Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder & gore (not very detailed). Dwemer defence mechanisms are brutal. The suspense is killing me, who's our mystery guest?

I'm a bit late, exams screwed me over.

Last time…

"It's just a Dwemer ruin and some bandits, Marcurio. We're not going to clear the whole thing like with those draughr-infested pits a few days ago. What can go wrong?"

Famous last words.

Chapter 19 - A Dwemer, a Mage, and…

It starts with the surprise attack of a Frost dragon called Thongaavul, who tries to kill us not fifty steps from Windhelm's gates, sending horses into a panic and guards into shooting and missing with useless iron arrows. Seriously, at least upgrade them to steel arrows if you want to do more than just tap the bastard's overly shiny scales.

"I suppose we owe you our thanks, mage." One of the guards hisses dissaprovingly at Marcurio after the creature lies dead, not even noticing the lightshow caused by my presence as the blonde Nord glowers. "But we had it under control. Keep your parlour tricks in the college where they belong, away from us decent Nord folk."

For the first time this week, I am the one trying to calm him down instead of the other way around. "You're above their level and we both know it. They would have died without us and we all know it. Calm down Marcurio – it's not worth the damn trouble, they've already given us more than enough of that already." The mage sighs wordlessly, unclenching white-knuckled fists with a scowl. "Fine. Next time they'll find out that mage fire hurts just as much as dragon fire. I will roast them above a spit like the disgusting pigs they are."

I snort. "I'll help you pin them there when you do."

Then the guards finally connect the whole 'eating dragon souls' to me being Dragonborn and all Oblivion breaks lose.

"An Elf? An elf is the Dragonborn? Surely the gods are joking!" The first guy, who'd been so pleasant towards my companion, gapes at me in disbelief. Sheesh, these guys are quite slow on the uptake, aren't they?

"Haggor, stay professional. Jarl Ulfric will want to have him on our side. The Dragonborn of legend will boost morale and have people all over Skyrim flock towards our true cause." The second guard reminds him, his face covered so I cannot see who to pin the blame on. Also, I'm standing right here? Why discuss political plots where you're going to manipulate me when I'm standing right here? Dear Sithis these Nords are idiots.

"So, elf, I mean – Dragonborn. You have been in Windhelm for quite some time. Does that mean you will be joining our cause? Fight for Skyrim's freedom and the Great Talos?"

"No. I'm not joining the Stormcloaks or the Imperials because I hate all of you indiscriminately." I hiss at the uniformed man as he just. Keeps. Putting his foot in his mouth.

"But – But the last Dragonborn was Tiber Septim! And he became Talos! Talos worship was banned by the Empire, how can you not want to fight for that?" Do I even want to answer that? And I can't really follow the logic here, either. Xrib's forge, make it stop. I can handle only so much stupid because I snap and murder people.

…Not that it'd be a great loss in this case.

I roll my eyes, re-adjusting my bracers and wiping my bloodied axes in the snow. How do I explain in a way that their feeble minds understand? "Listen, human, I'm all for people believing whatever they like, whenever they like, but I'm not going to respect your faction as long as you disrespect my very existence. I bid you both goodnight. Come, Marcurio, did your stamina potion kick in yet?"

Blatantly dismissing the two befuddled Nords, ignoring the whisper of 'useless, pathetic, primitives. Be better to just kill them' in the far reaches of my mind, I curtly glare at my companion as he gives me a slow clap while we walk off.

"Bravo, you just pissed off an army. They'll go whining to Ulfric about this and he isn't going to be happy." I roll my eyes, adjusting the grip on my axe tersely. "They insulted you too, didn't they? I can't believe that I might be forced to actually pick a side once the news spreads. And I've no doubts it will."

Marcurio mutters something most likely annoying under his breath. "Or, we could have waited for actual dawn before heading to a bandit and who-knows-what-else infested ruin. You know, like normal people. People who drink alcohol during dinner and don't expect to be forced out in the cold directly afterwards, for one." I raise my eyebrow at him humorously.

"Oh, you mean 'normal' people like you?"

He gives the most sage nod he can give and chortles when I'm so occupied giving him a rude gesture that I stumble over some loose rocks on the road and nearly bite the snow. "You made a little mistake there, 'curio." The mage startles at the nickname even as I inwardly curse myself to Oblivion for letting it slip so casually.

Luckily Marcurio always recovers quickly from surprises and he picks up the conversation again easily enough, keeping both eyes on the darkened road ahead. "I make no mistakes." The Imperial bluffs haughtily, puffing his chest like a proud peacock.

"No, you do. After all, you said 'normal people' and actually dared to put yourself in that category. You're a total nutjob that likes setting his allies up to be used as electrical conductors during a fight." The mage makes a small protesting noise. "That was one..! Okay, maybe several times. Still better than letting out a war cry as you launch yourself off a four meter high platform to land on a Draughr Deathlord's back. That, my friend, was being a nutjob."

"Hey! At least I wasn't standing around peeing my pants over facing the bastard!" I snap right back, remembering that particular part of the encounter quite well. "It took you over a minute to react. You could've been dead by then." He had almost been dead by then, if I hadn't Shouted at the same time as that Deathlord did Marcurio would've… I bite my lip and look away sharply as we move steadily uphill, crouching low and sticking to the dark shadows to avoid being seen by our enemies before we spot them.

"Fjaldi? Hey, it ended up being alright, so don't beat yourself up over it." The mage comments in a low voice after a long moment where neither of us speak at all. I only grunt in reply, having finally spotted the signs of a nearby ruin I'd been looking for – worn and beaten down staircases.

"Shh, we're here. And we're not alone." And I'm not beating myself up over it.

The bandits outside are easily dispatched once Marcurio starts flinging Ice Spikes with deathly accuracy. I barely have to lift a finger. "So, Mr. Dwemer Expert. What can we expect in this place, Raldbthar was it? If we chose to examine the whole thing, that is, and not leave right after dealing with Dufont."

I give him a sideways glance, then think back on the classes I had as a kid – most of which I can barely remember. "Raldbthar, due to its location closest to Morrowind, aside from Mzulft, was a place where traders often stopped to rest before heading east to Nchuand-Zel and other Dwemer cities. Raldbthar is one of the Aetherium Three, meaning it has an entrance to the cave system of Fal Zhardum Din. It's mostly known for that, and I'm afraid it's not much use for actual exploring, since we don't have the key."

Marcurio blinks at me before I try the gates. "Once we're done here you'll be telling me more about that cave system and that little nickname you deigned to bestow upon me, you know." I nonchalantly push the doors open ignoring him and ducking to avoid any possible arrows – but none come. I frown, looking into the hall to only see a bloodied corpse and to smell the heady scent of spilled blood where I'd anticipated more live bandits.

Someone else is here.

"Fine, but be quiet now. Something's wrong." I kneel down next to the dead body, feeling the hide-clad woman's wrist. Warm. The pool of blood surrounding her is a deep, fluid red. This is fresh. Not even five minutes, I'd say. Then I spot the large gash, like a neat line drawn across her throat deep enough to nearly decapitate her.

Fresh corpses. Brought about by a professional killer, no less. "Whoever did this is still here." I deduce out loud in a low voice, judging in part from the bloody footprints heading away from us, but not back, and the lack of death's reek in the air.

Marcurio hisses softly, keeping his back firmly to the wall. I eye the flamethrowers in front of us. People are still talking up ahead. That's Dufont talking alright. Seems like he and his men are still alive. So, the mysterious killer is just ahead of us.

A bubble of excitements wells up in my chest even as my throat goes dry. I lick my lips in anticipation, gaze on the bloody footprints in front of me, headed towards a side entrance formerly used by Dwemer guards to quickly get to any newcomers and identify them.

"Marcurio." I whisper, and the man just groans softly, resigned already just from hearing my tone of voice. "We're going ahead." He follows on my heels, silently charging spells in both hands. It was the very first thing I made him learn after I found out it was possible to cast without the buzzing, the rattling, the humming or the flashing lightshows – but mainly because of the noise.

If Jenassa taught me one thing, it was that the silence before the storm was key to a swift victory. Moving ahead, we only find more carnage. The living area floor is covered in blood, and before we even move three steps ahead the mystery murderer isn't the only one trailing blood via their footprints.

I scrunch my nose in disgust even as Marcurio shudders silently, taking extra care not to step on the bloodied patches or the corpses strewn about.

Oh, this person's good. If the dragon was any indication of our luck tonight, this killer is better than us. The thought has me falter in my step for the briefest of moments – brief enough to hear noise up ahead. I exchange a swift glance with Marcurio, who's frozen in the middle of collecting pieces of Dwemer metal to smelt later, before I hurry ahead, leaving him to trail behind. "ASSASSIN!" Someone, a male voice, calls out loudly, the sounds of weapons being unsheathed and screams bouncing off the walls.

I jump over a dead patrol and turn the corner, finding two beds with a neatly beheaded body on both. Moving onwards I stop dead in my tracks when I spot a person collapsing to the ground in a spray of crimson, splattering against the red-and-black uniform of the other – an Argonian wielding wickedly sharp dual knives.

I've my axes already drawn to block the first deadly slash with a growl in protest. "You ass, I didn't think someone would get ahead of me in killing Dufont." I huff dryly, parrying and ducking to dodge the assault, leg sweeping out even as the assassin lithely jumps over the kick, and I'm forced to back away in a defensive stance as his own leg impacts harshly with my bracer.

A sharp grin crosses my face. "Let's make a deal like civilised people." I smirk with bravado I don't really feel.

It's as I feared. He's better than me. Now to hoping he doesn't know it yet, or that he feels like humouring me.

The wrist I hold in an iron grip tugs away, perhaps more gently than I'd anticipated, and the dagger uncomfortably close to my throat retreats with it. "Oh? I'm listening." He hums with that particular accent I find all Argonians have, eyeing me shrewdly. This is a professional killer all right. The Dark Brotherhood I've heard so much about, perchance?

"You see, I came here tonight in the hopes that I'd be able to kill a certain someone. But, it's rude to take someone else's kill, correct?" A scaled tail sweeps impatiently and I huff. "If nobody came running at that shouting just now, they won't come running when we're talking normally." I get the smallest of nods in agreement even as Marcurio finally bumbles into the room, thankfully staying silent as the tension can be cut with my axe should I try.

"I distract and kill the lackeys and then you can send our dearest Alain to Sithis. That is, if my guess is right and you are with that… curious Dark Brotherhood I've been hearing about." Now, my eyes narrow at him into a glare.

"As long as your family acknowledges and respects father, we'll have no issues." Another twitch of the tail, the only muscles that move in the Argonian's otherwise stony visage. "Ahhh, a fellow son of Sithis." He muses out loud, before letting a breathy chuckle pass his lips. "I believe I can live with your idea. Lead on, cousin."

I blink slowly at him, before giving him a small smile. "But of course." Marcurio will guard my back. I lead the odd entourage ahead to the next room, only the mage making the occasional audible shuffle thanks to his heavy winter robes. A member of the Dark Brotherhood..! I must admit, I hadn't expected to find the only other ones still actively worshipping Sait'iis, or Sithis, this soon.

A Dwemer, a mage, and an assassin walk into a bandit hideout… This is a walking joke. Xrib help me. I purse my lip as we move by a junction, and I can see three bandits, as well as a man dressed so expensively he must be Alain Dufont, sitting just ahead.

Then I see the locked gate nearby, and the ballista's on the balcony, activation levers conveniently besides them. I'm pretty sure my eyes are gleaming with mirth when I quickly take out my lock picks to open the gate, gesturing for the Dark Brotherhood member and Marcurio to stay where they are as I move upstairs.

I creep along the balcony, waving cheekily at the two men still standing in the opening below. Marcurio facepalms silently and I grin in his direction as I sit down on the edge, hands casually on both levers. I glance briefly at how they're aimed, then observe the bandits below me. "Go to the college he said! You know, that'd be a lot easier if I knew which damn college he meant!"

"You know, if you couldn't figure out that much, chances are said college wasn't going to let you in anyway." I enter the conversation cheerily, watching as the men turn to me, surprise all across their faces. Now, let's pray these darlings are still functional. I pull the left lever, plastering my usual bored expression on my face. "See you in the Void, sweethearts."

Inwardly, I flinch back at the sound of metal tearing into flesh, piercing ribs and bone and organs bloodily and gods that looks disgusting he's like a human shish kebab. The other two men are not so happy about the death of their fellow – the archer first, as is my usual tactic.

The second bow fires when I pull the handle a bit rougher than I'd have liked, this time piercing the guy who was talking about the mage college of whatever-the-shit. I let the third yell loudly and swing his Warhammer right underneath my feet, the image quite comical if not for the mangled corpses behind him even as the Argonian assassin swiftly creeps up behind Dufont, slitting his throat and I'm too busy being mesmerized by the sheer artistic flair he gives the morbid act, almost forgetting about the last bandit.

I've no other words for it, this guy makes killing into an art form. Marcurio fells the last bandit with a well-aimed electric shock to the heart – tame, compared to what Mr. Brotherhood and I just did.

I hop down from the balcony with a sigh, cracking my bones. "This has to be the easiest self-appointed job we've taken on in weeks, right 'curio?" said wizard nods, eyeing the assassin warily. For his part, the Argonian is a lot more relaxed now that he's mostly finished his job. He even gives me a shallow bow with a toothy grin on his face. "That was… an unique trick, cousin. I'm sure that my sister, Astrid, would be most interested in meeting you. I'll ask her you can come visit our house next time you're nearby. We're almost family, after all." He eyes me shrewdly with cold, but fascinated, reptilian eyes. "Until next time."

After the trained killer has disappeared into the shadows, presumably headed back the way he came to avoid the flamethrowers, Marcurio lets out a small squeak. "Next time? Sithis? The Dark Brotherhood?" Visibly shaken for a few moments, I allow him to catch his breath and gather his wits, somewhat uneasy by his downright scared reaction.

Sait'iis is the god of death and final judgement. I'd be a fool NOT to honour something so powerful and abstractly incomprehensible. The mage drags a tired hand down his face – a new habit, one he probably picked up from me. "Alright. Alright. I knew I signed up for inhuman amounts of crazy when I took that money, but damnit, Fjaldi, I reached the limit of crazy when you threw together that weirdly good cake for dinner."

"Liberally translated they're pancakes. I told you. They're a traditional, simple recipe we copied from the Snowmer. It sounds more mysterious to you when I call it Khanr'thl, doesn't it?" I mutter to him, mind still reeling and glad for the change in subject.

If I get a visit from a trained assassin not out to kill me immediately I'd better be on my best behaviour. Can't do much else about it now.

"I didn't even get his name." Are the next words to come out of my mouth faintly, my emotions swiftly passing beyond 'fear' and 'panic' to a cold, numb, heavy feeling that has a strange sort of calm settle over me even as I stand frozen to my spot."You just – You just talked to a member of the Dark Brotherhood! How are you this calm?" Marcurio suddenly exclaims, arms waving about wildly even as I start to move, setting about emptying Dufont's pockets.

"I'm not. Calm. I've beyond panic gone. I think shock. It decidedly weird is." I mumble mechanically, hands shaking as I fall back into Dwemer grammar, my mind having difficulties remembering the Common Tongue I'm supposed to speak at all – have they been shaking all this time? I hope not.

I look down at my blood-stained, trembling fingers blankly for a few beats, forgetting what I was doing until Marcurio's voice breaks through the haze. "Uhm, not to spoil your ale but you… you don't look too well. I can barely understand a word of what you're saying. Are you… okay?" No way in Xrib's forges. "Fine."

I rise unsteadily, filling my knapsack with the gems and other precious things the man had on him, including a heavy gold necklace set with emeralds even as I sway to and fro, the mage steadying me carefully. His body is so nice and warm. How can people be so warm in these climates? I like it that he's so warm. "Okay, you're clearly out of it since you're spouting nonsense. Let's get outside, get some fresh air."

Once we're outside in the freezing air, the watery sun only just peeking from over the mountaintops, my knees give out underneath me even as the entire world seems to shift back into sudden clarity. I suck in a deep breath. "Oh."

"Yes," Marcurio replies drolly, "Oh. A good morning to you too." I grab his sleeve tightly when he makes to pull away from where he'd been carrying me bridal style. "Wait. I need a moment." I take another few deep, calming breaths, relishing in the mage's warmth and this is so the worst possible moment to find out I have, as Mellte would say, the 'hots' for this overly chatty bastard. Even so, I force myself to gather my wits about me, before releasing my iron grip on the imperial's sleeve. "Thanks." I cough a few times, getting back on my feet with far more certainty than before.

"We're going back to Hjerim, have a drink or three, or four, and then leave for Winterhold as soon as possible?" I decide, though it sounds far more like a question as I stare at Marcurio, wondering if he'll agree to that plan. I agree to it. I need a drink to help me get over meeting an assassin and finding out I caught feelings, of all diseases.

A/N: This is NOT the last you'll see of Veezara, trust me, I have plans for my personal favourite faction in Skyrim. ALSO WE'VE OFFICIALLY REACHED 60K WORDS!