It is not wise to underestimate the elderly
Many mistakenly believe they have gone frail in their old age
A small few are still kicking because Death himself
Is still working up the courage to approach them
They stopped in Dawnstar for a day. No one was exactly smiling over it. The weather had become unbearable, even Sibylla found it uncomfortably cold. Do'Ravier and Bann-Je were probably vowing never to set foot outside in the winter ever again. Sibylla herself had drifted into a melancholy state and not all of it was because of the Mead. Resorting to old bad habits, she kept her gloomy mood to herself.
Dawnstar was her hometown.
It was always cold in Dawnstar, she only remembered a few days that could be called, very loosely, warm. Beyond that, she did not grasp too tightly to her memories. Not all of them would be what she called pleasant. Then again, she could never claim that she had a bad childhood. She just did not care to recall them all that often.
She had a better life when she left.
Sibylla had been regretting this decision but while she could be blunt, she was not raised to be a barbarian. She excused herself from the inn they were resting at. She was not concerned about Bann-Je or Do'Ravier asking where she was going. If it had anything to do with leaving the proximity of the fireplace, and in Do'Ravier's case a cup of steaming tea the size of a pot, they would want nothing to do with it.
There was no graveyard in Dawnstar. Most of the Nord dead were interred into the many burial crypts but in Dawnstar some families chose burial at sea as many of their ancestors did. Sibylla supposedly came from such a line of seafaring Nords. That was why she stood at the end of the pier, her eyes gazing into the cold, frozen horizon.
Her mother had been given to the depths long ago, she was only a little girl and barely remembered her mother anymore. Her father was a different matter. He was not a cruel man, nor had he been all that difficult to live with. But...
"A fitting place for you to rest eternally...you were always thirsty..." Sibylla murmured.
The irony was never lost on her. She never meant to develop a taste for Mead herself but somewhere along the way...you find that perhaps you were more like your parents than you ever wanted to admit. She lost her mother due to a cause she no longer remember, then her father followed in a half life, never completely sober, soon after. It shamed Sibylla more than anything else. It was why one day when she was young, having saved up all she could, she bought some armor and a simple iron ax from the local blacksmith and ran off.
She did not hear that her father died until yesterday when she found her old home occupied by a new family and the muttered reply from an old neighbor that her father had been buried at sea years before. They had not even recognized her.
"...Thanks for everything, even if it wasn't how you meant it. It wasn't perfect, but I made something of myself." Sibylla said quietly.
She said a quick prayer to Arkay for her parents to rest peacefully before returning back to the inn. They would have to hit the road soon.
Getting visions from Azura, while troubling for a priestess of the Divine cult, could be rationalized away. Sure, it was highly unusual and maybe a bit troubling. Still, that did not change the fact that Azura was mostly benign, especially for a Daedra. Having a divine conversation with Arkay while near death? If that wasn't normal, it could almost be expected, especially coming from the Divine of life and death.
Chatting with Sheogorath and his lacky over a midnight snack? No, that was just beyond the point of madness. Claudia needed help and right this moment; the theological intricacies had climbed far and beyond her pay grade. She needed a professional.
"Tacitus!" Claudia blurted, busting his office door open yet again.
The balding, older man shot her a startled look. She was developing a habit of interrupting his meditations.
"What is it, Claudia? I certainly hope it is not your team as they are much too far away to be causing me problems." Tacitus replied.
"No, I'm here because I have a question." Claudia announced, taking a breath to steady herself since she realized she was probably just a little too excited.
"It must be a very important question, indeed. Have a seat." Tacitus smiled, motioning towards a chair that was across his desk.
"I'm...have the Divines ever spoken to you before, Tacitus?" Claudia shrugged, being casual.
Tacitus actually chuckled.
"Audibly? As in with a voice? No." Tacitus replied.
Claudia frowned.
"But that does not mean the Divines do not speak to others audibly. Such cases might be rare, but the Divines do take interest in our world, even if we do not fully understand it. We have no hope to fully understand them, that is why we are mortals and they are the Divines. Many have claimed to have seen avatars of the Divines." Tacitus explained.
"So...it's okay to believe that the Divines may have a specific purpose for us?" Claudia asked for clarification.
"Of course. The Divines may not dictate all of us to do some specific quest, but for specific things they may ordain specific people." Tacitus assured.
"Even if, say the people thought it was crazy, maybe including the people who were receiving the visions?"
Tacitus let out a hearty laugh.
"There is a reason the spiritual is what it is and not called 'worldy', for the very fact that they are not of this world. The virtues we extol and assign to the Divines, they are noble things beyond the common things we associate with the base things of the world. This world is worth redeeming but it can only be redeemed with something higher than itself. So tell me, since these things are not common nor similar to some of the more common things of the world...well, what do you call someone who does not think like everyone else?" Tacitus challenged.
"Crazy?"
"Exactly! Geniuses are crazy too in that they do not think alike with everyone else. Many wise men, prophets and seers were deemed eccentric and crazy just because they saw the world differently, and all the better for them to grasp the Divines. Archon Cato Augarine wrote the book on our ethics and yet every now and then said something so inane his own students told him he had lost it. The Khajiiti seer Ri'Vasar sat on a mountaintop in the deserts composing wise sayings...and accumulating such a collection of cups and glasses that it expanded out from his little hut and travelled down along the mountain path. Some people think he was onto something, though." Tacitus murmured.
Claudia shot him a quizzical look.
"Long after he died, it rained over his mountaintop and the cups and glasses collected the water. He had spent his whole life constructing an artificial lake of sorts on his own mountain. Anyway, the point is that sometimes, the right thing to do does not always make sense." Tacitus explained.
They left Dawnstar in the early evening and traveled as fast as they could despite the light dusting of snow that never tapered off. Whether their bodies had gotten used to the rigors of the road or they simply had stored up their energy waiting around in the Dawnstar inn, they continued on, taking very short breaks until they were north of Morthal as they were told.
"So...is now when we start looking for an elderly man?" Do'Ravier asked out of the blue.
"Maybe you could. I'm told your eyes see better than ours in this poor light." Sibylla retorted.
It was one of those still Skyrim evenings where the stars shone brightly in the clear winter skies. Snow still clung to what little patches of land or wood in the marshes or otherwise became a freezing slush in the water. Even the cobblestone road underfoot was damp from the miry land.
"Prophecy is an odd thing, and that's even if the woman we met was a good prophet. Regardless, we should keep our eyes sharp." Bann-Je cautioned, keeping his eyes on the road.
They had travelled some distance down the road, the glow of the moon keeping their path almost as bright as any day. The snow greatly contributed to what they could see and had staved off whatever feeling of fatigue that would have come from the evening hours.
They were quite surprised to find an older man in mage's robes resting behind a large boulder. He almost took them by surprise, calm and patiently lounging by the rock. If he had not waved to them, they might have walked right past him.
"Greetings, travelers." The old man said to them quietly.
"Good evening, elder. Why are you out here traveling all alone?" Sibylla asked.
None of them said anything but they all distinctly had the priestess of Azrua's words in their heads and wondered if this was the man they were looking for.
"Oh, but I travel by myself often. Less hassle that way and I'm better able to avoid trouble. My name is Master Matthieu Wilbur. I'm a researcher with the Synod." Master Wilbur introduced himself cordially.
Master Wilbur was a wrinkled man who could not have been younger than 80 but despite the numerous and deep wrinkles on his skin, he seemed to be as strong and energetic as someone half his age. They could already tell that Wilbur moved at a marked slowness but that by no means signalled a sign of decline but rather an acknowledged conservatism with his movements that helped maintain his energy and focus. His voice was deep but almost had a melodic tone to it, as if he could easily fit into the lower notes of a choir.
"We're Vigilants of Stendarr on a mission here in Skyrim." Do'Ravier explained after they introduced themselves.
"Mmm, a noble profession indeed." Wilbur nodded.
"Do you mind if we ask you a question, old man?" Sibylla asked.
"I wouldn't mind at all, my dear, but I would ask that you all keep your voices low. There's a reason I'm taking a breather here behind this rock and it isn't just to rest these old bones." Wilbur replied.
Wilbur pointed further down the road with a deft prodding motion of his polished wooden staff.
"There are Falmer down the road. The little imps must've gotten curious and crawled out of their caves, usually a sign of Dwemer ruins. They're blind as bats but their ears are as sharp as the point on one of your blades. I was resting to conserve my magic and take care of them, but if they so much as hear us talking, well, that would be bad times for us." Wilbur shrugged quietly.
"Falmer? They're real?" Sibylla asked, shock heavy in her voice.
"As real as you or me, my dear. They can be very nasty, indeed despite their blindness. That's why I'd suggest taking them all out in one wallop, less grief that way. Normally I'd try to find a way around them...but with these marshes..." Wilbur gave a mournful shrug.
"Wait, if they're blind, then it's just sound we need to worry about. If someone were to kill them silently, they wouldn't be any the wiser?" Do'Ravier asked for clarification.
"You are correct, my boy." Wilbur nodded.
Sibylla and Do'Ravier looked at Bann-Je.
"Looks like this is a job for you, lizard." Sibylla smirked.
Wilbur frowned in curiosity.
Still bathed in moonlight on a plane of unspotted snow, Bann-Je stepped away from the others and surveyed the challenge before him. There were about six of the shambling, hunched over figures. His slit-like eyes showed that Squints his Eye was at the fore of his personality, carefully calculating how to end the lives of these feral elves.
It could not have been easier. He only had one condition, an easy one to fulfill; make no noise.
For the first time, Do'Ravier and Sibylla could easily see how Bann-Je operated since he did not fall into a camouflage spell though a slight shimmering aura seemed to suggest he was somehow suppressing any noise he might make. In the earliest days of the Morag Tong, the organization of sanctioned assassins existed for the sole purpose of executing individuals who were related to an otherwise irreconcilable conflict. Executions were meant to minimize suffering and keep society running. The assassins were even trained to present the legal writs of execution to the authorities after the deed was done, even if they otherwise would have gone unnoticed by the law.
And in Bann-Je and Squints his Eyes mind, this was the beauty of the matter. Minimize suffering, bring justice, if it could be called that, where no other option could be found. Death would find those who deserved it but it was up to the assassin to make sure it was a reasonable end.
The Argonian moved with a deadly and obscene grace, a chilling reality that no motion was wasted in a dance of mortality. The first Falmer was executed quietly with a gloved hand over its mouth and a simple puncture of the neck with Bann-Je's knife. The blade would sever vocal cord and artery in one stroke, silent and final. The assassin would gently lower each victim to the ground and would not move until he was certain the life had left them before moving onto the other. Wilbur had explained that each Falmer was deadly in their own right but letting Bann-Je who was silent as the creeping mist into their midst was almost insidious.
Each Falmer's end was the same, a quick thrust to the throat and a gentle placement on the ground before the cold of death overcame them. That was until the last two, perhaps sensing something was amiss, seemed to wander exploratively, trying to seek out a danger they did not see. They wandered on either side of Bann-Je...
With a flick of his wrist and a hiss of the ether, the last two Falmers' heads rolled to the ground, felled by the assassin's conjured blades.
"That was impressive, son. Certainly more...chilling than my plan would have been." Wilbur croaked as the rest joined Bann-Je.
The Argonian blinked once and his eyes returned to their familiar shape.
"And what would have been your plan, old man?" Sibylla asked in bemusement.
"Massive fireball spell. Perhaps I shall show you all one day. Now then, I believe you three youngsters had a question for me?" Wilbur asked expectantly, leaning on his cane.
Claudia decided that enough was enough. It all started with errant conversations with Azura, visions that, while they were no longer as strong as they once were, they still left an un-worldly presence constantly shadowing her. Claudia had come to associate this presence with Azura's words. Then she had a chat with Arkay and Sheogorath. This was in many ways a very obvious descent into madness. Either way, Claudia decided it was about time that she actually try to take the initiative and contact one Divine specifically.
Maybe it was about time to summon her patron, Stendarr.
Claudia immediately bumped into a problem. While she seemed absolutely popular with the Daedra and Aedra at the moment, it was not her summoning them. She had never attempted to do such a thing before, short of praying of course, but that was a little different. She prayed out of a sense of devotion and piety, not because she necessarily expected an answer. Now, here she was expecting some sort of explicit direction and having not the slightest clue of how to get the Divine's attention.
She sat in one of the closed off alcoves, one of the private shrines. Stendarr had many ways to be symbolized, sometimes that of a turned wineglass, other times that of a simple horn with otherwise uncomplicated engravings. This particular shrine had the robed image of the Divine carved out of stone bearing blatant symbolism of what the Divine stood for. The robed figure held a sword, it's point buried into the ground while the blade was heavily wrapped in the leaves of all manner of medicinal plants. Justice often required compassion and compassion called for justice.
She did not know what to expect at this point, so she simply sat in the closest pew and occasionally stared at the shrine. The Divines and Daedra had been so forthcoming in conversing with her, she might as well have made it easy for Stendarr and wait in a place devoted to him.
She was not expecting the overwhelming silence.
Master Wilbur was a welcome addition to the party with his jovial nature and endless plethora of life stories that seemed to keep the worst of the chill away. His baritone voice only added to the tall tales he would spin. If he was to be believed, he had gone delving into countless Dwemer ruins, served as an advisor in the Imperial court and set a troll alight in a single blast.
At first they had felt that a great many of his stories, and exploits, had been exaggerated. Besides, the old man probably had a right to build his stories up but sooner or later, they had reason to believe that maybe he wasn't as full of hot air as they thought. He was always the first to rise in the morning, the last to stop when resting and had more answers locked up in his head than a library. Do'Ravier, Bann-Je and Sibylla felt especially put to shame when they were huffing and puffing climbing a steep mountain path while the wily old man was shuffling along effortlessly ahead of them.
It did not matter. Wilbur claimed to know the location of the Shrine to Peryite here in Skyrim. He also claimed to have a slightly favorable standing with the local Forsworn, something Sibylla found a little far fetched but for now it was immaterial. He was the only one they met so far who could at least point them in some direction. They had already gone this far and the tireless old man had hobbled along ahead of them the whole way.
"Do'Ravier swears, that man will outlive us all." Do'Ravier puffed.
It took a day considering the icy roads and less than favorable weather but as promised, Wilbur led them up the path he claimed was where the Shrine to Peryite sat.
"Now then," Wilbur announced, wearily taking a seat on a nearby rock, "you all just need to climb up the rest of the path. The Shrine might be next to a few trees but you should have no trouble finding it." he explained.
"You're not coming?" Sibylla asked.
"With all due respect, my dear, the handling of Daedra is a little above my area of work. I believe that is your responsibility. I didn't get to my age by not knowing where not to stick my nose, be it dangerous nooks and crannies in a ruin or shrines I probably should not visit." he murmured.
Despite the chill and the cold wind, there was something foreboding about the path that led up to the shrine, something that put the rest of the team on edge. They carefully threaded up the hill, weapons ready despite the icy ground, in the event they had a less than hospitable welcome.
Coming over the crest, they spotted a large shrine, the marble as white as the snow around it supporting the image of a dragon surveying the horizon. However, what caught their immediate attention was the cloaked figure huddled under the shrine.
"Halt, do not make any sudden movements!" Sibylla warned, her massive glass ax drawn and ready to carve.
Flanking her, Do'Ravier and Bann-Je fanned out, bounding in the snow, ready to intercept the man should he try to run. Their weapons were ready, held through armor and thick gloves. No one was quite sure just how much frantic movement was going to be done in the snow, cold and blustery winds but there was just no telling what could happen.
"Vigilants of Stendarr, I figured it was only a matter of time before you caught up with me." the man said darkly. He was a Dark Elf by accent but he kept his backs to them, hands clasped as if in prayer to the Daedra.
"There is no reason for this to get violent. We can just talk things out and ask a few questions." Do'Ravier suggested.
"Unlikely. Either way, your intent is to diminish the glory of Peryite. What about you, Vigilants? Is it possible that the followers of the Daedra may want exactly what you do? A better world? What if we're willing to pay the price you never would to get this better world?" The Dark Elf barked.
"Give us your name!" Sibylla shouted.
"I will give you the messengers of Peryite and his blessings." the Dark Elf replied, his hands immediately lighting up with chilling colors of magic.
Immediately, as if sundering reality and burnings holes into Oblivion itself, four grotesque monsters walked forth onto the land from swirling portals of arcane energy. These were a new horror that Sibylla, Do'Ravier and Bann-Je had never quite seen before. They were beefy, shuffling in heavy folds of rotted, bloated skin. Open, weeping sores oozed putrefying puss and a noxious smell that would have made even the most skilled healer retch.
Their faces were the worst, their skulls were...wrong...neither man nor mer...gaping mouths that went up instead of sideways while feverish eyes gazes from...many different places.
"Don't let him get away!" Sibylla ordered.
Bann-Je was off like an arrow, slipping through the horrors in a dead bolt for their target.
To Bann-Je amazement and dismay, despite being translucent, the mage seemed to sense him and stepped off the cliffside. The last Bann-Je saw of the mage, he disappeared into a similar dark portal of magic and was gone before he hit the ground.
"We got a problem." Do'Ravier announced.
Sibylla was actually the first to discover this. With a mighty swing she chopped down Head Reaper on one of the abomination's head. The ax sundered bone and flesh with a horrific sound and the horror cried out in guttural agony...but kept moving.
The Khajiiti mage was hurling arcs of lightning at the diseased creatures and while they cried in pain with each flash of light, they still shambled towards each of them in a relentless crawl, their thick limbs the size of large trees, their smell too repulsive for even corpse flies.
A quick thrust of Do'Ravier's spear into one of their necks did nothing and the Khajiit barely had time to scramble out of their way.
"We're not able to do anything!" Sibylla snarled, taking small consolation in finally cleaving one of the monster's forearm off.
Bann-Je didn't even bother. Horrific war wounds had not stopped these creatures, his small daggers and neck snapping techniques would do nothing. It was safe to conclude that unless they cooked up something quick they would be in big trouble.
"Children, children, step away!" Wilbur's voice called above them.
The mage was summoning something massive considering the ball of energy that was nearly as large as him. Without another word, the three scattered.
Wilbur unleashed a fireball of such intensity that none of the Vigilants had seen anything like it. The raging inferno struck the snow, flash melting the center and scorching whatever foliage that was frozen underneath, revealing bare earth. The four horrors had been completely incinerated and there was not a trace of them to be found.
Sibylla was flabbergasted, staring up from where she had dove into the snow.
"Hey, Do'Ravier, maybe you should learn a few tricks from him. Maybe we should start taking him around instead of you."
"Ah, that would be unnecessary, my dear." Wilbur cautioned. "My old bones would just slow you down. Now, I don't mean to hurry you along but I suppose this concludes your business? Shall we continue on to Markarth? I would love a nice warm inn to sleep in tonight." he chuckled, shuffling along with the help of his cane.
Wasted. A whole afternoon wasted. Claudia had sat in that chapel expecting an answer, revelation, vision, anything from Stendarr. She got nothing. Once the hour for dinner came she gave up in her endeavors and went about doing her duties again. She executed each task diligently if a little too mechanically.
Truth be told, she was dejected if not outright angry. She had done nothing to get the attention of all these supernatural beings and yet the one time she wanted an audience with the one she was fairly certain would be the most helpful she got nothing.
There may have been a saying about not going to sleep angry but there was no real point in staying up and about. People would start asking questions. Besides, she had already caused enough of a stir. Since she was not getting any further as far as spiritual epiphanies went she started to wonder if Matthias would have anything to give her on the attack soon. Maybe she would have to check on him tomorrow.
She was trying to drift off to sleep for awhile. The problem was that her frustration refused to let her relax. She mostly spent the better part of an hour staring at the ceiling, what little she could make of it in the dim light.
And she suddenly realized it had become overwhelmingly bright in her room, brighter than it had ever been. No mere candle could have illuminated the room with this intensity, only the purest and most intense of light burned in her presence.
"Do you seek the execution of justice?" an ancient but no less authoritative voice demanded.
"I'm looking for answers." Claudia declared.
"Answers to better execute justice? Information to better dispense compassion?"
"Who are you?" Claudia snapped. After talking with at least one Divine and several Daedra, the experience starts to become less intimidating.
"The Divine you call Stendarr."
Claudia let out a quick sigh of relief.
"I've been running circles and having my mind scrambled with those who are not of this world. I need you to tell me what's going on. What should I do?" she demanded.
Stendarr's voice became less stern and more patient.
"This is no mere thing a mortal can easily understand-"
"Why do you all keep saying that?" the Imperial snapped impatiently.
"In the end the answers for the questions you seek do not matter. Do you know right from wrong, Claudia Vivinicci?" Stendarr inquired.
"...Yes." Claudia replied hesitantly.
"That is the only information you need know."
And then the room suddenly went dark.
"Wait! Wait! I had more questions! What are you talking about!" Claudia hissed to an empty room.
She slept poorly that night, her mind too disquieted and her frustration teetering on the point of madness.
"I don't think Claudia will like our report." Do'Ravier opined as they left a quiet town heading back to High Rock.
"I don't think any of us liked what happened, but we've done all we can. The mage disappeared and it's unlikely we'll get anything else out of here." Sibylla shrugged frankly.
"We can notify the Inquisition. They'll get the word out to keep an eye out for any Peryite worshippers and whatever plots they might be up to." Bann-Je said.
"I suppose. I just don't think this is over with." Do'Ravier explained.
"You're not the only one who thinks that but for now the trail has run cold." Sibylla replied.
"Speaking of cold, I am never going back to Skyrim in the winter." Bann-Je chuckled.
"Right, what was that town we just left? It seemed like a nice little place." Do'Ravier turned to the Nord.
"Helgen." Sibylla replied.
Helgen was reduced to a crater by the next year.