse lifts. And when I mean orgy, I mean it. None of that orcish nonsense about who is allowed to fuck who. Deal?"

Atub thinks about it for a moment, clearly trying to weigh tradition against necessity, especially when a god as strict as Malacath is concerned. Finally, she sighs. "I am not promising anything, but even if our chieftain forbids it, you will have some of us to enjoy. Is that an acceptable compromise?"

Daedra snorts, shooting a look at Barbas and winking before looking back at the shaman. "I suppose." Turning towards Erin, it bows. "I will be going now. Wait for about… let's say twenty minutes and give Rose a pair of twirls."

"Mhm." The elf hums in agreement, nodding.
___________________________________________________________________________

"... You pathetic, embarrassing, weak excuse of an orc! Your ineptitude caused giants to overrun my shrine! Giants! And now you dare to ask me why your tribe suffers?"

The party, plus a pair of Sanguine's daedra watch from their game of cards as Daedric Prince, immaterial as he is, gives the orc chieftain a dressing down. They are fairly sure he is as loud as he is to make sure the entire stronghold knows whom to blame for their troubles.

"... so, if you want me to lift this curse upon the tribe, you will go back to my shrine and clean it from every last giant there, understood?!"

The orc chieftain murmurs something, his gaze locked to the ground, which seems to be enough for Malacath, whose presence vanishes. The chieftain grimaces as he awkwardly stumbles back to his feet and approaches the party with an angry scowl.

"This is why I didn't want outsiders involved. Now thanks to you, I am stuck fighting giants. So, since it's your fault, you are going to help me. And then, we can put everything that happened behind us."

Jean gives him an unimpressed stare, although Serana beats him to the punch when it comes to answering. "You are in trouble because of doing this sort of stuff, and your solution is to double down?"

Steiah and the other daedra, Haegala, snort as they continue playing.

Yamarz crosses his arms and bares his teeth. "It's because it got this bad I need to double down. Those five giants you took care of were a small portion, no doubt, of a larger group, rather than a major force. So I need you to clear the way for me to deal with their chief."

"Or" Barbas barks unamused, something which worries Jean given the dog seems to be particularly averse to seriousness "you use that brain of yours for the first time in no doubt decades and show Malacath you are worth the trouble."

"What's with the talking mongrel?" Yamarz scoffs.

Jean fights the urge to slap his face, instead sighing and standing up, before bowing in an exaggerated fashion before Barbas. "This is Barbas, the right hand, or perhaps even the full half, of Clavicus Vile, Prince of Bargains. He might be less than amused at you trying to wiggle out of fulfilling your end."

The chieftain pales noticeably, stepping back, although he quickly schools his features. "Very well, Knew we couldn't trust outsiders. I will go and do as Malacath commanded me." With that, he turns on his heel and vanishes in his house.

Atub sighs as she shakes her head. "What a mess… Still, thank you. Even if he fails, we will know what to do. Although I am not sure how to make sure he actually arrives at his destination." She mutters darkly, to which the pair of daedra laugh.

"Don't worry, we will… ah, watch him, to make sure our deal is safe."

Atub sighs, but gives them a tired smile before addressing the party. "Thank you for your trouble, small as it was. Hopefully, the next time you are in the area, we will be able to give you proper orc hospitality."

The group returns to the carriage driver, who had the decency to stay outside the gates and wait for them.

"Anything interesting?" He asks.

"Just orc things." Lydia replies, to which he nods.

Which is, of course, when another letter from their mysterious friend sails from the sky, faster than what they are used to, plummeting down only to gently unfurl in Jean's hands.

Shaking his head, he starts reading. "I am lucky to have long since learned how to deal with overwhelming joy, else I would need a scribe to dictate this letter, and the familiarity I display here would leave them quite awkward. Still, it pleases me to hear your Thu'um being applied in such creative ways, weaving the words previously rarely put together. That both of you used Fus, the word so integral to a dovah's very essence gives me even greater hopes for our meeting, and to hear it so close… The temptation to meet halfway through… It has truly been long since I felt such a strong temptation, fahdon. Fortunately, my hermitage allows me to restrain this passionate reaction, but now, I find myself recounting how fast one can travel unaided… " There is a smear on the paper, the ink making the rest of the sentence unreadable. "Still, I shall continue awaiting our meeting."

Coughing, he sighs. "Somehow, the tone gave me an impression of an innocent girl writing to her first crush. Which, considering its Greybeards we are talking about, was not the image I wanted."

Lydia grimaces as she reaches for her flask. "Thank you for that particular image, my thane. I will have to ask Erin to contact Realms of Revelry for something strong enough to erase my memory of it."

The elf in question can't help but chortle, the mental image of a wizened old sage blushing like a schoolgirl appealing to her godawful sense of humour.

 

[Omida]

The howling winds near the top of the Throat of the World swallow Jean's curse as he and Erin walk through the snow huddling under their cloaks. The walk has been… surprisingly uneventful, even if it was god awful long, the sun being still visible only because they stand at the tallest mountain in Skyrim. Even bullying the frost troll with Fire Breath wasn't worth it, since the smoke from the damn thing almost choked them with how vile it was, the whipping winds had at least helped disperse it fast enough.

Then, with one more step, the winds calm down, somewhat, even the snow which has been continuously falling ever since they left Ivarstead becoming nothing more than a gentle shower. Raising their heads, the duo witnesses the stone walls of High Hrothgar.

"Dovahkiin. You have arrived." Blinking, the two look down, to the top of the initial staircase, where a woman stands, clad in a puffy dress combined with the Greybeards' robes, her hands held together as the wind billows her long, white hair framing the equally pale skin and exposing her pointy ears. "We have been expecting you… a month or two ago." She finishes with a small smile.

Erin chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of her head, "Yeah, sorry about that. Oblivion apparently decided it was high time to send us a conga line of daedric nonsense."

Jean nods along, not quite trusting his suddenly dry throat. The woman just keeps smiling, and with a bow half turns and gestures towards the stairs leading to the monastery's doors. "The whims of Princes are hard to predict, but I think we can leave the concern for daedra outside the walls. For now, let us greet you properly, Onik-Gein… the master of our order wishes to meet you, after Hearing you speak."

Climbing up the stairs, Jean finally finds his voice. "Forgive me if it seems rude, but we were not expecting… well, an elf, for one. And with a name like 'Greybeards'..."

She hums as she opens the doors. "You would not be the first, Dovahkiin. Many Nords who make pilgrimage or seek to join our ranks express their surprise. To be honest, the name was coined back when the only Tongues left after Jurgen's tinvaak, battle against them were men. The Nords, always quick to name momentous occasions, called them Greybeards and it stuck, even when women became masters." Turning her head slightly so he can see the fire of the lamps twinkle in her pale eyes, she inclines her head. "As for my apparent race… The Way of Kyne has always been one of acceptance. While very few indeed, there were mer who wished to learn, and so they were treated as any other initiate."

Crossing the main hall, the woman leads the two into a side corridor. "Right now, the others enjoy their dinner, so it is a good occasion for you to meet the others before I take you to Paarthurnax' abode. I am sure climbing seven thousand steps builds an appetite."

Jean and Erin nod as they walk behind the woman through the empty corridors until they arrive at the large room in which a fire blazes in the middle, surrounded by the circular table at which the silent Greybeards and a number of chatting initiates enjoy a meal. Some of them notice their arrival and begin whispering amongst themselves, which in turns causes the Masters to turn around. One of them stands up, his face lighting up in delight.

"Dovahkiin! And Mas-" "Ehem." Blushing, the man corrects himself. "Mistress Malautavoy."

The woman hums happily and returns a bow. "Master Arngeir… I have taken the pleasure of greeting Dovahkiin first, if that is fine with you."

The man just nods nervously and leads her, Jean and Erin towards empty seats, pulling the chair for Malautavoy who accepts with a smile. Some of the acolytes snicker at the sight but return to their meals without any other commentary.

"Damn it, he does behave like a maiden in front of her crush." Jean mutters quietly as he watches Arngeir return to his seat under his fellow Masters' amused gazes.

"Master Arngeir does have a soft spot in his otherwise severe heart. Normally, I meditate in separation from the rest of Masters to spare the poor boy's dignity but then, come the times like this." Malautavoy notes fondly as she reaches for the meat. "Now, is there anything you would like to hear before we complete the formalities?"

"Mhm. We are quite eager to talk about Thu'um, given how much of a heart attack our slapdash experiments must have given to anyone with proper knowledge listening to them." He starts, watching as Malautavoy's smile twitches a bit. "Though I suppose the main thing would be the letters we have been receiving ever since… Morthal, I think? With how fast and flawlessly they have been reaching us, as well as some clues, we have guessed they have been Greybeards' doing?"

Malautavoy blushes lightly, although with her paleness it is still very noticeable. "Ah, so you did guess. It is an old Thu'um, dating back to when Voice was used in a more relaxed manner. A message sent in such a way will reach the intended recipient without fail, and faster than even a messenger bird. Considering the delays, it was decided we should keep the… what's the saying… Haal nau dreh?" She mutters, brow furrowing in concentration.

"Keep a finger on the pulse of events?" Jean suggests, to which Malautavoy brightens and clasps her hands.

"Thank you, yes. Forgive me, after studying Thu'um for so long, even the most disciplined tend to forget other languages." Taking a sip of some manner of steaming beverage, she sighs content and continues. "You also appear to be rather well versed in dovahzul in general. That's good. Perhaps the monastery would not be of much benefit to you after all."

"We just lucked out on finding someone able and willing to teach us on the road." Erin replies with a shake of her head, "If it weren't for the whole dragon soul business I doubt we'd be anywhere near as far along picking up the language. Besides, the more perspectives and people to trade notes with, the better."

Malautavoy quirks her eyebrow. "Then you are lucky indeed. I doubt many beyond this mountain know even half the necessary knowledge of dovahzul to teach it. Even to a dovah. Still, Listening to your efforts has been an interesting exercise. For relatively inexperienced Zul-Ovan, speakers, your efforts have been admirable indeed. Mostly violent, and thus not something most Greybeards would consider proper, but impressively well thought out indeed."

"The events have somewhat arranged against us considering the scholarly applications." Jean notes dryly. "Though I would lie if I said I am not looking forward to being done with it."

Erin, meanwhile, had a thoughtful frown on her face as Malautavoy's words sparked off an idea, "Hrm, maybe if I combine Essence and Peace…? No good third word handy, Cold would likely make it too damaging, never mind Freeze." She mutters, trying to piece together something not unlike a beefed up Calm spell. Although with Freeze maybe it could turn into Paralysis.

"Essence, Peace, Freeze, hmmm..." Malautavoy considers the words. "Rii, the essence, yet impermanent. The soul that equals living force. Drem is a good basis for any number of Words that seek to pacify the target. Diin…" Shaking her head, she breathes heavily out and in, clearly enjoying coming up with something. "No. It does not fit, thematically. It is a very… physical word. However" she adds, tapping her lip "Dein, to keep or perhaps safeguard… Yes, it could work. The order will be important however. If you arrange the words incorrectly, instead of something to calm tensions and pacify hostilities will… kren, break the mind of the one subjected to it. The Thu'um would rewrite their mind to that which avoids aggression entirely, and then keep it from being fixed. Such an existence would be… krosis, unfortunate." She finishes, her smile widening before she blinks and shakes her head.

"Ah, krosis, Dovahkiin, I have gotten lost in my musings. As to the Shout you are trying to create, I believe it should go Dein-Rii-Drem." Nodding, she takes another sip. "Yes, that should work as intended."

"Hrm. I don't have Dein yet, unfortunately." Erin comments. Which is a pity because it sounds like an amazingly versatile word of power.

Malautavoy's eyes twinkle as she smiles at Erin. "You are here to learn, are you not? I am sure you will leave with the knowledge of the word firmly grasped."

The elf smiles back, nodding, "Aye. Haah, man, it'll be good to be able to relax and focus on learning for a while. We barely got back from Sanguine's shenanigans by the time we had to see about banishing the Ebony Blade." Seeing world and righting wrongs was all well and dandy, but damn if she didn't feel more than a bit worn after so much so fast.

"So that's the reason behind the lateness. I must confess, it has been quite some time since I myself got caught in Prince of Debauchery's spontaneous parties. One always has to track down a trail of most amusing events, no matter who and what they are. As for the Ebony Blade… who knows, being returned to Mephala might finally break the spell that was cast on it, even if Prince of Secrets liked the addition."

"By the way" Jean speaks "we have been wondering about why, when we approach the Walls with something written in dovahzul on them, we will pick up a random word. And hear a lot of chanting. Sometimes, it makes sense, but we stumbled upon a Wall commemorating a bard fucking up and still got a word from it."

Malautavoy giggles, hiding her mouth behind her palm. "Ah, that. The reason for that is the same as for why those Walls of Commemoration… Vahrukt Quethsegol, are still in pristine condition after all those millenia. You see, Dovahkiin, they have not been simply dwiirok, carved, into stone that was likened to a dovah spreading its wings. They have been Shouted into existence. Thu'um was used to shape the stone and put the letters in it, and it has a side effect of some words… resonating with dovah who chance upon them. The chanting is simply the echoing voices of the mortals who made the Walls resonating through the ages."

"I can only imagine how many Walls there might be with messages boiling down to 'I was here'." Jean muses as he finishes his meal.

"Less than you would think, given some were destroyed purposefully, but there might still be places, hard to reach for anyone who cannot fly, that still have less than glorious messages."

"Fair enough."

Soon enough, the meal comes to an end and the acolytes scurry to clean after the meal while Greybeards retire at a more dignified pace to their rooms. Malautavoy guides Jean and Erin outside, the inner courtyard of High Hrothgar completely silent, with the snow illuminated by the light of the twin moons.

"Lok vah koor." The wind barrier blocking the path to the summit vanishes, quietly.

"Now that I think about it." Jean comments. "From what I remember, aren't the Greybeards silent because their Voice became too powerful to control?"

"Kun aak miiraad." Malautavoy's Thu'um illuminates the path up the mountain, a gentle, golden glow from the ground itself. Only then does she answer. "A problem of a limited lifespan of the jul, humans. Fahliil, elves, however, live longer. As such, should one reach that peak of mastery available to joor, they can then begin the hard work of shackling their powerful Voice with discipline until they are capable of conversing with others without problems."

Jean nods, and the rest of the journey goes in comfortable silence as the elf guides the duo up the natural path up the side of the mountain, stopping for a moment when an ice wraith blocks their path, the crystalline creature hissing as they approach. Turning towards Erin, Malautavoy winks.

"Let's test our new Thu'um, shall we? Kyne's Peace is ill suited towards calming elemental emanations. Dein rii drem." The wraith twists in place as the Thu'um washes over it before flying into the crack between rocks and vanishing. The elf nods to herself, clearly satisfied with the result. "Geh. A good Shout."

"Mhm." Erin humms, visibly happy at seeing the results of their little design session, "Oh, that reminds me, I've been tinkering on that cold snap shout I improvised a little while back, I think I found just the right word to complete it. Freeze, Force, Tear. Should give a bad time to anything and anyone armoured."

Malautavoy giggles. "Indeed. A good choice of words too, in correct order to maximise its effectiveness. Perhaps not something to test without taking precautions, unless one wishes to find a shard of qah, armor in one's eye."

"Sounds like there is a story behind that particular choice of words." Jean notes dryly.

Their guide hums as she walks. "Indeed. There was an acolyte a couple centuries ago. He wished to impress the Masters with his skill with the Thu'um to be inducted into the order properly. His command of the Thu'um was, indeed, impressive. Unfortunately, his wisdom regarding the way he presented it was less so. Poor boy didn't notice the boulder that fell on him after his shout did, in fact, cause it to 'vanish'."

Erin winces, "Oof. Yeah, probably best to raise up a beefy Ward before using the shout. Or just ducking behind cover before it hits."

"Indeed. Anyway, here we are. The very peak of Monahven, the Throat of the World." Malautavoy announces as they reach a large, open space with a Word Wall tucked into the corner. She moves to the centre before turning around in a graceful pirouette. "Well, more literal translation is still a good name for it. Mother of the Wind has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"

"Considering all the wind on the way up here? Yeah." Jean nods, to which they guide giggles. "Anyway… is Paarthurnax off to stretch his wings?" He adds, noticing a distinct lack of the big, old occupant of the peak who should have been waiting for them.

Malautavoy chuckles. "In a manner of speaking." Curtsying, she continues. "Dii rii, daal us daar se dovah." The words are deep and resound through the air, the unseen quake, loud and clear and yet quiet. Malautavoy's form ripples, before she is surrounded by golden light which forms a cocoon. Then, it expands, growing and changing shape. Arms become wings, head enlarging and elongating, sprouting horns just as spikes form along the spine. All of it in a blink of an eye. Then, with a booming, mirthful voice, Paarthurnax continues. "Honestly, I have been hoping you would guess my little deception sooner."

Jean just stares, still trying to process the change between 'cute, older woman' and a 'gentlemanly dragon sage', trying to recall any clues the dragon might have given them.

"I think you broke him." Erin says, unable to keep the smile from her voice. Or her face, really. She couldn't say she'd seen this coming, but she sure as hell didn't mind the new development.

The dragon chortles, clearly revelling in the confusion. "Ah, it reminds me of the first time Arngeir saw me assume the mortal form. Poor boy never truly recovered from that."

Shaking his head, Jean sighs. "Talk about unrequited love…" He mutters under his nose "I have the feeling me asking this will be disappointing after all these letters you wrote to us, but mind giving me a clue as to what your clues were?"

Paarthurnax nods, before lying on the ground and encircling the duo. "Geh. Since I have greeted you, I never once spoke about myself directly. Neither as Paarthurnax, nor as Malautavoy. I chose my words to create a sense of ambiguity, nid?"

"Fair enough. So… would you like us to make proper introductions now or… " The redhead diverts the topic.

The dragon appears to think for a moment, before nodding. "Pruzah. Let us observe formalities now that the joke has been played." Moving up towards the side of the peak, Paarthurnax looks at the Dragonborns. "Which of you wants to go first?"

Jean steps forward, looking up at the dragon's head. Taking a deep breath, he speaks. "Yol Toor Shul!" The flames swallow Paarthurnax' figure, basking the dragon's body in brilliant display.

"Nahlot." The Master of the Voice whispers, and the Thu'um dies down, showing him unharmed. "Mmm… Pruzah. You have a good grasp on it, even as you must practice each word for each of them to grow more and more in power. As well as flexibility. Yol Faad Shul." Paarthurnax' Thu'um is less a torrent of raging flames and more a gentle caress of the midsummer sun, banishing the cold and seeping a lethargic, pleasant warmth into his body. Then, he turns to Erin.

The elf simply nods, drawing in a deep breath before letting out the shout whose component parts have led her to so many new combinations, "Fo Krah Diin!"

Paarthurnax' body becomes covered in ice, giving him a likeness of a statue. A very detailed, very large ice sculpture. Then, he shakes the ice off. "The cold of qoth, grave and winter has served you well so far. You are already well acquainted with the cold of death and the ice breaking imperfections it sneaks into. Fo Krah Ven." This time, his Thu'um is like the bone-chilling arctic wind, seeping deep into the body, robbing it of the spark of life and lulling it to sleep which nothing will break.

Then, the sensations end and Paarthurnax nods satisfied. "Now that that has been observed, take the word I have used as a gift. You have already proven to be creative with even a single one, so just as Nahagliiv, I will look forward to what you create."

Jean shudders as the ancient dragon's understanding slithers its way into his mind, before shaking his head. "Actually, if you don't mind me asking… How? The human, errr, elf body I mean?"

Paarthurnax hums, pride clear in the sound and he looks at the two of them. "There was a Shout the ancient Nords created to fight dovah, to bring them down from the skies and make them… vulnerable. Dragonrend, they called it. I can speak the words, but not Speak them. To use Thu'um is to Understand. And the nature of Dragonrend is such that it is composed of two Words that are the very antithesis of Dovah's nature. Zah and Frul. Finite and Temporary." Jean and Erin blink as the words just… slot themselves without so much as an issue. "Before I discuss it further, are you aware of the nature of dragon names?"

"They are composed of words in dovahzul." Jean nods. And while he knows the truth already, he figures it's best to make it sound like a hypothesis. "Are you saying the words in dragons' names are Shouts too?"

Paarthurnax nods, before elaborating. "In a way. Shouts are a very… simplified way to use Thu'um. Voice itself is power, changing the world around. The Shouts as you know them are merely shortcuts. That is why more experienced Greybeards do not talk. Their mastery of language means every word carries power. And so, a dovah's name summarises their very essence, what makes a particular dovah, them. You can speak the name and nothing will happen, or you can Speak it, and they will hear the call for tinvaak, debate, or battle. And it is in our nature to answer this call, no matter how long it takes to arrive at the destination."

The Dragonborns nod along, the details on how the dragon call work filed for later use. Recognising the pause as Paarthurnax fishing for them to pick up on the clue, Jean provides the next question. "So… Paarthurnax. Ambition-Overlord-Cruelty?"

Satisfied, the dragon hums. "Indeed. Even before my change of heart, as the second only to Alduin, I considered myself something of a drog, a master, of Thu'um. There was no word I did not know and not a tinvaak I could not emerge out of without having completely crushed my opponent. Dragonrend… it was the first Thu'um I could not use, couldn't comprehend. I taught joor all they knew about Thu'um, and they rewarded me with the greatest ofan, gift, I could have wanted."

"A challenge?"

"Geh. When I said our names summarise our existence, I meant it. For a dovah, to not act on the meaning of their name is unimaginable trial. For one such as me, choosing to be like Greybeards, a secluded monk is the worst torture imaginable. Centuries upon millennia spent denying my very nature. It would have been worse still, had I not had this delightful enigma I was provided with. I have spent uncountable years trying to study Dragonrend, and it gifted me with even more Thu'um." Adjusting himself, Paarthurnax continues. "Rii Meyz Joor."

With that, the dragon's body shudders and shrinks back into the form of a snowy-skinned elf woman. "This is the thu'um I call Mortal Guise. I have developed it in order to be able to walk among the joor, mortals, without much care, to learn of their lives, to understand the concepts of Dragonrend." Smiling and flipping her hair to get it out of her face, she continues. "There are degrees to it, not unlike any other Thu'um, and the three Word version is simply the fastest one, immediately returning me to my most recent guise."

While taking it as an excuse to examine Paarthurnax, Jean is still curious. "So what prompted you to go with… I want to say, really pasty Altmer?"

Giggling, Paarthurnax shakes her head. "Falmer actually, although I believe had any survived, they would prefer to be called by the name jul, humans, referred to them, Snow Elves. It is one of my earliest guises, before Snow Elves were twisted and degraded into what Falmer are nowadays. I return to it whenever I have no need for a different look to commiserate them."

Erin hums, brow furrowing in thought, "Say, if a dragon can take the form of a mortal with the right Thu'um, wouldn't it be possible for a dragonborn to do the reverse?" She sure as hell liked the prospect of being able to fly under her own power.

Paarthurnax hums as she leans against the rock. "It would. There exists a Shout, Dragon Aspect, meant to draw out Dovahkiin's draconic essence even more towards the surface. It is not a proper transformation, but it is a necessary step. I have cheated by exploiting dovah's nature, but you..." Shaking her head, she continues. "As joor, you would first need to get acclimated to feeling like dovah, and for that, Dragon Aspect is necessary. Unfortunately, the words for the Thu'um have been… Forbidden. It was a favourite of the First Dragonborn, Miraak, and when he betrayed the Dragon Cult, Alduin used his Voice to bar all dovah weaker than him from teaching the Words. A Wall of Remembrance or two containing the words might exist on Solstheim, an island to the north-east that Miraak ruled, but otherwise, it is lost until Alduin is finally defeated."

"Tch. Oh, well, to the backburner that idea goes." Erin says with a disappointed sigh. Maybe she could go poke the elves in that diaspora near the College to see if they could teach her Levitate. It wouldn't be the same, but eh.

"It would be nice, yes." Jean agrees, remembering how smug Odahviing sounded about giving Dragonborn a taste of flight. "So you've been spending your time alternating between meditation here and going down and mingling?"

Paarthurnax nods. "Geh. I did not travel often, after all, I had reasons to remain up here, but I have been to Whiterun many times, especially when Numinex was imprisoned there."

"I can only imagine the hatred for stairs travelling seven thousand steps would give to an immortal." Jean comments.

Paarturnax looks at him, eyes twinkling. "Who said anything about walking down?" Seeing the questioning looks, she flips her robe, a pair of feathery wings sprouting from behind her back. "Greybeard patented gliding wings. An invention of early Tongues, who wished to connect to their teacher as much as possible. Acolytes, as well as me, use them to quickly travel down the mountain if we need something from the town or a village. It is also a good practice for Thu'um, to command the wind to make the glide as long as possible." Giving them a mischievous smile, Paarturnax continues. "And while acolytes do have to suffer the steps, I just turn back into a dragon, invisible."

Jean stares at the wings, stepping forward without realising it. "Amazing. I need a pair."

Smiling, Paarthurnax shakes her head. "Drem. First, finish your trials, then we will see about outfitting you two with gliders. Not that the trials themselves are hard, especially after you have shown so much promise."

"It sounds like you are humouring the others on this." Jean notes.

"Perhaps. Part of it is to maintain a sense of propriety. Every single acolyte in the monastery has completed their trials, so even if you are Dovahkiin, it might fester some resentment if you were just given access to what others had to work for. The other part is because I am not cruel enough to deny Arngeir, Wulfgar, Borri and Einarth their fun."

"Fair enooooo… ugh." Jean says, before blushing as he yawns.

Paarthurnax smiles, holding back her amusement. "Perhaps it is for the best that we retire for the night. You have a long journey up the mountain behind you after all." Moving towards the surface of the mountain, she puts her hand against the stone. "Strunmah, bex hin sil." With a ripple, the stone parts, presenting the trio with a small room carved in a small cave. Or perhaps the room was literally carved out of the mountain itself. Seeing the questioning looks, Paarthurnax points at the room. "If there is a feature I love the most about joor's form, it is that sleep is far more comfortable in it. It will be a bit crowded, but I guess you would rather not walk down the mountain, even with Thu'um lighting your path?"

"I think we will survive a bit of sharing." Jean notes dryly as they enter the room, the mountain wall closing behind them.

---

The next morning, the three of them walk down the mountain to the inner courtyard where the Greybeards await them. Jean rubs his eyes as he stifles a yawn. For all the talk of rest, trying to sleep in Paarthurnax' improvised house has been trying. Less because of the cramped space and more because the dragon insisted they all sleep on the bed, which had been mysteriously just about big enough for all three of them. And the woman was grabby in her sleep. Didn't help that Erin, meanwhile, just loved tossing and turning in her sleep. At least Nine were kind enough and Paarthurnax understood the concept of sleeping clothes.

"Mistress, Dragonborn." Arngeir greets them while Paarthurnax moves towards the stairs leading to the monastery before sitting down to observe.. "Are you ready for us to test your Voice?"

Shrugging, Jean nods. "No time like now, I suppose."

"Then, we will begin. Paarturnax already informed us that you had quite a lot of practice. As such, we will skip the usual question of demonstration and instead, focus on seeing for ourselves how well you grasp new words. Masters Borri and Wulfgar will share with you the second word of Unrelenting Force and then, we will see how well you use it."

The two of them nod and approach the Greybeards. The Masters give them a bow, before speaking. "Ro." The word washes over them as the meaning, at least as Greybeards understand it, worms its way into their minds.

Erin's eyes all but glow as she instantly goes to work on the incredibly versatile word, mixing and matching it with her vocabulary until she finds a combination that speaks to her. And since they had asked them to demonstrate… "Drem Ro Ven." Immediately, the wind, noticeable but not too bothersome so high up, calms down, basking the courtyard in sudden silence as the background sun vanishes. Jean looks up to the sky to check, and the clouds are still there. Still.

There is a gentle clapping sound, and turning up, they can see Paarthurnax smiling, her cheeks red. "Very well. I would have taught you Clear Skies at some point, but I see your mind might work fast enough for it to be unnecessary."

Then, Arngeir looks at Jean, who considers for a moment. Most of his words weren't as good for this sort of stuff, but the constant Skyrim cold does give him an idea. He just hopes he is not going to be the invisible stone guy in this trial. "Shul Ro Faad." He blinks as Arngeir and Wulfgar avert their gaze, though he does feel warm. Actually warm, instead of 'not cold' Skyrim accustomed him to.

Paarthurnax laughs softly. "I suppose it is fair for non-Nords to yearn for the warmth. Still, to bring the sun to you, or rather, to become the sun for yourself and the others. An interesting application, if not a subtle one."

"Indeed." Arngeir grunts. "It is rather frightening to think about the speed with which not only do you pick the new words but also string them together. Ro, Balance is always the middle word, fitting indeed. It is meant to regulate the effects of the other words, to bring them to a middle ground or focus their power better. Now, for the next lesson" he motions to master Einart who is standing before an iron gate close to the mountain's edge "let's see about a word with far less violent application. The first word of Whirlwind Sprint, Wuld."

Leading them towards a pillar a fair distance from the gate, he motions for Borri, who stands right next to it. With a quiet 'bex', Einart causes the gate to open, at which point Borri whispers the word, his step taking him beyond the gate as it closes. Turning towards them, Arngeir and Wulfgar speak the word to Jean and Erin, the effects washing over them. Jean barely can suppress the snicker as his mind already comes with the way to weave the Whirlwind into something more combat oriented than just a flash step. Less violent applications his ass.

"The gate has been enchanted with the same mechanism some of the tombs and other places in need of security have which causes it to be open for a far shorter period of time than it would take to traverse the distance. Now, go one after another, and best without modifying the shout. Without a glider, going past the edge is… ill advised." Arngeir warns, grimacing a little.

"Overzealous acolyte, I take it?" Jean asks.

The Greybeard shakes his head sadly. "Indeed. There is always one. Now, for the test?"

Waiting for master Borri to clear the end point, Einart opens the gate for each of them, both swiftly running beyond it and stopping by the pillar on the other side. Nodding Arngeir sighs. "The conclusion has been, perhaps, obvious, just as Paarthurnax has said. Still, you have passed the trials of the Greybeards. The last thing we would ask of you to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, the founder of our order. It is stored in Ustengrav, a tomb which doubles for the proving grounds of our order."

"It feels like we have been yanked from one end of Skyrim to another those last few weeks. Is it… urgent?" Jean asks a bit sour, still disappointed the mess with Mephala cancelled their rest time.

"It is understandable in times as chaotic as these. As such, we do not expect you to fulfil our request immediately, only that you do."

"Besides" comes Paarthurnax' amused voice "given the trend, we fully expect you to become side-tracked, again."

Jean grimaces at the thought. "Fucking daedra bullshit and their expectations you will just drop everything and do the thing." Sighing, he bows before the Greybeards. "Still, do you think you could give us some lessons in gliding? And maybe that thing you do to share your understanding of the Voice, it would really help me and Erin if we could swap notes, so to speak."

"A reasonable request." Paarthurnax muses. "Normally, there is only a singular Dragonborn at any given time. To have two of you does present an interesting conundrum. I will teach you how to Ofan-Mindok, to share the knowledge." Then, she hides her mouth behind the sleeve of her robe. "Besides, that way, we can spend more time together before you must leave."

"Master, must you?" Arngeir asks, visibly pained, to which Paarthurnax actually giggles. "As to your other request, each glider is personalised, to best work with one's body type. And while usually armour is ill advised while using them, I suppose the strength of Dragonborn's Thu'um should be sufficient to overcome that particular problem"

Shaking their heads in amusement, the rest of the Greybeards depart towards the monastery, while Arngeir takes Jean and Erin's measurements before leaving the two with Paarthurnax. The dragon woman gestures at the stairs and walls around her.

"Take a seat, and our lesson can begin." Waiting for them to do so, she continues. "As you might've noticed, dovahzul lacks words, perhaps even concepts, that are commonly found in mortal languages. For example, 'sharing'." She chuckles. "I am afraid we, dovah, are selfish by nature. Then, there is the nature of the Thu'um to consider. It is about understanding the concept, and while with time, you can make even a borrowed meaning your own, many dovah are too proud to be locked into another's for any period of time."

Humming, Jean looks towards the snow-capped peak of the Throat of the World while leaning back. "Which means it is… unlike a debate? A one sided debate?"

"Intimate." Jean sputters as Paarthurnax laughs. "For a dovah, at least. You joor are amusing in that aspect. For you, sharing knowledge is a natural, perhaps obvious thing. For a dovah, who always contest against each other, to bare one's soul, even a glimpse, to another, is to show vulnerability. It isn't even that hard, actually. Dwiirok ofan mindok. 'To engrave knowledge'. You already know how Thu'um's effects can differ drastically, with even a single addition, or even a little bit of intent. Ultimately, that is how sharing the understanding of the Words works. You Speak, meaning to present your understanding as a gift instead of an argument."

"That's it?" Jean asks incredulously, turning to look Paarthurnax in the face.

The woman nods, still smiling. "For you, what I just described sounds trivial, does it not? That's why I said it would come far easier to you two than it would to another dovah. Give it a try." She encourages them. "Speak the words I gifted to you to each other. Reflect on what they mean to you, what you want to communicate and then let the Thu'um flow."

Turning towards Erin, Jean thinks about that. Faad. Warmth. Definitely a sign of life. In Skyrim more than elsewhere, but even in other regions, it would probably connote a more temperate thing than the murderous heat of the desert, or the burning heart of a volcano. So life and heat, entwined. Safety, perhaps. A promise of a filling meal and the comfortable bed. Positivity.

"Faad."

Erin sucks in a breath as understanding hits her, brain already clicking the word together with another two to create something very useful indeed for gliding. She pushes the thoughts aside, instead dwelling on Ven, the wind. The breath of the world, cycling through all its lands and seas, carrying with it traces of all the places it visited, from humidity to temperature to dust and ash. How it filled sails and lungs just as easily as it could turn into a squall that snapped masts and tore ancient trees from the soil. How it could carry words to great distances just as easily as drown them out in their crib. It was motion and medium and transport. A wild thing, a force of nature, seemingly fickle and whimsical only to in truth follow patterns of to grand a scale for most to truly grasp. But it could be guided, tamed, put to use.

"Ven."

Jean's eyes widen as the realisation hits, already, his mind giddily taking the new toy and putting it with other words, especially something that could make gliding a very exciting prospect. And yet, he almost wants to laugh at just how easily his mind loops right back to try and pair it with Liiv, and how natural they feel together.

"Truly, Father's most flexible and intriguing creation." Paarthurnax mutters to herself, red faced and quick breathed. "To Listen from across Skyrim is one thing, but I had never imagined it would be so interesting to be there in person when your minds work, Dovahkiin."

Erin, being the gremlin that she is, grins before tilting her face skyward, breathing out the new Shout she'd devised, "Faad Ven Ru."

The warm wind springs into life, lifting Paarthurnax and Erin's loose robes, the dragon instinctively pressing down her dress with her hand to prevent it from flipping up, though the wind still manages to show off her long, pale legs. While Erin's limbs also end exposed, the cut of her robes prevents a similar danger from occurring to her. On his end, Jean feels his throat get really dry as his face heats up.

"R-ru ven drem." He finally chokes out, the Thu'um calming the wind down. Before he closes his eyes.

For a moment, there is silence, before Paarthurnax breaks into laughter. "Pffff…. Hahaha! This! Pruzah! This is what I paar! Zu'u laan! Hahahaha!" Wiping a tear out of her eye, she takes a deep breath. "I have not had this much fun in a long, long time."

"It… It would be a shame to leave you behind when we go back to doing Princes' random errands." Jean admits. "Would… you like to come with us?"

Paarthurnax blinks, looking at him as if she saw him for the first time. "Do you know why I have ultimately stayed on top of the Throat of the World, Dovahkiin?" She asks, quietly. Without waiting for an answer, she continues. "I was there when ancient Tongues overcame Alduin. They did not defeat him, but instead used kel, an Elder Scroll, to send him forward in time. I awaited my elder brother, staying at the top of the world, waiting for the day he would eventually return. Because he would. Only a Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, could defeat him permanently, and Miraak chose a different path."

"So now that Alduin has popped out the other end…" Erin trails off, smiling. She could already tell it'd be a wild ride having Paarthurnax in their party.

Paarthurnax nods, still transfixed, seeing something only she could see. "Geh. My watch has ended. I had wondered, if with the help of Greybeards, I could defeat Alduin."

"At least you gave him one hell of a welcoming party, I'd bet." Erin says with a small sigh.

"Zu'u drey." Paarthurnax smiles sadly. "And yet… It was not my vennesetiid, destiny. I am Cruel and Ambitious Overlord, but my fate was not to stand victorious to usurp the power of my better. Still, to realise my duty is now over… Geh, perhaps it is finally time to stretch my viing again and wander in the lands below." Blinking, she smiles as she looks up to the sky. "Mhm. I think I will take you on your offer. High Hrothgar doesn't truly need me to run its affairs, I have seen to that, even if they venerate the ground I walk on." Smiling mischievously, she continues. "Some more than others."

"If that's the case." Jean begins, before pausing. This was kind of an awkward question, after all. Still… Swallowing, he continues. "You said that you change your forms most of the time when you eventually go down the mountain. Would… would you mind keeping this one?"

Paarthurnax blinks again, looking at the redhead in the eyes, before she giggles and bows slightly. "I suppose it will spare you some confusion. Ah, I can already imagine the heads of the Nords steaming as their minds work overtime trying to place my reyliik, race."

"I half expect them to just default to calling you a knife-ear and call it a day." Jean notes dryly. "Racism doesn't seem to foster creativity."

"A shame." Paarthurnax sighs. "I have enjoyed the times when bards could bring kings low with a witty enough insult. I loved trading barbs with some of them. One of them even figured I was a dragon and requested a tinvaak, an insult competition against my dragon form."

Erin cannot help but let out a startled chortle, shaking her head, "Oh, Divines, what a magnificent madman."

"He was." Paarthurnax agrees. "Eventually, he died. Poor Svaknir, his tongue didn't protect him from Olaf, even if he was stubborn enough to keep writing and distributing his satire as fast as Olaf burned it."

---

With the promise of sending their gliders over once they are done, Jean and Erin leave High Hrothgar with Paarthurnax, once again answering to the name of Malautavoy, seen off by rather sour faced Arngeir. The walk still takes most of the day, although this time the beasts that made their home stay well away from the party.

"The minds of the beasts are mysterious things. They can, somehow, sense a dragon without much trouble, even if many of them take it as a challenge." Paarthurnax muses as she watches white furred sabertooth observe them from within the scarce wood line.

"I guess it's a free meal for a dragon. Doesn't even have to go through the trouble of hunting." Jean answers. "By the way, does the name you are using in this form mean anything?"

Paarthurnax nods. "Malautavoy is a Falmer word for knowledge. Well, it's a verb, I didn't have occasion to truly study it."

Jean hums as they walk. From what he remembers, the librarian at the College of Winterhold is actually fluent. Getting Paarthurnax proper lessons would probably be a decent gift.

Eventually, however, they get to the base of the mountain, where the rest of the party sits by the campfire, immersed in a game of cards. From what they can see, Barbas seems to be the one winning it, despite obvious difficulties he should have with holding anything.

Hearing the footsteps, Lydia looks up. "Welcome back. You are back sooner than we expected." Eyeing Paarthurnax, she frowns. "Did you kidnap a Greybeard to speed things up?"

Ignoring Paarthurnax' giggle, Jean answers dryly. "In a way. Turns out we are a wee bit beyond the expected applicant level so they just gave us an errand and sent us on the way. Malautavoy here decided to tag along, stretch her legs a bit."

"Can anyone in this godsforsaken place do their own shit." Lydia mutters darkly as she shakes her head before giving Jean a look. "Greybeard. Just stretching their legs. I feel like there is something else to this, but sure, I won't ruin your fun."

"Anything happened while we were gone?"

Valdimar grunts, even as he eyes Barbas, suspicious. "Rumours came down the way about more vampire attacks to the north, mostly around Dawnstar and Morthal. Lot of folks just wake up missing a night or two, if at all. Those who don't are found dry. After that, a group of vampire hunters playing the Dawnguard passed Ivarstead on their way north. Fuck it, fold." He finishes with a sigh as he lays down his cards, leaving only Serana to hold her ground against Daedric Prince.

Paarthurnax hums as she inclines her head. "Playing?"

"The Dawnguard were disbanded all the way back in the Second Era. The original group were mercenaries hired to… ah, protect the son of Jarl of Riften in his little house arrest after lad became a vampire. They did that, and a bit of active vampire hunting on the side until eventually, they decided to make their job easier by just dealing with Jarl's vampiric problem permanently. At which point, the Jarl, understandably upset, disbanded them by force and turned the fort they were based from into the most pretentious mausoleum in history."

"Perhaps this new Dawnguard took their name as a symbol. People love their folk stories and tales of heroes emerging in the time of need." Paarthurnax muses.

"Probably." Jean shrugs. He honestly doesn't remember why Isran took the name instead of coming with something of his own. "Anyway, are you done getting played by daedra? I would like to spend the night in a bed." He addresses Serana.

The vampiress ignores him, instead choosing to lay down her hand. "Dragonfire."

"Planemeld." Barbas answers, causing the woman to shake her head. "A good game, but you should know better than to play Daedric Visions against a Prince."

"Which is why I bowed out after the first couple of rounds." Lydia whispers to Jean and Erin. "Now, if I remember our morning wager correctly, the losers pack the camp."

Muttering, Valdimar and Serana get to work packing the rolls and dousing the fire before the group walks back to Ivarstead, where the folks give Paarthurnax curious, reverent looks as they move out of the way for her to pass.

As the group settles for the dinner at the table in the Vilemyr Inn, Lydia unfurls a map in the corner of the table. "So, Rimerock Burrow. Where is that, precisely?" Barbas just barks at her, though her eyes do widen as if she heard him. Then, checking the map, she grimaces. "Great. Of course it's out of the way. Even more out of the way than Thalmor Embassy."

Reflecting her grimace, Jean takes a look at the map. "Great. I think we can swing by Morthal, Greybeard's little task is in the area. We can then swing by Solitude before delving into the wilds."

"And get caught in whatever other nonsense is stomping around up there." Erin grumbles. She vaguely remembers something about the Prince of Nightmares Fucking About up north. Fucking daedric nonsense.

"Come now, Erin." Lydia answers. "It's the capital of Skyrim and the main base of the Legion. If there is any place that can take care of itself, it's there."

Which is, naturally, the point at which the doors to the inn swing wide open and a heavily breathing courier steps inside. "Are… Are the Dragonborn here?" The man pants heavily as he looks around. Jean playfully shoots Lydia a withering look before waving the man over. "Right… Right. An urgent message, milord. From Solitude."

Accepting the letter with a nod, Jean gives the man a handful of septims. "Grab yourself something to eat and drink, you look like shit." The man mutters thanks before moving towards the bar while Jean sighs and opens the message. "Let's see what is happening up north… The words of your deeds against the Vampire Lord in Morthal reached the Blue Palace… interrupted necromantic ritual… the men we send dead… need help… come as fast as possible… wary of putting the details to the paper. Signed, Falk Firebeard. So, necromantic bullshit. And from the tone of the letter, I don't think it's something we can put off."

"Lovely." Erin grumbles with a shake of her head. "Guess we'll just shoot straight to Solitude and handle the Greybeard thing on the way back down."

"Seems like it. Right, let's finish eating and catch a carriage to Solitude in the morning."

---

Dragon dictionary:

Haal nau dreh - Hand on action

Kun aak miiraad - Light guide path

Dii rii, daal us daar se dovah - My essence, return to that of dragon

Strunmah, bex hin sil - Mountain, open your heart (surface or depth).

 

[Omida]

Fortunately for the party, while Ivarstead itself doesn't have its own carriage station, they manage to catch one going from Riften to Whiterun, and with a sizable overpayment, both the driver and the passengers agree to the crowded ride. From Whiterun, the ride is somewhat more manageable until Rorikstead, where the carriage suddenly stops.

"Something wrong?" Jean asks, somewhat worried if Nahagliiv is being raised.

"Thalmor." The driver almost spits the word.

Looking over, Jean notices the distinct, hooded robes of the Justicar, as well as a large squad of golden-armoured elves. One of them notices the carriage, and with a shout, sends a pair of soldiers towards them.

"Travelers, come down and surrender to the inspection!" The one on the right commands.

Paarthurnax quirks her eyebrow at the man, but does come down. "Is it truly necessary? We are not interfering with your business, and I doubt you are here for us."

The man examines her, noting her ears before grimacing at the colour of her skin and hair. "What you think doesn't matter, mongrel."

Biting his tongue, Jean looks over the rest of the Thalmor squad. Two mages, set pretty wide apart, and twenty soldiers. Someone really kicked the hornets' nest here.

"Let's just let them look around, not like we have anything to hide, and their insults aren't even creative." Valdimar murmurs.

"Can't do." Serana answers as they dismount. "I have a very… sensitive package, and Erin has the Rose."

Sighing, Valdimar rolls his shoulders. "Let's wait till we can get as many as possible. I would rather not play with Thalmor mages inside the village."

Seeing them comply, the soldier on the left nods. "Good. With the rest of the villagers, to the mound. Leave personal belongings here. Anything found will be subject to scrutiny." He motions at Nahagliiv's still intact burial site.

"Well, that takes care of the collateral." Jean mutters, catching Lydia's eye. He scratches his throat, subtly sliding a finger across his neck. The woman's eyes widen, but she nods without further motion. He can't use fire, that much he knows. Still, there is something nice to replace it.

"Ready?" He whispers.

"No lollygagging!" Barks the man, pushing Lydia. The woman twists instead, grabbing the elf by the wrist, dagger flashing in her other hand as she slams it into the elf's throat. The other Altmer doesn't have the chance to raise an alarm before Serana snaps his neck.

"Erin, you take the left one! LIIV RO VEN!" His breath twists and howls as the wind rushes towards the Thalmor soldiers, Wither eating through the hastily erected ward without issue as it flays the skin, meat and bone while leaving the armour and clothes. The mage barely has the time to cry out as his defensive spell is consumed and his own body starts falling apart. Then, Jean coughs, his lungs screaming for air, the Shout stopping as suddenly as it started.

"DIIN FUS VAAZ!" Comes Erin's own Shout, the elf woman holding up her strongest Ward as wide as she can.

Following her example, Valdimar and Serana rise their own Wards between themselves and the Thalmor squad, whose cries and shouts are drowned by the explosion of screeching metal, the shrapnel bouncing off the triple Ward while turning the Altmer into a mess of gore and minced meat. Grimacing at the sight, Paarthurnax sighs.

"A clever solution, if a messy one. Now, let's assure villagers they are free to return homes while I get a quick chat with Nahagliiv." Jean and Erin note that there is a distinctly pleased tone to her voice anyway.

The group treks to the dragon mound, where the villagers grumble good naturedly, seemingly unperturbed at the prospect of having to dispose of the corpses of twenty Thalmor agents. Meanwhile, Paarthurnax sits on top of the mound, hands pressed against the stone as she mutters in dovahzul.

"Paarthurnax… they are incredible, are they not?"

"Indeed. I must confess, it feels… strange, to hear you so peaceful. I could scarcely believe it when I first heard the tale."

"Ha! I can only await the moment Alduin comes for me and then hope Dragonborn defeat me… A prospect I find more and more likely."

Paarthurnax stays silent for a moment, before bowing, touching the stone with her forehead. "I might have a solution that doesn't involve destroying local landmarks… " She whispers playfully.

"Oh? I am all ears, Second Child."

"The words of the Shout joor came up with, they elude me, but I still wrought out something interesting out of trying. Alduin cannot bind what isn't where he expects it."

"There is a price, I expect."

"A small one, and one you would have paid anyway, Nahagliiv. Now, listen as I whisper it to you… Of Essence and Change. Of Mortals. About becoming akin to Dragonborn. A Dovah in spirit, if not in flesh."

Jean and Erin observe in silence as… some sort of energy passes between Paarthurnax and Nahagliiv as they speak.

"Rii Meyz Joor, jul kendov, sot se om, sahqo se miin." Nahagliiv whispers, the dragon's voice carrying over the mound as the wisps of his energy slowly pass through stone and earth, converging atop his grave. From a cocoon of energy, it slowly takes shape as wind picks up, billowing the party's clothes towards the centre. Uneasily, Jean notices that the Mortal Guise takes the construction of the body very literally. Bones are formed first, then tendons and muscles, and arteries. Skin, pale and pink, A mane of white hair grows from the skull. The female figure is naked for just a fraction of a second before the Shout clothes her, wool and linen, and then black and red dyed leather and fur, and finally, a grey, gleaming metal forming plates of armour instead of scales of dragon.

Nahagliiv takes a deep breath, clearly taking pleasure in the sensation, before opening her ruby-red eyes. "Bormahu, I missed this." She purrs, before her stomach grumbles like a starved beast and she blushes. "I am… It's like bahlok, but different. What is this?" She asks Paarthurnax.

"This, Nahagliiv, is what joor call hunger. You will find that those new bodies of ours come with different needs than those of dovah, ones that need to be sated or else they turn weak and frail."

Nahagliiv blinks before clapping her hands together. "Ha! Very well. Is there something to eat then? I am starving."

"We do." Lydia answers, shaken out of her stupor even as she shoots Paarthurnax suspicious look. "And I have the feeling we will need to buy extra large portions."

"You might also think about taking a different name." Jean finally comments. "At least when interacting with others. I don't think dovahzul names are popular."

"Try, pretentious and only done by crazy, rich people in isolated places." Valdimar grunts. "Which doesn't work for our new friend, I'm afraid."

Nahagliiv thinks for a moment, before shrugging. "Hildr it is. That reminds me, do you have any weapons to spare? As much fun as figuring the physical limits of this body would be, I am kinda interested in how joor fight."

"Only elven make, I am afraid." Jean notes. "Let's go, we were on a bit of a timetable before Thalmor forced this detour."

"Oh?"

"We are going to be diving into the sea of undead soon~ish."

---

"So how exactly does a Shout that makes a mortal body work in a set of clothes into the equation?" Serana asks as the cart rolls over the plains.

Paarthurnax shrugs. "While I have learned much about Thu'um over my life, possibly more than anyone else, even I sometimes have no answers. I assume it is because the intent of the Shout is to create a body to interact with mortals, and its creator has not seen one without clothes, so the Thu'um might have simply been created with… an assumption. Or it might be because the power behind the Voice directly translates dovah's scales into clothing."

"So Thu'um being Thu'um." She sighs. "Honestly, we'd probably be in Solitude much faster if the two of you flew us there."

Nahagliiv chortles from her seat, swallowing a bite of the meat before speaking. "Can't do, for me. I am still technically dead in that form."

Paarthurnax just smiles. "The journey is as important as the destination. Besides, if these two" she points at Jean and Erin "didn't have to go the long way, you might have still been locked in your sealing place. And who knows what sort of person would instead grab your Kel then."

Serana keeps her face carefully blank as she answers. "I have no idea what you are talking about, but I concede the point."

Paarthurnax, and Nahagliiv for that matter, both snort. "Please, soslun, do you really think Children of Akatosh cannot sense Kel's presence?"

"Indeed." Nahagliiv adds. "That thing is not subtle, as much as it lets you hide it easier from mortal eyes."

"I have no idea what Kel means" Valdimar says cheerfully "but from the tone I will just assume a dangerous artefact Serana would rather not have her father get his hands on and move on. Ignorance can be a blessing."

"In a way." Jean agrees. "I am actually surprised we haven't heard more about his efforts to get it other than just the news of vampire attacks. He seemed to have almost figured out how to get Serana back when we got there."

"Plus, she was made thane of Morthal alongside us. No way news of that didn't reach him." Erin pipes up.

"Which is why I am worried." Serana continues. "Father is not… used, to being denied. And while he can be subtle, from what I remember, I believe he would have already sent me a message that states his intent clearly by now."

"You can save your noble talk for later." Calls out the driver. "The road is closed. Bandit camp ahead."

Sighing, Jean looks up, blinking at the sight. The camp is pretty well defended, he must admit. It's built on top of the cliff, and while he cannot see it, he distinctly remembers a palisade closing off the camp. There is also a watch tower connected by the bridge on the other side of the road built on top of the rocks. The bandits, Jean notes, are already pointing their bows at them.

"Let me guess, road tax?" He sighs. The worst part is, from what the poor bastards can see, they legitimately think they have a chance.

"Dovahkiin." Nahagliiv whispers, barely holding back her excitement even as her eyes shine with glee, her hands clenching and unclenching the handle of her great axe. "Let me… talk to them, while you make sure our carriage and the driver are untouched, okay?"

Erin can't help but chuckle a bit even as magicka surges to both her hands, a double layered Ward springing to life around the carriage, "Have fun." The rest of the party, those capable of magic ready their wards as well, prepared to take shifts. The bandits release their arrows, which bounce off the ward harmlessly

Nahagliiv, meanwhile, grins, jumping off the cart. "Wuld Ro Ru." She whispers, her next step carrying her on top of the watchtower in a blink of an eye. The pair of men on top cry in surprise, especially as the dragon woman's momentum sends one of them flying to the ground, where he lands with a crack. Nahagliiv, meanwhile, takes an easy, one handed swing of her weapon, the strike tearing the other bandit in half.

"Su Grah Dun!" She shouts with glee, dancing around the arrow fire as she crosses the bridge, her two handed weapon flashing before the group on the other side can even react, cutting off limbs and leaving deep gashes in flesh and armour. "Geh! Come, Nords! The Sovngarde awaits us, so let's give in to the thrill of battle!"

Then, she jumps down to the main camp, and the group loses sight of her, only screams and flashes of spell work signifying her advance. The driver turns towards the party, a bit pale. "Say, friends, where did you find an honest to Nine berserker from childhood fairy tales?"

"We just happened to stumble on her place when adventuring and slowly managed to reignite her passion." Lydia deadpans. Jean is quite impressed with the answer, not a single word is actually false.

"I have carted around my fair share of adventurers." The man mutters. "So I know how it actually works. My point is, your friend is the adventurer all adventurers always pretty up their stories to make themselves look like."

Ten minutes later, Nahagliiv walks out of the camp, soaked in blood, with a bag of valuables slung over shoulder, a different great axe on her back and a pearly white, large stone in her hand. They can also hear her humming a happy tune.

"Had fun?" Paarthurnax asks with a gentle smile.

"I did! And you wouldn't believe what I found!" She cheerfully exclaims, which makes for a rather intimidating sight with the blood on her face and armour. Holding up the stone, which Jean and Erin recognise, much to their despair, she continues. "This is Meridia's Beacon. She wants us to clear out her temple." She explains as she gets back on the cart.

Lydia snorts. "Of course. We've heard about her problem already. Can it wait until we know what Solitude wants?"

Nahagliiv blinks as she listens to the voice only she can apparently hear as the cart starts moving again. "Meridia says that she knows what is happening in Solitude and that we might want her aid with it."

Serana gives the dragon a deadpan look. "Does she realise you are travelling with someone she has a grudge against?"

"She does. She also says that she can prioritize and keeping you around for now will maximise the amount of undead Dawnbreaker will be able to deal with… What's Dawnbreaker?" Nahagliiv asks.

"Meridia's favourite toy." Barbas pipes in. "A sword that makes the undead explode into fire. She made it so that anyone killed by it cannot be raised again, and even against living, it's fire enchantment is quite potent."

Nahagliiv's eyes shine as she takes in the information. "I want it." Then, she frowns. "Thought I hope it's a big blade."

"That's what she said." Lydia mutters before speaking up. "Is there any problem with normal longswords?"

"Not really, I suppose." Nahagliiv whines. "But they are just so… light. I am constantly worried they will just slip from my hand."

"Given what I've seen and heard so far about daedric artefacts, I have no doubt the damn thing will resize itself as needed." Erin supplies. Exhibit A, the Sanguine Rose playing at being a brooch. Exhibit B, the offers to resize the Ebony Blade to Lydia's preferences. Honestly, all the powerful artefacts rattling about seemed all too happy to adjust themselves for their bearer's benefit. Look at Serana's scroll.

Nahagliiv just hums happily at the thought.

"That's it." Valdimar shudders. "Stop the cart, friend. The river is right there, go wash the blood up so I don't have war flashbacks." He commands the dragon.

She just shoots him a confused look, but shrugs and goes to do so.

---

Entering the Blue Palace, the party is quickly ushered into a room where Falk Firebeard, a redheaded Nord with well trimmed beard and short cut hair greets them. The man is pale, and seems to actually relax as he takes the size of the party, even if he gives Barbas a confused look.

"Finally, you are here!" He exclaims.

"Your letter found us when we came down from High Hrothgar, so we had to cross half the Skyrim." Jean notes.

"That's… well, no matter. We need your help with a group of necromancers."

Lydia blinks, looking at the man as if he grew a second head. "A group of necromancers is all it takes to terrify Solitude?"

The man grimaces as he rubs his eyes. "I realise how that sounds, and normally, you would be right. But after Helgen, Legion has been gutted of mages and Winterhold, while stand-offish on the matter of Civil War, is in the middle of Stormcloak territory."

"Why don't you start from the beginning, my good man." Paarthurnax speaks calmly with a bow.

Falk seems to balk as he recognises the Greybeards' robes, though he doesn't say anything about her elven features. "Right. Right." Pacing around, he begins. "Some time ago, an influential resident of Dragonbridge came to the Blue Palace to speak about his worries about the strange lights and noises coming from Wolfskull Cave. Now, the man is a paranoid mess at the best of times, so we just dispatched some adventurers to check it out, assuage his fears."

"They didn't come back, I take it?" Jean guesses.

"No, they did not. Solitude's guards fared no better. We eventually send a group of Legionnaires with a hired mage. They didn't solve the issue, and most of them died, but at least we know what is happening. The cabal that resides there is trying to resurrect Potema."

There is a silence before Lydia and Valdimar pale. "Talos protect us." The man whispers.

"Needless to say, Legion put the cave to the siege, hoping to at least keep interrupting the ritual until a solution has been found. Which is why, when hearing about Morthal, I have decided to contact you. The Wolf Queen cannot be allowed to come back."

"Obviously." Jean deadpans. "We will go as soon as possible. We will just resupply and hit the road."

The man looks relieved, and sits down as if great pressure has been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you. While I would rather you hurry up, I understand the needs. Especially since no carriages go there now. Partly because of the Legion blockade, partially because something spooks the horses well before they reach the place. I will give you a letter of recommendation that lets you pass the Imperial cordon."

"Much appreciated." Jean agrees.

Not soon after, the party departs Solitude, seen off by the eyes of guards and Legionnaires manning the walls. According to the map, and Meridia's incessant chatter, the Prince of Dawn's temple is, fortunately enough, quite literally on the way to the Wolfskull Cave. As the group moves through the tundra, Nahagliiv amuses herself by chatting with the Prince about the details concerning the necromancer squatting in the temple.

"The guy reminds me of Durnehviir, honestly." She comments eventually. "Very deep into making undead do all the work even if he could probably be really good in a personal fight if he applied himself. Wonder if Durnehviir is sick and tired of Soul Cairn by now."

"S… soul Cairn?" Lydia asks.

Serana nods. "A realm in Oblivion. Mother was interested by it. The beings that rule it tend to make pacts with necromancers, souls in exchange for deeper secrets of the art."

"And Durnehviir really liked necromancy." Nahagliiv picks up. "Not just the raising of the undead hordes part, but curses and rituals too. Big baby didn't like getting ouchies." She reminisces with a smile as she bites into an apple.

Lydia shoots her a withering look. "Must you eat at all times?"

"Hey, I had a millennia of fasting, and all these tastes are new to me, so I want to try as much as possible to find out my favourites."

"Let her be, lass." Valdimar sighs. "At least with how much she moves around, she won't get fat."

Barbas barks amused, but picks up the topic. "I wonder if Meridia is willing to humour you lot because there is a chance to get back at Soul Cairn. I imagine the thought of giving Ideal Masters a scare is enough to get her to mellow out."

"They are actually called 'Ideal Masters'?" Serana asks, surprised. "That's… arrogant."

"That it is. And with Potema, chances are she's got a private portal there hidden somewhere around. So a nice, little crusade from Coloured Rooms might be in the cards."

"And we'll be coming up against Durnehviir in there too, because that's just how our luck is." Erin grumbles without any real heat to it. Mostly because she's really looking forward to squeezing all sorts of fun necromancy and curse tricks from the dragon.

"Fun! Hey, Party, do you think I will be able to turn back in Soul Cairn on account of being technically dead?"

Paarthurnax thinks about it for a moment, before shaking her head. "I would recommend against trying, dear. Who knows how your soul's unfettered status would interact with it."

Nahagliiv just shrugs as the party slowly makes their way up into the mountains until the back of the giant statue peaks over the treeline.

Jean stops, looking at it with a deadpan stare. "And the Vigilants really managed to miss this for two hundred years?"

Walking up the stairs, Erin and Jean notice the Word Wall and split off with Paarthurnax in tow, while Nahagliiv continues up the stairs to store the beacon at the feet of the statue. Coming to stop under the dragon head adorning the stone, Jean reads the inscription.

"This stone commemorates the fair Princess Yrsa who bewitched all of Tamriel with her grace and beauty." He shakes his head as the word burns itself into his mind. "... Dun. Sounds like another Ro situation, to be honest, unless one tries to make a Shout that looks pretty."

Paarthurnax giggles at the comment but nods. "There are quite a few words like that, which do not have their own effect, merely mould the effects of other words."

Erin's eyes light up, a Shout clicking into place in her mind immediately. Making sure she has plenty of room to run around in, she lets it loose, "Wuld Dun Ru."

She vanishes from Jean's sight, the sound of her footsteps barely audible before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He knows what happened, but the redhead still jumps and turns around, only to see nothing.

"Point taken." He sighs.

"Hey guys!" Nahagliiv shouts as she comes down, accompanied by the sound of the iron gates opening with a loud screech from below. "Ooh, Erin, nice variant of Great Speed. Very flexible compared to the majority of them."

"The Wall decided to grace Dovahkiin with dun, grace." Paarthurnax explains, causing Nahagliiv to nod in understanding.

The elf woman finally comes to a stop with a wide grin, the wind she stirred up even having the courtesy of simply making her robes billow dramatically rather than toss her hair or hood into her face. "Thanks! I am going to have so much fun with this one."

Barbas snorts. "Obviously. Now, you kids go and take a stroll through Meridia's place. I am afraid my and Serana's presence would cause… tensions."

The group nods and descends into the temple. The inside is dark and dreary, the floor being almost hidden under a layer of thick, dark mist only disturbed by their steps, revealing darkened, withered corpses of Vigilants, and further in, people who must have been worshippers.

"Now that really brings Durnehviir to mind." Nahagliiv comments. "The mist was one of his favourite tricks, hid the Soul Cairn's wraiths really well."

As if to prove her right, the half-material, black silhouettes with glowing red lights in place of the eyes, wielding old weaponry rise from the mist, wispy darkness still clinging to their weapons. With rasping breaths, they turn towards the party.

"I have actually been meaning to try something as well." Jean steps forwards. "And I suppose no better place to use it first then the Temple of Prince of Dawn. Drem Shul Liiv."

He is surrounded by the radiant glow, bright like the sun in its zenith, the light dispelling darkness and burning the wraiths away, who vanish with the screech.

"Flatterer." Nahagliiv whispers into his ear, causing a shudder to run down his spine.

Swallowing, he speaks up. "T-thanks. Anyway… this kinda completely invalidates Stendarr's Aura, huh."

Paarthurnax snorts. "A lot of spells have been invented to mimic the effects of Thu'um… and vice versa. Dovah like to establish dominance over joor by taking their things and making a better version. Still, do not discard the spells, there are places in the world which cause Thu'um to not work. Most particularly, dwemer were fond of making sure their architecture would suppress su'um, the Breath that is the source of Thu'um."

"And now that you said it, it's certain we will have to visit one of those places." Jean answers. Probably any of the dwemer ruins containing Elder Scrolls, which seems like the security feature the previous asshole elves would be fond of.

With Jean acting as the convenient source of light, and easy disposal of the wraiths, the walk around the temple ultimately amounts to locating the pillars containing additional beacons for Meridia's light to infuse with Daedric Prince's power. At one point, the further way is blocked by the section of the corridor which was collapsed, an obstacle cleared with the quick use of Whither, which only causes Nahagliiv to shudder and hum in bliss.

Eventually, they descend to the final chamber, where they spot a necromancer surrounded by the wraiths pouring magicka over a sword with a gem glowing like a miniature sun in its guard.

The wraiths his as the party approaches, causing the man to turn around. He narrows his eyes as he grips and raises his staff. "I see the Shining Bitch finally found someone competent enough to make it this far. Still..."

"I am going to stop you right here." Nahagliiv notes without a hint of concern as she holds her hand up, her axe still on her back. "We have come this far without breaking a sweat. Do you really think there is anything you could come up with that will so much as slow us down?"

"... Let's assume you are right and I am not powerful enough to deal with you." The man answers.

"You really aren't."

The necromancer grits his teeth, but pushes on. "Do you really think that after all the people I have killed, both to take this place and to hold it, that anyone sane would just… let me go? No, even that madman Varen knows messing with the Princes has only one outcome if you don't come out on top."

Without another word, his magicka surges through the staff, and a howling sphere of blizzard shoots for the group. Nahagliiv stands unconcerned.

"Fus Ag Wuld." Her Thu'um comes not as a stream of fire or even a fireball, but a burning maelstrom, consuming the entire room in raging flames, snuffing out the spell as the cries of the wraiths are drowned out. The necromancer's cries as well, dark mist rising from his rapidly incinerated body, only for it to burn as well.

"FINALLY." Comes a triumphant voice. "THE DEFILER IS NO MORE, AND I COULD NOT ASK FOR A MORE FITTING END FOR HIM." Jean grimaces at the sheer volume Meridia uses, but he guesses he can forgive her after over a decade of having to see her shrine reduce to… this. "TAKE MY DAWNBREAKER, AND USE ITS CLEANSING LIGHT TO PURGE THE WORLD OF CORRUPTION. BEGINNING WITH THE WOLF QUEEN."

"You do realise I am not going to be worshipping you, right?" Nahagliiv asks as she draws the golden blade from the stone, the weapon shifting in her hand, both the hilt and the blade growing until she holds a greatsword. In this form, the party can see the similarities of the metal to that of Valdimar's dwemer armour.

"IT MATTERS NOT. JUST BY CARRYING DAWNBREAKER, YOU WILL BRING MY LIGHT TO THE WORLD."

With that, Meridia falls silent as the light the party has guided so far fills the temple, burning away the mist.

"Let's go, before Meridia summons her Purified to start fixing the temple." Paarthurnax suggests. "I would rather not stay in the company of her… most fervent worshippers."

Jean decides he doesn't really want to know, simply deciding that, at the end of the day, Meridia is a Daedric Prince with all the inhuman morality that implies.

The group climbs the mountain path above the temple until they hit a proper, paved road. In the distance, they notice the banner of the legion fluttering in the wind, a red dragon on the golden field. As they approach, the wooden barricade blocking the road as well as a small ballista come into the view as well, with a squad of men in chainmail and leather. One of them, a man in a steel plate, comes forward.

"Halt! This area is restricted on the orders of General Tulius and Jarl Elisif. Unless you have proof of being sent from Solitude, I am afraid you will have to divert your travel."

Jean reaches into the bag and hands over the letter from Falk, the legionnaire taking it and opening in a swift move. "Thank the Eight." He mutters. "Come through. Before you start, report to the Captain Sanga."

"That bad, eh lieutenant?" Valdimar inquires as they pass. The man shakes his head.

"Me and my men are lucky to be on the cordon duty, but everything we have heard in the camp points to real clusterfuck in that cave."

Valdimar nods in understanding as the group moves down the road, spotting more and more tents. Not a full force of the legion, obviously, but enough soldiers to be noticeable. Some of them shoot the party weary looks, and more than a few are drawn to the Dawnbreaker on Nahagliiv's back. Most simply stare, but Jean notes that a few amongst them seem to realise what exactly they are looking at. The captain's tent is, in the legion's tradition, open wide, with the large table taking most of it. Captain Sanga, an Imperial woman with short, auburn hair and a scar on her left cheek. She is discussing something with a group of mages and looks up when the group approaches.

Jean hands her the letter from the steward first before speaking. "We are the folks Falk Firebeard wanted to deal with the necromancers." The mages visibly relax, one of them even giving a relieved sighs, which causes Jean to wince. "That bad?"

Sanga snorts. "I lost twenty legionnaires before we figured just how hard we need to push and how often for them to interrupt their ritual. Add in the adventurers who were sent before us and unfortunate victims before there was response, as well as some draugr and they have a solid force. Can't even collapse the damn place and wait for them to run out of air because it's like every single fucking cave in this godsforsaken place has enough cracks to let the air in." Sighing, she runs her hand through her face. "It would've been easier if we had any battlemages left, but Helgen gutted the unit assigned to our Legion and what's left is spread thin over the Reach trying to counter the Forsworn."

Valdimar shakes his head. "None of the auxiliaries trained in Restoration branched into anti undead focus?"

Sanga looks at him as if she is trying to place his face before shaking her head. "They have their hands busy just patching the men. At least they are no longer busy with refugees from Helgen, but some of them needed weeks of rest after that."

"Enough of this depressing talk." Lydia says, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword. "What does the inside of the cave look like? I assume there is something inside that makes the attack difficult."

"There is an honest to Eight fort inside. Sure, the walls are somewhat crumbled, but that still gives the undead a solid position. There is also a stream flowing through it, not deep enough to be a problem on its own, but the draugr are fond of frost spells and there are a lot of runic traps on the other bank. Makes it easy to trap any assault in place. Other than that, the main difficulty is that the draugr are tough bastards. And, if you manage to stop the necromancers from their ritual, there is suddenly a lot of daedra around."

Serana grimaces as the captain slowly lays everything down. "Damn, they really are prepared for siege. I have heard of vampire covens that put less thought into their hideouts."

"This one can be put down to being one of the sites Potema used for her rituals." Valdimar grunts. "Even bears its name after her. They probably picked it because it's connected to her."

"Yeah, that would do it." Serana nods.

"Mhm. If you don't mind, captain, we will be going and if it goes without a hitch, you will be on your way back to Solitude by the evening."

"I can pray for that, at least." The woman grimaces.

Exiting the tent, the group is quickly directed towards the entrance to the cave which is put behind a barricade as well. Inside, in the first cavern a couple of scouts wait, looking down the well lit tunnel.

"Go back outside, boys, we are taking it from here." Valdimar grunts and the men sigh relieved as they move the opposite way. The old mage just shakes his head.

Nahagliiv takes the front, taking the Dawnbreaker from her back, the jewel casting enough light to illuminate the path. "A couple of Shouts should wipe the defences clean, after that just need to get to the necromancers. Ugh, fighting undead." She finishes with a grimace.

"Ey, at least they're highly flammable, doubly so with that sword." Erin comments idly, brain already to work on just what Shout she'd be using to make a mockery of the defences.

"I will see." The dragon whines. "They just aren't much fun. Most of them don't even have blood to spill!"

"Ironic for a woman whose name gave birth to a Shout that kills people by drying them up." Jean comments dryly. "I have yet to see a single drop of blood whenever we use it."

Nahagliiv looks straight up, her face hidden from his view in the narrow tunnel. "I-it doesn't have to be perfectly rational." Jean just shakes his head as he suppresses a chuckle.

Finally, the tunnel ends and opens up to a large cavern. Not as large as the one Serana was sealed in, but the fort does, indeed, fit there, even if they can see some of the towers almost literally scrape by the ceiling. From somewhere atop it, the party can see a pale blue light illuminate the cave, wisps of magicka converging on the spot.

"Well, time to field test another Shout." Erin mutters, the pieces clicking together in her mind into quite the nasty combination. Nahagliiv is going to love this one. It feels like she holds a maelstrom in her lungs as she bellows out, "FUS WULD LIIV!"

The air ripples and shudders as the gale winds converge creating a howling vortex that devours everything in its path. The stone touched by it crumbles to dust on the slightest brush, the runes fizzling out and dying without even a spark or flash of light. And then, it hits the fort and just keeps going as if there was nothing in the way, creating a deep, empty gorge in the brick and stone. The azure glow blinks away as the ritual is firmly interrupted.

"HA!" Comes a mocking voice from… somewhere. "I WILL BE BACK! UNBOUND AND UNSTOPPABLE!"

"Mhhhhhmmmm…! Aaaaaah~" Nahagliiv almost collapses, her eyes fluttering as she leans heavily on Dawnbreaker and pants heavily.

Jean watches her very red-faced. "Can… can you fight, because there are a few things left." He points out to the lone figure at the top of one side of the gorge, a purple light blooming in its hands.

Erin can't help but let out a low, quiet whistle at the effect her Shout had. She hadn't honestly expected for Nahagliiv to get it that bad. The elf woman finds herself deeply thankful for the hood of her robes, Naha's voice as she moaned and panted did Things for her and a pale complexion like hers made for nuclear blushes.

Serana hides her face under her own hood while Lydia and Valdimar chortle, the former more pink faced then the latter. Paarthurnax, vividly blushing herself, merely smiles. "I might have forgotten that there is this type of hunger and sensation too." She muses airily.

Then, the summoning the necromancer performs finishes and from a portal comes out a giant humanoid mass of shadow clad in bone white armour, pauldrons even looking like the bones of some sort of creature. It holds a bone white mace in one hand, the other being free.

Nahagliiv, still shaking, stands straighter. "Oooh, a Keeper. Definitely Soul Cairn stuff. Right… right." She shudders again before grabbing Dawnbreaker tighter. "Krif drem, drem."

Shooting the dragon woman a worried look, Jean decides to… help her out with the case of jelly legs. Sure, it's not fear that has her shaking, but it should still work, with some modification. "Vur Drem Shaan." He speaks, focusing on Nahagliiv, who immediately stands more steady, her breath calmed down as she takes the air in.

"Kogaan." She sighs before grinning and hefting Dawnbreaker up. "Let's see what all the excitement is about."

Without any further Thu'um, she tenses before shooting forward, crossing the distance between her and the Keeper in an instant, the Dawnbreaker digging into the bone armour and flashing with light as the flames of Meridia try to eat through the material. Keeper reacts by punching her in the face, Nahagliiv's head snapping back before she headbutts it with a laugh, causing it to stumble back. She wrings the blade out of the armour and intercepts the mace with a shallow swing before kicking the Keeper into the wall and running it through. The Dawnbreaker's jewel shines triumphantly as the Keeper explodes in the cloud of burning mist and flames, burning away the shades summoned by the necromancer in the meantime.

"Huh. Looks interesting." Looking up at the very pale, clearly scared mage, she grins. "Any more tricks or do I lose nothing for finishing this?" The man cries and sends an ice spike down at her, which she bats away with the sword. "I will take that as a no."

Then, she throws Dawnbreaker, the sword punching through stone and impaling the man who falls back.

A couple minutes later, she is back with the group. "That was kinda anti-climatic, not going to lie."

"I have learned that Thu'um tends to warp the definition of a challenge until it barely resembles anything people expect." Lydia tries to cheer her up. "And if that shouting voice was anything to go by, this is not over."

"Probably." Jean agrees, not willing to just drop that yes, they are going to have to fight the ancient queen herself soon enough. "But for now, let's just prime the Legion to expect a surprise while we go grab that axe for Clavicus. Which" he addresses Barbas "I am surprised you are this patient about."

The dog barks amused. "Nah, this will teach him the danger of kicking his impulse control and patience out. The fact we're this close and still going to take delays is just icing on the cake."

Getting out of the cave, the group is greeted by the cheers of the legionnaires, as well as captain Sanga's… well, not smiling, but not scowling either face. "It's over, I assume."

"For the cave, at least." Jean tells her, before stepping closer to speak quieter. "The ritual was broken, but I am afraid they've managed to summon her ghost without binding it. We won't know until she starts stirring trouble, and the only place she could set anything up is Solitude."

"I will inform the General."

"Great. We have an errand to run up north from here but we will turn around immediately just in case trouble starts fast."

"I will relay that." She nods grimly before forcing herself to calm down. "And pray you are back fast."

"I don't think anyone upstairs listens these days." Jean jokes, managing a weak smile.

With that, the group moves away from the camp and west, letting Barbas take point as he guides them.

---

For the rest of the day, Paarthurnax and Nahagliiv walk slightly behind the rest of the group, the Greybear whispering to her flushed sister in dovahzul, reverting to Tamrielic only when the words of the dragon language fail to carry her meaning, Nahagliiv nodding and asking quiet questions which only cause the older dragon to laugh and speak more.

Most of the group, perhaps wisely, elects to ignore them, focusing on the road ahead, while Jean and Erin quietly suspect that it might be very much connected to Nahagliiv's… situation back at the Wolfskull.

As the sun slowly sets, they start looking for the camp for the night. There is a set of stairs leading to a wooden door in the face of the cave which is deemed suspicious enough for Valdimar and Serana to put down a tree in front of it. As they slowly set up the camp, they can hear a roar in the distance. Nahagliiv immediately perks up, only to stop as Paarthurnax puts a hand on her shoulder.

"So far" she says quietly while looking at Jean and Erin "you have had help, one way or another. I would like to see how far your Thu'um came when it comes to facing another dovah alone. As far as two on one can be considered such." She adds.

"Dovahkiin! In the name of my lord, I Lahdubah challenge your Thu'um against mine! Come and engage in tinvaak!"

The rest of the group shoots Jean and Erin looks. Jean sighs, before nodding. "We can try… Can you tell us anything about that one?" He points at the dragon circling over the patch of forest their camp is in.

Nahagliiv speaks up. "Lahdubah is… kah, proud, to share a Word of his name with Alduin." Then, she snorts. "And he hates using magic, or fighting it, and his Thu'um tends to counter it."

Blinking, Jean looks at the dark shape. "Does he… does he realise Thu'um is magic, in a way?"

"Lahdubah is not what you would call smart." Paarthurnax shakes her head.

Giving Erin a tired look, Jean shakes his head. "Let's just… get this over with. If we are lucky, it will be over in a shout or two." Walking out of the woods, the dragon immediately notices them and slowly turns to hover over them, clearly expecting more talk.

"In that case, let me start things off with this," Erin idly replies before turning to face the dragon, lungs filling with death for the second time today, "DREM DUN LIIV!"

Without expecting the battle to start so suddenly, Lahdubah has no chance to evade the Shout, the force of Wither bringing him down from the skies with earth-shaking force as his scales lose their shine, the fangs and claws dull and crumble and the eyes lose focus.

"What… did you… foul magic..." The dragon can barely summon the energy to speak even as its body degrades further and further in front of their very eyes.

"Now this is just a pitiful sight." Jean sighs, shaking his head.

"Remind me, what were our respective tallies at?" Erin asks idly, head tilted.

"I have honestly lost track since it has been a while since we had to fight a dragon. We could toss a coin if you like?" He suggests.

"Just kill me… and end this humiliation..." Gasps Lahdubah.

"Fair enough. Sorry, man, but you chose a really bad time to poke us." Erin would admit to getting a whole lot meaner as a way to vent stress from how they were constantly being bounced all across Skyrim to put out one fire after another. "Fus Dun Vaaz."

The second Shout rips the body apart, not in the shower of gore and bone shards flying around, but instead simply breaking apart as arteries tear and bones shatter, the corpse just collapsing on itself, even its death being quiet, subdued matter.

Erin clicks her tongue, grumbling quietly, "Leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth, but maybe if the world gave us a fucking break I'd be inclined to play nice."

"I would honestly not hesitate to kill for a warm bed and a week of peace and quiet at this point." Jean agrees as he observes the dragon's soul get slurped by Erin's own.

Leaving the corpse behind, the two of them return to the camp to find a second, smaller camp hidden behind the bushes to the side. Paarthurnax just smiles while the rest of the party gives Erin some distance.

"Excellent work, Erin. Nahagliiv had to be moved, since she… I suppose it would be the best if she explained some things herself. There are things I am ill suited to explain since I lack the experience with them."

"If you say so." Jean speaks, worried. Nahagliiv did have some very strong reactions to her Word being used throughout the day, after all. Paarthurnax just hums merrily as they walk over to the other camp.

The first thing they note is Nahagliiv's armour scattered all over the place, likely lying where it fell after being forcefully tossed to the side. Nahagliiv herself sits under the tree wrapped in the blanket, wriggling around, face completely red as she gasps for air with heavy breaths. Noticing the two of them, she stops moving and instead, smiles. Widely.

Uh oh.

"The first Shout dovah creates" she begins conversationally, "usually uses a word of their own Name. Not all of us. Some Words are… hard to put into Thu'um. But when they are… ghhh… spoken, a dovah notices. And in our true forms… ah, it picks curiosity, or gives the sense of accomplishment when it is used." She shuts her eyes, before slamming her head into the tree, which groans under the impact. Then she looks at them and continues. "And in this mortal body… It seems it has a more pronounced effect. Slen-paar… the desires of a mortal body run wild when the essence of dovah is stirred when their name is used in Thu'um."

Jean, unfortunately for his poor heart, and fortunately for another part of him, catches the meaning. "You mean to say that just using your name in a Shout makes you horny?"

Nahagliiv freezes as she considers the comment before relaxing. "Yes. Yes I do. I tried eating this thing away, and it didn't work. I tried to drown it in blood, and it's still there." Then, she throws her blanket away, and pounces, tackling the two of them to the ground, panting. "And now, Dovahkiin, I am going to sate my hunger. I believe the joor call it, 'taking responsibility." If possible, her grin only widens.

'Well, that's a way to relieve our stress.' Erin's mind duly notes before her brainpower is drawn away to far more productive pursuits.

 

[Omida]

Jean stifles a yawn as the party moves off the road and into the wilds. Nahagliiv, as it turns out, made up for lack of experience with a lot of enthusiasm. And energy. At some point, he dipped into their supply of stamina potions just to keep up with the lust-crazed dragon. He isn't sure how the others got any sleep, but there was probably magic involved. And Nahagliiv got up in the morning with a satisfied smile and a spring to her step, without even indicating she was so much as sore.

Dragon's worth of stamina condensed into a human sized body. He thinks to himself with a silly smile.

Erin, meanwhile, sports a lazy satisfied smile, the cheating elf woman having just used some Thu'um lifeforce leech trickery on the resident flora and fauna for a quick pick-me-up. She may've given a dusty fuck for the thoroughly dead stretch of forest she'd left behind if it weren't for how much of a murderous crackden Skyrim's biosphere was.

"Oi, dragonlayers, we are here." Barbas injects, causing Valdimar and Lydia to snort. "Heh, the cave didn't change at all."

Rimerock Burrow, turns out, is a cave carved out in the side of the mountain with no actual, natural path leading to the entrance, instead being connected by a wooden platform to which the only way from their side is a narrow plank.

"Someone really doesn't want visitors." Jean comments. "Though the plank kinda defeats the purpose. And I think any of us could make that jump without a problem."

Erin lets out a content little hum, pieces easily clicking into her head for a far less destructive Thu'um than has been her usual these past few days, "Fo Dun Diin" The Shout spreads over the drop, freezing the air and forming a much more elaborate, and broad, bridge of glittering ice with solid, waist high walls.

Barbas snorts as he inspects it. "Ha! I bet Sebastian will be sourpuss about it now that there is a much more permanent way in."

Shrugging, Jean crosses the bridge without much issue, as do the others. The inside of a cave is surprisingly small for Skyrim. Oh, it's still spacious enough to have two distinct chambers, but as far as they can tell, there is no secret passage somewhere deeper, nor any natural cracks and holes through which the air could flow freely. The first chamber, which is pretty much just the untouched part of the cavern on the lower level is patrolled by a lone flame atronach. The elemental daedra turns to face them, freezing as it takes in their numbers. Or, perhaps, it recognises Barbas.

It hisses in some unknown tongue, to which Barbas replies, causing the daedra to give a shallow bow as it retreats to the upper level. After a moment, it returns in the company of a balding Breton mage, who shoots Barbas an ugly look.

"Lord Barbas" he begins coldly "have you and your Master not tormented me enough? Why do you darken my home again?"

"He is here as our guide." Jean answers as he moves to the front. "As for our reason to come, Clavicus Vile sent us for his axe. Honestly, I am not sure why you keep it."

The man is silent for a moment, before sighing. "I studied it here, in isolation, to discern the secrets of it, and to prevent any… weaker minds, from falling to the temptation of owning a weapon given out by a Daedric Prince. I must admit, it's an intricate prank." Laughing mirthlessly, he continues. "It swings slower than any weapon in existence despite its obviously high quality. Its primary enchantment is of great power but unlike most iconic Daedric Artefacts, it actually has limited charge, and can only be recharged with black gems. There is one more enchantment, whose nature I have not yet been able to discern, only that it is a single use one."

Jean nods along. "Very interesting. Still, since Vile asked for it to be brought back, and he will keep sending people for it if we don't bring it back, are you going to hand it over?"

Sebastian Lort thinks for a moment, the atronach turning in place to his side. Eventually, he sighs. "I suppose. Enchanting is not my specialty, so I am unable to unravel the last spell anyway. Still, it feels wrong to just hand it over after I spend so long working on it so..."

"If your next words are a request for us to bring you something from anywhere further away than outside this cave" Jean interrupts him "I am going to take this personally. For the last couple of months, we had been on the road without a chance to rest. We have to go and deal with consequences of interrupted necromantic ritual in Solitude after we are done here. So, Nine help me, if you mean to send us to the other side of this godsforsaken province on a fetch quest, I will take that axe and test its shitty enchantments on your skull."

The mage steps back as the redhead rants, before blinking and sighing. "Y-you are right. I suppose it was just me not wanting to just… be alone with my grief. Just take the damn thing while I try to distract myself with something."

"Appreciated." Jean grunts before climbing to the upper level, where the atronach escorts him to the sarcophagus, which makes him want to slap his face, on top of which lies the axe in question. It's a large weapon, with snarling wolf maws as motifs on both of its blades. Lifting it up, he can feel the weight settle on his shoulders.

"Really subtle, Vile." Her mutters as he comes back to the rest of the group. Turning around, he gives the mage a bow. "I apologise for the outburst. It has been a really long, testing time. Try not to kill yourself, I guess."

As they exit the cave, Barbas turns around. "I suggest mixing frost salts with the lotion. Atronachs are rough with human bodies!" They can hear Sebastian sputter as the half of Daedric Prince cackles.

Once they cross the bridge, Erin turns back for a moment, breathing out, "Vaaz Dun Faad." The ice bridge starts breaking into small chunks which rain on the rocks below, turning into water before they hit. Within a moment, the plank bridge is once more the only way in and out.

"Was calling him an atronach fucker really necessary?" Lydia asks Barbas dryly.

Barbas gives her a Look. "There are only two types of mages who summon flames. Pyromaniacs and crazies willing to stick their cocks anywhere. And since his had feminine features, guess which group he belongs to."

"Eh, so long as all parties have a good time, to each their own." Erin dismisses with a shrug.

"Suddenly, I have an answer to the question of where all those unbound flame atronachs wandering the wilds come from." Lydia shakes her head. "Since I doubt most of the horny fuckers know what works as a precaution. And why Erin is the one who ended up with the Rose."

The elf woman in question couldn't help but chortle, "I resemble that remark." As it turned out, post-nut clarity was very conductive to creative bursts with both Thu'um and magic. It had been a very fun time.

---

Arriving in Solitude, the party finds the streets almost completely empty, save for the Legion patrols and the cordons separating Castle Dur from the rest of the city. They are directed to the fortress by a group of legionnaires as soon as they are identified, and put into the main chamber of the Legion's headquarters, where they meet Falk engaged in a discussion with a greying, older man in a decorative variant of the Legion armour, general Tulius.

"You are back!" Falk greets them. "And thanks to your warning, we managed to contain Potema's first wave when they spilled from the Temple of Divines. How did you know it would happen, by the way?" He asks, curious.

"Potema wasn't exactly subtle when we broke the ritual in half." Jean deadpans. "Granted, we didn't think she would gather some forces this fast. It has been barely two days, isn't it?"

"Sybille, Elisif's court wizard, thinks those are remnants of Potema's forces she didn't get to throw into battle when she was finally defeated." Falk replies. "At least thanks to her, the vampires spilling out of catacombs didn't catch our men off guard."

"So we have a long trawl underground filled with all manner of undead before… what?" Serana asks.

"Your guess is as good as mine, miss. Probably her primary ritual chamber, in which case it could have anything from a dragon's skeleton to a portal into Oblivion."

"Probably the latter. There was Soul Cairn nonsense when we cracked down on the ritual." Erin supplies.

If anything, both Falk and Tulius' grimaces deepen. "Figures. Potema was as powerful of a necromancer as they come, so no wonder. I hope I am not sending you on a one way trip to Oblivion by asking you to go down there."

"Don't sweat it." Jean grumbles. "Someone has to go there and survive anyway. Can you at least stash our travelling gear in a safe spot? Wouldn't want to get over encumbered down there."

"We will put your things in a safe room." Tulius agrees. "We already have one prepared, since a package from High Hrothgar addressed to you arrived at the Blue Palace. How Greybeards knew where you will be, I do not know."

Paarthurnax gives him a cryptic smile as she giggles. "Let's just say that while the order doesn't practice combat applications of Thu'um like the Imperial college, they are not opposed to applying their knowledge to peaceful pursuits."

Erin, meanwhile, had visibly lighted up at the mention of the package. The gliders were here! Oooh, she had so many Shouts relating to them to test out! Jean, while a bit more discreet, also found himself looking forward to that particular lesson. Enthusiasm slightly curbed by the knowledge they had to clear out an underground complex first.

"Well then, let's get to it." He says cheerfully, causing Tulius and Falk to look at him oddly.

---

"I HAVE YOU TO THANK FOR THIS." Potema's voice resounds through the catacombs. "HAD YOU NOT INTERRUPTED THE RITUAL, I WOULD BE BOUND TO THOSE THIRD RATE AMATEURS. SUCH A SERVICE FOR THE RIGHTFUL EMPRESS DESERVES A REWARD. IF YOU MANAGE TO ARRIVE BEFORE ME ALIVE, AND I KNOW YOU WILL, I WILL OFFER YOU A CHOICE."

"I am not sure she realises we are here to exorcise her." Lydia mutters as the voice of the dead empress finally falls silent.

"Oh, she absolutely does, lass." Valdimar answers grimly. "It takes a special kind of person to butcher and blackmail her family for the throne, and then keep fighting by feeding her people to daedra when the cause is obviously lost. She just thinks that if we behold her majesty or some such bullshit, we will immediately bend the knee."

"She's going to be unhappy when we don't, and when we manage to stick Dawnbreaker down her throat. Which I just know is going to result in some last ditch nonsense to spite us." Erin grumbles, "At least if we wind up stranded in Oblivion I can probably just ring up Sanguine's crew and hash out a deal for them to give us a way out."

"Depends on where we end up, dragonlayer." Barbas supplies. "Some realms in Oblivion have a tight lock on how to enter them. Not saying there are no workarounds, especially if you have a Prince predisposed to you favourably."

"Aye. Especially when you can also Shout reality into behaving. Great way to bridge gaps, I've found." Erin comments with a small chuckle, making a mental note to do some more magic and Thu'um combination. She's been letting her spell repertoire languish a bit beyond Ward and Ironflesh. Actually, that made a very fun Shout click in place.

The further discussion comes to a stop as the draugr spill from the corridor. Those, however, are not the same draugr which infest all the ancient tombs across Skyrim. They are clearly undead legionnaires, faded red and golds still recognisable on their heavy armour. They walk forward in a tight turtle formation, shields interlocking to present an impassable barrier, further bolstered by the glimmer of the Ward in front of their formation.

Oh ho! A good chance to test the Shout out, then! Erin breathes in, feeling her magicka all but vibrating in anticipation, "LAH DUN RU!" The Thu'um impacts the spells and tears right through it, the wisp of magicka dispersing in the air in strands of brilliant azure.

"Fucking Tongues, charge!" Comes the voice from within the formation.

Jean steps forward, grasping the suddenly much thicker ambient magicka, sunlight dancing on his finger while the burning, life giving warmth of the sun blooms in his chest. As the formation closes in, he releases his spell, Stendarr's Aura blooming around him like a miniature sun. "SHUL DUN YOL!"

The aura flares ever brighter, basking the chamber in a blinding light, flames directing the radiance of the spell forward, the bubble changing into a radiant shield in front of him instead. The undead turtle crashes into the barrier, burning and turning into dust on contact. Then, he raises his hand and pushes, sending the golden shield into the corridor, devouring the draugr hiding inside.

"That was close." He shakes his head, pale at the thought of what he almost did. "I am sorry Serana, almost forgot about you for a moment. Good thing I substituted Force for Grace."

The vampiress grimaces from behind a sheet of ice. "Apology accepted. Try to not make a habit of it though."

"We can start travelling during the night to refresh his memory if you would like." Lydia proposes with a smile, which causes Serana to snort.

"I am just lucky my vampirism is particularly potent, or even just the spell would hurt me beyond mere irritation at this distance. I suppose our oversized party was useful for something for once."

Shaking his head, Jean looks into the corridor, where his spell-Shout still burns at the opposing end. "Back to the drawing board then. I should be able to dismiss it without it blowing up when we get to that end."

Erin humms in agreement, "Worst comes to worst, can just use Finite and Temporary to snuff it. Toss in Grace to make sure it doesn't blow up in the process and it should be good."

Grimacing, Jean walks at the front of the group as they pass the corridor. Having an incredible arsenal to dust any undead was of little use when he had to hold it back on behalf of his friends. And most of their fights didn't really last long enough to justify busting out buffing shouts. Gesturing towards the modified Aura (Shield? Maybe he could figure out how to modify the original spell to assume that shape?), he grasps on the ethereal bond between the magicka holding it and himself and snuffs it out, the construct dispersing, vanishing like the setting sun. Instead, he grasps the energy and summons the Ward, before peaking through the corner.

There is a group of vampires on the balcony, all of them pointedly not looking at the corridor, instead whispering amongst themselves and occasionally shouting orders to the draugr below. Looking back to the group, he motions for Nahagliiv. "Want to try your hand at fighting vampires?" He whispers. "Until they die, they should bleed, and they should be fast enough to be challenging."

"Now you are speaking my language." The dragon girl purrs as she grips Dawnbreaker in her hand and peeks around the corner. "You stay here, especially soslun. If this thing blows up undead, she might not want to chance catching the blast."

"Your concern is appreciated." The vampires deadpans.

With a laugh, the whitehaired woman steps into the open, Dawnbreaker resting on her arm. The vampires turn around, crimson eyes blazing with hunger. They laugh seeing a lone enemy as they ready their weapons, spreading across the balcony. Then, they look at Nahagliiv's weapon and the laughter dies in their throats. They may have been sealed in the catacombs for Divines know how long, but they do recognise the weapon.

Nahagliiv laughs at their hesitation and springs forward, Dawbreaker coming in a wide, sweeping swing. The undead's eyes widen at her speed, but they react, jumping away from the path of the blade, running around her to surround her. Except for the one directly in front of her. Whether because of lack of room or arrogance, he raises his dual blades to block the swing, only for the force behind the strike to bring him to his knees, Dawnbreaker's blade digging deep into the shoulder. The gem at the guard flashes and the vampire's blood ignites as Meridia's hatred towards the undead burns the body, which explodes in a blue flame. The other vampires step back in panic as the flames wash over Nahagliiv's body without hurting her.

The dragon turns around, back to the railing. "Are you gonna come to me or are you that scared of a piece of dwemer metal?" She mocks them.

Their answer is immediate, their forms blurring as they fall upon her, a rain of swings. Nahagliiv stands her ground, legs wide, as she turns and twists Dawnbreaker, intercepting every strike. One of the vampires lunges, grabbing her wrist and pushing the golden sword away. Before his own blade can dig into her skin, she headbutts him, the force of the strike snapping his neck. Then, she steps forward, impaling another vampire and tearing the blade in a wide sweep before the jewel can light up. The bloodsucker's blood gushes, splattering her torso even as the swing bisects another one. The last one falls back, discarding his dagger, instead commanding the crimson light into his hand. The previously impaled vampire moans as it tries to stand. Nahagliiv just grabs him by the hair and, careful not to accidentally stab him with her sword, puts the other hand on his shoulder before tensing and ripping his head off. The blood paints her face red, and she faces the last vampire.

"Jean was right. You lot are much more fun to fight than humans. At least you can see your death." She comments pleasantly, as if talking about weather. The vampire backs off as he lets loose the spell, crimson light enveloping Nahagliiv. "Oh, it's cute. You think this constitutes leech? Jean, Erin, listen well! This one is freebie for the wonderful night you two gave me! HAAS LUN REL!"

The vampire hits the corner of the room as the crimson wave hits him. He screams, a deep, tormented scream as his life is torn from him, the wisps of crimson flowing into Nahagliiv who simply watches as his body turns into more and more red before she subsumes it all. When she turns to them, her eyes glow, a brilliant crimson, as if she was the vampire.

Erin flashes her a thumbs up.

Jean blinks as the words slot themselves into his mind, a wide grin splitting his face as he feels silly and sends the dragon a kiss. "Well, that opens a lot of possibilities."

Nahagliiv blushes slightly, before turning around and throwing Dawnbreaker into the draugr below, the blade detonating as soon as it impales one, which in turn sets off a chain reaction which clears the rest of the chamber.

Erin hums thoughtfully at the sight, "Say, I think if you learned Telekinesis or a Thu'um version of the spell you ought to be able to pull off some absurd stunts with that sword."

Nahagliiv hums as she thinks about it. "I have some idea on how to do that. Probably against undead only, I just like when the blood falls on this skin too much to put that much distance otherwise."

"You know" Valdimar grumbles to Serana as the group moves deeper into the catacombs "I am starting to feel a bit… redundant."

"Oh, grow up, you big baby." Lydia snorts as she pats him on the arm. "Think of it as an extended trip to see new, exciting locations, meet interesting people and not have to lift a finger to kill them. Whenever we are not in another ancient Nord ruin." She adds.

"Not being the naturally strongest person in the group is a novel idea." Serana admits, even as Lydia snorts when she says 'naturally'. "But I think I like it. Less pressure on me that way."

---

Traversing the catacombs, which at some point do, in fact, transition into the style of Nord ruin, is smooth sailing. Between Nahagliiv gleefully tearing apart any vampires, most of which are starving for blood after five centuries of being sealed underground, and Jean and Erin cleaning out the more and more sparse undead legionnaires, the only speed bump are the more intricate door mechanisms separating parts of Potema's impromptu realm. Mostly because the large, spinning wheels in which the doors are set in are slow moving. But, eventually, they enter the chamber in which a group of eight draugr in ebony armour await them, standing across the chamber, cold, blue eyes locked into them as the azure orb burns under the ceiling.

"YOU HAVE COME." Potema announces. "AS I KNEW YOU WOULD. NOW, THE CHOICE IS BEFORE YOU. SERVE ME AND BE REWARDED, OR STAND AGAINST ME AND FALL TO THE INNER COUNCIL."

"We have, quite frankly" Jean replies, not even bothering to look at the… spirit? Essence? Of the dead empress floating above them "waltzed right through your soldiers. Neither draugr nor vampires were much of an effort. Why would your 'Inner Council' be any different? Why would you be any different?"

The draugr bristle, their eyes flashing in outrage. Potema, meanwhile, laughs. "BECAUSE YOU WIELD THE VOICE? MY COUNCIL DOES AS WELL. AND I AM STILL POWERFUL MAGE, EVEN WITHOUT BODY. "

Erin is just about done with idiots screaming her ears off, something ugly twisting in her gut as her lungs fill with thunder, "FUS RII WULD VAAZ!"

The Inner Council reacts immediately as the ethereal storm rushes at them. All of them take breath, and Shout as one. "FUS DAH DUR!" The Thu'um clashes, the maelstrom of soul rending energy against combined push, specifically designed to bat away the cursed magics.

Jean thinks fast. He doesn't have quite the words necessary to boost Erin's Shout, but he has something to let it tip the scales. "FUS DUN REL!" His Shout is not an overwhelming wave of the force, nor an effect in and on itself. Instead, it crashes into Erin's and blends with it, causing it to intensify and grow, to crush the combined Voices of eight speakers and rush through the chamber, washing over the draugr and snuffing the light in their eyes as their souls are ripped to shreds and cast into whatever afterlife would take them.

Snorting, Jean looks at the essence of the Wolf Queen above them. "In one exchange, we blasted your best apart. Do you really think you stand a chance."

The undead empress is silent, for a moment, before she begins to laugh. "BAHAHAHA!!! NO, OF COURSE NOT. BUT" she pauses, as the chamber begins to shake "THIS IS MY INNER SANCTUM, AND I AM NECROMANCER. I BELIEVE MY TEACHERS WILL REPAY ME GREATLY FOR THE SOULS OF FOUR DRAGONS."

"Lady." Erin says with an icy calm that oozes mortal danger, "Go through with that and what I leave of your soul is going to end up as Sanguine's cumrag."

"If Meridia doesn't get her hands on her first." Barbas murmurs from behind them.

"EVEN PRINCES NEVER SUCCESSFULLY INVADED THE CAIRN." With that, the stones of the floor dissolve, revealing a very 'Oblivion' purple, swirling vortex underneath everyone's feet. "AND ONLY DEAD, VAMPIRES AND SOUL TRAPPED CAN WALK IT WITHOUT LIVING IN EXCRUCIATING AGONY."

With that, the portal howls as it latches onto the souls standing upon it, before light blooms in the chamber, swallowing everyone and blinding them.

---

The party, the ones that aren't outright dragons or a vampire princess (and half of a Daedric Prince) come into consciousness under dark, cloudy, purplish sky, in a bleak, lifeless landscape, full of oily black ruins. In the distance, there is a fortress with broken towers, the rubble floating around pillars of purple light as a barrier stands around its walls. Jean groans in pain, even a slight change of position sending pure agony through his body.

"Careful there, Jean. Potema was right about one thing" Serana's voice comes from… somewhere above him "Soul Cairn is hostile to the living."

Grimacing, he fights through the pain to look up, seeing Nahagliiv standing over them, Dawnbreaker shining like the sun, banishing the black mist away from them with a grim expression.

"H...how…" He chokes.

"We dovah" comes Paarthurnax' quiet voice "do not experience death like joor do. As such, the effects of the Cairn might as well not exist for me and Nahagliiv. Serana is a vampire, and as such, technically dead. Barbas is a daedra, and thus it might as well still be Nirn as far as he is concerned."

"Rii Viik Liiv" Comes the pained rasp from Erin. Instantly, the overwhelming pressure on her existence lessens, still there, but less of an impossible wall of agony and more a persistent, annoying ache. Jean groans as he bemoans not spending time to learn Rii from her.

"The others decided to let Serana soul trap them to be able to function. How about you?" Comes Barbas' voice.

"Gimme… a minute… to try… something." He gasps. It might not be as good as Erin's, since it wouldn't reach as deep, but damn if he was just going to let Potema fuck him without lube like that. He thinks, somehow, through the pain, about the order of the words. He would prefer not to crush his own mind by accident. "F… FUS VUR REL!" The moment Thu'um escapes his lips, he chokes as he can breathe again. The pain is still there, at the back of his mind, but his mind is able to focus, and to power through it. He stumbles on his feet, groaning, before shaking and looking around. "I doubt it will be that much worse than Soul Trap." He grunts.

Nahagliiv shoots him a look. "Make sure not to overdo it. You are literally functioning on pure stubbornness right now."

"Speaking of stubbornness and spite." Erin grits out, bracing herself for a very sore throat. And possibly a very horny dragon, "Rii Dun Rel Viik Liiv."

Nahagliiv shudders as her Name Word resounds, but more importantly, Erin suddenly feels the grasp of the Soul Cairn completely slip, if not even reverse. Not much, but now it is not her that is being sucked out of energy. Even so, she can feel the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. A quick Heal spell at least helps with the physical side of the damage there.

"Truly incredible mind." Paarthurnax chuckles. "To manage to reverse the effects of an Oblivion Realm like that without prior foreknowledge. Few would dare to experiment like that, but you seem to be favoured by luck, and your gambles pay dividends."

Right then and there, Erin makes a mental note to do something nice for Nocturnal. She was missing her super lockpick thingie, right? She could mug whoever had grabbed the damn thing and return it once she was no longer bouncing across Skyrim putting out fires.

"Now that we are no longer dying of being thrown into Necromancy Central" Jean sighs, "we should get around to figuring how to get out. And, more importantly, how to stuff Dawnbreaker up Potema's ass."

Snorting, Serana speaks up. "I can help, sort of, with getting out part. My mother has been fascinated by this place, and before she sealed me to prevent Father from getting his hands on the Scroll, she told me she would hide here from him. If we manage to find her, she might know how to get out."

"I am not sure about the wisdom of hiding from a Vampire Lord in the realm of necromancy." Valdimar comments dryly.

"While Father does worship daedra, he is devoted purely to Molag Bal, and doesn't particularly care about necromancy himself."

"And another piece of puzzle to the secrets of your fucked up family falls into place."

The vampiress doesn't reply, instead casting Clairvoyance and blinking. "Huh. We are lucky. I will have to give some nice sacrifices to Nocturnal. That fortress in the distance is apparently where my mother is hiding."

"And you are sure that's the place because?" Lydia prods her.

"Clairvoyance shows the same kind of 'brighter than sun' kind of glow it does when I look at the Elder Scroll I am carrying. Mother took the other one we had, so unless there is a third one somewhere here, there is no other answer."

"Why and how did your family have two in the first place?!" Valdimar asks, shuddering at the thought of Molag Bal's cult having access to such potent artifacts. Serana just shrugs.

"Right, so the plan is that we go pay a visit to Serana's mother and maybe stumble across our least favourite necromancer on the way." Jean summarizes.

"There's a dragon stuck here, right? One that probably noticed that display of Thu'um." Erin says with a grimace, already knowing what's going to happen sooner rather than later.

Before any of them can say anything more, the sky of the Soul Cairn churns as the lighting strikes the crystals topping many of the buildings. The dark mist covering the ground swirls and thickens, raising higher. In that darkness, the glowing red eyes of the shades and wraiths in service to Ideal Masters ignite, hundreds and then thousands, legions of necromancers who made pacts over millennia answering the call of their lords, souls sacrificed to the dead realm forced into service pushed into the prison of black steel and bone by their overlords. A sea of death separating the group from their destination and surrounding them, only the light of Dawnbreaker dispersing the black mist from swallowing the party.

And then, the undead advance in silence, shapes coming out of the darkness bearing steel, flinging spells and blotting the sky in arrow fire.

"YOL TOOR WULD!" Jean Shouts, the firestorms swallowing the horde and reducing the fragile bones to ashes. "DUN VUR SHAAN!" He loses another, swallowing back the blood as others stand firmer, grip weapons (if they use them, as mage heavy as they are) harder, react better. Valdimar and Serana bring their hands together, the lightning crackling heavily in their grips, before they unleashed the torrent, the white hot lance burning through the legions, the heat exploding the weapons. Lydia is a whirlwind, the silver moon blade finding openings in the ancient armour and igniting the undead with the slightest touch.

Erin, for her part, simply returns to her roots. Runes. Runes everywhere. The horde advances, heedless of explosions, even as they burn, as lightning destroys them with heat and shrapnel, as they are trapped in prisons of ice. They advance, endless, for within the realm of death, being killed means reforming soon anyway, and Ideal Masters care not for such little things as morale or an unbroken mind.

Nahagliiv grimaces, before giving the Dawnbreaker a look, remembering how, not so long ago, Thu'um supercharged another anti-undead weapon. Spell, whatever. "Let's see if you live up to the ballads." She mutters, the gem in the guard burning brighter for a breath, as if daring her to challenge it. Grinning, she takes stance, legs firmly planted in the dusty earth, Dawnbreaker raised above her head in two handed grip. "FUS YOL SHUL DUN!"

The glow of the Dawnbreaker ignites, the golden fire swallowing the blade and rising high into the sky, a beacon of the sun in the realm which never knew its brilliance. And then, Nahagliiv brings it down, and with it, Meridia's Light breaks the darkness, burning the mist away and burning the souls to cinders, until the wisps of the energy are the only thing left, too primordial to be truly called souls anymore, thus returning to the origin of all, free from ancient imprisonment.

The horde howls in pain and fear, and then, impossible happens. The black sky breaks, and the sun raises, golden and hot. And from the sun pours a host of gold, daedra that are living light, armoured in gilded armour and humanoids with eyes that burn gold. They crash into the dead legions, burning the souls away with each swing of their weapons.

"LONG HAVE YOU HIDDEN, WORMS, BUT THE HOUR OF YOUR RECKONING HAS ARRIVED!" Merida's voice resounds, equal parts triumphant and commanding.

The undead horde breaks and then reforms, as the horrors of the Soul Cairn turn away from the party and reform to face the host of Coloured Rooms. Fire clashes against ice as the Ideal Masters focus solely on throwing all that they gathered over millennia against Prince of Dawn.

"I… aaaahhh..." Lydia pants "suggest to go… while they are busy with each other. I doubt Meridia is going to care about Serana's well being now that she has what she wanted."

The others nod silently and break into a run, shooting glances at the battle, where the towering, scaled humanoids with gaping maws stride through the sea of shades, spitting acid and… tentacles everywhere, as other, more grotesque beings wink in and out of visibility, ripping through the necromancers.

"I see Haermerus wasted no time in trying to grab some new useless trivia for his oversized hoard." Barbas mutters.

Erin considers Mora for a moment. Then considers what the oversized squid would do if it got so much as a whiff of the knowledge from another world she and Jean have. It results in a very hastily chugged stamina potion and a redoubled sprint.

---

They are greeted at the gates of the fortress by a very sour looking vampiress who bears familial resemblance to Serana. Upon seeing her, the woman's expression softens, for a split second, before she notices Nahagliiv, and more importantly, Dawnbreaker.

"Before you say anything." Jean interjects, stopping before her and putting his hands on his knees as he tries to regain his breath after that hell of a sprint. "Meridia, as it turns out, can do tricky as well. And we are generally opposed to your husband's plan, so if you would grab the Elder Scroll and come with us to the nearest exit before the army of the Dawn swings by and kills you?"

Valerica remains silent for a moment, before she turns around. "Come with me then. While Ideal Masters have thrown all their slaves at Meridia, there is one guard who can weasel out of that order. Tricked, as I was, but that just means he is going to be waiting to attack."

"I'm going to guess that'd be Durnehviir." Erin mutters.

Valerica nods, surprised. "How do you know about him?"

"We've met." Nahagliiv answers, tone drier than the deserts of Elsweyr. The vampiress chooses not to implore further.

Durnehviir, does, in fact await them, with as much of a sour expression as his reptilian mouth can offer. His eyes widen as he sees Paarthurnax and Nahagliiv. "My strength" he notes idly "has always been lesser than that of other dovah. As such, I delved into Alok-Dilon to bridge the gap. And now, in the most important fight so far, I find myself stripped of it as no thralls are spared for me."

"Oh, grow up, you poor baby." Nahagliiv snorts. "Let's be real, your cute little minions never hindered a single dovah worth the name. But, this is actually going to be a bit more fair for you." She points at Jean and Erin. "Y'see, those two are Dovahkiin, and they are going to be your tinvaak partners for today. And no one else."

Durnehviir nods as he turns to observe the two of them. Unfolding his torn, ragged wings, he roars. "Very well!"

Well, at least her Breath was back, Erin muses as she picks out the Shout with which to start things off. It is going to get Naha a bit hot and bothered but eh. She wouldn't mind some fun once they get out of here. "Aight, I'll start us off. VIIK DUN LIIV!"

The Shout hits the dragon square in the chest, impossible to miss with how he made his profile bigger. It washes over him and…

Durnehviir laughs, a deep, rumbling sound from the depths of his chest. "A Thu'um of Death? I am Dur-Neh-Viir! My very name negates it! And after millennia of being stuck in this realm of death, this quality has only been empowered! MUL DUR VIIR!"

"Pruzah!" Anyone else would've been disheartened. Erin is the exact opposite, visibly glowing with excitement at finally getting something that can't simply be cheesed with Death. She probably shouldn't jump to a four-word so soon, but she can't help it, she's just so happy. "FUS DUN REL VIIK!"

The two Shouts clash, a pinpoint brand of death clashing against the very concept of being defeated, bolstered to even greater degree. The space itself groans as the two forces push against each other, until, eventually, they break apart, dispersing harmlessly halfway through.

"If you say you have become part of this shitty, cold place, then I've got a special gift just for you." Jean comments as he draws his breath. "SHUL FAAD LIIV GAAN!"

The sun blooms over Durnehviir, bright and hot, sapping away the strength from his body, the roar of its flames singing the lullaby promising rest and safety. He just needs to lie down and fall asleep. To let go of his worries.

Durnehviir shakes his head even as he falls down, folding his wings. He opens his maw to Speak, then blinks. His head nods, before he snaps awake with a roar. "Ghhh… KRAH HAALVUT QOTH!" The sun is snuffed out, replaced by the deathly cold seeping into the very bones. The deadly, arctic cold that sets upon the very soul. Unlike Jean's Shout, it is very much forceful, commanding them to fall, to close their eyes and embrace the depths of the grave.

"HAAS VIIK LIIV!" Counters Erin, her smile far too wide and full of teeth for anyone's comfort.

The two of them shake off the cold, still present, but no longer completely unbearable. Durnehviir roars, more lively as he shows off his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

Jean thinks for a second. Durnehviir is ancient, and with how long he had to spend with nothing to do but practicing his Thu'um, the most likely way to defeat him would be by… well, convincing him to lose. If only because he had the counter for their most reliable way of defeating him. "YOL HAAS SHAN DREM!"

There is no noticeable effect. Not for them, at least. Durnehviir, on the other hand, sees the light of their lives, burning brightly, future uncertain in the way only a sea of possibilities is uncertain, bright and hopeful. And then, he sees his own life, an ember that cannot be snuffed out only because it literally cannot die. A dead end, stuck trying to recapture glory of the past.

Durnehviir backs away as if physically struck, before snarling. "DINOK REL NAAN." Their struggle is meaningless, the dragon says. They will die, if not today, then at some point. They will end, and their accomplishments wither away. Such is the nature of the world.

Oh no, Erin isn't going to let that bullshit stand. That may've held true in the world she died in, but not here, "RII DUN VIIK ZAH!"

Durnehviir twists, while Paarthurnax and Nahagliiv wince as the word that belongs solely to mortals resounds through the courtyard. The dragon necromancer paces, from side to side, maw opening and closing.

"Rek los vahzah, hi mindok, koraav ko hi." Jean croaks, his throat dry and hurting from rapid Shouting.

Durnehviir stops, shooting him a look, before puffing as he freezes completely. For a moment, he is silent. Then, he sighs. "Zu'u los viik. This Tinvaak belongs to you, Quahnaarin."

Nahagliiv snorts. "Really, you overgrown dramatic wyrm? They hardly vanquished you."

Paarthurnax smiles, her hands trembling slightly as she claps. "Shush. Wonderfully done, my students. You have shown both facets of tinvaak, that of dovah and that of joor. In one, you came equal, in another, victorious."

Valerica and Serana stare wide-eyed and completely frozen in place, transfixed on the trio standing in the middle of the courtyard. Valdimar, while not as adept in dovahzul as either of them, is as pale as the two of them would be were they not vampires as he stares at the space where Thu'um clashed, clearly sensing something of the clash. Lydia… actually comes to her senses first, elbowing Serana.

"Come on, we are kinda on the clock. I doubt a bunch of ascended necromancers can hold off a focused assault of the Prince."

The mention of Meridia snaps the pair of vampires back to their senses. Valerica shakes her head. "Right, come, I have the Scroll in my lab, as safe of a place as anywhere else in this castle before the barrier fell. Just… " she gives a look to Durnehviir and the Dragonborns "we should probably go around. I don't want to risk interacting with residual energy of that."

The group nods along and follows her, while Paarthurnax and Nahagliiv come to Jean and Erin's side.

"You should come with us, Durnehviir" Paarthurnax speaks quietly "I doubt you would want to fall to Meridia's host and have your corpse stranded here."

The draconic necromancer stares at her, as if trying to recognise her, before realisation dawns. "Paarthurnax? How… " He shakes his head, before sighing. "I cannot. While I boasted of it, the truth is, after millennia, and my unwise deal to be the soslun's jailor, I have become part of the Cairn. She felled me a couple of times, only for my body to reform. I truly became Neh-Viir, the Never Dying. All at the cost of never to see the skies of Nirn, forever cut off from Bormahu's creation." His words are bitter and grim. "My essence became part of this place. I could, probably, fly under Nirn, were a Gein-Wo-Tinvaak, a Speaker, to Shout my name back there, but otherwise I am trapped."

Jean winces at the sheer sorrow in the dragon's voice as he lays out just how much a decision made gods know how long fucked him over. Then, he glances at Nahagliiv, and an idea comes to his mind. "Paarthurnax?" The woman looks at him questioningly. "Would your Thu'um provide enough of a loophole for Durnehviir to be able to leave? Like… sort of like Nahagliiv managed to slip from her grave?"

Paarthurnax hums as she thinks about it, putting a finger against her lips. Durnehviir looks confused, as much as his expression can allow, at least. "I do not know completely. Oblivion is not my area of expertise, unfortunately."

"We do have an expert on hand." Nahagliiv notes dryly, pointing at Durnehviir.

"Quahnaarin mentioned a Shout that let Nahagliiv escape the grave. I assume it is the reason why you, dii zeymah, have the appearance of the joor?"

Paarthurnax nods with a proud smile. "Geh. You have heard of Dragonrend, I believe?" Durnehviir nods. "In the millennia since, I devoted Paar, my Ambition, towards uncovering its secrets." Chuckling she continues. "I was unsuccessful. However, I learned how to focus our essence, this spiritual component that makes us dov, and how to prod it into changing our form. How to walk amongst the joor by taking on their appearance and characteristics of their bodies. From your words, you are bound by your body, not soul, so discarding this old body should let you walk away."

Durnehviir listens in stunned silence before he starts muttering. "Geh. No matter what tricks they pulled, even Ideal Masters could not devise a way to Rii-Horvutah, to Trap the soul of a dovah, not even with one available to them. But to make rii take the shape of a shell made by Thu'um… You say Nahagliiv truly escaped qoth that way?" Receiving a nod, he ponders. "Then, there is a chance it will work. Very well, we shall try. Before that." He raises his head, looking at Jean and Erin. "In case it does not, Quahnaarin, I leave you with my Name. Listen, so that you may call me even from beyond the boundaries of realms. Dur-Neh-Viir."

Jean blinks, before engaging in a very Erin thing and cackles. "Oh man, beyond just your name those words are going to be a treat to work with! I really hope this works so you can see the results personally."

The elf woman, meanwhile, is practically vibrating in place, eyes alight with unholy glee at the crimes against existence she'll be able to cook up with those words.

Paarthurnax just gives the two a warm look before focusing on Durnehviir switching to Dovahzul. "Then, let us begin. You know Rii, probably the best after me and Alduin, but I shall speak it to you again, to add to your understanding. RII. The essence that inhabits the mortal body. A thing not meant to stay eternal. MEYZ, the change, a new page opening in a book, a season of life coming after a long winter. JOOR, the goal you strive towards. The body that your essence desires and your change creates. The state that permits you to exist like Dovahkiin, soul of a dragon inhabiting the body of a mortal. Take them into you and Speak, craft the body that you wish for and be free."

Durnehviir nods along, eyes wide as the understanding that Paarthurnax achieved flows into him. He tastes the words on his tongue before clearing his throat and Speaking. "RII MEYZ JOOR! Jul kro, sot se om, sahqo-bii se miin, slen se qoth-sot, sahqo-bii yuvon-golz haalvut fin slen."

Durnehviir's body glows with his essence, the brilliant light of the dragon's soul enveloping it as the wind picks up, fluttering the clothes and kicking up the dust into the air. Slowly, it shrinks and reshapes, the wings turning into hands, legs straightening, spikes retracting and head shifting. As the light dies down, the Dragonborn and the dragon women can discern Durnehviir's new form.

The long, fluttering white hair and purple eyes, skin so pale as to be almost literally white. Jewellery of bone holding up amethysts for the choker and bracelets. And a dark lilac robe hugging the voluptuous figure. Durnehviir tilts her head as she pokes and caresses her new body, testing its sensations (and giving everyone a bit of a show, not that she seems to care).

"Now" she speaks quietly "to see if it works in allowing me to escape this place."

"Okay" comes Lydia's voice from the other side of the dragon woman "is there something in the air Thu'um uses or did the two of you actually sell your souls to Sanguine when I was piss drunk? Because there is no way he… she is natural at giving an eyeful."

Paarthurnax laughs and shakes her head. "Durnehviir was always a curious one, about everything. Just let her be and she should calm down once her curiosity has been sated."

"Might as well make sure she knows everything she needs to test or she will be grumpy later on~." Nahagliiv giggles as she grabs Durnehviir by the wrist and pulls her close. "Now, sibling dear, let me tell you about this absolutely delightful thing the joor call 'sex." Durnehviir, for her part, gives the other dragon her complete attention, fixing her with an unblinking stare as she listens.

"We are going to be sleeping under a bubble of silence again." Lydia summarises dryly. "Possibly multiple nights."

"I got a few ideas for a Shout to that effect, if that helps." Erin supplies, even if her perverse grin gives her away. Sanguine knew what he was doing when he handed off the Rose to the elf woman.

Lydia just gives an 'I-am-too-tired-of-the-shit-to-argue' look. "Let's hope she waits until we are back at something resembling a house." She eventually sighs. "Anyway, how are we going to get out of the Cairn, exactly?"

Valerica grimaces. "There should be a portal linked to my private laboratory to the north of here. The big problem is, it's also right in the centre of Harkon's power, so unless one of you dragons can fly all of us off, we will need to fight our way out."

Paarthurnax hums. "Neither Nahagliiv nor Durnehviir can turn back, on account of their circumstances. Still, I believe it is doable with just me. It might be uncomfortable for some of you but we should be able to leave as quietly as a dragon can."

Nahagliiv snorts. "I have mulled over the Words, and I should be able to get my wings back, same with Durnehviir. A bit of Thu'um and we might hold someone, so that should decrease the load for you."

Erin very carefully pushes down the rather large part of her that perks up like a slavering dog at the prospect of monster girls. Time and place, Erin. Time and place.

---

Outside, on the lifeless plains of Soul Cairn, the battle between servants of Ideal Masters and the legions of Daedric Princes had only grown in intensity while the party was busy with Durnehviir. The Princes have their feuds and rivalries, as is inevitable between beings who are patrons of such a wide array of concepts. And while for many Ideal Masters are not worth consideration, or a grudge, their wants and rivalries and need to keep ahead of their rivals means that once Meridia found purchase and Haermerus Mora's abominations penetrated the lines of necromancers, others would follow, if only to maintain balance of power. The hosts of Mehrunes Dagon and Molag Bal join to pillage and conquer, while pestilent hordes of Peryite sweep the plane, carrying out the Taskmaster's orders.

And in the shadows, which grow even longer and darker now that Meridia's sun illuminates the realm, Mephala's servants scurry along. Not to conquer or steal from Ideal Masters, but rather to… give a lesson, in what denying the Prince of Secrets means. The daedric spiders which blend with the environment perfectly and the wasps the size of birds of prey make their way, unseen and unnoticed by the striding titans and clashing legions, converging on the only living beings which reside within Cairn, drawn like moths to flame. Assassins and nightmares in one.

And then, spectral arrows pierce the wasps, which fall with the wail and the spiders turn around as shade dances between them, assassin's blade flashing to strike once before moving to another. Unseen and unknown to those he saves. Mephala's servants fall, unused to combat as they are.

"Don't know what's your business" mutters Jiub as he watches the living flee towards the only still functional portal to Nirn "but Azura needs you."

Then, he leaves, to make sure nothing else comes their way. And maybe after this madness is finally over, he will be granted entrance to Moonshadow instead of this dreary hellhole.

---

The glowing, swirling vortex that is the portal Valerika used in her day to get into the Cairn is still present where she left it, high in the sky, with stone steps hanging precariously in the air.

"Give me a moment to open it on the other end." The woman speaks as she climbs, purple light in her hands as she draws the patterns in the air directly below.

Jean glances back down as he balances precariously on the floating staircase. The battle is still ongoing, from what he can see, mostly because at some point other Princes decided to hit the glowing army of Meridia. Which, no doubt, is going to piss that particular Prince off and cause at least one Ideal Master to run to safety, because that's the way the narrative tends to work.

His vision blurs for a moment and he shakes his head and blinks. He is tired, he realises. Like he had done nothing but excessive physical labour for a couple days straight. There is a howl of the wind and the portal above him flashes bright for a moment.

"Done, let's go." Valerica commands, and he shuffles carefully up.

The purple light blinds him for a moment as he feels like he is being compressed and spread out at the same time, before the light dies down and he falls to the stone floor in a dusty, if pristine, room full of alchemical ingredients and enchanting supplies. He tries to rise, only for his body to give up as his Shout finally ends and the weight of his stay in Cairn crashes into him like a dragon on crack.

"Poor baby." Nahagliiv mutters in amusement as she scoops Jean into her arms. Then, she turns to Serana and Valerica. "So, you want us to blow this place up with a couple of well placed Shouts?"

Both of the vampiresses shake their heads before Valerica speaks up. "It's our house, no matter what, and after Harkon is dealt with, I would prefer to have somewhere to return. Besides" she sighs "he is protected by the prophecy of the Tyranny of the Sun, recorded in Elder Scrolls. Until the conditions are met, I am not even sure he can be killed."

Valdemar and Lydia stare at her, before the battlemage chokes out. "A vampire that is a subject of an Elder Scroll prophecy?"

"Not just one Scroll." Valerika corrects him. "But three. We named them Blood, Sun and Dragon for the parts of the prophecy each held. I hid Sun with Serana while taking Blood with me into the Soul Cairn. Unfortunately, I do not know the location of the last one."

"It will come with tiid, passage of time." Paarthurnax assures her. "We live in the times of legend already, so it is certain. Until then, I assume, you will need to remain on the move now that your vonun-hofkiin, hideout, has been destroyed?"

Valerica grimaces as she nods. "Yes. Which is where I ask about your permission to travel with your group. It may be risky to put both Scrolls together, but that way, I can keep my eye on Serana easier."

Lydia and Valdimar look at each other, then at Erin, then at the dragons, before finally looking back at the vampires. "If Erin is fine with it, there is no objection from us." Lydia answers. "Which almost definitely means yes, you can."

"Aye." The elf woman confirms offhandedly from where she's slumping on a couple of stair steps. Her soul may not have been strained like Jean's but she's getting treated to one hell of an adrenaline crash after that fucking rollercoaster of an adventure. Divines, what she wouldn't give for a week- hell, just a weekend of peace and quiet.

If she returns to Whiterun to find there's an army advancing on it she isn't going to be responsible for her actions.

Nahagliiv nods. "Great, we can figure out where the exit is then. We need a large enough place for Paarthurnax to shift back."

"My garden should be just about large enough." Valerica notes. "Granted, aside from the balcony, we would have to go through the entire sealed off wing, and I am sure Harkon reprogrammed the undead and gargoyles to attack me."

Paarthurnax chuckles. "There is no need for that. I can get us to the ground easily."

Opening the door to the balcony, she steps out and looks down, upon the dead garden basked in the moonlight. "Drem Ven Mah." She speaks, and a gentle current of the air springs into life. Without looking back, she jumps over the railing and falls, in a gentle, slow descent, until her feet touch the ground. "Similar to gliding." She muses before turning around. "Come, the Thu'um will take care of you!"

The party looks at the drop uncertain, before Lydia vaults over the railing and repeats the gentle descent, afterwards which, the others repeat the process, until only Nahagliiv, with unconscious Jean still in her arms, remains on the balcony.

"You go ahead, I will do my thing here. Durnehviir!" The other dragon looks up at her, pausing her self inspection. "You Listen so you can take Erin with you!"

"Viing Daal Nol Rii." She speaks, and a pair of large wings sprout from her back while a swings from under her skirt. "Ah, how I have missed them~." She gives the wings a few testing flaps, cheering up as she takes off of the balcony.

Erin's nostrils flare and eyes gleam as her weakness to monstergirls flares again. At least she's wrung out enough to have a decently easy time pushing it back down. Time. And. Place.

Then, Duurnehviir repeats the words, her own, tattered wings springing from her back and she scoops Erin into a carry without concern, giving her a smile and an absent-minded look.

...Okay, fuck it, she was going to give Durny a practical demonstration of how sex worked once they were back on the ground and relatively safe.

Finding a decent spot in the middle of the garden, and eyeing the solar clock, Paarturnax speaks her own words. "Dii rii, daal us daar se dovah." In a blink of an eye, she lies coiled around the garden. "Zul-Niir." She Shouts, although it comes as barely audible whisper. "Now, get up and we can be off."

The party nods and climbs up on her back, with Lydia scooping Barbas into her arms and hugging him to her chest. "I suppose this is how the dragons can be stealthy." She mutters. ""They just shout 'You can't hear me, you can't see me!' at reality until it obeys."

"Fitting, isn't it?" Barbas comments as Paarthurnax takes off, Castle Volkihar rapidly shrinking as the trio of dragons fly higher and higher, until they vanish into the clouds.