Urgh. That was seriously a bad idea. My head is killing me, and it hurts to open my eye even just a little. At least it isn't that bright outside – yet. I force myself upright – and a wave of dizziness and nausea hits me. I try casting my heal spell for a short while, and the feeling dies down, and I feel much better. I cast some more, and soon it is as though I never even looked at a bottle. Hooray for magic!

The air outside is crisp, and it seems that snow has fallen overnight, the guards leaving fresh footprints in the mud. Lydia and I leave the town and follow the road back the way we came yesterday.

A short way down the road I notice an off-shooting path that I missed the previous time we came this way. Following it, we discover it leads to a small ruin, guarded by a skeleton as inept at battle as we are skilled. The effort is for almost nothing, however, as the treasure it was guarding is nought but a few coins and a potion.

Back on the road, the next half hour of our journey is uneventful. My hopes for a quiet trip are dashed, however, when an angry Imperial jumps out at us, brandishing blades and reeking of alcohol. He proves the common theory that you should never fight drunk, as most of hits attacks miss. I'm trying not to hurt him too much, in his drunken state, but Lydia has other ideas – her arrow lands smack-bang in the middle of his face, and he falls to my feet, dead. Oh well.

After emptying his pockets, I lead Lydia on down the road. Soon, we're back at the crossroad where the Orc was, but already there is no sign of his body. Someone must have found it and buried it already.

Past the snowline, an Argonian dressed in skin-tight black-and-red leather leaps at me with a growl and attacks me with its twin blades. I have no choice but to fight back. The armour tickles the back of my mind, but I cannot recall why. Two quick slashes when its guard is temporarily lowered defeats the angry reptile, and I rummage through its pockets, finding some gold, gems, potions and a slip of paper. Taking its daggers too, I slip my gains into my bag and read the note.

As instructed, you are to eliminate Lethandhrel One-Eye by any means necessary. The Black Sacrament has been performed – somebody wants this poor fool dead. We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option. Astrid. What? Why am I wanted dead? Who wants me dead? And why does the armour seem so familiar?

Never mind. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.

Reaching the Battle-Born Farm, I decide to make a little gold the easy, bloodless way – by helping with the harvest. Their crops look ready for picking, so I gather what I can and approach the nearest farmhand, a young woman. She accepts the crops, paying me a reasonable amount of coin for my effort, then returns to her task of weeding the rows of cabbage at her feet.

I detour to Whiterun, heading back to Belethor's shop to sell the stuff I've collected throughout my recent travels. Buying some lockpicks and potions, I consider staying for a while, doing any local jobs that need doing if I find myself too bored, but I dismiss the idea. I have a Horn to find.

Leaving the Breton and his store, I exit the city and head off down the road towards Riverwood. On one of the sharper bends the road takes up the short incline, I meet a trio of men celebrating for no apparent reason. Seeing my wondering gaze, one of the fellows breaks away from the group and greets me.

"Hail friend! It's good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day. Ah, but you look tired. Come; share a bottle of Honningbrew Mead with me!" He cries, his friends behind him heartily agreeing.

"I would love to share a drink with you, friend, -" I begin to reject his offer, but he doesn't let me finish.

"Ah, nothing like fine spirits to help raise your…well, your spirits! Cheers, my friend!" He cries as I catch the bottle he tosses my way. "May your adventures find you fame and fortune!" With that, he and his companions leave, most likely in search of a better spot to revel in.

Confused, I pocket the mead anyway and continue on to the little town, ducking into the inn. I find the innkeeper sitting at a table along the near wall. There is no sign of an attic.

"I'm the innkeeper, Delphine. It's my business to keep track of strangers." She says as my shadow falls across her face. Her voice sounds very familiar.

"I'd like to rent the attic room." I say – maybe it is in a separate part of the building.

Taking the gold I offer, Delphine looks surprised, temporarily. "Attic room, eh? Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

Strange. I head into the indicated room, and turn – to find the innkeeper had followed me in.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this." She extends her hand to me, and in it she holds what can only be the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller! "We need to talk. Follow me." She leaves, crossing the inn and entering a large bedroom on the other side. Now I know why she sounds so familiar – Delphine must be the hooded figure Farengar was talking with when I brought him the Dragonstone!

"Close the door." I nod to Lydia, and she kicks the door closed behind us. "Now we can talk." Delphine opens the wardrobe in front of her, revealing it to be empty. She pushes a small section of the back panel, and it slides away, revealing a set of stairs leading down into a small room. Inside is a table with a charcoal rubbing on it, some shelves full of alchemical ingredients and a couple of weapon racks. An alchemy table decorates one corner, and an enchanting table another.

Delphine wanders over to the other side of the table and leans on it, careful not to smudge the rubbing, which I realise is a map.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right." She says.

"You're the one who took the Horn?" I ask, still not quite believing.

"Surprised?" Delphine smirks. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?"

"You can't be too careful. Thalmor spies are everywhere." What? What is she on about?

"What do you want with me?" I get to the point.

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm not your enemy – I already gave you the Horn. I'm actually trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." Delphine isn't exactly the most straightforward person I've interacted with so far.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you – well, someone like you, for a very long time." What? Just who is this person? "If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon-slayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

I'm still not entirely sure that's what happens. But I suppose I should embrace who I am.

"Yes – that's how I first learned I was Dragonborn."

"Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough."

"So, what's the part you're not telling me?" I'm still sceptical as to her motives.

"Dragons aren't just coming back – they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years; they were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it." What in Oblivion?!

"What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?"

"I know they are." Delphine is certainly confident. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know." OK, I am very much uncertain as to this woman's sanity, if she's relying on me to kill a dragon. Still, Lydia should help. Oh well.

"Where are we headed?" I ask, resignedly.

"Kynesgrove." Delphine points to a circled area of the map. "There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

"Let's go kill a dragon." I respond. Might as well go along with this crazy plan.

"I need to get into my travelling gear – give me a minute and I'll be ready." Delphine walks over to a chest and changes into a set of leather armour, obviously custom-made. "That's better. Let's get on the road to Kynesgrove." With that, she heads up the stairs back into the bedroom.

Following her up, I wait for Lydia to emerge, then close the cabinet and enter the common room of the inn just in time to catch up with Delphine, who is talking to the barman.

"Orgnar, I'm travelling. You've got the inn 'til I get back." With that, she heads towards the door.

"Right." Orgnar acknowledges. "Happy travels." He returns to wiping down the countertop.

Outside, it's sunny and not too cold – it's like a fresh spring day in Cyrodiil. Delphine descends the few steps onto the road.

"Kynesgrove is this way." She indicates down the road. "We can travel together or split up and meet there. Your choice." Since she knows more of Skyrim than I do, I follow her.

As we travel, she occasionally speaks, but since she is ahead of me, and she doesn't turn her head when she talks, I cannot catch a word of what she says. After crossing the bridge over the river towards the great mountain, a couple of bandits attempt to rob us, but the three of us make short work of the pair, and they soon lie at our feet with empty pockets.

As we reach the Valtheim Towers, I worry about the bandit troupe, but they take no notice of us as we jog past. I let out a sigh of relief – as a wolf leaps out at Delphine. Obviously, the charm of the emblems doesn't extend to my companions. I don't have time to react though, as with one swipe, our guide chops the wolf's head almost off of its shoulders.

The next few miles of our journey is uneventful. As we pass the Mixwater Mill, or so the sign calls it, we come across a small convoy of three Imperial soldiers leading a prisoner. We dodge around them, but we haven't gone much further when a sabre cat leaps out at Delphine, who struggles about as much as she did with the wolf. I pause to pick up a tooth that was knocked loose, then dash to catch up.

Looks like it's going to be a late night tonight – the sun is already setting, and as we pass the snowline, the temperature drops rapidly. This doesn't stop the trio of wolves who attempt to make us their dinner – nor does it halt Delphine in her furious defence, and soon the foolish mammals are decorating the road with their blood and bodies.

A little further up the road, a waft of stale wine drifts across my face, preceding the angry, drunken Breton attacking us by several feet. This time, I save Lydia the trouble of finishing him off and hack his neck open with one swing of my orcish sword. He soon lies in the bushes with an empty bag at his side.

Crossing a bridge, I see a stables built at the foot of a long, bluestone bridge leading to the great gates of a large city. Checking my map, I realise we've reached Windhelm, so I mark the stables, then follow Delphine down the road leading south. It's full night now, and it's starting to get misty. We reach a branch in the road, with a signpost declaring Kynesgrove to be along the left path.

"Wait. Something's wrong." Delphine slows enough for me to hear what she's saying as a shadowed figure dashes towards us. It resolves into that of a woman wearing an apron – and a terrified look on her face.

"Iddra!" Cries Delphine.

"No, you don't want to go up there! A dragon – it's attacking!" Iddra cries, stopping in front of us.

"Where's this dragon?" I ask her.

"It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound. I don't know what it's doing up there, but I'm not waiting around to find out!" With that, she dashes past us down the road up toward Windhelm.

"Come on, hurry!" shouts Delphine as she hurries up the hill. "We might be too late!"

I follow, to find that Kynesgrove is no more than an inn, a field of crops and a mine dug into the rock further up the track. Past it, a roaring comes from somewhere ahead of us, and a black shape swoops overhead.

"Lorkhan's eyes!" mutters Delphine. "Look at that big bastard! Keep your head down, let's see what he does." I draw my bow and crouch behind a large rock at the top of the slope, with a good view of the burial mound – and the great black brute from Helgen circling above.

"Sahloknir!" It booms. "Ziil gro dovah ulse! Slen Tiid Vo!" Shouting toward the mound, the dragon hovers. With an almighty crash, the stone-encircled heap of dirt bursts open, and out crawls a skeletal dragon. As it reaches the unspoilt ground, a glowing fluttering surrounds it, and when the light dies down, the dragon is wearing a brand new moss-green skin.

"This is worse than I thought…" murmurs my secretive new friend.

"Alduin, thuri!" The creature, who I assume to be Sahloknir ,greets the beast above. "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" I feel as if I should understand what he says, but comprehension escapes me.

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." The black brute addressed as Alduin looks my way. Understanding that he knows I'm there, I straighten.

"Ful losei, Dovahkiin?" It says. "Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi?" then the beast chuckles. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah! Sahloknir," he orders the newly-risen monster. "krii daar joorre." With that, and a furious flapping of his enormous pitch wings, the black dragon flies away.

With what can only be a cry of joy, Sahloknir leaps into the air, turns and attempts to roast us where we stand – only we aren't standing there anymore; we're several feet away sending arrows flying in his direction. Most go swooping past him, dashing off through the space he was occupying only moments before, but enough hit that he is sent crashing into the ground. Barely pausing, I lower my aim and constantly shoot at the evil beast. One in the eye. One just under his wing. And, finally, one in his throat. With a final roar, he crashes to the ground.

"I'll be damned, you did it!" Delphine approaches me, as I stand catching my breath and my senses. I'm not sure what it is or why, but battle sends me into such a blind rage. "Wait, something's happening…Gods above!" She steps back as Sahloknir burns and his soul flies brightly into me, bringing true understanding of the word I learnt at Ustengrav. The dragon's soul warms the recesses that the exertion of battle couldn't, and I even feel a little refreshed.

"So you really are…" Delphine gasps as the last dregs of the soul vanish. "I – it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn." She steps closer. "I owe you some answers, don't I? Go ahead – whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" I get straight to the point.

"I'm one of the last members of the Blades." Delphine begins. The Blades? I think I remember Mother saying something about a distant cousin of ours was a Blade, but she didn't explain much more than that. "A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon-slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragon-slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn Emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again – we need to stop them."

"The Blades? Who are they?" She should be able to tell me.

"Exactly. No-one even remembers our name these days. We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors. Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years we've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one – until now." Wow. Does that mean I'm descended from Kings? Ha – unlikely, though that would be pretty great.

"What do you know about the dragons' coming back?" I change the subject.

"Not a damn thing. I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here." Huh.

"I've seen that dragon before, the one that got away." I mention, sounding more offhanded than I intended to.

"Really? Where?"

"It was the one that attacked Helgen, when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials."

"Interesting... same dragon…" muses the Blade. "Dammit, we're blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who's behind it all!"

"What's our next move?" I ask her, curious.

"The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons." Delphine says slowly, thinking. "The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."

Ok, time to find out who these oft-mentioned Thalmor are. "Remind me – who are the Thalmor?"

"The faction that rules the Aldmeri Dominion." What? If what little memories of my history lessons are right, the Aldmeri Dominion fell apart at the end of the Second Era. She must mean a revival. That can't be good. "The ones that almost destroyed the Empire during the Great War thirty years back. There's no worse enemy to human-kind in Tamriel. The Empire barely survived the last war – the Thalmor don't intend to lose the next one."

A new memory bursts into clarity – reading dishevelled copies of the Black Horse Courier in a run-down hut with several equally depressed fellows, with the bold headlines declaring the threat the Thalmor had sent to the Emperor, stories of the war and the fall of the White-Gold Tower. And the cries of despair among the small group of Nords in the hut when they read about a Concordat before they ran out of the hut in a berserk rage.

I push the memory back into the recesses of my mind, to be perused later when I have the time. "What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?"

Delphine scowls. "Nothing solid, yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then, a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened – the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

"Why are the Thalmor after you?" I ask, hoping the question doesn't hurt too much, and remembering the article mentioning the severed heads included in the Thalmor's initial 'missive' made to the emperor.

"Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong."

"So we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons." I think aloud. "Any ideas?"

"If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy…it's the centre of their operations in Skyrim… Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia..!"

"So…how do we get into the Thalmor Embassy?" I ask after a short while in which Delphine stood in silent contemplation.

"I'm not sure yet. I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together. Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long." She hands me a key marked 'DSR', the meaning of which is obvious. "Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse." With that last, she lights a torch and begins to jog down the hill.

I turn and, picking up a couple of Sahloknir's knucklebones as I pass, I rummage around the dirt of the burial mound to find a couple of gems and a rotting sack of coin. There are the bodies of the town guards lying nearby. They won't be needing their money any more either. Once their bags lie thoroughly rummaged, I head back down the track and along the road to Windhelm, passing the returning Iddra.

As the great gates of the ancient city close behind me, I overhear a confrontation nearby.

"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" Shouts one of the pair of Nords at the unlucky Dunmer woman. I'd better keep my head down while I'm here then.

"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight!" The elf defends herself.

"Hey," says the other Nord, a beggar, by the looks of him. "Maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

"Imperial spies?" splutters their unfortunate victim. "You can't be serious!"

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got our ways of finding out what you really are." The pair wander off, patting each other on the back. Fetchers.

The woman sighs as I approach.

"Looked like those Nords were giving you trouble." I say conversationally, unused to this consolation business. I don't remember my companions in the hut ever needing it.

"Nothing new there." Responds the Dunmer. "Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Grey Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. Ha – a real charmer, that one." I'm assuming she means the better-fed one.

"Why would anyone think you're a spy?"

"Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the Dark Elves they hate – they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying." She nods to me, then wanders off.

The nearest building is an inn, a warm looking place with an old wooden sign swinging outside naming the place 'Candlehearth Hall'. Inside, a set of stairs lead up to a common room, and a corridor next to the bar is lined with several doors. I approach the sour-looking innkeeper.

"Look out, Elda." Mutters one of the patrons sat at a stool at the bar. The innkeeper turns.

"Another Dark Elf. Just what Windhelm needs." Sarcastic bitch.

"I'd like to rent a room." I hand over the ten gold pieces, hoping she doesn't ask for more because of my race, or even just plain kick me out.

"Sure thing. It's yours for a day. First on the left." She doesn't offer to show me my room like the other places I've stayed at. Oh well – it's not like it's too hard to find anyway.

I'm already unbuckling my armour as Lydia pushes the door closed behind us, and I'm soon snuggled up in the warm furs. Midnight is a very late night for me!