"I'm sorry, Arch-Mage, but I can find no trace of these shadows that the citizens are talking about. I searched every inch of the city and spoke to dozens of people, but nothing turned up," Runa told Fornice, her head bowed.

"I didn't really expect you to find anything, but the fact that we tried might settle people down," Fornice replied kindly.

"Yes, Arch-Mage." Runa paused for a moment, looking deep in thought. "Do you think these shadows are real, Arch-Mage?"

"Oh, I doubt it. Probably just townsmen exaggerating things," Fornice said dismissively.

"I think they're real." Fornice raised an eyebrow at Runa's openness. "I mean no disrespect, Arch-Mage, but everyone I spoke to could describe them in detail, and they all said near enough the same thing. They looked human, except... wrong. Bent over and moved as if injured."

"What do you think they are, then?" Fornice asked.

"I'm not sure. I still haven't worked out if there's only one or several shadows. Do I have your permission to continue my investigation?" Runa said.

"Hmm. Yes. Yes you do. Report back to me with anything you find," Fornice said, one finger tapping on her chin.

"Arch-Mage," Runa said with a bow. She turned on her heel and left the room, her steel armour clanking together as she walked.

As soon as Runa had left, Fornice reached into her robes and took out a thick, wrought iron key. Hastily, she walked across the room to a small black safe that was embedded in the wall above her bed. Standing precariously on her bed, she fit the key into the lock and opened the safe to reveal it to be empty save for another key. This one, however, was beautifully crafted from sterling silver. The handle swam with interlocking threads of white gold, and the key itself was made up of a dozen smooth curves and bends, much like a river. This ensured that it was nigh on impossible to open the door this key unlocked without the key itself. In fact, the room the door guarded had never been broken into for hundreds of years until several weeks ago when three reckless royal mages had found a way inside.

Fornice took the key and made her way to the Winterhold Vault.

It was over before it had begun. The Pale soldiers had outnumbered Rolf's men three to one, and they had been backed up against the keep. The mages, after felling several men, had run out of Magicka, barely being able to summon a lick of flame. All Rolf could do was call a surrender before any more of his men were killed.

Right now, he was tied to a post in the centre of the courtyard. To his right sat Irontooth, looking miserable and defeated. To his left, the Dunmer Alterationist sat with his head lolled onto his shoulder. Rolf worried that he wouldn't last, as the magic he used trying to keep the shield up had drained all his strength.

Around the courtyard, soldiers and mages were in a similar situation. Dozens of posts had been erected, and all anyone could do was sit and glare as the Pale soldiers took free roam of Fort Fellhammer.

"Well, Captain Rolf, look how the tables have turned." Rolf looked up to see the Pale Commander bearing down on him, bloody rags covering half his face. "Oh, you've noticed my face?" the Commander said nonchalantly. "Thanks to your little stunt with the fireball, it'll be a tattered mess for as long as I live." He crouched down and grabbed Rolf's chin, jerking his head upwards so they were eye to eye. "But I now have your fort. It's a nice little place, but you do like to hide your secrets in it. Just imagine my surprise when I took a little stroll through that mine of yours and found piles of gold! And who says Winterhold is a destitute hold?" He threw Rolf's head back so that it slammed against the post, causing Rolf to hiss and grit his teeth with pain. The Commander simply laughed and spat in Rolf's face before standing up. "But how rude of me, I never introduced myself. My name is Commander Jod of Dawnstar, and that's exactly where I'll be taking you soon enough, but first we need to make a stop in Winterhold." At this, Rolf struggled to break free of his bonds but to no avail. He kicked at the dirt and snow and clawed at the post. "Are you quite done?" Jod asked after Rolf had slumped down in defeat,

"You'll never take the city," he spat at Jod.

"Not with my much depleted army, no, but reinforcements from Morthal should be here by tomorrow, and then there's nothing standing in between me and that hovel you call a city."

"Why do this, Jod? You owe nothing to Elisif," Rolf said pleadingly. His voice spilt out weakly between the matted clumps of hair that hung in front of his face.

"She is my Queen, and Skald is my Jarl. We all have our orders, Rolf. You obeyed yours, and I obeyed mine. It's just unlucky how these things end."

"Join us. With your army we can stand against Elisif. She's a bad queen, and we all know it. If you join and your men fight for us, then we can continue to make a stand." Rolf tilted his head to look straight up at Jod. He in returned crouched and looked Rolf in the eyes before saying, with clear determination;

"We have our orders. Winterhold may be your home, but Dawnstar is mine, and if Dawnstar supports Elisif, then so do I."

"Will you be a sheep all your life, Jod?" In response, Rolf got a sharp kick to the ribs.

"I'll be named a Thane for this, Rolf, and you will be hanged. Don't forget that." Jod spat in Rolf's face and strutted his way into the keep.

"I'm sorry, Peric, but I've been told to take the rest of my students with me. It's your duty to fight," Drevis said authoritatively.

"I have no problem doing my duty, but I just want to know why we're being sent out so suddenly," Peric said while rummaging through the draws in his room.

"Tolfdir was never clear. I assume it's because we can't hold back if we want to win this war, and you of all people should know the value of Illusion."

"It can turn the tide of battle, as you've told me."

"And as you've proved. Fornice told me what you did in Castle Dour and Fort Fellhammer." Drevis put a wrinkled hand on Peric's shoulder, and Peric turned around to face his tutor. "I'm proud of you."

Peric stared at the old Dunmer before his face cracked into a smile. "You've always been harsh words and brutal training, Drevis. Not once have you said that to me."

"I'm not as bad as all that!" Drevis said with a laugh. "But I suppose I sometimes push my students too hard. Besides, that might prove to save your life out there. If I were soft on you, you wouldn't last a minute."

"You might well be right."

"And I've always been proud of you, all of you, but you're my star pupil, Peric. One day you might take over my position as the authority on Illusion magic," Drevis said with a proud smile.

"If there's a college left."

"If there's a college left." Drevis paused and pondered over his words for a moment before patting Peric's shoulder. "Come now, pack your things. We won't be returning here for a long time," Drevis said and left the room, no doubt to tackle the rest of his students.

Peric watched him leave before turning back to packing with a heavy sigh. Thoughts of war clouded his mind, thoughts of battle and death. He could handle himself against a few guards and bandits, but an army? His thoughts drifted from war to a familiar face with a beaming smile and rosy cheeks, but his mind shifted again, and he saw the same face, but it was cold and unforgiving. With a defeated grunt, he grabbed his staff and walk slowly from the room.

"Brelyna!" Peric called as he entered the Hall of Countenance.

"I'm here, Peric," Brelyna called from a room to his right. Peric walked over to it and pulled away the thick velvet curtain. Brelyna's room was much grander than her one in the Hall of Attainment. Thick tapestries hung from the walls, most of which showed a brilliant spiked eye; the symbol of the College of Winterhold. Furs were draped along her floor and bed, which was a large double affair, and a tiered chandelier hung from her ceiling, burning bright with dripping wax.

"I'm leaving for Fort Kastav soon," Peric said.

"I know. Many of my students will be joining you," Brelyna said, holding up a stack of papers.

"Are you coming?"

"No, Peric," Brelyna said with a sigh. "Fornice has told me I'm needed here at the college, and I have to agree with her. Right now I'm having to sort out what few students I have left, and three of them are refusing to be deployed," Brelyna said, waving the papers in the air. "I need to try and save them."

"Save them?"

"Jarl Korir has imposed martial law on every citizen, including the mages. If they refuse to do their duty, they'll be tried and hanged. It's a shame it had to happen to Alteration. I'm still new to this, and I have no idea how to save them as well as add to the war effort."

"By The Eight, Brelyna, I'm so sorry," Peric said, putting his hand on her robed arm.

"By The Eight, by The Nine, by all the Daedra in Oblivion! What does it matter to them? Regardless if they face the gibbet or the sword of Elisif's men, no god can help them then," she said, brushing off Peric's hand.

"Do you still have time to be a friend?"

"I...yes, Peric, I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't come to me if it wasn't important," Brelyna said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. Peric sat in a chair opposite her.

"Well, I'm being deployed at Fort Kastav."

"Yes, you said."

"You could try letting me finish," Peric said, a smile on his face. Brelyna smiled back and mumbled an apology. "Onmund's already there, and last week, after Jarl Korir and the rest had left the Hall of Attainment, it was just Onmund and I left. He told me about his family, how he kept an amulet given to him by his brother so as to remember them by. He then said he wanted something to remember me by, and then he kissed me," Peric said, wringing his hands and looking at the floor. When he finally looked up at Brelyna, she had a huge smile on her face.

"So he finally did it? I thought it was about time."

"What do you mean?" Peric asked incredulously.

"I'm surprised you never saw it coming. He's told me about how he feels a couple of times but always under strict confidence. These kind of things aren't smiled upon by many Nords, you see."

"It's not exactly celebrated by Bretons either, but it's at least tolerated."

"What do you think about Onmund, Peric? Why come to me about this?" Brelyna asked with curiosity.

"I have no problem with him being into other men, but he's into me, and I can't reciprocate that. That's not who I am," Peric said. A sense of how much he may have hurt Onmund seeped into his voice.

"Then you need to make amends. When you reach Fort Kastav, find him. Let him know you're his friend," Brelyna said softly and understandingly.

Peric stood up and turned to Brelyna with a smile. "Thank you, my friend. I best finish getting my things. We leave soon."

Brelyna responded by standing up herself and embracing Peric in a crushing hug. "Good luck, Peric. Come back to me, and bring Onmund with you."

"I will. I promise," he said, and he turned and left the room.

The Vault door stood before Fornice and Tolfdir, all wrought iron and magic. Runes were carved into the iron, protecting it from countless spells. Fornice felt somewhat intimidated by looking up at the high door. The door itself was situated in a brown cavern, many hundreds of feet below the college. Few knew how to get the Vault as it required many twists and turns through the Midden, and after that it meant descending hundreds of feet through natural caves that snaked down below the College. It was very easy to hit dead ends and blocked routes when traversing these caves, and that had a nasty way of turning people around, making sure they didn't find their way out. Fornice mused that they were probably somewhere beneath the Sea of Ghosts, judging by the dankness of the high walls. Four Battlemages stood guard at either side of the Vault door looking stoic and unmoving. Fornice nodded to them before looking up at the door again.

"How in Oblivion did those mages manage to break in here?" Fornice asked Tolfdir. This was only the second time she had ever visited the Vault, but Tolfdir had been down there countless times while at the College.

"None of us are really sure," replied Tolfdir. "One theory that sprang up was that they bribed someone inside the college, however I shut that down saying only you had the means of accessing the Vault."

Fornice nodded her head. "What's the most likely reason?"

"Sergius tells me the mages in the Imperial City have magics which can unlock doors, and a mage trained extensively in this magic faces few doors which they cannot open. He also tells me Mystics from the College of Whispers may dispel the work of other mages, including, but not limited to, protective runes," Tolfdir said with a a knowledgeable authority.

"They must have been planning this for some time," Fornice said worriedly.

"Years, most likely. It was no secret that the three boys sojourned to Cyrodiil for some time two years ago. They either came up with the plan there or may have even went there for the purpose of learning these magics."

"Why did they not use this magic to unlock their cages in the Chill? When we found them, the cages were all but destroyed."

"They likely wished for it to be kept a secret. If it were to be known these boys had access to almost anywhere in Tamriel, few people would ever trust them. It would also almost certainly prove their guilt in this break in," he said.

"Well, when this war is over, we must find a way to make sure something like this never happens again," Fornice said, approaching the great iron door. Tolfdir silently stepped beside her whilst she drew the silver key from her robes. She pushed it into the tiny keyhole which would easily have have been missed amongst the great mass of metal if it was not known to be there. She turned it slowly to the right, and instantly a deep blue mist spread from the key hole and billowed across the door, thus dispelling the runes until the door was sealed again. Without any aid from Fornice and Tolfdir, the great iron doors, several feet thick, silently slid open. The two doors slowly split apart to reveal the hidden treasures beneath the College.

"By The Eight," Fornice whispered as the Vault revealed itself to her. The Vault was vast beyond Fornice's memory and stretched out before her for several hundred feet. Great slabs of white marble paved the floors, whilst the walls and ceiling was of the same rough stone as the cavern. Two rows of black marble pillars stretched down the length of the room, green jade leaves twisting up them to reach the ceiling. A vast, seven tiered chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. It wasn't hundreds of candles that sat upon it, but hundreds of light spells, casting a brilliant white glow across the room. If snow and purity could produce light, it would look very much like this. It wasn't just the room itself that had Fornice impressed, but what the room contained. Open mahogany cabinets lined the walls, interspersed by glass and crystal display cases. The cabinets contained small trinkets such as rings and amulets ranging from battered copper affairs to grand gold and diamond complexities. Fornice reached out to the nearest one; a necklace made of sapphires connected by silver chains, ending in a large glowing sapphire at the end the size of her thumb nail. A small tag was attached to it that read in a flowing script:

Treasured jewels of Arch-Mage Dilen, a woman of great power. The jewels gave her the power of foresight, allowing her to predict and prevent a raid on the College of Winterhold by a Necromancer cult. C. Third Era 274.

Armour was donned by glass mannequins, some holding ornate weapons in their fragile hands, others bent in the various positions of spell casting. Other weapons hung from mahogany stands that leant against the pillars or stood on top of cupboards.

"The wealth," Tolfdir whispered as he and Fornice slowly made their way along the length of the Vault.

"The power," Fornice responded, gently brushing her hand along the length of a malicious looking hammer.

It took Fornice and Tolfdir quite some time to reach the other end of the Vault as they stopped every couple of feet to examine or marvel over a particular item. When they finally reached the far end of the Vault, the stood looking up in awe. The entire far wall, reaching up to the high ceiling was covered in staffs hanging on metal brackets. The jewelled staffs of Illusion hung amongst the carved wooden destruction staffs. The spiked Conjuration staffs mingled with the safer looking Restoration and yellow tipped Alteration staffs. This myriad of magical weapons created a grand aesthetic that Tolfdir doubted even the Blue Palace of Solitude could match up to.

Fornice gingerly stepped forward and reached upwards to pick up a carved wooden staff with a pointed ghostly gem at on end and a sphere of the same material at the other. The sphere appeared to be unattached from the three wooden curves that seemingly held it in place. The very aura of the weapon spoke of deep magics, and the power resonating from it was almost intoxicating. Fornice held it horizontally in her hands with a gentle touch. She feared even the slightest provocation might release its immense power. Holding the staff, she believed the book entirely on its stories of its great uses.

"The Staff of Magnus," Fornice said and turned to Tolfdir.

"I remember when you first brought it to me," he said. "It feels even more powerful than I remember."

"I hope I'm right to use it."

"Only time will tell, but come. We have much to do," Tolfdir said and led Fornice, who now clutched the staff more confidently, out of the Vault.

Fornice looked down into the silver goblet. Slivers of mist pooled out of it and caressed her hand, turning it numb, but she didn't care. He eyes twinkled with wonder as she stared at the dragon tear that rocked about at the bottom of the goblet as her hand shook.

"What to do with you," she whispered to herself as she stared down at the tiny fragment of ice. She was sure no one else in Skyrim possessed such a treasure, and she did not want it to go to waste.

A brief scuffle. It could've been the wind, but it could've been any number of things. Fornice straightened up and quickly turned around, but there was nothing to be seen. There it was again, to her right. She span around, and yet there was no trace of the noise. She stared at the spot she thought the noise was coming from for a minute, her breath held, but nothing moved. Slowly she turned back round to look at the dragon tear, her hand thoroughly frozen.

Hissing. Spitting. Behind her. Fornice wheeled around, the goblet flying from her hand, the dragon tear bouncing across the room to land at the feet of a shockingly white body crouched in fear or aggression. It face was wrinkled and twisted, long slits for nose and ugly red ruins for eyes.

Fornice stifled a scream as she saw it, her hand flying to her mouth. The creature crouched as if deciding whether to run or not, but it stayed there, its head cocked, listening to Fornice's every move.

"Falmer," she whispered, slowly taking away her hand from her mouth, her fingers twitching in readiness to cast a spell at a seconds notice.

The Falmer woman, for it was a woman judging by her long silver hair and the black chitin which gave her chest some modesty, opened her mouth slightly, baring sharp teeth at Fornice. It jerked its mouth wider and Fornice gasped.

"We...have...met before," she said in a sharp, high voice, spluttering over the words.

"Yes, at the fort," Fornice said, her shock slowly turning into curiosity.

"You...saved us...from slav...slavery. We make...good...slaves...I hear," she coughed out and erupted into a shrieking laugh at her little joke.

Fornice took a step back at the outburst, he hands jumping up to cast a spell, but the Falmer raised her hand in a sign of peace.

"You're the shadows that people have seen around town, aren't you?" Fornice said.

The Falmer smiled her sharp smile. "I expect so...yes. I...mean no harm," she said, slowly finding her voice.

"How can you speak?" Fornice asked.

"We are not...the animals you...think we are. We...have...watched your...k...kind for...many years. We have...learnt much." The Falmer shuffled closer to Fornice. Her gait was awkward, and she lead with her right leg. She reached out and grabbed Fornice's hand and gently placed it on her empty eyes sockets. "Heal us," she said.

Fornice squirmed at the feel of the pink mess but did not pull away. "Is that why you're here? I don't know how to."

"There...must be a...way. We came so far...North, because...we can smell...the magic. You...smell of magic." The Falmer pulled away from Fornice and shuffled back across the room and felt along the ground. Her hand closed around the dragon tear. For a moment she stood there perplexed, a frown crossing her face. Slowly she turned around and offered it back to Fornice, her arm outstretched. "There...is much power...in this ice...what is it?"

Fornice took the tear back and dropped it into the now regained goblet. "It is a tear from a dragon."

The Falmer smiled a sharp smile. "We have...fought...many dragons. We never...thought...to get their...tears. Who knows? Maybe...this is...our answer."

Fornice smiled and sat down in a chair. This Falmer was no threat, at least not for now. "My name is Fornice, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. What is yours?"

"Mirtil, Queen...of the Snow Elves," she rasped. Her chin inched higher as she spoke her title.

Fornice stood up from her chair, shock plastered on her face. "I did not know your people had a hierarchy, let alone a queen."

"You...have seen our...towns, our...villages, yes? Do you think...they...could be...built without...a leader?" Mirtil said, absent mindedly shuffling about the room. Every now and then she would pick up an item and roll it about in her bony fingers before putting down and walking away. "Will you...help us?"

Fornice walked over to the door and called behind her. "I don't know if I can, but I know someone who might. Wait here," she said and ran from the room.

"And why should I help you?" Colette said in a piercing, angry voice. She looked squarely at Mirtil with her hands on her hips. "Your kind have butchered some of my best students!"

"I had always intended...to repay...you," said Mirtil calmly, her right ear pointed at Colette, but her face and body was directed to Fornice.

"I doubt you have anything you can offer us," Colette said piously, looking down her flat nose at Mirtil. "Fornice, how could you consider such a thing as helping this beast?"

Fornice opened her mouth to retort, but Mirtil beat her too it. "I have soldiers...many soldiers. You are...fighting a...war, and I...am willing to...help," she said, calm as ever.

"You would sacrifice your armies for your sight?" Fornice asked.

"No. Not my...sight. Our sight. You will...need to cure...us all."

"That's impossible," Colette said plainly with a dark look on her face.

"Then you will...lose this war, and...we will still...be safe underground," Mirtil said, a hint of threat in her voice.

"Colette, we cannot turn away potential allies," Fornice said forcefully.

"She is not an ally. She is a monster. Do you think Jarl Korir will allow Falmer in his army?"

"I don't think Jarl Korir has a choice. He knows he cannot turn away soldiers."

"Even if Jarl Korir did accept them, the men won't. They have been told about these creatures since they were young boys, and none of the stories are nice ones."

Fornice stood and thought about this for a moment before slowly replying. "If they had eyes again, if they could talk properly again, and if they had proper weapons and armour, then I think the men will slowly see them as people. Colette, I think, deep down, that's what they are. People. We would be monsters ourselves if we turned them away."

"Charity in a time of war, Fornice?" Colette said with a smirk.

"Business in a time of war." She leaned in closer to Colette. "And I think she has a few more things to offer us than soldiers."

"I'm blind not...deaf," piped in Mirtil with a smile full of sharp teeth. "But you are...right. Restore our sight, and you...will have soldiers. Restore...anything else; our...voices, our faces, and...you will have more."

Colette and Fornice exchanged a glance. "I shall begin right away," Colette said and rolled up sleeves, preparing for work.

"You know you have Falmer crawling about your town," said the man in the black leather armour that stood before Korir.

"Excuse me?" Korir said, eyeing the man with arms folded.

"Falmer. In your town. I'm surprised no one's seen them."

Korir looked over at Malur who stood with his hands behind his back facing the steps that Korir stood upon. Malur offered a shrug and said. "I' would explain the shadows."

Korir scowled at him and turned to address the similarly armoured congregation that gathered in the Longhouse. Master Wunfarth stood to attention on Korir's right. "I will investigate that later, but now we must discuss what I need from you all. Your guild has kindly offered your services to me, and I intend to make full use of them. You each have specialised skills I am sure, and I need you to decide which job is best suited for each of you. Firstly, I need someone with knowledge of prisons to inspect my own and to report back what improvements should be made. Secondly, I need a group of spies to infiltrate the courts throughout Skyrim. Thirdly, a contingent of scouts is needed for use on the battlefield..." The list went on, Korir demanding couriers and infiltrators and propagandists and a dozen other roles. By the end of it all, Winterhold had an espionage team.

"Is that all, Jarl Korir?" asked the man who had spoken earlier, clearly the thieves leader.

"Almost..."

"Rune. The name's Rune," said the man.

"Almost, Rune. There is one other service I might ask of you. I need assassins."

"Jarl Korir, this isn't the Dark Brotherhood. We do not kill," Rune said.

"I don't doubt that each of you has killed a man before. Thieving is dangerous work, and I'm sure when complications arise you do what you must to survive."

"That's all very true, but we do not take contracts to kill people. There are very few things we won't do for you, and that is one of them," Rune said forcefully, but with respect.

"I thought you might say that, but this is a necessity I cannot go without." Jarl Korir stood in thought for a moment. "Would you have any moral qualms in leaving two thieves here that may work to protect me against assassin attacks?"

Rune thought for a moment and glanced at a couple of his people who gave him some hidden signal that Korir could not see, but Rune turned back and said, "No, that is reasonable."

"Good. They will also spend some of their time scouting Winterhold and making suggestions as to how to prevent would be assassins entering my city."

Rune bowed his head in response. "If you'll excuse me, Jarl Korir, my people and I will retire to your inn to delegate missions."

"Return tomorrow with a list of names and their assignments. I shall have more specific orders for you all."

The two men bowed to each other, and the thieves left the Longhouse.

"Look at this, Fornice," Colette said and beckoned her over to a glass flask filled with a red liquid. "I took a sample of blood from Mirtil to see if I could gather clues on her affliction, and this appeared."

Fornice leaned over the flask, not seeing anything for a moment, but Colette tilted it and Fornice raised her eyebrows in surprise. Tiny particles in the blood reflected light and took on a luminescent green hue, almost as if they were metallic. "What do you think it is?" Fornice asked.

"I'm not sure. It could be anything," Colette replied, swirling the flask, and the particles disappeared. "Well that's something at least. They're partly soluble."

"I've seen that colour somewhere before," Fornice said thoughtfully. "Mirtil, do you recognise this colour?" Mirtil tilted her head at Fornice and said nothing. "Oh. Right. No eyes." Fornice walked across the room and sat down in a chair, deep in thought.

"Fornice, these people have been afflicted with this curse for thousands of years. I doubt a humble healer like me can do anything to help," Colette said, putting the flask down on her work table.

Fornice looked up at Colette with a small smile on her face. "Colette, you are one of, if not the most skilled healers in Skyrim. I have every faith in you." Fornice's smile widened into a grin. "And I know where that colour's from." Fornice hurried over to the alchemy garden that grew in the centre of the room. She hitched up her robes and gingerly stepped around the countless plants and mushrooms that saturated the small patch of soil. She reached the dead tree in the centre and grasped one of the glowing green mushrooms that grew up it like shelves. The mushroom came away easily, dripping florescent liquid onto the ground. Fornice hopped her way out of the garden and held out the mushroom to Colette, liquid dribbling down her arm. "Hundreds of these were in a chest that the Falmer claimed at Fort Fellhammer. I believe they eat them," she said excitedly.

Mirtil raised her head in excitement. "Yes...yes that's...all we can eat...we don't know...why, but...if we don't...eat them we...die." Saying this, Mirtil scurried across the room and felt for the mushroom before shovelling it it into her mouth. Green liquid oozed from between sharp teeth.

Colette stared at Mirtil curiously. "The mushroom travels to the blood, and then travels through the entire body. It's likely this mushroom is a toxin that, after entering the body, alters the host somehow so that they cannot survive without whatever the mushroom provides."

"It is...how we were...enslaved by...the bandits."

"And most likely the Dwemer too," Colette said. "They may have known of the mushroom's properties and forced your people to eat them."

"Is it these...mushrooms which makes us...blind?"

"I can't be sure. There are many tests I will have to do," Colette said, returning to her work table. She glanced over at the flask to see that the green particles were once again visible. "I think there's definitely a link."

"Well, it's a start," Fornice said with a weak smile. "Colette, I think you're right. Jarl Korir won't accept Falmer in his army, so I'll need to approach him about this. I'll need to work hard to make him see them as a necessity. Besides, who knows what rage he'll fly into if he finds out I've kept this a secret," she said nervously.

"I'll stay here with Mirtil and carry on with my research." She glanced over to the Falmer. "I'll protect her if your visit to Jarl Korir goes ill."

"Thank you, my friend."

"No, please, no!" screamed the young girl behind Rolf. This was followed by a wet slicing sound and a strangled gurgle. Rolf closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

"That's a message to any more mage scum who wish to speak out," shouted Jod across the courtyard. You have no power now, and I will make sure you're dealt with like the dirt you are."

Rolf could take no more of it. "Please, don't kill anyone else. You sent your message with the first one. Please just stop," he pleaded. He heard Jod stop his march across the courtyard. The sound of his heavy boots resumed, but this time they were coming closer.

"What was that, Captain Rolf?"

"Please. Stop," he said weakly.

"Captain, don't do it," hissed Irontooth beside him.

"Keep quiet, Orc," snapped Jod who now stood in front of them. "Captain Rolf, what did I just say about speaking out?"

"I'm not a mage, Jod."

Jod knelt down in front of Rolf and looked him up and down. "Well, it looks like I'll need to send another message." He stood up and turned to the other prisoners. "Your captain has defied my orders. I don't think you people understand that you are under my control and subject to my mercy." In one swift movement he drew his axe and brought it across Rolf's neck, blood spraying onto Irontooth's face. Gasps and screams escaped the mouths of those who could see Jod's butchery. Rolf's open-mouthed head fell heavily to the ground but was quickly scooped up by Jod who held it for all to see. "And I am quickly running out of mercy."

And that was the end of Rolf, Captain of Winterhold.