#I favor the still in empire skyrim

[neverendingford]

.

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 10

...Has a Silver Lining

Prev: Ch.9 Every Cloud... || Next: Ch.11 Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf finds Ariene in Falkreath, and after helping her out of a jam, the two prepare to storm the bandit camp at Pinewatch to retrieve a stolen silver mold for their client Endon.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 4,203

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — — 

Brynjolf swore he could feel time slowing as all eyes in the inn landed on him. The few other patrons didn’t bother to hide their stares as they watched the growing drama unfold, and the Legate he’d confronted was glaring at him with enough ferocity to kill a sabre cat. Even Ariene was staring, though she let her shock show on her face for only a moment.

“Now brother,”  she said loudly, catching on to Brynjolf’s ruse immediately. “There's no need to cause a scene. Legate Skulnar and I were simply having a…disagreement.” 

Legate Skulnar looked back and forth between the two, skepticism written plainly on his face. 

“Brother?” he asked, shrugging Brynjolf’s hand off his shoulder with a snarl. “I don’t see much resemblance between the two of you, kinsman.” 

Brynjolf silently cursed the fact that Ariene’s features were so distinctly imperial before giving the Legate his best eyebrow raise. 

“Half-brother, if you must know. My father took an imperial wife after my own ma died; not that it’s any of your business, sir.” 

Legate Skulnar didn’t look convinced, and Ariene stepped forward deftly, standing so that she was next to Brynjolf and no longer backed into the corner. 

“I tried to explain to the Legate that I was here on business, but he wouldn’t listen,” she said. “Insisted I was some kind of runaway from the legion. As if ‘Ariene’ isn’t one of the most common Imperial names of the last decade.” 

Brynjolf had no idea if that was true or not, but he supposed that if he didn’t, then Skulnar might not either. 

“The legion?” he repeated with a laugh. “Ari’s ma is in the timber business. Why else would we come to this little splinter of a city? Certainly not for the hospitality.” 

The Legate was still clearly suspicious, but Brynjolf saw the moment that he realized that his catch had slipped away. The gaze of the other patrons had turned from Brynjolf to Skulnar, and while he could arrest the both of them right there, it definitely wouldn’t do him any favors with the locals. Falkreath’s allegiances did technically lie with the empire, but this was due more to the Jarl’s personal greed than the consensus of the citizens, and Brynjolf would be willing to bet that keeping up a good image for the Legion was one of the Legate’s top priorities. 

“Fine,” Skulnar eventually growled. “You can move along. But I’ll be keeping my eye on the two of you while you’re here, is that understood?” 

“Yes sir,” Brynjolf drawled, his tone anything but respectful, and Skulnar glared.

“Stop antagonizing him, brother,” Ariene said, taking his arm. “Come, let me tell you about the spot I found in the woods. It’s a perfect place to plant our next business venture.” 

She led him to a tiny room off the side of the bar, motioning for him to shut the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, she dropped his arm and put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Brother?” she repeated, and Brynjolf shrugged. 

“I wanted to distract him from who you are. Passing you off as a Skyrim native seemed the best bet, considering the circumstances.”  

“I suppose since it worked, I can’t complain too much…” Ariene trailed off, her expression changing as she gave Brynjolf a once over. “By the Nine, Bryn, what happened to you?” 

It was then that Brynjolf remembered that his clothes were still torn and muddy, that his hair was a stringy mess falling into his eyes, and that there were still traces of the makeshift blood on his face. He'd probably looked like a madman, stalking up to a Legate and challenging him right there in the inn.  

“Oh, right,” he said, wiping a few flecks of the red-stained mud from his cheek. “This is nothing, I just had to pull one over on some bandits camping out in Helgen. No actual fighting was done.” 

Ariene sighed, then sat on the edge of her bed, gesturing for Brynjolf to sit in the room’s only chair. 

Brynjolf sat, frowning at her. 

“Are you alright, lass?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just been a long few weeks. Gulum-Ei is a stubborn son of a bitch, and traveling in the Reach right now is a nightmare. Those ‘Forsworn’ are around just about every other hill. Then there’s this nonsense with the Markarth job, and to top it all off that Legate out there’s been on my ass for the past three days. I was certain I was going to have to have a mysterious ‘accident’ in the woods and disappear to get away from him.” 

“Now that sounds time consuming,” Brynjolf said. “I’m glad I showed up when I did so we could avoid it.” His tone was light, playful, but Ariene wouldn’t look directly at him as she spoke. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “I worried that the message would arrive too late, or that you wouldn’t understand the code, or…” 

She trailed off, but Brynjolf heard the unspoken doubt loud and clear. 

I wasn’t sure you’d even come.

“One of the Guild’s best and brightest calls in for backup?” She looked up at him and he smiled at her, causing a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. “Of course I came, lass. And your code was perfect. The little clue about the First of Frostfall was a neat trick.”  

“Thank you,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have bothered to encode it at all, but Skulnar was already suspicious of me, and I was worried he’d confiscate the letter from the courier.” 

“I wouldn’t have put it past him,” Brynjolf agreed. “But you didn’t even mention him in your note. Which means that what you need help with has nothing to do with the Legion, and everything to do with bandits and this silversmith job. Tell me about it.” 

Ariene nodded, and just like that, she was all business, every trace of worry and doubt vanishing from her in an instant. 

“I went to Markarth to meet the client, Endon. I was expecting some kind of job targeting a competitor of his, or perhaps a robbery to bring some extra cash flow to his business. But no.” She shook her head ruefully. “He wants us to raid a bandit camp to retrieve a stolen item.” 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t that a job for the Jarl’s guards? Or even the Companions?” he asked, and Ariene sighed. 

“Apparently, all official channels are too busy with the civil war and Forsworn attacks. I guess he heard that the Guild was returning to power and figured ‘who better to steal back something that was stolen?’ Their camp is at the base of the mountain range just northeast of here.”

“You’ve staked the place out?” Brynjolf asked, and Ariene nodded. 

“This is the problem: it’s not a normal camp. There’s this old woodcutter’s hut in the forest, and I’m convinced it’s bigger than it seems. I’ve seen more men go in and out over the past three days than should be able to fit comfortably inside.”

“Maybe it’s connected to some kind of cave system,” Brynjolf mused, and Ariene nodded again.

“My thoughts exactly. But if that’s true, I have no way of knowing how many opponents I’m dealing with until I’m already inside. That’s why I wrote to you for help…though I was prepared to attempt the raid alone if I got no response in a few days.”

“Well, I’m glad I made it before you tried something like that,” Brynjolf repeated. “So when do you want to make your move? Tonight?” 

“Tomorrow,” Ariene replied. “I think we both could use some sleep. Besides, the best time to hit them would probably be midmorning. From what I can tell, that’s when most of them come out to do…whatever it is bandits do during the day. Pillage, and so on.” 

“Sounds like a plan, lass,” Brynjolf said, getting to his feet. “Now, what kind of drink do they serve here?” 

They ordered a small meal, and since talking about business in the open areas of the inn seemed a foolhardy choice, they spent the rest of the evening having a mostly improvised conversation about their imaginary family members back in Riften.

As they talked, Brynjolf noticed the tension slowly bleeding out of Ariene’s shoulders, and he found himself relaxing as well, for what he realized was the first time in weeks. It was fun, sitting by the fire with a drink in his hand and making up stories about how Cousin Joric had fallen into the breeding pool at the Riften Fishery and thus was sentenced to a week of floor scrubbing. Being on a con again– even one as simple as pretending to be a family of timber workers– was energizing, and he couldn’t help but smile as he and Ariene shared a block of cheese and traded tales. 

Despite his long day, Brynjolf found sleep that night to be elusive. Lying in one of the inn’s creaky beds and staring at the ceiling, he could feel the anticipation rising in his chest. Tomorrow, they would head into the woods to face down an entire encampment of bloodthirsty bandits. And this time, he probably couldn’t trick his way out of dealing with them.  

— — — 

The next morning, Ariene led the way through the woods to where the bandits had made their base. Brynjolf realized he’d never actually seen her out in the field besides that first job in the marketplace, and was impressed by how silently the lass moved through the dense underbrush of the old forests of Falkreath. He typically associated thieves with back alleys and city streets, but he supposed that Ariene’s history as a mercenary in her father’s crew had garnered her plenty of experience with the wilderness. 

It didn’t take them long to reach what on the outside looked like a perfectly convincing woodcutter’s hut, and they crouched down in the bushes across the road to watch the door. Sure enough, clusters of bandits began exiting the hut, a few at a time spread out across the morning. About half of those who left headed up the road to the east, while the other half took the road west, and Brynjolf could picture them meeting up with their fellows and staging traps for unsuspecting travelers. 

“Alright, lass,” he said in a low voice once it had been a good half hour since anyone left the cabin. “How do you want to handle this?” 

“If there really is a secret passageway, then they’ve probably left at least one man left inside to guard it,” Ariene replied. “It’s what I’d do. I say we go in through the front here, take the guard by surprise if we can, and figure out our next move from there.” 

Brynjolf nodded, and once they were sure there was no one else on the road to see them, they both rose to their feet and made their way to the cottage door. Ariene’s picks made quick work of the lock, and she looked up at Brynjolf, a question in her eyes. 

He nodded to her and she pulled the door open by a hair, allowing Brynjolf to peer inside. He quickly scanned the interior, noting a cluttered workbench, a low burning fire in the hearth, and a wooden railing in the corner that indicated stairs.

“You were right, lass,” he whispered. “There is a basement. Up top here looks all clear for now.” 

“Take point,” she whispered back, sliding her picks into her pocket and pulling her bow off her shoulder. “I’ll cover you from behind.”

Brynjolf nodded, and the two of them slipped into the house. They approached the stairs, and Brynjolf crouched low, peering down into the basement through the gap in the floor. 

There was a single man sitting at a table with his back to them, an open bottle of wine in his hand. Brynjolf slowly descended the stairs, wincing as the wood boards creaked beneath his feet, but the man did not stir. As soon as his feet were on the stone floor, Ariene called out in a clear voice: 

“If you scream, you’re a dead man.” 

The bandit whirled around, his hand moving to an axe he wore on his belt, but he froze when he saw the tip of Ariene’s arrow pointed at his heart. 

“What do you want?” he asked, and Brynjolf smiled. 

“Just to have a chat, lad, maybe a look around. You see, we’re looking for some particular merchandise.” 

“Endon’s stolen mold,” Ariene added. 

“Endon's mold?” the man repeated. He offered a nervous smile. “I'm afraid you have the wrong place, my friends. You'll find no silversmiths here. I assure you, I have nothing of value. I'm nothing but a poor woodcutter just trying to make ends meet." 

Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, who had a triumphant glint in her eye. 

“I never said it was a silver mold,” she said, and the man licked his lips. 

“Oh? Well uh, Endon is a silversmith in Markarth, so I just assumed…”

“Look, lad,” Brynjolf interrupted. “We’d like to avoid a fight just as much as you would. If you just tell us where the mold is, we can all be on our way, no harm no foul.” 

The man bit his lip, eyes flitting between the two thieves. 

“We can make it worth your while,” Ariene said, and Brynjolf nodded, pulling out his coin pouch and giving it a shake. 

“I see…” the man said slowly, his gaze fixed on the purse. After a moment, he nodded to himself and got to his feet.

“Well, I can't say exactly where the mold is, but something does spring to mind,” he said casually. “It seems there's this strange button on the wall opposite the fireplace in my house. Always wondered what it was for.” 

Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, and she gave a single nod of her head. 

“Fair enough,” Brynjolf said, and tossed the coin to the bandit. The man caught it deftly and nodded to them.

“Thank you kindly, friends. Think I'm going to head out now. Take a long vacation from woodcutting, you know? Good luck.” 

He edged past Ariene, who kept her bow trained on him as he climbed back up the stairs, only lowering it once he had left the cottage and closed the door behind him. 

“Well, so much for finding it in the house,” she muttered when the man was gone. 

“When has the Guild ever had that kind of luck?” Brynjolf pointed out, and Ariene snorted. 

“Good point. After you, then,” she added, gesturing towards the button. 

Brynjolf pressed it, and the bookshelf against the wall swung open, revealing a tunnel leading down deeper into the earth.

“So there is a cave back here. I wonder if they dug this out, or if it was here naturally?” Ariene mused as they made their way down the tunnel. 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he rounded a corner and found the end of the tunnel opening out into a large open room. 

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t look like any rock formations I’ve ever seen,” he said, pointing at a scaffolding rig that blocked their view of most of the cave. 

“Get down,” Ariene whispered, and Brynjolf immediately dropped to one knee, his hand moving to his daggers. 

A second later, he saw the bandit. 

Through gaps in the old wooden boards, he could just make out a rope bridge connecting the outcropping of rock they were standing on to another part of the cave system, and standing on that bridge with his arms folded was a burly looking man in iron armor. He was positioned so that he’d see whoever came walking out of the tunnel, but he hadn’t startled at the sight of them, so it was just possible that they were hidden from his sight where they were crouching. 

“Let me by,” Ariene breathed, and Brynjolf nodded, letting the lass slip past him. 

She crept forward into the cave, angling herself so that the makeshift wooden wall was between her and the bandit’s line of sight. She scanned the room, a frown creasing her forehead as she did so. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as she made her way back to him, and she shot him a grim look. 

“There’s no way around him that he wouldn’t notice and raise the alarm,” she murmured. “But I think he’s the only one on guard in this chamber.” 

“Your call, lass,” Brynjolf whispered. “However you want to handle this, I’ll follow your lead.” 

Ariene didn’t say anything for several seconds, and Brynjolf almost wondered if she hadn’t heard him, but then she met his eyes, her gaze hard. 

“I’d draw your weapon if I were you.” 

Brynjolf immediately pulled his daggers free from their sheaths as Ariene turned back towards the bandit. She lifted her bow and pulled back the string, aiming her shot through a gap in the scaffolding. She took a breath in, and on the exhale, let the arrow fly. 

The arrow struck the bandit square in the neck, and he fell back immediately with a gurgled cry. Ariene started to straighten, then cursed and ducked back down, drawing another arrow as a confused call echoed in the room. 

“Rogjar? Are you alright?”

A moment later, a bandit rounded the corner, and on seeing the body on the bridge, he gave a cry of alarm, drawing a sword from his belt. Another bandit joined him in an instant, his own weapon drawn and his eyes hard. They both ignored their fallen comrade and headed across the bridge, right for where Brynjolf and Ariene were hiding. 

Ariene let her second arrow loose, and it caught the bigger of the two bandits on the shoulder. The man staggered, then grunted and shifted his grip on his warhammer. Brynjolf had just enough time to think “Well that’s not a good sign” before a third arrow shot by and caught the first bandit in the thigh, causing him to stumble forward. 

Ariene shot one more arrow, but it missed both targets, and then the larger of the two bandits was on the pair of them, swinging his warhammer towards their heads. Brynjolf rolled forward, slashing out at the man’s legs with his daggers. The thug gave a cry of both pain and surprise as the blades sliced into his flesh; no doubt he was used to people trying to move away from his wide, slow swings, not towards them.  

Brynjolf spun quickly, jabbing one dagger into the back of the man’s neck before he could turn around. The bandit fell forward, and Brynjolf slammed the hilt of his dagger on the top of the man’s skull, just to be safe. He turned back towards the other bandit, just in time to see Ariene strike him across the face with the arm of her bow, knocking him to the ground. She drew her own blade and followed him down, pressing her knee against his chest and slitting his throat before he had a chance to recover. 

She looked up at him, panting slightly, and he nodded to her.

“Alright, Ariene?”

“Fine,” she said, getting to her feet with a grunt and wiping the blood off her blade. “You?” 

Brynjolf turned back to his fallen foe and pulled his dagger out of the man’s back. 

“Right as rain, lass.” 

The two spared a few minutes to roll the bandits’ bodies off the bridge and hide them among the boxes and crates in the pit below. The cavern was far too vast for the bandits to have dug themselves, and Brynjolf spotted a few old burial urns and nordic weapons shoved up against the wall in one corner. 

“Looks like our marks here found an ancient burial ground and converted it into a hideout,” he said conversationally as he rolled one of the corpses behind a pillar and out of sight. 

“And they’re making good use of it, too,” Ariene said. “Look at this.” 

Brynjolf looked to where she was pointing. Crates and barrels full of produce, cured meats, clothing, and other simple goods were stacked along one wall. Beside the crates were entire wagons in various stages of being broken apart, and there, in a shallow pit just off to the side, was a pile of khajiit corpses. 

“They’re not just hassling random travelers or raiding villages,” Ariene said quietly. “They’re attacking whole trade caravans. My guess is they overtake them on the road and force them to unload their goods in here, then kill them so they can’t report on their location.” 

Brynjolf shook his head at the brutality. 

“It’s a damn shame. And Khajiit traders are some of our best customers.” He paused, a fraction of a conversation floating back to his mind. “Tonilia mentioned that there’d been delays along the southwest routes.”

“Looks like we found the culprits,” Ariene said as she stashed a bandit’s body behind one of the carts. “Or some of them, anyway.” 

“I’m no lover of law and order, but I’m amazed that the hold guards were too busy to deal with this,” Brynjolf mused. “I understand not wanting to track down one man’s missing shipment, but these are entire caravans disappearing.”

“Well, I’m sure if they were nord caravans then the local authorities could find it in themselves to spare the resources,” Ariene said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. Brynjolf grimaced.

“Aye…you’re probably right, lass,” he said. “Good thing we’re here to pick up the slack then, eh?”

Ariene smiled briefly, then straightened and drew her bow again.

“At any rate, I don’t see the mold with these crates; I’d wager the more valuable cargo is stashed deeper in the cave. Let’s move further in and see what we can find.” 

The two made their way back up to the upper level and followed the tunnels through the old burial chambers. In one of the large chambers, a makeshift bar had been set up with a few tables and chairs, though the room was thankfully deserted as they passed through. They found more evidence that the ancient nords had used the caves as a burial ground, with more funeral urns, looted crypts, and carved stone doors around every corner. 

True to Ariene’s prediction, most of the bandits were out raiding, leaving the cave system mostly empty. There were a few stragglers here and there, but with the element of surprise on their side, she and Brynjolf had little trouble in dispatching them. Upon entering yet another wide open room set with a few tables and chairs, Ariene turned to Brynjolf and smiled sheepishly. 

“I almost feel bad for dragging you all the way out here now, it seems I would have been able to manage this on my own after all.” 

“Perhaps,” Brynjolf said, picking up a letter from the table and scanning it with little interest. “But between you and me, lass, even if we don’t draw our blades again for the rest of the day, I’m still glad I came. Just because you can handle a job like this on your own doesn’t mean you should have to without backup. Besides, the Guild’s been terribly dull the last few weeks; it’s nice to get out and about for once.” 

They followed another narrow tunnel out of the room, and found themselves in a small chamber with a wooden door blocking their way. Ariene walked up and tested the handle experimentally, then stowed her bow on her back and pulled out her picks. 

“Locked,” she said as she began fiddling with the lock, and Brynjolf snorted. ‘

“Never would have guessed,” he quipped, and Ariene rolled her eyes. 

There was a beat of silence, then Ariene frowned. 

“Odd,” she murmured. “Bryn, give this a try, would you?” 

Brynjolf sheathed his daggers and knelt beside her, taking the picks in his hands. He wasn’t as good at lockpicking as Vex, but he was still pretty damn good at it, so he was surprised when, after a minute or so of trying, one of the picks broke inside the lock. 

“Shit,” Brynjolf swore quietly as he pulled the broken pieces out. 

“This lock is far too strong for a random door in a bandit hole,” Ariene said as Brynjolf pulled out his own pair of picks. “What could be hidden back here?”

“Take a wild guess,” said a gruff voice. 

Brynjolf turned, only to find himself on the wrong end of a very sharp looking sword. He looked up to see a bandit woman in plate armor with war paint in harsh lines across her face glaring down at them. Ariene cursed and reached for her bow, but the woman shook her head and stepped closer, pointing her sword mere inches from Brynjolf’s neck. Ariene froze, and a sneer spread across the woman’s face. 

“Now then,” she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What am I going to do with you?”

— — — 

AN: Honestly I love that we've wound up on an entire side quest barely related to the main focus of the story, it feels very on brand for a skyrim story (also I'll talk any excuse to keep having these two dance around each other. :3 )

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I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part X: Swan

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Author's note: The results of the poll are in! We're splitting this chapter right down the middle! Look for Swan, continued some time next week or so.

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Content Warning: Nothing special for this chapter.

#######

“There’s nothing to discuss so long as that traitor continues to lead an insurrection against the Empire.”

“With all due respect, General, the dragons pose a greater threat.”

“They’re a nuisance, but I wasn’t sent to Skyrim to slay dragons. I intend to put down this rebellion, dragons or no dragons.”

They had been going around in circles for nearly half an hour. Leara had to respect Tullius’s ability to give her the runaround. As a tactic against politicians and the Aldmeri Dominion, it was no doubt a very useful skill, but Leara wasn’t a politician, and as for the Dominion, well, that didn’t count, did it?

Across the room, Legate Rikke stood over the map of Skyrim; while she appeared focused on the flags marking Stormcloak movement, her attention was very obviously on the discussion between the Dragonborn and the Legion General. Leara didn’t know much about the legate, save that she was well-respected even by the Stormcloaks (or so she’d heard). What would Rikke say if Leara brought up the threat of Alduin? Unbidden, she recalled how that one Stormcloak general had scoffed at the idea. As much as she’d like to chalk belief up to an inside joke for Helgen survivors – and how morbid was that? – Leara was sure Tullius wouldn’t appreciate how serious a threat the World-Eater was. She couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t understood it herself, not until she was face to face with Alduin in Kynesgrove. Dragons meant something different in Skyrim than to the rest of the Empire. Dragons were not a symbol of Imperial sovereignty and Divine salvation. To the Nords, dragons were first overlords and later the stuff of legends. And those legends came back to burn the world to ash. Still. He was at Helgen. Tullius knew what they could do.

“Given the trouble that one dragon caused the Legion last summer, I can’t imagine the growing number of attacks is doing your troops any favors,” Leara said.

Grave, General Tullius looked at the leather folios stacked near the map. “Perhaps,” he said. Tapping a finger on the stack, he added, “But all accounts show that the Stormcloaks are just as affected as we are. The dragons are just another condition we all must reckon with. The legion can weather the winter, we can deal with the dragons.”

Legate Rikke pursed her lips but remained silent.

Leara settled a contemplative expression over her face, though inside she wanted to roll her eyes at the general’s bluster. She wouldn’t accuse Tullius of arrogance. No, he was too cunning a strategist for that. But his push to stick with the conflict as if the dragons were another natural phenomenon to work around was dangerous. The kind of dangerous that would see both sides razed by dragon fire. Leara inclined her head. “For everything there is a season. Am I right in my understanding that forward progress has been slow this year? Tensions will soon reach a boiling point and, forgive me, but the peace council may be able to circumvent any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Ulfric’s forces are stretched thin as it is, and soon his supporters will see for themselves the consequences of opposing the Empire,” Tullius said, his hand curling into a fist. “This war will be over soon enough.”

Legate Rikke coughed.

“Is it really so simple?” Leara asked.

Tullius’s fist tightened. “Of course, it’s not,” he sighed, “Look, Miss—”

“Just Leara is fine.”

“Leara, then. The Nords seem to put a lot of stock in you being ‘Dragonborn.’ I won’t pretend to know what that means here, but the Legate has told me that you’re some type of hero. But I can’t afford to depend on one person to take care of this war. Tell me, how can you enforce this proposed peace when it’s taken legions to get this far?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Leara wondered if Tullius was as tired as she felt. “If the Emperor would just send the reinforcements I’ve asked for, this business would be done with!”

Now that wasn’t simple. Leara knew that much. She remembered the legions mobilizing through Colovia and the West Weald when she was still in the Imperial City. Back when the war in Skyrim was just another topic to gossip about with customers. Maybe once did The Black Horse Courier run a front page spread on it, but that was when High King Torygg was killed, and the lines were first drawn. As a Blade, Leara couldn’t help but empathize with the Stormcloaks’ desire for free Talos worship, but at the same time, she spent years in Cyrodiil and in Alinor before that. She knew what the bigger picture was and it turned her stomach. People in Cyrodiil were more concerned about their backdoor than the northern frontier, and they had a right to be. If the Emperor diverted more men to Skyrim, then the line between the Imperial City and the threat from the Aldmeri Dominion would be weakened, and they couldn’t afford that.

And that was without the dragons to contend with.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Leara admitted freely. “What I can do is advise using this peace council as a means to solidify Imperial support in Skyrim. If the Empire shows themselves willing to talk, then getting the people’s support will be easier.”

Tullius studied her for a long moment. Leara waited. He didn’t see the traitor that lurked just below her skin. Ulfric suspected it was there, but Leara prayed that the idea didn’t even enter Tullius’s mind. She was the Dragonborn, and she needed to be seen as such. Not as a Blades agent nor as a Dominion officer.

“We could use the breathing room – if you can pull this off,” he said at length. “Fine, we’ll come to this peace council, for all the good it’ll do. I still have my doubts, but who knows? Under these conditions, even Ulfric might agree to your little truce.”

“I doubt that, sir,” Legate Rikke said, face drawn. “He’ll be there. He won’t disrespect the Greybeards’ invitation, but he won’t come quietly.”

“He overestimates himself,” Tullius nodded. “That will be all, Legate.”

“Of course, General.”

Relaxing her shoulders, Leara smiled. From a pouch on her belt, she withdrew a card. “This has the details for the council,” she said, handing the card to Tullius.

He turned it over. “Two weeks. You knew I’d agree to this.”

“I was optimistic.”

Legate Rikke laughed. “You’ll need that if you think you’re going to get Ulfric to agree to anything!”

Leara only continued to smile as her anxiety over Ulfric wormed its way through her insides, squirming and gnawing.

·•★•·

Solitude was beautiful in high summer.

Winding her way through the Market District, Leara peaked at the open stalls from underneath the protection of her hood. The potent tang of salmon and other fish brought in by the morning boats wafted through the air; many were piled up in barrels and crates, but some were strung up on wire threaded between stalls where their scales caught the sun at high noon. But fish were only one of the many offerings of the Solitude market. Imports from High Rock, Cyrodiil, and the Summerset Isles glittered in the hands of merchants haggling with shoppers. It was a pleasant day and the streets were crowded with men, elves, and beast folk. It reminded Leara of a pale version of the vibrant Imperial City.

She eyed a line of shops, each with signs carved and painted in the classical cosmopolitan styles of the Heartland. Passing by a dress shop, she spied an ensemble not unlike one she recalled the Duchess of Colovia wearing to the Midyear’s celebration a couple of years before, peeking through a window. Next door were several tables displaying handcrafted leather bracers and jackets. Most were Nordic, but she spied the odd Nibenese or Colovian design in the mix. Solitude, or at least its merchant class, seemed to take many of its cues from the Imperials. Hopefully, this boded well for her hunt for a decent bookshop. She desperately needed to study some of these ancient Nord legends that were so intrinsically tied to being Dragonborn.

Although, as much as Solitude seemed to mimic the Imperial City, the lack of a common newspaper gave her pause.

Maybe she could blame that on the civil war.

Ducking through an alley, she tucked her cowl tighter around her mouth. Despite the pleasant weather, an absent breeze wound its way through the city, chilled by the Sea of Ghosts. But even if it were stifling outside, she’d keep her hood and cowl on. Solitude reflected the Imperial City in many ways, including the presence of the Aldmeri Dominion within its walls. She was too lax before when she infiltrated that party at the Embassy. And again, when she spoke with Ancano at the College. The Dominion was always watching.

Electricity teased her spine, and Leara shivered.

The familiar urge to run nipped at her feet. But no. She had come too far to run now. Even with the Dominion and Ulfric Stormcloak out to get her, she still had to think of Skyrim. Akatosh ordained it so.

Crossing the street, she slipped through the door to The Winking Skeever. Warmth and laughter pulled her in, inviting her to join the chattering patrons clustered around fish plates and bowls of mead. Her stomach twinged. Winding her way to the bar, Leara adverted her gaze from the platters of food on the nearby tables. Food could wait.

A gentle yip! brought Leara’s attention to the ground. Karnwyr slipped from under a stool, his tail wagging, and bounded up to her. “Well, hello to you, too!” Leara giggled, letting the wolf lick her hand.

“None for me, sweetness?”

The giggle petered out. “No, thank you. You reek of alcohol.”

Bishop snorted, a near-empty tankard in his hand. “There’s nothing else to do when you’re off doing gods-know-what.”

Karnwyr whined when Leara’s hand slipped from his reach, falling to her side. Clearing her throat, Leara settled on the barstool beside Bishop. “I’m done,” she said. “Tullius agreed to attend. We can leave Solitude in the morning.”

“I’ll be glad when we can put this prissy hole behind us. Their alcohol tastes like horker dung,” Bishop grumbled, throwing back the rest of his tankard.

From the other end of the counter, Leara caught sight of the innkeeper’s son, rolling his eyes, exasperation painting his face. Clearly, this wasn’t the first comment Bishop had made about the tavern’s alcohol menu.

“We’ll be back on the road in the morning.”

Bishop eyed her, his pale eyes trailing over the hood stained dark with dragon’s blood and the silver armor in desperate need of polish. “You’re done with that Legion guy?”

“Yes.”

Bishop’s mouth lifted into a crooked smirk. “Well, well, I can think of a few things we can do to pass the time till we head out again, starting with this.” He leaned forward, the scent of fermented honey and yeast curling from him into Leara’s nose as he tugged the cowl down past her chin. “My, but you do look sweet enough to eat, don’t you?”

Her chin between his fingers, Leara could do nothing but offer a weak smile. “Actually, I was planning on finding a bookstore.”

“A what? More books?” Bishop groaned, releasing her to scrub his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“No, I’m quite serious.”

“Listen, darling,” Bishop said, resting his elbow on the counter. “It’s about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Like me.”

“I do pay attention to you,” Leara said, patting his knee. Then she withdrew before he could snatch her hand in his. Standing up, she quirked her head to the side. “But I need to pay more attention to Skyrim.”

Bishop scoffed, but Leara ignored him as she slipped down the counter to where the innkeeper’s son, Sorex Vinius, stood pouring drinks. Leara waited quietly as he finished filling the tankards on one of the serving girls’ trays. As soon as the Breton girl whisked it away, he turned to Leara, raising a dark eyebrow. “Ah, Ormand, right? Here to order lunch?”

“No, thank you,” Leara smiled. “I was actually wondering if you could point me in the direction of a bookstore.”

Sorex nodded, “There’s a few options, depending on what you’re hunting for. There’s The Scholar Ship down by the docks, run by an Isabel Bourdon. That’s the place to go if you're looking for exotic, rare books. Then there’s always Bound to Please over by Radiant Raiment.”

“What sort of books do they sell?” Leara asked, not fancying a trip down to the docks if she could help it.

Sorex’s jaw slackened, “Uh, well, they specialize in—” He made a vague gesture, his eyes darting across the room before returning to Leara. She raised an eyebrow, and Sorex shrugged. “Spell tomes and, um. They specialize in,” he cleared his throat, “erotica.”

“I like the sound of that one!”

Leara winced as Bishop saddled up beside her. “I was looking for a more generalized selection.”

“Yes, of course you are,” Sorex coughed. “I’d recommend The Prints and the Paper. Run by an old seller from Wayrest, or so I’ve heard.”

“Really?” That piqued Leara’s interest. “Where is it?”

“Let’s go to that Bound to Please place,” Bishop whispered in her ear.

Sorex eyed Bishop, his brow creased. Leara couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble Bishop already caused the staff. And it was only half past twelve by the cathedral’s bell tower.

“‘round the corner from Bits and Pieces,” Sorex said slowly.

“Thank you,” Leara nodded. Then, grabbing Bishop’s wrist, she dragged him toward the door, Karnwyr bounding behind them.

“Woah, sweetheart! If only you were this enthusiastic in the bedroom!”

Leara hung her head, her hood falling over her eyes. And if she ran Bishop into the door jam as they left the Skeever, well, she wasn’t watching where she was going, was she?

·•★•·

The musky fragrance of leather covers and thick stacks of parchment teased Leara’s senses as soon as she stepped through the door. The Prints and the Paper was full of the warm dust notes that always hovered over old books despite best efforts. It wasn’t the Arcanaeum at the College, but there was a special kind of magic in a bookstore that stirred something homey and comforting in her chest.

Of course, Bishop took the opportunity to ruin it for her.

Naturally.

Picking up a particularly thick book on the Miracle of Peace, he snorted as he flipped through it. “What could you possibly want with any of this old stuff? There’s no pictures.”

“Well maybe if you learned to read,” Leara grumbled under her breath.

“What?”

“I said, some people use their imagination.”

Karnwyr sneezed, and Leara patted his head, absently. Taking the book back from Bishop, she set it back on the table where a stack of books on late Third Era High Rock geopolitics caught her eye. Topics ranging from the War of Bend'r-Mahk to the succession of the kings of Daggerfall stood out with bright gold and silver inlay on the spines. Other tables were spaced out along the central aisle, each piled high with books of various sizes and colors. In between a copy of The Real Barenziah and an anthology collection of 2920, she spied an expanded edition of The Annotated Anuad bound in a glossy black leather that could only be made from salamander skin. Leara swallowed, recalling a similar volume in Lord Varlarata’s parlor in Firsthold. Tearing her eyes from the memory, firelight drew her to the rest of the show room. There were rows and rows of bookshelves, tightly packed and dimly lit by scattered candelabras and wall sconces mounted at the ends of shelves. Leara eyed the fire with some hesitancy at its proximity to the books.

“Good afternoon! If you need any help, just let me know!” a wizened little Breton said, popping from between two stacks near the back. His overlarge spectacles gave his face a wide, rather goofy look.

“Yes, hello!” Leara said, practically sailing across the room from an exasperated Bishop. “I was wondering if you had any books on Nordic legends. I’m looking for the story of Olaf and the dragon!”

“Ah, yes!” the shopkeeper nodded. “I have a new edition of the Prose Edda edited by Viarmo that contains some rather fascinating annotations to the Olaf story!” With that, he disappeared between the stacks before Leara could mention anything about sightless creatures and old folktales.

“Well, that’s it, right?” Bishop asked, arms crossed. “You get your book and we can get back to more important things.”

Exhaling through her nose, Leara propped a hand on her hip. “And what do you call more important than the good of Skyrim?”

“The ‘good of Skyrim’? Please, sweetness, what does some old poem about a dead king have to do with the dragons flying around and eating people?” Bishop chuckled to himself, low and deep. But his eyes pressed into her, leering. Leara wanted to squirm. “Too bad Skyrim needs you as her savior. I could find a thing or two for you to do in my service.”

“Bishop, I don’t—”

The little bell over the door chimed, a light airy sound that was out of place in the thick atmosphere that threatened to choke her. But Leara welcomed it. She’d been avoiding the truth of her talk with Balgruuf and the plan to trap a dragon in his keep all week. It’d been painfully easy to distract Bishop from her near-confession with a kiss and a bit of heavy petting, but she could only stop him on the cusp of unbuckling her armor so many times before he snapped. Yet as much as she didn’t want to admit to the Dragonsreach plan, a greater part of her didn’t want to sleep with Bishop. Divines save her, she didn’t even want to kiss him!

But it was necessary.

She feared the day when she would believe sleeping with him would be a necessity, too.

Suddenly, the air was too warm, claustrophobic, and Leara realized that, yes, she could suffocate in her hood. She busied her hands by pushing it back from her hair, avoiding Bishop’s intensity with forced composure.

“Sweetheart, I—"

A throat cleared nearby. “Forgive me for intruding, my lady, but I believe you are whom I am looking for. Are you the Dragonborn?”

The jolt that rocked through Leara was so violent that she was stunned when, a moment later, she realized she was still standing. Her mind had wandered too far, she needed to come back. Karnwyr growled, his side pressed into her leg. Bishop scowled, and for a fleeting heartbeat, she thought it was directed at her. But no, it was toward the voice. Wrenching around, Leara locked eyes with a tall man wearing gleaming knight’s armor. Very out of place in Skyrim, but, she mused, perhaps not so much in imperialized Solitude as it would be in Whiterun or Riften. His dark hair was swept to the side, neatly combed and totally untouched by sweat or exertion. He had to have muscles. He couldn’t wear a heavy suit of armor like that without them. But somehow Leara doubted this man did much fighting, real or otherwise.

And . . . he just asked if she was the Dragonborn.

“Yes, I am,” she said, tone thin. For once, could she go somewhere without people somehow automatically knowing she’s the Dragonborn? “And who are you?”

“Oh brother, that is just great,” Bishop groaned.

“My lady,” the knight took her hand, bowing over it, “my name is Casavir. I have been searching for the Dragonborn for some time now, in hopes of aiding you in your journey to keep the dragons at bay. I would like to offer my assistance.”

Leara gaped at him, her hand caught in his as her mind tried to catch up with his proposition. Assistance with, with the dragons? Wait, Casavir? The name tugged at something in her memory – and then she recalled a golden quiff and a snobbish voice telling her about being arrested just for performing a bit of on-the-nose magic in the Solitude streets. Darren. Winterhold. Of course. That unfortunate little mage whose nose met the business end of Bishop’s fragile masculinity. Yes, she remembered now. He mentioned Casavir as being offended by his good fun.

Recalling Darren’s definition of ‘good fun,’ Leara concluded that Casavir’s ego was as delicate as Bishop’s. Yeah, no thanks. She didn’t need that hovering over her shoulder. There was enough to deal with when it was just Bishop whining in her ear.

“If it isn’t everybody’s favorite white knight,” Bishop sneered. “I was not expecting to run into you here, but the irony of it all definitely suits you. What brings you to a bookshop of all places? I think you’re looking for that other one, the spicy one.”

Clearing her throat, Leara made to pull her hand from the gloved grip, but Casavir held on. The glare he shot Bishop was anything but chivalrous. “I merely wish to assist her, much as I imagine you are doing now, Bishop.”

Bishop scoffed, suddenly too close to Leara’s shoulder. Air closed in around her. It was still too warm. “Do I look like some nerdy clerk to you? Listen up, she doesn’t need you. Go help someone who wants your holy righteousness, it’s not wanted here.” With that, he latched onto her arm.

Casavir drew her other hand closer to him, and Leara felt caught in a tug-o’-war between two children. “At least with me her moral aptitude wouldn’t plummet to the flaming depths of Oblivion, which I’m sure in your company, it has been sorely tempted to do!”

“You think a little too highly of yourself, Paladin!” Bishop laughed, cold. “With you along, she’d get so bored she’d sprint and dive headfirst into those flames, anything to make her feel alive—”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Leara heard herself say. Akatosh, but she sounded far steadier than she felt! She needed to lie down. Or at least get out from the streams of hot air blasted her from both directions. “Now, if you would be so kind—” She pulled at her hand.

Casavir dropped it. “Forgive me, my lady. I—”

“And here it is! Viarmo’s annotated Prose Edda, bound right here in Solitude by our own Bards College!”

Free of Casavir, Leara yanked herself away from Bishop to meet the shopkeeper. The old Breton buzzed to the counter, a large volume bound in emerald-dyed leather. It had to be several hundred pages in length. The cover was embossed with runic flowers and interconnecting lines crisscrossed with geometric precision. This was properly Nordic in its entirety. It was beautiful. Leara traced a thin finger lightly across the pattern in awe. “How much?”

The twinkle in the clerk’s eyes was amplified by his spectacles. “New release, forty septims!”

Air strangled in Leara’s throat. “Forty . . .?”

The shopkeeper beamed.

Well, that was more expensive than she anticipated. Still, she recalled books made with similar craftsmanship and significance going for twice that in The First Edition in the Imperial City. Three times that on a good day, if Lux Hebenus was in the mood to haggle. “That’s,” a lot, but then, if she didn’t get any other books, it might be justifiable. And besides, she quickly reminded herself, keeping up with Bishop cost her a great deal more than forty septims! If he could waste money on booze and bail money, she could buy a book. “I’ve got that right here,” she said, fishing her coin purse from her satchel.

Forty septims. Well, she was going to miss dinner reading anyway.

“Thank you, miss! Will that be all?” the shopkeeper asked.

The soft smile Leara offered him hardened when she turned around to find both Bishop and Casavir missing. Sitting primly beside a table overflowing with cookbooks, Karnwyr blinked at her and smiled, his tongue hanging. The bell over the door hadn’t rung, so she was sure they were still in the shop somewhere, probably in the stacks. She entertained taking Karnwyr and her new book and just skipping out, but quickly decided against it. As much as she didn’t want to get between whatever in Oblivion was going on between Bishop and Casavir, she remembered all too well the visceral hatred that twisted Bishop’s face at the mere mention of Casavir’s name. Then there was what happened when she left Bishop alone with Alec to consider. Sure, Alec annoyed Bishop, but it was nothing compared to the disdain he’d shown back in Winterhold. On top of that, Alec was just a bard; there wasn’t much he could do against Bishop’s ire but cry. Casavir was apparently a knight, and had a known history of arresting people who bothered him. Sure, Bishop got on her nerves too, but money for his fines was not in her limited budget. Besides, an uneasy feeling prodded her, if she couldn’t bail Bishop out, the threat of his exposing her as a former Dominion agent hung over her head. As much as she feared Ulfric Stormcloak’s anger, the wrath of the Aldmeri Dominion was far worse. If they found her, if they caught her . . . And weren’t they already hunting her, anyway? The last thing she needed was for the Thalmor to realize that the Dragonborn Blades agent and a known deserter from the war were the same person.

Bile clawed at her throat. Leara swallowed.

It was best to keep her thumb on Bishop.

“I think I’ll just browse if you don’t mind,” she said over her shoulder to the shopkeeper.

“Of course, of course!” he said, jovial. “There’s a bit of work I’ve got in the backroom, but please call out if you need anything!”

“Thanks,” Leara nodded, already beelining for the shelves. Where were they?

Karnwyr squinted at her, then shook as head. Leara sighed. “C’mon, boy.”

The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling. Passing by a ladder, Leara wondered if the old Breton had an assistant who stocked the top shelves and retrieved books for customers. She used to do that. Maybe if she survived, she could do that again, if being a living legend didn’t work out. Fingering a copy of The Eight Divines, Newly Revised, she again contemplated her idea of becoming a priestess of Akatosh. There was a comfort in religious ritual and piety, but there was a danger, too, if history was worth believing.

Her expression soured. She knew that, too.

A murmur of voices plucked at her ear. Down the narrow aisle and around a corner, she followed the charged hum until she was just out of sight.

“So that’s it. You want to know all about the Dragonborn, don’t you?” Bishop was saying. “You must be getting pretty knotted up if you’re lowering yourself to talk to the likes of me!” His laugh was coarse.

Casavir’s huffed in indignation. “It has nothing to do with her!”

“Oh, you can cut that crap out right now because you and I know both know damn well that there’s nothing else you’d want to discuss with me!”

There was a low growl – Casavir? “I am watching you, Bishop. I do not trust you, and neither should she.”

Karnwyr squinted at her, and Leara cast Muffle over the two of them just as a low whine rung itself from the wolf’s throat.

“Shh!” she cautioned, finger to her lips though there was no chance of either man hearing them. Karnwyr lowered himself to the floor, his head on his paws.

“Are you serious?” Bishop was saying. “That’s all you’ve got? You must be the hundredth lust-filled, lick her boots, sing her praises maniac that’s tried to warn her off me.” There was a pause; Leara could imagine him shaking his head in contempt. “Funny though, that’s exactly what I’ve told her before, to steer clear of you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She knows what you do to people who cross you funny. She’s been around. And when we’re done here, I’ll tell her more. I’m going to make her see that you’re not half the saint that you pretend to be.” Bishop’s voice lowered, direct. “You’re the worst kind of liar, Casavir, and do you wanna know why? You’re so desperate for people to accept the image you put on that you convince yourself that what they see is the truth. You’re a brown-noser who can’t put his vices to bed. Tell me, when you look in a mirror, what do you see? I bet you’ve even got your reflection brainwashed.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!”

What in Oblivion? What in the realms of the Princes was going on between them? Leara sank to the floor, her Muffle spell hushing the clank and thud of her armor hitting the wooden slats. By the Nine, what?

“No, no way, this goes way deeper than that. There’s not an ounce of honesty in those eyes.” A dark chuckle. “Go on, make your little proposal. She’s too good for you, and she’s gonna see straight through that mask you put on. If – if – she says yes, I know how this’ll go. You may begin the night as this ‘saint’ paladin. But the man in you will want that wench in his bed, just as any red-blooded man would.”

What the bloody Hell?

“How dare you speak of her that way!” Leara barely registered Casavir’s enraged tone. Her mind was whirling. What were they even talking about?

She didn’t want in anyone’s bed! She didn’t even have her own bed. She wished people would stop trying to get her in theirs!

A warm tongue caressed her shaking hand, then a soft head pushed up on it. Reflexively, Leara began scratching behind Karnwyr’s ears. The wolf’s big brown eyes were on her, wide and warm. Constant, caring, comforting. Leara sucked in a breath, and held it, and then let go. She did this three more times.

Bishop was still talking. He was always talking.

“Don’t show off like another one of her sycophants. She doesn’t need you or anyone else to jump between her and a dragon’s teeth. No, she’s more than capable of defending her own honor. Your lust blinds you to that fact, and to the fact that she’s too much woman for you to handle.” Was there a compliment in there somewhere? Or was she a tool used to emasculate Casavir? “No,” Bishop continued, smug, “what she wants is a man who’s not afraid of making the hard decisions, who will do what must be done. She wants a man who’s a sight more honest than anyone who wears a temple’s cloak on their shoulder. A man who carries himself like some kind of standard for others to look up to—”

Leara was on her feet and out of the shop before either man even realized she was there.

·•★•·

“There you are, sweetness. I was wondering where you got off to.”

Leara didn’t turn away from the well. At the sound of footsteps, she simply sighed and continued to stare into the abyss below. So dark, so deep. Like the Void.

“Fair warning, Sir Dickwad is coming over.”

Was he? Ice crept along the weathered stones from her hand.

“My advice, ignore him. Actually, better idea, let’s walk away now—”

“My lady, forgive me for intruding,” Casavir’s lower timber cut through Bishop’s like an axe. “There was something I wished to discuss with you.” A pause. “Away from intruding interlopers.”

“What is it?” Leara asked, not caring whether Bishop was there or not. Casavir seemed to already have told him anyway, if she understood their exchange in The Prints and the Paper. Bishop knew what Casavir wanted and seemed keen to degrade him for it. And while she wasn’t overeager to humiliate others, the implications of their conversation, the idea that she was just another pretty face whose only enduring quality was to tempt men to destruction, was unsettling. Was that why so many men were obsessed with her? Because they saw her as some seductress like, like Mephala? A spider who, once she had a fly in her web, drained them of their youth and vitality until all that was left was a decayed husk.

And men wanted that. Men wanted that.

“I know we’ve just met, my lady,” Casavir said, unaware or uncaring that she was frozen. “But I want to request your company at a ball being held at the Blue Palace, here in Solitude. I am still new to Solitude, and so I am unfamiliar with the local customs. I was hoping you could offer me some guidance.” Leara watched as ice crawled down the inside well shaft toward the water below. Would it freeze solid? “If you choose to decline, I understand.”

Despite his insinuations in The Prints and the Paper, the urge to spite Bishop seized Leara with the cold fury of her own Frozen Façade spell. The ice in the well cracked and hissed. “Yeah, all right, I’ll go.”

“You what?”

Leara rounded, her hands pushing against the well. Apparently, Bishop hadn’t left, and Casavir didn’t really care about ‘interlopers’ as much as he put on. That made sense. These two seemed especially crafted by the Divines to antagonize each other whenever possible.

“You delight me, my lady,” Casavir purred. He made to take her hand, but thinking better of it, merely bowed – at the bloody waist. “I am overjoyed that you have accepted my request.” Then he shot a smug side-eye at a spluttering Bishop. “May I suggest acquiring a ball gown?”

“What?” Leara said, the implications of her acceptance catching up to her.

“I don’t know, Casavir. Personally, I can’t see you in a dress, but if that’s what you want—”

This time, the glare Casavir shot at Bishop was full-on and filled with poison.

“There’s an excellent shop here in Solitude, called The Jewel,” he said, focusing back on Leara.

“I can’t possibly afford—”

“I am told they have an extensive collection of gowns fit for the noblewomen of Haafingar,” he pressed on, as if not hearing her. Leara’s mouth snapped shut. “I am certain they will have one that interests you. I have already informed the owner of the ship that I will compensate her for anything you wish to purchase.”

“You did?” Her voice was faint.

Casavir’s smirk was shining and suave. “Am I correct to assume you are staying at The Winking Skeever?”

Leara nodded. “Stalker!” Bishop coughed into his hand.

Casavir ignored him. “I will be there at six to escort you to the ball. Until this evening, my fair lady.” And then he really did take her hand and kissed it and Leara wanted to throw up. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t that Casavir saw her as a seductress. No, no, it was worse than that. He saw her as an object, a way to one-up Bishop in whatever Divines-forsaken rivalry the two adolescents had going on.

Leara blinked and then closed her eyes. One heartbeat, two, then ten. She opened her eyes and Casavir was gone. She barely registered the distant sound of his armor clanking, drowned by the steady hum of the crowd as Bishop quickly dominated her vision.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, sweetness,” he said, arms crossed.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, and would you like me to tell you why, or will you continue to throw away my advice like trash?”

She already knew. “Enlighten me.”

“Do you know what Casavir is? He acts like some holy saint who’s the gods’ gift to humanity, but he’s still a man. I don’t care how he justifies the lies he tells himself: He can’t deny his manhood.” Bishop caught Leara’s hands in his, tugging her closer. “You’re the kind of woman that gets a man’s heart beating and the blood flowing. He’s not going to be able to lie to himself about that. So, you better be ready when he breaks.”

Was that a warning? “If you’re worried about me, then why don’t you go too?” Because lack of invitation never stopped him before, she thought, recalling Alec’s performance in the Palace of the Kings. To her surprise, she found herself missing Ulfric, of all things! But, she quickly reasoned, better the threat you know than the one you don’t.

Laughter burst out of Bishop, loud and aghast. “No! Hell, woman! Do I look like some sissy-pants noble? I’d rather walk off the dock than get roped into attending that sort of thing!”

Karnwyr hmphed, and Leara remembered Bishop’s behavior at the performance. Yes, it was best he didn’t come. All the better that his absence was of his own choosing!

“C’mon,” she said, gently disentangling her hands from his. “I need to go get this dress. The sooner, the better.”

“And here I thought we could get a late lunch. Damn paladin ruining perfectly good plans,” Bishop groaned.

Her thoughts turned to the Prose Edda safely tucked into her satchel. Yeah, she could agree with that.

·•★•·

Bells twinkled overhead when she opened the door.

“Hello and welcome to The Jewel,” greeted an Imperial woman in a linen gown cinched with a gold rope. She was light and airy, her face pale. If a breeze swept through, Leara was certain the woman would blow away on a wisp of cloud. “My name is Victoria. Are you the Dragonborn?” Leara barely accented before the woman, Victoria, clasped her hands together. “Casavir informed me that I should be expecting you. Welcome.”

Proof of Casavir’s surety that Leara would agree to this whole ball thing would have been disconcerting if she wasn’t already put off by Victoria’s porcelain nature.

Bishop whistled. “I’ll be damned, that bastard played you like lute!”

Victoria’s smile grew brittle as her eyes slid from Leara to Bishop, and then fell to Karnwyr between them, “Ah, how precious,” she said, clearly thinking Karnwyr was anything but. “I’ll have to ask your companion to take your dog out. It’s our policy, you see,” she said, placating. “No wild animals.”

If a wolf could look unimpressed, Karnwyr did.

“Are you serious?”

Leara wanted to echo Bishop’s disbelief, but she knew better. Lower-end dress shops than this in Daggerfall, Evermore, and the Imperial City had strict no-animal policies. She wanted to kick herself, wishing she’d thought of it and spared herself and Bishop the embarrassment. And Karnwyr.

“It’s fine,” Leara said before Bishop could press the issue. If he shattered Victoria’s serene façade, Leara got the impression the woman would cut him like glass. “You and Karnwyr head back to the Skeever. I’ll finish up here and meet you back there before Casavir comes by. Trust me, dress shopping would bore you to tears,” she said, ignoring Victoria’s sharp inhale.

Bishop rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, ladyship. Let’s go, Karnwyr. I know when we’re not wanted.”

With a backward glance at Leara, Karnwyr followed Bishop out the door, his tail between his legs. Leara watched them go. Bishop didn’t look back. The bells twinkled as he and Karnwyr left, and then Leara was alone with the dress designer.

For all that she enjoyed pretty clothes and sparkling jewels – just as any self-respecting Altmer, half-elven or otherwise – the prospect of being alone to be fitted for a gown to attend a ball she didn’t particularly want to attend was almost as daunting as the coming peace negotiation between General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak. Perhaps more so, given its immediacy.

“Shall we?” Victoria asked. Wagging a dainty finger, she led Leara deeper into the shop. It was a large room, about as big as The Prints and the Paper but all the more spacious for its lack of bookshelves. Windows set high in the upper walls filtered in pale afternoon sunlight. It must have been around two o’clock, Leara thought, as she took in the gossamer drapings and gilded decorations. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the opulent décor, as was usually seen in places where folk tried to emulate the rich while lacking the refined tastes of the aristocracy. The most sensical aspect of the room was the various dress mannequins, each adorned in a gown more extravagant than practical.

A stray thought went back to the blue lace number folded carefully in the bottom of her bag When did she buy that, fifteen years ago? Ten? No, eleven. When she was in Camlorn.

Victoria sailed over to a mannequin outfitted with a heavy gown, its full linen skirt was a dove grey, overlaid with cobalt silk and embroidered with golden lace and delicate bows. Its bodice was set with golden embroidery and capped with small, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Victoria traced the pink sapphire nestled in the dip of the sweetheart neckline. “I had it designed specifically in the likeness of the Blue Palace. My own rendition.” Her voice was dreamy. “Jarl Elisif herself will be wearing the original. This is just a show model. Would you like to browse my finest dress collection?” she asked. “Everything you desire will be given to you, compliments of Casavir.”

The Dominion instilled in its agents a statuesque poise that was only breakable by their superiors. More and more Leara found herself retreating into that familiar state of frosty distance. “Certainly.”

There were dresses in deep jewel tones and in floral pastels. Several had lacy trim, while others were embroidered with metallic gold and silver threads. A startling white piece was studded with white crystal and mithril thread over the bodice; displayed across from it was a crimson piece with a silk bodice and overskirt so black that it matched the Void night in Alduin’s scales. To look at it sent a chill down her spine. Silk was a prominent feature. “Imported from the Summerset Isles,” a smug Victoria sniffed, as if the King of Alinor bequeathed the material to her himself. Leara’s lip curled in distaste; the full skirts and bustles were enough to incur ridicule from the echelons of Altmer society. The tightness of the bodices was another matter entirely. Having a slim waist and narrow hips, Leara knew she would fit into any one of the dresses she chose, but the majority of Solitude’s female populace consisted of powerfully built Nords and willowy but short-waisted Bretons. Who in Oblivion were these dresses even for?

Unwitting, the Blue Palace piece drew her attention. She’d seen Jarl Elisif at the Embassy party. The girl was lovely; after all, she was known as ‘the Fair’ for a reason. Yet the would-be queen’s soft curves and full chest would be positively distorted by one of these gowns. Divines, these dresses weren’t meant for the women of Skyrim. What the Oblivion kind of circus was this fiasco?

Leara trailed past dozens of dresses, lingering just long enough to take in how each piece was absurd in its excess in its own way. There was a dress so brilliantly yellow that Leara could think of nothing but the yellow roses in the Queen’s garden at Castle Daggerfall. Another was of such rich forest green that it would have blended into the vales of the West Weald without issue. The pink was too much, a rose blush touched with the pallor of death. The lavender was little better: Once Leara thought of death, the cascading shades of purple, fading from dusk to dawn, reminded her only of electric arcs and rigor mortis.

The longer she looked, the more dismayed Leara became.

“Perhaps one of these?” Victoria offered.

Leara found herself faced with a pair of dresses in deep emerald and sapphire respectively. Identical save in the color of their crushed velvet weave, the skirts lacked the evident bustles that were so prominent in the majority of Victoria’s designs. Golden thread in delicate twirls curled up the bodice from the waistline, reaching across the velvet as creeping vines. Over the Imperial designer’s shoulder, Leara spied the same gowns in ruby and amethyst, dark and vivid. As excessive as they were, there was a certain majesty about these dresses that the others in Victoria’s collection lacked. Caressing the midnight sapphire with a tentative hand, Leara wondered if it was the sameness of their design, like Victoria had settled on one pattern so beautiful that she needed to make it four different ways, each a cardinal point on its own.

“They’re beautiful,” she admitted.

Victoria’s expression of satisfaction was more a sparkle than a beam. “I’m pleased you think so! The sapphire was meant to be Jarl Elisif’s last season, before the ball was canceled.” Her shining eyes shuttered. “What a horrible business, it was! That barbaric Stormcloak murdering such a lovely boy as Torygg! It’s a waste.”

Bile burned at Leara’s throat. Not the sapphire, then. Nor the ruby, she decided, eyeing the Imperial quality of the blood ruby and the aetheric gold. The amethyst was tempting. Cool and enticing in turns, from the velvet dusk to the threaded streams of dawn, it was positively royal in its entirety. Perhaps too much. She was the Dragonborn, not a princess or a Jarl’s wife. Though she almost sneered, if only to herself, she couldn’t see any self-respecting woman in Skyrim choosing a dress from this shop because they wanted to.

She didn’t want to, but she was still doing it. Given how Casavir viewed her, Leara supposed she wasn’t expected to have much self-respect anyway.

“The emerald,” she settled.

“A perfectly wonderful choice!” Victoria simpered. The sapphire was placed back on the hanging rack, as none of the four jewel dresses were on display. The emerald draped over her arm, Victoria led Leara to the back of the showroom. A short hall cut through the back to a room with a screen and a stole. Bolts of fabric were stacked against the walls, filling in gaps between side tables cluttered with sewing implements like thread and needles. A screen dominated one corner, opposite a full floor-length mirror.

“We’ll need to fit the gown, though you appear quite well proportioned, I must say!” Victoria giggled. “My, but doesn’t Sir Casavir have fine taste?”

Fine taste, as in fine taste in women. And ‘women’ in this case meant Leara, singular. She almost grimaced.

Victoria ushered her to the screen, and Leara hurried behind it with mixed relief. The dress was pushed into her hands, along with a shift and stays that Leara certainly didn’t pick out. There was a pair of sunkissed slippers, too, and a bone corset she was certain was an adolescent’s size. Trepidation clung to her muscles as she began stripping off her armor. It came off easily, unstrapping and stacking together in a comforting familiarity. Then her pants and undershirt went, and suddenly Leara was cold. What was she doing, trying on a ball gown she couldn’t afford for a ball she didn’t want to go to?

Leara pulled on the shift.

The corset was its own challenge, but Leara didn’t spend years of her life in Alinor and High Rock without learning to tie a corset by herself. Somewhere beyond the screen, she heard Victoria call out, asking if she needed help, but Leara didn’t answer. She’d been dressing herself since before the woman had even been born, thank you very much, and if Leara could do nothing else, she would continue to do that until age or dragon took her!

Stays in place, Leara stepped into the dress and pulled it up. It was heavy in a way her armor wasn’t, yet not unbearably so. It was cool and stifling and hot and freeing all at once. She tried to cinch the back closed, but unlike the straightforward practice of the corset, the dress’s ties proved far more complicated.

Victoria appeared as soon as Leara called for her. Her hands, making quick work of the ties, had Leara bracing against the wall as they were pulled to a near-constricting bind. As she knotted the ties, a faint and toneless humming whispered from Victoria’s lips. Leara gasped for breath. “Must it be so tight?” she asked. A morbid curiosity begged her to nick a measuring tape and wind it around her waist. She was already on the small side. What’d this do, shrink her measurements to the single digits?

How unnatural.

“It’s the fashion,” Victoria said matter-of-factly as if corsets were meant to suffocate rather than support.

The fashion where? Leara wanted to ask but didn’t.

“There,” Victoria declared. “That is a fine choice! You look stunning, marvelous, absolutely breathtaking! You will have all the men falling at your feet!”

Leara wondered if her face matched the hue of her gown.

Suddenly she wished she’d had lunch, if only so she could have something on her stomach to actually throw up.

Well, there was plenty of opportunity to fall apart before the night was over.

[sylvienerevarine]

Sophrine Aulette's Skyrim Encyclopedia (Part 2)

ok i guess i'm not done with this series yet. it may take a while. i keep thinking of new jokes.

Part 1 is here.

--

Blades

If you’ve ever met a Blade, no you haven’t (that was a joke, because they’re secretive). The Blades were originally founded as a dragon-slaying organization, but eventually expanded into other areas like bodyguarding and espionage. They got their name from using swords, which generally have blades.

Some notable Blades include:

Caius Cosades, who according to my Nana Sylvie’s memoirs never wore a shirt and drank a lot of skooma

Baurus, a fellow from the end of the 3rd Era who impressively survived the entire Oblivion Crisis

My distant great-aunt Sacha Llervu, Martin Septim’s best friend, who had a knack for closing Oblivion Gates and committing petty crimes

Delphine Fitzhubert, who is sort of my friend, except she’s still cross with me for being polite to some dragons. She’ll come around eventually.

Draugr

A draugr is a person who was alive at some point, but is now an undead sort of thing with a terrible complexion. There are a few different stories about how draugr came to be–many of them worked for dragon priests and became undead so they could keep doing their old jobs forever, and apparently some on Solstheim were cursed because they ate other people. Nasty stuff. Unless you’re Bosmer, I guess.

The good news about draugr is that they’re not terribly bright, as is proven by the fact that they can’t solve the puzzles in Nordic ruins. If you know the voice-projecting Shout like I do, you can just call “Who wants free mead?” from somewhere else in the room, and then sneak by while they’re trying to find the free mead.

Palace of Kings

I’m not allowed in here anymore (see Stormcloaks).

Stormcloaks

The Stormcloaks are a political movement based out of Windhelm, and are led by Ulfric Stormcloak (which is how they got their name). They have some pretty good ideas (make Skyrim independent, stop religious persecution, annoy the Thalmor) and some very bad ones (being horrible to Dunmer and Argonians and anyone who isn’t a Nord, really).

I once met Jarl Ulfric and pointed out some of these bad ideas to him, and he banned me from his palace. There’s gratitude for you.

Talos

You probably know about Talos from the park in Whiterun, where that fellow Heimskr is always shouting about what a good lad he was. There are two main theories about where Talos came from: either he was born in Atmora and moved to Skyrim as a young man to take Dragonborn lessons, or he was born in High Rock and did a lot of complicated political things. My grandparents favor the second explanation, since they’re very patriotic.

Wherever he came from, we know that Talos later went around conquering and uniting any piece of land he came across, and set up what we now know as the Third Empire. Somewhere along the way he changed his name to Tiber Septim, in order to match what the money was called.

Many people believe that after Talos died, he was promoted to a member of the Divines. Just in case any of the Thalmor are reading this, I’m legally required to state that this did not happen and humans can’t become gods, because we simply don’t have the intelligence for it. Unlike the average Thalmor officer.

The Throat of the World

The Throat of the World is the tallest mountain in Skyrim and by extension Tamriel. They might have higher mountains in places like Akavir or Atmora, but no one really bothers about those places. It’s unclear how the TotW got its name, since people’s throats aren’t typically very pointy or covered in snow. My guess is that someone from the Bards’ College thought it up. The only place on the Throat to get a bite to eat is High Hrothgar, the home of the Greybeards. While the monks don’t offer much in the way of conversation, they’re very kindly old men, and won’t shout at you for accidentally falling asleep in their library and drooling on their copy of Songs of the Return.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Hi. I think you're super cool and awesome. I have figured out that you like Destiny and Skyrim, what other video games are you really into? Do you have OCs about games other than Destiny as well, and can you talk about them?

Aaaahhhhhh I LOVE YOU!!!!!! Thank you oh my gooooddddd!!!!

I absolutely have tons of OCs, mainly for The Elder Scrolls, Destiny (obviously), and Minecraft. I'll do my best to summarize their stories, but there's A LOT!!!

I'll go ahead and uhh... put the characters in a read more so I don't make anyone scroll for 15 miles to see the next post.

For Skyrim, my absolute BABY is my first ever character and my main, Hagen Dovahkiir/Zoorjunin. His creation is shrouded in mystery, so much that even Hagen himself doesn't remember anything but flying the planes of Tamriel to hunt and survive, though he's not sure for how long. He is a man who takes on the form of a half Nord and half Dragon, bearing the horns, wings, tail, and scales of the Dovah, but the rest of himself looks Nord. He's the Dovahkiin of legend, and his first truly vivid memories are of being captured by the Imperials and placed on the prison cart.

Hagen spent his time in Whiterun doing deeds to try gaining the favor of its people, and the jarl took a liking to the man, especially after Hagen wandered entirely by chance into Jorvaskr and joined the Companions, then wound up being their Harbinger. This earned the man, who, given everything happening with Dragons, felt as though Skyrim would view him as a monster. But Hagen continued his deeds throughout many holds, ultimately taking on Alduin and succeeding.

This, with his Harbinger position, earned Hagen fame and heroism like no other, but still the war plagued Skyrim. Balgruuf, closest jarl to Hagen, watched this half Dragon hone his Dovah prowess until, eventually, the man could take on the form of a full Dragon, shifting between forms at will. He was granted the name Zoorjunin, but Hagen refused to give this to any old person. Only to those whom he trusted most, limited to his husband, Farkas, and jarl Balgruuf whom he viewed as a brother.

And when Balgruuf outright Shouted for "Zoorjunin", Hagen knew grave danger was afoot, and flew forth to his brother wherein, gathered inside the halls of Dragonsreach, every hold's jarl except for Ulfric, bowed. They needed a king. None were more fit for this position than Hagen. And Hagen wanted NOTHING to do with this, but they convinced him no less. Hagen went with the forces of all holds at his back, charging Ulfric's castle and Shouting him off the throne wherein he challenged the false king to combat until submission. There, Hagen took the crown and throne, and with the help of all jarls, all allies, all friends, he eventually eliminated the Thalmor from Skyrim, and then Tamriel as a whole.

Before he knew it, he'd unified the land under an empire of his own make. After countless years, the Dragon of old tales became so powerful that new legends were written across the winds of time itself, and it's said these reached the Divines because, soon enough, Hagen ascended. He was named Zoorjunin, the Divine of Benevolent Change.

----------------------

Next up you have my sweet man, Ragnar, aka Varlor.

Ragnar began his story as a Nord. He was Skyrim's most famed bandit, determined to form a throne of his own to sit upon so tall that none could tear him down. But his infamy gained the man a bounty in all nine holds, with the price of murder for each. Ragnar eventually was captured and brought for execution. But on his way to be executed, a Dragon ransacked the carriage and killed all but Ragnar, who saw this creature flying toward Whiterun. He was free. But so many died. And countless more were going to. Ragnar was no murderer, and in fact he hadn't really killed anyone unless he needed to before. So he went to Whiterun's gates and warned them of the attack, surrendering himself under the promise that they'd go and kill that thing.

It was here that guards brought Ragnar to a holding cell, and the man knew he'd meet his end. But when jarl Balgruuf approached, he offered the bandit a deal.

High King Hagen, his brother, was off fighting the Thalmor in the east. He could not take down the Dragon for these people. But if Ragnar could, then Balgruuf would ask his brother Hagen to clear every bounty on Ragnar's head in all holds.

Ragnar took this chance, killed the Dragon, and was a free man. He swore to make the most of this. Thus, he went ahead and chose to do something with his life for once: join the Dawnguard. Ragnar freed Serana and ventured forth with her for many months, and each time they visited a town, Ragnar would pray to Talos's shrines, but each prayer seemed more hopeless and desperate. Everything he asked for, all wishes for safety and ease, were met with peril and fright and ruin. Ragnar was broken, with only Serana and the Dawnguard to comfort him.

Eventually, Ragnar and Serana reached Knight-Paladin Gelebor, and was told to take on the trials of Auri-El. Frustrated, he went ahead no less and began the arduous journey across the Forgotten Vale. But oddly enough, with each scoop of water into his ewer, Ragnar felt a sense of fulfillment and peace ever growing inside. And when he finished, Ragnar almost felt an embrace of warmth within. Like the sun existed in part inside himself. He went on to kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur, and Lord Harkon, but the entire way that warmth just stuck.

Ragnar went to Gelebor and spoke to him of this. How everything changed when he entered the Vale as if it called to him. Here, he learned that Auri-El was Akatosh, the Dragon Father, but also the Divine of Light. And it was a Dragon that gave Ragnar his freedom and drove him to be better. It was ultimately this path which led him to the Inner Sanctum of Auri-El where he was FINALLY at peace. He didn't know what this meant.

Though his answers became more clear the more Ragnar studied Auri-El and the Snow Elves, and he worked with Gelebor to find others. Gelebor couldn't leave the Sanctum since it was his sacred duty to remain there, but Ragnar went ahead and began finding the remaining survivors, bringing them home to the Vale and temple. And with each journey, Ragnar grew closer to the light of Auri-El until, one day, he awoke within it as a Snow Elf, the voice of Auri-El not audible but there in the form of destiny. He bore upon his back the wings of light carrying runes of his people, the Snow Elves, and within his grasp was the sword of Auri-El himself granted to Ragnar so he may fight forevermore as the god's champion, and a symbol to his people that the light lives.

They live.

Thus he was granted, by his people, the name Varlor, or in Falmeris "symbol". And now, Varlor works to revive the Snow Elves in Skyrim and Tamriel as a whole, bringing them home to the Vale to be one with their god Auri-El at long last.

----------------------

My last Skyrim blorbo is not as developed. Idk where I'm going with his backstory really, but he's an ancient Dragon Priest named Moroviik.

Essentially he rose when the Dragons returned to Skyrim once more, and here he honored the new king of Skyrim, Hagen/Zoorjunin, for the fact that he was a Dragon. Moroviik walked the land, curious to see what changed over thousands of years, but stopped when Draugr attacked a castle on the edges of The Rift hold. He found within the walls, one minor king who was fighting these Draugr and cursed Moroviik for causing these relentless attacks.

Moroviik, however, had no idea what this was or who this man was. He went ahead and, with magic and blade, slew the Draugr.

The king was astounded at the Dragon Priest's power, seeing as these undead were relentlessly laying siege to the castle for months now. He offered Moroviik riches and enchanted gifts if he could delve into the catacombs below and destroy whoever was spearheading these attacks.

Of course, Moroviik was up for a challenge and agreed. He ventured below, and met his match with a VERY powerful Draugr lord. One who nearly downed the Priest where he stood. But Moroviik succeeded regardless, and slew this Draugr, returning to the king with its sword as proof. So the king and his subjects celebrated in joyous glee as they enjoyed their freedom at long last.

But this was FAR from over.

The entire castle shook from beneath to above, its courtyard grounds splitting open in a giant rift as hundreds upon hundreds of Draugr climbed out, and charged.

The king led his people to safety, and Moroviik saw as the lord whom he had slain before rose once again and swore him out, damning the Priest repeatedly. It escaped into the fray and charged for the inside of the castle, and Moroviik fought. He fought all he could, taking down the Draugr quickly for the most part, and eventually made his way inside.

There he found, upon the balcony, the king bloodied and weak, impaled by his own sword. Moroviik BEGGED the king to keep living, but the king asked the Priest if he would defend these people eternally and uphold the good of the castle. Moroviik said he would. And there the king passed his crown to the Dragon Priest's hands, and died.

From the fray with a thunderous cry, Moroviik charged with the king's blade in hand, crown upon his head, and took the Draugr lord, driving the sword through its chest and slicing it upward through the face and skull, ending the terror and plight at last.

That night, the castle mourned, for their king was dead. But a new one had been crowned. And upon the gates of this castle, Moroviik put the old king's armor, and forever lived as its defender.

----------------------

For ESO I've only got the 1 OC. Khyrus Morn Dynar/Nenalata Dynar.

Khyrus had a Nord name that's been lost to history now. He was born to his Nord parents as a child, unwanted and unloved. When finally he was old enough, Khyrus told them he loved men and wanted to go into the city to find a boyfriend. But his parents were abhorred and demanded their son not return from that city unless he had a wife and children for them.

Khyrus signed up with the Ebonheart Pact for shelter, pay, food, and purpose. He abandoned his Nord name here, and gave the Pact his new one of Khyrus Morn, and thus began his adventures across Tamriel.

The Nord achieved many great things, saving the Tribunal and befriending them all greatly. He'd earned the favor of Skald King Jorunn, Queen Ayrenn, and ESPECIALLY King Emeric.

When he learned he was the Vestige destined to end the Planemeld, Khyrus had to enter Coldharbour, and so he did. Here he'd met the last Ayleid king, Laloriaran Dynar, whom Khyrus befriended GREATLY. The king and Khy confided in one another, but more Khyrus in him. And soon enough, the Nord found a comfort he hadn't known in Laloriaran, almost as if the man was a fatherly figure to him. He began inquiring about the Ayleids and their history, their lives, their language, and the king was all too happy to impart his knowledge upon Khyrus.

Furthermore, Laloriaran granted Khyrus knowledge in the way of the Templar, giving this lonely Nord the light of the gods to wield as his purpose.

But when Khyrus charged Molag Bal, and slew the god, many casualties were wrought including that of Laloriaran Dynar. Khy fell to the king and grasped him, begging him to stay, calling him "Ata" or "father" in Ayleidoon. But it was the king's end, and he passed his sword to Khyrus calling him "kynde angua" or "my son". Laloriaran made Khyrus promise to keep fighting for the good of all the Aurbis, and the moment Khyrus swore he would, the king passed.

Khyrus was broken and lost. Distraught beyond measure. He returned with his soul to Tamriel, to his boyfriend Emeric, but he was VERY different. And for all his journeys taken, Khyrus would wander the ruins housing deceased Ayleids whom he'd try communing with to find his father. Yet the more he spoke, the less he heard, and the weaker the light he wielded grew until, one day, the Ayleids were silent, and his light all but gone.

The Nord swore to himself he'd never touch a mead bottle, but in desperation, he grasped one and downed it, falling unconscious. Here he woke, dreamlike, in an Ayleid ruin he'd not seen before, and found a golden ghost clad in armor that guided his way through. When it merged with a tomb, making it glow, Khyrus reached for this tomb and touched it himself, sobbing as he apologized to his lost father for having abandoned the light and his purpose. He was lost as well, and there was nothing he could do.

But a familiar voice promised to be his light, then, and thus Khyrus became embraced, in reality, by Laloriaran Dynar who appeared entirely to hug his son. Together, both returned to Tamriel, and Khyrus's light returned, himself a templar once more.

But it was the Ayleids with whom Khyrus truly connected. Their ways of martial prowess, and his father's desire to bring them justice and a good name and legacy of equality, this had all been passed to him in a sense when Laloriaran gave him the sword. Khyrus was the most honorable and just man, more powerful than any gods could rival. But he was lost, never liking being a Nord because it tied him to the parents who abandoned him entirely.

And thus answered the gods who, as for Ragnar/Varlor, they granted a peace to Khyrus in his sleep, and when he woke, he'd become Ayleid himself. And so he was crowned by his father, before the remaining Ayleids who'd gathered to their king, as Prince Nenalata Dynar.

Nenalata went on to marry Emeric, and Count Verandis Ravenwatch, and obtain MANY more male lovers including two Daedra: Rynkyus and Torvesard.

He, too, becomes an Aedric god. The Aedric god of New Beginnings.

----------------------

Minecraft is my baby, my comfort game, and a few years ago I'd made my first full survival playthrough without commands, cheats, or changing modes, despite playing since release more than 10 years beforehand.

Thus began my Minecraft universe with Fengel and Hamod!

Fengel is the Hero of the End. The one who defeats the Ender Dragon and whatnot.

Basically, the story is a LOTR/Minecraft crossover, since I gave Fengel a Nazgul skin and it took off from there. He was a Nazgul, but forsook Sauron after the downfall of Gondolin from which he hardly fled from alive. Here, the Nazgul escaped and found himself in a strange world of blocks, needing to craft and forage to survive. He'd been given white wings, his bones much lighter than they were before, and began to set up a small shack where he landed upon arrival, thus making a way to survive.

But it wasn't long before monsters closed in and attacked, many blowing him up. No less, Fengel woke each time where he'd last slept, since he held his Ring of Power still, which maintained the power of revival.

Soon enough, Fengel was approached by curious Villagers who asked for his assistance. They claimed Fen looked strong, and that his wings could carry him high for his immensely great archery, which would help shoot down Pillagers that plighted their lands.

Fen was hesitant. He feared failing these people, but they insisted. Thus he went ahead, and prepared to defeat a raid on the nearby village. But as hard as he fought, he died and died and died again and again, and one by one the Pillagers took the Villagers until not one remained, and these monstrous beasts retreated.

Fengel mourned. He'd failed the people who needed him. He was broken and torn, returning to his shack in great sorrow.

Time and time again, villages approached Fengel to gain his help, and every time the Pillagers won and destroyed all lives but his own. This ring was a curse, but Fen couldn't be free of it.

Yet finally he discovered one place wherein he could save its people: The End. And so Fengel ventured into the Nether, across fortresses and gathering all he could, forged himself armor and went ahead to the End portal which he opened. Finally, he went into it, and fought the Ender Dragon to its death, succeeding as he'd liberated all and took home the egg as a prize.

A newfound might filled Fengel, and Pillagers took notice, coming forth to his shack in attempt to end him. But the Nazgul hero would not give, and he slew them. And the next band. And the next. Soon he'd forged the Bannerfield where he kept every banner of every Pillager attack, as a warning to all who dared enter his territory that he could not be defeated. And the field grew to well over 100 banners. Fen built walls to keep them out, extending these to the villages nearby which survived raids, and thus Fengel formed his empire of safety for all.

New Gondolin.

The Pillagers weren't happy with this, obviously. One band reached through the walls one night and attacked Fen's home. The hero fought them off, but one fled. Fengel killed the remainder, and tried to go inside his home only to find that fled Pillager looking for a fight. Here, Fengel trapped him inside a stone structure from which this lone enemy couldn't escape.

No less the Pillager tried to shoot Fengel repeatedly until his bow broke, and then his spirit. He cried, knowing his life was forfeit from here on. He'd not died with his band, and he fled from them when they were killed. He was a coward, and soon other Pillagers would come for him to end his life for this cowardice.

But to his surprise, Fengel began to build... something. A wooden structure around this trapped Pillager. One with windows? And bookshelves? And a bed???

Fengel broke down the trap and asked the Pillager for a name. When the Pillager said he had none, the hero called him "Hamod". A name of his people from the old Gondolin that had fallen ages ago now. He told Hamod he could stay here, work the farmlands since he needed some help with culling the fields and feeding the animals, and thus Fengel would keep him safe. But one condition: Hamod could never again raise any weapon for any reason.

For months, Hamod lived on Fengel's land, tending to the crops and animals, storing the food away and letting Fengel cook more than enough to feed them both. It was... strange. For the hero that hated Pillagers so much to be kind to one? Hamod didn't understand.

And one day, the guttural grunts of all too familiar sound approached, and Fengel found Pillagers gathered in a surrounding force around his home, demanding he submit to them for kidnapping their fellowman. Fen raised his wings to the sky and fired away, taking them down as best he could. But far too many came and overwhelmed him. The hero died and revived so SO many times, and meanwhile Hamod watched this in terror, seeing the man who had shown him genuine kindness for the first time be killed repeatedly.

As Fengel remained defenseless, alone, he was ready to give in to death endlessly until one arrow fired from the rooftop, and a voice cried out to let the emperor go.

The Pillagers and Fen looked only to find Hamod with a bow stored away by Fengel, and donning armor the hero forged. Hamod became ceaseless in his fury, shooting down the Pillagers as best he could to give Fengel the chance to fight back, too. And he did. And together they defeated the raid.

Hamod cried to Fen and apologized for betraying the promise made. But Fengel hugged Hamod and called the man his hero, kissing his cheek. He told the man to keep the bow and armor. He'd need it in the coming days.

Eventually, Fengel and Hamod began growing closer after this, with Fen teaching his new hero how to read the enchanting tomes, how to forge weapons and armor for himself, and so much more. And if ever Hamod felt scared or alone, Fengel was there to hold him and comfort the man.

One day, Hamod woke to being alone, with only a letter on his table that, inside, held a single ring. It was addressed with his name, and inside, said that Fengel went on an adventure. But he wanted Hamod to meet him. Take the ring, traverse the world, and find the hero emperor.

Hamod gathered his resources. Food, enchanted weapons and armor, arrows, torches, tools, and he went ahead across the world over snowy mountains, through deep caverns and into the Nether itself, coming out the other side to a gorgeous open field of flowers and a wonderful sunset. And sitting on the rocks he found Fengel waiting.

Hamod approached, and Fen took the ring from him, then took his own, and an enchanting tome. Here, he duplicated the power of revival to Hamod's ring, turned around, and knelt to the man, then gave a speech about how this empire of New Gondolin had been made with the sake of love and safety for all, but that he couldn't have done it without the love and safety granted by Hamod. This man was Fengel's heart and soul, and he refused to carry on without him. There, he presented the now enchanted ring, and asked Hamod to marry him.

The former Pillager agreed, and both held close as they embraced dearly and kissed. The two were married by a Villager priest, and forever lived invincible, the defenders and emperors of New Gondolin.

[squiddyposts]

Thinking about Nerevarine x Serana yuri. Just two immortal gal pals who reminisce about the First Era together. Jaded veteran Nerevarine who's just so tired and has seen it all already x bright-eyed vampire noble who's seeing the world for the first time beyond her castle and books. That awkward moment when they realize that the reason Harkon feared death enough to turn his whole family into vampires was because Nerevar kicked his (and the other Nords') ass so hard in 1E416 that all he could do was watch, powerless, as the Nord Empire crumbled around him. Finding out that "dragon-born and far-star-marked" was meant all too literally when the two of them first take down a dragon together using techniques the Nerevarine learned during her stay in Akavir. Another awkward moment when the Nerevarine discovers that the Greybeards exist because Nerevar kicked Jurgen Windcaller's ass that hard at Red Mountain. Just general adventuring around Skyrim together. The two of them retrieving Auriel's Bow, and "what in Oblivion is it doing in the Forgotten Vale," and "I gave that thing to Mistress Therana back on Vvardenfell in the Third Era," and "why does it still smell like ash yams?" Defeating Harkon, Serana taking his katana for her own, and the Nerevarine tutoring her in Akaviri combat styles (she, of course, uses the Ebony Blade and/or Goldbrand as her katana of choice because she honors the True Tribunal). Traveling to Solstheim, and it's changed enough since the Third Era that it's a new experience for both of them. Crashing at Tel Mithryn, because Neloth owes the Nerevarine some favors and the Telvanni are cool with vampires anyways. Kicking Miraak's ass because the Nerevarine has a lot of experience dealing with up-jumped mortals with delusions of divinity by now. The Nerevarine bringing Serana along to go kick Alduin's ass, because the two are inseparable at this point, and besides, when else is the immortal vampire gonna get the chance to see what Sovngarde looks like? Finally, the two of them setting off to go adventuring to explore every corner of Tamriel for the rest of their immortal lives.

Also lots of hot blood-drinking action, because this is yuri we're talking about here. Corprus means no risk of Sanguinare Vampiris infection, and I'd imagine that the lingering traces of Lorkhan's essence in blood afflicted with the Divine Disease would make for an exquisite flavor.

[st-alessia]

Blood of Empires Chapter 6

The unusual chill that permeates her bones eases once she passes through the city’s gates; Lucretia pauses briefly to look behind her at the gate between her and the wilds of Skyrim. ‘I still feel like a child; jumping at shadows and noises.’ Lucretia already has monsters that stalk the depths of her mind that she willfully ignores, she doesn’t have the time nor the energy for more. 

With a sigh, she shakes her head and continues down the path leading through the market and head’s for Arcadia’s shop. This late in the day, Arcadia has already closed up and headed home for the evening so Lucretia lets herself in with the spare key provided to her. She wastes no time in organizing her flowery load into designated jars, bowls and shelves. Lucretia cleans the alchemy table and sweeps before setting out the tools and instruments Arcadia will need in the morning. 

She tidies up the rest of the shop before locking back up and heading to the Bannered Mare for supper, she was feeling extra needy by wanting to spend more time around people instead of hidden away in her tiny closet-converted room at the temple.

The hum of a lute and loud chatter greets her as soon as the door opens followed by a gust of warm air. Almost immediately Hulda catches sight of her standing in the doorway and she calls out a greeting, “Come on in. Let me know if you need anything, or take a seat by the fire and I'll send someone over.” 

Feeling encouraged, Lucretia grabs the open seat with a stool next to the fire pit. She doesn’t wait long before Saadia approaches her to take her order and she rushes off again–her gait always drawing Lucretia’s eye for some odd reason but as usual she ignores it in favor of more important thoughts, such as when will she be leaving for Windhelm. It doesn’t take long before she has her supper and a goblet of wine, both filling her belly with bliss. The thrum of the lute and the steady stream of patrons bustling about and chattering was soothing; after some time, Lucretia allows herself to be pulled into a conversation with Carlotta.

"Life's hard enough with all these men propositioning me. But that bard is the worst." Carlotta sighs in exasperation, shaking her head. 

Lucretia halts a sip of her mead and blinks in surprise, “Someone is giving you trouble?” 

Carlotta gestures with her head without turning to look at the object of her annoyance. "That bard Mikael is begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me. I've heard him boasting, saying he'll 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.' Hmph." Her scowl deepens. 

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that. Has anyone told him to stop?” 

"I can take care of myself. A Nord woman learns how to handle a few idiot men early in life. You’d best learn too, before he sets his sights on you." Lucretia didn’t have time to feel the unease build at the thought that she could be harassed too before said person of annoyance seems to have been summoned like a Daedra to Carlotta’s side. 

“My dearest Carlotta, was that my name on your sweet lips?” Mikael smirks at the women before him as if he had won some prize. 

The prior unease vanishes and annoyance takes its place. Lucretia had only ever seen him from a relative distance and he always seems to be attempting to charm women and horribly boasting about himself. Thankfully the times she had chosen to visit the Bannered Mare, it was always in the company of Ria and Farkas–one glare from Farkas always sent him scampering to the other side of the inn. Unfortunately, this was not the case tonight.

Undeterred by their looks of disdain, Mikael took up a seat next to Carlotta on the bench, leaning closer to her, “You look absolutely stunning today. May I buy you a drink?"

Carlotta leans away from him while trying to maintain a calm voice and says, “I'm not interested.”

Mikael chuckles. "Now, now, no need to be so cold. I was just hoping to share a drink with a beautiful woman and her equally beautiful friend."

Lucretia raises an eyebrow, an unimpressed look passes between both women.

"I simply don't have any interest in you. And neither does my friend." Carlotta’s expression darkens. “Leave us be.”

Lucretia watches as her companion becomes increasingly annoyed with the bard, her voice pitching louder as he again moves closer to her. She was unsure how to intervene without causing a bigger scene–a few others pause in their conversations to see how this turns out. She could see Saadia glaring at Mikael from the doorway to the kitchen, if she wasn’t part of the situation she might have found it comical that the Redguard woman looked ready to hit him with a pot. 

Mikael chuckles again. "Oh, I see. Still playing hard to get, are we? I like a challenge." This time he went so far as to wrap his arm around Carlotta’s shoulder, tugging her against him. Lucretia was out of her chair just as Carlotta starts to yell, “Get off me, you-” her words cutting off as she was pulled backwards off the bench, the only reason she didn’t hit the ground was in thanks to Lucretia catching her hands as she flailed, holding her aloft. 

Everything is silent.

Lucretia pulls Carlotta to a stand and the older Imperial woman wraps an arm around her as she turns to see what was happening. There Mikael laid–his back hard against the stone with his legs still draped over the bench–and Vilkas glaring down at him, boot on his chest. “You’re asking for a beating, bard.”

Before anything worse can happen, Hulda calls out in a reprimanding tone, “No fighting inside!”

Vilkas grunts, removing his boot and forcefully pulling Mikael to his feet like he was a ragdoll. “It seems our resident bard needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. Leave them alone.”

Mikael accepts his loss as it stands glaring in his face. “Whoa. Hey there. I didn’t mean to make you upset. On my honor, Carlotta won’t have to worry about me again.”

“Both.”

Mikael’s face flitters with momentary confusion before he remembers the new, pretty Imperial in town who happens to be standing with his lady-love. “But sir, surely-” 

Vilkas practically growls as he pulls the bard’s face closer until they are nearly nose-to-nose, voice lowering. “Don’t test my patience, bard.” The remaining color saps from Mikael’s face the longer Vilkas glares at him with molten silver eyes. 

A line of sweat trails from his brow and dips below his jaw, Mikael drily attempts to clear his throat. “Y-yes, of course. I… I will never bother these ladies again. You have my word.” 

“Good, because if I hear otherwise I know where to find you.” With a shove, Vilkas pushes him away allowing Mikael to fall back to the floor with a thump, and turns to Lucretia and Carlotta. Now that the confrontation ends without a fight, the rest of the patrons turn back to their prior conversations. Mikael quietly picks himself up and sulks to the furthest corner from them.

He glances over to Carlotta, assessing her rumpled dress but altogether she is alright; she gives him an assuring nod and thanks him for his intervention before excusing herself for the rest of the night after hushed words into the Imperial’s ear which she nods in agreement. He pretends to not hear the exchange.

After she leaves, Vilkas meets the girl’s eyes and gestures for her to return to her seat while he claims the spot at the bench. “Farkas will be upset to know you’ve become the source of some trouble.” 

Not the response she was expecting, Lucretia sits flabbergasted as Vilkas gratefully accepts a mead from an even more grateful Saadia. He watches her over the rip as he drinks, his silver eyes having lost its hard edge but their intensity remains.  

“I didn’t cause any trouble!” 

Vilkas hums, one corner of his lips tugging up in mild amusement. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth arguing, Lucretia takes a moment to study the twin she has never spoken with before. He was always dressed in his armor when she saw him but now he was dirty and flaking with dried blood from someone unfortunate to be on the wrong side of his blade. 

“You’ve just returned from a mission?” 

For a brief moment his face twists into scowl, she assumes he became self-conscious at the mention of his dirty appearance but it quickly evens out. “Something like that. Good thing that you're in the city, the companions got word of vampire attacks in the valley. Farkas, Aela and Skjor are still out making sure we finished them off.”

The heat of the fire did stop the return of cold dread, now she had an answer to why she felt like she was being followed. “I thought-” Lucretia takes a sip of her wine, hoping to ease the tightness that has crawled its way up her throat. Vilkas watches her like he already knows.

“I was out there today. On my way back I felt like I was being followed and there were weird noises, it sounded like a.. Like something, maybe a wolf, killed another animal? But not quite. I wasn’t expecting-” She continues to ramble.

Vilkas listens as the little Imperial’s heart races, thumping in fear of what almost certainly happened to her. He felt pity for her, the girl–woman–was as skittish as a hare. ‘Thin too.’ If he hasn’t seen her hard at work collecting herbs for Arcadia and making potions as well as tending to wounds in the temple, he’d think she merely sat around like some docile wife to some milk-drinking nobleman and something about that sat weirdly with him. 

He times his interjection so it didn’t seem as if he wasn’t paying attention to her words. “Have you ever considered learning to wield a blade?”

The question was enough to cause her to stop rambling and ponder his words. Her thoughts now on his question was already enough to work on calming her racing heart. 

“Ah… No. I was also more partial to learning magic and spellcraft as a child–not that my brother or Grandmother would have ever considered the idea of me wielding a blade. Then I… Well to be frank, I got distracted by a boy.”

Vilkas chuckles at her admission, “Normally, it would be the boy getting distracted by the girl and slacking off.”

He watches as Lucretia’s eyes take on a faraway gaze as she turns away from him to stare into the fire, a soft smile on her lips but it was bitter. “That was still the case, I was every bit of a distraction for him as he was for me. He wasn’t much interested in learning how to wield a sword or any kind of weapon for that matter. The dreams he had… they were big dreams, especially for a child. He wanted to help people, make their lives easier.”

“He was your sweetheart?” Curiosity peaked even though he felt a mild annoyance for this unknown boy.

Her bitter smile dips into a frown. “Yes, we were to be married.” 

Vilkas pushes just a bit more, “You don’t seem happy about that. What happened?” 

“He died.” The words come out in a whisper, so low that if his hearing was not heighted by his beastblood he would not have heard her. Tears rim her eyes but she swipes them away before they could fall and takes another sip of her wine. 

She clears her throat. “But that was a long time ago.” 

Vilkas doubts that. She was younger than him and if he had to guess, it was more than a ten year age gap. The boy’s death was probably as recent as five years or so, fresh enough to hurt but far enough to mention it in front of a relative stranger. Then again, his brother spends much of his time in her company so perhaps his face is enough for her to forget that they are not as close as she and Farkas seem to be. ‘Is this something they have discussed before?’

Vilkas decides to stop pushing his luck with this line of questioning and directs the conversation back to her immediate family–namely this brother she mentioned. That was enough to get her going for a while, she regales him with stories of their youth and the mishaps they seemed to get in. In turn, he shares some of his own. They too are twins but whereas she was shorter and displayed more Imperial features, her brother–Val, a nickname of sorts but he thought it was rather childish for a man–was tall and broad like a Nord. Everything else about them is identical.

Vilkas could not help but focus on the similarities between them. She was more interested in knowledge the same as he, while their own brothers prefer to simply take a sword to their obstacles. While he didn’t like how skittish she was, he could understand the pull Farkas felt around her. He could sit here all night talking to her, he wouldn’t mind if they met for dinner regularly just to talk. She was also quite pretty to look at.  Before it became too late, he walked her back to the temple before bidding her a goodnight. He was looking forward to talking with her again. And a bath, by the Gods he feels disgusting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Another shorty!

Find the story on AO3 here

[suntiger745]

More Skyrim characters

Haven’t played Skyrim in a while, partly because the game got unstable due to the bunch of mods I used. So, cleaned up the load order and deleted all the savegames and started over. First out, Nightshade (no, Nightshade is not her real name). Altmer assassin on the run from the Thalmor. Usually wields two-handed swords or crossbows. Did not expect hiding out in Skyrim to get so complicated so soon after her arrival. Luckily, she found some allies to help her out.

Next up, Merode Kath. A son of the Kath family of vampires who made an alliance with the more powerful Volkihar clan in the second era. Both as a favor and as a hostage, Merode was chosen to be the bodyguard to Serana Volhikar when she was sent to retrieve and Elder Scroll. While searching for the Elder Scroll, Merode was hit by a powerful paralysis spell by an altmer mage. The next thing he knows he wakes up in some sort of tomb with his teeth buried in a very dead adventurer’s neck. Now he’s trying to figure out where he is, *when* he is and what to do with himself.

Katari of House Redoran was cosen to be a Flamekeeper, a guardian of one of their ancestor tombs, as a young girl and trained in both weapons, a bit of magic and the proper ceremonies for the ancestors. One day, guarding her assigned tomb with her mentor the tomb was raided by necromancers. Katari was knocked out in the fight and when she came to her mentor was badly injured and the remains of three ancestors had been stolen, most notably those of Salidri Redoran, a hero of the Oblivion Crisis which devastated their House. Her mentor tasked her with tracking down the necromancers and get their ancestor’s urns back.

From my love of weird crossovers; Vali Tannen. Jedi knight who was working with a team of clone troopers to catch smuggler when Order 66 came. After a scuffle she escaped on a ship with the clone troopers in hot pursuit. In desperation she made a blind hyperjump, crossed into aetherius and crashlanded on Nirn.

Jemima is a cathay khajiit who likes the water and was learning to be a pirate under Landon, a redguard captain. Unfortunately, as they sailed along the northern coast of Skyrim they got attacked by an East Empire warship and during the battle both ships were caught in a blizzard.

When Jemima woke up she was, as far as she could determine, the sole survivor. She found the corpse of Landon and took his sword, both for good memories and for practicality. Cold and wet she made her way to the shore and is now looking to survive and ideally make a fortune once she gets a little coin as a nest egg.

Hope grew up in a family of necromancers. Being born into it, it never really was a search for power or an act of rebellion against narrowminded “colleagues” to afraid to look beyond the usual “proper” schools of magic for her. Digging up graves and reanimating corpses was just normal family activities and she though everyone had skeletons that helped out with household chores until she was a teenager. However, one night the family had their large stone and wood cottage raided by Vigilants of Stendarr. Her mom and dad had worked hard to find an old Nord hero to revive, a more ambitious ritual that would raise more than a mere skeleton, and that more high-profile work had attracted the attention of the Vigilants. Hope hid in the woods for a week and when she returned the cottage was in ruins and there were no bodies left, neither of the Vigilants nor her parents. She gathered up what few supplies she could find and set off to find her parents, as well as improving her necromancy skills.

There are few worlds closed to someone of divine lineage. Drawn to Nirn to help one of its Gardeners, Kamiel arrived in Skyrim at the lodge of the Vigilants of Stendarr. The undead were getting more powerful and they needed all the help they could get to make sure the living would be able to still have relatively normal lives. Kamiel did not hesitate, but swore that she would help the Vigilants in every way she could.

[caithyra]

Skyrim after the Stormcloak End

First things first; the vast majority of Skyrim’s population is some form of anti-Stormcloak or neutral by disadvantaged by Stormcloak policies. Just because Ulfric has “won” doesn’t mean he now rules or will survive until the end of the year (actually, Ulfric cannot CANONICALLY survive much longer than Tullius, since they both need to die in the same year so that when Bethesda write their vague histories about the Civil War in TESVI and beyond, their time of death matches both outcomes of the war, and presumably they would both die in the same year in a neutral playthrough as well. Titus Mede II will likely be recorded to have died in that same year, just vaguely alluded to maybe having been assassinated on his trip to his cousin’s wedding).

Also, “Stormblade” like all other hero-prisoners has disappeared soon after the game’s events.

So, lets see what would most likely happen:

A resistance force of anti-Stormcloaks will immediately spring up and outnumber the Stormcloaks (if Stormcloaks managed to get less than half the Nords, as per the Holds’ loyalties in game, that still leaves the majority of Nords, Reachmen and all the other races disliking them on the whole, if not outright working against them).

The avalanche that keeps the Imperial Legions out of the Pale Pass during the game clears, meaning that a much more effective and numerous force march into Falkreath from Cyrodiil than the untrained auxiliaries Tullius’ was saddled with when he immediately captured Ulfric upon his arrival in Skyrim.

The resurgence of Dark Brotherhood infamy after the assassination of the Emperor may give anti-Stormcloaks with little to lose ideas... “Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send thy child unto me...”

We have the Reachmen and the Forsworn who loathe Ulfric faaaar more than they do any other person alive, and are ripe for the Aldmeri Dominion to be the Stormcloaks to the Stormcloaks’ Empire. Imagine what a properly outfitted Forsworn Rebellion with their magics could do...

The disenfranchised Dunmer and Argonians within Ulfric’s own walls, and their Nord friends...

We have the fact that Stormcloaks are stupidly anti-magic and have alienated Skyrim’s best magicians in the College of Winterhold (just speak to Jarl Korir on the matter...), which leads to transportation magic rendering Skyrim’s mountainous defenses against Morrowind’s Telvanni mages moot, as well as distance being nothing to the Aldmeri Dominion’s mages who are not bound by the Synod’s anti-transportation magic stance. And Skyrim under the Stormcloaks has nothing to counter against this without the College or Imperial battlemages, unless you believe a single court mage in every hold is capable of doing the work of an army?

Oh, and once Ulfric dies the Stormcloaks will fall apart without the personality that made up their cult of personality.

So yeah, in TESVI Skyrim is either still part of the Empire or a vassal state of either Morrowind (once properly seceded from the Empire, and who are historical foes of the Nords in need of land after theirs turned into an ash tray) or the Aldmeri Dominion, or the Dragon Cult has resurfaced and they are ruled by dragons (either regular dragons, or under Paarthurnax’s “benevolent” tyranny).

They cannot, however, be independent without the entire rest of the world holding idiot balls.

This is also, incidentally, why Ulfric is stupid, and why Balgruuf was stupid to draw out his decision (and the Civil War) for so long and letting his people die for nothing or worse (if AD, Dragons or Morrowind take over) when he was never going to pick the Stormcloak side anyway (also, nothing will ever convince me that Laila Law-Giver would pick the Stormcloak side if Balgruuf picked the Imperial side from the beginning, giving the Empire a vast majority of the Skyrim’s people, given how depopulated Winterhold and Dawnstar are, Laila picks the side she believes will keep her safe and loved by her people, but mostly safe, and would easily be convinced by Maven in that case, if she needed any convincing at all. What do you think Ulfric can do with 3/9 Holds of people when 2 of those Holds are Winterhold and Dawnstar? Yeah, it wouldn’t have become full rebellion then, just a small annoyance with a few small raids by the Stormcloaks before their jarls are replaced by the rest of Skyrim).

[uesp]

The Cause of Death of Each Septim Emperor

Tiber I -- Unknown, seemingly old age. Bizarrely, Oblivion Mobile claims he died in battle at Sancre Tor. 3E 38

Pelagius I -- Assassination in the Temple of the One. 3E 40

Kintyra I -- Unknown, seemingly old age. 3E 53

Uriel I -- Unknown, seemingly old age. 3E 64

Uriel II -- Unknown, seemingly old age. 3E 82

Pelagius II -- Believed to have been poisoned by a bitter former advisor. 3E 98

Antiochus I -- Believed to have been assassinated by Potema, the Wolf Queen. He proved to be surprisingly resilient, despite his poor lifestyle. 3E 120

Kintyra II -- Deposed by Uriel III, the son of Potema in 3E 121. Was executed under the orders of Uriel III while in captivity. The exact date of her death is a matter of debate, with 3E 114, 3E 121, 3E 123 Frost Fall 23, and 3E 125 all given as possible dates.

Uriel III -- Burned alive by an angry mob while en route to a trial to charge him for his crimes after he was captured at the Battle of Ichidag in Hammerfell. 3E 127

Cephorus I -- "Fell from his horse". The historical drama The Wolf Queen suggests this was an elaborate posthumous assassination plot by Potema, the Wolf Queen. 3E 140

Magnus I -- Seemingly old age or stress from the duties of the throne following the civil war. There is a legend that his death was actually patricide by his successor, Pelagius III. These are almost definitely inaccurate exaggerations that were attached to his infamous character later on, as Pelagius III was in Skyrim when his father died in his sleep in the Imperial City. 3E 145

Pelagius III -- Fever while being treated for his madness at a Temple of Kynareth. Pelagius III spent most of his reign being sent to various healers and asylum for treatment, sadly all of which were ineffective. The historical drama The Wolf Queen also puts his madness as another scheme of revenge from Potema. If you support all of the narratives, that would arguably put the deaths of five of the last six Emperors at her feet. 3E 153 Suns Dawn 2 (although the records of the exact day may be wrong)

Katariah I -- Died in battle in Black Marsh. While her death in battle is known, the circumstances around it are the subject of numerous conspiracy theories. Spent most of her husband's reign as regent, and became the ruling Empress upon his death. 3E 200

Cassynder I -- Poor health. Cassynder had actually already given up the rule of Wayrest to his half-brother Uriel (who he had legally adopted into his family to make him legally a Septim) willingly due to his poor health, yet was still pressured to take the throne after his mother's death. Unsurprisingly, this quickly led to his death. 3E 202

Uriel IV -- Unknown, seemingly old age. His legal heir Andorak was disinherited by the Elder Council in favor of someone with a more clear relation to Tiber Septim, causing a civil war. 3E 246

Cephorus II -- It is unclear if he even died. While the records list the crowning of his successor in 3E 268, there is no mention of what happened to Cephorus II.

Uriel V -- Believed to have died in battle in Akavir. Notably, one of the early story ideas for Skyrim was that Uriel V did not actually die, and returned to Tamriel to retake his throne. His recorded date of death is 3E 290.

Uriel VI -- "Fell from his horse". Notably, he spent his reign battling the Council and his own mother for the right to rule. Shortly after managing to gain some small amount of control of his Empire, he "fell from his horse". 3E 313

Morihatha I -- Assassinated. The suspected mastermind behind her death was the Councilman Thoricles Romus, although he protested his innocence until his own execution. 3E 339

Pelagius IV -- Unknown, seemingly old age or stress. 3E 368

Uriel VII -- Assassination by the Mythic Dawn. His notably long reign was partially due to him being imprisoned in Oblivion by his battlemage Jagar Tharn. 3E 433

Martin I -- Sacrificed to summon Akatosh. 3E 433

[itssuppertim3]

How would the husbands react if the LDB wanted to introduce them to their parents?

Skyrim Husbandos Meeting the Folks:

Just to clarify! Usually all of my fics are written with a female reader unless requested otherwise! I apologize if you meant for it to be a gender neutral headcanon ;-;

--------------------------------------------

Ulfric Stormcloak: Preps his hair a few too many times. You're the Dragonborn. Such a gorgeous and powerful woman must have parents kin to deities! He'll have to make sure the meeting goes without a single flaw if he wishes to impress them.

He'll be even more anxious if they're supporters of the Empire. Gods, they'll despise him! You know that dinner scene in Shrek 2? That's pretty much how he'll expect it to go. But don't worry. In reality, he learns that your parents happily accept him as their son-to-be. (Forgive him if he gets political)

Veezara: He's a bit surprised by your invitation. If anything, he didn't expect you to even be in contact with your family due to your, ahem, unflattering occupation. Nevertheless, he feels more than honored to meet them.

His outfit choice will be his usual Brotherhood armor, to which you hastily advice him to think a bit longer on the matter. The next issue will be whether or not he should strap a dagger in his boot. "Just in case," he says. Veezara is actually very charismatic with your parents, despite the fact that he's never really had any. But soon enough, he'll come to treasue them as if they were.

Argis the Bulwark: Gods above, he'll love your folks more than a child loves sweetrolls. If the two of you aren't busy, he'll make a request to go visit them. It takes no time at all for your housecarl to immediately feel a part of the family, and he will brag frequently about you, as will they. In the end, the three of them are just sitting in front of the hearth, speaking nothing but pure love and adoration for you.

If Argis had to take a survey concerning his favorite things, it would most likely be structured like this:

My Favorite Things: -Y/n -Y/n's parents -everything Y/n likes -beef roast

Teldryn Sero: Much like Ulfric, he's also very nervous believe it or not. Teldryn is convinced that he's lacking in the career department, and he expects your parents to be underwhelmed once meeting him. The last thing he wants is to disappoint your family by admitting that he's just your average mercenary who used to drink himself sour in a sleezy inn every day.

He's a bit, I dare say, timid upon first greetings. For the most part, he'll let you do all of the talking until the conversation finally steers in his direction. He swears he can feel his heart rest at ease when your parents take a huge liking to his work. He deeply respects your father, and your father respects him all the same. Meanwhile, your mother is busy flashing you giddy looks as she whispers, "such a handsome man, he is!"

Ancano: He's very curious to say the least. He's well aware of the existence of your parents, for you speak about them quite often to him. In reality, he can't help but feel a bit of jealousy stirring in his stomach. To have people that cherish him deeply has been a secret desire of his since childhood.

Your parents are a bit astounded by your taste in men. They might exchange a few worried glances at first, murmuring to one another if letting a Thalmor into their home is the best choice. This causes Ancano to feel disheartened, but that doubt is quickly erased after sharing a chat with them. Your parents will then apologize for their caution, and surprisingly the three of them will get along very well! On your way back to the College, he'll have a pleased smile accenting his lips.

Miraak: He's skilled at maintaining his poker face, but the anticipation is definitely eminent. In his eyes, meeting your parents is the greatest privilege he's ever been bestowed. He already has a deeply profound and complex respect for you, and now he gets to meet the very people who birthed you?! He's screaming. Inwardly, I mean.

Disclosing the topic on how you both met will certainly be interesting. He'll make it elaborate, dramatic, and overall heart-wrenching. "It all started during the era of my rebellion against the Dragon Cult..." "Do you favor the color green, Mrs. L/n? I onced favored green. And then I spent 3000 years imprisoned in a green and goopy dimension, consumed by an endless abyss of vengeance and rage." "Y/n was so beautiful upon first laying my eyes on her. She was on the floor, of course. But even still, her eyes shimmered like jewels (probably from tears of agony :3)" "Ah yes... then she beat the daylights of me and commanded me to be her pissbaby servant. Such a strong and charming woman!"

Savos Aren: Will over apply cologne for the sake of masking his natural herbal scent. He knows well how much you love the way he smells, however he kind of wants to prevent your folks from realizing just how often he spends in his garden.

He's enchanted by your parents from the start, and he simply loves them to death. Savos doesn't categorize in the "young people" flock, so it's only safe to invision three seniors chatting away over a hot brew of tea and rocking chairs. He'll mainly discuss his role as Arch Mage, along with how amazingly talented you are as both apprentice and Dragonborn. Ah, but they obviously knew that already.

Romlyn Dreth: He isn't going to charm your parents, oh no. He's going to dazzle them. He'll wear his best clothing, have his hair combed back, conjure up the best manners known to man and mer, etcetera. And when they ask what he does for a living, Romlyn with flutter out a confident chuckle before saying, "I sell good mead for cheap."

In truth, he's never been so intrigued by your personal life. He didn't even know you had parents! Boy, was he ecstatic to hear that you wanted him to meet them. He was a tad intimidated by the thought, but he became comfortable rather quickly. Sometimes, it feels as if he literally stole them from you, for he speaks with them as if he's their most treasured son!

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I'll be thinking about this all night, holy shit. Thanks for a awesome request, Anon!

[creativestalkerrs]

darkness returns // jschlatt

I posted this on AO3 (here is the link to the AO3 post) and I posted it in two parts. This post will have each part.

Pairing: jschlatt and she/her reader

Characters: schlatt, reader, wilbur soot, technoblade, tubbo, brynjolf, delvin, vex, night mother, gulum-ei, boethiah, shawdowmere (not including mentioned characters)

Summary: schlatt works for the thieves guild, y/n works for the dark brotherhood. y/n needs schlatt's help and so the two are on a quest to find y/n's younger brother from ex-brotherhood assassin's. the two grow a friendship and an alliance that they wouldn't have expected from each other.

Story Warnings: violence, fantasy violence, Skyrim lore, talks of murder, death, angst, made up Skyrim lore (sorta)

Word Count: 8,888 words

part one; where you hang your enemy’s head

Schlatt was a thief in the depths of Rifen. He was good at his job, stealing gold, random loot, even women’s hearts. He was a charming little ram. But when the Guild started slipping and the coin started to dry up, it was up to him to fix what others failed to finish. He hated it, it was too much work for poor Schlatt. Others saw Schlatt as a crocked businessman, but those who knew him saw him as a man who made them money. Good money. He was the Guild's golden boy. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Anything but one thing. Her.

Despite the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood being on good terms with each other, there was one assassin Schlatt who remained wavery of. Y/N. She never liked Schlatt. Always keeping her sword sharp when the two would exchange business to both the guilds. Y/N was friends with some of the thieves and Schlatt was friendly with Astrid, the Brotherhood’s leader. Y/N was the listener, after all, she could hear their mother. Maybe she should have listened to their mother more closely. Oh, what a fool Y/N was.

After Y/N killed the Empire, she fled to the Thieves Guild. She couldn’t tell Nazir what happened just yet. She needed some kinder company. After all, from the betrayal of Astrid, all of her family burned down. However, the thieves didn’t need to know why her family was dead and who she had to kill to get her there. It wasn’t her betrayal that caused it to burn.

Schlatt saw her drinking in the Ragged Flagon, still in her bloody assassin’s gidup. Y/N was never one to distort over someone who she had killed. She killed many people in her lifetime, but this kill changed her.

“Why the hell is the assassin here? Is she planning on taking out the Guild?” Schlatt asked his arms across his burly chest. Brynjolf looked at Schlatt and raised his eyebrow at him.

“Ah, lass, she’s here for a drink and a chat, no need for that tone,” Brynjolf said as Y/N glared at the ram man. Y/N stood up and threw a coin purse at Schlatt.

“That’s yours sneak thief. From that favor a while back. I’ll be going now,” Y/N started as she pushed past Schlatt and went inside the Guild to go the only way she cared to go. Brynjolf glared at him.

“Why you say that lass… She was telling us something that could be useful for everyone,” Brynjolf scolded. “I know you’re the leader and all Schlatt, but I’ve been here longer than you and I saw you go and apology to ol’ Y/N there,” Schlatt couldn’t help but laugh at that statement.

“Brynjolf! You’re becoming the jester from the Brotherhood. You’re so funny,” Schlatt laughed before he felt something sharp in his back that caused him to stop, afraid it was Vex.

“Don’t talk to Brynjolf or Cicero like that, or I’ll have your head as a decoration in the new Sanctuary,” Schlatt knew it was Y/N, unsure why she came back.

“Put down your sword, Y/N,” Delvin tried to defuse the situation. Y/N listened to him, despite her anger towards Schlatt. “What has gotten into you?” He asked, Y/N just dropped her sword to the ground. “If Astrid finds out your acting like this, I’m sure she’d skin you like a sheep,” He warned.

“Astrid is dead!” She screamed. “She betrayed the Brotherhood!” She screamed again. The room went silent. “My family is dead. Only Nazir and Babette survived… I can’t get into it, but Astrid betrayed us. Killed our family because of it. I couldn’t stop it. I came back cause I need to talk with Schlatt. Now,” She began, picking up her sword and walking back to the guild. Brynjolf pushed Schlatt to walk, having Delvin and everyone else in that matter, to disgust what Y/N said.

Y/N didn’t look back, she could feel Schlatt was behind her. As she made her way to the middle of the room, she turned around to see Schlatt right there. “I didn’t know that of your family… Astrid seemed like the one to do that,” He began to say.

“I don’t need your pity, I need your skills Schlatt,” Y/N began. He looked at her confused. “Astrid took something away from that I didn’t know about until her dying breath. I need it back. However, I need someone I can trust to help me,” Y/N grabbed Schlatt’s collar and pulled him in. “I need a skilled thief,” She said, looking into his eyes, pulling him down since he was much taller than her. Y/N let go, getting her point across.

“Why do you need me? You don’t even like me,” He scoffed.

“Yea, I don’t like you but I still trust you. And, I’m the one with coin in my pocket, just for you,” Schlatt’s horns peaked up, his attention on her. “Ah, now I have your attention,” She smirked.

“What do you want?” Schlatt asked. Y/N looked around the room, unsure if now was the time to say what was going on.

“Not here, not now. Meet me in Solitude at my home here. I don’t want any untrustworthy people hearing me. Meet me there as soon as you can, I can’t go back to Nazir like this, not now, not yet,” Schlatt looked confused as Y/N began to walk away so she could leave the Guild

“You have a home in Solitude? When did that happen?” He asked as Y/N turned around.

“Since I killed the last owners,” She smirked before she left, making her way to Solitude. Schlatt was invested. Curious, in fact.

“What did she want?” Vex asked, walking towards Schlatt, slowly, with caution in her step. Schlatt looked back from the exit to Vex. He slowly approved her as well, meeting her in the middle.

“Little lady wants me to help her. Of what? I don’t know… Said to meet her in her home in Solitude,” Schlatt explained.

“Solitude? I guess the killing business really does bring the coin,” Vex laughed.

“Apparently she killed the last owners for it… Anyways, I should get the next ride to Solitude tonight. Will you guys be okay without me for a few days?” Schlatt asked.

“That’s a dumb question, of course, we will,” Vex laughed. “Get your stuff ready, this might prove useful for the guild as well,” Vex instructed as she left the area. Schlatt just stood there, stunned, unsure what a Dark Brotherhood assassin could ever need from a Thieves Guild thief.

***

That night Schlatt went to his home in Riften, Honeyside, a gift from the Jarl from some business he dealt with. Of course, she doesn’t know what kind of crimes he does in her little town of Riften. Schlatt grabbed everything he could need for his pathway to Solitude, keeping the light of his pocket for the journey across Skyrim. Luckily, with the carts that take people from city to city, it would be a much safer and much quicker option than if he road his own horse or even did it on foot. He also didn’t want to deal with wolves and bandits anyways.

The journey was a nice one, seeing the beautiful lights in the night sky and seeing both Masser and Secunda shine bright in the sky. Skyrim at this type of night was always proven beautiful. Despite him being a man of business and thievery, he always had to remember the beauty that is home.

Schlatt was a hybrid, a rare race in Tamriel. People often would lump Schlatt in with the Khajiit’s, but he wasn’t a cat. But he did come from Elsweyr, a long journey he made with his mother. He can barely remember her, only fleeing from the lands of Elsweyr when he was just a lamb. But before she could make it herself to Skyrim, she was killed by necromancers on the road in Cyrodiil, just before making their way to the city of Bruma. Schlatt knew she was gone, so he had to flee all by himself across the border over to Skyrim.

For a while, until he was a teenager, he was alone, wandering city to city, even joining a bandit camp when he was 20 before he left and traveled with the Khajiit caravan selling goods just to survive. It wasn’t until he was 25 he went to Riften and meet Brynjolf at the market. Schlatt always was good at pickpocketing and swiping items. It was how he survived most of his days. So when Brynjolf asked him to join his little guide, he said yes. And for the first time since he saw his mother slaughtered by necromancers, he felt like he had a family. He would do anything for them. And they would do anything for Schlatt.

When Schlatt first meet Y/N, he wasn’t sure what he’d thought of her. The one thought he did have was how a pretty woman like her would end up killing people for a living. But just like Schlatt, the Brotherhood was the only family she got, the only family she cared about.

Y/N was only 10 when she killed her family in cold blood and set her family home on fire. She didn’t want to do it, but she didn’t escape the abuse that was her family. She heard about the Dark Brotherhood from the whispers on the street and prayed to the Night Mother to take her in as her own. However, what she got was something more meaningful to her. A newfound family.

It was when Y/N turned 13 the Dark Brotherhood took her in as their own. Despite Babette, even tho she didn’t count cause she was a vampire, she became the youngest assassin in the Brotherhood. When she killed her family, she couldn’t help but enjoy it. They were people who deserved it after all. She never meant to be a wicked child, but ever since that night, she loved that feeling. Wicked.

That dark night was Schlatt and Y/N meet due to a collide of the contract where both Delvin and Astrid needed them, they meet under Masser and Secunda as the two almost killed each other, unsure why a thief and an assassin needed to join up in a shared contract. Y/N never really liked Schlatt, the contract he was condescending and loud. Unsure why he was a thief, to begin with. If it wasn’t for Delvin and Astrid and both of them somehow liking the guy, her sword would be doing deep in his chest he would be sent to Oblivion. As time went on, she started to like the hybrid just a little more than she did. However, there were times when she still wanted to plunge her blade into his skull. Despite this, she trusts Schlatt. Understanding his skills. She only trusts a few people in her lifetime.

Schlatt wouldn’t admit it, but he was afraid of her, however, he found her charming, beautiful even and if she wore an Amulet of Mara, he’d ask her to marry her, but, he had to keep things professional and besides, he barely knew anything about her anyways.

As Schlatt left the cart, walking up to the gates of Solitude, the sun began to rise in Skyrim. Schlatt hasn’t been in Solitude in a while, he forgot how rich the city is, maybe he’ll pickpocket some people before he leaves. As he looked around, he realized he didn’t know what house or where Y/N would be when he got there, so, he asked an old friend for help. Gulum-Ei.

“Ah, Schlatt, what brings you to Solitude?” He smiled as Schlatt leaned on the wall near him. “Got some goods you want to drop off?” Gulum-Ei smirked.

“No, actually, I’m looking for a girl, you might know where she is or where she lives. Y/N, you know her?” Schlatt asked. Gulum-Ei peaked up.

“Ah yes, the assassin, but no one else needs to know that. She lives right by the Barb College, you can’t miss it, she has a shadow mark,” He leaned in. Schlatt crocked his head back.

“She’s not a part of the guild, why would she have a shadow mark?” Schlatt asked.

“She’s friends with Brynjolf, isn’t she?” He questioned, but it came off more anarchy. Schlatt sighed. “Is that all old friend?” Gulum-Ei commented.

“That’s all, thank you Gulum-Ei, I’ll see you around,” Schlatt smiled before he left the building. He started to look at each building, searching for a Thieves Guild safehouse shadow mark. Soon, he found the shadow mark and heavily knocked on the door. Schlatt stood there strong before Y/N, who was no longer in her bloody assassin gidup, but in some rather fine clothing, answered the door. Seeing her out of that gidup made Schlatt confused, he was taken back by her, not expecting her to look like… well… that.

“You’re here, come in,” Y/N coldly said, grabbing Schlatt’s arm and tugging him inside of her home before slamming the door shut. “I’ll cut to the chase, I need you to steal a child… Don’t worry, it sounds worse than it is,” Y/N began as she sat down at the table, pouring an ale in two mugs. “Sit down, have a drink with me,” She looked at Schlatt and pointed to the chair with her eyes as he followed foot, sitting down and sliding the drink to him.

“Why a child?” He asked.

“There is a lot of things you don’t know about me, Schlatt, and one of those things is- my family. I killed my parents and lit the family home on fire before I fled. One thing that I swore I still protect was my baby brother, wanting a better life for him than I did. However, when the Night Mother called for me, I knew it was a chance for me to change things for myself and my brother, but I left him at a farm with a family that could provide for him and take care of him far better than I could… I sent him letters, coins… even my blade. He’d send letters back, hoping to one day meet me again. Then, I never heard back from him. It wasn’t until I went to that farm to see it burned down and raided. Just before the letters stopped, two of our assassins went missing, never to be heard of again. Technoblade, a pig hybrid, and a Nord, Wilbur Soot. I can’t explain it, but I think they had something to do with the farm being raided and my brother’s letters stopping coming. The two were locked together, no one knew much about them. A week before they fleed the Sanctuary, I overheard the two talking about bandits. They were just acting off. That’s why I even went to the farm, to begin with, I got this gut feeling… then… the Night Mother spoke to me,” Y/N got up from her seat. She looked as if she was going to cry, an emotion Y/N rarely ever had, yet alone, showed.

“What did she say?” Schlatt asked.

“What she said was ‘The hybrid and the Nord have something more valuable than gold. A tool to kill,’ I had no idea what it meant at first. Until I read this damn letter,” Y/N got something out of her pocket and gave it to Schlatt.

“It’s true what they say, Y/N’s younger brother is blessed by Boethiah. This brotherhood and she has no idea what Wilbur and I are going to do. In honor of Boethiah, in honor of the blood gods. They worship Boethiah, then? Bunch of cult freaks, I say,” Schlatt sighed as he handed the letter back to Y/N who sighed and crossed her arms across her chest.

“If it was Sheogorath, I wouldn’t care. But Boethiah, they live off of deception and violence, and if my brother is blessed by Boethiah and Wilbur and Techno took him, he’s more in trouble than I could imagine… I have a plan and I need you to help me. I just can’t do this alone,” Y/N was more worried than she’d ever been. Two violent assassins plus a Daedric God that loves violence, could badly. “Do you know anything about Boethiah besides what I told you?” Y/N asked Schlatt.

“No, Daedric Gods aren’t what I’m known for,” Schlatt admitted.

“Boethiah rewards their champion with one of the most powerful pieces of armor a mortal like ourselves could get ahold of; Ebony Mail. Ebony Mail is rumored to be in Skyrim and I think Techno and Wilbur are after it. My brother, plus that armor… God, I can’t imagine what those two lunatics would do. We need to take the armor piece, rescue my brother, defeat Techno and Wilbur, and god-knows-what Boethiah will do. Will cross that bridge when we get there,” Y/N explained. “I researched all this since I pieced everything together. It’s my only hope to protect my brother. I’m going to rebuild the Brotherhood, but I can’t with all this shit going on… So, Schlatt, will you help me?” Y/N asked.

“Usually I don’t give hand-outs, but, it’s been a while since I had some excitement in my life. Why not, what should we go first?” Schlatt asked.

“Find where Techno and Wilbur are hiding out. They didn’t really give any clues on that part. I can’t just look all over Skyrim to do so, cause by then, the Oblivion crisis might just happen all over again,” Y/N informed. “I think we need to go to the Sacellum of Boethiah, those freaks are basically cult members and I’m sure they have information for us on where that pig and that Nord might hideout. If we’re lucky, maybe they’re there already… we can only hope,” Y/N looked stressed, hoping that her plan would work, that she can finally be able to be a good sister to the one thing she actually cared about in this life. Tubbo.

“I can ask the guide for help as well,” Schlatt offered.

“No! No… I don’t even want the Brotherhood to know. You see… Techno and Wilbur are still our Dark Brothers… Tenet V. Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.” Y/N quoted. “If they know I’m going to slay them, then I disobey our mother,” Y/N further explained. “But sometimes you have to disobey in order to do what's right,” Y/N informed him. “We leave by sunrise. I have a bed downstairs,” Y/N instructed as she then left Schlatt, going up to her room. Schlatt wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but he couldn’t help but understand her, as losing someone always stains. Despite them not being close, he wouldn’t want even the blood of assassins to lose someone they loved. It already seemed like she did, with the betrayal of Astrid.

***

Schlatt couldn’t sleep. Luckily, he did, but by sunrise, Y/N was waking him up, throwing some supplies at him. It seemed like Y/N was only running on 3 hours of sleep as well, she was running on motivation to save her kid brother. She was worried that he wouldn’t want to know her after what she did to her parents, but she knew it was best, it was the only way out. She kept thinking about the way a Deadra wanted a child, what pawn in their game would he play? How was she to talk… the mother she serves is a corpse that she started to worship around his age. It was pointless to ask questions like those.

“If you’re hungry, I have food upstairs. Eat before we go and we’ll stop in a major city for lunch. We can’t make a lot of stops, I’m unsure how much longer I have or maybe I have all the time in the world… the sooner this is over, the sooner we can get back to our respected families,” Y/N went off, coming off as a word salad. Schlatt spoke rushed words. He also spoke people's minds. He just knew. She was easy to read like a book. Easy to spot like a shadow mark. However, it wasn’t easy for an outsider, only him and a selected few. Under all that blood, whispering of Sithis and understand that emotionless mask was a corrupted girl who grew up around death just to survive. It was tragic. It was something that shouldn’t happen.

And as for Schlatt. He wasn’t as scummy and cruel as people would believe. Well, he was, but he has his reasons for it, not just to get ahead of everyone else, but to make those he valued, proud of him as if his own mother was watching over him. He’s often thinking about that, unsure what his mother would say. His dad, however, was a mystery. No image of him to go with. Not a name to call him. Maybe Schlatt never had a dad, but, everyone needed a dad, right? In fact, he barely knew his mother or knew anything about her. Only that sweet kind face, horns like his, only for the fact one was broken. He wanted to ask her why they were that way, but, the question remain unasked.

Schlatt was convinced he didn’t have any family at all, only his mother. He didn’t know who he was either. It bothered him more than he realized. A question he asked all his life. He grew terrified that it will never be answered.

The two were on the road to the Sacellum of Boethiah. Y/N riding her beloved Shadowmere as Y/N bought Schlatt a horse from the stable. Hopeful it will do for their trip. Schlatt followed behind. It was as if Shawdowmere knew where to go, like the worry and wonder of Y/N guided her. After all, she was from the Void, she was often driven by motivation. The two didn’t talk much as the roads became snowy as they grew closer and closer to the Sacellum of Boethiah. However, the journey would only grow uncertain for the two, uncertain for Y/N, especially.

Schlatt was walking his horse, as Shadowmere and Y/N walked at his pace. The two began to speak, something they lacked since leaving Soulitude. “Tell me about yourself, Schlatt. Is it true you’re from Elsweyr?” Y/N asked, turning her head to Schlatt, who was surprised at knowledge of his homeland.

“How do you know that?” He asked her.

“Most hybrids come from Elsweyr. Techno is from Elsweyr, grew up in Cyrodiil, meet Wil, and came to Skyrim. You don’t often meet hybrids, they either stay in Elsweyr, get killed for leaving Elsweyr, or they are hidden away someplace,” Y/N informed. “So, I’d be assuming right, ram,” Y/N smiled.

“You’d be correct. Elsweyr is no place for someone like me. I remember my mom always saying things before we left to go to Skyrim about how hybrids are mistreated. I’d only think that’s why she wanted to come to Skyrim,” Schlatt let Y/N in, thinking of his mother all those years ago.

“Your mother cares about you then. Do you still talk with her?” Y/N asked. Schlatt got silent, something Y/N was familiar with.

“She died before we made it to Skyrim. I was only a lamb then, I barely survived. No one questioned me when I came to Skyrim, I was only a small little thing back then. Necromancers killed her before we made it to Bruma. I don’t remember much besides my mother's face and then her dead body… But you live and you learn,” Schlatt tried to lighten his tone to make things easier.

“Oh…” Y/N said. “I’m sorry,” She apologized.

“Don’t worry about me,” Schlatt smiled.

“I guess you and I are not so different after all,” Y/N smiled, the sound of Shawdowmere and Schlatt’s horse’s hooves on the snowy stone. Schlatt thought for a moment before he heard rustling from the distance. He stopped in his tracks, making his horse stop before Shawdowmere stopped, understanding that something was off. “What's wrong?” Y/N asked before Schlatt put his finger up to his lip to indicate Y/N to be silent as he turned behind him. Y/N followed before they were greeted by the pig and the Nord, the pig aiming his bow and arrow at the two as the Nord had his two swords ready. Y/N’s eyes widen, surprised to see Techno and Wilbur, unsure why they would reveal themselves now.

“Good to see you Dark Sister,” Wilbur laughed. “Hear a rumor you were looking for us, guess the Listener really couldn’t listen too carefully for this one,” Wilbur mocked.

“Why are you disobeying the Night Mother like this for Boethiah?” Y/N asked. “Astrid already tore the family apart and now you’re tearing me apart. I know what you are doing and I won’t let you do this!” Y/n screamed as she got off her beloved horse. “Where is my brother? Where is Tubbo?” Y/N demanded, pushing past Schlatt, drawing out her weapon, Schlatt following behind her, unsure how this was going to end. Wilbur and Techno backed up, something they never would do, but with Y/N, they felt like they needed to.

“Your brother is safe, darling,” Techno snarled, his orc-like teeth showing. I guess Techno was more orc than cat, but it didn’t matter cause all their blood spilled the same.

“I will kill you both right here. Tell me where my brother is!” Y/N screamed as she grabbed Wilbur’s fabric off his clothing, bringing him in. He saw her furry in her eyes, something he hasn’t seen in a while. “If you joined bandits, god, I’d have your head. Instead, you joined the cult of Boethiah!” Y/N’s eyes glazed over with furry, but most of all, defeat and sadness. Why would they do this? “Wil,” Y/N almost whispered, letting go of him and surrendering her weapon. Schlatt and Techno were both confused, but Wilbur… Wilbur knew what was going on, so he shielded his sword.

“I just wanted to protect him from Boethiah,” Wilbur admitted. Y/N turned her head, the snow started to fall again.

“You’re a liar, I read your notes, the Night Mother told me what you’re going to do. You can’t get out of this one! This is the last time,” Y/N raised her voice again, unshielded her sword and swinging it at Wilbur, but missing completely. Wilbur didn’t move. “Where is Tubbo,” Y/N asked again, her back facing everyone.

“Blackreach,” Wilbur admitted.

“You traitor!” Techno yelled. “Why would you tell her?” He yelled.

“You know,” Wilbur stated. “It’s the only way,”

“The only way for what?” Schlatt asked, unsure if he could listen anymore without asking his own questions.

“Who the fuck are you?” Wilbur spat at him before he gave him a deep look, recognizing the hybrid. “Wait a minute. Y/N, you’re working with thieves, now?” Wilbur laughed.

“Working with him doesn’t concern you, now tell me why Tubbo is at Blackreach!” Y/N yelled.

“It’s where he’s protected from Boethiah. Blackreach is the only place Boethiah won’t go. However, we still want Ebony Mail and if we follow Boethiah's demands without getting Tubbo involved, then we’d be her champion,” Wilbur explained. “Blackreach is where the Elder Scroll is too,” Wilbur added, Y/N face fell, her face grew pale.

“Are you saying?” She asked as Wilbur nodded. Schlatt and Techno had no idea what they were saying or meaning. “You guys aren’t the bad guys then… Even if Techno and Schlatt believe you guys are,” Y/N explained.

“The end is near,” Wilbur fully admitted. “Techno, that’s why you’re here. I can’t do this without you and I was wrong for tricking Y/N into believing we’d hurt Tubbo. The Brotherhood had its downfall when Astrid killed and betrayed everyone. Murder is on our hearts, but for once, we murder the people to stop the end,” Wilbur explained to Techno who finally lowered his weapon. “You can’t turn on me know if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re all I got,” Wilbur scuffed.

“What do we do?” Schlatt asked.

“We’ll still be Boethiah champion so they don’t think of Tubbo. It’s best for you two to go to Blackreach and save your brother and take the Elder Scroll. Then, we can kill the ones who want to bring the end near,” Wilbur further explained.

“It’s not the dragons?” Schlatt asked. Wilbur shook his head.

“They have something to do with it, but, it’s the Daedra… They want to take over this world but they think Tubbo and that damn scroll is the way to do it. It’s not, we just need to destroy Boethiah,” Wilbur told them.

“Why would I work with you after everything you did?” Y/N asked.

“Does that matter now?” Techno asked.

“Yes, how will I know you won’t kill me, take Tubbo to Boethiah and you’re the only one they save?” Y/N was brought up.

“Would you keep us alive this long if you believed I was lying?” Wilbur asked with a cheeky smile. Y/N sighed, knowing his statement was right. If she didn’t trust his word just a little, she would have fed him to the ice wolves.

“If you even think of betraying me, I will skin you alive,” Y/N threatens.

“That thought hasn’t come up,” Wilbur noted.

“Good. I guess we’ll head to Blackreach now,” Y/N told them.

“Take this, then, it’s how you get into Blackreach,” Wilbur gave Y/N a dwarven sphere, something she has only seen once in her lifetime. “Good luck,” Wilbur smiled before the two disappeared. Y/N just stood there before she couldn’t see the two familiars, anymore.

“You trust them?” Schlatt asked.

“I have to, or I’m a fool. I guess we have a change in our plans… Schlatt?” Y/N asked. “If I’m wrong about this, you have the honor of killing me before Wilbur, Techno or even Boethiah does. If you do, bring Tubbo back to Riften, train him to be the best damn thief he can be” Y/N smiled, it was as if she was going to die either way. Schlatt hated that tone, a tone he wouldn’t dare hear from Y/N, but, there it was.

“Don’t say that, I’m sure everything will be okay,” Schlatt reassured, unsure how to comfort anyone, let alone a blood-thirsty assassin.

“I’m just saying. Can you promise me this?” She asked before she went on Shadowmere. Schlatt counties to walk his horse before he laughed. Y/N looked at him, her eyes glazed over, the most serious look washed over her. “I’m serious, will you promise me?” She asked again. Schlatt stopped his laughter, understanding how serious Y/N’s request was. “I know we don’t know each other like I knew Nazir or Astrid, but I don’t think I can look into Nazir’s eyes, not after… what I did, even tho it’s what everyone wanted. It doesn’t feel right. Just promise me, promise me that my brother will have a better life than I did, if, Wilbur and Techno betray me,” She asked again.

He didn’t want to promise, he didn’t want to be responsible for anything, let alone a kid. But he knew what it was like to be alone, even if he didn’t know what would happen. “I promise,” He said and we will never break his promise. He may have been a liar, a piece of scum, but when we promised something, he always kept it, so he was keeping it with her, someone unlikely he would promise to.

“Thank you, Schlatt,” Was all that was said of her.

part two; speaking with silence

The two weren’t the type for small talk, as you might have guessed. It remained that way until they reached the Dwemer ruins that lead into the once-bustling city that was of Blackreach. Y/N hated going into ruins like that. She hated Falmer. But she valued the importance that the ruins always had to hold.

Getting to the last part to get into Blackreach was easy. Long, but easy. Schlatt followed Y/N’s lead, as she remained focused, avoiding every trap she could. Finally, in the end, she killed two bickering souls who were also trying to get into Blackreach. Y/N did question them if they knew anything about Tubbo, but they just seemed after treasure, so, Y/N just killed them, not wanting them in her way. Of course, as she did in her practice of killing, she looted their bodies for whatever she found useful. This time, however, she ditched the gold, only looking for one thing; information.

Nothing.

But of course, Schlatt took the liberation of looting their pockets for that gold. Y/N just rolled her eyes at the action, putting her sword away and stepping over the bodies. She pulled out the sphere that Wilbur gave her, knowing that this is the part where she had to use to somehow get into Blackreach.

“Be useful for once and be on a lookout for anything useful, other than your greed, to get us in this damn place,” Y/N stated, throwing the sphere in the air and catching it, looking around the area for clues. Schlatt was done looting the bodies, so he stood up straight and scrunched his nose at Y/N at her comment, as her job too, was fueled by greed.

As Y/N was looking at gates and stones, Schlatt noticed something so obvious… a table that was meet for the sphere.

“Hey dumbass, over here,” Schlatt called for. Y/N snapped her neck to Schlatt, her eyebrows scrunching together, displeased at his comment. However, before she could do anything, she saw what he was referring to. Y/N walked over and placed the sphere on the table. It was a perfect fit. Soon, the stone below them moved and the doors to Blackreach were revealed. “Are you ready?” Schlatt asked her, seeing the worry was over the girl.

“I was ready when I killed the Empire, so I’m ready now,” She admitted. Finally, admitted. Schlatt looked at her, hearing whispers on the streets about the Empire’s murder. He couldn’t question her, but he desperately wanted to ask. Y/N could scene him, his curiosity. She usually killed people who were curious about her, but… Schlatt could get away with it. “I can scene you have questions,” Y/N finally spoke before she opened the door.

“I’ll save them for later,” He answered. “For now, we have more important things to focus on,” Schlatt smiled as both Y/N and Schlatt pushed open the heavily dwarven door, opening a world that they thought they would never see.

Everything was filtered blue, dark, and something you’d see in a skooma hallucination. It was breathtaking.

“My God,” Schlatt said, his mouth agape, looking around the area.

“Be careful, Falmer and traps are about, best to be as quiet as we can and go to wear the Elder Scroll is locked away. Then we can find Tubbo,” Y/N stated, pulling out her sword, unsure what they will run into. Schlatt followed foot, getting his weapon drawn.

Y/N and Schlatt fought some Falmer, booking it to the bridge. Y/N couldn’t stop to look around, despite her wanting to, perhaps another time, if she wasn’t dead by then. Y/N stopped before the door. Her heart was pounding. Schlatt looked at Y/N, seeing her hesitation and worry.

“So this is it,” Y/N spoke softly. “If he is here, I haven’t seen him since he was a baby… I… I hope he knows who I am,” Y/N sighed closing her eyes for a second to think. Schlatt placed his large hand on her back, the touch was unknown to her but she didn’t mind it. It was nice. It made him think of who she would be if she didn’t join the Dark Brotherhood, after she fled with her brother, maybe she’s a hero, or an adventure, training her brother to be brave. Maybe she’d allow herself to fall in love with someone. As she opened her eyes again, she looked at Schlatt. “Do you ever think your life would be different if you didn’t go down the path you went?” Y/N asked. Schlatt looked at her, knowing that she was asking the question about herself. Y/N snapped out of her disaillounisons. “It doesn’t matter, never mind that. We need to go,” Y/N sternly said as she pushed the door, Schlatt helping her.

As they pushed the door, it finally budged. Y/N entered first, going throw a dissolved living quarter. “It looks like someone has been living here,” Schlatt whispered. Y/N looked around for any signs of Tubbo, going to a cooking station. Y/N put her hand up to it.

“It’s still warm, and it looks like someone just got cooking. We still need to lay low, who knows what Wilbur and Techno got us into… Remember what I said,” Y/N looked up at Schlatt who scrunched his eyebrows together, but soon remembered the conversation on the roads of Skyrim.

“Are you serious?” He asked.

“Serious than I’ll ever be. Do you promise?” Y/N asked. Schlatt’s eyes dodged around before he got an idea. He grabbed his dagger and cut his hand with it, his blood dripping down his hand. Usually, this didn’t surprise Y/N, but her seeing the Bruley ram do this action was rather left field for her. Schlatt put out his bloody palm for Y/N. Y/N looked deep into Schlatt's eyes before she grabbed his dagger from him, doing the same action. It stung, and she flenched, something she wouldn’t do. Schlatt’s blood dripped on the stone below him and soon followed Y/N’s blood. Y/N shook Schlatt's bloody hand.

“I promise,” Schlatt told her, with the most serious tone he could have. A blood oath. The two were now bonded for life.

A blood oath couldn’t be broken. Schlatt now had to kill Y/N if Wilbur and Techno lied to her and he would take in Tubbo as his own. He knew it was serious, but it was the least he could do. It was a 50/50 situation. If they didn’t betray her, he'd know he’d have a friend for life. Bonded by blood. Bonded by their sins.

“You have a companion for the rest of your life, or until someone kills us for what we have done,” Y/N chuckled as she saw an old rag. As she grabbed it, she ripped it in half. She wrapped Schlatt’s blood-soaked hand with it before she did the same with hers, struggling with it, so Schlatt helped her. Schlatt looked down, it looked like he was staring at her chest, but he looked at her Amulet of Mara, how it shines in the dull light. Y/N took notice. “My eyes are up to her, meathead,” She smiled. Schlatt got embarrassed.

“I- I was just looking at that Amulet. Why do you wear it?” He asked her.

“I’m blessed by the Night Mother as well as Mara. An assassin wants love too,” She smiled. “You also had questions about the Empire? Ask them to know before we entire further in this place,” She spoke.

“So you really killed him? I heard rumors, but,” Schlatt tried to convey his words.

“And I killed the guy who asked me to kill the Empire. It was unlike any other contact… I didn’t want to kill him… I thought about leaving my life behind. I just might,” Y/N told him. “You’re the first person I admitted that to,” Y/N scoffed. “Let’s not dwell on this,” Y/N said as she started to walk before Schlatt grabbed her arm.

“No, let’s dwell. You asked me before we got inside if our lives would be different if we changed our paths… For me, being a thief was the only way to have a family after coming here. However, I wish sometimes it was just that, no stealing, none of them don’t trust the ram bullshit I get… just a group of people I call my family. I like money, I like coin, that’s why I do it. I like the thrill. Killing is your thrill,” Schlatt gave her a half-smile, she just rolled her eyes.

“Killing is my thrill, but killing is more permanent than stealing,” She sternly told him. He never thought about it that way. “Maybe I would be married by now. No kids. I don’t like kids, besides my brother. Maybe a house I earned myself… maybe I would have been a noble,” Y/N fantasies.

“It’s never too late, maybe I could marry ya’,” Schlatt flirted. Y/N’s cheeks turned rosy.

“You are a charmer, Schlatt,” She smiled. “Maybe I’ll let yea… we should go, don’t get your hopes up, cause you’re either marrying me or killing me,” Y/N reminded. Schlatt frowned. Y/N looked down, seeing their blood on the floor. “Let’s see what awaits us,” Y/N stated, smiling to help lighten the mood.

Y/N lead them, as she did this entire trip, but she was slow and cautious, so good reason. Schlatt just followed her movements, did everything she did. He didn’t dare to think to move differently than her. He was as quiet as a skeever and tried to be as small as one too, but, he failed as he was a 6 foot 6 ram hybrid and didn’t know the first thing in making himself look small. Ironic, since he was amazing at stealing and pickpocketing. He wondered why people never notice their gems missing whenever he was around.

Y/N and Schlatt heard voices. A small voice and two rather larger voices. The larger voices belonged to Wilbur and Techno. You could recognize their voices from anywhere. Techno was monotone, but you could never get bored from listening to it. Wilbur on the other hand was rather upbeat in tone, charming. Just that voice alone could get any woman in bed with him. And after kill her. They spoke rather low as if they knew Schlatt and Y/N were there.

Y/N got a glimpse of Wilbur and her stomach dropped. He already has Ebony Mail. Schlatt looked at her, her skin turned pale, like she saw a ghost. She knew Wilbur and Techno has already betrayed her.

“We kill them,” Y/N whispered. “I was a fool for believing him,” She kicked herself, her eyes watering. “Such a fool!” She cried out. “We kill them and… I die.”

“No! You can’t die. We kill them and… and you join me in the Guide, leave the Brotherhood,” Schlatt suggested in rather a panic. She looked at him.

“I- I don’t know,” She looked down at Schlatt’s boots. “Get your weapons ready big guy, we have a pig and a Nord to slaughter,” She smirked, finally the idea of blood, enthused her. Y/N and Schlatt got their weapons ready as they went up.

“Looks like they made it,” Techno said, as Wilbur turned to see Schlatt and Y/N. Y/N saw a boy, with hazel hair in a green shirt. Tubbo. Her eyes glazed with tears at the near sight of her baby brother.

“Tubbo,” Y/N said, Tubbo smiled at her, knowing who she was.

“You’re from the letters, you’re the one who sent me that dagger,” Tubbo smiled, something so pure and joyful, something Y/N lost a long time ago.

“Sorry to interrupt your reunion, but… I think we all know what happens next,” Wilbur said.

“You… you have Ebony Mail… And… Tubbo,” Y/N could barely get her words out.

“Isn’t that just lovely my dear? The assassins dream,” He smiled. “Techno and I will go down in history. Isn’t that right Techno?” He asked him as Y/N grabbed ahold of Y/N, placing a cold blade to her neck. Schlatt rushed over to her to fight the pig, but Wilbur froze him with a bit of magic he learned from a mage he meet.

“What are you doing, Mr. Wilbur?” Tubbo asked, so innocently. Wilbur turned around and smiled at him. Wilbur rustled his hair and gave the boy a stuffed bee that was on the table next to him.

“Don’t worry kiddo, we’re just talking,” He smiled. Tubbo looked at the bee and up at Wilbur and then Techno holding his sister hostage. He was scared, confused even. He was more than scared. He wanted to go home to the farm and play with the goats and talk with the farmer about wheat like he always did. The farmer was like a father to him. Tubbo started to cry, the type of crying that was heartwrenching, even for the cruelest of bastards.

“I want my dada and mama!” He cried out, crying into the plushy. Y/N was struggling. She needed to do everything she could for that kid. He was just that, a kid. He didn’t have to turn out like her.

“Wilbur,” Y/N choked on her words. “He’s just a kid. A boy. Let him go. Let him be a kid,” She cried out.

“He’s what Boethiah wants. He’s the chosen one,” Wilbur began. “Wilbur… please,” She begged. She was never so valuable in her life. She could see how scared Tubbo was, how all he wanted was home. Y/N looked over at Schlatt, frozen in place. If she could kill an army of men, she could kill those who. But how? Who knows what they do to you, or Schlatt, or let alone Tubbo. She closed her eyes for a moment, to think

“To save the child, you must ask the burning question, heat causes the pig to be weak,”

Y/N opened her eyes and knew what she had to do, something that either of them wouldn’t see coming, and to save both Tubbo and Schlatt. Wilbur knew how to freeze, but Y/N knew how to burn. If she tried to move to get her weapons, she knew it would be over, but, magic coming from one's hand would be the last thing that the two would see her use. She closed her fist shut, squeezing her knuckles till they went white.

“Techno, I think we’ll get everything we wish for,” Wilbur laughed. Techno gave him a small smirk, so happy at himself. Y/N’s fist burned, but she had to deal with the pain. Y/N quickly moved her hand onto Techno’s neck, burning it. He squealed like a pig, causing him to let go of Y/N. She pulled out her weapon and slashed Techno’s throat, causing him to bleed out. Wilbur’s reaction was delayed as she was fast.

“Tubbo close your eyes!” Y/N yelled as Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut and placed the plush over his face. Wilbur charged at Y/N with his weapon, aiming his frozen spell at her, but she dodged it, ducking. Y/N swung her sword at Wilbur’s ankles, causing him to fall to the ground. Y/N used her charged up flames onto Schlatt who was still frozen. Y/N placed her sword’s blade in the face of Wilbur, causing him to stay still. “Seems like the pig is dead. But killing you wouldn’t be that fun to me,” Y/N told Wilbur. “Maybe we pay Nazir a visit, he’ll have a better idea on what to do with you,” Y/N smirked, her twisted mind going places that no one would ever go to.

Schlatt let out a giant gasp as he fell to the ground, catching his breath. “I’m. So. Cold,” Schlatt spat out.

“Schlatt, take Tubbo out the room please,” Y/N demanded as Schlatt rushed up to the small child.

“Tubbo?” Schlatt asked, kneeling down to the child who pulled down the plush over his face, making eye contact with the ram. Schlatt noticed something peculiar about the boy. Horns. They were tiny, something Y/N didn’t see. Tubbo saw him staring at his horns, he placed his tiny hand on his head.

“Mama said I’m a hybrid,” Tubbo shyly and quietly told Schlatt. “Mama said that other kids might bully me for my horns, Papa said that’s what makes me, me,” He said. Schlatt smiled, feeling a connection with the boy.

“Schlatt!” Y/N yelled. “Take him out of the room!” She cried out.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Schlatt said, picking up the small boy. Tubbo wrapped his arms around the thief, looking back at Y/N. Schlatt was cold, but having Tubbo warmed him. He couldn’t explain why Tubbo made him feel like a father. He never wanted to be one. This is Y/N’s brother after all.

“What are they going to do with each other?” Tubbo asked Schlatt, taking the child into the room where Y/N and he did their blood oath.

“I don’t know kiddo, but you’re safe with me,” Schlatt sat down with Tubbo, cradling the child. The two could hear the clashing of steel, screaming, cursing. Schlatt covered Tubbo’s ears from the noise. Schlatt’s breathing git heavy, hearing everything. A tear fell down his cheeks, as he could hear Wilbur’s last battle cry and… Y/N’s as well.

Schlatt put down the child, sitting him down. “Stay here kiddo, I’ll be right back,” Schlatt smiled. Tubbo nodded, playing with the plush. Schlatt rushed up to the top to see the bodies of Wilbur and Techno… but, not Y/N. Schlatt's eyes saw a trail of blood. He followed it, leading to Y/N leaning up against the table that Tubbo was. Her hand on her slash wounds, her covered in blood.

“Schlatt,” She began. “Everything I have is yours and Tubbo’s. My home, my wealth… Please, take care of Tubbo. He’s one of your kind, I know, he’s special, he needs to be strong and be protected… please, take this,” Y/N gave Schlatt her Amulet of Mara. “I’d marry you if I had a chance,” She smiled. “Thank you, for everything,” Y/N spat out before the last bit of her life in her eyes went away. Schlatt fell to his knees.

“Y/N! Y/N no you can’t do this!” Schlatt cried out, holding onto his newfound friend, getting blood all over him.

“Schlatt?” A small voice called out. “Where is my sister?” Schlatt turned around, covered in blood and tears to see Tubbo. Tubbo could see in Schlatt’s eyes. But he didn’t know how to tell the boy that she was gone. Schlatt was scared of Y/N, yes, but on this small trip, he was excited to be her friend. They were truly two pieces of the same puzzle.

“Tubbo, she’s gone… I’m sorry,” Schlatt cried out, resting his head onto Y/N’s lifeless body.

“Who is going to take care of me? Of us?” He asked the ram. Schlatt got up, knowing he couldn’t dwell on the loss of a friend. He walked up to the oy and picked it up. Tubbo looked at Schlatt.

“I have a family who will take care of us, some people your sister loved, that I love. I have a home we can live in, your sister had a home that we can live in too, in Solitude. I’ll keep you safe,” Schlatt promised. “I promise you that I’ll teach you everything I know,” Schlatt stated.

“Is this what my sister wanted?” Tubbo asked.

“Yes, I promised her if she didn’t survive that I’d take care of you,” He smiled.

“Okay. Can we leave?” Tubbo asked as he let out a yawn. Schlatt smiled at his small action.

“Of course, we’ll get you back to Riften, that’s where my family is,” Schlatt told Tubbo who was falling asleep on the bruley ram man. Schlatt promised Y/N. And so he will keep that promise.

***

The way home for Schlatt was long, tried. He wished Y/N wasn’t dead, he’d wish he could have begun a friendship that would last a lifetime, but it lasted her lifetime. Tubbo remained asleep on Schlatt. He took Shawdomere home, as they could scene the loss of Y/N. Schlatt left Shawdomere at the stables and walked into Riften. The sun was rising.

Schlatt walked into Honeyside. Sitting on the chair. Tubbo was waking up. Schlatt placed his bee plush on the table. “Huh?” Tubbo rubbed his eyes and looked around.

“You’re home,” Schlatt smiled. This was the start of something Schlatt never expected. He would do anything for him now, as Y/N would have done for both Schlatt and Tubbo.

[actuallykiwi]

Inner Dragon Chapter 4: The Dragonstone

(One of the longer chapters, little bookmarks placed for your convenience if you need them!)

The Bannered Mare was especially busy at this time of night. Merchants, farmers, and nobles alike all came in for their nightly mugs of warm mead and even warmer temperatures by the fire. Annie and her new traveling companion were enjoying their own meal in the corner of the room, listening to the bard’s version of Ragnar the Red and watching the patrons drunkenly sing along. 

“So you’re just doing this as a favor to the Jarl? What if they still can’t locate your brother?” Kaidan inquired of her over his mead. “Well, then I guess it’s off to the next town, which I’m guessing would be Solitude. That is the Imperial capitol of Skyrim, after all. It would be where the surviving soldiers would report.” She thought aloud. He nodded in agreement and took a swig of his drink. 

There was a moment’s pause where everyone applauded the bard Mikael’s performance, and then went about their business. Annie politely clapped and then looked across the table at Kaidan. “So... What exactly happened with the Thalmor?” He cleared his throat as he finished his mead. “Aye, guess I owe you that much.” He thought for a moment. “I’d been trying to find a way to cross the border into Pale Pass. Ever since Helgen, it’s been near impossible to get into Cyrodiil without a stack of papers for the Empire to keep track of you.” She scoffed, “Yep, we love our lists...” 

“In the meantime, I’d been picking up bounty contracts to keep some coin in my pocket. Must have drawn too much attention to myself. I’d been camping by the lake when they ambushed me. It seems the Thalmor don’t need much evidence to bring in a suspect.” He spat the last few words out. “They took one look at that sword, and decided I’d be a good target for interrogation. Then they dragged me off to that prison.” Annie looked at him with concern in her eyes. “You must’ve been scared...”

Kaidan chuckled. “Brynjar used to say, ‘If you’re not a little afraid, you’re not understanding the situation.’ Fear I can handle easily enough...” He paused, and his expression darkened. “...But there was a moment or two where I thought it might really be the end for me. The Thalmor would have never let me go, no matter what I told them. You’ve faced down mortality too... Perhaps you know the feeling?” 

She thought quietly for a moment. “Honestly, not until recently... When the dragon attacked Helgen, and I was separated from Alec, I was terrified that something was going to happen to him, or to me. ‘Cause y’know, when the sky opens up and starts raining fire, and a big black dragon is literally grabbing people from the ground, it’s a little terrifying, huh?” She chuckled nervously. Kaidan gave her a quizzical look at her change in tone. She cleared her throat. “But... yeah, I know what it’s like to be scared. But when that fear comes, you just have to fight through it. Keep a clear head and do what you can.” 

He nodded. “Good advice.” He raised his mug to her and took a swig. “The Thalmor will come after you again, you know. They’re persistent.” She told him. He set his mug down with a heavy sigh and glanced at the door. “Probably. And I’ll be ready for them. Live and learn, right?” She grinned. “Right. And now you’ve got a little backup for next time!” She lifted her arm and patted her muscles proudly. He snorted, “Little is right, pipsqueak.” 

“Wha- hey!” She threw a small piece of bread at him, and they both laughed. After a while, the two finished their meal and headed off to their room for the night. 

Annie tossed and turned in her bed. Something felt off to her, but she couldn’t explain it. It was almost like a sense of dread, a looming storm cloud over her head that had yet to pour the rain. She turned on her side to face Kaidan on the other side of the room. “Psstt, Kaidan. Are you awake?” 

Kaidan was on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Suppose I’m still on edge, thinking they tracked me in here.” She glanced at the door. “I don’t think they will. The guy’s head is kinda on the floor...” He laughed softly, “Aye, I suppose that’s true. We should be safe for now. Let’s just get some sleep.” With that, he turned his back to her and was soon snoring peacefully. 

She sighed and shifted to her back, gazing at the wooden beams on the ceiling. Maybe it was her missing her brother, or being worried about him, or the fact that something was shifting in the air in Skyrim. Rumors of dragons returning flooded the streets, and she probably wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen one for herself, up way too close for comfort. But this pit in her stomach was strong. Whatever it was, it was like she said before; whatever happens, just fight through it, and do what you can. 

With a final affirmation to be brave to herself, she finally fell asleep.

********************

The sun glinted blindingly on the snow that had fallen overnight. It was an especially cold day in the Whiterun Plains, but still the sun persisted on melting away the ice, allowing some semblance of warmth in its rays. Annie and Kaidan bundled their cloaks to themselves tightly as they headed back toward Riverwood. The snow had frozen the river, but the cold was doing nothing to stop the townsfolk from their daily lives. The lumberjack still ran, the blacksmith hammered away, and though slightly slower, the guards stayed ever vigilant. Annie was happy to see that Irileth had followed through on her promise to send more troops, as more guards patrolled the street than she had last seen.

“According to Farengar, Bleak Falls Barrow isn’t far from here. Should we ask someone?” Annie thought aloud. “Maybe we can ask the shopkeep. Might wanna pick up a few more supplies, too. Couldn’t hurt.” Kaidan agreed, and lead her to a shop in the heart of town. 

“I said no! No theatrics, no thief chasing!” “Well then, what are you going to do about it?” “We are done talking about this!” The duo was greeted by shouting as they opened the door. A frustrated looking woman was stomping away from the counter where a man had his face in his hand. He glanced up and flushed. “Oh, a customer! Sorry you had to hear that...” He cleared his throat “I don’t know what you overheard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open for business.” 

Annie gave him a puzzled look. “Did something happen?” The man’s face went bashful. “Uh, we uh, we did have a bit of a break-in... Thieves didn’t take much, but they made off with my prized piece: an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon’s claw.” She glanced up at Kaidan who just eyed her coolly. “We could help you get it back, if you want?” She offered.

 “Really? I’ve got some coin coming in from the last shipment, it’s yours if you bring the claw back.” “Oh, no, you really don’t-” 

“We’re in.” Kaidan chimed. She nudged him reproachfully. “What? Man’s gotta eat.” He grinned. “Where can we find these thieves?” “Holed up in Bleak Falls Barrow. Don’t know why they hang around a crypt like that, ain’t none of my business.” Annie and Kaidan looked at each other. “Well, what luck! That’s where we’re heading!” 

“I can show you how to get there, if you’d like!” The woman from earlier stepped back into the room with a hopeful smile. “No, Camila, you’re not going anywhere near there!” She rolled her eyes at the man behind the counter. “I’ll just take them to the edge of town, Lucan, calm down. Now, follow me.” She tilted her heads at them and led them back outside. 

“You’ll have to forgive my brother and I’s bickering, he is so overprotective.” Camila complained as they strode back down the street. “I totally understand. Mine is too.” Annie smiled sadly. Her heart ached a little at how much she was worrying about Alec. 

They reached a bridge a little north of the town entrance. “Now just head up the mountain and there should be a path to the south that will take you right to the barrow. But be careful, those dirty thieves and lowlifes don’t fight fair.” Camila warned them. Kaidan chuckled, “Neither do I, then.” He stalked on ahead, shortly followed by Annie after she thanked their guide. 

A steady brisk breeze had started as they headed along the path that Camila had pointed them to, winding up the southern face of the mountain. It picked up as they climbed higher, snow beginning to whisper along the stone. Eventually, they reached a crumbling tower where the path took a sharp turn to the right. Outside, two bandits were lazily patrolling, until one of them spotted the pair. He drew his sword and sneered at them. “That’s close enough. You wanna keep all your limbs, you turn right back around right now.” 

Kaidan coolly took a breath and drew his, not stopping. “And if you wanna keep yours, you’ll let us pass.” The bandit laughed. “Oh, I’m gonna love counting out your coin!” The bandit charged him, and before Annie could stop him, Kaidan was lunging, too. And she swore she saw him smile as he shouted, “My blade is thirsting for blood!” 

Kaidan made short work of his attacker, then dove easily to the side as an arrow from the second bandit swished past him. Annie sighed and placed herself between them, shooting lightning at their other foe, who went flying back into the tower. Gods, she hated shooting people. Kaidan looked back at her with an almost shocked expression. She almost glared back at him. “You really woke up and chose violence this morning, didn’t you?” 

“Excuse you, but he drew his blade first.” He retorted. “Yeah, but you seemed all too happy to return the favor.” She grimaced as she glanced down at the crimson snow surrounding the dead bandit, then began back on their path without another word. 

***************************

It was a short walk to the Barrow from the tower. The light flurry had now turned into a harsh snowfall. Annie couldn’t help but stare in awe at the sheer size of the Barrow. Towering stone arches and pillars paved the path to the even larger stone crypt half-buried in snow. The wind whistled through and around the landscape as they shielded themselves from the cold and made their way to the stone stairway leading up to the entrance. And a group of bandits were waiting to give them a warm welcome. 

The first sign was an arrow that bounced off the stair right in front of Annie, causing her to jump. “We’ve got company!” Kaidan already had his sword out of its sheath and was storming up the stairs, meeting two bandits blade-to-blade. Annie dove to the side as more arrows clanged on the stairs. She perched herself on the wall, trying to see through the snow where the arrows were coming from. She found her target off in the distance, perched on a ledge. After checking on Kaidan, who was having way too much fun pummeling the thugs, she dashed past them and shot her sparks at the archer, who fell shaking onto the ground below. As she made her way towards the entrance of the Barrow, Kaidan joined her. He had taken down every other bandit that was here, as evidenced by the bodies that now lay strewn about the stone. He was almost laughing to himself until he saw her expression as she tunnel-visioned her way to the large stone door. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She shook her head, “Just... don’t worry about it.” He was about to pry further, but just shrugged and helped her push the doors open.

The great stone doors gave way with a loud grinding groan. The cold hissed inside, bringing flurries in with it as they turned to shove it closed with a loud boom! “Who was that? Think the cold is getting to the others?” “Probably, sounds like the wind is doing a number on them.” “Eh, let ‘em freeze. Once Arvel uses that golden claw thing and finds the treasure here, we’ll get a bigger cut.” Two voices echoed from down the large entrance room, where a welcoming-looking fire flickered its glow along the walls. Annie whispered to Kaidan, “Well, we know the claw is here at least. Wanna try a more peaceful route with these guys?” Kaidan scoffed. “Annie, bandits don’t do ‘peace’. Not unless they get gold out of it.” She grabbed his arm before he could lift his sword again. “Just... try?” 

He eyed her for a second, then sighed. “Fine. But when they start shouting about counting our coin, heads are rolling.” He trudged from the door, a pleased Annie trailing behind him. But the pleased feeling didn’t last long. As soon as the bandits realized they weren’t their comrades, they attacked, and Kaidan had to once again clear them out. 

Once they were down, Annie sighed. “Something’s bothering you.” Kaidan noted as he cleaned and sheathed his sword. She looked up at him, then worry filled her eyes. “You’re hurt.” “Huh?” He looked down and noticed a gash on his arm. “Aye, that I am. But you didn’t ans-” She grabbed his arm and held her hand over the gash. With a deep breath, she summoned her healing, and a warm golden glow surrounded them with ribbons of light passing through. A gentle warmth spread through his arm as the wound closed, and when she looked up at him, he was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t figure out. “What?” She asked as the glow slowly faded. “I... thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him briefly before heading down the stairs into the crypt, a curious Kaidan poking at his arm behind her.

A short walk down some decrepit hallways filled with empty urns and chests told them that the bandits had already ransacked this place. They knew they were bound to run into more, and sure enough, they came across a lone bandit standing in possibly a storage room, filled with various miscellaneous loot. Kaidan reached for his sword, but this time Annie blocked him. “Wait,” she gestured at the bandit. His back was to them, and he was approaching a lever in the middle of the room. He pushed it forward, and before it had even clicked into place, arrows rained into him from somewhere in the walls, tainted with a nasty green bile. The bandit fell to the floor convulsing, and then was still. “Poison,” Kaidan thought out loud as they carefully approached the corpse. “Nasty way to go. I know the lever triggered the trap, but why?”

Annie surveyed the room. She noted three animal runes carved in random places along the corners of the room, and to their left, three pillars with similar creatures. “It’s a puzzle. These go in a specific order...” She approached the pillars and tested her theory, turning the first one around. “Yep, these spin. So if we follow the pattern on the walls...” She pointed at the animal rune right above her, then followed the others, “it should be... Snake, snake, whale?” After she spun them, she cautiously approached the lever. “Be ready to run, just in case.” 

Kaidan crouched low at the ready, and Annie did the same with healing summoned in her hand, and then pushed the lever. Both of them dove for the opposite door, but the grinding of the gate lifting told them they were clear. “Phew! I’m glad that worked!” Annie laughed with relief and trotted onwards. “Nicely done. Thanks for not getting us poisoned,” Kaidan said. “All in a day’s work!” She grinned widely, which caused him to chuckle. “Save people with ancient Nordic puzzles in old prehistoric ruins all the time, eh?” She snorted, “Oh yeah, it’s become quite a hobby-” 

“Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” 

A voice called from further down the way. Annie and Kaidan exchanged a glance before running towards them. They came to a doorway that was completely blocked by a thick webbing, and Annie froze. “That’s... that’s spider webbing. Ohhh, I’ve heard about Skyrim’s Frostbite Spiders but I secretly prayed that I would never have to see one and now-” she gulped and took a shaky breath, “... there’s one here, isn’t there?” Kaidan couldn’t help but snicker and began hacking at the webbing. “Stay behind me then, little chicken. I’ll take care of it.” 

“Hey, everyone has their feaaaAAHHH!!!!” She screamed as they entered the room, and a Giant Frostbite Spider slid down from the ceiling. “Ahh! Kill it! Kill it!” The origin of the voice yelled from the other side of the room, but the massive foe was blocking the way. Kaidan began confronting it while Annie kept her distance and blasted bolts at it. After a few minutes of dodging poisonous spit and massive spiky legs, he finally thrust his blade through the face of the spider, and with a sickening gurgle, it collapsed. He pulled it out, panting with a sigh of relief, and turned to see his partner breathing just as heavily. “You good there?” 

Annie laughed dryly as she caught her breath. “Yeah, just... used a lot of magicka. I’m good!” She gave a weak thumbs up and Kaidan had to chuckle at how pale she had become. “Hey! Over here!” Now the voice from before called out, and as they approached, they noticed it was a dark elf strung up in the webs. “Cut me down from here! I know where the treasure is, up ahead!” He begged. “No sudden moves, understood?” Kaidan prompted. The elf nodded, and he moved his sword from where he had it pointed at his chest and did as he asked. 

“It’s coming loose, I can feel it!” With a few more swings, the elf fell to the ground in a heap of web. Then he rose and scoffed at them. “You fools. Why should I share the treasure with anyone?” Then he turned and ran down the hallway he was blocking. “That must have been that Arvel guy the others mentioned. Whcih means he has the claw.” Kaidan muttered. Annie stepped forward, “At least he didn’t attack. Come on, maybe we can catch up to him.” 

The halls lead to dusty chambers with long-dead bodies stacked neatly in little alcoves along the walls. They had reached the burial crypts. Kaidan scowled. “Urgh, that cold stink of undeath.” “Undeath? You mean the draugr?” Annie asked, and he nodded. “Aye. I’m sure we’re bound to run into some here... And it looks like they ran into our friend.” 

As they rounded the corner, the elf’s body lie crumpled on the ground with a putrid draugr standing over it. Hearing them approach, the old dead turned to face them with a low gurgling growl. Before it had its axe raised, Kaidan dispatched it with a slash to the chest. The draugr barked as it fell to the ground, dead once more. Annie looked back at the dead elf, and something glinted and caught her eye. She leaned down to investigate, and came back up with a golden, gilded claw. “And there it is..” Kaidan approached her and studied it with her. “’An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon’s claw.’” She nodded and placed it in her pack. “Let’s keep moving. And watch your step, that’s a pressure plate that I’ll bet triggers that wall.” She pointed to a large moving gate covered in sharp spikes that indeed was pulled back, and ready to swing. “Huh. Surprised these things are still set. Then again, I’m sure it’s been centuries since someone’s been here.” Kaidan noted. Carefully avoiding the pressure plate, they pressed on. 

More draugr awaited them in the next few chambers. A swinging blade trap gave them pause, but Annie concocted a way to get past them by crawling low to the ground, only barely grazing their hair. A chamber filled with oil and lit lamps made an easy way to dispatch the draugr without attacking them directly, but they had to wait for the fire to die out. Eventually, they followed a stream that led to a waterfall, and after dispatching the frost troll that somehow made its way there and a tough draugr guarding a large door, they finally made their way into Bleak Falls Sanctum. 

**************************

This time, Kaidan took the lead crawling under the swinging blade trap. Once he pulled the chain on the other side, Annie crossed through, just as a sarcophagus nearby cracked open and a sleepy draugr arose. Two more made their way down the stairs at the other side of the chamber. While Kaidan dealt with the first, Annie shot sparks at the lanterns that hung in the center of the room, launching them at her pursuers. They exploded on impact, taking them both down. “I love these lanterns!” She exclaimed, smiling proudly to herself. He laughed and followed her up the stairs and further on. 

A short walkway lead to a large, intricately carved door. It was eerily quiet compared to the rest of the crypt. They approached the great door cautiously. It was blanketed in a thick coat of dust, like it hadn’t been opened in a very long time. Annie ran her hand over the animals that were carved into blank spots on three separate rows, down to a single round lock in the middle, with three holes etched in. “Wait... the claw! Didn’t it have those animals on it?” Kaidan asked. She dug the golden claw out of her pack and held it up to the door. “It’s a key! We just need to put in the right combination!” She studied the animals on the claw, then spun each of the rows until they matched the pattern on it. She then held the claw up to the center and gently placed it into the holes. “Be careful. These puzzles are more often locked to keep things in, not out.” Kaidan warned. She nodded, and carefully twisted the key. The whole door shuddered and the rings swung back into place. Dust showered down from the door, and with a few loud clicks and thuds, it slowly slid down with a loud grinding groan. 

She took a breath. “Well, we know why the claw is so valuable now. Ready to find out what’s in there?” “Hopefully the Dragonstone. But yeah, let’s do this.” He nodded and stepped past the door. 

A short stairway lead into a large, echoing chamber with light pouring in from the ceiling. Bats fluttered above as they approached a stream flowing from two waterfalls on either side of the cavern. A stone bridge lead up to a large multi-level stone platform with a small bookcase, a sarcophagus, and a chest. Behind all of this was a large, curved stone wall with an odd, ancient language inscribed in it, and a stone dragon head resting on top. For some reason, Annie’s eyes landed and stayed on this wall, and she found herself drawn to it. “Annie? What are you doing?” Kaidan asked. She didn’t seem to hear him, and continued approaching the wall. One of the words was glowing, bright and beckoning. She had never seen this language and yet, it felt so familiar. The edges of her vision blurred until the word was all she could see. “Annie?” She didn’t know this language. But there was a force that stirred inside her, filling her every muscle. Yes, that was it. 

Force. “FUS”

The word resonated in her until it all faded away, and she was left with a slight rush of adrenaline, and a little woozy. “You alright?” Kaidan stepped into her field of vision, and she focused back in. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. But I don’t know what-” A loud CRACK interrupted her. They both whirled around to the sarcophagus, where a tall, heavily armored draugr was dragging itself onto the stone. Kaidan yanked his sword from his sheath as the monster turned to face them, towering over them. Kaidan let out a battle cry and lunged, but the draugr took in a short breath, and Shouted. It was in a language she had never heard, possibly the same from the wall, but taken physical form. The sheer force of its cry launched them both back a few feet, tumbling to the ground. It shuffled towards them, but Kaidan was quick to stagger back to his feet and parry the draugr’s first swing. Annie shook herself out of it, and stood to help him. He was still shaking it off himself, but he stood his ground against it as their swords’ clangs echoed around the cavern. She waited for an opening, then struck her lightning at the beast. It paused just long enough for him to land a blow. He cried out again and landed swings in rapid succession. Finally with a sickening crunch, he drove his sword into the center of the draugr. Kaidan locked his eyes with its glowing blue ones, until the glow faded and it fell to the ground. 

He panted and fell to one knee. Annie rushed over to him and immediately began healing where the draugr had landed hits of its own. “Thanks,” Kaidan muttered. “That may have been the toughest draugr I’ve ever faced. Some kind of Death Overlord or something.” “Ah, so you made a hobby of this kind of thing?” She asked. “I did tell you I started taking up bounties. A few included things like this, but nothing this major.” He explained, then looked back at his now-dead foe before him. “Now , what’s this...” He leaned forward and picked up a plaque that was sticking out of the back of the draugr’s armor. “I do believe we have found our elusive Dragonstone, Miss Annie.” 

Annie took the stone from his outstretched hand and smiled. “Farengar wasn’t lying when he said it might be interred in the main chamber. But he didn’t mention this thing guarding it.” She said. “Well that would’ve deterred you away, now wouldn’t it?” He teased. “Heh, fair enough.” 

Kaidan began rummaging through the chest, taking anything of value. “I wonder what Farengar plans to cipher from this Dragonstone...” he wondered. Annie took to studying the wall, running her hand along the word that was glowing before. Force... “So... What happened before? When you looked at that word wall, it was as if you fell into a trance.” Kaidan was now standing right behind her. “Wait, you didn’t see the light from the runes? Or hear anything?” She turned to face him. 

“Uh, no? All I know about these walls is that they’re usually some sort of memorial, never heard about them being magic. But it’s clearly had an affect on you... Are you feeling alright?” He looked at her with concern in his eyes. She searched for the words. “It felt like... one of the words was reaching out to me, and the stone was speaking...” He thought for a minute. “Perhaps some magical way of communicating? It’s the purpose of these memorials to deliver messages, after all. Farengar might know more.” She nodded. “Yeah. I think I’ll be okay, I just don’t know how to explain what I saw...” 

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, there’s no pressure to. I’d rather you take it easy than let some old magic scramble your brains.” She chuckled. “Aww, you do care!” He rolled his eyes but couldn’t conceal his smirk. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head. Ready to get out of here?” 

She nodded vigorously. “Please. I’m gonna take like three baths to get all this dust off of me.” At that, he laughed. After quickly scouring the cavern for any more loot they might find and discovering a hidden exit out of the cave, Annie made sure she had the Dragonstone securely in her pack, and the two emerged from the Barrows into the frigid Skyrim night.

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[ryuichifoxe]

I lost a full day of productivity yesterday when a file containing button designs corrupted, so I'm gonna talk about Skyrim and updated Steffan lore under the cut. It's a little lengthy.

The Cornelius family is an incredibly wealthy, politically influential family in Cyrodiil City. A relatively unknown family pre-dating (my) Hero of Kvatch, Cassia, but her involvement during the Oblivion Crisis earned them prestige. In the years since, they've built a reputation within the Imperial Legionnaires. Steffan as born 8 and 11 years after Gallus and Cassian respectfully. So, by the time he was old enough to really start developing relationships with his brothers, Cassian was already enlisted. Their relationship is the most strained, with Cas treating him more like a little soldier than a brother. Being a Legate, Cassian is always on the go, posted wherever he's needed most. Gallus is the mediator, the glue and heart that keeps everyone together. He's a respectable member of the Legion and rarely leaves Cyrodiil, preferring to stay and take care of the family. Being the youngest of three boys, Stef was pushed to become a politician rather than serving in the Legion. He hated it. He’d never have learned about the Dark Brotherhood so young otherwise though, browsing through the piles of books. It was a morbid curiosity that someone should’ve curbed but didn’t. Dealing with political rivals with violence? Fascinating~ He wasn’t a violent child, death and war tactics were simply…interesting.

He did accidentally kill a rival his age in the months leading up to Skyrim though. His family, rightfully, freaked the hell out and pulled all the strings they could to cover it up. Cassian suggested perhaps Steffan could avoid further trouble and shape up by joining the Legion after all, his parents agreed. But at this point in his life, Stef had little interest in playing soldier and was, frankly, tired of having no say in what direction his life should go.

Stef gunned it for the border and was arrested almost immediately by stealing a cloak and a horse from a Stormcloak encampment instead. Not that he knew they were Stormcloaks, he was just cold and lost all his provisions crossing over from Bruma.

Certain being an Imperial would guarantee his release, he wasn’t worried and annoyed the hell out of everyone on the ride to Helgen. Indignation followed, then fear, which might've amused Kaelion on some level?? Before I move on to the Civil War and how his family impacts this now, Steffan 100% took Aventus Aretino's contract hoping the Dark Brotherhood would find him. He wanted in and was overeager to prove himself. Stef let himself get very attached to everyone in the Brotherhood, seeing bits and pieces of the family he left behind in them. This is why Astrid's betrayal hit so hard. Now, I'm not saying I created Cassian as a way to get Steffan (and myself) to care about the Civil War portion of the game. Not denying it either though >_> I mostly wanted to flesh out his history. That said, Cassian is the reason General Tullius knows who Steffan is later on and why he pushes so hard for him to join the Legion. This does nothing to actually sway Stef’s opinion, he still assassinates his own Emperor and electrocutes Maro on the docks in broad daylight.

I imagine though, that Cassian makes an appearance during the peace talks. For a couple of reasons, 1) Cas wants to bring him back home and 2) Tullius hopes this will spin the talks in his favor with at least one dragonborn. Stef doesn't take the surprise well at all but bites his tongue until a neutral truce is arranged.

There's a lot of yelling between brothers once the room clears. How could you be so irresponsible? We only wanted what was best for you. Think of all the good being the fabled dragonborn could do for the empire and the family. No one would even care that you killed someone with such a title! Stef having absolutely none of it and hating being talked about like some sort of pawn.

They don't end on a good note but Cassian still wishes him luck in his fight. That he should write to Gallus, who took his loss the hardest out of everyone, if he survives.

[morgana-ren]

ah, maybe skyrim or even a DND setting? ☼

Shigaraki in Elder Scrolls and DND. Big fan of that.

Hmm… in Elder Scrolls, I imagine he’d probably run a group not dissimilar to the Mythic Dawn in Oblivion. Apocalyptic in nature, like the Thalmor, though the purpose isn’t to serve the whims of an Aedra or Daedra (though he definitely pays patronage to Sithis and some of the Daedra- likely Mehrunes Dagon or even Molag Ball if you’re feeling particularly malevolent.) Takes the misfits into his ragtag team but slowly builds his own empire, luring offshoot bandit clans, necromancers, all the dregs of society and unites them under his banner. People put off by political situations (disgruntled Dunmer, Argonians, even Nords angry at the empire etc.) Stokes the flames of their rage and slowly twists them to bend to his beliefs by wielding their own against them.

Probably a mage, if I had to guess. Nothing mirroring decay/death magic comes to mind immediately (barring mods) but likely favors destructive, painful spells as opposed to alteration. Utilizes a little bit of illusion to meet his ends. Carries a dagger on him just in case, and is not afraid to use it. Delves deep into forbidden magics and necromancy, if I had to guess. Anything to gain the edge on the enemy. 

Makes alliances with groups like the Dark Brotherhood by taking advantage of their corruption and weakness. Definitely has an in with the Thieves Guild. Eventually becomes such a serious threat that the Empire has to have a sit down about what they’re planning on doing about this because Skyrim is in turmoil enough already with everything going on, and the last thing they need is some blood thirsty warlord raising Oblivion. He’s damn good at utilizing the fractured state of the Empire to destroy it.

In DND, Gods, there’s so many options. It’s been ages since I’ve actually played, but I have a teeny bit of baseline knowledge that I can use here. 

I like to Imagine him as a tiefling- grand old horns, eerie, glowing red eyes. Chaotic Evil, naturally. Likely pays tribute to one of the Dead Three: Bhaal, Bane, and Myrkul. Maybe a.. Warlock? One of the classes that can bring about a very painful, flesh-rotting demise. 

Gets caught up in the destructive, apocalyptic schemes of either his Gods or one of his own making. Tragic backstory still, to be sure. Was taken under the wing of a very evil man, and learned very evil things from him. Carries that legacy with him wherever he roams. 

Total bastard but cares for his party- grows to care for them at least. Lets them raise the Hells to their heart’s content and kills anyone who tries to stop them. Scary smart, but still impudent and bratty at first until he grows into his role. Becomes a remarkably good talker- can deceive, persuade, and threaten like a motherfucker. Automatically intimidating. A lot of people surrender on sight. 

Takes what he wants when he wants it. Rushes headlong into violence at first but with experience, learns to be patient and cunning about it to maximize efficiency. Will still cause some gratuitous violence with a gleeful grin, however. A sought after ally of the evil-aligned. Happy to oblige, so long as you bend to his whims and not vice versa.

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society