Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Thieves. We're in Riften now, what do you expect?

TWO chapters in Two days! Man, I'm on a roll!

Last time…

"I'm still headed to Riften. I've decided to visit Winterhold, too, if only to see the college. I want to know if the Voice is a type of magic or something different altogether, and I also wish to find out what my exact role is perceived to be by your people. The college of Winterhold has the highest chance of holding that information, as well as more on this… Windcaller person. Knowledge is power, and power is something I still sorely lack when going up against dragons. Who knows, they might have a Dovahzul dictionary."

Chapter 15 - Riften

Anneke's eyebrows steadily rise higher as I talk, and I notice that she's still quite perturbed. "You know, the Greybeards are highly honoured all throughout Skyrim, yet you didn't seem to like them at all." She comments finally, a hint of bemusement – for them? For me? – in her voice.

I eye her covertly. "They seem to think that the Thu'um is something used to find enlightenment. Whilst I suppose it can help enforce peace through… Well, fear and respect, I don't think it was originally meant for anything more than an instrument of war."

Jurgen Windcaller sounds like a crackpot, but I'm not saying that to anyone who is so awed by the mere idea of the man. For now, I'm headed to Riften as per my original plan. Then I'll go to Winterhold, and then I'll maybe come across Dawnstar when headed for Morthal, where I can fully prepare to go tomb-delving.

I refuse to go out of my way because some gods thought up a prophecy. It sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me, to be fair. And if the world burns to ashes around me… I guess I'll see what I'll do then. Somehow, I doubt much will happen soon.

…At least, nothing concerning dragons. And speaking of tombs... A scowl mars my face as we move swiftly down the mountain.

I hate the undead. I bite my cracked lips, tasting copper as I brace myself against another harsh tug of the wind. I hope I won't have to face any… But if possible, I'd rather visit the shrine to Arnknurlaf, wherever in Skyrim it might be. Perhaps she might give me her blessings to make dealing with the damned things easier.

Draughr, ghosts – the most terrifying thing is that they were all mortals once.

…

What am I thinking? I'd rather face a full Dwemer court for murder charges than face even one of those creatures.

"Arnknurlaf save me should I face any of the dead in combat." I hiss under my breath as Anneke starts talking about one of her own more snowy adventures. I force myself back out of my distracted musings and give her a wan smile, focusing on the present and the prospect of a warm inn and a belly full of food and mead rather than the upcoming trials, just sitting there waiting for me.

"And, I mean, I am a Nord, and he was an Argonian, so I'm not really surprised to find that he couldn't stand the mere idea of wading into the water around the glaciers, but my husband just laughed him away saying that he'd go dive in to retrieve the sword from the bottom of the river. He used to be such an adventurer, I wonder what happened to him to cull his wanderlust. Might have been the birth of my daughter. A beautiful girl, available as far as I'm aware…" She trails off suggestively, side-eyeing me with a grin. Wait what?

"Do me a favour and don't try to set me up with anyone. Romance is the last thing I seek when neck deep in this dragon problem." I grouch when it finally hits me.

Anneke just laughs good-naturedly and claps me on the shoulder a few times. "You'll like Sylgia, I'm sure! Girl's always had a good head on her shoulders." We spend a few moments in peaceful contemplation before the traveller continues:

"Also, you said your father was a scholar? How come you're a blacksmith? Here in Skyrim most follow the trade of their parents." Now that's a topic I'm glad to start on about, since it's NOT about marriage or girls or… love and stuff. I give her a smile and eagerly begin to explain to her about my cultural heritage, something I'm quite proud of.

"Well, the actual title is Forgemaster, it means I'm a blacksmith who's also mastered the art of enchanting."

"You see, my people take their trade from their master after enduring several years of general schooling… Uhm, basic learning. A master is considered to be above excellent in their craft, and they can take on up to three apprentices at a time. My father might have been a scholar, but the ones most suited to intellect-based jobs are all hand-picked from the top students in school and… Alas, I didn't make the cut."

"My mother, on the other hand, was a true A- uhm, craftswoman. In my case, I got lucky. My uncle took me under his wing, he was a Forgemaster as well. I learned all about the trade from him."

She nods thoughtfully, then starts asking questions on the subject, and before I know it, my throat is raw from talking so much, and we're back in Ivarstead, and Anneke lets me sit back and enjoy the show whilst she chews Klimmek out for forgetting to mention the frost troll. I'm a lot happier, after taking a while to process everything that happened at High Hrothgar and eating until my stomach is pleasantly full.

The road to Riften is wrought with, well, Frostbite spiders and trolls, mostly. I wouldn't truly call that 'danger' compared to Mirmulnir.

We steer clear of anything beyond the main path, at my own insistence – plenty of time to explore those places at a more opportune time, when the mere thought of the College of Winterhold doesn't put me ill at ease, the sensation swirling in my stomach unnervingly sudden. A sign, perhaps, that I must make haste. Mellte always said to trust my instincts.

I push the both of us to go as far as possible, the haste only letting up slightly once we reach Riften, having passed an enormous estate… for modern Skyrim standards. Anneke is more than happy to let me rent her a room before she immediately retires, not even bothering to drink, eat or wash up.

The woman might have been a true adventurer in her younger years, but those years are now catching up with her, as I notice by her stamina. I think it's a good idea not to mention it to her, though. Women seem to get angry when somebody hints or asks for their age, regardless of race or heritage. Women… Universally strange creatures that I can somehow figure out more easily than some of the other males I've known in my life.

The city of Riften is…an oddment and a half. One of the guards steps up to me with a shoddy iron sword and pretends he's tough. You can't be serious. That blade wouldn't even pierce a wolf skin, nevermind proper armour.

I smirk rather disbelievingly as the guards make an attempt at intimidation, demanding tourist tax. When they name the amount of coin I need to hand over to gain 'permission' to enter their 'glorious' city, I start laughing outright. These idiots are so painfully incompetent it's a wonder this place hasn't been invaded by the Imperials yet. A few coins and they'd likely turn on their fellows. Not that I'd mind.

Anneke joins right in and the guards seem incredibly miffed before she comments on calling in actual authorities to deal with the clear hoax, and, still sniggering, we're let in, albeit reluctantly so. I blink in shock when the gates fall shut behind us with an ungodly creaking noise.

Oh my, this place is a wreck.

…

The rickety wooden houses built on top of each other and creak and wobble and the smells of rotting wood and fish permeating the area alone are nearly enough to make me turn tail and run, and I know I'm white as paper as my traitorous mind starts listing all the hazards of living here.

Major collapse taking a solid first place.

"I'm going to visit the temple of Mara." Anneke tells me with a small smirk at my scowl before she just… walks off and leaves me here. In the middle of the street full of unsavoury characters and beggars. A muscle in my jaw twitches as I scan the area from beneath my thick fringe.

This is absolutely ridiculous. Whoever runs this place needs a either a painful wake-up call or a cart full of septims to deal with the problems.

Just in case, we'd pre-emptively stashed our coin in as many different places as we could manage, and I carry my most valuable goods in the secret compartment on the inside of my armour, where even I can't get to without taking off nearly all my clothes. I'm glad I did that. Coincidentally, I also have over 700 coins stacked in that same pile, gathered from bandits and the like, and I walk lightly to avoid jostling the septims and announcing my target mark to all thieves in the city.

Markarth, in some ways, is easier. Murder complots are less straightforward, sure, but also give time to strategize a counter offense. If a thief takes my money, it'll only take a few seconds, in which they'll be long gone.

Though it seems my armour will keep all but the bravest at bay. I can't help but grin with too many teeth as a red-haired man near a stall eyes me up and down warily before approaching. The bravest man, or the most foolish?

"Hello there lad! Interesting gear you've got there! Would an experienced adventurer like you be interested in my miracle brew? Falmer's blood, freshly harvested! It gives the drinker…" I'll admit, the sales pitch is unexpected. I stare at him blankly, one unimpressed eyebrow raised imperiously. This is the second scam in less than five minutes of seeing Riften, and I'm already getting tired. The next person will be promptly used as an example for the scum running around like rats here.

But aye, a sales pitch, of all things imbecilic, is unexpected.

…

The hand sneaking into my pocket from behind is not.

I keep a completely calm expression on my face even as my own fingers encircle a thin wrist, currently deep in my pocket. The smile stays frozen even as I drag the hand to my front, sending someone dressed in odd leather gear with plenty of pockets stumbling with a yelp. Not a good idea to make it this obvious. She'll show other wandering gazes where to find the loot.

"Falmer blood to heal all wound, you say? Like – healing a broken wrist, perhaps?" My eyes narrow at him, my ears trained on more unwanted breaths or footsteps. "Do you need a volunteer to test out your… wares?" I send the thief sprawling onto the floor with a shove of my foot. I give them both my most withering glare, relishing in their unease at being caught.

"I think it would be wise if you'd leave me be." I hate thieves. Hate them almost as much as I hate draughr. To take what another has worked for, be it through labour or business - it's blasphemous, against the will of Xrib himself. Also, shit, I made it obvious.

The man barely covers a sharp breath as my hand drops to my axe threateningly. I smile grimly. "Oh, and for the record… Falmer blood does not have regenerative properties. You'd have known that if you'd ever had the pleasure of being covered in the intestines of one." My smile turns feral, and I seize him up disdainfully.

I'm bluffing the shit out of this. Please do me a favour and do not notice. I don't know shit about Falmer blood, but since they are descendants from Snowmer who've eaten poisonous fungi, I'd say the blood is sooner damaging for ones' health than good for it.

I've given enough of a warning to sate the roaring dragon of anger in my soul at being harassed by money-grabbing hands three times in one day - quickly making me reach unhealthy blood pressure levels. I need a moment to myself to calm down.

If I'm robbed, I will find this infamous 'Thieves' Guild', let Anneke travel to Shor's Stone by her lonesome, and acquaint their prodding fingers with my axe. The severity of the thought shocks me, but as I walk brusquely towards the sole inn in the city, the Bee and Barb, I don't let it show on my face.

Inwardly, I'm panicking – What is happening to me? I have never been this violent, or soon to anger before! I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, letting a frown form on my face. Tonight, I'll trade a few hours of sleep to properly meditate away any lingering remnants of whatever is influencing me like this. That the influence is probably a Dragon's soul only makes it more unnerving.

Will I become more of a dragon with every soul I take?

The next morning, I'm a lot calmer, and the first thing I do is apologise to Anneke. I've meditated the absorbed dragon souls into the back of my mind as far and deepy as possible, going back to my weapons training's base principles.

"I'm very, very sorry for my behaviour as of late. I'm afraid those Greybeards got to me more than I'd like to admit." I sigh in a low voice as I sit down opposite her. She rubs her temples with a wry smile. "It's fine. I kind of saw it coming after I noticed how you treated them – you were lashing out." 'Like a cornered animal', she leaves unsaid.

"You know the legends surrounding the World Eater, don't you?" I ask, a wave of exhaustion leaving my aching muscles twitching weakly as I lean my head heavily in my hand, poking at the eggs, cheese and bread that constitutes as my breakfast. "I do." She agrees easily, not having any problems devouring her own food at all. "Which is why I've decided I'm not angry. That vendor you spoke to yesterday might be a bit miffed, though."

I laugh softly, unknowingly drawing attention with my next comment: "He can be angry all he likes. I have more experience with Falmer than he'll likely ever will. Pity I don't have a mage along, it makes setting foes on fire so much more easier than using torches." As I finally dig in, having cheered myself up at the thought of setting the ghosts of the past on fire rather than letting them haunt me, the sole unoccupied chair at our little table scrapes against the wooden floorboards loudly.

I glance up as a handsome, brown-haired man in battered mage robes sits next to me with a distinctly arrogant air about him. Like D'is from next doors used to have when challenging Mellte, I note absently, more concerned with why he's butting in so rudely.

The unknown grins impishly, like the cat that got the cream. I merely raise an unimpressed eyebrow. And what are you doing here? "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I must say I agree completely. After all, the only thing better than a powerful mage at your side is… nothing, really."

Charmer alert. I muse, not a little sarcastically. All I know is that this guy's been listening in on my conversation, public as this place might be, and it throws me off, so to say. It makes alarms ring in the back of my head and I don't like it."Any reason for eavesdropping?" In a city of thieves, being straightforward sounds like the best plan. That blonde earlier, Mjoll or something, seemed to think so too when I spoke to her at the gates.

At least now the Imperial seems rather sheepish. "A master of the Arcane like me has a good reason for anything! Perhaps I'm just concerned for your safety?"

The barmaid, an Argonian lady named Keerava, snorts into her drink and starts coughing behind us. "Don't listen to that mooch," she advises once she's standing up straight again, glaring at Marcurio as if he's personally offended her. Then again, he probably has. He reeks of alcohol and those robes means he likely can't afford said drink.

"He came here boasting about his power and proceeded to empty his coin purse on drinks." There we go. Always nice to have a hypothesis proven.

Anneke is already joining Keerava in this unofficial glaring match, and I'm briefly reminded of days long ago, where girls would say much the same about Mellte.

"Won't ever get anywhere, that boy."

"I caught that brat of Sorthdvr sneaking ale again. Bad habit, that."

"Can you please keep a better eye on Mellte tonight? I don't want to waste all the money on his drink."

Ahh, Good times. I snort as I watch the ongoing exchange between the barmaid and the mage humorously. The roaring fires and low buzzing of voices, as well as the warmth and the food serve to put me more at ease even under the present circumstances.

Mages are a topic of interest, though. "I've never met a mage not carrying the title of Court wizard. I'm curious, why come to Riften in the first place? Are you with the college of Winterhold? If so, what can you tell me about the structure of the place, I heard there's been a collapse? Also, if not with the college, where did you train? Are there many places like it? What is magic and what spells do you know? Which laws of magic do you think has -"

I cut myself off abruptly when I notice that literally every person at the table, including Keerava is dead silent and staring at me with something akin to shock. Startled by the sudden attention, I duck my head and clear my throat awkwardly, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"I'm… sorry. But at the same time, I'm not." A pause as I come up with an impulsive idea. That… Might actually work out in my favour: "Answer my questions and I'll consider paying to have you along, for simulating conversation if not much else." I offer the man, a mischievous smirk on my lips.

Sue me for not asking Ondolemar about all this when I had the chance. The mage needs a few more seconds to collect himself, before grinning. "I have a better idea. I'll answer all of your questions after you've paid a modest fee, and while we're on the road, I'll bring my formidable arcane powers to bear against those foes of yours, as a nice bonus. What do you say?"

I look at him up and down a few times, critically taking in the torn robes, the reek of alcohol, the aristocratic jawline, and the lack of callouses on his hands. "No deal." I can just take Anneke to Shor's Stone and run off on my own for a while again. He pouts childishly at me, but relents. "Alright. If you change your mind, I'll likely still be here."

Even though he told me he wasn't going to answer any of my questions, I soon find myself in a fascinating discussion about magical theory. Not my strong suit, since Dwemer don't use any magic but their inborn abilities, such as the Calling, but I manage to keep up with his fast-paced talking and ask and debate about most of the topics he brings up.

It's a miracle some human like this can keep up with a Dwemer in terms of intellect. Other than Farengar, whom I saw making a few mistakes with his Soul gems, I really haven't met anyone. Not even Ondolemar keeps up once I get technical and hypothetical.

All in all, I have a grand evening.

…

Unfortunately, once I'm in my bedroll, Anneke sleeping soundly on the bed next to me, the nightmares of my family's disappearance haunt me once more. This time, their eyes shine, shine a bright light like the sun, like the Dwemer scholar on the platform, and I wake up drenched in sweat with my cousin's name on my lips.

The door is open, and someone's in the room. When I yell in surprise, they startle violently, sprinting out of the room whilst Anneke's knapsack hits the ground, the contents scattering all over the floor, waking their owner in the process.

I spend all of two very, very confused seconds sitting upright in the darkness before Anneke screams something vulgar and I'm up and moving.

As I find myself running and hollering after a thief in the middle of the night in my underclothes, guards jumping in to shoot the quick and annoyingly persistent bastard, I decide that no matter how much I like the new faces in the Bee and Barb, I still don't like this city.

Might as well built a house in the middle of nowhere rather than in any major hold city. Primitives can't just solve the problems they create, can they?