Auxiliary Benommek, or Ben to the one or two people that considered him a friend, had an important job. He stood at the entrance of the Castle Dour, taking note of everyone that came to and from the barracks. It was important because anyone that didn't show up needed to be noted in case they were missing or dead, and anyone that did show up needed to be someone who was allowed to be there. The only ones were Legion personnel and the hold guards.

And now the Pentius Oculatus. Or at least they were supposed to be, but they refused to give Ben a record of who they could expect. He didn't know if Commander Gaius would stay the night, nor did he know the names of any of the Oculatus personnel. He was a mere auxiliary, but it would've been useful to know if there were any names that would be suspicious. But no! The Oculatus just had to be terrible about paperwork!

The day was done, and Ben had seen the brunt of the traffic. Most of the Legionnaires and hold guards all turned in, and now was time for the usual suspects that arrived last. The officers that took the advice of being the first to arrive and the last to leave. They were strange, as they lack any idea as to how to actually enjoy sleep. Ben thanked the fact he actually savored the sensation.

The first was of course Captain Ansgar. Strapping man usually spent the days practicing his sword arm and training his men to learn his two-handed sword technique. He usually was wearing a linen shirt, but with the sweat he was building up, you'd think he'd let his glorious musculature sheen. But maybe he had a sense of modesty a monk would call overdoing it.

"Captain Ansgar Nordson," the tall Nord stated to Ben.

"Noted," Ben replied, "You know, you don't need to say you're name; I know who you are."

"It's protocol," Ansgar stated, "I'm not going to shirk that."

Ansgar then went into the barracks, wiping sweat of his brow with his near drenched shirt. Ben noted how he had a sense of honor that many would call stupid. The rules must be upheld, not matter if they're unnecessary to their situation. He may actually have that wife he claimed to have. Something of a disappointment for Ben, but there were plenty of other people out there.

Such as Mariqua. No, not Mariqua; he was bloody weird. He often spoke of gods and their relationships, but it was so against doctrine and dogma that Ben was worried he would have to discuss things with the temple of the Divines. He claimed that the Dibella was his maid, how Hircine would have his hide, the ways Kynareth and Talos had fights about the place of the Nords. It was all together blasphemous, and Ben didn't want to be a part of it.

He was also weird in other ways, noted by how he slinked into the barracks like a housecat. To Ben's understanding, Khajiit didn't act like that. Khajiit were normal creatures of sane dispositions, nothing like this. Sure, they may talk funny, but in Ben's experience, everyone talked funny. I mean, what were these Imperials' funny accents? It made them all sound like wimps.

The next to arrive was Alary, Rena's indentured servant. She expressed no emotion by this time of day, not that she expressed much of any emotion. She seemed neutral as she floated through life like a piece of driftwood. To Ben's understanding, she was learning the bardic arts to make a living for her master, but that's what Ben gets told by others, not that he actually knew these things.

And then was Rena, a few hours later than she would be. Ben didn't know why, but she looked like she'd been through the depths of Oblivion. Her armor was rent, covered in dirt and stains that might've been blood. She also looked altogether tired, like as you would if you were a member of the Legion. Altogether, she looked like she was in a fight.

But that didn't mean she looked bad. There were things besides upkeeping one's appearance that could make them look good. There was attitude, confidence, and Rena exuded confidence in every action. She wasn't some sort of barmaid to be there to loot pretty; she was the type to give Dagrun Blood-Maiden a run for her money. The artists didn't have a unified depiction of Dagrun, but they made it a point that she looked like she could take a hit from a mammoth and hit right back.

It may be of note that Ben objectified his colleagues. Well, he's young, stupid, and has no one to call his own as far as a lover is concerned. He was a little desperate for some loving, even if that meant his fellow Legionnaires. But he knew that he wasn't the type to ask anyone to join him for time together; he had to be asked for anything. He wasn't the most confident in anything except the quality of his work.

And now the one thing that would shatter that confidence: the Penitus Oculatus. Their poor paperwork was going to be a pain for them, as they had to give their names at the entrance. This would be an annoying day. The group was just nine, so at least it would be easy, even if they were Imperial names. Seriously, how did they come up with these names?

"Alright, comrades," Ben inquired, "your names?"

And so, they gave their weird names:

"Savalius."

"Carullian."

"Rufanian."

"Saloria."

"Alessarina."

"Sevendia."

"Natavo."

"Reburd."

"Gaius Maro."

Ben took special note of the last name. Maro was the name of the commander, the only name of the commander of the Penitus Oculatus. For Imperials, a last name can denote a lineage. As such, it might be that Maro started his house from his work in the Penitus and it ended up being significant enough for his to gain power.

The group's names were written down and they were allowed to enter the barracks. After that, Ben prepared the for the long, dull night shift. He sometimes curses the day he had decided to join the Legion. He expected to become a soldier, fighting the Stormcloaks and avenging his family against the Bear of Markarth. Instead, he was an administrator. Glorious as Dagrun Blood-Maiden's battle against the one-thousand Orcs of the Velothi Mountains.

He didn't expect another Penitus Oculatus to appear an hour later. A dark-skinned woman with a full quiver and bow, old enough to be Gaius Maro's mother it seemed. In fact that would make sense, as Gaius appeared to have far darker skin than his father. Why was that? Whatever the reason, whether affair or Maro being fair paler than his wife, it was irrelevant to the situation.

"Apologies," the woman remarked, "I had business with Inspector Dorelia."

"It's fine," Ben replied, not really caring about the goings on of their lot, "Your name?"

"Rasalena."

With that, Ben let the woman in. Within five minutes, she left. "Sorry, I forgot something in the armory," she explained.

Ben was willing to let it go, just putting it in the log. Then three persons in night wear exited the barracks, shouting bloody murder. Ben wonder what in Oblivion just

Gabriella left the bloody sanctuary for an hour. She was only out to get some venison for the stew this week, as they had little other options. It was something they did every day for every stew they made. She didn't expect much to happen, as it was just a simple errand. Just go to the poacher, get the meat, come back. Twenty-six minutes to get there, eight minutes to get the meat, another twenty-six minutes to get back. It was clockwork.

She didn't expect to find the scene she did. Apparently, while she was out, Veezara returned. And he was laying bloody on the ground. Still alive, but not many of her siblings arrived that severely injured. At least they drank a healing potion on the ride there. No, something had happened, Gabriella was certain of that the minute she saw the scene with her comrades stood over him.

Babette stood over Veezara, holding a potion in her hands. "Just try to relax, Veezara," she cooed in that frightening child's voice, "Let the elixir do its work. You'll feel better, shortly."

"Thank you, dear," the Shadowscale said as he drank the potion like a baby, "You are most kind. The jester's cut feels as bad as it looks, I'm afraid."

Jester? That had to mean Cicero. Only that madman wore the Merryman's garb. While Gabriella had never seen him in action, she wasn't about to gage his ability. If he could turn Veezara into a pin cushion, she would need to approach that bastard carefully.

"Damn it, this never should have happened!" Astrid fumed, "We knew better. We knew better, and still we let our guards down."

"I'll admit," Festus stated, "even I'm having a hard time disagreeing with you."

When Gabriella approached Astrid in the hopes of talking to her about this and their leader took note of her. "You're back. Good," Astrid spoke first, "You'll want to hear this."

"This has something to do with Cicero, doesn't it?" Gabriella inquired, extrapolating what she could from the situation.

"The fool went absolutely berserk!" Astrid spat, "He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled. I knew that lunatic couldn't be trusted. Look, we've got to deal with this situation. You've got to deal with this situation."

Gabriella couldn't think of what would trigger him in particular. He seemed insane altogether, but what would bring out that madness? No matter, there were other things to do. "What do you want me to do?" she inquired.

"I want you to find that miserable little fool and end his life! But first," Astrid ranted before calming slightly, "find my husband. Make sure he's all right. After the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left. Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared into the wild. Search Cicero's room. Maybe there's something in there that sheds some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something. I've got to see to Veezara, and calm everyone down."

There was obviously something missing, but that wasn't important right now. Arnbjorn's lycanthropic nature made him a prime hunter, but madness was also something that went part and parcel with it. Arnbjorn couldn't always control how he acted when he became a beast, and there was no telling what he'd do without restraint. Or where he'd go. He was essentially a madman chasing a madman. Fantastic.

"It's true, I'm afraid," Festus remarked, "Cicero was a little whirlwind, slashing this way and all that. It would have been funny if he weren't trying to murder us all."

"Don't forget the ranting and raving," Nazir spoke up, "About the Night Mother, how she was the true leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and Astrid was just a 'pretender.'"

This had been an issue in the sanctuary since Cicero came back. In fact, it was an issue throughout Astrid's entire leadership. She was accused of being a usurper by some, and Gabriella could tell Festus and Babette took issue with her. Perhaps they blamed her for the history panning out how they did, with no Listener and no Night Mother, but Astrid was the one who brought them through it. Gabriella didn't necessary like her leader, but she still gave her respect.

Gabriella took her leave of the discussion and began searching through Cicero's abode. The lodgings in the sanctuary were relatively scant, but there were still areas where they rested their heads simply fine. Cicero's was isolated from the others, as few wanted to be bunkmates with that madman. At least the walls didn't look like a butcher's shop.

Amongst his belongings were these journals. Journals tended to be a faux pax for an assassin. Having a paper trail that leads others to your location weren't things one would want, but Cicero was mad, so maybe he was dumb as well.

In the first was a recounting of his early days as an assassin. He wrote of his assassinations, whether they be a baroness or a Grand Champion of the Cyrodiilic arena. He also wrote of the decline of the Brotherhood, with the loss of sanctuaries and the last Listener, Alisanne Dupre, making consistent visits. Gabriella knew he was from Cyrodiil but didn't consider what that history might've entailed.

As Gabriella read further, she found this turned into resource to learn the fall of the Dark Brotherhood from the perspective of someone who lived it. Sanctuaries fallen, the Bravil riots bringing the Night Mother's remains to light, and even the death of Dupre. The things this man had experience was beyond unsettling for the Dunmer sorceress.

He spoke of how the jobs dried up without a Listener, how no new one was chosen. Their leaders kept to the dogma that the Night Mother must reveal who performed the Black Sacrament, not that they approach those rumored to hold such contracts. Gabriella can attest that it may be more proactive to search for contracts, it was also dangerous to approach someone who might not want someone dead. She heard Mikaela had actually followed a rumor that someone perform the Black Sacrament to have Grelod the Kind killed. Impressive.

The part that got difficult to read was Cicero's recount of the fall of his sanctuary, the last in Cyrodiil. It was clear he was losing his mind, laughing at his comrades deaths. But could you blame him? After all the death and destruction he witness, who wouldn't lose all bearing on reality. Who wouldn't just force themselves to laugh? Laughter doesn't mean you're sad, doesn't it?

After that, the journals became easier to read. They were all quite familiar, as he moved to Skyrim, met the Falkreath Sanctuary, but two things stood out. First, he learned the words to open the black door to the Dawnstar Sanctuary, an abandoned base after they couldn't use the space. Second, he believed Mikaela was the Listener after being tasked to find the Listener. Madness, but it may be useful.

Having read this, Gabriella knew her prey would likely be in the Dawnstar Sanctuary on the other side of Skyrim. It was time, then, for her to use her stead. The essence of the great horse Shadowmere had been passed down to the horses of the Falkreath Sanctuary, and so their stead would accomplish great distances faster than the average horse. So, Gabriella mounted her steed and set out for blood.

As she rode off, she shouted, "Away, Rainbow Midnight!"

Rena appeared in court with finer clothes than what she had before. Not to say she wore rotting rags before; she appeared in the outfit she had on yesterday's wedding, bloodstained and all. As such, anything would've been better than that, but the fact she went for the best the tailor's at Radiant Raiment had to offer was clearly an improvement. Well, not pay; the owner gave it for free as long as Rena mentioned where she got it. Not like she liked it; it was as heavy and constricting as spider web.

But no matter, she wasn't here to demonstrate how she slew the coven of necromancers as much as declare that was what she did. The Wolf Queen was nowhere to be found, soul or anything, and Rena was here to say as much. It couldn't be said that some magic or whatnot would cause some problems later on, but that wasn't what Rena was here to say. Perhaps letting Sybille Stentor know a thing or two would allow them all to avoid some issues.

With the bard a-singing, Rena approached the steward, who greeted, "You've returned," Falk remarked, "Good. What did you find at Wolfskull Cave?"

"Some Necromancers were attempting to summon and bind Potema," Rena explained, mindful to keep her voice down around the other members of court.

His eyes went wide. "Potema herself?" he nearly gasped, "Please tell me you stopped them."

"I interrupted their ritual," Rena assured him, "It's done"

A grateful sigh came from Falk. "You've done a larger service to the realm than you could possibly know. A resurrected Potema," he frowned, "I shudder at the thought."

With a coin purse put in Rena's hand, the steward remarked, "Anyone with a stout heart like yours is welcome here."

As Rena went to leave, it occurred to her that she hadn't fulfilled her bargain. She needed to tell where she got the clothes. As much as she hated those clothes, she gave her word. Hopefully, Jarl Elisif would make up her own opinion. Small talk with the Jarl wasn't something Rena thought was appropriate without having some need to talk to them, but there was never a need to talk to Elisif; her steward was running everything!

"Pardon," Rena asked the Jarl, "would you be willing to give your opinion of my outfit?"

The Jarl, who Rena could feel the eyes of on her the entire time she was here, stated, "It's quite fetching actually. The craftsmanship is excellent." She said it in that neutral tone someone uses when they want to be objective to spare your feelings.

Rena thought that was fair. "I got it from Radiant Raiment," she explained.

Elisif's expression was most unchanged. Not happy, not sad, not angry; simply fine. "Oh really? Well you can tell them that I will be putting in a request for a few dresses quite soon." Rena wouldn't blame her if she were lying; they looked better than they wore.

The fighter bowed and began to leave and the bard she was moving past tried to get her attention between songs. Rena really wanted to leave. Being in court made her feel like she was some powerless girl and it wasn't a feeling she wanted to maintain. Give a sword and throw her into the battlefield and she'll be absolutely fine. Put her in court, she's a fish trying to leave the lake.

"Pardon?" the bard, an older woman with a shrill voice, asked, "Are you Rena Donton?"

Rena sighed and turned around. "Yes," she confirmed in a somewhat quieter voice than the bard's, "What of it?"

"Well, I'm Inge Six-Fingers," she introduced, "the lute teacher at the college, and I wanted to talk to you about Alary."

Rena was quite concerned with that. She hadn't seen Alary all day and initially thought it was because she was either asleep or already at the college. If she were in some sort of trouble, it would reflect badly on Rena. Worse, she could ruin her life all over again.

"What happened?" Rena asked.

"Well," Inge began, "we believe she just isn't suited to be a bard. Her interest in the traditions of the profession is lacking. Her skill just isn't there. The confidence you saw at the Burning of King Olaf was the most we ever saw of her when asked to demonstrate. She's just not cut out to be a bard."

Rena began to worry. She knew that this was for her own good but didn't know if this would be good for her. After only a few days as a student, it became that clear that she wasn't cut out to be a bard? Rena should've seen it coming, but the alternatives were beyond what she thought should be considered. Perhaps she was too harsh on them; Sybille Stentor might be a better alternative to something she clearly hate.

"What's more," Inge continued, "she doesn't get along with other students. I don't know if she's an easy target or what, but she's gotten into a fair too many fights to consider it as anything else than a defining aspect of her time here. We don't think she's long for the college.

The fights was another thing. Rena knew Alary hadn't come from the best of places, but she didn't think that it would lead to this. Perhaps a talk to Alary and Viarmo about this, not an old woman that could just be lying because she was disruptive in lute class. Still though, she was going to ask what Alary wanted.

"I'll keep it in mind," Rena stated and finally left the Blue Palace.

Rena had a lot to think about, but the way to Castle Dour went past the Bards' College, so there was the opportunity. She could just go in, talk with Viarmo about this and deal with it. Whether it meant Alary stayed with them would be settled and this whole debacle could be over.

But Rena was hesitant. She saw Alary's timid nature every day she saw her, but what she didn't see where this fighting nature came from. She was uncertain how she could get into fights and she didn't want to know how. Willful ignorance is a fine drug and Rena was likely to get addicted if she didn't face it now.

Hesitantly, she entered the college. With help, she found her way to Viarmo's quarter's. They were as fine as an Altmer headmaster to a bards' college could be expected, finer than Radiant Raiment. He looked up from his work to greet her.

"I assume Inge told you Alary was an issue," he remarked.

"Yes," Rena admitted, "What's this about getting into fights?"

Viarmo nodded. "Yes, turns out, Alary kicked a hornet's nest," he explained, "The first one was all on her. Some students were talking about trying out some skooma and Alary got into an argument with them about it being a vile substance. She defending the law against them but lost her temper and threw the first punch. After that, it was all those students' friends getting involved and they threw the first punches."

Rena could almost breathe a sigh of relief. Alary wasn't the aggressor in all this and was showing honor to the law. However, the fact she couldn't debate without fighting was a point against her. Rena wouldn't have guessed someone who grew up on the streets to defend illegal things. Besides that, these students were quite concerning.

"I assume you've taken some action against these students," Rena questioned.

"Don't worry," Viarmo assured, "we're investigating each student for connections to the skooma trade. We're not getting the hold guard involved yet, and please don't use the Legion to investigate."

Dammit, Rena thought. "But what about her shyness?" Rena asked, changing the topic, "Inge said she was far too shy."

The headmaster regretfully nodded. "Her wit with a pen is better than her speaking or singing voices," he remarked, "Or her fingers on a lute. I wouldn't recommend her for this life."

Rena nodded. She knew what she had to do. She was going to ask Alary if she wanted to leave the Bards' College. A no meant she stayed, a yes meant she was free to leave with no judgement. And she had a feeling it would be yes.

By the time Skathi returned to the castle, Septimus' device was almost filled. As it turns out, Elves were just lining up to die. Even a Thalmor assassination party decided to die by her blade. That and bandits made her task bizarrely easy, but there was still the Falmer. They were not so easy to find in the wild, and Skathi was unwilling to delve into Dwemer ruins unless she needed to.

When she handed the Bloodstone Chalice to Marethi and told him of the attempts on her life, he seemed blasé of the whole affair. He explained members of the court were always vying for power, even their lord's throne to some extent, and this was just more of the same. He made it clear to Skathi, whether he intended to or not, that Volkihar needed to change under an iron fist.

Skathi formerly fed on the one of the human cattle for the second time. Strangely, it was harder to justify this to herself. She had fed on bandits while on the road. While they tasted inferior to Volkihar's supply, it was always in the heat of the moment to kill them for they killed her. These were Men who were groomed from however long they lived in the castle, whether from birth or from abduction, to be food. The thought of that made Skathi promise to only eat what she hunted herself; at least she say they lived a good life.

The promises to keep some day were interrupted by her summons to the courtroom. Apparently, Lord Harkon had an announcement of the utmost importance. Here, Skathi was certain she'd learn of her master's designs. When he was stood on the landing behind the throne, it become so truly clear.

"Scions of the night! Hear my words!" he did declare, "The prophesied time is at last upon us. Soon we will claim dominion over the sun itself and forge a new realm of eternal darkness."

Skathi should've figured it would have something to do with the sun. Her brief time as vampire had it clear they have an aversion to sunlight that was well justified. She wasn't sure how crazy this would get, but it was definitely going to be insane.

He continued, "Now that I have reclaimed one of my Elder Scrolls, we must find a Moth Priest to read it. I have spread false rumors about the discovery of an Elder Scroll in Skyrim to lure a Moth Priest here. Now it is time to see if those efforts have borne fruit. Go forth and search the land for rumors of a Moth Priest within our borders. Look to the cities. Speak to innkeepers, carriage drivers, anyone who would meet a traveler. Go now and carry out this task. This is my command!"

Talk could be heard around the court along the lines of, "It will be done, my lord!" "A Moth Priest?" "Hm. Most interesting."

Meanwhile, Skathi had no clue what a Moth Priest was. Her best guess was someone who knew Elder Scrolls, but it had been an issue for her, even when she read an Elder Scroll. She decided she would need some help with this and went to the only person she was certain knew more than her and that she could actually trust to show any form of weakness.

"Do you reckon a Moth Priest is?" Skathi asked.

"They're a cult in charge of any Elder Scroll found in the Empire's domain," Serana explained, "If anyone were going to read an Elder Scroll, it would be one of them."

Skathi supposed that made sense. If they didn't have something like this, that would be a surprise. In fact, she was certain she read about this and forgot where she did.

"Where would a Moth Priest actually go?" she speculated, "Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, back before I," Serana started before motioning toward her vampiric features, "you know. The College of Winterhold was the first place I'd think to go for any kind of magic or historical thing. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people shouldn't know about. Actually, now that I think of it," she paused as though considering something, "I'm going to come along with you. I've been really wanting to get out and explore a bit."

"Huh," Skathi remarked, "I suppose that's alright."

The vampire novice wasn't entirely certain it was a bright idea to let some who, last she went out, locked herself in a tomb for a few hundred years at least back out, but that wasn't her choice; that was Lord Harkon's. To be honest, there was something hypnotic about Serana that was hard for Skathi to put her finger on. As far as she knew, it wasn't hypnosis; those types of spells were useless on her. One of those intangible qualities that made some people worthwhile and others worthless.

As the two vampires exited the castle, Skathi asked, "What do you know about Elder Scrolls?"

"I mean," Serana was hesitant to reply, "as much as anyone. Not a lot. You'd figure a couple hundred years locked away with one would have given me some insights, but no. Turns out you don't learn much from just sleeping with something."

That was fair to Skathi. "I guess we'll have to keep looking for that Moth Priest, then," she remarked.

"I guess so," the senior vampire quietly agreed.

There seemed to be something eating at her. It wasn't that Skathi was a master of reading people, but she did see her parents act like this went they couldn't talk about something. The difference was that her parents tended tell each other eventually. She wasn't sure Serana would ask, but the Dragonborn wasn't about to force it out of her.

As the rowed across the way to shore, Serana did speak up. "Why did you accept Harkon's gift?

Skathi sighed. That was a lot to unpack. "Well," she explained, "I'm useless in the real world."

Serana seemed confused. "See," Skathi continued, "I was a wild woman for nearly twelve years, living off the land to survive. I hunted what I ate and wore and never minded the affairs of others. I didn't need coin to survive. I didn't need a trade. I didn't need a license to feed of clothe myself."

She continued, "And now that I returned to civilization, I found I couldn't live the same again. I needed to pay taxes, I needed a trade that I didn't have to worry about getting arrested for and I needed all these things I couldn't deal with. I want out and Castle Volkihar is my way out."

"And the Dawnguard wasn't?" Serana asked.

"A guild is good, but I never grafted with any of them," Skathi explained, "The Dawnguard worst of all. They're a bunch of idiots that are going to get themselves killed. With the Clan, I can stay out everyone's way, never need to do much and live the fine life."

Not all of that was true, but most was. Even Clan Volkihar was a terrible choice and she would certainly sabotage this "domination over the sun" business, but she wasn't about to say it in front of their lord's daughter. She had to seem loyal and not like she'd kill every single person in that castle if it meant she'd live her perfect life.

From Serana's information, Agata was sent out to find a Moth Priest. Isran sent nine groups of scouts to scourer the nine holds of Skyrim. They were to find every clue from every innkeeper and carriage driver they could talk to. There weren't many in their ranks, but enough to cover a good amount of ground. This would be the first true test of the Dawnguard.

They were sent on their way with Eastern Huskies. Their breed was commonly furred black and white with blue eyes, but their aesthetics paled in comparison to their purpose as aides to Nord warriors. Agata herself was given a fussy little hound called Bran that often perched himself Kili to rest. Little temperamental things were like puppies.

At the moment, Agata was in Dragon Bridge, searching for any sign of the priest. They were mostly there passing through to Solitude, as the West Skyrim Carriage Company didn't have driver out here. There wasn't much there, but they had ridden quite ways and were ready to take a break. Agata was elected to keep the animals company while everyone got food and mead from the local inn.

The minute the poor Nord got off of her stead, she stubbled like she'd hurt a muscle. Stay in one position long enough and you're bound to feel terrible. What did help was the sudden weight thrown on her back like a child called for a sudden piggyback. Agata fell to the ground and, by the time her front felt about as bad as her back, she heard the whiny noises of Bran coming from on top of her. She was sure these things were spoiled.

"You've got a funny dog there!" said the voice that could only come from a child.

Agata raised her head from the dirt, such as it was, and looked upon the boy. "I'd offer to sell him to you," she remarked, "but he'll do whatever wants and nothing more at best and eat you and your family at worst."

The boy seemed unphased. "Nah, I've got Lucky," he said with pride, shooting a look at a goat in his sight, "Watcha doing in Dragon Bridge?"

Agata didn't see the harm in telling him. "We're looking for a fella," she remarked as she lifted herself up from under Bran, "A Moth Priest. You probably haven't seen him."

The boy shrugged. "I don't know what a Moth Priest is," he shamelessly admitted, "but I did see an old man in a robe not long ago. He was riding in a wagon with some Imperial guards."

Granted, this could be someone else, but there wasn't that many else. In fact, the only thing that came to Agata mind was a Moth Priest. If a cult dedicated discovering and understanding something with such fear inspiring power as an Elder Scroll, and they operated with the Empire's permission, they would have at least an Imperial escort.

Agata bolted into the inn and yelled to her comrades, "I think we got him!"

Their leader, Vanik, handed his unfinished mead to the young lad with long arms who was already holding most of the drinks and approached Agata. "Are you sure?" he briskly asked.

"He had an Imperial escort," she clarified.

Vanik was ex-Legion and his temperament showed it. "Sounds about right," he agreed, "Dawnguard, move out!"

The half a dozen or so scouts ran out the inn with bits of food in their teeth they didn't bother to eat. They had just missed their person of interest, so there was no time for manners or courtesy, thought they did make sure to pay for their supplies. They bolted out Dragon Bridge like Cliff Racers did so long ago.

Vanik took the horn from his side and start blowing it with all the force of his lungs. Agata was told if they ever got a lead of the Moth Priest, they were to blow the horn and rally reinforcements. That was what Vanik was doing, despite the attention this would gain them. They were the Dawnguard; few could match their crossbows.

They came upon a scene of a carriage overturned, Legionnaire corpses fallen alongside the driver, the horse nowhere to be seen. Agata and Vanik dismounted to search the scene. There was luggage scatter around with all the care of a dog digging to hide his bone. The found a vampire's corpse they didn't initially notice and on him was a note:

"I have new orders for you.

"Prepare an ambush just south of the Dragon Bridge. Take the Moth Priest to Forebears' Holdout for safekeeping until I can break his will.

Malkus."

Agata shared the note with her leader and they both mounted up. He knew where this Forebears' Holdout was from his service and lead the party to ride there. The dogs had taken to the chase and even Bran ran alongside the horses' bolt. In fact, they seemed of equal speed, despite the horses' advantage. Agata thought these were damn fine dogs.

Upon finding the Holdout, the party dismounted and filled into the cave with shields in hand. They appeared metal and hard to handle, but some choice enchantments gave them a certain lith. Through the cave, they found no resistance, but they came upon a cliff overlooking a ruin of some fort, they surmised, and spotted activity there in the form of Volkihar garb and a strange turquoise light.

Agata, Vanik and the rest of the party took out their crossbows and loaded them. They arranged themselves on the cliff and lined up their shots to hit their own targets. With one synchronized volley, they more than halved their resistance. In reprise, the vampires threw lightning at the scouts, but the shields' stood their way, and their enchantments nulled the effectiveness of the spells.

Vanik led the rest of the party down the way, dogs by their sides and ran to meet the remaining resistance. Their death hounds were no match for Eastern Huskies, and the vampires' finesse with the blade couldn't breach Dawnguard armor, not as much as their axe cut through their boiled leather armor. No one, not even the Orc Agata expected to a hard-fought battle, was much against the party.

The party went to the center of the fort, where the turquoise light originated. It was a bubble of shadow and strange light, and inside it was an old man in robes, though their color was hard to determine behind the energy. It was most likely the Moth Priest.

"Fan out and find anything that could defuse the energy!" Vanik ordered.

Before anyone could blink, an arrow cut through Vanik throat like paper. The remaining Dawnguard took cover behind the ruins. Agata assumed that their shield bearers were dead, as there was only one way into the cave.

She also noted she'd never fought a vampire that used bow and arrow, not even a thrall.