Chapter One
At the Silver-Blood Inn, the city folk swarm around me like flies as I sit by the hearth receiving exultant praise. My cup never empties as Frobbi, the inn keeper's wife, constantly refills it with every sip I take with my drink of choice, Argonian Bloodwine, as the peeving merriment cheers of the citizens of Markarth continues to buzz in my pointed ears.
By Azura's Star! Just go away!
This is the second time in my entire life I am surrounded by a large group of locals who are smitten with me. As if they've just discovered the moon and stars! An absolute awestruck people! Even though, I haven't been in Skyrim long, I am quickly becoming known throughout the holds. Why in just a matter of days I was bestowed upon the honorable title Thane of Whiterun and less than a week after received a missive from the Jarl of Falkreath. Within two months, I became Thane in two holds. Admired, envied or scorned-either way-respected! Praised by the lavishly proud nobles and the humble wondering farmers. It's actually all still something of an enigma. And why wouldn't it be considering how I first arrived on Skyrim soil? Lost. Frightened. A dirty hungry little nobody. I truly believed I was brought here to die. Perhaps this is still true, but one cannot deny the tremendous gift of opportunity.
The adoration of the people of Markarth is different compared to folks from the previous holds. They're louder and vigorous to a fault. They're like eager ants fawning and crowding closer itching for the chance to pay tribute as if I were the fat gyne. This unnerving pampering never would have happened if I had not taken that odd job from the Breton called Eltrys. He hired me to uncover a sinister truth in Markarth after he witnessed me saving a woman's life from a Forsworn agent.
But I did not know who or what a Forsworn was.
Well, I know now. And damn it, like everything else since I arrived in Skyrim it's just one hot mess after another. Unfortunately, uncovering the truth behind the Forsworn conspiracy cost Eltrys his life, rest his soul, and me in Cidhna Mine Prison for his murder. All this after just barely being in the city for twenty-four hours!
Fucking fantastic.
After discovering more grisly details and involvement of all the other prisoners in the conspiracy, I honored my deal with Eltrys by incinerating every single inmate in the mine. Only their leader, Madanach, remained.
I raise my cup and gulp down the wine hoping to drown the king in rags from my thoughts.
Although I enjoyed wiping that stupid smug off the wretched man's face, I admit, it was an absolute overkill. Madanach may have committed horrible crimes, but there was no need to cast Wall of Storms.
Over. And over.
Again. And again.
Until his own blood boiled him alive. Lashing out at me as his flesh melted off his bones. His very blood evaporating before my crazed eyes. I didn't stop until he was dust. Like seasoned warriors, mages must maintain strict discipline and self-control. None now live who witnessed my shame, but malicious echoes from the dark depts of memory resurface like a prowling basilisk. A heavy judgmental silence pushing down harder and harder-smothering!
Frobbi refills my cup taking the meaning of my trembling hand as a sign. I take another swig and she fills it again. The horde of flies is still buzzing witlessly around me until Kleppr, the innkeeper, and his son stroll over, dispersing the merry bunch.
"Come on now that's enough," setting a wooden table in front of me followed by his son setting down a platter of medium well-done steak, grilled leeks, sliced apples and cheese. "Really, wife of mine, take better care our honored guest is not being overly drooled on at every moment," scolds Kleppr.
"Oh really?" the inn keeper's feisty wife matching her husband's tone. "Well, husband o' mine, better get ye a wipe seein' as ye missed a spot!" mimicking a trail of dribble with her finger from her mouth as onlooks roar with laughter.
And there goes the happy couple who argue simply for the sake of it as I discovered during my earlier visit of inquiries. I've since begun to suspect it is their odd form of foreplay. With a weary sigh, my tensed muscles finally slacken in the humble chair as a grayed warrior bard begins to strum his lute rousing further attention of the crowd. Despite the uplifting tune and energetic atmosphere, I lethargically mix the thick cut slices of meat with the leeks, taking small bites.
It was dawn when I finally escaped from the mine. But to my total amazement, Thonar Silver-Blood was waiting for me and in possession of all my confiscated goods, which he immediately returned. The same rat whom locked me up in the first place! Apparently, I did him and everyone in the city, but mostly Thonar, a huge favor by dispatching the ragged king and ultimately caught the attention of the Jarl himself. I was quickly washed, dressed and summoned to appear before Jarl Igmund at Understone Keep, and to Thonar's relief and despair, told a watered-down tale of my exploits. In return for not exposing Thonar's foolish antics of endangering the entire city in order to fatten his own pockets, the Nord was kind to grant me a sizable settlement for my inconvenience. Plus, free meals and the nicest room at the Silver-Blood Inn every time I am in town.
You're welcome, Silverfish.
After the Jarl apologized for Thonar's misguided behavior, he spoke of the turmoil that plagues his realm while inquiring about any truth to the delicate rumor of who I am. And just like the previous two Jarls whom I now serve, Igmund requested if I'd assume the task to hunt down rabid Forsworn and recover a stolen family treasure; Hrolfdir's Shield. In return, he will grant me the title Thane of the Reach.
Still more than a little unhinged about the Cidhna Mine spectacle, I almost told the Jarl to sod off, but held my tongue. He would pay me (double!) for my noble deeds, and although I could always use the coin, what truly won me over was the mention of a dragon. A dragon had been sighted prowling the skies close to Markarth. While the city of stone is in no danger, the people who live outside the protective walls were not safe. I promptly agreed to help thin out the Forsworn threat, retrieve the missing shield, and to the Jarl's great relief accepted llthe mission of slaying the dragon. For if a dragon is near, then most certainly so is a word of power.
Power.
The very reason for my journey.
The very reason why I exist.
"You sure know how to have a good time, outsider."
The sudden Nordic drawl makes me pause in the middle of chewing. My clenched teeth grind the fresh apple I'm chewing into a fine paste as I send a chafed glance in the direction of the playful tone. A large man wearing scaled pelted armor has taken the vacant seat to my right of the stoned hearth with a cup in his hand. The comforting glow of the fire illuminates the red Nordic leaf pattern tattooed on the right side of his face. A hardened man with a strong jaw, but his toothy grin reveals his youthful features. He can't be more than thirty. Early to mid-thirties? A man grown and still in his prime, but by mer standards still a youth.
"Political scandal, murder, and jail break. What else do you do for fun?" chuckles the stranger taking a swig of his drink.
I don't want to answer him and encourage more conversation. Instead, I blatantly return his amused stare hoping he will take the hint, but he continues to watch me from behind his cup. A full minute of silence goes between us as the idle chatter and heavenly lute playing seem to fade in the background making the populated warm cozy atmosphere feel more intimate. We sat there each summing up the other. The Nord's brown stringy hair reaches his shoulders and has lightly tanned skin. He's body is strong like an ox with huge biceps that would make an Orc envious. The flames reflect a humorous glint in his dark brown eyes. A complete contrast to myself.
A toned dunmer, with full bodied black hair reaching between my shoulder blades and two smalls braids on either side of my head. I have abnormally pale gray skin even for my kind, high cheek bones, and full lips the color of red wine. My eyes are bigger. Bright ruby red eyes enhanced further by the matching red colored tattoos, which begin at the end of each eye and curve inward down my thin face toward my ears making it appear as if blood is literally bleeding from my eyes. Coincidentally, the housecarl in Whiterun also has the same tattoo design only hers are purple.
What a bitch.
Normally not one to succumb to a charming face, I am suddenly anxious by the presence of this stranger and jerk when I realize how drawn I am to his penetrating gaze. Regaining my composure allowing curiosity to get the better of me I respond flatly.
"Dragons," turning away, I eat another apple.
"Aye, sounds about right," he says while laughing never taking his eyes off me. "Considering the odd rumor about you."
I pause in the middle of slicing a piece of cheese.
Uh-huh.
This wouldn't be the first time someone has approached me. Dropping hints. Openly asking. Better yet, outright demanding a demonstration. He is not the first and will not be the last. Once in a while during my travels, I will run into a colossal prick puffing out his chest like a horker in heat. Sometimes it's an Orc, maybe Redguard, but mostly a Nord. Usually, it's because they heard the rumor about a wee little Elf possessing the ancient Nord art.
The audacity of fools!
I don't have to prove anything. Instead, I kindly show fools the error of their ways using what little magic I've managed to reawaken and force them in their proper place: their heads under my boot. Occasionally, depending on the situation, I might humor them and grant his or her wish and 'demonstrate' for them. Preferably off a cliff. With the possibility of this seemingly friendly encounter turning ugly, I turn to the man.
"And just what might that be?"
He finishes off his drink wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're goin' hunting."
"What?"
"The Forsworn," he says matter of fact. "Word is the Jarl appointed you to track down a whole pack of em."
"That ain't the only word goin' about," I stated in a mocking Nord drawl. In response, the stranger's grin only widens. His eyes gleam with humor making no effort to refute.
"Word also says, he's paying you double."
"Yep."
"And you plan on goin' alone."
"And you want to tag along and tap in on some quick cash," the tension in my muscles ease as the Nord's identity and motives become clear. Observing non-hostile intentions, I return to my meal. "Thanks, but no." I respond curtly.
"The Forsworn are nowhere, yet everywhere. You'll need a guide if you want to find them," he replies as he signals Frobbi for a refill. "Especially since this is your first time in the Reach."
I pause after I swallow a slice of steak and leaks as the stranger still watches me with amused confidence. "I'll manage."
"Oh, I don't doubt it," he nods in agreement. "However, I've grown up my whole life in the Reach and dealt with many a Forsworn savage to know one cannot fully depend on magic."
Before I can protest such nonsense, the Nord continues.
"Don't misunderstand," he says while leaning closer resting one hand on his knee as some of the humor in his tone turns somber. "It's not impossible to defeat them using magic as you clearly demonstrated in the mine, but nonetheless, they are more resilient toward it, which is why if you intend to fight magic with magic it's wise to have backup who's skilled with a blade."
Unfortunately, his words stung true. It may not have been a challenge to take out all the Forsworn inmates in the mine, but it was a long process and definitely wasn't easy. Until I fought Madanach, I was backed up in a corner and it took a lot of effort to keep those scoundrels at a forced distance on top of dodging counter spells. The difficulty was due to the vexing combination of the Forsworns' sturdiness against magic and my still weakened state. I may have come a long way on my quest to regain my power, but I have longer still to go. The more I fight, the stronger I become. And more eager to the point it has made me reckless. Besides the mine, I have already experienced my fair share of close calls fighting bandits, witches, dragons-
Draugr.
Shuddering, I take a hurried swig.
The probability I will come into contact with a strong mage in the wild Reach, particularly in a group, is high since almost all the Forsworn agents I have met so far possess some kind of magic. And to add to my troubles, it is evidently obvious to everyone I have little skill with a blade further proven by the Nord's comment and his inquiring eyes briefly resting on my dagger. I only ever learned the basics of using a dagger and short swords as a last result. My parents believed tangible weapons to be primitive used only by inferior beings.
Which is ironic because it's what killed them.
It wasn't until I joined the Companions when I held a real sword for the very first time. Against the desires of the inner circle, I refused to learn the honorable art of swordplay preferring to focus on my true strengths but did agree to expand my schooling with a small blade. Nevertheless, I am no master and there's no guarantee the lone ebony weapon I possess will serve me should I be in dire need.
Silence drifts between us as I process the weight of the man's words. I straighten in my chair turning to the mercenary, appraising his potential as a protective wall of meat. "I need to go deep into the Reach and if I'm understanding correctly, sir, I demand a true soldier not some gold-digging sell sword."
"I wouldn't use the term sell sword," a small smile graces his lips as he straightens. "I'm what you call a soldier of fortune. Make me an offer, and I just might fight at your side."
The stranger's piercing dark eyes delve deeper into my own staunch gaze. Once again, time seems to cease as the rambunctious inn continues around us. Taking a deep breath, I turn back toward the hearth exhaling in contemplation. I have never had hired help before not even from my first official housecarl Lydia who is still housesitting back in Whiterun. And Farkas doesn't count because he was required to witness my glory. I've always gone alone and managed to return victorious. Why would I start now?
"Whether you like it or not, woman, you need me," continues the Nord as if sensing my thoughts. "I know every rock and tree aligning every known and hidden road from the tallest mountain in the Reach to the smallest hillside. I know all the dangerous and safest routes. The ways and the common hideouts of the Forsworn. Hire me, take me on as your guide and I guarantee your protection."
"I don't need your protection," turning back to the stranger sternly.
Clearly amused, the man chuckles as he crosses his arms giving me another look over. "No, perhaps not," he says still grinning. "But you'll have it none the less." The mercenary rises and then shockingly takes a knee causing more of a stir from the nattering guests. Reaching to his hip, he takes his axe and places the blade carefully at my feet then locks his deep gaze onto mine.
"By the Nine, I swear my blade to you if you'll have me."
My lips part taking in a quick breath. It's almost as if he's proposing!
"We will see," I shift in my seat as I clear my throat. Looking away, I smooth out my master mage attire trying to downplay the warmth rushing to my cheeks. "Now get up you're making a scene," I hiss.
The Nord slowly stands and sits back into his own chair still watching me the curious banter of the onlooks returning to their own business.
"I assume you are leaving at dawn?" asks the Nord.
"You assume correct," still not looking at him.
"I'll meet you at the stables."
"I haven't agreed to anything yet," turning back to him.
"Yet," he replies with a knowing smile.
Narrowing my eyes, I wave toward Frobbi and request food be made for tomorrow's journey. "How much?" I say humoring the Nord.
"Five hundred now another five hundred after you no longer need my service, plus, a cut of any bounty we find."
Giving off a light huff, I mildly shake my head. What AM I doing? I don't even know him! Mercenaries are common in inns, yes, but who is to say one won't turn out to be a fraud? Or in this city a Forsworn agent in Nord skin?
"Unbelievable."
"You won't regret it," not realizing I muttered my thoughts aloud, the Nord replies thinking I was referring to his asking price. "I am the Ranger of the Reach. The Bane of all Forsworn. And," his eyes look directly into mine. "I know where you can find your dragon."
And sold!
I examine the bulk of the man once more. Not an ounce of fat on his solid frame. All muscle and looks as if he should be wielding a large two-handed ax instead of a puny one-hander. It is urgent that I finish this mission quickly. A guide would be most beneficial to speed things along. This man does appear genuine, and now that we've spoken I seem to recall he was here yesterday when I was talking to the Imperial woman after her assault. A local Reachman indeed.
"Name."
"Vorstag,"
Gingerly easing out of my chair, I move toward him casually leaning over him to rest one hand on the back of his chair the other on my hip. His eyes widen, surprised by my abrupt familiarity. I surprise myself, besides, two can play that game. I study his dark bronze eyes for signs of falsehoods longer than necessary not caring how my actions could be interpreted. Instead, my thoughts wonder what his eyes would look like if caught in the sun's light.
"Vooorsstaaag," tasting his name on my tongue adding a slight mer accent. "As long as I remain in the Reach you have my life. To hold. To honor. To protect." I slowly inch my face closer unable to contain a smile. "Guide me well, soldier of fortune," whispering the last word.
His eyes widen still focused on mine, I drop a money pouch filled with the exact amount into his unsuspecting hands. With Vorstag's attention now on the pouch, I straighten my posture and make a graceful stride toward the door. I hardly took three steps before he called out asking for my own name. I almost ignored him just to be a tease, but what would be the point? Maybe because I know that he knows the answer already. Looking over my shoulder, my jeweled eyes meet bronze.
"Kalara."
Before Vorstag can respond, I turn away grabbing my black cloak off a hook and disappear out the door.
A blast of cold air hits my face as I casually stand outside the inn stretching my lower back. For a rich family you'd think the bloody Silverfishes would invest in better seats. The locals mingling outside are just as jolly and full of drink as the ones inside. I suppose everyone in the city is living it up tonight. Inside the inn, I was too annoyed at the excessive attention, but now that I am getting a breather a second glance at the citizens of Markarth reveal that this is possibly the first form of celebration these people have had in a long time.
As a city.
Together.
Perhaps not since the first time the Forsworn were expelled from the city a decade or so earlier. Now that the conspiracy has been uprooted, people seem to feel safer staying out close to midnight. Drinking and socializing when by now the majority would already be home. My ears perk up as three men burst into laughing hysterics at some crude joke, one bending forward clutching his belly just barely holding onto his bottle. Even the guards seem a bit more at ease. Still tall and stuck up, but their walk is less stiff and hurried. Mystified, I briefly study all the delighted spirits as the smothering jovial atmosphere gives me goosebumps.
All these smiling faces.
Different faces, but a similar essence also carried by the other holds.
And it feels…what's the word…it feels…
Nice.
Another blast of nippy air swirls around my lean form and I pull my cloak tighter. Tugging the hood low over my face, I step out into the streets. Since coming to Skyrim, everything I have done I did solely for my need for power! Yet, almost every quest, personal or otherwise, resulted in making someone happy. From the Jarl to the common farmer! And the peculiar minuscule warmth building in the crevices of my heart is disturbingly satisfying.
I feel good…that they feel good...
"Hey! Hey-hey!"
An intoxicated man leaning up against a wall of stone bellows out at me waving.
"Good job there with em there Forswhooorns!"
For a moment, all I do is stand there dumbly just blinking at him stupidly. I don't know what else to do, but nod at the man. Thankfully, his wife appears at this moment and chastises him for drinking and being noisy in public so late. He then loudly replies how can she complain when what she yearns for most each and every day produces enough noise to wake the neighbors?
Oookay then!
She slaps her drunken husband upside the head. Rolling my eyes, I continue on with my nightly stroll. As I walked on I met fewer and fewer folks, but the ones I did meet were like everyone else. Smiling. Laughing. Relaxed. Like the people of Whiterun and Falkreath after I helped them. When I first came to Skyrim, I had no idea what to expect or what the people would be like. If they'd be accepting or suspicious of a ragged stranger fresh from Morrowind. Especially, one who crossed the border illegally with nothing, but a small iron dagger and worn ugly brown clothes. Then again, I didn't exactly plan to come to Skyrim in the first place. No one ever plans on being kidnapped and whisked away to a foreign country.
This time I cannot mask the paralyzing shiver coursing through my veins. I stumble clutching myself beneath the cloak breathing heavily through my teeth. Anyone who might see me would think it is the chill of the night.
No.
Never.
Nothing can ever be so cold! Just the mere memory-! Of Ice! There was ice everywhere! The stench of death filling my lungs! It screamed! Oh Azura, how it screamed! Helplessly bound-! Touching me-!
"Excuse me."
From the shadows, a hooded man steps in front of me. With a slight shake of my head I pull myself back to the present. Hands at my sides, I flex my fingers keeping perfectly still itching for him to speak his business and be gone.
"Do you know anything about this house? Seen anyone enter or leave?"
I wearily glance to my right at the stone door of the house in question. The entire city is carved into the mountain and just about every home and shop all look alike with the same lackluster golden doors. Maybe it's because I am new and it's dark, but there is nothing remarkable about the house nor any indication it's abandoned. Returning my attention to the man, the soft moonlight reveals his travel worn mage garb. A frequent traveler by the looks of his shabby appearance. Fresh dirt is still caked on his legs and boots and the color of his robe faded to a dullish gray having lost its glamor long ago.
"Why are you asking?"
"My name is Tyranus. I'm with the Vigil of Stendarr. We believe this house might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth."
Oh boy. Look who you are talking to, pal. Repressing the urge to chuckle, I manage to keep a straight face.
"Sorry, don't know anything," I reply honestly.
"I see," the Imperial says disappointed. "I know this is a sudden request, but I was actually just about to head on inside. You are a mage, are you not?" he asks looking over my purple and black master robes peaking out from under my cloak.
"Is the Keeper vigilant?"
Tyranus laughs uncrossing his arms. "Well said, friend. I would be most grateful if you'd accompany me inside. Be good to have someone watch my back."
I am about to kindly refuse when I hear it. The twisted whispers of vile tongues slithering temptations in my ears. Alert, my flesh crawls with anticipation to the sudden appearance of the ominous presence emanating from the house. A darkness I've never sensed before, yet somehow is as familiar as a carnivorous butcher. My hands start to shake and I fight the urge to lick my lip.
The wise thing to do is walk away.
Meanwhile, Tyranus stands idle awaiting my answer.
Unawares.
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I longingly exhale. Turning to Tyranus, I cannot resist the expectant grin.
"Absolutely."
High above on a stone walkway, a perched crow with ruffled feathers and a twisted beak witnesses the exchange. Blending into the black night, the crow keeps its anomalous vigil silent and unyielding. Only large misshaped glowing lilac eyes cut through the darkness as the woman entering the abandoned house reflects off its' deadpan orbs.
I shall do my best to update sooner rather than later, but it will take time. I am working on two stories at once. Thank you for reading and please review I would love to hear all feedback.