Dorelia didn't see this coming. The Penitus Oculatus was assigned to prevent assassination due to Skyrim's recent history, that couldn't be debated. However, they prepared for madmen with blades or a Stormcloak guerilla force, not an assassin. It was an oversight on their part and Dorelia cursed themselves for not seeing it coming. I mean, that was their duty entirely, not the shame they brought to the uniform.
At least they had something to go on. As Vittoria's body fell to the ground, another assassin revealed themselves. An Argonian that, just as quickly as they appeared, bolted once the assassin proper left. However, this one was caught wearing shrouded armor of black and red. Dorelia, just as much as anyone in Cyrodiil, identified that as the uniform of the Dark Brotherhood. The Brotherhood still lives.
With that in mind, Dorelia called in help. In Dragonbridge was a comrade of theirs, Commander Maro. They knew he was here on Imperial interests to wipe out the last remnants of the Brotherhood at any cost. Dorelia believed it a waste of their budget, but with the day's events, that idea was given Imperial punishment, as much as they hated that phrase.
Dorelia waited in Castle Dour's war room for Maro's arrival. They had taken a break from interviewing witnesses to meet with him. As much as they appreciated the assistance on this matter, the inspector wouldn't appreciate being reamed out. They were just as much upset about this situation as he would be about this, likely more. Their duty was failed and there was no chance to simply make this up; no need to make them feel worse.
After a punctual five minutes of waiting, Maro entered the war room with three Penitus Oculatus agents at his side. Dorelia noted two were considered an acceptable escort for higher ranking officers, but not three. The third was most likely the commander's son, Gaius, who was distinctly not at all similar to him in appearance. Maro had a pale, hard face while his son had a dark, soft face. Dorelia decided not to say anything about Gaius; it wasn't their place.
"Commander Maro," the inspector greeted, "I have already begun my investigation."
Not a sign of impress was found on his face. "Dorelia, if I had my way," Maro remarked, "you wouldn't be in the Oculatus. We have no room for incompetents."
At first, Dorelia thought he was going to say something completely different. They were almost glad it wasn't that, but still not pleased. Dorelia's competence wasn't something they felt needed to be proved. Granted, the two assassins getting in and out when a party guest was more useful than the Oculatus was, but that was by no means- You know what? Yeah, by that point, they really did seem more like the Knights of the Thorn than the Blades of old. Who are the Knights of the Thorn? A bunch of idiots with arms and armor that were likely to kill themselves than protect the Imperial Province.
"I've only taken a moment to meet with you, but I do have some leads," the inspector explained, "For starters, it's likely a Dark Brotherhood operation."
"Yes, I know," Maro remarked, "If it was anything besides that, I wouldn't be here."
Dorelia knew Maro was cold and that he was tasked with eliminating the Brotherhood, but this was different. The thought he wouldn't care if Vittoria Vici were killed by anyone other than the Brotherhood was pure callousness. Even if she was merely the Emperor's cousin, she was still their duty. Well, not his, and maybe that was the clinching argument; it was their problem, not his until it became his.
"Neither assassin was caught," Maro remarked, "That means they could still be in Haafinger, or surrounding holds."
"Yes, I've considered that," Dorelia noted, "I sent a messenger to Legate Duilis to keep an eye on any travelers to Hjaalmarch."
"I will send a cavalry company to the Reach," Maro stated, "and have my own men search the civilized cities and towns in our ability, starting with Solitude."
Dorelia believed this was excessive, and foolhardy. If an Imperial cavalry company were within the Reach, the Stormcloaks would likely know of it and raise a stink about it. That might become a diplomatic incident and could very well reignite the civil war. Even with the regiments here, they couldn't sustain an open war.
"Sir, if we send troops to Stormcloak territory, it will upset the Jarl and may lead to conflict," Dorelia stated, "I don't believe- "
It doesn't matter what you believe or don't," Maro stated, "we must wipe out the Dark Brotherhood, no matter where they are. I would send General Tullius's entire legion to Windhelm if that's where they were."
This single-minded attitude surprised Dorelia. "Sir, we're here to protect the Emperor's interests, not fight his war," they stated, "If you wanted to be a general, why didn't you join the Legion?"
Maro sighed. "Do you understand how important our assignment in Skyrim is?" he questioned, "I am here because the Emperor wanted to attend his cousin's wedding but was late. He was in High Rock, securing our Empire's future. He still intends to visit Skyrim, but only to assure the law abiding Nords that we aren't weak. Do you wish to prove them right?"
Dorelia hadn't considered any of that. Mostly because they didn't know it. The Emperor was coming here? Was he suicidal? His cousin, who had lived in Solitude for years, had been recently assassinated at her wedding. You would have to be mad to visit here if you were the leader of the civilized world.
But that was it. Vittoria had lived here for years but was only assassinated recently. And the Stormcloak rebellion was months ago, with naught but a cease fire keeping them behind their boarders. And even if it was the Stormcloaks, Ulfric was too much of glory hound to even consider wet work. And even if it were an upstart warmonger amongst his ranks, he'd likely cut their head off and send it to Jarl Elisif as a present, him being that barbaric.
No, this was something different. This wasn't about the civil war. Even if this was just the business of the East Empire Company, the only significant development was the Blood Horkers' defeat around a week ago. It was a significant development, as they were utterly wiped out from their island fortress. It was unlikely that survivors would exist, let alone go unnoticed.
No, this had to get to the Emperor. Even if it was early to say anything, Dorelia had to consider the very real possibility that it was the Emperor's life at stake. It may be paranoid, but as a member of the Penitus Oculatus, they had to be that paranoid. If they weren't that's when the bodies start dropping.
"Sir," Dorelia asked, "have you considered this is what the Brotherhood wants?"
Maro's expression was unchanged. "Inspector, that's what we're counting on."
Rena had finished explaining the wedding from her perspective to the court. They asked every guest to give their version of events in the presence of the Jarl, the court and Tribune Dorelia. Assassination puts everyone on edge, especially those who qualify as targets. There wasn't much to learn from this event, but every little bit helps, and they were desperate to learn something.
"Thank you, Captain Donton," Jarl Elisif nodded, "When this investigation is over, you can return to normal duties."
That was the thing that really hurt Rena. Her life was the Legion and she couldn't live without it. If she were ever discharged, she wouldn't know what to do. All she knew was that she'd never resign; it was her duty to fight for her Emperor. It gave her purpose, and she couldn't live with being a meaningless fighter.
"Are you satisfied, Tribune?" the Jarl asked Dorelia.
The Tribune shook their head. "The Penitus Oculatus will not be satisfied until the assassin has been executed," they declared, "It isn't safe for anyone while they roam."
Jarl Elisif quietly conceded, but she wasn't the fire of the court. That was Falk Firebeard, an appropriately named man with ginger hair and whiskers you could hide your fist in. It was rumor that he was the true voice of the Blue Palace. As the steward, he did all day to day work on the authority of the young, inexperienced Elisif the Fair. It put little confidence in Rena that they would leave this Skyrim better than they found it.
"And when will you find the assassin?" Falk questioned, "It was your duty to protect Lady Vittoria and you failed. What are you going to do about it?"
Tribune Dorelia gave a glare of powerful rage to the steward. "We're doing our investigation," they shot back, "but it's been less than a day and we haven't finished questioning the witnesses. Know your place, steward."
"As though we're assured of your competence," Falk balked, "You hardly have our faith."
"I will coordinate with Governor Tullius to find the assassin," Dorelia growled, "If you have faith in Tullius, you will have faith in me."
Rena heard rumors that Falk was a puppet of Tullius. Publicly, he supported the General and his role as the military governor, even if many citizens were uncomfortable with the current highest authority in Skyrim was a General of the Legion. This let many an imagination run wild and many put words in his mouth, but many felt it was beyond reasonable to assume he'd say it. The way Falk slinked back in his corner, it wasn't unreasonable to assume it was true.
"Now that you trust me," Tribune Dorelia stated, "We shall continue with our investigations."
At this point, Rena could dismiss herself, but she didn't have anything she could do after this. She couldn't patrol or plan or drill her soldiers until the assassin was found. She needed something to do.
And just then, man ran into court with a crazed look on his face. Rena Drew her sword to meet him, but he recoiled from her and threw himself onto his knees to the court. Rena took this as her que to leave.
Rena approached Dorelia, who was also leaving. "How long will this investigation take?" she asked.
Dorelia took a moment to respond. "We will see," they replied.
Rena wasn't satisfied with that reply. "I'm a captain of the Imperial Legion," she stated, "What am I supposed to do?"
Dorelia gave not a sympathetic smile. "Consider yourself on leave," they explained, "Read a book. Do something weird. Don't do anything that would alert the Penitus Oculatus to criminal activity."
Rena was less than satisfied with that. She could read, yes, but she was far from the bookish type. Being on leave for the foreseeable future drove her mad. What could she do if not work? She figured the madman in the court might have something of interest, so tuned back into that conversation.
"I swear to you," the madman begged, "unnatural magics are coming from that cave! There are strange noises and lights! We need someone to investigate!"
"Then we will immediately send out the Legion to scour the cave and secure the town," Jarl Elisif declared, "Haafingar's people will always be safe under my rule."
Rena was less than thrilled with that statement. The Legion had just been replenished its ranks in Skyrim and was only around to repel the Stormcloaks if given the opportunity. They weren't here to deal with local problems; that was the hold guards' responsibility. Or the responsibility of random adventurer or sellsword with a death wish.
"Thank you, my Jarl," the madman stuttered, "Thank you."
"Your eminence," Sybille interjected, "my scrying has suggested nothing in the area. Dragon Bridge is under imperial control. This is likely superstitious nonsense."
"Perhaps a more," Falk suggested, "tempered reaction might be called for?"
It was then Rena saw that Elisif was recognizing her inexperience and addressing it. "Oh. Yes, of course you are right," she shrank, "Falk, tell Captain Aldis I said to assign a few extra soldiers to Dragon Bridge."
The madness left the man and begrudging acceptance set in. "Thank you, Jarl Elisif," he replied, "But about the cave- "
"I will have someone take care of the cave as well Varnius," Falk interrupted to assure, "you can rest easy. You're dismissed."
Rena saw her opportunity. There was something she could do now that didn't require her to be in the Legion. Hopefully, Tribune Dorelia wouldn't consider this breaking the investigation rules, but she was going to do this anyway. At least it was something to do.
She approached the steward in his corner. "Do you have business with the court?" he asked, his bitterness evident from the heavens.
"I hear you're looking for some help with Wolfskull Cave," Rena stated.
Falk's bitterness fell into confusion. "You mean the Dragon Bridge issue?" he questioned, "I'll be honest with you, I was planning to let that go. Varnius is a bit jumpy at the best of times."
The lack of care in Falk's character disappointed Rena but didn't surprise her. Stewards were a cowardly creation where lords didn't want to do all the work, so they created a position where they were forced to also shrug off the work. No responsibility, it seemed, could be found in this court.
"There have been reports of weird happenings near Wolfskull Cave," Falk continued, "Travelers disappearing, odd lights. I suspect wild animals or perhaps bandits. I don't think it's worth our time with the war going on, but if you want to clear out the cave, I'll make sure you're repaid for your work."
Rena nodded. She would do the work. Anything to get out of here.
Though one question she worried the answer to still lingered. "Why is it called Wolfskull Cave?"
"The cave has a bad history," Falk explained quite casually, "Long ago, Potema the Wolf Queen used it for necromantic rituals. That's where it got the name. That was over 500 years ago. Nothing much down there now, but everyone's always convinced the cave is haunted."
That is what frightened Rena. If there were three things, if there were two things, if there was one thing Rena's mother drilled into her head, it was not to underestimate necromancers. Whatever was in the cave, it was bad. Really, really, really bad.
Jeanne rode to Ivarstead in the morning and arrived in the early afternoon. There wasn't any challenge in arriving there, seeing as home the Legion's often patrols dealt with many a threat. No wolf or bear or worse was in her path. She thought it was good, since there was much to do in Ivarstead, and she didn't need beasts to stall things.
Upon arriving, Jeanne could see the village's beginning and end. She had heard this place was once a sacred place where pilgrim passed through on the way to the top of High Hrothgar. Clearly, things had changed, as many didn't make the pilgrimage anymore. Jeanne personally wondered if the decline of the Greybeards had anything to do with how different Skyrim was from its reputation. A reputation Ulfric was trying to return.
"Are you the one sent by Mara?" a woman's voice asked.
Jeanne looked to her side and found a young woman in a straw-colored dress. Considering the question, the Breton was confident that this Fastred, was her quarry.
"Yes," Jeanne answered as she dismounted, "What's troubling you?"
"My parents are being impossible," Fastred sighed, "Bassianus wants to marry me. And I think I love him. But he wants me to move to Riften afterwards, and my father won't allow it. He only cares about this stupid town, but Bassianus makes be happier than anyone has. My mother's not any help, either."
Interesting that this man, with such an Imperial name, would want to move to Riften after they would marry. Automatically, Jeanne assumed he was an Imperial soldier from the camp not far from here or a village guard assigned for security. Fastred was going to be one of those wives to boy that believed they needed to marry before they died and went for the closest pretty face. Her mother's brother was one of these boys, and he annulled the marriage after the "financial difficulties" with having that wife.
Still, Jeanne wanted to be fair. "I'll talk to your parents about it," she assured.
Fastred brightened up at those words. "Oh, thank you so much!" she beamed, "It's wonderful to have someone around who understands."
Jeanne left to go look for a woman who was close to the age the young lover's mother would be. Considering what context was given, she was likely to be the more reasonable to the two. Or maybe it was that her father's opinion hurt more, or it was his decision that determined the rest of the family's stance. Jeanne didn't have much to go on, but she'd find more.
Soon enough, she found a woman with white hair, but little creases in her skin to denote age. The older woman was working the small fields at the edge of town. If Jeanne had to make a guess, she'd say this was Fastred's mother.
The older woman looked up and noticed the Breton before her. After looking her over, the woman said, "You must be another pilgrim on the way up to High Hrothgar. No other reason to pass through here." That was fair, as Jeanne was a traveler, looked like it, and probably didn't look identical anyone in town.
"You're Fastred's mother?" Jeanne asked.
The older woman nodded incredulously. "Yes, I'm Boti," she replied.
"Your daughter asked me to speak to you," Jeanne explained.
"Oh my," the older woman sighed, "Probably something about the men. We all wish we had her problems. Now, don't tell my husband, but I don't have any problem with Bassianus. Even if it means her leaving Ivarstead, I want Fastred to be happy. If they just snuck out of town together, I could manage my husband."
An interesting stance, Jeanne noted. Boti was perfectly fine with this relationship, but her husband wasn't. Why wasn't he? Overprotectiveness? Jeanne wasn't familiar with how it was to have an overprotective father, seeing as her own father was the sort to let you make a mistake so that you'd never make it again. She wasn't sure that was an ideal parenting method, but reputation around overprotective parents wasn't good.
"What would inspire them to leave?" Jeanne inquired.
Boti gave a face like that was fun question. "Bassianus is still so terrified of Jofthor," she answered, "If he knew that I'd keep him from hunting the poor boy down, he'd take Fastred to Riften without a second thought. Let him know that I'll look out for them. I just want my daughter to be happy."
It was good to know running was an option, but perhaps it didn't have to be one. Jeanne still didn't know a thing about Bassianus, nor had she met Fastred's father, Jofthor. Perhaps after meeting both, she'd have a firm opinion. Already, she wasn't sure, since this could all be the foolishness of their ages, for all she knew.
Still in the farmyard was a man of close to the same age as Boti, but it wasn't so easy to tell. His muscles were as lean as pork loins, even if his hair was as white as winter. Speaking of which, where was the snow in this place? They'd be celebrating the New Life Festival in Wayrest about this time of year, but not an ounce of snow in here of all places? The Rift truly was forever autumn.
The man barely looked up from his work to talk. "My daughter is driving me crazy," he remarked, "so, forgive me if I'm a bit on edge." Yes, this was likely Jofthor.
"Your daughter actually asked me to talk to you," Jeanne replied.
The man stopped in his tracks to look up. "I'm sure I know what this is about," he sighed, "She thinks she's in love with Bassianus and wants to leave town. With him."
That emphasis was interesting to Jeanne.
He continued. "Let me tell you how I see it. Until a few months ago, the girl was head over heels for Klimmek. Wouldn't stop talking about him."
The young can be dumb about love. At least, that's what her elders told her.
"Now," Jofthor continued, "if I thought she was really in love with Bassianus, that would be one thing. But she's a child. It will pass."
This did seem like there was little to support the relationship, even if she didn't know that much about it. But this wasn't her offering her opinion; Mara Herself sent her to answer Fastred's prayers. Was Mara sending her to break this couple up or keep them together? Was it Jeanne misunderstanding or was the Mother-Goddess wrong?
Jeanne needed to know more. "Why do you want her to stay so badly?" she inquired.
"Look around here. There's not much left," Jofthor remarked, "Used to be a good-sized town, but folks have been moving to Riften for a while now. If all the young people leave, what happens to Ivarstead?"
It sounded to Jeanne like a big issue. She wasn't so certain it was within her scope to answer it. All she was here for was Fastred and her problems. It was just identifying what was the problem.
"You think she'll get over it?" Jeanne asked.
"You know how children are," Jofthar snarked, "Her fancies change with the moons. And like always, the boy lacks any kind of spine. He'll need some convincing. A little push and this would all be simpler."
Jeanne didn't like that attitude. Fastred was young, but no child; she was a woman. Even the Breton knew what a Nord adult looked like. She was getting the idea that Mara wouldn't support such a bitter man, but who knew?
The question was what was best for Fastred. To Jeanne, Bassianus was just a name, not a person. The same with Klimmek. The former was likely to move to Riften with the girl, the latter would keep her here. Which place was better for her, the corrupt city, or the dying village? Jeanne would stay in Ivarstead if she were certain it would be here in the next ten years, but what about Fastred?
And what's more, place isn't everything. Who was the better person, better lover, between Bassianus and Klimmek? She couldn't say, she hadn't met either. Would meeting them help the argument? Probably, but the question of who to pick would still linger. They were likely alright men and no better than the other. And choosing her lover was beyond Jeanne's right.
Jeanne approached Fastred, who still worked in the field. She looked as though she was anticipating news, whether good or bad. Too bad there wasn't much to talk about.
"So, have you talk to my father?" Fastred asked.
Jeanne sighed. "I have, and I've talked to your mother," she stated, "Your father would rather you stay here, your mother wants you to be happy. She'll cover for you and Bassianus if you decide to run off."
A spark of light could be fun in the girl's eyes. "That's great!" she beamed, "I'll tell Bass right now!"
Before she could leave, Jeanne put a hand on your shoulder, stopping her. "But I also know about Klimmek, your former lover."
With that, Fastred's spark was waning. It was as though the mention of it brought something back, whether the words of her father or something Jeanne could only further speculate. Without any words, Jeanne knew Klimmek was a sensitive topic for the girl, but not why. Fortunately, there were more things to talk about than him.
"I don't care who your lover is," Jeanne assured, "I know you'd chose who you want. I just want you to choose wisely, with maturity. You're a young woman, with your life ahead of you. Don't make a choice you'll regret in five, ten, twenty years' time. Be wise today, happy tomorrow."
Fastred slowly nodded and still left the field. Jeanne hoped she would do wisely. She knew what it was like to make a mistake that she would regret. Her reliance on the drink made it clear the Stormcloak Rebellion didn't do her right, even if she did right by them. If she could steer Fastred toward a better life than hers, she could die happy. Well, she wasn't willing to just roll over and die today or tomorrow, but any bandit or beast wouldn't kill someone who would beg for death or die with regrets.
Rena wasn't experienced with the specific histories of Skyrim, though she had heard of the Wolf Queen. Potema Septim was the most vicious, malicious, and evil ruler of Solitude there ever was. Whole volumes detailed her life and what she'd done to Tamriel. She vied for the Empire's Ruby Throne with lies, violence and necromancy until her death centuries ago. The madwoman is remembered as a person of unambiguous monstrosity, one of the few even scholars will not debate.
So, it terrified Rena the idea that the Wolf Queen might return. If the civil war were to resume, they didn't need the temptation or threat of such a powerful figure returning. Even those who would parrot her name for power or fear would be disruptive, and the Legion and Haafinger didn't need something to draw their focus.
And just to make it easier, she brought Ansgar. He was going a little stir crazy with responsibilities left and right that weren't befitting a warrior. Granted, showing his techniques to others were preferable, but Rena could see he was dying for some action. Together, they might have a more successful adventure than the war stories.
Wolfskull Cave's entrance proved little more than a crevasse in the wall. Little did to dissuade the idea that this was just another hole in the ground. Rena saw past that lie, pushing her way through and finding herself in a proper cave. One would think one called the Wolf Queen would more ornately decorate her liars, but she wasn't above deception, and necromancers traditionally don't want to advertise their practices.
As the captain descended into the cave, they found a draugr on its patrol. At this time in Rena's life, it wasn't the matter of slaying the undead that was difficult; it was justifying why it was here. She wasn't certain where Potema remained, but if her cadaver was here, that didn't explain the draugr. They were creatures of ancient tombs, not something near five centuries ago. Five centuries is a long time, but not necessarily ancient.
But of course, the draugr noticed the captains in their heavy steel armor. It drew its blade to meet them, as did they, and Rena raised her shield. The undead swung it's blade to chop her, but the shield got in its way and Ansgar smashed the cadaverous warrior. Ah, back to the glorious teamwork between them that got them far in the Reach.
Deeper and deeper into the cave they went until the captains came upon a sight that would surely drive a farmer mad. Atop ruins of an ancient subterranean castle was a bright but cold bulb of light encompassed around a person. Ribbons of that same energy streamed across the ruins and met atop this tower. All around were worshippers and undead observing this event.
Rena wasn't an expert of magic. She didn't know what this was specifically. What she did know was that the magics were colored purple, the color of conjuration magics, such as necromancy. If these conjurers were using Potema as some sort of patron or using her former residence as a place of power, there was danger in what they did. Rena wouldn't have it.
As the captains circled the ruins, it occurred to Rena that there was no chance of earning glory for the Legion here. Neither were there under the capacity of Legionnaire; Rena couldn't with the investigation going through, and Ansgar volunteered as a friend. She was here as a servant of Jarl Elisif, of Solitude, of Haafinger. If any glory were earned this day, it would be their own. Such an idea wasn't something Rena was used to.
This thought was interrupted by the necromancers' chanting.
"Wolf Queen," the voice of an old woman led, "Hear our call and awaken. We summon Potema!"
"We summon Potema!" the whole coven repeated.
"Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema," the leader continued, "No longer. Hear us Wolf Queen! We Summon You! Summoned with words. Bounds by blood."
"We summon Potema!" the coven repeated.
The Wolf Queen had those attempting to return her to life? Rena knew there was danger in what they were doing, but necromancy on this level was impossible. Unheard of. The souls of the dead belonged to the gods, whether to the Divine to protect, or a Daedric Prince they surrendered to willingly. Few mortals could ever repeal the power of the gods.
And a new, aethereal voice joined the chorus. "Yes! Yes! Return me to this realm!"
Suddenly, Rena's faith that the gods' power overrule these mortals was gone. Clearly, whatever patron of necromancy these conjurers subscribed to was willing to return one of their souls for some price. If the soul of Wolf Queen Potema returned to the mortal world, there would be much chaos in trying to contain it. This may yet bring destruction if Rena couldn't stop it now.
"As our voices summon you the blood of the innocent binds you Wolf Queen!" the leader announced,
"Summoned with words," the coven chanted, "Bounds by blood."
"What! What are you doing?!" the voice gasped, "You fools! You cannot bind me to your wills!"
"Summoned with words," the coven continued, "Bounds by blood."
"You ants don't have the power to bind me!" Potema screamed.
This was a surprise. Rena assumed these were some follower of Potema's power and their obedience would be rewarded. These were power hungry opportunists that believed they could wield such an ancient and vile soul like a sorcerer's staff. They might be able to, they might be throwing away their lives with reckless abandon. Either way, Rena was certain her and Ansgar needed to interrupt the ritual before it could release Potema's spirit onto the world. They might not have come in time, but that wouldn't stop them from trying.
"You head up the ruins," Ansgar ordered, "I'll distract the rest of them."
A decent tactic maybe, but Rena wasn't too enthused about it. "Those are draugr and necromancers," she stated, "you'll be killed."
Ansgar smirked. "I've cut through the Stormcloak lines, bought the brunt of the Forsworn traitors, and slew Haldyn of the Blood Horkers," he remarked, "While I may die today, I'll take my chances."
From his perch, he charged into the largest opening of the ruins, where many a draugr followed him. They, seasoned warriors in life, were no match for Ansgar in death. His Zweihander smashed through bone and chaulky flesh while Rena bolted into the more into the ruins. She appreciated his sacrifice, whether it was one or not. May he find his way to Valhalla or wherever Nord warriors go when they die.
The first to face Rena's blade were draugr on patrol. She bashed them into the torches and minced them with her blade. The necromancers took note of this activity and began rising skeletons to fight her. The skeletons were easy to slay, bizarrely easy. She found the necromancers were harder foes, partially due to their magics. Still, they were all easy with a shield strapped her to arm and a sword in hand.
Rena climbed the ruins until she reached its height. She found the necromancer commanding the magics was an old woman, inspiring the idea that this was her life's work in Rena's mind. None of that mattered; everything they were doing was a crime against the Divines and the Empire. Besides, with their age disparity, this may be an easy fight.
Not so. The old woman's skin became stone-like, gray and all. She drew a common dagger with a purple aura on it. Considering she was a necromancer, Rena could only speculate it was a Soul Trap Dagger. If Rena died on the blade or died while it's magics still had influence on her, her soul would be taken into a black soul gem, which a necromancer surely had. From there, her soul could be used in their fell magics. All the more reason Rena had not to die.
With the dagger in hand, the necromancer charged the fighter, who met it by bringer her sword onto the necromancer's wrist. It didn't cut, as it seemed a spell had hardened the flesh to Rena's attacks. She could wait, but she didn't have the patience for it. With what strength and endurance that she could muster, Rena pushed the stone-covered necromancer to the edge of the ruins, the old woman's dagger stabbing into her steel armor. The leader was thrown off the peak in time for the spell to wear and she died as she landed with a sickening crack echoing across the cave.
The energies faded as the ritual master lay dead. Rena was certain it was over. She threw the dagger aside, as all the enchantments it had was to the Soul Trap. She would need to make sure of that with a mage's aid but was comforted in the knowledge that Haafinger was safe for now. For now.
It was time for Gunmar and Sorine to meet with Isran. They both chose to stay in Riften until Agata joined their party. The poor Nord wasn't sure why; did they have such a low opinion of Isran that they wanted someone to stand between them?
Upon entering Dayspring Canyon, it could be seen that the Dawnguard's presence was growing. The training yard was willing with crossbow wielding archers. The battlements were better manned, perhaps better than most forts. There were well enough people for the fact that some couldn't perform their duties, so went fishing in the lake. They were definitely itching for something.
As Sorine and Gunmar entered the Fort, Agata could feel their tension. They were quite all the way during this travel. Granted, not everyone is a talker, but they had plenty of opportunity. Perhaps that's how much Isran made them uncomfortable; he silenced you with your own thoughts. He's pretty intimidating.
Isran was supposed to be in the foyer, but he didn't seem to be on the floor. Then Agata noted how high the ceiling reached and that there was practically a balcony above them. Isran was there, looking down on them. The poor Nord realized how theatrical her guild leader was, and how this might be why he doesn't keep that many friends.
Gunmar sighed. "All right Isran, you've got us all here. Now what do you want?"
"Hold it right there," Isran ordered.
The way out of the foyer was shut. Suddenly, a bright, blinding light struck the ground between the three like a fragment of the sun.
"What are you doing?" Sorine asked in a shocked and confused tone.
And the light was gone in an instant. On inspection, Agata noticed the ceiling was opened and a strange device was mounted over it. A decent precaution, and reasonable, but a strain on the eyes.
"Making sure you're not vampires," Isran explained, never moving from his perch, "Can't be too careful. So, welcome to Fort Dawnguard. I'm sure you've heard a bit of what we're up against. Powerful vampires, unlike anything we've seen before. And they have an Elder Scroll. If anyone is going to stand in their way, it's going to be us."
Sorine seemed to accept that, but her patience was still at a loss. "This is all well and good, but do we actually know anything about what they're doing? What do we do now?"
"We'll get to that," the leader assured, "For now, get acquainted with the space. Sorine, you'll find room to start your tinkering on that crossbow design you've been working on. Gunmar, there's an area large enough for you to pen up some trolls, get them armored up and ready for use. In the meantime, we're going to get to the bottom of why a vampire showed up here looking for you," he pointed at Agata, "Let's go have a little chat with it, shall we?"
A vampire? Agata couldn't think of anyone that would be here. Skathi, yes, but Isran knew about that and probably wouldn't say it like that. If it was how he would say it, then that was why he didn't have many friends.
There was one place Agata could think that the vampire would be. The first time she was here, Isran showed it to her. A torture room. If they captured any vampires for any reason, they would use it if they proved difficult to extract information from. It wasn't an ease on Agata's mind to have that place, with tools and tables no mortal deserved to be subjected to.
But maybe this one. When Agata entered the room, she found Isran opposite Serana. She wasn't tied down, she wasn't in chains and she wasn't welcome here. Not after what she did.
Agata took her axe from her belt. "What are you doing here?!"
"This vampire showed up while you were away," Isran explained, sounding above it, "I'm guessing it's the one you found in Dimhollow Crypt. Says it's got something really important to say to you. So, let's hear it."
"No." Agata gripped Serana by the throat and pushed her into the torture rack, the hanging over her face. "You took my sister away from me; give me a reason to let you live!"
The vampire's demeanor didn't strike the angry Nord as frightened. Frustrated, but not afraid. "I didn't do anything to your sister," she retorted, "I haven't even seen her after the night-."
The axe was touching Serana's cheek. "Don't lie to me!" Agata barked, "You used your vampire magic to bewitch her!"
Something was creeping on the vampire's face, but the Nord wasn't sure what it was. "I didn't do anything," she tried to explained, "I was just as surprised she did any of that as you."
"Tell me the truth!" Agata screamed, letting the axe pierce the vampire's skin.
"Soldier," Isran barked, "Stand down!"
Say what you will about him, but Isran has a voice you listen to, if nothing else. Agata back away from Serana and let her pick herself up from the rack. She was still wary of her, but Serana seemed as though she wasn't going fight. If anything, she was going to leave.
"What are you doing here?" Agata spat.
Serana's hand was still on her neck, still shocked from the assault. "I'd rather not be here either, but I needed to talk to you. It's important, so please just listen before either of you lose your patience again."
A twinge of fright peak out her face. That was what was creeping out. Agata felt a twinge of guilt for what happened. What she did got to Serana, no matter how hard she hid it. And it wasn't the threatening itself; it was some Agata didn't do that she reawaken in the vampire. It was hard to say, "She deserved it," when she didn't even know what it was.
"It's," Serana continued, trying to edge out the words while fighting the shadow, "well, it's about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me."
"What about the scroll?" Agata asked, her voice lessening with shame.
"The reason I had it," Serana explained, "and why I was down there."
She went on, "It all comes back to my father. I'm guessing you figured this part out already, but my father's not exactly a good person. Even by vampire standards. He wasn't always like that, though. There was," she paused to find the word, "a turn. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kind of lost himself in it."
Agata hadn't thought about anything like that. She never considered vampires being eviler than others; after Skathi, she painted them all as villainous fiends that corrupt everything they touch. But there was something Serana had the Nord hadn't seen in other vampires: a soul. A battered soul, but still a soul.
"What sort of prophecy?" she asked.
"It's pointless and vague, like all prophecies," Serana sighed, "The part he latched onto said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. That's what he's after. He wants to control the sun, have vampires control the world." She shook her head, "Anyway, my mother and I didn't feel like inviting a war with all of Tamriel, so we tried to stop him. That's why I was sealed away with the Scroll."
It was a lot to take in. Such a terrible fate. Not only would light be struck, but it might be the end of magic. It was said Magnus, the god of magic, created it as He left the mortal world, tearing a hole through Oblivion that was the sun. If that portal to Aetherius was blocked, not only would vampires be empowered to take over the world, a third of the people that might be able to do something about it would essentially have their hands removed.
"You took a big risk coming here," Agata remarked.
"I did," Serana nodded, "But something about you that made me think I could trust you. Was I wrong?"
Agata couldn't look into Serana's golden eyes. Skathi typically couldn't either, but Agata had a reason she could understand. She was right not to think the Nord would help her, even if her rage were unwarranted. Things were happening that Agata didn't understand, nor control, and she couldn't deal with it. It was the end of her family again and she wanted someone to blame. She couldn't think of why Skathi would do this.
"I don't know," she timidly admitted, "Maybe. I'll try to trust you. I just wanted my sister back."
Serana looked to feel that, maybe see a tear forming in the Nord's eye. "Well, let's move on then," she remarked, "I'll see what I can do to help you if you help me."
Isran didn't say anything. He probably saw enough. It was a real blow to Agata's ego to be in the same room as Isran and she was the aggressive one. Life was getting better as it was getting worse.