"Remind me, why are we here again?" Deneve asked, a bit uncomfortable at the number of people around them.
The loud mouth of the group replied, "Because we have been searching for that whatever is it Rubel said for days and we have found nothing! Zero! We'd have a better chance at finding a vegetarian Awakened that Dovaquyn thing!"
A dragon's ears would have bled at how horribly she butchered their language. It would have then proceeded to torch the city in outrage.
"So," Helen continued, "we deserve a small pick-me-up after all that. A good meal in a nice inn fits the bill in my opinion."
Deneve rolled her eyes. "Right, and the sign saying 'homemade apple pie' outside had nothing to do with this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Helen deadpanned as she finished her third helping and waved the innkeeper. "Hey! Send me a fourth one!"
Receiving an affirmative, Helen turned back to her three friends and saw knowing smirks on their faces, even Miria's. "Anyway," she coughed, "you've gotta admit, a proper meal once in a while beats camping outdoors. The food's good…"
"Especially the apple pie." Oh great, even Miria was teasing her now! Oh well, at least their workaholic leader was unwinding a little.
"… the ale's not bad either, the place is nice and quiet, and there's even some entertainment." Helen deliberately ignored the quip and gestured at the bard playing the lute in the common room. He seemed to be a wandering one, the kind that travels from one place to another for a living rather than settling down. As he was only in his mid-twenties, this was not overly surprising.
As it was, the man announced the next song. "This one is a local favorite, and one of the latest songs I have learned. Ragnar the Red."
Of course, the quiet Helen was referring to might have more to do with other people giving the quartet of Claymores a wide berth, than the quality of the place.
"There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!
And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!"
"Besides," Helen continued, "we won't find anything in the woods unless you're hoping to find a cache or a cave which would miraculously have the info we need."
"Because you think this info will fall on our laps at an inn instead?" Deneve asked dryly.
"As if! Honestly, I have no idea what to do. I say, next time we run into that baldie, we tie him up and beat it out of him." Helen was only half-joking, and the others actually seemed to consider it.
"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red, when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said...
Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead! Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"
Cynthia's head slumped down. "That might be easier than trying to ask a dragon about it. I doubt one of them would be nice enough to answer if we managed to corner one."
Helen barked a laugh. "Oh yeah, I can see it! 'Oy, we're looking for a dovahkiin but we don't know what it is. Just that you're scared of it. Why? Don't worry, we're absolutely not planning on using it against you'. Just imagine how that would go."
"Those beasts rival Awakened Beings. In some ways, they are even more dangerous. That one breathed frost, but the common legend has them breathing fire. Worst case scenario, they can do both." Miria said somberly. "I cannot imagine what kind of monster could possibly make such beasts feel fear."
()()()()
In another city, a beggar profusely thanked the young traveler in odd armor who had spared him a few beras. "Oh thank you! May the gods bless you!"
'You have no idea.' the bane of the dragon kind, possessor of the blood of Akatosh, wielder of the gift of Kyne, and blessed by Mara and Dibella (and owner of a few daedric artifacts as well), thought.
"Fear the wrath of the Gods! The End of times is upon us!" a voice called.
'The Voice must only be used for true needs. You don't need to Shout away every crazy priest you meet. The Voice must only be used for true needs. You don't need to Shout away every crazy priest you meet.' he chanted in his mind as he quickly walked away.
()()()()
Back at the inn, the bard finished his song. "And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel, as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!
And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree... when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"
Hearty laughs greeted the punchline, and many patrons passed some money in appreciation for the performance.
"That was not very nice to Matilda. She was such a kind girl." Cynthia frowned.
"Chill out, Cynthia. I don't think he was talking about our Matilda." Helen laughed while digging into her fourth slice of pie.
"Now I will try something new," the bard announced proudly, "a nameless song, in a long lost language. While I have only managed to recreate two verses so far, I sincerely hope my efforts will ultimately be fruitful." He fiddled with his lute for a few seconds, playing a melancholic air.
"Though I agree we're not getting anywhere. A bit of luck would seriously be welcome here. Anything." Helen swallowed and took another bite while Miria nodded as she brought her ale to her mouth.
"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!"
Mere words had never had such a devastating effect on the warriors known as Claymores. As soon as the first word of the song was heard, Helen choked on her pie, and Miria's drink went into her windpipe, launching the pair into an uncontrollable coughing fit. Deneve and Cynthia worriedly jumped to their help, vigorously slapping them on the back. Blissfully oblivious of the carnage he had caused, the bard went on.
"Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!" The song ended here and he bowed. "Thank you, this is as far as I have gone, but be sure I will keep working on it till it is complete."
The applause was less enthusiastic this time, but a few more coins made their way into his pouch. He saluted the clients and exited the inn, unaware of the four pairs of disbelieving silver eyes at his back.
Not quite recovered from her coughing fit, Miria still managed to croak out in a half-commanding, half-frantic tone, "Get that bard! NOW!"
To their credit, Cynthia and Deneve were already gone.
()()()()
Most men wouldn't mind being dragged in a small alley by a pair of attractive women. Unfortunately, when said women carry huge swords, it dampens the mood. More so when they are infamous monster huntresses.
Pinned against a wall by the two Claymores, the bard found himself sweating a bit. "Ladies, I can assure you I am no Yoma…" he attempted to placate his captors who were watching him like a pair of hawks.
"We know, but we have some questions for you. Important questions." the nicer one with the twin tails replied.
His relief at the soothing answer was short-lived when two more Claymores joined them. If he had been unnerved before, the sheer intensity in the spiky-haired one's eyes nearly sent him into a panic.
"That song," the apparent leader asked, "what is it about? Where did you learn it?"
"Ragnar the Red? Well, it's about…"
"Not this one!" the second newcomer snapped, causing him to shrink back a bit. "The one that starts with Dovahkiin."
Thankfully the nice one interjected again. "Calm down, Helen, you're not helping here. Same to you, Miria."
Miria took a deep breath. Between the possible hint that had just appeared from nowhere, and her embarrassing and undignified near-coughing to death, she was indeed a bit rattled. "Fine, Cynthia. Now, could you please tell us more about that unknown song?"
Now that the women no longer looked like they wanted to beat him up, the bard became a bit more talkative. "I found it in a book that was given to me." He gesture to his travel pack, which he had dropped when Cynthia and Deneve had seized him. Being careful not to make any sudden gestures in case they became forceful again, he retrieved a thin leather-bound book, which he handed Miria. "You're not going to take it, right? I haven't learned all the songs in it yet…"
"Songs of Skyrim?" Miria asked as she read the cover.
"Apparently it's a faraway land, beyond the seas." he explained. "Anyway, that song is on the last page. There's even a translation."
Miria didn't answer and browsed it till she found what she was looking for. There were more verses than what he had sung, but what got her eye was the translation beneath.
"Why would you sing the untranslated one anyway?" Helen asked.
The bard shrugged. "It sounds more pleasant to the ear in my opinion. Also, an unknown language adds some mystery to the air."
Miria tuned them out as she read out loud. "Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, to keep evil forever at bay…"
"Dragonborn. So that's what it means." Cynthia mused.
Miria said nothing as she kept reading to herself after that. The part with the being called Alduin, whose hunger could swallow the world, seemed to refer to what Rubel had called the World Eater. However she found nothing else of interest aside from a reference to a power called the Voice. She also quickly skimmed through the book, finding another song called 'the Dragonborn comes', which held no more information, though it also mentioned the Voice. "You said this book was given to you. By whom?" she asked as she handed it back.
Now reassured that he was not being mistaken for a monster, the man seemed to regain his self-confidence and returned to the flowery speech style of his trade. "It was a most auspicious encounter. Besides being a bard, I trade miscellaneous items for some added coin, for singing alone cannot fully feed a man. So few songs are made, novelty is scarce and when you enter an inn, most of your repertoire has already been heard through another's mouth."
Miria nodded to herself. It made sense, with Toulouse being an island under the Organization's thumb, or rather its masters, there was little chance of new knowledge making its way here. Yet somehow, this one piece had slipped through the net.
Unfortunately for him, Helen was not as patient as her friends. And she really wanted to get some more of that pie. "Yeah, we get it. To the point already!"
"Ahem, yes. A few short weeks ago, during one such venture north, one of my clients lent an ear to my plight. As part of the payment for some herbs and plants, she gave me this book."
Some of the Ghosts wondered if this had been done to make the man shut up.
"A woman?" Miria asked.
A slightly dreamy look entered his eyes. "She was stunning. Refined and bearing herself like nobility. Skin as white as moonlight, and from what I could tell, hair as black as night. She kept a hood that partially obscured her face, something about disliking sunlight, but I could make out her beautiful face. Her eyes especially had the most amazing color I have ever seen, a bright gold-orange."
"A Yoma?" Cynthia asked in surprise. He shook his head in response.
"I've had the misfortune of seeing Yoma a couple of times, when a Claymore exterminated them. Their eyes are a yellow gold, like the metal, and slitted. Hers were orange, as I said, and her pupils were like a human's."
"Alright then, I suppose you wouldn't happen to know this person's name, by chance." Miria threw her final question with, to those who knew her, a barely perceptible impatience.
"Oh, sure. Her name is…"
()()()()
"Achoo!" In a refurbished fort not too far from Pieta, a certain vampiress sneezed as the potent smell of her latest experiment hit her nose. While alchemy could be incredibly fun for the people who found their calling in it, it had such annoying sides. Still, she had had a few entertaining conversations with some aspiring and professional alchemists in Skyrim. Some old tricks had been forgotten, but new ones had been discovered during her sleep. She wondered how Ingun was doing.
Waving her hand to chase away the pungent fumes, she thought about her growing alchemy garden. The large natural hot spring near the fort was a boon, as it warmed a sizeable patch of earth where plants could grow despite the cold climate. Add some hints she'd gleaned from farmers about dealing with cold climates and the naturally resilient plants she'd brought from Tamriel, and she had a good starting point. The fun part however was experimenting with the unknown herbs found in Toulouse.
Now, back to her current experiment. A conversation with Renee had verified that a Claymore's stigma was kept open by their own regeneration. In order to fix this, she would have to counter it. She looked at some notes summarizing her findings based on Renee's very last suppressant pill and wondered if she could combine this with a strong healing effect.
An ointment would be more effective than a potion for localized effect, and avoid the generalized after-effects of Yoki-suppression... She wrote down some more notes, dismissing some options as too volatile or too risky due to interactions. Once done, she nodded to herself and returned to work. She was confident she'd have an experimental formula quickly.
Though the question was, would Renee volunteer to be a test subject and if not her, who?
()()()()
Back at the inn after hearing the rest of the bard's story, Miria, Deneve and Cynthia were struggling to hold back their laughter at Helen, who was glaring at her pie as if it had betrayed her. "How could you do this to me?" Helen accused. "Is it payback for all the apples I've eaten in my life?"
Cynthia couldn't hold it anymore and collapsed into a fit of giggles.
"Who would have thought Helen's gluttony would give us a lead?" Deneve asked. Miria nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. If she hadn't insisted on coming here, we would have missed that bard. Praise the pie and Helen's appetite." she stated mock-seriously.
Helen banged her head on the table. "Please, don't rub it in."
Miria became serious again. "Now we have a possible lead, a woman calling herself 'Serana Volkihar'. We have a physical description, including an uncommon eye color, and more importantly, a starting point for a search. Hopefully, once we find her, we'll be a step closer to the Dovahkiin, or rather, the Dragonborn."
"Yeah, we have a starting point. Which just happens to be north, in the general area of Pieta." Helen grumbled as she was reminded of the cause of her sour mood. "This means, back to all that dreary white and grey, the bad food, and the cold." She stood from her chair and marched to the innkeeper.
"Oh come on Helen, we hardly feel the cold. And haven't you had enough pie already?" Cynthia asked as Helen sat down again. Except this time, she had brought the whole pie with her.
"Ever since that dragon froze my arm off, I've been cold at times. I know it's probably all in my head, but it's damn annoying." Helen then viciously bit into her pie like she had a grudge on it. "And earlier was me indulging myself. This is revenge." She swallowed, growled at the dessert and took another huge bite from it. "You hear me! Revenge!"
()()()()
Now the Ghosts were back on the road again heading towards the North. Helen was even finally satisfied with her revenge and then some, having slaughtered two more pies in an epic struggle. She was feeling a bit heavy though.
For a duration of their travel, they had encountered nothing. No yoma, no humans, no animals. Those weren't good signs. Complete silence was never a good thing in Toulouse. With it was that horrifying feeling again, the spine tingling sensation that made them want to flee.
The silence was broken by a loud crash and the earth shaking. With it came the roars and bellows that made the ghosts pause.
While Deneve, Cynthia, and Helen stood still, Miria thought of something. The Dragons were supposedly afraid of this Dovahkiin. Not only that but they could clearly tell when a creature was akin to them. If that was case, then perhaps one could be used to their advantage.
It was incredibly risky, but they didn't have all the time in the world to search Toulouse. Silently, she motioned for her friends to follow her. She was leading them towards the action and Helen went wide eyed.
"Uh, Miria?" Helen questioned.
"The dragons know more than us. Much more." Answered the leader. "This might just be an opportunity for us."
That made the entire group go wide eyed. That made Miria's intentions extremely clear. She intended to interrogate a live dragon.
Helen gulped. "Huh, Miria, I joking earlier you know."
Miria ignored her and kept walking.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
From where they were, they saw a stream of fire erupt upwards. The same words were heard, with the same effect. From their position, the air got noticeably hotter.
"Well," Deneve deadpanned, "looks like anything starting with Yol is also bad news."
"Huh, guys, I don't feel so good all of a sudden." Helen called. "I have a bad stomachache. I think I had too much pie earlier…" Deneve and Cynthia threw her a gaze and she relented. "Fine, I'm coming. But are you sure this is a good idea, Miria?" she asked as the four Claymores cautiously approached the crashing site.
"Probably not," Miria admitted, "but this is a chance to gain more information. Even if they both survived, they will undoubtedly be too heavily injured to fight again. Even better if it's only one."
Deneve frowned as she intervened, still tense but only a little less. "Seems like it's the latter. I can only sense one now. The question is, is it in a talking mood? Or will it try to attack?"
"If it's hostile, we'll have to finish it anyway, if only to prevent it from attacking the nearby towns." Cynthis sighed.
Miria didn't answer and instead looked at the battle site where the two beasts had just finished their fight. The ground had been gouged and rent, trees crushed and upturned, and large trenches had been formed where they had thrown each other.. At the end of one, an orange and purple dragon with an oddly flattened body was crumpled in a twisted mess of limbs and broken spikes. Its maw was open, tongue hanging out, and its eyes were wide open yet dull. It looked quite dead.
Roars of pain could be heard from another, accompanied by what could only be profanity in that odd, rough language the dragons called their own. A large dragon was dragging itself out of it. Its color was a burnt orange-red, with orange wing membranes, and its body, neck and chin had many bony spikes one them. Its most distinguishing feature was the two corkscrewed horns growing from its skull.
The reason for its ire was most likely that its wings were sticking out at odd angles and obviously dislocated.
"Horvutah nau Golt med Lir!" It looked around and saw the group split in order to surround it. "Ahrk nu Liiv Kulsedovve bo."
Miria stopped a few feet away from it. She was the one facing the front of the beast, knowing that she was one with the greatest chance of dodging a breath. If it began to speak with either Fo or Yol, she would phantom out of the way and her friends would finish it.
"We only want to talk." she said. "I know you speak our language."
A rumble answered her. "Geh. Yes, I do." Its bright yellow eyes darted around. "You say Tinvaak, conversation, but you come Zun ahst Haal, weapons in hand."
Miria shrugged. "The last of your kin I spoke to pretended to want to talk, and tried to blast me with frost. Understand my caution."
"Yeah! So don't try anything funny!" Helen called from its right side, her arm already coiled and ready to unleash a drill sword in the dragon. It seemed to smirk in response, apparently unconcerned by the threat. The rowdy Claymore did not like being taken lightly. "Oy! You're awfully relaxed for someone who could die at any moment!"
In front of the Claymores' eyes, the dragon began to shake violently and strange sounds came out. They realized it was laughing.
"I have died once already. Faaz nuz frul. But I rose again. You do not know what it means to kill a Dov, nor can you. Hi ni Dovve uv Dovahkiin."
The warriors' eyes widened. Rubel had said death was temporary to dragons, and this one seemed to confirm it. To its left, Deneve spoke up, trying to bait it. "Then why don't you enlighten us?"
The yellow eyes narrowed shrewdly, having noticed the spark of interest. "You approached me while seeking something. Knowledge. But you cannot take it by force. Ni Kod. Useless."
"We could always try." Helen growled, but Miria called her off harshly before she could act. The leader of the group then stared back into the dragon's eyes unflinchingly.
"Conversely," she said calmly, "you have not attacked us either. Since you don't fear death, you could easily have done so. This means you want something from us."
"Vahzah. I am in an unpleasant situation, unable to return to the skies." Its wings shifted slightly as if trying to spread them, only to rumble in pain. "A great humiliation for a Dov, to be forced to crawl on the ground. So I offer Vaat, an oath. I will answer your questions and you will reset my wings. Ro Laan."
"And how can we be sure you won't attack us afterwards?" Deneve pointed.
The beast bristled as if insulted. "Once spoken, a Dov's oath is absolute. Vaat nis kos Krent." It looked at Miria again. "Zu'u nid Tahrodiis. I swear on my name."
"And what is this name you're swearing upon?" Miria asked. Her tone was less confrontational and more polite now, implying her agreement.
In a similar manner, the dragon nodded. "Aid me and I will bestow my name to you."
()()()()
"Just so you all know, I'll say it again," Helen hissed, "this is a very, very, very bad idea."
"Shut up and pull, Helen." Deneve replied from the ground.
Helen ignored her. "I mean, what could go wrong here? We are only pushing a dragon's wings back into place." She pulled harder and the clawed appendage moved. Beneath her, the dragon growled in pain and she nearly lost her footing. "And why am I the one on its back!"
"Because you suck at rock-scissors-paper." Miria deadpanned from the opposite side as she worked on the other wing with Cynthia helping below.
"Unslaad Tinvaak. Qiilaana us Daanlotfel Aal ni ol Faaz." the dragon said before roaring in pain as Helen jerked his wing back into place. "ARRRR!"
"Sorry." the Claymore deadpanned. Another roar heralded Miria finishing as well. She didn't get down right away though and looked at the dragon questioningly. Its head turned to look back at her.
"Faas Ni. You have kept your word. I shall keep mine. But first I will show you something."
Seeing no deceit, Miria jumped off his back, followed by Helen. The dragon began moving toward the other dragon's corpse. They would have thought a dragon would lumber clumsily on the ground, but instead his movements were remarkably smooth and graceful, especially considering the armor of scales that covered him.
But the true display came when it was only a short distance from the corpse. The four Claymores watched in fascination as its flesh burned and dissolved into light, which then flew into the beast's body. The dragon's presence seemed to flare briefly to their senses, like something was added to it before it returned to normal. Finally, only a large draconic skeleton remained.
"What on earth…" Miria breathed. "What did you do?"
The dragon spoke almost solemnly. "When two Dovve fight, the winner takes the vanquished's Siil, soul. This is Vahzah Oblaan, true death, for a Dov. This is why only a Dov can kill another Dov."
"Miria…" Cynthia started worriedly. They were all thinking the same thing. The dragon slain in Rabona had not dispersed like this. This could only mean that Rubel had not lied. It was not truly dead and as such, could rise again.
As much as they wanted to return and try to ensure against it, even though it only meant burying it much deeper, Miria knew she couldn't pass this opportunity. "Is it?" she asked with narrowed eyes.
"Ni Nok. I speak no lie, Siilon Miin Krid."
"No lie, but not the entire truth either. Am I wrong? There is something else. Something else you fear. Something that can also kill you. Didn't you say earlier? That word." Her eyes bore straight into the dragon's, as unflinching and determined as some of the heroes he had fought with and against. "You said you'd answer my questions. Dovahkiin. Dragonborn. What is it?"
The air was filled with tension as she cut to the chase and her friends went on edge. Would this dragon keep his word, or break it? He hadn't even given them his name yet. In that case, would he fight or flee? They got ready for anything as the two kept their staring contest.
And finally the dragon let out a rumbling chuckle. "Maybe there is some Dovah left in you. Pruzah." He smiled cunningly. "Sometimes a Joor, a mortal, is born with the soul of a Dovah. And because of this, they can kill us and take our souls. Dovah Kiin. Born a dragon. Dov Ah Kiin. Born to kill dragons. This is what you seek."
"Born a dragon… Dragonborn. Your natural enemy." Miria summarized. Apparently, the meaning was much deeper than a mere designation. It was almost like what a Claymore was to Yoma. The similarity was uncanny.
Helen's description however was much more basic. "So basically, some kind of super dragon hunter?"
The dragon's rumbling was not of amusement this time "Do not insult the Dovahkiine. They may be Joorre on the outside, but true Dovve on the inside." The dragon sounded genuinely angry now, and Miria suspected only his promise was holding him back. "Kah. Zin. Suleyk. Paar. Those who awoke became Hunne, Junne or Thurre. Heroes, emperors or tyrants."
This gave them pause. It did sound a bit ominous, like a supposed savior could turn out to be destroyer, and they couldn't know which it was beforehand. The next question came from Cynthia. "Have you ever met a Dovahkiin, great dragon? It's like you're speaking from experience."
The polite tone calmed the dragon somewhat. And as he settled down, an almost nostalgic melancholy filled his voice. "Geh." The dragon stood on his hind legs and held his wings high. "Since we are now in a partnership of sorts, as I promised, I shall tell you my name. Zu'u Nahfahlaar."
()()()()
AN:
Happy Halloween from America, dear fellows! (This was originally supposed to come Halloween, but the site was fucking up and did little to even so much as notify people. Real classy, FF. Anyway, if something should happen here, I have an account on AO3.)
Now take the floor, Dany!
Dany's note : Hello everybody… *gets shoved aside*
Helen's note : Yes, I'm inviting myself here! To hell with the fourth wall! Because honestly, what the heck were those stupid RPG-like developments? Once I could understand, but twice! First a stupid bard conveniently shows up where we were eating, and just after, BAM, we meet a somewhat friendly dragon who's willing to answer! And both times we were joking about it earlier! What's next? Running into the guy by chance? Hey, what are you writing? *insert loud sound of a churning stomach* Not… Fair… *Helen runs away*
Dany's note : And that's what you get for eating too much pie. Fear our mighty author powers! *Evil laugh* Ahem, yeah, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Yes, it was meant to be mostly light-hearted with a good bit of humor. We kinda had to balance out the bad luck for Irene's group last time so we gave Miria's side two lucky strikes. With a small surprise at the end. Now excuse me, gotta fix that fourth wall.
Translations:
Horvutah nau Golt med Lir : Trapped on the ground like a worm
Ahrk nu Liiv Kulsedovve bo : and now the withered children of dragons approach
Faaz nuz frul : Painful but temporary
Hi ni Dovve uv Dovahkiin : you are not dragons or dragonborn
Vahzah : True
Ro Laan : a balanced request
Vaat nis kos Krent : an oath cannot be broken
Unslaad Tinvaak. Qiilaana us Daanlotfel Aal ni ol Faaz : Endless speech. Submitting to Daanlotfel would not be as painful.
Faas Ni : fear not
Ni Nok : no lie
Kah. Zin. Suleyk. Paar : Pride. Honor. Power. Ambition