A/N: Hey guys! OK, sorry, you won't actually be SEEING the Seven in the Temple in this chapter, but you'll be HEARING from them a lot *nudge nudge BrunetteAuthorette99* in this one. Also, I'll be introducing more Dragonborns into the story - readers, you are welcome to submit your Dovahkiinne, or tell your friends to submit theirs. I want to see how many can be included in this Dragonborn-united tale! And also, we get a little more on prophecy, too...now, in the start, may we introduce the heroine of A Heart Stolen By Vampires, whose authorette is moonflower04! Yes, I'm sure you'll all know who it is...

Onward.

Chapter Fourteen

A long, loud and darkly promising howl broke into Arela's already jumbled thoughts. She stifled a whimper, whirling around and nearly tripping over her own feet in the mushiness under her in her haste to try and see those horrid ghost-like creatures. She pulled out an arrow from her quiver and set it to the string of her bow, taking a small comfort out of that simple act alone.

After a few moments, she heard the shriek again. It was louder, and drawing nearer.

They're coming, Arela told herself, as calmly as she could manage.

She raised the bow above her and aimed, peering into the swirling greyness. After a few moments, she became aware of pattering paws, and soft, husky snarls. Arela hesitated. She listened intently, counting out the distinct patterns. In the thick mist, that each passing moment seemed to grow thicker and darker like the rippling sky above, she counted at least seven, eight sets of paws.

Damn it. Arela's heart started to pound twice as fast in her throat. Damn it, damn it...

There were too many for her to take on. She was far too outnumbered. There was only one thing that she could do...if she fought, she'd die. If she ran...well...

Arela heard the breathing slow. The pawsteps cease. She couldn't suppress that feeling of danger, rising around her like the fumes from the crevasses in Eastmarch tundra. Well, maybe not quite like that...she had no idea why she was being so ludicrously poetic in those few sparse moments before her most likely death.

Is it even possible to die after death? she wondered vaguely to herself.

Thunder suddenly roared above her, a clap so strong that it even sent vibrations running through the ground. Arela stumbled, trying not to lose her balance. She briefly looked up at the churning skies—clouds could be seen tumbling and rolling at a dizzying speed across the background, which was becoming heavier and heavier.

She didn't understand. What was happening to this place? To Pass?

Yes, she knew what this plane was called. Arela's attention snapped back downward as the phantom creatures, one by one, began to creep out from the mist, forming a terrifying pack facing and flanking her. She slowly began to step backwards, and just as slowly, they began to stalk forwards.

Hastily she tried to recollect her memories from her first visit here. What had Akatosh said about it? It was the in-between. A borderland realm. The plane between life and death, good and evil, and the centre of all things divided.

But at the moment, everything was out of kilter. It wasn't a neutral territory. It was a place much like any plane of Oblivion would be. It had more danger than safety, and danger at all...everything felt more dead than alive and the landscape was more changeable than unchangeable. The beasts were growing in number. And they were very intent on killing her. Each time they landed a bite, she always felt weakened, as though poisoned. She always felt a little emptier...a little less...complete.

And worse...she couldn't Shout. The dragonblood that had flowed in her veins from the day of her birth...it was gone, or dormant, or something...whatever was happening to Pass, it had drained her abilities from the very start. Without the Voice to defend herself, Arela felt extremely vulnerable.

Can Akatosh reach me here? she thought desperately. To help me, like he did before?

Suddenly, the creatures moved—they raced towards her at a terrifying speed. Arela instinctively loosed her arrow. It shot through the air and buried itself into the creature's throat. It fell with a torn whimper and vanished. One down, six to go. Arela backtracked hastily, yanking another arrow from its quiver, but before she could even set it to the string they were on her.

She thrust upward with the arrow. It drove through the heart of one creature looming directly over her. Two down. But by then Arela sensed it was too late. The creatures took only a moment to leer over her before their fangs drove down.

Suddenly there was excruciating pain in her arm. Arela screamed, writhing frantically under their jaws. A tide of terrible coldness flooded through her, clutching at her chest, her throat, her wildly-beating heart...

And abruptly the creature that had bitten her was shot through the back of the head with a large crossbow bolt.

The other beasts hesitated, emitting a slightly-puzzled growl. But before they moved, a second bolt came flying, striking another. Suddenly aware they were under attack, they whirled around and went charging away.

Arela didn't move. She could feel a part of her slipping away. A greyish energy was restored to her but she still felt very cold, as though she was suffering from the worst bout of Bone Break Fever that she had ever had. She was hardly aware of the metallic twang of a crossbow, or the shrieks and howls and unworldly screams of the dying beasts...she just wanted to sleep. The bow slipped from her fingers and silently sank a little into the ashen snow.

She grasped as tightly as she could onto what consciousness she was aware she still possessed. It was just enough for her to hear treading footsteps over the ground, approaching her at a swift pace, accompanied with the faintest rattle of metal that belonged to armour or weapons or both. Then a shadow fell across her vision and two gloved fingers gently rested at her neck, checking for a pulse.

Arela wasn't sure whether this newcomer was a friend or foe, and for a moment, terror held her still. She had seen knight-like characters sometimes, stalking through the ashen fields of tormented Pass, but they didn't seem to be affected by her weapons. She, however, was still prone to theirs, as she had found out soon enough, and they were allies with those phantom wolves.

But after a second, she heard a distinctly Elven voice murmur, 'Hey...fellow. Are you all right? Are you alive? Can you hear me?'

Elven...maybe even a Dark Elf? Arela tried to speak, sensing that he wasn't an immediate enemy—to tell the truth, she was relieved to hear a voice that wasn't promising to murder her—but she hardly had strength to breathe, let alone form words on a tongue heavy as lead.

The person beside her adjusted their position, and then Arela felt herself being lifted up into the Elf's arms. The hand then went to her head, checking her temperature, and the figure immediately swore in Dunmeris. Definitely a Dark Elf, then, Arela thought.

There was a brief pause. The person seemed to be wondering what to do next. Then Arela heard something heavy being pushed gingerly off his hand, to thud on the snow beside him a moment later. Then something warm, and oddly familiar to the touch, gently brushed a few stray strands of hair away and lower to her cheek.

The warmth was enough. Arela felt a little energy come back to her, enough to open her eyes to meet those of her supposed saviour. At first, everything was distinctly blurry, and then she became aware that she was looking into a pair of glowing ember-coloured eyes, only just visible beneath a worn sand-coloured hood, peering out of a pale, lined and sharply-angled face the colour of pale silver ash. The person also had a scruffy and black-bearded chin.

'Can you hear me?' the Dark Elf asked.

Arela nodded weakly.

'Good.' He blinked his fiery eyes and said, 'Now, who are you?'

Arela frowned blearily. She tried to speak, but she still felt so tired.

The Elf frowned for a moment. He looked carefully into her eyes. Then his hand suddenly went down to the side of her neck. Arela stiffened, suddenly terrified for her own welfare. His two fingers were suddenly pressing against two old fang scars against her throat, and he was frowning.

'Arela,' he said, and the simple act of hearing her own name spoken from a stranger's mouth made Arela stare at him in total bewilderment. How had he known? But then the Elf glanced at her and said, 'Your name is Arela, yes?'

Arela slowly nodded. Strangely, his touch on the scars was hot, and she suddenly found that she had the strength to speak. 'How'd...how'd you know?'

'Oh come now,' said the stranger, though he sounded relieved to hear her voice. 'You and I are the same, clearly.' He moved his hand away from her throat and to his own, brushing aside the lower rim of the hood enough to display the side of his neck. Arela's eyes widened in amazement when she saw two very familiar scars in place beneath his jaw.

'You're a vampire too?' Arela whispered.

The Dark Elf nodded. 'Of course. I served Harkon's court for a little while.'

'The...the same with me,' Arela choked. She frowned suddenly. 'Are you...are you Garan?'

'Garan?' The Dunmer was startled. 'No, of course not! Why would I be Garan?'

'Sorry,' Arela apologized. 'You...it's just...'

'I know Garan,' said the Dark Elf. 'And he knows me. We are definitely not alike, even if we are Brother Elves.' He frowned. 'Besides, we've never met until now. I know all the members of the court of the Castle, and I don't recall your face amongst the crowd.'

'Nor you,' Arela breathed.

'Can you sit up?'

'I think so.'

She still felt shaky and drained, but she could, at least, stay relatively upright on her own without the stranger's assistance. He knelt beside her nonetheless, pulling his gauntlet back over his hand, and resting his loaded crossbow lightly over his lap.

After a moment, Arela asked, 'What's your name?'

The Dark Elf looked at her closely for a few moments, before he answered, 'Serrah. I'm Serrah.'

'Nice to meet you.'

'Likewise.'

'But...pardon my asking...' Arela frowned a little. 'Don't Dark Elves usually...'

'What?' Serrah interrupted. 'Have a family name?' At Arela's nod, he shrugged. 'I do have a family name, but I don't want to share it. I have no family left, save for Volkihar, but since it wasn't my flesh-and-blood family name, I don't use it. It's just Serrah.'

'Okay.'

'And you? You have a family name?'

'Snow-Strider, but I hardly ever use it.'

'Good name for a Nord,' Serrah shrugged. 'But since we hardly ever use our surnames, I guess we're equals in that retrospect.'

'Yes. I suppose.'

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Arela felt recovered enough to grab her bow and rest it over her lap. But she couldn't stop this burning curiosity she had about this Dunmeri vampire, Serrah. Who was he, really? What had he done? How come she had never met him before, if he served in the Castle court?

Her eyes drifted down to his crossbow. She frowned.

'Where'd you get that?'

Serrah followed her eyes. He shrugged and rested his hand lightly over the hilt of the crossbow and said, 'Gift from Isran after I started training, obviously.'

Arela was stunned. 'At Fort Dawnguard?'

Serrah nodded. His brow creased.

'I trained there for the best of three months before I finally went out on my first mission,' he said. 'It was pretty shit there. I was the only Dark Elf in the vicinity and I was always teased because I had the weirdest face a Dunmer could possibly have.' He sighed. 'Sometimes I wondered what I was even doing in the Fort, to be honest.'

'When did you join?' asked Arela curiously. 'I was with the Dawnguard for a month or two before I became a member of Harkon's court. Me and my brother both did.'

Serrah smiled a little at this. 'At least you weren't alone there.'

Arela snorted. 'I wouldn't be so sure. It was dull over in the Fort. Best thing about that place was the hot food and warm fires.'

'Isn't that always the best thing in Skyrim?' Serrah sighed. 'And in answer to your question earlier, I joined some time in Year 199 of the Fourth Era.'

Arela's eyes widened. 'You were before me by quite a few years.'

Serrah shrugged. 'Must be why we never met.'

'But we did both become vampires,' Arela pointed out. She sat up a little more. 'Out of curiosity...who turned you?'

Serrah sighed. 'Damn my curiosity sometimes,' he said. 'Harkon's bite was rough.'

Arela's eyes widened. 'What? You were bitten by Harkon?'

Serrah nodded, and his frown became that much deeper. 'You sound shocked.'

'But I was bitten by Harkon as well!'

His turn to be shocked. 'What in Oblivion...?'

Arela sat up a little more at this. 'Harkon never mentioned you...'

'Or you to me...' Serrah rubbed the back of his hooded head in total bemusement.

A shrieking cry rang out over the desolate landscape and instantly Serrah pushed himself to his feet, hefting his crossbow. Arela climbed more unsteadily to her feet, but she was pumped with a rush of adrenalin. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and knocked it to the bowstring.

After a few moments, she asked the Dark Elf vampire quietly, 'What the hell are they?'

'I don't know.' Serrah's voice was grim. 'But they never end. They always find us in this Gods-forsaken landscape...'

'Pass,' interjected Arela quietly. 'This place is Pass.'

The Dunmer spared her a puzzled glance. Arela frowned. Hadn't he heard of this place before?

'I've been here once,' she murmured to him in answer.

But before they could say anything else, a figure abruptly burst from the fog, emitting a terrified wailing cry as she did so. Arela and Serrah lowered their weapons instantaneously when they saw that the figure was a Khajiit. She stumbled blindly towards them, tripped and fell at their feet in exhaustion and terror. She looked up and huskily whispered two words.

'Help...me...'

She fainted shortly after.

Arela and Serrah stared at her in confusion. But then they looked up...and understood why she was so afraid.

Jon mulled over what he had told the others behind him. How had he known that the Temple was awakening?

He wondered if it was something like placed knowledge, the kind that he remembered obtaining from when he had slain Mirmulnir in Whiterun, what felt like an Age past. Had he somehow obtained it from the carvings on the wall?

He had felt a shift in the air in the Temple the moment he had stepped inside. He sensed that because he had the other six with him this time upon entering, the secrets, the uncanny details he had first seen in the wall carvings, had all started to unfold. And suddenly, they were draining the actual memories from the carvings themselves, in the same way they pulled a power from a Word Wall.

He glanced over his shoulder. His companions were an odd sort, a kind that he hadn't quite expected despite seeing these same figures over and over again in the carvings on the wall and even on the ceiling in the main chamber, though represented differently. Yet somehow, they were tied by Time to extremes that he hadn't comprehended, ever. As though the trip across Time to Sovngarde itself hadn't been enough.

A Dunmer called Morwyn by her companions; a devout, or child, or something of Sheogorath, perfectly accepted by her fellow Dragonborns, dressed head to foot in Dragonbone armour significantly different from the Argonian's by the fact in the dragonbone was carved Daedric sigils.

A Nord girl called Quill, in the armour of the fabled Nightingales, who possessed a very strange wristlet-like blade that she could extend and withdraw at will. The Seven in the Temple had mentioned there'd be two with "weapons of the world-to-come". Jon hadn't been reckoning that one would be a Nightingale, agent of a Daedra.

An Argonian called Shouts-at-Sun, Dragonborn from his very name to his very appearance. He might as well have been a bipedal wingless dragon the size of a man. He even wore the bones and skin of a dragon, was horned and scaled and tailed with a dagger-shape, and dagger-sharp, blade that Jon recollected seeing many dragons possess.

A Nord woman called Kajsa, whose cautious nature rivaled everyone else's. Jon remembered the Seven saying that she was a curious matter, a woman whose stance suggested that she was a solitary one, but who subconsciously stayed close to the group for a desire of company and companionship.

A Khajiit called J'shana, the youngest Dragonborn, but whose mind's age excelled that of her body's. There was wisdom continually glowing in her eyes, courage burning in her heart and friendliness in the nature that was unaggressive, a woman who possessed true mastery over the dragon that once had lain dormant in her soul. It seemed inappropriate to think of J'shana as a girl than woman.

A Nord dragon named Alyssa. Heir to the Dragon Throne, and daughter of a family whose lineage traced all the way back to Akatosh Himself. Her bloodline was far more ancient than Jon's, but her memories were always torn with pain. She always wore a cloak woven from her Father's heartscales, said the Seven within, to hide the scars of her past behind a veil of masterful illusion. Jon was yet to see her "true form", but he could already sense some great and terrible aura lying beneath her robes and her cloak, an aura he thought he had detected before but couldn't place his mind on. An aura that she could do nothing but hide from her companions...save one.

Six Dragonborns. Six Certainties. The six others imprinted on the walls of the Temple.

The doorway finally came in sight. Jon's pace quickened.

'Is this it?' Alyssa asked from behind him.

'This is it,' he affirmed quietly.

He led the Dragonborns into the brightly-lit stone chamber, and almost sensed their awe and amazement.

'What the...?' J'shana gasped.

'It's Alduin.' Morwyn's voice was taut. Jon glanced back at her to see her eyes were trained on the ceiling.

Her companions followed suit, and several faces paled and eyes widened.

'By the Gods,' whispered Kajsa.

'Seven dragons?' muttered Shouts-at-Sun in confusion.

'What does it mean?' asked Quill.

Jon rolled his eyes. It should have been perfectly obvious. 'It means that we've all faced Alduin in our own parallel universes,' he told them.

Alyssa's fiery green-eyed stare flashed down to him, and she gestured around the chamber. All the carvings stretching from floor to wall were gleaming and glowing, reaching out to brush at the shoulders and hair/horns of those standing in the unsealing chamber. 'The individual carvings mean that,' she said, gesturing to one of them. 'They bloody well mean that.' She gestured up at the ceiling. 'But we didn't face Alduin united.'

'And isn't that what the metalwork on the stone is suggesting?' Morwyn added. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them.

She knows what Alyssa hides, Jon thought. And clearly...they seem to understand better about the seven dragons facing Alduin than I realized. He frowned and asked, 'Alduin isn't the menace here.'

'But we don't need this,' Alyssa growled. 'Some...some hall of memories to commemorate our defeat of Alduin. All Dragonborns face him, Alduin...so why us? Why us seven?'

Jon shrugged. 'I don't know why we've been chosen,' he admitted, truthfully. 'But that's why they're going to help us understand.'

Kajsa glanced warily at him. 'They?' she repeated.

Jon nodded towards the dark doorway on the other side of the room. The others looked towards it.

'They're trapped,' he said. 'Sealed within the Temple. In order to help us, they have to be released.'

J'shana flattened her ears. 'Who are they?'

'Some, you've met before,' Jon began, but Morwyn cut across him.

'Cut to the chase already, Stormcloak!'

Jon glowered at her. 'I am cutting to the chase, Elf!' he snapped.

'Good Gods,' muttered Kajsa. 'Don't tell me you were this stubborn in life.'

'How would he give an accurate answer on that?' Morwyn pointed out. 'Who would admit to being stubborn?'

Kajsa mulled over these words. 'True,' she conceded.

'Definite family resemblance,' grinned J'shana.

'Okay, look.' Gods, he was getting a headache. 'Some of you received visions, or dreams, before I found you, before you found each other.' Jon pointed at the door. 'And you received a message of some kind. It's those words that are the key to unlocking the Seven, and your way of getting out of this place. Pass.'

Alyssa frowned a little, and she glanced questioningly at Morwyn. 'The prophecy...?'

'Would that have something to do with it?' Morwyn demanded of Jon.

The prophecy. Of course. 'Not the one that was inscribed on the wall,' Jon said.

'What, Seven Dragonborn will Fall, but will Rise as One against the sleeping Enemy?' Quill recited.

'There's more to it than that,' frowned Alyssa. 'We found more to that prophecy the further we progressed down the chamber.'

Jon was stunned. 'You did?'

'What else was there?' demanded Kajsa.

'Most was indecipherable,' Alyssa admitted, 'but Morwyn helped fill in the blanks. So we translated from the walls this: Land in-between, Snow of Ash, Children of Aedra and Daedra unite; World between Worlds, the Balances broken, healed when Wings of Fire ignite.'

Jon frowned. 'Wings of Fire?' He thought that rang a bell somewhere...

Morwyn shrugged. 'That didn't help us either.'

'Was that all?' asked Quill.

Alyssa nodded. 'Pretty much. It took forever to translate it from Draconic.' She rubbed her temples. 'Damn it, I really wish I had my old knowledge back...'

And that is what we may restore to you all.

The others jumped—Jon only shuddered. He hated hearing the voices, twisted and guttural and cold. It was only thanks to having heard these voices before, and knowing who spoke them, that stopped him from jumping in surprise.

The voices whispered from the depths of the black door, but they were stronger than Jon had heard them before. Before, they were only faint, echoes of their former strengths. Now they were growing louder, clearer...and somewhat more sinister.

Alyssa's wristblades jumped out. 'Who are you?' she demanded. 'And what...what the hell do you want with us?'

'I think you just summed up all our thoughts there,' Shouts-at-Sun added.

There was a chilling snicker from the black door. Then:

Himdah ko-nex, Od do Kii, Kiir do Eyra ahrk Deyra gegein; Lein nex Lein, faal Ro krent, tolsek fod Viinggeseyol gekrein.

There was a brief and confused pause, and then the voices hissed, That is what we need of you, kiirre do faal Eyra, ahrk Deyra. That is why we have brought you here. The messages we have passed on must be spoken now—they must unbind us. But we can only be unbound, thanks to the traitor's magic, by the Vinggeseyol, which is why the Kruziikstrun could not unbind us.

'Kruziikstrun?' echoed Kajsa.

'Stormcloak,' said Jon, remembering his own momentary confusion at hearing his surname being translated into Draconic.

Kajsa stared at him. 'You tried to unbind these...these things?'

'I had no choice!' snapped Jon. 'They know how to get us out of here!'

'Yes, by feeding us to the Well of Souls!' Kajsa retaliated. 'What kind of Dragonborn are you?!'

Jon felt rage flash through him, scalding and hot as fire, and he angrily snarled, 'It is not just for my sake—it is for the sake of the worlds that we left behind. Skyrim, Tamriel, Nirn and the world beyond!'

'Nahlot!' Alyssa bellowed, in a voice of thunder. It sliced through Jon's and Kajsa's fast-rising argument, and cutting it clean off. The others stared at her in bewilderment—they had definitely heard a trace of the Thu'um behind her words. 'Nahlot,' she repeated, more quietly. She turned to the dark doorway, her eyes set.

'Jon,' she said, softly. 'Are you certain this is the only way?'

Jon nodded. 'Yes. I am certain.'

'You're willing to trust him?' hissed Kajsa suspiciously.

'What other choice do we have?' Alyssa answered. 'If not this, then what? Eventually the wraiths are going to pull the last of our essences from us, and then we'll be fed into the Well of Souls, one more piece of this menace's power.'

'But how do we know that this isn't some blood-hungry follower of Alduin who just wants advantage of us?' protested Kajsa. She threw another glare of daggers at Jon, who clenched his fists at his side and willed himself not to punch his would-be Alternate stepmother in the face. 'He hasn't told us one straight damn thing since we met him!'

'How many times have I told you?' snapped Jon. 'It is not Alduin!'

'He speaks true,' Alyssa said, quietly. The others stared at her in surprise. 'It isn't Alduin. It...can't be.'

J'shana frowned a little, recalling some distant memory.

'And how do you know this?' asked Quill softly.

Alyssa sighed. 'I do. I just do.'

She turned back to the black doorway and asked, 'Before we even consider releasing you...we need to know. What does the message Morwyn received in a dream, the prophecy scrawled on the walls and the prophecy we translated from the very beginning have anything to do with each other?'

Everything, answered the guttural, ancient voices. A prophecy can wear many skins.

Morwyn frowned. 'So are you saying that they're all the same prophecy?'

Geh, Fahliil.

'Well, I think that's real messed up.'

'I second that,' agreed J'shana.

There was another guttural laugh. Dragons love to play with their words, do they not? Well, so do their servants...and the messages must be many and numerous. Three arrows have a greater chance of striking the enemy than one alone, to be said.

'Servants?' repeated Shouts-at-Sun warily.

We will give you names, we will give you stolen knowledge, and we will give you purpose, the voices crooned. But we can do little while trapped in a prison. But know this; you will need our help if you ever seek to return to your homes.

There was an uncertain pause.

At last, Alyssa asked, 'Whoever you are...who are the Wings of Fire? Is it...is it all of us?'

Niid, hissed the voices. A dovah needs only two viingge to fly, after all. Amidst your numbers, there are two Wings, and those Wings have the potential of unsealing us, to stand against the menace.

The Dragonborns looked uneasily amongst themselves. Then Alyssa, who seemed to have taken on the role of being the mouthpiece of the group, asked the darkness, 'And do you know who the Wings are?'

Of course, answered the voices. There was the faintest hint of a sneer to them as they whispered the answer.

Sunvaarseyollokke ahrk Yuvon Dovah. Kiirre do Deyra ahrk Eyra. Pass has the potential to heal between the Wings of Fire—and the Wings of Fire have the potential to restore Pass through their own divided blood and soul. At the dawning realization on Alyssa's face, the voices laughed and sneered, Did you really think that the Yuvon Dovah in your message referred to Akatosh? Yes and no. It refers to opposites—and that is what is twisting Pass into the horror landscape that it is now.

Sunvaarseyollokke and Yuvon Dovah—the in-between? Dragonborn, both of you! That has been taken from you, and the Balance has thus been broken.

Children of Daedra and Aedra—the in-between? Your souls seek Sovngarde that is neither plane of either Aetherius or Oblivion! And instead you have been brought to a broken borderland. This offense has upset another Balance.

Children of Snow and Ash, and the in-between is both live in your blood and soul as Dovahkiinne. The Balance has been broken here—the snow is ash, and the ash is snow—with the breaking of the first Balance.

Balances exist between you two, resonate from you! Nord and Elf, both Dragon; Draconic and Daedric, both Tamrielic, both mortal; one who seeks honour and one who seeks family, both found in the Thieves Guild. You are Pass, and Pass is you. Pass is your centre unlike it is any other's.

And such strong magic is the only way to release us. This magic is as old as Time—the menace's is not. The Wings of Fire, the Viinggeseyol, will be the ones to heal Pass. The Sunvaarseyollokke and the Yuvon Dovah.

A/N: And that's that! Now, I really must suggest this awesome website called thu'um. org where it can translate virtually any word into Draconic - write a whole sentence in English and it'll pop out in dragon tongue! Another thing: Serrah is a little DB who I hold close to my heart...he's one of my favourites, truthfully. I hope you like him :) And I hope you liked this chapter, too.