First things first, I am a dumbass. I accidentally posted the next chapter and completely skipped over this one, so sorry about that. Secondly, this might be a long chapter because I wanted to explore the actual 'soiree'. Obviously i'm only using one distraction, but I personally have never really used anyone but Razelan, spending a whopping thirty seconds in the actual party itself.
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Moving on her own still hurt, but she was determined to keep pushing forward, so Lydia rented a carriage to take them to Solitude. Delphine was convinced that the Thalmor were behind the dragon attacks, to which Madrigal still doubted, nevertheless she agreed to infiltrate the Embassy. Supposedly the Ambassador was hosting a party for all the rich tits in the province, although how she was supposed to fit in still eluded her. Fancy clothes and a posh demeanor could make her look nice, but she was still a Bosmer. Besides that, she didn't like showing her face anyways.

As the capital of Skyrim, or at least the official one by Imperial decree, it was a grand city with a series of rising towers and foreboding grey stone. Crimson legion banners hung from every terrace and tiled roof, ivy scaling the walls as hawks circled above in the clear blue sky. It was beautiful, temperate, and calm, yet it didn't have the same charm as Whiterun did, at least to her it didn't. Too… pompous she supposed for her more down to earth tastes.

She opened the door to The Winking Skeever, her eyes roving around the dim interior. By the tables a woman was singing some song that she didn't recognize as patrons drank themselves into a stupor. Delphine had told her that she had an associate waiting in the inn who would sneak her weapons and gear into the embassy, a fellow Bosmer named Malborn.

She found him dozing away in a dark corner, his tan fingers wrapped around a bottle of ale. With a sigh she shook him awake. His bleary amber eyes slid open.

"Wassat? You 'are for Delphi aye?" He groaned and leaned forward on the wooden table. He cast her an accusatory glance. "Eh, don look like much do ya? Hoped she picked the right' person. Well, give me all of ye valuables, anything ye can't live without I'll shneak into the embashy." he droned.

She silently handed him her pack. On her person she wore a simple peasant woman's dress and a shawl that covered her hair and most of her face. She also had knives tucked into her boots just in case of an emergency.

"I'll see you in the embassy then." He said with a slurred grumble. She just sighed and left the inn.

She met Delphine at the stables, a short walk from the city gates and down the cobbled hill. There stood the Blades Woman, leaning against the windmill, arms folded and face set in her permanent scowl. She looked at her clothes, her forehead creases seeming to deepen.

"If you're infiltrating the Embassy, you'll need nicer clothes than that." she observed drily.

Madrigal frowned. "What's wrong with this one? It's a dress is it not?" she retorted, confused.
Delphine chuckled. "Yes, but the Noblewomen wear different dresses." She motioned for Madrigal to follow her as she ducked behind the windmill. With a flourish, Delphine pulled something out of a tree where it had been hanging by a branch. She heard the rustling of cloth as a beautiful green dress was brought into the torchlight.

Delphine smiled a bit sheepishly. "I thought it would go well with your complexion." Perhaps Delphine might have some hobbies other than Dragon slaying and spying. "Come on, no time to waste, try it on!" the woman exclaimed with a fervor. She hastily shucked off her current dress, pulling on the proffered one as gently as she could. When it was over her shoulders Delphine began lacing up the back of the dress, pulling the bodice tightly around her body, squeezing her lungs as she went.

When she was done Madrigal glanced down at her new attire. The dark emerald cloth flowed around her body like a cloak, hugging her in all the right places before falling a bit more loosely around her legs, it had a deep, yet elegant neckline and a surprising lack of detailing, which she preferred. Delphine stepped back and analyzed her for a few moments before pulling out yet another fabric. How much did she have stashed here? It was a Sabre Cat fur, soft and warm as Delphine draped it around her neck.

"You realize you can't go barefoot right?" She glanced down at her naked feet.
"Why not?" she argued.
"Because this isn't Valenwood and the nobility aren't climbing trees. Put these on." She handed her a pair of soft leather boots. Grudgingly, she slid them over her feet. Her toes felt like they had been forced into a hot cage of leather as the boot slid over her callused heel. Briefly she wondered if singular appendages could get claustrophobia.

"This is terrible! Why do you wear these? What is the purpose?" she hissed.
"The purpose is that it looks nice, now don't complain or your cover is blown. And no shawls." she said as she snatched the offending article of of her head. She scrutinized her face for a moment before nodding. "Good. Not too many scars and your face is pretty. It'll do."

Madrigal was still grumbling as she waved goodbye to Lydia and climbed into the carriage that was waiting for her.

The Thalmor Embassy was located near the top of the mountain overlooking Solitude and the Sea of Ghosts. She supposed it was just like the High Elves to want to seem superior to everything. The Embassy wasn't really a building, or even a string of buildings, so much as it was a compound. A very nice compound to be sure, with slim wrought iron fences and candle lit interiors, but a compound nonetheless.

"Ah, a fellow latecomer to Elenwen's little soiree!" a slurred voice greeted her as she stepped down from the carriage. "And arriving by carriage no less! I salute you my good lady." a drunken Redguard sat hunched over on a rock, a half empty bottle of brandy dripping into the snow as he smiled blearily at her. "My lateness is due more to getting lost up this gods-forsaken mountain than any desire to arrive late. I prefer to arrive early, often the day before the party, so as not to miss out on any of the drinking." He groaned, tipping a bit on his rock before righting himself. "Well then, after you." he said as he stumbled to his feet. He leaned sideways, as if to lean on her, but she quickly sidestepped, letting him fumble around as she watched.

"Help a fellow out, eh?" She grudgingly reached out her hand and hauled him up. "By the divines you're strong! You sure you're a noblewoman?"
"A merchant, to be specific." she answered with disdain.

"Aaaah, do you work for the East Empire Company like I do?" he asked.
She grinned at his slack face. "How about you keep drinking that brandy, eh?" she digressed.
He laughed harder than he would have sober, tipping onto her shoulder. "A woman of fine tastes! I think you and I will get along just swimmingly."

"Oh, i'm sure."

The inside of the Embassy looked just like any other building in Solitude, warm light and plush rugs to fill the shadowy rooms and cold stones, except every inch was covered in Aldmeri heraldry. Each yellow banner and golden eagle she saw put a sour taste in her mouth. And Elenwen. Elenwen spoke with a voice that reminded her of dripping venom disguised as honey. Her greeting felt more like an interrogation than a hello. A very formal, polite interrogation.

She made eyes with Malborn, who was serving at the bar while she mingled amongst the guests, trying to figure out a distraction so they could both slip into the kitchens unnoticed.

As she strode through the small crowd, sipping her wine as she went, she saw a reedy looking nobleman with straw blonde hair and a wispy mustache leering at a serving girl with a platter. Concerned, she took up residence in a dark corner, watching it play out.

"There's a likely looking filly, even if she is an elf. You there, Serving Girl! What's your name, dear?" The Bosmer woman raised her head politely. "Uh, Brelas, Sir. Did you need a drink? Something to eat?" He grinned wolfishly at her. "No no, that's not what i'm interested in right now. I just wanted to get a better look at you. I like what I see, my dear. And believe me, I don't say that to everyone. I'm very discriminating when it comes to the female form." The poor woman shuffled uncomfortably on her feet. "Uh, thank you sir. Was there anything else I can get for you?" "Oh… not at the moment. Maybe later. Don't go far." She looked down. "Yes, sir."

She walked up to the man, who was currently smoothing his rich blue cotton jacket. He watched her approach. "Did you see that Serving Woman? I hear Elf women are insatiable. I see the same goes for you. Why, if you weren't one of Elenwen's guests, I might just consider you too. Alas, I'll settle for the wench. But let me know if you're interested." He winked at her as his eyes roamed over her shapely figure. Ugh, no thanks.

"Well, maybe I can talk to her for you, see if she's interested?" "Hmmm, she would have no reason to refuse me of course, but go right ahead lovely." She could feel him watching her backside as she walked away, making her wish that the Sabre Cat fur went lower. Luckily, the serving woman, Brelas, was still situated in the same corner as before, so she didn't have to walk far.

She cleared her throat. "The fellow over there asked me to talk to you…"

"Ugh, Erikur, right? I could tell what he was after. I hate working at these parties. Some of the guests are nice, but there are always a few like Erikur. Please tell him to leave me alone. Politely. I'm sure you'll have a better time getting through to him than I will. Hopefully he doesn't pounce on you too." With a sympathetic nod she left the woman in search of Erikur.

He was on his third cup of mead when she found him. "Have you talked to Brelas yet? I'm not a patient man, you know."

Evidently.
"Yes, she, uh, wants you to leave her be."

His face puffed up and became red with anger. "What? The little tease! Leading me on then turning cold at the last minute. I don't think so." Eirikur marched over to the woman with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "So, you think you can toy with me, is that it? No, my dear. I have my heart set on you and I always get what I want." Brelas cowered as Madrigal tried to put distance between the two, but to no avail as Erikur put his hand on her arm in a vice grip.

"I, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression earlier. I meant no disrespect."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll let you make it up to me. Now, where can we go for a little privacy, hmm?" Brelas took on a panicky tone as she pried his arm off of her. "

No, i'm sorry, but I can't go anywhere with you. I won't. Please, let me get back to my duties." She hurriedly backed away, moving towards the center of people.

Erikur swelled up like an angry cat before roaring at her. "Don't you dare walk away from me you slut! Don't you know who I am?" he cried.

"Please sir, leave me alone!" At this point the entire party was watching the procession, Brelas, as if sensing this, began putting her arms up in a defensive, pleading manner as Thalmor guards started walking towards her.

"Now you're going to be sorry you crossed me. Elenwen! This serving girl has been throwing herself at me in the most disgusting manner."

The ambassador slunk out of the shadows like a wraith. "Is that so, Erikur? And you with such delicate sensibilities. It must have been most upsetting."

"I demand that you have this wench removed from my sight at once!" he spit furiously.

Elenwen sniffed. "Well, whatever the truth of it, i'm sure a few words with Master Rulindil will have a salutary effect. Take her downstairs."

Brelas struggled in the guards grasps as they latched onto her. "No!" The guards saluted stoically as they began dragging her backwards. "Mistress Elenwen! It's not true! I did nothing!" She turned pleadingly to Madrigal. "Ma'am, you must tell her! You don't know what they'll do to me! Please!" But before she could do anything, Brelas was pulled behind a door that shut firmly behind her.

Next to her Erikur huffed. "Well, i'm glad that little unpleasantness is over." She just stared at the door that had closed off Brelas' screams in calmly masked disbelief.

-

She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Jarl Balgruuf sitting at a chair. She sat down next to him, waiting for him to recognize her. He was one of the few people in Skyrim who knew her face and Dragonborn status. He looked up, his craggy face splitting into a broad grin. "Dra-"

Quickly she mimicked for him to be quiet. "Let's just say that i'm a little undercover right now." She furtively glanced around, checking to make sure that no one had heard him.
He leaned back in his chair, watching her with those crystal blue eyes. "Aaah, I see." Suddenly his face looked conflicted. "Forgive my terrible manners, I never actually got your name." he confessed.
She smiled warmly at her friend. "Madrigal." she stated simply.
He laughed. "Good, an elven name I can finally pronounce." His cheery air died as he glanced around the hall.

"This gathering is nothing more than a boast. The Thalmor are reminding us that we're at their beck and call." He growled bitterly.
She sighed as she glanced around. "You're not wrong about that." she divulged.
Balgruuf looked at her, then leaned in close. "You obviously don't like the Thalmor, but isn't Valenwood part of the Dominion? What'd they do to you, eh?" he asked in a whisper.
"That's… complicated. And I don't have a whole lot of time, but I can make it short." she stressed.

"I'm willing to listen." he said, spreading his arms wide for emphasis.

She hummed, thinking as she swirled her drink. "Let's just say that I was there to witness of of their political 'purges'" She sighed deeply before continuing. "Personal vendetta aside, I also think that they're too ambitious and cold-hearted for their own good. They spell bad news for Tamriel."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I think you're right." Balgruuf admitted solemnly.

She looked up over her glass. "I thought you supported the Empire?" she inquired.

"Aye, that I do. The Empire, not the Thalmor, or the Dominion. When they defeated us in the Great War, it was a disgrace. Then they had the gall to impose laws and decrees, reducing the Empire to a laughing stock." He sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair, crossing his wiry arms in frustration.

"Madrigal, whatever you're going to do tonight, I want you to make it count. Not just for yourself, but for Skyrim as well."

His words echoed in her head. She had never considered what it would be like to fight for something, or even someone, other than herself.

For Skyrim as well.

She downed the rest of her drink, slamming the tankard onto the table. For the first time, her role as Dovahkiin weighed on her. She wasn't upset with her power, yet the final realization that she was never going to lead a normal life, that she would constantly be fighting for causes as a living symbol was striking. Her stomach went cold at the thought.

She met Balgruuf's icy gaze with determination. "I can't say that i'll destroy them tonight, but I'll give it a good try. Now, if you excuse me, I have some rather delicate business to attend to."

She stood from her chair, smiling darkly at her the Jarl as he raised his glass to her in mock salute. She turned her back to him, eyes searching for Malborn.

She was ready to cause that distraction.

-

The drunk, Razelan, was sitting dazed on a bench, alone and looking as sour as the alcohol he held. She sat down next to him, a goblet of Colovian Wine cradled gracefully in her slim fingers. He cast his bloodshot gaze her way, brown eyes honing in on her drink.

"What does a fella gotta do to get a drink around here?" he inquired gruffly. She motioned to his Brandy bottle. "Don't you have one?" He scoffed, then tipped the bottle upside down, a tiny trickle of drink slid down the neck before dripping on the floor. "Drier than the Alik'r this is."

She hummed thoughtfully, watching the other guest sway to music as she swirled her goblet. "Well, I must say, this wine was rather expensive, yet I find I have no taste for it. It would be a shame for such a thing to go to waste." At the sight of his hungry expression, she dropped her voice to a whisper and purred to him, lips curling up, "Would you like some?"

She held the drink out, a little surprised when his dark fingers wrapped around the cup, pulling it away as he began chugging, dark liquid sliding down his stubbly chin. With a gasp he came out of his cup for air, wiping his finely embroidered woolen sleeve across his unkempt face. "Ah, the one generous soul among all of these pinch pennies and lick spittles!" he raved blithely. The end of his sentence was almost a shout, and she winced as some other guests cast strange looks their way. "If there is anything, and I mean anything, you need my dear friend, do not hesitate to ask." he affirmed strongly.

"Well, as it happens, there is someone I would like to meet and I need a… distraction, if you will." she appealed.
He squinted at her. "You're not planning on meeting that Eirikur guy are you?"
She made a rather unladylike retching sound. "Gods no, he doesn't deserve me."

Razelan roared with laughter, and she laughed a bit herself. She had forgotten that drunks could be fun sometimes. "Well then, is that all? My friend, you're looking at a master. Stand back and watch my handiwork." He stumbled to his feet, green tunic stained with wine as he made his way to the center of the room. He raised his glass, calling for the room to be silent. Once their eyes were off her she slipped behind the bar with Malborn, who was thankfully sober this time.

"I'm ready, let's go."

He nodded, sliding back to unlock the door behind them. As soon as it swung open, they quickly darted inside.

Razelan's muffled voice crept past the thick stones. "I would like to make a toast to our beautiful Ambassador, Elenwen!" Malborn shoved her into the kitchen, closing the thick wooden door, shutting of the speech.

There, a half baked loaf of bread in her hands, stood a middle aged Khajiit, staring in shock. Her sandpaper voice whispered heatedly in the dim room, "Malborn, you know that I do not like strange smells in my kitchen! It is against the rules!" she fumed.
Malborn looked at her coolly. "Rules, was it It's Ts'vanni? I don't remember eating Moon sugar as being part of the rules."
She hissed in frustration, her gray tail thrashing, "Fine, I saw nothing, but it's your fault if she's caught!" Malborn just harrumphed and shoved her into a spacious closet room.

"Your gear is in that chest. I have to go back now, lest they notice my absence. Good luck." And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him in a click.

Quickly she stripped off her dress and braided her hair back. Pulling out her pack she stuffed the garment inside as she fished out her armour. That thing was too expensive to waste.

When her studded imperial armor slid over her head, she breathed a sigh of relief. She strapped her bow and twin daggers onto her back, leaving her gloves off so she could use magic, and stealthily opened the door in front of her.

It was a short, but narrow hallway with an open door to her right, through which she could hear two Altmer talking. Discussing guard rotations and their distaste for the Justicars.

She grimaced. Sometimes it was hard to remember that these were people too. She hated them, definitely, but she had enough sense to know that not all of them could be bad. If she had servants clothes on her, she might have considered just walking past them, disguised in plain sight. Clearly that wasn't an option anymore.

She lit her hand in a pulsing ruby light, her fury spell glowing softly in her hand, it's dim red glow casting ominous shadow in the dark corridor. With a flick of her wrist, a crimson bolt shot outwards, seeming to melt into the nearest unknowing guard, sinking past the woman's golden armor.

Suddenly, the woman stiffened, then pulled her finely engraved elven axe as she rushed at her fellow employee, burying the gleaming, diamond bright edge into his breastplate. With a shocked gasp and a strangled moan he lurched backwards, pink spittle bubbling at his thin lips. The bewitched guard stalked forward with a terrifying stillness before sending the axe down on her former friends neck, golden-red blood spraying outwards onto the surrounding tiles. Illusion magic could be so wonderfully effective.

The Justicar, who must have been residing upstairs, came down quickly, staring in shock at the Guard's blood-splattered face and the crimson patchwork that crisscrossed the grey floors. Without hesitation, he sent an erratic, glowing stream of electricity in her direction, scorching the woman inside of her armor as she crumpled. The Justicar, obviously disturbed, spun on his heels, black and gold Thalmor robes flying, as he marched to the exit, opening the door to a snowy courtyard outside, proceeding to shut it as he left.

She waited for him to return, staring at the black soot marks on the ground. She was best at flame magic, but she wasn't terrible at shock spells, yet she had no such luck in the frost department. Perhaps her small talent in electricity laid with its similarities to fire. Hot and erratic. All of the Justicar mages used shock spells, which were extra effective against other magic users, and if she was using magic close quarters, she might want to try it.

For a few minutes, she sat crouched, playing with the little static webs that ran up and down her fingers, trying to get a feel for the wild spell. Fire was unpredictable, yes, but it obeyed certain laws of physics, electricity however, was something else entirely. Going wherever it wanted to, sparking in different directions and leaping from opponent to opponent. Perhaps it said something about her personality that her given Destruction spells were shock and fire. All mages could use every school of magic, though they usually just specified in one or two. Destruction however, most could only use one element of the three. Especially talented or rare mages could use two, but never three. She had never heard of three. The most common combination was shock and frost, why, she didn't really know. Frost and Fire weren't that uncommon either, but she preferred to stay away from those mages, conflict in personality made some unpredictable people. She hated unpredictable people. As far as she could tell, she was the only, or one of the few, that could use fire and shock. Nothing to temper her. Fitting, she supposed.

After waiting for a while, no one came in, so she pushed herself off of the freezing floor and crept into the room, magic and daggers at ready. When no one came to greet her, she snatched a hunk of bread from the bar. Her newly sharpened canines ripped through it easily as she chewed. Maybe she could get some molar upgrades as well.

Slowly she opened the door that the Justicar had exited from, the cold hitting her like a punch as snowflakes shot past in the wind as a blizzard began to form. Through the flurry of snow, she could make out multiple guards and two Justicars patrolling the area. She knew all of them could do some magic, Altmer were one of the few races, along with Bretons and Dunmer, in which almost every child was born with magical ability. Bosmer, Orcs, Nords, Khajiit, Argonians, and Redguards almost never had magical children however, and powerful ones were even more rare.

With a sigh she summoned a Flame Atronach, an ethereal floating woman made of flames and black igneous rock, who gracefully floated above the ground, doing little twirls and flips. Concentrating her will, she sent the magmatic creature into the center of the courtyard, drawing the attention of the guards as she slunk around them. With a thought, she sent the atronach into a fury, shooting fireballs from its hands as the Thalmor surrounded it. One guard was smarter than the rest and began searching for the atronach caster whilst she made her way to the small building situated in the middle, cursing herself for not casting it further away, or even drinking an invisibility potion as she picked the lock.

Just as she opened the door, her atronach gave out, disappearing into a massive explosion that thawed the snow around it as the Thalmor flew backwards with the force. Clicking the door behind her, she saw three people talking. Two Thalmor, a Justicar and her guard, as well as some noble or servant that they were arguing with.

Shouting would call attention from the outside, and she didn't want to draw this out any more than she had too. She readied her shock spell.

Please let this be strong enough.

She spread her palms out, letting the electricity run through her as blinding purple, blue and pink currents hit the servant/noble in the back, sending his entire body into a seizure. The Thalmor began to shout but soon they too were consumed in the rippling wave of energy, thrashing around, dropping to the floor as their armor began to smoke and char. The human was miraculously still alive. He was probably not a mage, then.

Walking over to him, she saw horrific webbed burn marks that had crawled their way up his jaw, his skin raw and steaming. He let out a moan, bloodshot brown eyes pleading with her to end it. She watched him for a few moments, the way he writhed on the ground, how he shook violently and the sweat on his brow clung to his face. Eventually she leaned down and slid her knife across his neck. Mortality was a fickle thing, how lives came and went in this world. She turned away from his charred corpse and didn't look back at it.

She found a study-like area with display cases full of valuables and enchanted items. She broke into every single one of them, shoving their contents into her pack as she went, snagging some books as well..

She walked up a staircase to yet another small office space. This one was plainer, a chair and a desk with books and accountings. But behind the desk was a small chest of fine make with an outrageous lock on it.

She didn't bother to pick it, instead wrapping her fingers around the lock and squeezing, applying heat until the metal oozed out between her hands. Inside were two red journals.

Thalmor Dossier: Delphine

Status: Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Emissary Level Approval
Description: Female, Breton, mid 50s

Background: Delphine was a high-priority target during the First War, for both operational and political reasons. She was directly involved in several of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades within the Dominion. She had been identified and slated for the initial purge, but by bad luck was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the outbreak of hostilities. During the war, she evaded three attempts on her life, in one case killing an entire assassination team. Since then, we have only indirect evidence of her movements, as she proved extremely alert to our surveillance. She should be considered very dangerous and no move against her should be made without overwhelming force and the most careful preparation.

Operational Notes: She is believed to still be working actively against us within Skyrim, although we have no location on her. Assumed to be working alone, as no other Blades are known to be active in Skyrim, and she has in the past avoided contact with other fugitive Blades for her own security (one of the reasons she has so far evaded elimination). Her continued existence is an affront to all of us. Any information on her whereabouts or activities should be immediately forwarded to the Third Emissary.

Nothing new there. She knew Delphine was an Ex-Blade, and that the Thalmor hunted her. Her eyes were drawn to the second book.

Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak

Status: Asset (uncooperative). Dormant, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran

Background:

Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.

Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.

She dropped the book to the floor, disbelief and anger coursing through her veins. Ulfric was a ploy. This entire war was just a political move by the Thalmor, who knew less about the dragons than even Delphine did. This was all for naught.

She shoved both of the Dossiers into her pack, cold sweat running down her back as she stood from her stooped crouch. Thalmor behind the dragons her ass, she was going to beat Delphine when she returned. If she escaped alive, that is.

Swiftly she exited the office, going back down the staircase where she picked a heavily barricaded door, the scent of blood and fear on the other side. Torture rooms.

It was dark, and she ducked down lest her glowing eyes gave her away. Down below her, three cells were lined up, in one was a scrawny Breton man wearing rags, he was slumped over, his wrists secured in shackles whilst he dangled limply from the wall. A Justicar stood over him, electricity sparking in his hand.

"Now, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Your choice." The elegant voice echoed around the large wooden room. The man weakly raised his head, dirty blond hair and a scraggly beard obscuring his badly beaten face.

"I've told you everything I know." He pleaded with a raspy throat. "I have nothing to do with them."
The Justicar pursed his yellow lips, motioning to his guard. She thudded over and raised a barbed whip, face expressionless as she brought it down with a crack. He screamed, unearthly wails that were punishingly loud to her sensitive ears rang through the space. She slowly began to creep down the shadowy stairs. Eventually the soldier stopped. "Have you reconsidered your ill advised choice now?" sneered the Justicar.
"I told I don't know anything!" he screamed desperately.
"Very well." he equivocated darkly. The Justicar then proceeded to fill his body with lightning.

Quickly, she strung her bow, shooting an arrow into the soldiers exposed neck, who, with a gurgle and a soft groan fell to the floor. The Justicar, distracted by his torturing, didn't notice the sound of her hitting the ground. She always preferred arrows to magic when it came to stealth, as an enemy wouldn't miss an arrow, but a massive flaming ball of magicka was probably more obvious.

She stalked up behind the man, palming her twin daggers. She didn't want to touch him, lest she was electrocuted as well. The Justicar finally stopped, taking ragged breaths as he drew a hand through his hair. He breathed once, twice, but before he could breathe a third, she leapt up, slashing his throat in one fluid movement. He dropped to his knees, blood spraying from his neck as he frantically tried to stop the blood with his fingers. She thought the prisoner would be more bothered by the blood, but at a glance she could see that he was unconscious.

She unshackled his wrists, then dragged him out of the cell, laying him against the wall. His bare chest was bloody and he had sores everywhere. She lit her hands in a glowing healing light as she hovered her palms over every wound.

When he was mostly healed she pulled back and began rifling through the torturer's chest that sat beside a rickety desk. Guess even the Thalmor didn't bother funding their penal systems.

Inside she found the final Dossier. Curiosity took hold of her and she opened the leather embossed cover to read its contents.

Content
Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Male, Nord, late 70s

Background: Esbern was one of the Blades loremasters prior to the First War against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been called to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.

Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragon lore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of Dragons which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to the dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons' return.

We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible is ongoing. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

So there was a former Blade in Riften. Delphine said she was one of, if not the last Blade in Skyrim, so she must not be aware of this man, or at least didn't know that he still lived. In the corner of her eye a figure moved.

She whipped her head around, locking onto the motion. It was the prisoner. She remained tense, waiting to see what he would do.

When he saw her, he shot backwards, putting as much distance between them as he could. She realized that she must look terrifying, face covered, hood drawn with glowing eyes and blood splattered armor, watching him with predatory stillness. Slowly she sat backwards, easing her body onto the floor.

"I'm not going to hurt you." she consoled him.

He quivered, thin chest shaking with sharp breaths. "How can I trust you?" he blurted.
She shrugged. "Well, for one, I healed you. You're welcome."
He glanced downwards, staring at his unblemished skin for a few moments. "W-Why are you here? What do you want?"

She slowly rose, holding a hand out to him. "Short story: I want answers, and I thought this place would have them. Unfortunately, it appears that my informant is, biased, shall we say." He nodded slowly, still looking confused as she locked her hand around his forearm. Suddenly, he winced, yanking his arm back.

She immediately let go. "Are you still injured?" she asked, worried.

"No it's fine, you just have sharp nails." he remarked, and sure enough, he had five little spots of blood dotting his limb. Quickly she examined her hand. It looked like it normally did, but upon closer inspection she saw that her right nails were indeed sharper, and not in the human way. Her left hand however, was fine. She vaguely remembered her arm itching furiously when she had absorbed Sahloknir's soul.

Her breath shuddered. She was going to become more draconic with every dovah soul she ate, and this was only the beginning.

The next time she hauled him up, she used her left hand.

Once he was up and moving, the man crept over to a bloody trapdoor that sat beside the cells. "I always see them dragging bodies through here, it must lead to an exit, but it needs a key, and I don't know where they keep it." Of course it needed a key. She searched around a bit, but found nothing. Just as she was about to start backtracking, she heard footsteps approaching from where she had first entered from. She shoved the man behind a wall, mimicking for him to be silent as she crept back up the staircase, daggers drawn and ready.

The door opened with a bang. Two Thalmor soldiers and a smaller figure. The scent, she recognized it. It was Malborn. He was in shackles, sweat dripping from his sharp face, his caramel skin pale.

"Show yourself and we won't hurt your little friend here. We know he's a spy, there's no use hiding from us." His voice was so confident, as if he thought she would risk her mission for some bartender who wasn't a good enough spy to stay hidden. Almost lazily, she flicked her wrist, the dagger flipping blade over hilt until it lodged into his neck. The guard fell, crying out he he began to bleed out onto the floors. The second guard raised her sword, making to cut Malborn to ribbons. She shot forward, burying her second dagger in between the chinks of the woman's armor, sliding up past her ribs into the lung. With a sharp twist of the steel, she ripped it out, turning to Malborn as the soldier fell.

"Thanks. Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life." he said with contempt. She could feel Mirmulnir and Sahloknir raging inside of her, begging for her to end him for challenging her. The Dragons swirled around her mind, coiling like a vice, whispering in her very heart to take his life, let his blood be payment for his ineptitude. She found that she didn't have enough will to fight them. With a snarl she bunched the collar of his shirt in her hands, bringing his face close to her sharp teeth.

"I didn't do this. This is your fault for failing your task, which was to stay hidden." She could smell the fear and anger coursing off of him, filling her nostrils and coating the back of her throat.
He shook trembled weakly, "I can't work for you, or them again. I can't do this! It's too dangerous!"

She let go of his shirt, letting him stumble backwards. She watched him with cold eyes, features hidden by the shadows. As if sensing the tension, Malborn shuffled nervously.

"That's unfortunate to hear Malborn." She was taken aback by how low and soft her voice sounded, even to her ears. "You know full well that I can't leave any loose ends." She brandished her bloody weapon, some dirty, dark part of her relishing in the fear on his face. Stepping closer she whispered in his ear, a quiet murmur like a lover, "You know too much." His eyes widened as she thrust the dagger into his gut, a panicky sob of pain and shock spilled from his lips as he crumpled against her. Softly, she laid him down on the floor, his mouth still opening and closing like a fish. She grabbed her other knife from the Thalmor's neck before leaving him to bleed out, not looking back at the failed spy as she made her way down to the man.

Well, well, Dovahkiin. I did not expect such brutality from a joor. Sahloknir commented cooly.
Finally joining the party, Sahloknir?
Make no mistake joor, Alduin is still my rightful Thuuri. You are a pretender, yet an impressive one as you defeated me. Ful los ven. he added smugly.
This "pretender" is going to steal your Thuuri's soul.
You are weak next to him. he protested.
We'll see about that.

Eventually she was really going to have to figure out how to make these Dragons learn their place.

Mirmulnir began talking as well, starting up a buzzing cacophony in her brain. She rubbed her temples, trying, and failing, to shut them out. She walked past the cells. Then stopped.

There was a woman in there. Not just any woman either. It was Brelas.

Quickly, ignoring the voices in her head, she began to pick the lock. Once inside she shook awake the unconscious woman. Upon seeing her, Brelas' eyes flew open in shock, she opened her mouth to speak but Madrigal silenced her, pulling her face cloth down. Her face filled with recognition and gratitude, questions dancing across her features as she stood up, dusting off her grimy dress and apron.

Silently she lead her out of the cells to the trap door, and with one smooth movement, slid the key into the lock and heaved the trap door open, waving them through. "Wait for me on the other side." she whispered. "Don't run unless I'm with you."

Once they had disappeared into the dark, she gave the bloody room a once over. The Thalmor had a real task at hand when they had to clean this room. With that thought in mind, she smirked as she ducked down under the hatch, catching up to Brelas and the man.

They were standing at an icy subterranean ledge, a natural pit of some sort lay out before them. Even before she asked the two of them, she could smell the creature. There, stomping about, was a huge Frost Troll, bloody snow spattered around it. Behind the creature she could see a large crevice in the wall where light and snow were streaming in. They just had to get past the animal.

The man fidgeted next to her, eyeing the exit. His pale eyes flitted to the troll, then the blood, then to the snowy forest beyond. Suddenly, his body lurched forward as he jumped from the ledge, landing on the hard ground below before she could grab him. She cursed profusely as the troll turned it's beady eyes towards him, raising it's hairy arms in challenge as it roared. She felt Brelas grab onto her arm as it charged towards the man who began to make a mad dash for the exit.

Quickly Madrigal dropped down, blasting the troll with flames as she did. It screamed in pain, turning it's attention to her. She ducked down as it swung at her with its meaty fist. She could feel her energy flagging as she dodged a second time. The past few hours were catching up with her as she began to slow. Her magicka pools were all but gone, and she had as much stamina as a newborn foal. She had to end it quick.

When the next swing came, she wasn't fast enough to move out of the way as the beast caught her in the midsection, sending her flying. Her body hit the stone wall with a crack, pain shooting through her body as she slid to the ground. With bleary eyes she saw the troll approaching. The Man had taken his chance and escaped, but Brelas was still watching from the ledge with scared eyes.

"Brelas! Run, I'll be fine, just go!" she cried desperately. Thankfully, the girl was a survivor, and knew when to cut her losses. She dropped down, elegant even in her servant's dress, and began sprinting for the escape, tripping once or twice in her slippered shoes.

Once she knew that Brelas was out safely, she turned her attention back to the approaching troll. She breathed deep, letting the cold air fill her lungs. She propped her body up, groaning at the pain in her side as she made eye contact with the beast, fire building in her lungs as she let the thu'um rip out of her throat.

"FUS RO DAH!" She knew as soon as the shout left her mouth that her ribs were broken. Her voice pushing against them was agony, and her vocal cords felt shredded, but nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing the Frost Troll flying backwards, slamming into the wall just as she had. With great effort, she lurched to her feet, blood pooling in her hands. Her previous injury from Sahloknir had split open again, spilling crimson onto the snow. By the Gods, her throat burned. Each breath felt like fire scorching her neck. She coughed weakly into her hand, stunned at the smattering of blood on her palm. Shouting had its downsides, then.

Joor, you are hurt. How will you shout with your feeble human frame? Mirmulnir questioned.

He wasn't wrong. For the first time, she truly felt despair at being born in the wrong body. The Greybeards had told her that Akatosh is Father to all of the Dov, so why had he cursed her so? Did her so called 'Father' not love her as he did his other children? Her envy towards the other Dov tripled. Mirmulnir seemed to sense this, as she felt his presence curling around her thoughts, warm and smelling of fire.

Kiir, I am sorry. To be born in the skin of a mortal is… a most agonizing thought. You will be strong. If you cannot kill with your voice, wing, or claws, take what is yours with fire and steel. he finished nobly.

Strangely, his words comforted her. She almost couldn't believe it, this cold, bloodthirsty dragon who sought to enslave humans and restore chaos, was being like a parent to her. It was a laughable thought, one Delphine would surely flay her alive for, but she didn't mind it.

Maybe she should have.
-

Brelas and The Man, whose name she learned was Etienne Rarnis of the Thieves Guild, had been waiting outside for her, and when they saw the condition she was in, helped her to the carriage at Solitude, which was only half a league or so away. They kept on trying to give her money, but she refused, as they really didn't have any. Etienne returned to Riften, but Brelas had nowhere to go, so Madrigal invited her to come back to Riverwood, as the Sleeping Giant Inn was short of staff because of Delphine's duties, and her previous servant experience would be useful.

They way back was long and painful because of her injuries. She tried to heal herself, but her reserves were completely spent. Brelas was quiet, so Madrigal had plenty of time to think. She kept thinking of what she did to Malborn. It was completely logical, he was frazzled and risked exposing everything that she and Delphine had been working towards, but in her bloodlust, the dovahsos rushing through her veins, she had felt no remorse. Indeed, she had even felt pleasure at his death, wich disturbed her greatly. The Dragon blood was said to be a gift, but she wondered if this slow corruption might be a curse. She could feel herself becoming more draconic in nature, more prone to anger and dominance, to petty shows of power. It was draining, but she couldn't stop relishing in it. What was wrong with her?

She had to meet Delphine and find this "Esbern", but Arngeir's words about the woman echoed in her head. The Blades were committed to hunting Dragons, but what did that mean if she was one? Not physically of course, but mentally? How far would she fall before Delphine killed her for giving into the allure of power and blood? The thought almost made her sick right there in the carriage. She didn't think Delphine would do that. Of course, she didn't really know the woman, but so far she didn't seem to be particularly cruel. But who ever showed that on the outside?

She hadn't trusted Delphine before, but now she knew that she needed to cut their ties as soon as possible, or else she feared the consequences would be severe if she continued down this path..