Author's notes: All right, here we go: chapter 9 of this story. Wherein my ragtag gang of Miss Scale, a certain cured Thalmor, Serana and maybe Thorald Grey-Mane go through more or less difficult trials of their own. This whole story combines (or should combine) elements of the Dawnguard DLC with my Argonian player character and some other OC. But you probably already know that if you followed my story up to now. I'm sorry that the update took so long. But my *err* mental issues had to be cured first.
Disclaimer: I don't own TES V: Skyrim. Bethesda Software does. I only own Miss Scale and the Altmer OC. And thanks to doby1 for putting my story on his favourite list. Reviews would be nice
Chapter 9: A heap of fool's errands
Serana was feeling strange. She'd imagined that she would feel at least slightly happy with being home again after 4 000 odd years. Other elves or vampires would have been giddy with joy. But Serana wasn't "other girls". The short but heated talk with her father had given her the impression that she was just a means to some ungodly end. She didn't want to ponder that now.
So she went searching for Thorald Grey-Mane as she'd promised to Miss Scale. She entered Rargal Slave-Master's little "kingdom of horrors". There were all sorts of prisoners behind closed cell-doors: humans, Altmer, even an Argonian. Most of them were staring at her numbly. They'd been here for so long, sucked half-dry at irregular intervals, malnourished, enthralled time and time again… These people had just given themselves up. The fresher captives backed away into the farthest corner of their cells. Serana cringed at the sight. There had been times long ago, when this heavenward-screaming abuse had been normal in her eyes. Even vampires were sometimes lazy and didn't want to spend whole nights creeping into the mortals' houses and feeding from the sleeping inhabitants. So they had installed this jail with what they callously called "blood-cattle". But the description of Thorald Grey-Mane fitted to none of these prisoners.
So Serana asked the jailer. She had to force herself very hard. Rargal was…disgusting to put it mildly. He laughed meanly at her question. "Yeah him and his Altmer buddy, I remember them well. Somehow they managed to pick the lock but that didn't make them free men, oh no. The Thalmor warrior was caught on the run by Vingalmo. Vingalmo turned the poor fuck. He's one of clan Volkihar now, out and about on a quest. This Thorald Grey-Mane dove into the sewers in desperation. You of all people should know where these tunnels lead to – a dead end in the crypts. Dead end – oh Molag Bal what a pun!" And Rargal chuckled full of glee. Serana took a few deep breaths to stop herself from clawing that smug smirk off from Rargal's face. Blood of the elders that guy was unbearable! "That's all I needed to know. Bye-bye, a girl has other things to do now." Serana said and left the jail.
So this Thorald Grey-Mane was lost somewhere in the bowels of Castle Volkihar, probably very hungry and very lonely. Serana had to fetch some food which was the easier part. Cajoling father dearest into lending the key to the crypt to her would be much harder. She looked around the great hall but only found raw beef that had already developed a very "ripe" aroma. So this was not recommendable for human consummation. Maybe Ronthil had some fresh food among his stocks? Serana wanted to check this.
She found Ronthil soon enough. He was almost always in Feran Sadri's laboratory. She asked him if he had some food in his stocks: vegetables, salted meat, pastry… Ronthil was clearly puzzled. "What would you need food for?" he asked. Serana decided for a snappish, haughty answer. "Don't concern yourself with the reasons of your betters! Just show me what you have. Well?" It turned out that Ronthil was a hoarder of sweet treats and, not surprisingly, meat. So she bought a horse-loin steak, some sweet-cakes and a honey-nut-stick. Then she went from the laboratory to the great hall again, leaving behind a confused Ronthil who scratched his head. What had gotten into that girl? Well it wasn't any of his business, was it?
Serana was already up the stairs and walked (or rather tip-toed) into her lord father's room. She paused in the doorframe for a moment and turned her head from side to side, listening intently with her heightened vampiric senses. She thought, she heard faint, oh so faint snoring. So her father was in his coffin. All the better! Now where to look for father's keys? Not in the cage. That much was obvious. Serana didn't even want to think about the scenes that had occurred there. Then she mustered the various display cases for weapons, jewellery and… Yuck, a werewolf pelt! What did her father need that for? Serana didn't have a clue. The way the hide looked, it was smelly and flea-ridden. There were also sideboards, chests of drawers, wardrobes, bookcases… So much furniture and so little time. She tentatively opened a wardrobe and was instantly covered in a swarm of moths. Oh dear, that would never have happened in the good old days when mother still cared for the household! Lousy old straw-widower, she thought grimly. She rifled through a mouldy, cloth-like something but there was no key of whatever kind. Then she closed the wardrobe again.
Next, she checked the bookcases but it was only a very narrow selection: a full collection of "The true Barenziah", "Thief of virtue", "Hronmir's song" and at least three copies of "The lusty argonian maid". Serana was more than a little troubled. When had her father become desperate and stooped so low? He probably missed Valerica more than he let on. Her eyes wandered from the bookcase to the desk and there lay the elder scroll in all its glory. Now she was certain: something was seriously wrong with her father. It wasn't like him to be so careless. But what was it again with "gifted horses and their mouths"? She snatched the elder scroll and tucked it away under her cloak. And not a moment too soon. For suddenly, she heard a loud *squeeeaaak* from the niche holding the coffin. Father dearest had woken up.
x x x
Miss Scale had her work cut out for her, oh yes indeed! She scratched her scaly head and pondered her quests: which person to follow first? Miss Scale decided to pursue Gunmar first, Sorine second. "Becaussse…" she said to herself. "If Sssorine isss really sssmitten with the Dwemer, ssshe will ssstay put in the Reach. That hold wasss one of their ssstrongholdsss. Finding Gunmar will be more difficult." She returned to Rifton and inquired for Gunmar at the Bee & Barb. But Talen-Jei hadn't heard a thing about the elusive Nordic beast-trainer. So Miss Scale pattered over to Haelga's Bunkhouse – despite her disgust. She just hoped that the man-crazy wench was in a halfway decent state. The common room on the ground floor was empty save for Svana Far-Shield, who was wiping the tables. Miss Scale felt sorry for the girl. Svana was Haelga's own niece for the Hists' sake! And she was being kept like a servant. Nope scratch that: she was a servant for her last living relative. It was really sad, but right now Miss Scale was too busy to do something about it. So she spoke to the girl: "Excussse me Missss Sssvana, isss the landlady awake and decent? I have sssome questionsss about a certain man, whether he wasss a guessst here or not."
Svana looked at her and gave a short, nasty laugh. "Haelga awake at 9:00 am? That's not going to happen in a thousand, thousand years. The old bitch is still languishing under the bedcovers, sleeping off this night's wild ride. But maybe I can help you?"
"Do you know, if a certain Gunmar bunked here during the lasssst few dayssss? He'sss been dessscribed to me asss a big, burly Nord with a ssspecial connection to animalsss. I heard he wasss able to raissse and train the wildessst of beassstsss, even troll-cubsss. An old friend needsss him now." Miss Scale told her. But she was disappointed soon enough.
"Nope, we haven't had a customer named Gunmar during the last weeks. Haelga has been banging three different men during the last month, one of them married and one Dunmer…" "Oh that'sss crassss!" Miss Scale interrupted. "But no beast-master I'm afraid." Svana continued. "You might want to consult other 'sources of information'. I'm talking about Brynjolf the quack. He's got a stall on the marketplace. Let's just say that he doesn't make most of his money with useless concoctions and leave it at that."
"Oh noooo!" Miss Scale wailed. "Thanksss for the hint, but I'm not that desssperate yet. The ssseedy jerk can get lossst in Oblivion for all I care; yesss indeed." That being said, Miss Scale left the *errrr* establishment.
She briefly wondered if she should buy some magical equipment from the court wizard. But she decided against bothering Wylandria. That scatterbrained she-elf was grating on everyone's nerves in Mistveil Keep. Jarl Leila Law-Giver probably only kept her around out of pity. Maybe Brand-Shei had some wizard-stuff as well? It turned out to be a good guess. Miss Scale bought a spell-tome of soothing. She flipped through the pages eagerly. Illusion magic was nothing short of fascinating. Oh the possibilities! Muffling her own footsteps, bolstering up the courage of her companions, scaring off enemies, soothing them, or making them go berserk…
When she was done memorizing the callings and hand movements, she turned her feet towards the city gates of Rifton. She left for the stables and was still unsure on where to go next. Maybe Windhelm? It was relatively close to Rifton. But then, Miss Scale had a problem. The city itself was banned, a no-go-area for Argonians. They were only oh-so-graciously allowed to stay at the harbour. And there was no inn at the Windhelm harbour. But there was this teeny, tiny miner's camp near Windhelm. What was the name again? Aaah yes: Kynesgrove! The "settlement" consisted mainly of the Briarwood Inn and a few tents. Yes, that would be a good start as any. And she could combine the visit with a spa in the hot springs of Eastmarch. So she took her first steps towards the dirt-path that led to Torval's Cave, Ansilvund and Rockfurrow Cave. "Wildernesss, here I come," she thought!
x x x
Anitul Sirmarion was gliding two feet above ground – metaphorically speaking. He was no Telvanni wizard after all. But he was beyond glad to be mortal and alive once again. He made a small detour to Morthal to properly thank Falion. Then, he turned towards Solitude. But he decided for the paved road against the direct route. Better to be safe than sorry; for he had heard wild talk about a vampire hideout near Morthal. It would be just his luck to get infected again! The road took him through a fir-tree-forest. It was a pleasant hike all in all. But at one point, he saw a grey spot that obviously didn't belong to the road. There was no such thing as furry stone-slabs. It was an animal of some sort and it made a dash for the undergrowth. Anitul had a strong feeling, that it was a stray dog. He mused about whether to pursue it, or not. Well, he hadn't had the best of luck with his adventures lately. But then again: it was just a stray dog! How much of a challenge could that be? Famous last words… Anitul made up his mind and followed the swift dog. It led him to a small cot among the trees. "Hello?" Anitul called. "Is someone at home?"
But he could only hear the dog barking from inside. Cautiously he entered. There was no door, just the empty doorframe. The building was nothing special, almost had to be called a shack. And that stench, oh Stendarr it was terrible! Where did that stink come from? There was a shelf with some food and wooden plates but that couldn't be the source of the bad vapours. Anitul looked to the right and then he knew. There in the niche stood a bed and nightstand. And on the bed lay a dead body. Anitul couldn't tell anymore if it had been a man or a woman. Flies were swarming in the air and most of the flesh was covered with creepy crawlies. Yuck! The dog lay on the floor drooping its nose into an empty feed-bowl. Anitul found a diary on the nightstand. "May I?" he asked. Then he laughed to himself. Asking a dog for permission: how ridiculous! So he grabbed the diary and read it. Oh dear! This poor lonely guy (That much was clear now.) had died slowly and miserably from the after-effects of rockshanks. And since that time, the dog had fended for itself. Apparently Meeko was the dog's name. Anitul sighed. "Well Meeko…"
"*Woof*" said Meeko and thumped his tail on the floor. It felt so good to be finally called by his name again.
"You can't stay here." Anitul said. "Well technically, you could. But soon, it will be winter. And the wolves and sabre-cats will get desperate. You might get killed and eaten."
Meeko cocked his head and said "*Yowl?*". He rose on his four paws. Anitul bent down to pet him.
"You know what? I think the Thalmor embassy near Solitude needs a new mascot. Veeery serious position but Shuravi keeps a good table. Maybe ambassador Elenwen will keep you. On second thought… No let's better not do that. She might misuse you for the 'cruel and unusual punishment of prisoners'." Anitul kept chatting.
"Grrrr…" said Meeko.
"Oh yes, she's that kind of woman. You may tag along. Well, what are you waiting for?" Anitul asked.
*Woof*, *woof*, *WOOF*! Anitul found himself with a pair of paws on his shoulders and a face-wash for free. A little later, he left the cabin with Meeko bounding after him. They reached the embassy without difficulties. Anitul had to hunt for himself and Meeko now and then, but they managed.
The problems started at the embassy gate. Sergeant Shotoras was on guard duty again and not a happy mer. At the moment, he berated Anitul. "You're not serious boy, are you? A mascot? This is a military compound first and foremost and of course residence of her eminence ambassador Elenwen. Somehow 'animal shelter' doesn't appear in the description. Well it's good to have you back among the living but this walking flea-circus, now really?"
Anitul Sirmarion tried to protest. "But Meeko's previous owner died of rockshanks! I performed some last services for the poor guy but now the dog needs help."
"Oh drag it over to Solitude. Maybe general Tullius needs a hound dog? Or jarl Elisif needs a bed-warmer, or whoever… But it won't take permanent residence here and that's final!" Sergeant Shotoras had become quite vocal.
Anitul was getting cranky, too. "Be that as it may, I still need to talk to the first emissary. I'd ask for resignation or in other words: I quit"
That reaction left sergeant Shotoras flabbergasted. "Because I denied a dog access? That's about the most absurd thing I've heard in the last two centuries."
Anitul looked more thoughtful now. He sighed. "It's not because of Meeko. Well not entirely… I went through Oblivion and back again during the last weeks. You only weathered the storming of Northwatch Keep. But I had to endure weeks in the jail of a vampire hideout. I was turned into a vampire for Auri-el's sake! That leaves a mer wondering where his priorities lie. Not with the Thalmor any longer, that's for sure."
As if to emphasize that, Meeko started baying. "See? Even Meeko agrees." Anitul said.
Sergeant Shotoras rolled his eyes and said: "That's hardly the case. It barked, because it felt like barking. There's a reason for the expression 'stupid dog'. But do come in by any means. However, tell Meeko to stay behind."
Anitul Sirmarion gave the according order to Meeko. The dog started to whine and whimper but stayed behind. "So I only have to convince her frostiness Elenwen to let me go. Won't be easy." He grimly thought to himself. Then he stepped through the embassy gate, hopefully for the second last time.
x x x
Lord Harkon had had a very strange dream. Yes: vampires do dream now and then while sleeping in their coffins. This wasn't the first time he had that dream. In the dream, he was in another place, definitely not Castle Volkihar. He was out in the open, in a frozen valley. The whole place felt ancient and serene. The sky was shrouded in mists that thankfully blocked out the cruel light of Magnus. There were birch-trees around him and rare flowers, the likes of which he'd never seen before. These flowers were purple and light blue in colour and glowing. The only glowing plants he knew about were Nirnroot that Valerica had shown him so long ago. The brief memory of Valerica gave him a stab of sour mood. But back to the dream… Lord Harkon could also see deer scampering around. These animals were also the strangest he had ever seen. Their fur was striped in a fluorescent yellow! But then, a voice had sounded in his head.
"I can sense you, man of Atmora." This voice was neither deadric nor human. It held a tone that must have been heart-breakingly beautiful once.
"I am no man, I haven't been for millennia." Lord Harkon "answered" with his rash thoughts.
"I am well aware of that." The answer was accompanied by a chuckle that sent thousands of icicles down Harkon's spine.
Lord Harkon bristled. "Who in the name of Coldharbour are you?" he demanded.
"I belong to those of the elder days, who roamed Tamriel before the human riff-raff landed on the Ghost Coast. I am the writer of words, words that destroyed your family. The ancient blood you might have… But you'll never obtain the bow. I hold it." The voice taunted.
"Which bow are you talking about?" Lord Harkon asked.
The answer came not in words but with a picture. He saw a great statue of a male elf. The elf was holding his arms above his head and in his hands was a sun wrought of shining gold. This vision was accompanied by a jolt of such vicious hatred that Lord Harkon jerked awake. He opened his coffin and stepped out. Someone had been in his room only moments before. He sniffed the air like a hound. Serana! His dear, wayward daughter… Come to think of it, maybe she still was in the room? Aaah yes, she'd used the vampire gift "embrace of the shadows". "Hey Serana, aren't you a bit old to play hide-and-seek?" Harkon called out.
From the corner near the cage came an annoyed huff and then the *whoosh* of an invisibility spell flickering out. Serana rose from her crouching position and said: "Nothing gets past you, right? Well I wasn't sure about the mood with which you would wake up. Remember the episode where you almost scratched mother's eyes out because you lived out the last remnants of a dream? She wouldn't go intimate with you for a week, if I remember correctly." Serana was really proud of the innocent expression that accompanied her words.
"Gah! Molag Bal's cock; don't remind me…" Lord Harkon groused. Then he looked at Serana with a piercing, expectant look.
"Oh fine, let's drop the act and get right to the point." Serana played along, albeit sullenly. "I need the key to the crypts under the northern tract of Castle Volkihar. I've got business there; business that has been left unattended for several millennia. You know, our old garden in the courtyard…" she finished lamely.
"Yes, I remember all too well. You and…her (He all but spat the word.) would hole up there for hours because it was so damn peaceful and serene. Well, I did some 'readjustments' several centuries past. You'll like it. And if you don't, I won't mind either way." Lord Harkon sneered. His smirk made Serana's skin crawl.
"What? Did? You? Do?" Serana asked furiously and emphasized each word.
Now, her father looked the picture of innocence. "Oooh nothing major. I just devastated those grisly flowerbeds, played boccia with a few pots and planters and salted the rest of the soil." He waved his hand about in a nonchalant way, then used that hand to unfasten a key from his belt and tossed the key to Serana. She deftly caught it and then, she glared daggers at her father. She didn't bother with a spoken reply but used her vampiric mental powers to give the other vampire a piece of her mind - literally. Skulls and bones, clenched fists, lightning bolts, daggers, bombs and Akaviri letters too all appeared before the inner eye of Lord Harkon, who laughed it away with belittling ease. Serana left the room, clinging for dear life unto the remnants of her dignity.
x x x
Miss Scale had arrived in Kynesgrove after annoying hassles with one-too-many predators. Her new calming magic had worked wonders. The wolves and frostbite spiders had taken on a pale green hue as the spell had hit them. Then, they had lost all aggression, simply slinking away minding their own business. However, Miss Scale was very much aware, that this forced peacefulness would not be permanent. So she hurried on her way. She met the paved road from Windhelm to Rifton and turned right. She had passed the Dwemer ruins of Mzulft, a giant's camp (officially authorized), a hunter's butchering spot (not so authorized!) and at last, here she was standing in front of Briarwood Inn. The air around the hot springs of Eastmarch was always stuffy and smelly. The light breeze of sulphur wouldn't hurt her sturdy Argonian health much. But still, it was unpleasant. So Miss Scale entered the inn.
She went over to the counter and the owner addressed her. "I am Iddra and you've chosen the Briarwood Inn. What can I do for you? Food, drink or a bed?"
"Thanksss for the offer but maybe later. I am Misss Ssscale, adventurer and recent member of the Dawnguard. Did you have a patron named Gunmar recently? I have a messsssage for him. A former friend needsss him. No ssstringsss attached, at leassst not from my ssside."
"Why yes." Iddra replied. "There was a guy named Gunmar here, only yesterday. He asked me, if there were any bounty-hunter jobs to do. In fact, messengers from Jarl Ulfric left an official announcement. The jarl wants a diseased cave bear in Crovanger Cave dealt with. The bear probably suffers from brain-rot or another maddening blight. It's already killed several harmless travellers."
"Oh dear me, the thingssss we do for the good of mankind!" Miss Scale sighed dramatically. "Could you pleasssse give me directionsss to thisss Crovanger Cave? Hopefully, I don't arrive to a mauled body. My employer, Issssran, isss not the mossst patient of Redguardsss, or the mossst underssstanding."
"Crovanger Cave is easy to distinguish." Iddra chirped. "Its entrance is festooned with cobwebs and egg cocoons. There must be a whole tribe of frostbite spiders in there…"
"Oh joy!" Miss Scale groused.
"Well, go to the stables of Windhelm. It's not far. There's a river joining the mighty Windhelm sund. Follow that river upstream. The cave is on its eastern bank." Iddra finished her tale.
"Thanksss a lot." Miss Scale said. "And could you pleassse sell me a roasssted goat leg and a bottle of mead?"
Iddra chuckled: "Of course, since it's such a looong way. That makes seven septims."
Miss Scale paid her tab and left the inn. Near the inn were some tents where the miners complained about the aedra-cursed heat in Steambrand Mine. Unfortunately, the miners would have to make do with the heat as it was the only major malachite deposit in all of Skyrim. And there also was this Dunmer stoneweaver sorceress, who tried to make working conditions more bearable with heat-resistance-potions.
Then, Miss Scale passed a short stretch of volcanic wasteland. She saw dragontongue orchids, creepvines and jasbay grapes. Apart from those few plants, the hot springs of Eastmarch were rather barren. Then she followed that certain river upstream. At the riverbank, she came across a hunting cabin and a very disagreeable sabre toothed cat that was not happy about the disturbance. Miss Scale first tried her soothing magic. When the sabre toothed cat proved too stubborn for the spell, she electrocuted it. *meow!* After that, Miss Scale picked a few vegetables from the cabin's garden. The whole place was clearly deserted. Further upstream, she arrived at Crovanger Cave. Those cobwebs must have been very sturdy. There was an adult mammoth entangled in them after all! The mammoth had starved. Miss Scale gulped quite audibly. Not good, so not good. Shuddering, she entered the cave.
She walked through a short tunnel and came to the first room. There stood a big, burly Nord surrounded by a circle of four dead frostbite spiders. His hair shone reddish brown in the light of his torch. The only other source of light in the whole room was the eerie bluish glow of shimmer mushrooms. The Nord must have heard Miss Scale approaching because his hand was on the hilt of his weapon in no time. He spun around but his wild expression turned to relief when he saw, that it was "only" an Argonian woman.
"Breath-of-Kyne, what are you doing down here? This place is dangerous or didn't you notice the mammoth carcass in the cobwebs at the entrance?" the guy asked clearly annoyed.
"Yesss I did, and believe me: I wissssh I were anywhere elsssse. But I'm a lizzzard with a misssssion. Are you Gunmar by any chance? A certain Isssran ssssent me to find you. He didn't ssssay anything about creepy ssspider holesss though." Miss Scale joked with a lopsided grin.
"Who are you and how have you met Isran? I haven't thought of him in quite some time. Five years ago, he was very eager to see my back disappear down the road. What does he want now?" Gunmar asked a lot of questions.
"I am Misssss SSSSScale, Argonian adventurer for hire. How I met Issssran, well that'sss a long ssstory. Jussst sssay that I joined the Dawnguard for a ssspecial reassson and leave it at that. Later, I'll tell you more. Now you have a rabid bear to hunt down, if I remember correctly." Miss Scale said.
"Yes and a volunteer just spoke up to accompany me." Gunmar replied grinning like the proverbial cat.
"But meesssa… Oh fine I had that one coming. Let'sss go find thisss dratted bear." Miss Scale sighed.
Then, she worked the candlelight spell for herself. With torch and candlelight she noticed a thing that probably shouldn't sit on a cave wall: a button.
"Hey Gunmar" Miss Scale said. "Thisss button probably operatesss a hidden door or sssomething."
"Yes but I would bet on it, that the bear isn't in there –whatever hidden room there may be…" Gunmar grumbled. "An untrained bear can't press any buttons. It's not smart enough. Let's follow the tunnels further into the cave."
And so they did. Miss Scale and Gunmar wormed their way through tunnels, down ramps (Miss Scale took some time to take a bath in an underground lake.) and finally they arrived at the lair of the beast – or well beasts. There was the blighted bear accompanied by a huge frostbite spider. Miss Scale fought big momma spider while Gunmar took on the bear. The fights were…messy to say the least. The huge frostbite spider could spit its venom over long distances. And the mad bear tried to tackle Gunmar. But the beast trainer moved out of the way with a nimbleness no one would have expected from him. He jumped on the bear's back and was safe from maw and claw. Then, he used the handle of his warhammer to strangle the bear. It was a lengthy and gruesome process.
Miss Scale had charged her hands with two different spells. In her left hand, she wielded the defensive spell "lesser ward". That was against the flying venom. While Argonians were immune to most poisons, the stuff would eat holes in the weaker parts of her armour. And Miss Scale wouldn't have that. And with her right hand, she poured a steady stream of flames at the spider. It hissed and squealed but finally backed away. When all her magicka were spent, Miss Scale used her crossbow to finish the spider off. The carcass of the overgrown pest nearly blocked the whole tunnel entrance to the lair. Miss Scale squeezed herself through a gap and was relieved to see Gunmar still among the living. He sat straddle-legged on that huge, and pretty dead, cave bear, wiped his brow and returned the warhammer to its sling.
"Well that was…bothersome", Gunmar wheezed. When he had caught his breath again, he said: "But this bear won't hurt another traveller. Don't know what you'll be doing but I'm going to Jorleif to collect my bounty. Hmm… Maybe I should behead the carcass to arrive with a proof? Will be damn heavy but it also will look great as a trophy over the mantelpiece. Then, I'll go to Fort Dawnguard."
"Whereassss I will go looking for Sssorine now. Yesss: Sssorine Jurard. Isssran alssso asssked for her. The poor man mussst be really desssperate. But maybe, I'll explore thisss hidden room firssst?" Miss Scale said. And so, they parted ways.
x x x
Anitul Sirmarion was waiting in Ambassador Elenwen's antechamber. The first emissary liked to keep guests waiting, even though soldier Sirmarion wasn't a guest technically. It was all a show of power. Her: grand and mighty lady. Anitul? But a speck of dust on the floor. Well, Anitul was sitting in a chair. The hall was furnished with exquisite taste: rosewood sidetables, ebony shelves, lots of plush cushions, silver tableware, pastries displayed on silver trays… But after what felt like an eternity, the first emissary showed herself in the doorframe in all her elven glory. However, the merish ideal of beauty was and is questionable. (Have you ever met Nirya at the Winterhold academy of magic? Then you'll know what I mean. She's got an inbred horse-face and calls it "superior good looks" for crying out loud!)
Ambassador Elenwen was clothed in her hoodless Thalmor robes minus the spiky gloves. Her face was long but all the distances between nose, mouth, eyes and ears were pleasing. She had shoulder-length fair hair and that weird sooty make-up on her cheeks. Her amber eyes fit in the picture. She turned to Anitul and asked: "You wanted to talk to me soldier?"
"Yes ma'm!" Anitul Sirmarion called. "Some weeks ago, I was stationed at Northwatch Keep. But one dreadful night, the fort was attacked and run over by vampires. I'm sure you heard the stories of a select few survivors. I was taken alive by those freaks of nature and shipped off to Castle Volkihar. It's the home and headquarters of a very influential clan of vampires. I won't go into details about my captivity. Just know that this place has an ungodly jail and leave it at that. I was caught during an escape attempt and turned into a vampire as punishment. That's a process no man or mer should have to go through. Luckily, I was unconscious for most of the time. After the turning, the vampires sent me away on a quest. A vampire artefact now lies at the bottom of a Hjaalmarsh swamp pond. I "interpreted" the mission directives. Oh no! I forgot about the effects that might have on the resident slaughterfish. Well there's nothing to remedy that now. So long story, short reader: I was cured by Falion, the conjurer that settled down in Morthal. Again, that was a nasty process which required a filled black soul gem. But I'm back to my old mortal self and very glad about it. Alas this whole ordeal was very harrowing to me. I'd like to hand in my resignation and return to Alinor some day."
Elenwen's face had gone through all shades of shock and righteous anger during the report but now, she cocked her slanted brows.
"Oh really?" she asked. "But isn't that a bit…exaggerated? You could still be very useful to the Thalmor with your experience."
Anitul winced. "Experience that I'd rather forget about…" he muttered.
Elenwen huffed a dramatic sigh. "Well, I see there's no way of persuading you to stay. At least try to mark the spot where Castle Volkihar is located on our war map. And then, give your armour back to the quartermaster. Can't have you running around in a Thalmor suit of armour when you no longer belong to us. In the meantime, I will write and sign your documents."
Anitul gave an elegant salute. Then he said his "Yes ma'm!" and left the room. An hour later, he was dressed in civilian clothes that had lain in the bottom of his trunk. He left the Thalmor compound, waved a good-bye to sergeant Shotoras and whistled for Meeko. The dog ran around him in wide, playful circles and barked. "Yes buddy, that's a good dog. Come on, we're leaving." Anitul said. And they walked down the mountainside towards the Solitude-Dragonbridge-road, a free mer and his best friend.
Back at the embassy, Elenwen had called one of her many cat's paws. The word had to be taken literally because it was a male khajit. He was dressed in shabby clothes of homespun linen. His ears were large, well groomed and adorned with several golden rings. One of his eyes was coloured amber, the other one was milky white with a prominent scar going from brow to jaw. His fur was reddish with gray spots and stripes. He gave Elenwen a big, toothy grin. "What can this one do for you, your grace?" the khajit asked with the typical southern accent.
"Learn the proper titles for one, Rar'jin!" was Elenwen's waspish retort. "I'm not royalty…unluckily."
"Aaah Rar'jin is sorry! But for this one, you are the ruler of your own little kingdom and of me," the khajit grovelled.
"And quit the flattery for Auri-el's sake! I've got a serious job for you. You're going to shadow a former soldier called Anitul Sirmarion. He retired today, way before the due age. His reasons may be understandable, but still something feels off. He didn't tell me everything that he went through and did during the last weeks. Here's where your task starts Rar'jin. Spy on him, write reports about his doings and whereabouts, his companions, every last thing. Skyrim has become a dangerous country. It wouldn't do for poor Anitul to have an 'accident'." Elenwen said and smiled insincerely.
"Oh yes, Rar'jin will do that," the khajit said and nodded enthusiastically. "But Rar'jin will need supplies, lots of supplies: at least two big bags of septims, a stack of paper, quill and inkwell aaand a dagger, should some jerk of a Nord find it funny to step on Rar'jin's tail." The khajit flattened his ears to his head and bared his teeth menacingly.
"Yes, yes. You'll get all of these. Let's settle for a modest steel dagger. I can't have you running around with cheap clothes and an ebony or malachite weapon. It would look strange and suspicious. And don't get caught! That's the most important thing." Elenwen shooed him away with a wave of her hand.
At the mention of steel dagger, Rar'jin looked somewhat disappointed but said: "This one lives to serve."
"Then serve me well." Elenwen emphasized.
x x x
Serana was in distress…to put it mildly. She had hurried to the northern side of Volkihar Island, dealt with some nasty skeletons at the private quay and unlocked the door to the crypt. Well, someone had been down there recently and killed several death hounds, skeletons and other nuisances. Her path had been effortless and she had ascended the stairs to the courtyard. It was the state of said courtyard that drove her to bloody tears.
In her memory, the place still was a sweet garden-spot with orderly flowerbeds filled with deathknell, nightshade, yellow mountain flower (very rare!) and various mushrooms. The planters were then still filled with juniper and snowberry bushes. And the moondial, her mother's greatest pride, had still been in order. Now the garden was barren, the pots were empty and the moondial had been vandalized. Argh! One day, she was going to spank her father for this!No, not just spank him but kill him, she grimly thought. But then, she remembered the reason why she was in this place after all. She walked around a bit and called to the seemingly empty space: "Hey Thorald, Thorald Grey-Mane! I know you must be nearly besides you with fear. Listen, I'm not after your blood. I was sent by an Argonian adventurer to look after you. Her name is Miss Scale. She's working for your mother and the Dawnguard. They want to return you home alive and in one piece. I… I've got food for you. Won't you come out?"
There came a sullen reply from the most backward corner of the yard. "Leave me be, creature of the night! I won't fall for your promises. Three days ago, I had to kill my poor death hound Maul to eat him. I was so hungry. Then I waited for some gulls to land, but they never came. Just let me die in peace." Thorald whined.
"Oh dear, this is going to be difficult." Serana thought. She had to use all her patience and persuasion and…the last sad remnants of her girlish charm. "Listen Mr. Grey-Mane, I've already fed. And I've got a bottle of "blood draught" in my pack. So I won't have to follow my base urges for quite some time. You'll be just fine. Did I mention that I've got a horse-loin steak and some sweet treats?" she asked innocently.
There was some grumbling from out of the bushes. "You won't give up, will you?" Thorald Grey-Mane asked.
"Nope that's not my way." Serana replied. Then, the bushes parted and a very scraggly, underfed Nord appeared. His arms were a far shot from brawny and his legs had difficulty in carrying him.
"Rargal Slave-master put us on a diet," he said apologetically. Serana winced at those words. The fucking bastard! He should be locked in a vampire-proof vault with just his sadist self for company. That probably wouldn't teach him a lesson but the wailing and shrieking would be music to Serana's ears. She unstrapped her backpack, rummaged in it and tossed a sweet-cake to Thorald. "Better take it slow," she advised him. "Don't wolf everything down at once. You'll only get sick."
But the advice was lost among Thorald's munching and swallowing. Food, glorious food that deserved its name! Thorald flushed it down with a bit of water that Serana offered him from a waterskin. He said: "That's probably the first – and last – time that I'll be grateful to a vampire. Those last weeks in this castle have been…unspeakably dreadful. I didn't know, if I was to be selected as a future vampire or not. The uncertainty, the hunger, the humiliations, the mean talk of Rargal…" Thorald Grey-Mane was lost for words.
Serana looked at him sadly. "Looks like my father has got a lot to answer for: your suffering, the devastation of this garden, forcing us all to become vampires in the first place... He's been a devout follower of Molag Bal since his early Atmoran days."
Here, she was interrupted by a bewildered shout from Thorald: "Atmora?! You mean like in 'The collected songs of the return', Ysgramor going ashore and all? Gods, how old are you actually?"
Serana mock-thoughtfully placed an index finger on her chin and scrunched up her face. "I've been stashed away and sleeping for the past eras… Yes eras!" she emphasized. "So four-thousand-plus-something years? That's a wild guess at best. Being out of the picture for so long, I still have to decide if that's been a blessing or a curse. But we've really got to go now. I've taken something from my father that I wasn't supposed to take…if you get my meaning. Something priceless. By the way, my name is Serana."
"Naughty girl, eh?" Thorald Grey-Mane asked. The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Well it's none of my business. You unlocked the door to the outside world. And you fed me. By the way, I could stomach another sweet-cake. I need to get back in shape as fast as I can."
But Serana pretended to not hear his begging for food. She turned towards the crypt entrance, walked a few paces and lifted her hand in a 'follow me'-gesture. Thorald audibly groaned but shuffled after her. He only paused for a tiny moment to whisper: "Rest in peace, Maul."
x x x
Miss Scale's eyes narrowed dangerously. She bared her teeth and was at the beginning of a fearsome hiss. No, she was not a happy Argonian. She had searched the Reach for freaking days, as it was one of the biggest holds in all of Skyrim. Only the Whiterun tundra rivalled it in size. But the Reach was by far rockier and murkier, and downright hostile on bad days. Miss Scale had had her fair share of hungry predators of all sizes coming after her. That had already been bothersome. But then, she'd also run afoul of a Forsworn camp or two. Aaah yes, the Forsworn… They belonged to the same ethnical group as the Bretons. But where most Bretons were elegant, had a way with words (not to mention mighty inborn magic)…those Forsworn were savages. Yes, savages!
Miss Scale didn't come to that opinion lightly. Argonians too, they suffered from many-a-prejudice. They were called "beastfolk" because their animalistic heritage was still clearly visible, because they had adapted to life in a giant swamp, because they worshipped intelligent trees called "Hist".
But the Forsworn in the crypts, derelict forts and caves were enemies to all who happened to stumble over them. They wore crude fur armour, wielded even cruder weapons and their "magical authorities" did unholy blood magic. The shrines of the old gods were adorned with goat heads on spikes, butchered skeevers, spriggan parts and quite frankly, Miss Scale didn't want to delve too deeply into the briarheart-creation-process.
Finally, she had found that engineer friend of Isran's but the woman proved to be every bit the pig-headed scientist she was said to be. Sorine Jurard was camping near a crumbling Dwemer pillar in the middle of nowhere and refused to go anywhere, unless her stupid Dwemer cogwheels were found. She needed ten of the weighty metal parts.
"Ssso, let me get thisss ssstraight: You're doing field work, which isss all good and well. And you lossst your bag with Dwemer cogwheelsss." Miss Scale summarized and Sorine Jurard nodded. "Each cogwheel weighsss about 10 kg, making that a dead weight of 100 kg. And you claim that a mudcrab dragged the bag away?! Mussst have been the ssstrongessst mudcrab of all timesss and agessss. Or you don't want to admit, that you misssplace your ssstuff now and again."
Now, Sorine Jurard sent her an indignant and downright withering look. "Mock me all you want but I won't leave without these cogwheels! They are crucial for my research concerning… *sigh* Never mind. And I must say Isran has got some nerves to order me around in this way. I'm totally unprepared! Why is he suddenly so upset?"
"It'sss jussst the minor affair of an Elder Ssscroll in the clawsss of a vampire lord." Miss Scale replied sarcastically. "All right, I will look for your blasssted Dwemer cogwheelsss." And off she went. Miss Scale didn't have to go far though. A mere 20 paces away, near the riverbank, lay a roughspun sack. And in the sack? Bingo! There were 10 Dwemer cogwheels inside. Miss Scale dug her heels in the ground and started to drag the item along the ground. She returned to a now very alarmed Sorine.
"A vampire lord and an Elder Scroll? This situation can only breed disaster!" she cried.
"Which isss why we need to return to Dayssspring Canyon asss fassst asss possssible. We need a packhorssse. Maybe we'll find one in a Forsssworn cattle pen?" Miss Scale said.
And they found one near Fort Sunguard. They had to "negotiate" with the Forsworn first but they were victorious. They strapped the cogwheels and other loot to the packhorse and the travel went much faster from this point onwards. They travelled via Whiterun, Riverwood, the pass east of Helgen into the autumn forest and all the way to Rifton.