Unable to handle the pain or the horror filled looks any longer, Daedhrogon started the long journey back to Whiterun to treat his wounds. He hobbled along using his borrowed sword as a crutch, seeing it couldn't be used as anything else. The damn thing had been rendered useless when it got lodged in the dragon's jaws. The front gates of the city were perhaps a kilometer and a half a way, but with his leg, it felt like much further.
He called upon his knowledge of healing, and conjured a spell. It was only a basic spell, but it would still work, so he fixed his leg and lungs as best he could to hopefully make the journey faster. He abandoned the worthless iron sword and set out at a slow walk, determined to get back to the city before a wolf showed up.
He was about half way there when the very earth shook. The ground rattled like an earthquake was upon them, and the sky thundered like a storm. Daedhrogon staggered to the ground just as something was heard all around him, sounding like it came down from the mountain, with all the ferocity of a dragon's roar.
DOVAHKIIN!
"What in the name of Sithis was that?!" he cried. But no one was around to hear. Nothing answered him, not even whatever creature up on the mountain answered. Hopefully it isn't another damn dragon, he thought. But another roar never came. All was silent. So the elf continued on.
It took him three times as long to get back as it took to get to the watchtower, but finally, he made it. But then he groaned as he realised he had to climb up all those goddamn stairs.
"I can climb any tree just as good as a Bosmer or a Khajiit, but I hate stairs." He sighed. Begrudgingly, he started walking up the steps to Dragonsreach.
At least the Jarl was happy to see him still alive, and was concerned for his injuries. But that was about the only good thing that came out of the evening. Jarl Balgruuf recognised the thundering echo from earlier, a summons to High Hrothgar from the Grey Beards. After listening to quite a lengthy speech about the service he did to Whiterun, blah blah blah, and how it was an honour to be summoned, or some shit like that, and that he was being awarded a Housecarl and the title of Thane, crap that he didn't need, he left with a huff and thoughts of returning to the Bannered Mare to get a drink or two. Unfortunately, his new Housecarl didn't like the idea of being left behind, so she tried to follow him.
"My Thane, wait for me!" cried the woman behind him. Daedhrogon sighed and stopped. "What is it?" he inquired.
"You are on a quest to High Hrothgar, correct? Going alone would be unwise. The lands of Skyrim are teaming with dangerous creatures. Allow me to come with you, as I have been sworn to do by the Jarl."
"Listen, I've only been in this country for a few days, and I'm completely broke and have nothing to my name, I barely have the means to look after myself. Having another person trailing after me is going to halve my chances of survival if I've got one eye on someone else. It would be much easier to look after myself and survive if I didn't have a follower." He said. Lydia scowled at him and began speaking again, only angry.
"I've sworn to be by your side as your Housecarl, and as this city's Thane, I can't just let you wander through the lands of Skyrim on your own. It's my duty to watch over you."
"I don't need someone slowing me down! I've survived well on my own before, and I can do it again, but having another person with me is just going to ruin that. Besides, the only reason I became a fucking Thane is because I killed a goddamn dragon. Any random Hold guard could have done the same with a lucky shot. You would do better staying here where you always have been, and helping Whiterun. I'm certainly not going to be doing any heroics in future if I can help it, therefore you are more suited to staying."
She huffed and drooped her shoulders. Slowly nodding, she looked up into the High Elf's eyes. "Fine, I'll stay here. I'm not happy about it, but I'll stay. Just don't go off making bad decisions."
Daedhrogon chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh Lydia, you don't know anything about me, do you? My whole life has been filled with bad decisions, and of course I'm going to make more." With that, he turned away and headed back to the Inn for a well-deserved drink. He just hopped that was the last dragon he would ever have to deal with, and the last clingy follower.
.
About a week later, Daedhrogon had, true to his word, made a few more bad decisions. The first decision that turned out to be a bad one was the decision to travel to Ivarstead, a shitty little town at the base of the mountain that didn't even have a trader or clean rooms at the Inn. The second bad decision was the one where he thought that carrying a man's delivery for him up the mountain was a good idea to earn extra coin. Turns out that carrying that bag of preserved food hurt his shoulders from the weight of it. There must have been enough food in there to last a month, and sadly, he couldn't have any. He was limited to his own survival foods, and that made him feel extremely shitty.
Climbing up the fucking mountain was the next bad decision. The armour he had on him – and consequently, the only clothing he had – didn't keep out the cold very well, no scratch that, it didn't retain heat at all! So all the way up the mountain, he was an elvish popsicle.
And to top it all off, his hate fuelled decision to take on a frost troll – a goddamn frost troll – was the icing on the cake. He was barely able to set the bloody thing on fire before his fingers froze. So thanks to the combined effort of three days' bad decisions, there he was, at the top of the Throat of the World, freezing his arse off with many cuts and bruises and gashes all over from that goddamn troll, with frozen blood caking his skin. He was a goddamn mess.
This trip had better be worth it, he thought. My legs are killing me.
Maybe he should have brought Lydia along… no, that would have been bad decision number five. He would have had to share his meagre rations with her, then he wouldn't have made it even half way, yet alone up the mountain before they starved. He worked better alone anyway.
He didn't bother knocking, and pushed open the large iron door to go inside. Sweet relief washed over him as his body began to heat up from the fires within the room. It was nice and toasty in here. But his arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. Four old men walked out into the cavernous room, all cloaked in thick, flowing robes.
"Sorry to disturb you all, but it's really frigin cold out there." He said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. None of the robed men made a comment, or any facial expression regarding the cold, or his condition. Although, after a moment, one of them stepped forward.
"Greetings, I am Master Arngeir, one of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. I take it you are answering our summons." He said.
"Uh, I'm actually here to have a few questions answered. About a week ago, I killed a dragon and, according to the guards, I ate its soul. They kept mentioning a title, Dragonborn, and I want to know what it means."
"The Dragonborn is a mortal born with the blood and soul of a dragon." he answered.
The old man continued to explain everything, and with every new revelation, Daedhrogon shook his head.
"There's no way I can be the Dragonborn!" he cried. "A High Elf, a Nordic hero? Is this some Devine's idea of a joke? This isn't right, I can't be it!"
"But you are, don't you see? The blood of a dragon runs through you. You have a natural mastery of the way of the Voice that very few people in history have had. Dragonborn have always been able to do this, and each of them have had important roles to play in history. You have a very important destiny ahead of you."
Daedhrogon sighed in defeat. There was nothing he could do. This new development was out of his hands, and the best thing he could do now was learn how to face it, when his destiny inevitably rears its ugly head.
He spent the next few days in High Hrothgar learning and mastering new Shouts, determined to not let them be masters of him. If he was to have this power, he would be the master of it. He very quickly mastered the use of his first Shout, and just as easily mastered a new one, and soon, the Greybeards had no more to teach.
As his final assignment, they saw it fit to send him deep into an old ruin for an artefact long lost to them. Daedhrogon wasn't entirely happy about being sent on another quest, but he eventually relented, following the frozen path back to Ivastead, and then back to Whiterun.
There, he spent a few more days working his fingers to the bone for some meagre coin. Eventually, he had enough to pay the carriage driver to take him to the closest Hold capital. Stupid overinflated prices…
At least the Inn in Morthal wasn't too bad. But the people did seem to be worried about something. After paying for his room and evening meal, he sat at the closest table and beckoned over the Inn keeper.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" the lady asked.
"Actually, yes. I've been wondering what it is that's going on with this town. The people seem anxious because of something." Daedhrogon asked over his plate of salmon.
"Hmm, you're probably hearing things about what happened to Hroggar's wife and child. Their house burned down not too long ago, and the poor woman and kid were burned to death. Most people believe that Hroggar himself started the fire, because he moved in with another woman the next day."
Daedhrogon thought for a moment. "That sounds mildly suspicious. Has the Jarl done anything to investigate these rumours?" he asked.
"The Jarl has been trying to quell the anger and suspicion of having a wizard here in Morthal, I don't really think she has time to investigate. But if you are interested, maybe you could go and check it out, and see what you can find. I'm sure the Jarl will pay for your services. You look like a very capable warrior, so you are sure to be able to deal with whatever nasties you come across."
At the mention of gold, he was sold with the idea. He didn't overly like the idea about investigating some incident with a man going after another woman, but it honestly didn't seem like a dangerous task. And if the Jarl was willing to reward him handsomely for it… he supposed he could spare a day or so to check out what happened.
So the next morning, after stocking up on food and potions and chatting up the townsfolk, he paid a visit to Jarl Ravencrone. The old woman seemed quite nice and was very respectful, he instantly took a liking to her. The woman politely asked if he would be an unbiased third party and investigate the rumours. He was swiftly on his way after bidding her a good day.
But once he got to the burned out house, things started turning pare shaped. He had only just managed to hold in a loud 'Holly fuck!' when he saw the ghost of the dead child. He didn't know if you could be a bad influence on a ghost, but it probably wasn't a good idea to find out.
The poor girl didn't even seem to know that she was dead. But at least she was somewhat helpful, offering to tell him who started the fire if he played a game with her. Didn't seem too difficult. This wacky little mission would be over within a few hours.
But Helgi didn't want to start playing their game of hide and seek until nightfall, so the other one could join them. That was quite suspicious, but if it was just a single person, Daedhrogon was sure he could handle them. He wasn't a soldier in the Dominion for nothing – he could fight and protect himself. And perhaps the person who would show up was the person who started the fire. Easy gold for easy work.
Until nightfall, Daedhrogon helped out at the lumber mill and hunted in the marshes, bringing back enough venison for the inn to make a lot of good food. His dinner was on the house for his generosity. And thankfully, the mead was cheaper here than it was in Whiterun. Although he'd kill for some good quality wine right now…
But he kept his plans in mind, and his head clear. He didn't drink too much so that he would end up getting drunk – not like he had the coin to pay for it anyway. He had a ghost to find.
At roughly ten thirty at night, he set out into the gloom. Soldiers marched up and down the road, but mostly ignored him as he made it to the burnt out house. Now, if he was a small child playing hide and seek, where would he hide? The docks maybe? There were plenty of hiding places near the boats, so maybe she went there. But after half an hour of searching the skiffs, he didn't find her. Only a few annoying nirnroots who's glow threw him off.
Where else would she be hiding? Maybe the edges of the marshes. It was as good as any place to check next. But after an hour of that, he was ready to quit and go back to bed. Stupid mud and reeds kept tripping him, and the number of times he had tripped while looking for her was numbered at five.
Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. Helgi might have been a small child, but she was also a ghost. Now, the better question to ask himself was where would a ghost hide?
The cemetery.
Of course. He could have slapped himself for his stupidity. Quickly, he made his way back to Morthal, stabbing his dagger in the head of a waking mudcrab as he passed. Half drenched and legs slicked with mud, he went around the sleeping village to get to the town's cemetery. There! An unearthed coffin. A child's coffin. This must have been where she was buried, and probably her chosen hiding spot. Tiredly, he walked up towards it. But he hadn't gotten very far before something jumped out at him.
He was barely able to draw his dagger before the woman was on him. She was clumsy with her own weapon, but Daedhrogon had other things to worry about. Her eyes were glowing with a crimson light, and her fangs glinted in the moonlight when she hissed at him.
Vampire.
Fighting a vampire in the middle of the night wasn't something that he wanted to do for long, since the night was their domain. The woman hacked and slashed with her blade, lunging for him and trying to knock him over. His mud covered feet were uneven on the marshy ground and he nearly slipped a few times when he tried to step back out of range.
The woman was growing angrier by the second, pissed at the fact she wasn't able to sink her fangs into his flesh, so she got faster and more desperate as the blood lust took a hold of her. Daedhrogon had to finish her now, before she managed to bite him! So he lunged at her, and she tripped backwards. The two of them fell onto the childs unearthed coffin, Daedhrogon on top, and before she could move, he jammed his dagger in between her ribs, using his heavier weight to hold her down while she shuddered.
Finally, the vampire stiled, her eyes glazing over. Daedhrogon panted as he stood, covered in mud, shit and blood. Could this get any worse? Well, at least he found the ghost. And, apparently, the wife of a man who ran off ages ago.
The poor man stumbled across him, dirty and covered in blood, lying on top of his wife with a dagger in hand, so of course he went hysterical. After finally calming the man down, he wept for his dead wife, crying uncontrollably when he discovered her true undead form.
The high elf left the man crying over her cold body while he went back to the inn. He desperately needed a bath and a change of clothes. And rest too. Fighting vampires took a lot of energy out of you. Unfortunately, the Inn in Morthal didn't have a bathing room, or anything close to it, just a washbasin in the main room tucked into the corner. He was forced to stand there in full view while he got the blood off his skin and armour. At this time of night, only the redguard inn keeper was up, and a somewhat attractive woman in one of the most revealing outfits Daedhrogon had ever seen. It must have been Alva, the woman who Hroggar moved in with the day after his wife and child were killed. He kept one eye on her suspiciously, with a gut feeling that she wasn't as innocent as she seemed – completely ignoring the skimpy outfit that indicated no, she wasn't so innocent in that particular regard.
The woman kept giving him looks from across the room. A couple of cautious looks, like she could see the danger he posed, and a few lustful looks when he had to remove his tunic to clean it and himself. It sent shivers down his spine, creeping him out. Eventually, Daedhrogon stumbled back into his rented bed and fell asleep. He didn't get up until a few hours after dawn.
Next thing on the agenda, investigate Alva's house, where Hroggar and Alva were living together. There had to be something in there regarding how the fire started. So, as stealthy as a Khajiit, he waited in the shadows until he saw Hroggar leave, and crept inside. Thankfully, when you grow up in Elsweyr with the Khajiit, you tend to learn a thing or two about breaking into locks, so it barely took him a minute to trip the tumblers and sneak inside.
He quickly searched the room, checking in the cupboards and chest for anything that might shed some light on the mystery. But even after checking the entire house, he found nothing. Except for the basement. He hadn't checked there yet. He crept down the stairs, carefully stepping as to not trigger any squeaking boards, he opened the door to the basement…
And immediately clamped a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't make another sound. There, in the centre of the room, asleep in a coffin, was Alva. Talk about wandering into a vampire's lair! She hadn't even moved when he snuck in, so that was good. The question was, what to do now? Tucked under her arm was a small, red journal, practically begging to be taken. If there was any secrets hidden away in answering what happened to Hroggar's wife and child, it would be in there. But it was in the clutches of a vampire, for Aedra's sake! What was he going to do?
On the one hand, if this was a vampire, the situation couldn't be left on its own, the Jarl had to know. Vampires were dangerous. On the other hand… Vampires were dangerous! If he tried to take the journal, and she woke up, he would have to fight her down here, and in such a small space, she could easily trap him in a corner and bite him. He would be a dead man if he was caught.
Daedhrogon took a deep – but quiet – breath. He had to get that journal. Mustering the knowledge of every skill ever taught to him about stealth, he slipped up to the sleeping vampire. He just hoped that his pickpocketing skills were up to scratch. With his heart beating heavily in his chest, he reached out for the book, and very, very carefully, pried it out of her grip.
Almost… There, he had it!
He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave. His foot slipped and he crashed to the ground in a heap. Candles fell on the floor with loud clangs, spilling hot wax on him and the floor.
"Ah fuck!" he screamed. Alva was awake in an instant, jumping up out of the coffin. She immediately saw him and lunged, knocking him to the ground, and flat on his back. She straddled his hips and drew her dagger, holding it right up against his throat. He was trapped.
"Well, well. Look who wandered in here, the handsome elf from the Inn. Come looking for me did you? I might be sleeping with Hroggar but I think I can spare some time for you." She purred.
"Get off me! Vampire bitch!" he growled. She pressed the dagger harder against his neck, just barely cutting the skin. Daedhrogon couldn't move, she had him in her grasp.
"Now that's not very nice, love. Is that how you speak to a woman? I think you need to be punished… Oh but look how handsome you are, it would be such a shame to scar that gorgeous face. Hmm, how about I make you my thrall instead of tearing your eyes out? That way I get to keep you! Oh, the fun I can have with you as my pet." She purred into his ear. Her fangs were so very close, too close. He would be dead for sure, if she wasn't planning on keeping him like a slave. He had to do something.
"I think I would rather have you warming my bed instead of Hroggar, and I hear that elvish blood tastes so much sweeter than human blood. High Elves taste especially good, according to the others."
Nope! Not happening! He thought. He had to escape now! While she was focused on keeping him still, and running her hands sensually over his chest, he reached down to his boot, and pulled out the small, hidden blade. She was just about to take a bite out of him when his concealed dagger plunged between her fourth and fifth ribs, right into her undead heart.
Blood gushed out of the wound, and she collapsed dead on top of him. He shivered in disgust and pushed the woman's corpse off him, making sure that her head was turned away from him, just in case she was still alive and kicking. He didn't want those fangs sinking into his flesh when his back was turned. But even so, he didn't stick around, and quickly escaped from the house.
The poor innkeeper looked horrified as he wandered in covered in blood, again. But she helped him clean himself up quickly. He had to see the Jarl. Jarl Ravencrone rewarded him for discovering the truth about the fire, and the fact that there were a pair of vampires lurking around the village. Unfortunately, Daedhrogon was asked to find the master vampire in his lair and destroy him too. He almost broke down and howled with anguish, pleading with the Jarl not to go, but the promise of gold kept him quiet. Oh, how people had him wrapped around their little fingers if they flashed a bag of gold in his face. It was pathetic really… Absolutely pathetic.
At least he was able to keep blood off his already ruined armour this time. A well placed arrow in the Master vampire's head ended him, and his thralls fell just as easy. It was a close call though. The master vampire noticed him from his vantage point, and raced to attack him before the sheer number of arrows brought him down. Overall, it was less dramatic than the attacks by the female vampires.
Daedhrogon was rewarded for his services, which he immediately spent on health potions and a recipe page to make them, along with another room at the inn. The next day, he was off. Trekking through the marshes to the Nordic ruin of Ustengrav, past bandits, necromancers and Dragur.
Finally, after oh so long… he was within reach of his prize. He entered the innermost room of the ruin, down the steps and past the pools of water. In front of him lay a massive, elaborate stone chest, looking like it would be nearly impossible to open. He was so close… the horn should be right there.
But when he walked up to the chest, and the stone hand that should have held it, there was only a note. The horn had been stolen!
"God's damn it!" he screamed. In rage, he stormed around the room, kicking anything not of value against the wall and listening to the satisfying smash. "I take all this time to come out to this fucking shithole, and what I'm after isn't even here!"
A more powerful kick sent a discarded mace sailing through the air before it splashed into the water. "Ah, fuck me!" he yelled. Finally, he calmed down, and took a moment to read the note, left so mockingly in the depths of this smelly tomb.
Dragonborn-
I need to speak to you urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood and I'll meet you.
-A friend.
Oh, he would meet with this friend alright. And he would make them regret screwing with him, leaving that stupid note, in this stupid ruin, near a stupid town in the middle of nowhere. He would make them pay for all the shit that he had to deal with on the way here. And they owed him a new set of armour too!
