A/N: I missed you guys! Even after I said I would take a nice long break after Bounty, I couldn't. I've been working hard the past month to bring this to you.

For new readers: this story is a sequel to my story "The Curse's Bounty." It's not necessary to read that one before this one - you'll be able to figure out what's going on - but I would recommend it. For everyone: visit my profile page to find the link for my blog. I've posted a longer author's note to accompany this, as well as a timeline that may clear up any confusion as to when exactly things happened.

Crazy awesome cover art credit goes to the amazing Original Hybrid. The link to her blog can also be found on my profile.

Scythe: good timing, eh? :-)

Rain's Hand, 4E 211

The house Twigs stood in front of could not really be considered a house—it brought to mind the words manor, estate, mansion. Rising a full three floors above the ground, it boasted several handsome balconies and a porch on the second story, cut through from behind to hint at a lush courtyard within.

Heavy, draping vines of flowering ivy spilled from the banisters overhead, and the blooms attracted a few nearby honeybees. They shivered and danced around the flowers, and Twigs watched them with a faint smile. It could have been what he was feeling at the moment, but he thought they looked excited about their work.

This was, by far, the biggest job he'd ever taken on. Then he stopped himself at that thought—he hadn't taken on anything just yet. The client had reached out to him, furnished gold for his trip to the estate, and invited him to stay on the property until they had hashed out the details of the contract. So far, nothing had been agreed upon.

But there was no doubt in his mind that he would accept. This man was clearly from money, something that Twigs badly needed. Since his father had died four years ago, things hadn't been the same with the business they had forged together. Twigs was just as talented as his father had been, but without him, it seemed he couldn't shake a streak of bad luck that had settled over him like a storm cloud.

That was something he hoped was beginning to turn around, starting right this very moment. He would accept this job, earn the gold, and then he would be able to relax for a while. It would be nice, he thought, to not have to worry about where his next meal would come from, or what he would do if he needed a new pair of boots.

The heavy, double-sided door set in the front of the manor creaked open. A blond woman descended the steps and made her way to where Twigs stood, her hand lifted to block the sun from her eyes.

"Have you been out here long?" she asked him. Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Come with me. He is expecting you."

Twigs followed her inside, taking in the simple, yet expensive, dress she wore. It was difficult to tell if she was a servant, a family member, or a business associate. He was nervous, and didn't want to insult or embarrass her with impropriety.

He settled for neutrality. "It's a lovely day," he said.

"It is," she agreed. "The Rift is always so beautiful in the springtime."

She closed the doors behind him and then turned to face him. "My, you're tall. Even for a Nord!"

Twigs smiled patiently down at her. That was something he'd heard from almost every person he'd met since the age of twelve. "So I've heard."

"May I take your jacket?"

Still unsure of her identity, he pulled off the long-sleeved leather jacket he wore.

He handed it to her, and she draped it over her forearm. "May I bring you something eat or drink?"

"Thank you, no."

She nodded, and bustled off with his jacket. Twigs waited for her to come back, but a long moment passed, and she didn't return right away.

The inside of the manor was just as impressive as the outside. It was clean and light, with pale walls and honey-colored floorboards. The windows were small, yet made of fine, clear glass that let in a great deal of the mid-afternoon light. A few candles were lit to illuminate the corners that the sun didn't quite reach, and it all lent the house a very cheery, warm atmosphere.

A few preserved heads of game were mounted on the wall, and they stared down at him with glassy eyes. He wondered if the owner of the house had killed the animals; as he inspected the long, sharp tooth of a snow-white sabercat, he thought otherwise.

The woman appeared at his side. "He will see you now. It's just up the stairs."

He thanked her and set off, anxiously taking in his surroundings as he went. From somewhere deeper in the house, he could smell food being cooked, and it made his stomach grumble. He laid a hand over his middle. Quiet, you.

The directions had been simple for a reason, it turned out. It was hard to miss where he was going. The entire second floor seemed to be one uninterrupted area, constructed around the courtyard in the middle. After coming up the stairs, he was confronted head-on with a large writing desk down the hallway. A white-haired man was perched behind it, flipping through a book.

He approached the desk. He was not quite close enough to stretch out his hand when the man behind it looked up and set the book down.

The man was slender and long of limb, like himself, and he was clean-shaven, with unremarkable features. He was dressed in clothing that did not display his wealth, a simple blue cotton vest over a white tunic with rolled sleeves, and dark pants.

"Ah, there you are." The old man smiled. His voice was strong and clear, despite the slight rheumy film to his eyes. "Augustus Valerius. This meeting is one that I have looked forward to for months."

"Well met, Augustus. I'm T—ah, Fuldarr."

They shook hands, and Twigs hoped Augustus hadn't noticed his near-slip. Most of the time, he introduced himself using the nickname he'd had his entire life, but he figured now that there was a decent chance Augustus would not be amused by it.

The man gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and Twigs settled himself in it. Augustus regarded him curiously for a moment, smiling a little. He had a friendly, open face that was hard not to smile back at.

"I was saddened to hear of your father's passing, Fuldarr," he said after a moment.

Twigs didn't miss the familiar way that the sentiment had been spoken in. "You knew him?"

"I did. As well as anyone can know a man like your father, that is." Augustus gave a half-shrug. "I never directly hired Háls, but he became a consultant of sorts to me. His advice was indispensible, and I could always count on him to be the voice of logic amongst those that would attempt to sway me."

Twigs tried to hide the confusion he felt. His father had never mentioned Augustus, not once, and he hadn't been one to hide things. He wondered if Augustus was reading much further into their connection than his father ever had.

"You do not recognize me, or my name," Augustus observed shrewdly. "Your father hadn't told you of me."

He shook his head, and was forced to reconsider the old man's sharpness. "No. He never did."

"That does not surprise me." Augustus leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together over his front. "Háls was the kind of man that threw himself wholeheartedly into the present. It was a trait that I admired. No doubt he did not think to bring you into all of his business matters—I am sure he did not expect to leave you so soon."

Twigs swallowed. It was only recently that he'd been able to hold back a swell of emotion every time he thought too deeply about his father, and he was grateful that he shed no tears in front of Augustus. "I'm sure he didn't."

"How did it come to pass?" Augustus cocked his head to the side. His tone was not unkind.

"His death?"

"Yes."

A lock of his dark hair fell in his eyes, and he pushed it away from his face. "He…we were exploring a cave not far from Windhelm. There was a formidable underground river deep within, and my father was convinced it led to another, larger chamber where it passed into the rock."

"I see. And he wanted to follow the river?"

He looked away uncomfortably. "My father was mostly very careful and knowledgeable about what we did, and he knew the same as I that the river may have passed through a stone channel for miles before opening up elsewhere. He waded in to try to peer under the ledge where the water flowed, and he stumbled. The current was much stronger than either of us had anticipated. He was dragged beneath and into the tunnel before I could reach him."

Augustus' eyes were sympathetic. "How long did you wait in the cave for him?"

There was a long pause.

"Four days."

"I am sorry for your loss, Fuldarr." Twigs didn't look up to meet his gaze. "Your father was a brave man."

And a foolish one, at the end, he thought. Some nights, he could still feel the way his end of the rope—the one his father had tied around his waist—had very suddenly gone slack in his hands mere seconds after his father's head had gone under.

"And you continue the business your father had formed?" Augustus' voice had become gentle, which Twigs hated.

"Yes. He taught me all he knew."

Augustus nodded. "It is harder than one would think it is to find someone like you—someone who will go into dark places no other man will, all to find some small, otherwise worthless relic, or an old family heirloom. I am pleased that you have continued your family's legacy."

"This is all I know, all I am good at." Twigs forced a smile. "What are you seeking?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot give you much information about that. I can only give you the location and what you will be looking for. Not even I know much about it—only that I want it, very much."

That didn't present a problem. "Very well. That's not the first time I've accepted a job under those terms. Where is it that you want to go?"

Augustus stood, pulling a long, rolled piece of parchment from underneath the desk. He spread it across the wooden surface, and Twigs leaned forward to see the jagged, inked outline of a place. Many small scribbles and crude drawings had been dotted around the map, and it was easy to tell just by looking at the parchment that the location was massive.

"Are you familiar with the works of Thelwe Gelein?" Augustus asked him. He pulled three nondescript books from a drawer to his left, laying them out on the desk before him.

Twigs scoured his brain. "The name sounds familiar to me. I believe my father mentioned him once or twice."

"He was a scholar that specialized in research of the Dwemer, the ancient dwarven race that built their cities beneath the ground."

"I remember now. There are three books in his series, yes?"

"Correct. 'Dwemer Inquiries: Volume One, Two, and Three.'" He tapped the corresponding book for each title. "Within his third and final book on the subject, he mentions a 'geological anomaly or place' known mysteriously as FalZhardum Din. To the best of his abilities, Gelein was able to translate that to mean 'Blackest Kingdom Reaches.'"

For a moment, Twigs wondered if all the blood in his veins had turned to sludge. Even his heart seemed to stutter and stop. He stared at the books on the desk, and then his body seemed to begin to work twice as hard. His heart hammered in his chest and adrenaline scorched through him.

"You mean…Blackreach."

The old man looked up, and his sea-blue eyes held a quiet ferocity to them. Twigs had seen that look, many times, in his father's eyes. It was sheer determination.

"Yes, Blackreach. I want to go to Blackreach."