The cold air, mingled with the smell of fresh petrichor were the first things I noticed as I stirred into consciousness.
Eyes that were clamped shut in agony of recent nightmares inched open, light pouring inside. The world seemed to be grey, echoing my misery, but as heavy eyelids lifted higher, colours blurred into being to reveal my surroundings.
The day was in its youngest hours, with a damp, heavy mist obscuring much of my vision. The road seemed to stretch for eternity. The only sign we were not alone was a faint sound of clopping hooves ahead.
I winced, pain from a heavy bruise on my cheek blossoming – a blow given by the very Imperial that sat, oh so smugly on that horse. By Talos, I wish I could use the very length of rope that bound my hands to throttle the bastard!
My imagination had already generated this little scenario and I mentally regarded it with approval.
The headache that pained me lessened considerably with that fantasy, allowing me to attempt to unlock the last hours of my memory. A bright light, probably from being smashed about the head. My horse, Vrangr, lying in a pool of his own blood. My friends…
'No! Raelyn! Idue!'
Their bodies, splayed on the earth danced into my mind and my last meal made its way up to my throat. Ignoring the pain from a cracked rib, I leaned over, expecting to throw up any second.
"What… Where am I?" I asked when the bile finally retreated. My voice was hoarse, forced through dry, bloody lips. I wet them quickly and repeated the question.
A Nord spoke in hushed, desperate tones. "We shouldn't be here, you and me! Damn these Stormcloaks. Empire was nice and relaxed before they came along. I could've been halfway to Hammerfell on that horse!"
I sighed, resigned to what was to be my fate. Carted off to die. "Who's that?" I questioned, tilting my head to a man, quite obviously noble, with a gag over his mouth.
"Watch your tongue," a soldier snapped. "He is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and True High King of Skyrim!"
The horse thief blanched white as the snowy mountains, eyes bulging. "But you're the leader of the rebellion! If they've captured you… Oh gods. Where are they taking us?"
'Chopping block, genius,' I mentally barked.
"I don't know where they're taking us," the soldier muttered. "But Sovngarde awaits. That, you can be sure of."
I don't know what amused me more, the thief's expression or the fact the horse had just taken a relatively large dump in the middle of the road. Five minutes later and I could still hear the carriage behind us swearing about the smell.
Suddenly, the horse slowed, the carriage grinding to a halt.
"Come on! Get out," shouted the driver, an Imperial officer. One at a time, grimly, we climbed out of the rotting hunk of wood they called a carriage. An axe glinted in the sunlight, blinding me as I stepped towards another Imperial with a scroll.
The man gazed at us.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!"
The noble slunk forwards, shoulders slumped.
"Ralof of Riverwood!"
The soldier followed.
"Lokir of Rorikstead!"
The horse thief was literally shaking. His eyes darted to the side as he tensed and licked his lips. I saw what was going to happen seconds before it did. He bolted, dancing from side to side in an attempt to avoid the razor sharp arrows before they pierced his body. But the archers' aim was true, and he skidded across the cold earth.
"Anyone else feel like running?" demanded a captain with anger, albeit a slight note of satisfaction. Mutely, we shook our heads as one.
"Give them their final rites," she growled impatiently, waving her hand at a Priestess, who immediately began a drone.
"Take mercy upon their souls… Redeem their–"
"For the love of Talos," interjected a Stormcloak. "Will you shut up?"
The Priestess sniffed. "As you wish."
Soldier walked towards executioner, placing his head on the block. I turned away, but wasn't able to stifle the sounds of cutting meat and the thud of a head falling into a wooden box.
"Next!" demanded the Captain.
I slowly dragged myself forward. After what seemed like eternity, I knelt at the block, gazing at the sky.
That was when I saw it.
Black wings in the gloom.
I dropped into a crouch, lockpick grasped firmly in my hand as I stole towards Madesi's wooden stall. A quick glance over my shoulder told me Brynjolf was still spinning his intricate tale about an enchanted pen that could make anyone it pointed at the owner's personal 'flying monkey.'
"Lads, lasses. This, is exactly what you need."
Rather, it was exactly what I needed. A distraction, so I could plant Madesi's expensive silver ring on Brand-Shei, a Dark Elf who owed the 'Organisation' some coin.
By the time I had crept to behind the little shop, my hands were drenched in sweat. What was I thinking? I wasn't a thief! I'd never stolen a thing in my life, except a strange-looking key for a shadowy buyer, and that was when I was in serious need of coin. Ever since, the shadows had burned me with fear, and sometimes actually burned me, leaving red marks where the dark tendrils had touched.
Well, it was too late now. Fumbling with the wooden pick, I inserted it with a flat knife into the lock, listening intently as I pushed the pins around. Snap. The pick splintered, shards of wood piercing my skin.
Quietly letting out a stream of curses, I reached for another. This time, the lock opened with a dull clunk, revealing a series of jewels, a pouch of money and…
Perfect.
Grasping it brutally, I ripped the ring away from the stand and put it on my index finger. Now, all I had to do was to locate the Dunmer.
There. My eyes narrowed, as I casually walked up behind him, took the ring from my pocket, and YES! Slipped it into his own. My fear turned into relief, quenched like flames dunked into a bucket of ice cold water.
Unable to contain a smile from breaking out, I bowed my head and nodded at Brynjolf.
"Lads and lasses, come and find me later to buy one. Best thing there is!"
A nod and a skip later, he was by my side.
"You did it, lad?" he whispered.
"I'm insulted you doubt me," I sniffed. "I could pickpocket a sack of money from even a thief."
Brynjolf smiled a shark's grin. "Could you really, now?"
In reply, I held up a small brown sack, tipping it upside down to reveal…
"Beans," he completed. "And I noticed straight away. You're awful, lad." Then, "What's that on your finger?"
My gaze held his. "Enchanted ring. For my magicka."
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a scream.
"My ring!" Madesi was wailing her heart out to a nearby guard. "It's gone! My Silver Ring!"
Brynjolf shoved me between my shoulder blades. "Get out of here lad. Meet me in the Ragged Flagon."
With that, he ducked down and weaved through the crowd.
"Halt!" shouted a guard as he barged his way through a couple of Argonians. "You have committed crime against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defence?"
"What?"
I was dumbfounded. How did they know? I left no traces! I was sure of that. Nobody had seen me, unless…
Glancing at the ring on my finger, realisation sunk in.
I had given Brand-Shei the wrong ring.
"Shit," I cursed, smacking myself in the forehead. "A hundred Septims says you look the other direction. Take it."
A greedy light filled the guard's eyes as he snatched the bag of money I withdrew from my armour pocket, along with the Silver Ring.
"Alright. I'll turn a blind eye this once, but don't expect it again!"
'Damn you, Nocturnal,' I mentally growled, resulting in a cold, cruel laugh reverberating around my head. Stupid, impudent Daedra.
Stomping to the city gates, I flung them open, wishing I hadn't been so stupid as to take up Brynjolf's offer, which had relieved me of my treasured ring. And I definitely was not going to the stupid Ratway again, having to hold my breath the entire time when I went to fetch Esbern. I had refused to go without Volsung's mask.
As I stepped into the familiar wild, Shadowmere turned his head to look at me concernedly.
"If everyone were like you, there wouldn't be a single problem in the world," I sighed. He snorted, nuzzling my hand, then stiffened.
His hot breath ceased, and his red eyes studied me in disbelief. Baring his tombstone teeth, he bit my bag.
"Guilty," I laughed, producing a juicy red apple, which was promptly plucked from my hand. "Come on, Shadowmere. Let's go home."
The very walls of Whiterun trembled with the unforgiving gale, the Khajiit caravans outside being reduced to mere blocks of wood and various goods.
The wooden confines of Breezehome were attacked by swirling gusts of wind, threatening to rip them apart. Lightning churned in the atmosphere, smothered with heavy clouds that collided with each other, flooding the night with torrential rain and thunder.
Skyrim's moons, Masser and Secunda were invisible in the darkness that writhed in the midnight sky like millions snakes, hissing and spitting.
A sudden shard of electricity arced down with a brilliant flash, jolting a Nord out of his deep deliberating.
'It must be Daedra,' I decided, flipping the finger to thinking and deducing. 'Either that, or it's just a really stubborn, really big hurricane.'
I had attempted Clear Skies, only to be rewarded by booming thunder, as if the storm was laughing at my attempts. A shiver went down my spine.
Banishing the memory, I sat back on a plush armchair, and propped my head on an arm. Ah, bliss. After weeks of sleeping in itchy bedrolls, and one painful night in chains, even a simple chair was heaven. I sank into the material, and allowed my eyes to close, my grasp on consciousness to weaken as I began to drift…
A cold wind caressed the back of my neck, igniting and feeding a slight spark of fear inside me. "Dovahkiin… Dragonborn…" murmured a dark, ominous voice from behind. I shivered, remaining still,then snap! The sound of teeth clashing together at my ear. Letting out a roar that would do a werewolf proud, I leapt into the fire I was warming my feet by.
Cursing, I hopped out, stamping my cloak repeatedly to quench the embers, jarred awake by the heat and smell of burning bear hide.
"Lydia?" I yelped. "By the Nine and Seventeen! Are you ever going to stop that?"
My Housecarl looked at me innocuously, hazel eyes wide with pure innocence as she stuffed a wooden fan into her bag.
"Nope."
Sithis and damnation. The bloody woman.
"I'll tell the Jarl," I threatened weakly. "Him and –" I noticed her frame shaking in stifled chuckles. Growling in indignation, I swatted the last of the flames from my clothes.
"Dinner's ready," she solemnly whispered, blowing in his direction. "Deathbell petals on a bed of oak matured frostbite venom."
Her laughter proved to be infectious; ten seconds later, we were both cracked up, mirth dripping tears down their faces.
Coughing out the last of my hilarity, I exhaled a shaky breath.
"Remind me why I keep you around," I commented, shaking my head.
"Remember last time you went out alone?"
Unfortunately, I did. When I was in my house in Windhelm, Lydia had been cooking a rabbit stew, when she had realised she had run out of potatoes. I, of course, had come to the rescue, and – despite her protests – left alone to buy some.
This resulted in my getting lost through the winding city streets. Naturally I would pick the easiest way to get found. Firing off continuous lightning bolts into the sky, accompanied by torrents of flame.
My mouth opened to retort, a sharp reply already on the tip of my tongue, just begging to be released. I gave myself the satisfaction.
"Yeah, like you didn't chicken out every time we went through a portal?"
And I meant every single time. Her excuse was that they made her feel funny. Honestly, a Hagraven could come up with a better lie. This included not coming after me in the Apocrypha, saying the Sovngarde portal spat her back out and refusing to let Serana lay her 'filthy vampiric hands' on her.
She blushed tomato red, whilst simultaneously trying muster anger. Her mouth opened to bark back at me…
A piercing, agonised wail flooded my ears. My hands leapt to cover them, and my eyes found Lydia, who had fallen to her knees, also trying to block out the shriek.
Then, after a few seconds, the cry faded, though my ears still ached with its ghost. Warily, I removed my hands to be greeted with blessed silence.
Lydia lay shaking on the floor, gasping.
"Lydia?" I murmured, shaking her gently. She lay stiff and unresponsive.
Sighing, I hefted her into my arms, and carried her into the nearest bedroom. Housecarl taken care of, I strode out of the door, stopping only to grab Morokei's mask and place it on my face. My magicka reserves increased, tingling my palms.
The night air seemed damp, weighing me down. Or perhaps that was due to my lack of sleep. Whatever it was, my legs seemed to be made of lead, and the air of water as I forced myself forward. Almost immediately, a guard ambushed me with questions.
"Dovahkiin! What is it? What hellish trickery caused this night of horror?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, though I would bet Talos' Godhood that it's got something to do with Daedra."
The guard hurled a vile curse at the Princes, before spitting at the ground. "Jarl Grey-Mane would speak with you, Dragonborn," he grunted, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "As I believe this classifies as a possible threat to the city. If you would excuse me, I will do my duty as Guard to fair Whiterun."
"Um. Okay." Honestly, how do they talk like that?
Running off to the gates, he unsheathed his blade and stood firm, awaiting orders.
'Well, here we go again.'
I groaned inwardly before setting off for Dragonsreach, the rain whipping my face with icy lashes.
'Come on! One foot after the other.'
Sweat mingled with water poured down my face, and my hair blew wildly in the soothingly cool wind as I raced towards the stone steps and shoved the huge doors apart.
"What in the name of holy shit is going on out there?" I demanded, my voice echoing with a trace of the thu'um as it reverberated around the great wooden hall.
Vignar Grey-Mane stood. "Dovahkiin. I'm glad you could come," he called to me. "Take a seat, please."
I did not want to take a seat please. My Draconic wanted to kill who or whatever had caused this storm. But of course, my polite side surfaced with a warm greeting.
"Apologies. I forgot myself, Jarl Grey-Mane. Did you hear the cry? It sounded like the Gods themselves were in pain!"
Old Grey-Mane nodded, wearily running a hand through his hair. The beams of Dragonsreach creaked under the force of the water and wind, the doors rattling as the wind beat the building again and again.
"Aye, Siris," he clarified. In that single moment, his age seemed to have gotten the better of him. The grooves on his lined face were caverns, his eyes full of tiredness. Rubbing his forehead, he gestured to the great table and spoke. "Eat and drink what you can now. I have a little task for you."
My eyes gleamed as I surveyed the heaps of venison, alcohol and sweetrolls.
Two towns and around two thousand damned mudcrabs later, I was beginning to regret my decision. I was completely drenched, miserable and had a stitch in the left side of my stomach.
An hour had danced away, the minutes trickling like sand through an open hand, and I had known nothing but roasted meat, honeyed cakes and fine wine, the latter of which had gotten me to make this stupid choice in the first place.
Well, at least I wasn't far. This 'Twilight Sepulcher' was, according to my map, only mere minutes away now. But it was a tomb.
Damn I hated tombs. Why was it always a damn tomb? And more importantly, why is it always me? Fetch the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from a tomb. No problem. Venture into a gargoyle-infested cave to save a stunning vampire lady. Sure thing. Fight a goddamn Dragon Priest at Shearpoint to learn a word of power. Fine. Now investigate the Twilight Sepulcher? NO!
Unless you got me sloppy drunk. That was my greatest weakness, other than destruction-god-dragons and crazy vampire dads, and…
'Concentrate, Siris,' I chided myself, kneading my forehead. Besides, I could already see the outline of the cave ahead. Hurrying, I drew Dawnbreaker and ignited Firebolt in my left hand, sneaking to the mouth of the cave. As I crept in, I noticed a…
Damnit. Ghosts. Those buggers were almost as bad as Draugr! Sighing, my challenges began. Twirling Dawn, I advanced silently.
The cave was a ravenous cavern, dark except for the luminous moss that grew on the floor and walls. They muffled my deathly quiet steps further as I sneaked towards him.
These ghosts must have had superhuman hearing, because the second I stepped within a couple of metres, it turned, a spectral blade materialising in its hand. Panic turned to calm as I brought my lessons to the front of my mind, settling into the Aegis Forms. Picturing the series of stabs and slashes. Then I attacked, soundless as a Nightingale, blade swift in my hand.
The ghost swung his sword at my stomach. I leapt into the air, sailing towards his head in a dive. Grabbing hold of it with my shield, I delivered a crippling blow to his knees.
The ghost sank down, though it still held the double handed sword, trying to mortally wound me. It was not as powerful as I expected. Taking two steps back, I drew my bow. Seconds later, a poisoned arrow found his eye.
I yanked my sword out of the last of the spectral scum. Pathetic. How dare they use our fighting forms, when they are mere ants beneath the feet of a Dovah.
Venturing forward, I glared at the three rocks set in a triangle, poking one. Nothing. Disappointed, I turned to poke another. Still nothing. Feeling for a hidden switch, I pushed my hand under the basin. DAMNIT!
Stuffing a hand in the basin, I waited for something to happen. Just silence.
Furious, I turned to leave, but something made me stop. Listening harder, ears straining, my body still as the unmoving rocks, I heard it.
The Song of the Dragonborn, growing ever louder in my head. But it was unusual… It was –
I screamed as pain transcended onto my flesh and mind, like a thousand white hot knives digging to my flesh. Then, it was gone as soon as it came, as if it never happened. The dark pool of blood at my feet rose into the air, forming a circle. No, not a circle! A portal! To Oblivion!
A human shape emerged, then crumpled to the ground. A woman, wearing nothing but tattered rags. I crouched down to shake her, realising she looked strangely… Familiar.
Her hair was loosely hung down her back, with delicate elfish features. But her brow was contorted as if in pain.
Immediately, her eyes snapped open, her mouth spewing a language I did not understand. Holding my palms up for peace, I murmured in calm, soothing tones. Then, with an effort, she spat something that chilled me to the bone.
"Mortal."
I had seen those emotionless blue eyes before. I growled, threw her back and lifted Dawnbreaker to strike.
I looked down at the target, and received a strange surprise. Nocturnal, immortal Daedra, Eternal Goddess of Thieves had passed out by my feet.
'Come on! Do it!'
Anyone else would have killed her. Anyone. Even the ever passive Greybeards would destroy her. Dawnbreaker ignited, her lust for blood unquenchable. But I was not one of them.
I lowered my sword, coming to a decision. I knew what to do to my worst enemy.
I was going to rent her a room in the nearest inn.
