Sundas, the 24th of Last Seed, 4E201


Morning in Ivarstead was as peaceful as one can imagine. The village is not exactly a tourist trap and there aren't many travelers vying to rent a room, so I could take my sweet time getting out of bed. A glass of wine in the morning with some meat pie honestly almost made me want to go back to sleep. Alas, duty calls.

Some guards on their time off were talking about a crypt just east of the village. Normally this wouldn't be anything to write home about, but what caught my attention is the fact that this Nordic crypt was being haunted by an elven ghost. Wilhelm, the innkeeper, told me that a few boasting youngsters tried tackling the dungeon recently. However, none of them had it in them to go up against a ghost once they actually saw it, so all of them turned tail at the first opportunity and skipped town.

Damn shame. A bit of recon goes a long way towards not getting yourself killed.

I told Wilhelm I'd take care of it. He gave me a look, but I didn't really let it bother me. People here tend to underestimate anyone who claims to be a capable fighter, especially if you're not a walking tower of a Nord with more scars than skin and a giant two hander strapped to your back.

Oh, those Skyrim stereotypes. Gotta love them.


I have a few questions for Wilhelm. I doubt he would answer even a single one, but I sure have them. Where do I even start…

For one, the ghost was not a ghost at all. It was a bloody bandit masquerading as one using a potion – I actually have a couple bottles in my bag right now. Maybe one day I'll find something to use them for. All else fails, I'm sure some merchant would be interested in buying it.

Now the second thing. After I gave charlatan's journal to Wilhelm as proof, my reward was… a dragon claw. Specifically the one fitting Shroud Hearth's claw door, no less. And if that wasn't enough, the claw was the very reason Wyndelius - our ghost bandit in question - had gone out into the barrow in the first place.

I'll keep exploring the place, but I am not sure what to make of Wilhelm now. He's definitely more knowledgeable about this than he lets on.

What is it with Skyrim and having to watch your back in bloody inns?

I think the High Hrothgar climb will be delayed for tomorrow. Don't know how long I'll be up there for, and I don't like leaving things unfinished.


After some thinking, I decided that I'll be keeping the claw as a memento. I got through the barrow without much trouble. Much to my disappointment, there wasn't really a grand general at the end of it to Shout a hole through my skull. Just a bunch of foot soldiers.

There was one guy who was buried in the center, I guess, but he wasn't much different from the rest of them. It was like… If Bleak Falls was an army and a general, then these were a squad of guards and the big guy was their captain. Sure, it's relatively impressive, but not enough to make a difference in practice.

I'm starting to get more used to Stormblade. I think I got the trick on how to use it effectively - the handle is long to create more impact when thrusting or swinging, like a lever. If you hold it with both hands and cut, then you have what is a pretty normal, albeit kind of short, greatsword. If you hold it with both hands and use it to thrust, then you have yourself a decent pike. And if you use it one-handed, you have a longsword with ungodly reach and chopping power that could make a war-axe blush.

You can tell which application is my favorite. I might try to add some flourishes and flips later. You know, for flair.

The frustrating part is that I haven't been able to identify any enchantments on the sword, even though I can tell that there's something there. Recharging it with a soul didn't work either - the soul didn't have anywhere to go, so I just ended up breaking a soul gem for nothing. I don't trust Farengar enough to let him inspect it though, so I'll just work on it in the background.

Speaking of inventory, I was digging through the things I brought with me from home and I found some scrolls that mom snuck in before I left. I think they're paralysis scrolls… actually, scratch that. Paralysis runes. Handy things. I decided to set one on my door before going to sleep.

Tomorrow, High Hrothgar.


Morndas, the 25th of Last Seed, 4E201


The howling of wind outside became muffled and quiet, iron doors shielding the Dunmer from the climate when she stepped inside the temple. The air was still, and warm. A very faint scent of snow, cut grass, and ashen wood permeated within the interior, carried along by the arid heaviness of scattered dust.

Saya was greeted by a scarcely decorated room with six braziers full of burning charcoal, one mounted on a simplistically carved pillar, another - on a raised platform in between two stairways leading to the other side. The other four rested at the bases of archways that adorned the hall, their shape mimicking dragon heads lowered towards the floor, staring down at the light sources in front of them. From the ceiling hung banners with inscriptions in the same runic language, giving the room a colder hue with the blue lining of the cloth.

While her body was still getting used to the sudden shift in temperature, Saya had noticed footsteps resounding from within the hall. Although failing not to flinch, the Dunmer managed to suppress her reflex of reaching for her weapon's hilt, taking a deep breath to calm down. She did not know these Greybeards, who they actually are, and how they would treat her. It never hurt to be careful with the unknown.

But taking in the fact that, to them, she is currently nothing but an intruder, she decided it'd be unwise to show any kind of aggression or hostility in front of a group that can tear her apart by uttering a few words.

As she thought of that, the figure to whom the footsteps belonged had entered the main hall. He was wearing rather large grey robes that left his hands and feet barely visible. His head was covered by a hood, only showing a small portion of a long, grey beard, the end of which was tied into a simple knot.

"So, at this moment in the turning of age, a stranger walks into our halls. Speak. What are you looking for within our walls, uninvited and unwelcome?" The voice was quiet, but with a warning tone to it. It was the voice of an old man. One whose aged body did not do justice to his strength of will and air of authority.

Saya did not miss the notions within his tone and bowed respectfully, arms at her sides. "I am the Dragonborn. I am here to answer your summons."

The corners of the old sage's mouth curled slightly, forming a barely noticeable smile. The cloth on his arms shifted as he raised a hand.

"Bo het." He said, and the stone walls reverberated, his voice traveling through them. Soon, three more arrived - dressed in the same robes, their faces covered with hoods, and their only discerning feature being a grey beard, barely visible from under the shade. "First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice." For a moment, Saya's face contorted into hesitation and discomfort, opening her mouth to protest, but she was interrupted before any words were said: "Do not fear. Everyone here has dedicated their lives to studying the power you claim to possess. It will not harm us."

A defeated sigh left Saya's mouth. She already understood that, but the experience with Balgruuf still lingered painfully in her mind. Thus, she opted for an alternative: instead of shouting, the girl said the only word she knew in a volume just above regular conversation.

"Fus". The breath that left her body impacted the Greybeard like a stiff breeze, the magical force impacting him. But unlike her expectation of him stumbling back, he simply took the entirety of the impact, stoic and silent while the cloth of his robes flapped about in the air. Saya felt a sense of unease creep over her, until he looked up at her proper for the first time, revealing his face. Wrinkles on pale skin, a large nose, shade-covered azure eyes, all accented with a warm smile.

"Dragonborn. Welcome to High Hrothgar." He bowed as the other monks approached him, mirroring the gesture. Saya had, again, returned the greeting. "I imagine you have questions. Voice them."

The Dragonborn's weight shifted to one leg, a lack of assurance apparent in her posture. "If I may… I have only heard of your order in passing. People say a lot of things about you, but I'm not sure how much of it is truth. Who- or I guess, what are you?" She asked, eyes wandering over the other Greybeards. The master in front of her nodded in understanding.

"We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice. I am master Arngeir, and I speak for all of us. Here on the slopes of the Throat of the World, our founder, Jurgen Windcaller, had first built this monastery, known now as High Hrothgar. In this place, we commune with the sky, practice the ancient art of the Voice, and strive to achieve a balance between our inner and outer selves." He gestured to the others, introducing them one by one. "These ones' names are master Borri, master Wuunferth, and master Einarth. But I advise against attempting conversation with them. If you have any questions, I shall answer them as best as I can."

Saya nodded, humming in thought. The other Greybeards all bowed to her in greeting as they were introduced, so she made some mental notes to remember who is who in case it was ever needed.

"Ah, pardon me. My name is Saya, of House Indoril." She introduced herself hastily, mentally cursing for not doing so earlier. "Why shouldn't I talk to the others?"

Arngeir did not respond, but the three did. Each one of them whispered their name, barely audible.

"Zu'u Borri."

"Zu'u Wulfgar."

"Zu'u Einarth."

With every whisper, every word that left their lips, the monastery was shaking and trembling under their feet. The mountain itself seemed to rumble at their speech, and Saya had to cover her ears, her skull throbbing from the noise.

"Their Voices are too powerful for someone untrained in the Way to withstand. So much as speaking to them could kill you, if you're not careful." Arngeir explained, unaffected by the power of the others. "Of all of us here, I am the eldest - my own Voice is not as potent as it used to be, but I have full control of it. Thus, I assume the duty of speaking in their stead."

"...well then." She muttered, still a bit shocked. This was the Voice of a person who trained it… And none of them are Dragonborn, either. Her emotions were split between amazement and fear. "I'll make sure to keep that in mind."

"Is there anything else you would like to know?" Arngeir asked, with idle patience. Saya's thoughts branched out rapidly, thinking of all the things to ask, but in the end she only shook her head in response.

"Honestly? A lot of things, but most of it can wait. I have a more… pressing concern." Her hand lifted to touch her throat. "My Voice. As it stands right now, I can't control it. It hurts every time I speak. I want you to teach me how to do it properly."

The Greybeards exchanged a glance before Arngeir spoke again: "Very well. Then let us see if you have the discipline to master this gift you've been given."


The Greybeards turned out to be rather strict, but kind. Arngeir had patiently led me through the process of learning Shouts while explaining the fundamentals of how they work.

Shouting, or Thu'um in the dragon language, is a form of exerting your will on the world. By speaking words in the dragon language, their meaning becomes a command, shaping the world around it. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. The first one determines the nature of the Shout, while the following two amplify its effects.

As a demonstration, Master Einarth taught me the word "Ro". He whispered it at the floor, and a carving of the symbols appeared.

When I touched it, the same thing happened as I experienced in Bleak Falls: I felt a wave of force wash over me, but this time I wasn't pushed back. It was almost like a breeze that… Curled around me. Held me in place.

Then, Einarth locked eyes with me, and I felt a pulse drumming in my ears. Energy, not unlike the light I saw from the dragon, flowed towards me from him. It was like seeing a vision, almost.

"Balance" is what "Ro" meant. An unshakeable mountain, not even bulging at the worst of storms. A passive reaction to an aggressive action. A force exerted to resist the force absorbed.

The force was… Me. I think.

The Greybeards used a Shout of their own to summon spectral copies of themselves to test me, and Arngeir told me to try combining the two words I already knew: "Fus" and "Ro". The force wave that came out seemed much… Wider. Stronger. And better yet, I didn't even bulge at it! I had to fight to keep my footing up until now, but with this…

The strain on my throat stayed, of course. It was a bit difficult to speak, and for even longer than before - but the pain was much more bearable. Arngeir said that it's something to do with experience. Just like training a muscle, my body will usually get used to the Thu'um so long as I keep using it regularly. Good to know I won't go mute.

Well, not yet anyway.


The air seemed to almost pull the heat from Saya's body as soon as she stepped outside. Mehrune's loincloth, it was cold up here - she could only wonder if the Greybeards even felt it after spending so much time on the mountain.

Her boots sank into the snow, taking small steps to follow the monks. The courtyard was wide and spacious, limited all around by the mountain's own relief except on two sides: the monastery on the west side and what looked like a large archway leading upwards on the southeast. What caught her attention was a large metal gate, built at the very northern edge and seemingly serving no purpose. Behind it was an open view of Skyrim, as it led to no building. Saya's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Now, Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke up, pulling the girl out of her chain of thought, "we will see how you learn a completely new Shout."

"A different one? How many are there?" Saya scratched the back of her head. While she did realize there were likely many forms of Thu'um, she didn't expect to encounter them so soon into her training.

Arngeir closed his eyes, humming. "There are as many Shouts in existence as there are combinations of words in the dragon tongue. While we cannot teach them all to you, it is our duty to guide you towards mastering it in ways we may not be capable of." His arm moved, gesturing towards the monk beside him. "This Shout is called Whirlwind Sprint. Master Borri will teach you its first word: 'Wuld'."

"Wuld." The Greybeard's whisper had shaped the earth in front of him, drawing out the rune-like letters on the ground. Hesitantly, Saya approached the word and placed her hand on it.

A gust of wind blew in her direction. A sensation of being swept off her feet took over her mind. Weightless and quick - like a sudden breeze during a sunny day. Just as fleeting as it is exhilarating.

And then, it was gone. Just like in Bleak Falls Barrow.

Arngeir seemed to smile under his hood. "Good. You learn quickly. Approach Master Borri so that he can grant you his knowledge of 'Wuld'."

Nodding, the Dunmer stood up to her feet. She looked at Borri, who seemed to look at her attentively. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she locked her red eyes with his, blue and aged. Suddenly, she felt a pull. Just like a few minutes earlier at the monastery, a string of light had begun to slowly weave itself from his soul, reaching for hers. Then another. And another. And yet another. Soon, hundreds of little strings were reaching for her.

Mentally, Saya began to search for the feeling she had felt just now. That wind, that lightness, that swift pull. The light had swirled around her as her eyes closed, flowing into the body and fusing with it.

And then it disappeared in a single instant as her eyes opened with a flash and her lips mouthed a word.

"Whirlwind. That is the meaning, right?" Her hair ruffled slightly in the mountainous breeze as she asked Borri. The man nodded quietly. "Then… What do I do now?" This time, the question was addressed to Arngeir.

"Now, you will show us how quickly you can master the Shout after learning its meaning." The Master began walking in the direction of the seemingly useless gate, with another monk - Wulfgar, if memory served - standing beside him. "Master Wulfgar will demonstrate his mastery of Whirlwind Sprint. Then, it will be your turn. Master Borri, if you would?"

Borri gave Arngeir an understanding nod and, in a louder whisper, said: "Bex". All of a sudden, the gate opened, and without missing a beat Wulfgar had followed it up with a shout of his own:

"WULD, NAH KEST!"

Saya could have sworn that Wulfgar was standing right beside Arngeir just a moment ago. In the blink of an eye, his body had completely vanished, and a strong gust of wind blew in the direction of the gate. When she opened her eyes, he was already standing behind the gate, his robes flapping in the wind as though he came to a halt from a very high speed. Then, as if nothing had happened, he had turned around and walked back to Arngeir, giving him a small bow.

"Now it is your turn, Dragonborn." Saya's nose twitched slightly at the title. "Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate again, and it will be your task to use Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."

"W-wait, I'm not sure if I still got it, do I get to-"

"Bex." The word echoed again, and the gates had opened with an unpleasant creak. Saya could hear her own heartbeat reverberating in her ears, her eyes widening. She didn't have time to look - it was so fast! She couldn't do it, she wasn't even given a minute to try it out!

Her eyes locked at the sky behind the gate. It had just begun to slowly close.

No, wait! Just slow down!... Slow down?

...That's right. Slow down. Focus... Remember the wind. Remember it carrying you. Remember how it gradually picks up and just as gradually slows down. Remember its name.

Whirlwind.

"WULD!"

Suddenly, the weight she didn't even notice was on her shoulders had vanished. She felt light, completely weightless, even. She could no longer feel her freezing fingertips, or her pulsing ears, or her striking heartbeat. But she could see the view in front of her, getting closer rapidly.

Right before her, the gates shut. Yet she didn't feel an impact. Momentarily, her vision was blocked by the metal, but she was not impeded by it. Circling, weaving, flowing through the smallest openings, she found the skies before her again.

Stumbling, she felt herself land and become whole, bearing the weight of her own body again. With a held breath, she saw the clouds moving in the distance before her, passing through the distant mountains to the sound of the White River splashing beneath.

She turned around, and even from behind the closed gate, Arngeir's astonished expression didn't fail to bring a smile to her own face.

"That was amazing!" She shouted, pushing open the door before bursting into a fit of coughing, a hand covering her mouth. Now that the initial fear of using the shout had worn off, it was replaced with excitement of having a new ability to… well, to toy with, at least for the first few hours.

"...I would have to agree." Arngeir said, once the initial astonishment had worn off. He had interlocked his fingers, letting the robes cover them while he regained his composure. "I… I had heard stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it first-hand is… Breathtaking."

Saya stopped in her tracks, her head tilting in confusion. "It… is? I thought this is more or less how it went for you, too. Is… Is that wrong?"

Arngeir let out a half-sad laugh, shaking his head. "No, not at all. What mastery of the Voice we possess is the result of many decades of studying and meditation. This ability to master it so quickly is a gift unique to you, the Dragonborn, as well as the dragons themselves. Tell me, Dragonborn, do you understand why is it that you learn Shouts so easily?"

Saya shook her head. She had been meaning to ask for an explanation ever since she was taught "Ro", but she did not want to interrupt the lesson for it.

"As you already know, Thu'um is the act of speaking words in dovahzul - the dragon tongue. To the dragons themselves, that ability of speaking is inborn. It was a tool given to them to rule over those lesser than themselves. And to control their more… chaotic brethren, they were given another ability. One you have already made use of twice now."

Saya touched her own chest, recalling the way that light seemed to flow into it from the other Greybeards. Now that she thought about it, the feeling was almost identical to how...

"Do you mean the way I devour dragon souls?"

"Precisely." The Greybeard said. "Dragons have the ability to consume the souls of their fallen brethren to make themselves stronger. That is why you can learn Thu'um at such astonishing speeds - unlike mortals, you need not meditate upon the words of power to understand them. The dragon soul within your body allows you to directly absorb that knowledge from fallen dragons, as well as from us, should we offer it."

"...so what you're saying is… I'm a dragon?"

He smiled. "If a dragon needed to call another dragon, they would use a Shout. The dragon, whether it wants to or not, would hear that Shout from anywhere in the world. That Shout is the dragon's name. Now, do you remember the words you have heard echoing from our mountain? They, too, are words of power - the words that form your dragon name."


"Dov-Ah-Kiin". Dragonkind-Hunter-Born. Born of dragonkind, to kill dragonkind… Almost a bit sad, if you think about it that way.

I talked to Arngeir for a while longer, asking him questions about the Way of the Voice and whatnot. As a last test, he had given me the task of retrieving the horn of Jurgen Windcaller from his tomb in Ustengrav, just on the edge between Hjaalmarch and The Pale. Some sort of ritual of entrance… Not a fan of the cold, I'll admit, but I suppose it's not a thing I can just ignore.

I'll be heading to Whiterun tomorrow. I'll spend the night at the monastery, I feel rather… Safe here. Most certainly safer than anywhere below. Then, we'll see how far I can get.


Turdas, the 26th of Last Seed, 4E201


I woke up early today. The morning practice of the Greybeards outside served as an effective, if horrifying, clock. I think they used some kind of shout to dissipate the clouds in the sky - might have to ask Arngeir about that later.

The trip down to Ivarstead was much faster than the way up. The sun had just barely reached midday by the time I finished my breakfast. I made a quick stop at Darkwater Crossing and had a nice chat with the locals. When asked for work, they pointed me in the direction I was already heading - supposedly the old outpost known as Valtheim Towers was recently taken over by bandits and now the workers have no way of transporting their ore to Whiterun, instead having to head all the way to Riften where they get severely undercut.

I told them I'd take care of it. And, well, I did.


Eight. That's how many there were - at least, that's what Saya could gather after an hour or so of watching the bandit camp go about its business: one was patrolling the bridge; three lookouts: one per tower, then one sitting on the other side of the river, looking out for anyone seeking passage; one more standing watch on the road and performing the shakedowns; two more sitting in the northern tower; and, lastly, a leader whose position was unknown.

After recounting the information in her head, the Dragonborn gathered her wits and approached the one on the road. It was a Redguard woman, face adorned with red and white warpaint - a tribal design, probably to make her look more menacing - and a hefty axe behind her back. As soon as the Dunmer got close, she heard the bandit's voice:

"Hold it there, friend." Her brows furrowed, forming a threatening expression quite familiar to anyone who ever got mugged on the road - one of poisonous malice that is very, very thinly veiled with a tone of friendliness. "This is a toll road you're crossing, and I say you pay up if you don't want to get into any trouble. 's not much - a hundred gold, and off you go on your merry way."

Saya raised her hands, as if in surrender. "Well this is quite sudden. I've been traveling around these parts often, didn't think the Jarl's men had any interest in this place."

"And what'd I ever say about being Jarl's men? Jarl's men are kind protectors of this hold, and they get locked up or reduced in pay if they treat folks too roughly. Now me, on the contrary…" The woman's hand went up to the axe behind her back, grabbing the staff but not yet pulling it out. "I get paid to treat overly talkative folk like you roughly. Now, hand over the coin."

Saya dropped the pretense of being afraid right that instant, sighing and reaching into her pouch. A wide, pleased grin began stretching across the bandit's features. The Dunmer murmured something incoherent, cursing quietly. "Ugh, miss…?"

The Redguard's smile vanished, returning to the hostile scowl from before. "What is it?"

"I'm… A little short." Saya said. Her left hand's fingers were still moving, searching through the pouch - a bottomless pouch, with a hole in the bottom for Saya to slowly and inconspicuously wrap her hand around the handle of Stormblade. "Would 90 be enough?"

The bandit groaned, taking a step towards the increasingly infuriating Dunmer and reaching out. "Just hand it over already!"

With a whistle, the sword was freed from its sheath. From right to left, Saya's hand swung in a wide chop that found its target: a sickening sound of tearing flesh announced the parting of the bandit's jaw with the rest of her face. But you could never be too sure. The Dragonborn pulled out the blade, letting the bandit stumble before grabbing her by the throat and pinning her to the wall. In one thrust, the metal went under her ribs, and the Redguard dropped to the ground with a bloody gurgle.

The scent of iron still fresh in her nose, Saya pushed the door open and ran inside, upstairs. It would have been impossible to cross the bridge with the lookouts in place. In a series of leaps, she crossed the stairs and as soon as the mage entered her view, she mouthed a word under her breath: "Wuld."

Within a moment, she was already upstairs, Stormblade sinking into the lookout's back. She could hear one strangled gasp escape him before she slid a hand over his throat and concentrated the magicka on her palm. The stink of burnt meat prickled her nose, but she kept going until the man's throat all but turned to ash. When that was assured, the blade was roughly pulled out of his spine and she kicked him off the balcony, sending the corpse tumbling downward like a sack of stones. She wasn't there to watch him fall, however, spending those precious seconds on rushing back down to the stairs and opening the door to the bridge.

Then, she stood still, back pressed against the door. The patrolling man had a shield - that she remembered. Thus, she mentally counted down from ten - during her journey, she made a note that this is about how long it takes for her to recover from Whirlwind Sprint. Mostly. The numbness was still there, but the ache would be mostly gone by then.

She flinched when she heard the bridge man calling out. When he got no response, the heavy footsteps and the clinking of his armor got progressively louder - he was walking over towards her, and rather quickly. The redhead reached into a satchel on her back and swiftly pulled out a scroll, unfurling it and reciting the incantation written on it in her mind. A faint green glow swirled around her hand when she was done, and she pointed one finger to the wall opposite of her. Soon after, the same green glow flashed faintly on the stone. The bandit appeared not to miss that sign - the sound of footsteps got noticeably slower. More wary.

Saya held her breath, her body as still as a statue. A hand reached into the doorway, looking around while she pressed her back against the wall, trying her best to hide behind the door. The visage of a bearded Nord man passed her, approaching the glowing spot on the wall, bewildered.

"Damian? I swear to Shor, if this is another one of your College tricks…" The man called out again. When he got no response, he instead reached for the mace hanging on his belt. Still eyeing the glow with a squint, he poked the peculiar spot on the wall.

Instantly, the doors behind the bandit closed shut and the paralysis rune activated with a green flash. The bandit's muscles seized up and Saya immediately grabbed Stormblade with both of her hands. She swung for the head once, then a second time for good measure. The metal sank into the flesh like a butcher's cleaver and the head slowly slid off the Nord's shoulders, rolling onto the floor while the neck stump pulsed blood like a small fountain. Wincing at the sloppy execution, the executioner in question gave the body a poke, sending it to tumble downstairs where nobody could see it.

Another moment or two passed as Saya collected her wits about her. What she was about to do was reckless - she fully realized that. However, seeing as how she had nobody else to help her, there was no other way of taking the towers alone.

Pulling the door open, she began walking over the bridge as inconspicuously as she could, watching for either of the remaining lookouts to notice her. She got about halfway until the one sitting on the cliff with the bow seemed to turn into her direction. At that moment, her hand ignited with magical flame and a firebolt was sent flying in the archer's direction and broke into a sprint, building up as much of a running start as she could. When the lookout's screams of agony reached her, she knew that she didn't have much time left. She took a sharp right and leapt right off the bridge, taking a deep breath as she did before releasing a loud, echoing Shout:

"WULD!"

The momentum of her fall immediately vanished. As her body had again faded into a gust of wind, she launched herself upwards, becoming corporeal just above the edge of the cliff. Her blade clutched tightly in her hands, a single overhead swing announced her landing with a painful, wet sound of a sword sinking into muscle. Releasing one last, erratic scream, the archer went still.

As she rubbed her throat and made way towards the tower, Saya's heart was jumping out of her chest. Too close for comfort. She should've started running sooner, less distance to cover. Maybe she wouldn't have had the time to scream if she did. Damnit. She started the mental count again.

One, two, three, four- shit, someone was opening the door already. The grip around Stormblade tightened as her fast walk turned into a run.

Five - she just reached the door as it swung open. Two men. The one in the back is in studded leather, but shoddy. Still reaching for his axe - the thing is embedded in the table. The one in the front is a bare chested, lower half covered in furs. Already with two axes in hand.

Six - she got spotted. Saya rushed into the guy on the front, pushing him into the table. The armored fella had just got his hands on the axe and began to pull.

Seven - the bare-chested bandit's stomach got cut open with a smooth upward slice and she immediately followed up with a stab through the chest which sank a little too deep. The armored man had just pulled his axe out of the table, sending splinters flying from the damaged piece of furniture.

Eight - he came charging towards her. With a grunt, Saya let go of her weapon and pulled her hands back. She could feel the wind from the axe head whizzing by her fingertips.

Nine - the bandit growled in frustration. The axe swung through the air again, but the swing was too strong for him to control it. Saya moved a hair's breadth to the side, letting the momentum carry the bandit down as she grabbed his hair and kneed him right in the face. He stumbled back, cursing and clutching his bleeding nose - definitely broken.

Ten - she grabbed Stormblade's handle and kicked the berserker's corpse off it. One steps, two steps. She lifted her sword-arm, and then brought it down with a sickening crunch. He stopped screaming.

Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Saya stopped to catch her breath before pulling the sword out of the man's skull. Her arms were still shaking, her fingers numb and heartbeat racing in her ears.

Too close. WAY too close.

Her gaze turned to the wooden stairs, the creaking catching her attention. Forced to regain her composure earlier than she'd like, she stood up, holding the Stormblade with trembling hands. She still felt dizzy after the headbutt, but it'd wear off. Hopefully soon.

Saya's ears were twitching as the sound of heavy boots stepping on planks kept picking at her brain. Soon, a tall figure revealed itself: it was a male Orc, much taller than her. His looks gave away that he was the leader - compared to the rest of the rabble that used iron and steel and wore hides or leather, he was clad in steel plate and in his arms was a golden-colored greathammer, straight out of a Dwemer ruin.

"You're the one who killed my men?" Came the rumbling voice. He was angry, but just barely containing it. He wanted to watch her squirm, first. It'd make the kill more satisfying.

Unfortunately, she wasn't willing to give him that satisfaction. "Almost." Saya replied. The Orc grimaced, one eyebrow raised in confusion. The Dunmer responded with a cocky grin. "I killed the women too." With that, one of her palms released a bolt of flame straight at the brigand. She didn't stick around to see if it hit - while the flash and the heat distracted him, she did the only thing she could think about: run.

Only a quarter of the way through the bridge did the Orc finally rush out of the tower and chase after her. At that point, though, the Dunmer was waiting for him. Sword sheathed, her hands radiated magical heat as she assumed a defensive stance. With a roaring battlecry and an overhead swing, the Orc charged towards her. Saya moved back, stepping away to make the swing whiff and then grabbing onto his hand, sending waves of heat through his gauntlet. Enraged, he attempted to attack her again, yet again he missed. With each attack, she got closer and closer to the middle of the bridge, where the archway was.

"You know, having heavy armor like that is really a bad idea." She commented. "What if you have to go for a swim?" The only response she got was another frustrated roar as the Orc brought his hammer onto Saya. This time, she jumped back and stepped on it, sending a burst of heat into the skull as she grabbed him by the ears and yanked his head into her knee. Dazed, he stepped back, opening his eyes to see the girl kicking his warhammer off the bridge.

Disarmed, he turned to the weapon he still had left - his fists. Erratically, he began throwing punches. The Dunmer, however, continued dodging, occasionally deflecting a hook to throw him off balance. They continued fighting, or rather he kept throwing attacks while she continued dodging strike after strike after strike. Then, when his breaths began to heave and his movements began to slow down, she met his strikes directly. Her hands grabbed his forearms, locking them into a struggle. The Orc, instinctively, tried overpowering her. To his surprise, she didn't struggle, so it only took one strong yank to throw her off the bridge.

Except she didn't let go. With her weight still hanging onto him, with the magic searing at his arms, burning through his gauntlets and making his hair char and curl under the metal, he struggled to keep himself standing. So as one final move, she pulled herself up and then suddenly dropped down, sending him off the bridge with her. The Orc released one last cry - this one of terror rather than rage - while Saya took a deep breath and mouthed the word a third time this fight:

"Wuld."

In an instant, she disappeared out of his grasp. The grey wind that she became flew upwards, back onto the bridge, and this time she actually stuck the landing. She looked down, and allowed herself a small smile at the sight: the exhausted bandit leader in full plate armor, slowly sinking into the river and flapping his arms around helplessly while his own equipment dragged him down to his death.

Saya's heartbeat slowed down, finally. The nervousness began to wash away, and the mind had started to slowly regain control over its instincts. That's when she heard a weird clink beside her. Her red eyes opened again, looking at the north tower. There, the last terrified lookout had sent a single arrow towards her, visibly trembling in the knees after seeing what just happened.

"Fus, Ro!"

She said, sighing as the force wave sent the bandit stumbling back and screaming as he fell out of his crow's nest. Saya followed his fall with her gaze and grimaced when he landed, blood splattering on the rock.

"…ouch. Points for effort, I guess."


I scrambled up some gold from the corpses. The loot chest wasn't very impressive other than a few gems and pieces of jewelry, but I suppose I should be grateful for that. Still probably more gold than your average farmer sees over a month or two.

The rest of the trip was pleasantly uneventful. The sun was seldom peeking over the horizon when I passed Honningbrew Meadery, so I didn't stop for a drink as I usually would. Besides, the Markarth incident still makes me eye all kinds of mead suspiciously, and I doubt the owner would be very pleased to see a customer who comes to a meadery and asks for wine.

The city was very lively when I arrived. The entire place was decorated head to toe, some folks were in the middle of painting their houses, and in general - the atmosphere was festive. I was told that tomorrow, on the 27th, is Harvest's End Festival. People would celebrate it as a way to thank the earth for the bountiful harvest, and to eat the fruits of their labor.

I don't remember such a holiday back in Morrowind. Though, the Red Year might have had something to do with that. I don't imagine that agriculture and erupting supervolcanoes mix all too well.

I almost wish it hadn't been such a happy day. I still had to talk to Balgruuf. I had to. I promised I would. So… I guess I won't be enjoying the scenery for much longer.

It's weird, but also somewhat funny. The palace of Dragonsreach is supposed to fill people with a feeling of… grandeur, I suppose. Confidence. And here I am, shaking like a leaf. Like I have not agreed to talk to the Jarl but rather signed the papers to my own execution or something.

Though, in the end, there's no use for just sitting around, right? The more I wait, the more I will worry about what'll happen when the waiting is over. Here I come, Dragonsreach. Treat me nicely, please.


The mood inside the palace was much more hollow than on the outside. With all the shouting, cheering, and work going on, the palace was very quiet. The maids were not brushing the floors; the braziers were glowing ever so faintly, as if they were going to go out within the next few minutes, and the only real source of light against the darkness outside was the large hearth in the middle of the hall. The Dragonborn released a heavy breath she didn't realize she was holding. The leather of her gloves stretched as the fingers curled into a tight fist.

"Jarl Balgruuf? It's… It's me." Saya's voice was quiet, just barely louder than a conversation tone. Still, the way her words echoed against the empty halls made her feel uncomfortable. It was as if with the preparations around the city, there was nobody left at Dragonsreach to do the same here.

"Ah, Saya, is it? Please, come on in." Balgruuf's voice was weaker, but still just as welcoming as it was last time. Warm, even. Head lowered, she approached slowly. Behind the flames, she could not see his full image, yet that was somehow calming. Even through that cover, however, she could still hear the involuntary sound he made as his expression shifted. A frown, she could tell. "Why do you lower your eyes?"

Saya's lips moved to speak, but no sound came from them. She moved her hand to hold her other upper arm, as if looking to hide herself. Why was she lowering her eyes? Because she knew what she would see if she looked at him. The visage of a Jarl who treated her like he would a friend, but twisted with a flaw of her making. An injury she caused.

"Because I'm… ashamed." The girl admitted. "It's difficult to look at you without remembering what happened." She could still hear the pained gasp, still saw the blades of the guards and Hrongar aimed at her neck. The way she walked- no, ran away. She choked up slightly. "I didn't mean to."

"Then what's the problem?"

The question came as a surprise, Saya's gaze snapping to Balgruuf, who was sitting on his throne. Only now did she notice that, instead of Irileth, a Nord woman with long black hair stood beside him. Her skin was pale, though much like Balgruuf's, it turned pink around the cheeks. She wore a set of steel armor - of fine make, too. At her hip hung a longsword of the same metal, and in her left arm she held a shield bearing Whiterun's insignia.

"W-What do you mean?"

"You said you didn't mean to harm me. And I know better than to blame you for what happened. I saw how agitated you were. Everyone else could, too. I only wish that they would not have ignored it." There was a tinge of guilt in Balgruuf's own voice. Indeed, he eyed her through the whole conversation with Hrongar. She could remember it, if only vaguely. "But enough of that. I assume you had visited High Hrothgar? Have you spoken to the Greybeards?"

Changing the subject. Sly bastard. Saya wiped the treacherous tear from her eye and nodded. "Yes, my Jarl. I have. Right now I've been given a trial to pass. Then, I'll be able to start learning." It was a few seconds until she realized how these words sounded, at which point she hastily clarified. "N-not that I was turned away by them! Master Arngeir already gave me a sort of introductory lesson on using this… Power. Ability. Thing. Though it's not much, I think I… I did improve."

Balgruuf's expression brightened slightly, his mouth stretching into a smile. "Then I see no issue to be made of an accident. You meant me no harm, as you said. I trust you when you say you'll make sure it won't happen again."

Saya clasped her hands, bowing deeply. Her lip was trembling, so she bit down on it to hide the rush of emotion. Guilt mixed with gratitude. Nauseating. "Thank you, my Jarl."

"Lift your head." He said, making a motion for her to stand at ease. She obeyed, yet the feeling of shame at being unable to keep her composure lingered, still. "Tell me, do you remember what I have told you before you left?" The female Nord standing beside him turned to look at Balgruuf curiously. She looked like she wanted to say something, but decided not to voice it. The Dragonborn nodded. "Now that you are back, I intend to keep that promise."

A stifled gasp of pain escaped Balgruuf as he used one arm to help himself stand up. The black-haired woman hastily moved to his side, helping him. Saya hurriedly walked around the hearth as well, but stopped just in front of the throne. Frozen in place, as her eyes found the source of her inner turmoil. There it was, unobscured by the flame: the bandaged arm, now with a leather strap around the man's shoulder to hold the damaged limb up. He stepped down, and she couldn't help but turn away. Couldn't bring herself to look.

Her body flinched when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Then, in a calm, welcoming tone, came the words. "On this day and occasion, I, Balgruuf the Greater, by my authority as Jarl of Whiterun, hereby grant you the title of Thane in my hold. With it, I grant you a place of residence within my city, Breezehome. And, as is befitting of every Thane, I also assign Lydia as your housecarl." At that point he had let go of the Dragonborn, turning instead to the black-haired woman. "Lydia, if you would."

With a nod, she approached the Dunmer before standing on one knee. "It is an honor, my Thane." Saya's face was instantly warped with shock.

"P-please, that is unnecessary..." She sputtered, offering Lydia a hand. The housecarl raised an eyebrow, standing up without her assistance, but nodding silently, as if to show that a mental note has been made to avoid that in the future. Balgruuf could be heard chuckling behind Lydia before giving her a pat on the back.

"Lydia, my dear, do not be so stiff. It's fine."

"But, uncle…" The Nord attempted to protest, the stoic facade slipping away to reveal a tinge of frustration. Balgruuf did not say anything, however, his gaze alone shutting down any comments she could make. The Jarl then turned back to Saya.

"Tomorrow is the Harvest's End, as you may already know. I insist you stay around for it. It would be a good time to get accustomed to your new home, wouldn't you agree?" The man smiled, reaching into his pocket and offering something to Saya - a small silver key.

Saya stayed quiet for a few moments, staring at the little object. The flames behind her danced in the metal, giving it a warm orange shine. It seemed so small, yet… so heavy. That if she took it, she would simply collapse. Unconsciously, she reached for it, but stopped as soon as her fingertips touched the metal. Her red eyes, shining ever so slightly in the room's half-shade, looked into Balgruuf's, confused. Her lips began quivering again, and so she choked out a single question, just barely a whisper:

"But… Why?"

Balgruuf was quiet for a second, pondering the words he would say next. Then, he spoke: "You are a hero, Dragonborn. And being a hero is, perhaps, the most difficult thing that can happen to a person. From every side, you will be surrounded by malice. And in every corner of the world, there will be someone who will be calling for your aid. That is the weight that is yours to bear.

But, to be a hero is to bring hope. Your very presence will inspire fear into your enemies, and it will give faith to those you are protecting. It is a heavy responsibility, to be such a beacon. Especially one with a power like yours. There will be those who will want to get rid of you. There will be those who will seek to use you." He spoke, his tone solemn. The hearth continued to flicker, and Saya began feeling like it was… Colder, somehow. Simply listening about all of this.

But he continued. "I could not bear that burden, in my time. So now, I want to show you that I am grateful for what you are doing. Everyone has their interests - money, power, politics… But my only interest is my people. The city my children will grow up in. The future that they, and countless others, will have to experience - it is all decided by the actions of the adults of today. What you have done that day is save my city. You've given its people someone to look up to, someone not soaked in the blood of his kinsmen fighting for some abstract goal. What you have done… Is given us hope. For that, I am forever in your debt."

He lifted his hand with the key in it and pressed it into her palm. "And with this gift, I hope to at least begin repaying it."

Shakily, Saya's fingers closed, clutching the little object in her hand. It was… Warm. And not at all heavy, like she imagined it to be. Her vision was blurry, eyes staring motionlessly at the small key, as if it'd vanish the moment she let it out of sight. Hiccups began to break up her breathing, and hot, wet streaks started burning at her cheeks.

Weeping and laughing, she looked up at Balgruuf. The hearth was yet flickering behind her, lighting the palace's features as well as his own. "Jarl Balgruuf…" She snorted, wiping her face and nose. Her eyes were full of tears, yet her expression was full of joy. "This must be the most eloquent bribe I have accepted yet."

Balgruuf let himself smile, one hand wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her in as she continued to laugh, the tears disappearing in his mantle.

The hearth continued flickering behind her. She felt warm.


Middas, the 27th of Last Seed, 4E201


My first night in Breezehome was… pleasant. The house was already fully furnished, so I passed out almost as soon as I arrived yesterday. When the morning came, though, I really, really didn't want to get out of the soft bed. Really, after weeks after weeks in bedrolls and creaking inn beds, it's the little things that get you.

Most of the day I spent simply walking around and appreciating the scenery. For once, I even had a reason to wear a dress I bought in Riften when I first arrived from Morrowind. It's a simple little thing, not too revealing but still pretty in its own right. I mean, adventuring is good work, what with all the money it brings in, but you have to spend it sometimes, too. A little trinket here, some delicious food there, maybe an exotic ingredient or two for experimenting later. With Harvest's End, people seemed to be just as happy to share the results of their labor as they were content to enjoy them on their own.

There was just a certain something that bugged me, though. That something had a name, and the name was Lydia.

Throughout the entire bloody day, she insisted on following me around in full gear, on constant lookout for my safety. I'll give the girl credit - she had insane stamina and she certainly aimed to please, but it was really getting annoying to hear the clinking of metal behind me all the time. So, when the sun was on its way towards setting and the work day was coming to a close in favor of pure, unadulterated celebration, I figured it was high time to sit her down and have a talk before this got out of hand.


"Lydia?"

"Yes, my Thane?" The reply came instantly. If the line was any longer Saya would have made the bet that it was recited. Though, considering how mechanical the rest of the housecarl's actions have been this entire day, it would not be too much of a stretch to suggest that even that short a line was recited to get just the perfect tone of subservience. Poor thing. "Is there anything you need?"

"Yes, there is. Sit down, please." The Dunmer motioned to a chair beside her. The Bannered Mare was full of noise and glee today, the sound of song and the smell of food creating a unique feeling of being carefree. A serenity, of sorts. Which made it all the more jarring to have the ball of tension that is Lydia constantly around. "Tell me. What have you been doing before you were assigned my housecarl?"

"I was a guard, ma'am." Came the reply. There was a brief pause before it - the question probably caught her by surprise. "I have been training to be a soldier since I was a child."

"So, you're a soldier, then?"

Lydia nodded, a proud smile on her face. "Yes, my Thane."

Saya hummed to herself, a rather clear image painting in her head. Being the daughter of a warmonger such as Hrongar, it'd be a surprise if the girl didn't turn out to have a liking for combat. Especially if her father is so… forward in his somewhat aggressive traditionalistic tendencies. "I don't want a soldier."

"I… beg your pardon?" Lydia's mask of stoicism suddenly cracked as she let her expression become warped with the worst kind of surprise. Her brows furrowed, her state teetering between shock and genuine offense.

"I said that I don't want a soldier, Lydia." She said, reaching for a bottle that had been standing on the table for a while now. She corked it open and brought the lip to her mouth, taking a large swig of Honningbrew. She had it checked just in case, but it still felt bad going down, even if it's all in her head. "If I wanted a soldier, I'd pay one of the dozens of self-proclaimed 'veterans' who think they're the next Hero of Kvatch because they survived the war by sitting it out in the city in reserve. I don't want a person-shaped weapon at my side." She set the bottle down, her words not overly loud, but with cold, methodical pauses in between to make herself perfectly clear. "So that thing you're doing, I want you to stop. I don't want a soldier."

As Lydia continued to listen, she did not know what to think. Her face was flushed and her knuckles whitened from how tightly she clenched her fists. Was she about to be just… tossed aside? Is this what the hero of Skyrim did? Throw people away based on what she wants?! Just some entitled… elven…!

The Nord had already made the motion to stand up, the chair creaking obnoxiously under the weight of her armor. Then, the voice of her Thane stopped her. "I didn't say I want you to leave."

Was… Was she just toying with her at this point? Exasperated, the housecarl sat down, her thoughts a complete mess. "Then… What do you want from me? First you said you didn't want me, but now you're saying-"

"When did I say that I didn't want you?" Saya's question stopped the starting rant dead in its tracks before it could even start properly. The Dunmer reached for one of the metal mugs standing on the table, beginning to pour the contents of the Honningbrew brand bottle into them. "I said I didn't want a soldier, Lydia. I don't want a soldier because a soldier is someone who exists to follow orders. To fight. To obey commands. But aren't you a little more than that?"

The distress in Lydia's mind began to slowly dissolve with the sound of mead pouring into the mug. The sweet scent of honey pulled at her attention. One of the many scents she spent the entire day ignoring.

The Thane continued, still not facing the conflicted housecarl. "A good guard is one who is able to tolerate any offense in their direction that doesn't constitute a crime. A guard is someone whose well-being is treated second, if not third or fourth after the city, or the Jarl, or whomever it may concern. I do not want that."

The sound of a tankard sliding over to her side of the table broke Lydia's chain of thought, offered by Saya while she began pouring a second one. "I didn't see what I wanted to see today. I saw a guard, looking over me with constant surveillance, but that's not what I want." She said, placing the empty bottle down onto the table. "I know you want to please me, Lydia. But that doesn't mean you have to neglect yourself. I mean bloody hell, it's a holiday, and I haven't seen you smile a single time, or take a break, or a drink, or anything. So… stop that, okay?"

Saya's slender fingers wrapped around the mug's handle. "I'm not so incompetent that I need a guard to keep watch over me, you know." She flashed a brief smile before lifting the drink off the table and looking directly at Lydia. "But an ally to have my back would be nice. Who knows, maybe even a friend. What do you say to that, housecarl?"

As a familiar noise of metal hitting metal reached her ears, so did the feeling of her tankard touching another in a cheer. There was laughter and Saya smiled. Across the table was Lydia. The real, laughing, cheerful Lydia.

"Aye, Thane. I can do that."


Tirdas, the 28th of Last Seed, 4E201


Hangover, my old friend. How I have not missed you. I should really learn to drink in moderation whenever I'm traveling… Although I'm always traveling, so it kind of sucks the fun out of the whole thing, doesn't it?

So, Ustengrav. It took me a little while to get the migraine to settle down, so we didn't move out as early as I would've liked. So instead, we got ourselves some horses.

Thankfully, as a city-issued housecarl, Lydia was provided with a horse. I had more than enough gold to buy myself a mare to match. Considering the kinds of things that happen on the road these days, I don't know how long she'll remain in my care, but for now I'll stick to calling her Annie. Short and sweet, simple enough for both of us to remember.


According to the map, the road up north, towards Dawnstar, was named the Red Road. The name will probably never cease to confuse me, but I suppose it's better than not having one altogether. Along the way there, we passed a farm owned by a fella named Loreius. Normally I wouldn't make a note of it, but it wasn't Loreius himself or his farm that caught my interest.

In fact, it'd be a jester. An actual, living, breathing jester in Skyrim, wailing about a broken wagon wheel in the squeakiest voice a man of 30-something winters could possess.

Lydia wanted to simply ignore him, but I decided to stop by and ask what was going on just in case. As it turned out, the little man had been wailing about for nigh-on two hours now, asking for help from the aforementioned Loreius. Predictably, Loreius wasn't very interested. The jester - Cicero, as I learned - offered me some gold to try and coax the farmer.

Honestly I was hesitant at first. The big box inside the wagon seemed exceedingly suspicious, and no shortage of things could be smuggled along in something of that size. But as if on cue, Cicero explained that inside was his mother's casket - one he had been transporting from another province for a burial at home. I was suspicious right up until he showed me some of the tools he had with him - embalming tools. Some were even of Dunmeri make, curiously enough. But hey, take quality where you can find it, I guess.

That was enough convincing for me, so I agreed to help. It only took me a few minutes to talk Loreius into helping. He shared some of my concerns, but a few persuasive words and pitying looks in Cicero's direction were enough to guilt-trip him into helping.

The little man was ecstatic when he heard of my success and immediately dropped a pouch with half a thousand fucking drakes into my hands. Five. Hundred. Gold. How the fuck…

You know what, no. Maybe he just had a rich mother. Not any of my business.


We didn't spend much more time on the road from there. It got a bit chilly by the time we passed the Weynon Stones, and the sun was already setting. I was going to set up camp, but Lydia said that if we continued north for a little while, we'd find a place where we could stop to rest. So, we did just that, and arrived at the Hall of the Vigilant.

Stendarr worshippers. Lovely.

My initial distaste aside, the people here remembered exercise the concept of Stendarr's mercy a bit more than their brothers and sisters out in the field. Thus, we were allowed to stay the night. The rooms are actually quite well-furnished for a temporary shelter for travelers.

Hopefully we'll get up earlier tomorrow.


Fredas, the 29th of Last Seed, 4E201


It was a good two hours of travel until we passed the Pale border and got into Hjaalmarch territory. We stopped by an Imperial troops' camp for directions once, but overall it wasn't too difficult a journey. There was the slightly unnerving sight of Dwemer towers littering the mountains to the southeast of us, so I made a mental note to mark them on my map. If lady luck decides to take a peek my way, I might explore these when I have a little more time to spare.


Ustengrav did not present us with a very warm welcome. On the contrary, it was a gang of cryomancers that was doing the greeting. Lydia already proved herself a huge help with that shield of hers - none of the ice spikes could get through, and by the time they noticed me creeping up their limbs were probably in the middle of saying goodbye to their torso.

As it turned out, the inside of Ustengrav was not quite as empty as I'd hoped either. Instead, its population of draugr and skeletons had been replaced with what appeared to be aspiring necromancers using the bodies of undead for practice. I won't lie, if they weren't trying to kill me as soon as I look the other way, I might have let some of them go: some of them just looked like embittered College of Winterhold rejects or something.


It was not until maybe an hour into it that we began meeting draugr without the companionship of living people. As lively as always, pun maliciously intended, they still have not proven to be much of a challenge. If anything, what struck me as odd is that they all seemed to be… Damaged in some way. A scrape here, a crack in the armor there, maybe a dislocated shoulder, or maybe a burn mark on the leg. It was as if someone had already been here before but decided to avoid them instead of killing them. It's… worrying.

We did eventually get past the "domesticated" caves and saw some familiar man-made scenery. Good old intestine-shaped halls, metal doors, and cracked floors full of dirt. Nordic architecture at its finest.

I noticed that the more frequently we encountered the draugr coffins, the more often the pattern from before came up: almost every other draugr was damaged in some way or another. Ten minutes earlier I'd disregard it as just a couple accidents, the undead aren't exactly known for their intelligence after all, but this was too… methodical. Any burns were too large to not be magical, and every wound was located precisely in ways that would let the draugr keep fighting after a little while.

Someone was keeping them "alive". Deliberately.

We had to set up camp deeper in, inside an underground cavern. Glorious place, really: just this large, open space filled with suspended stone passageways and columns to hold the bridges up. There was even a waterfall at the bottom of this thing, and a whole pond! Wonder how the place hadn't filled up with water yet.

I wandered about for a bit and actually stumbled upon a word wall. Just like last time, I heard the echo of a word of power, though… I'm not sure what this one would be. It feels fleeting, sort of. Like a snowflake landing into a warm hand. You see it, and then all of a sudden it simply isn't there anymore. Like 'Wuld' but without the… Aggression? Momentum? Either way, there's better places to meditate on it, so I put that tidbit of knowledge away for later.

Anywho, my watch should be ending in just a few minutes, and I should probably go back to keeping an eye out for draugr instead of writing, as entertaining as it is. Can't wait to catch a quick nap.


Loredas, the 30th of Last Seed, 4E201


"My Thane, what are you doing?"

The question came in a tone equally confused and tired, as Lydia was rubbing her eyes with her fist, still attempting to shake off the sleepiness. What she woke up to was, firstly, Saya's impatient whispering. When the groggy housecarl asked how long she was asleep, the Dunmer just hastily mentioned something about a sword glowing before all but dragging her out of the sweet, soothing warmth of her bedroll. Saya simply kept walking, letting go of Lydia's wrist when she was confident that the Nord would follow her on her own, and pointed at the other end of a large bridge suspended over the lower section of the city, where the wall and waterfall were.

"Exploring, Lydia. I have been exploring. And rightfully so." To accent the words, the Dunmer gestured in the direction they were going. It was a relatively large artificial clearing, with a floor of chiseled tiles and an occasional bas-relief peeking out from under the hanging moss. Three columns stood by the sides of a thin pathway, with intricate carvings on each one facing inward. At the very end of the alcove was a passage blocked by multiple portculli, seemingly with no way to enter.

"It's… A dead end?" The housecarl asked, one eyebrow raised. Her Thane, however, walked onwards, patting one of the stones.

"Not quite. Look." In a swift motion, Saya swung her hand in front of the carved side of the column. Instantly, the stone's engravings lit up with a magical red glow, and a tortured noise of grinding metal was produced by the portcullis at the front of the passage as it was pulled up. Then, seconds later, it slammed back down into the stone, producing a loud clang as the chipped metal spikes collided with the floor to be damaged again. "There's a bit of a problem, though."

The loud noise shook Lydia awake, and once her mind processed the imagery in front of it, she squinted. "What's the problem?"

"It's not possible to run through. I have tried a few times already." She replied. Indeed, while she was technically supposed to be on second watch, Saya had gotten bored somewhere midway through, instead opting to explore a bit without venturing too far out. In the process, she made use of the Lunar sword she had found - but mostly the torch part of its functionality. "The only way through there is with a Shout. Probably made by the Greybeards to test newbies, I'd imagine."

"...Oh." The Nord crossed her arms, a displeased frown crossing her face. Obviously, she didn't possess the ability to shout, so she was essentially locked out of the rest of the dungeon. "What should I do, then?"

Saya's hand went to her chin, the girl humming as she was considering her options. Then, with a snap of her fingers, came a realization. "Our horses. We left them outside, right?" Lydia nodded in confirmation. "Then it might be a good idea for you to go back out and take them to Dawnstar. Here," a hand reached into the Dragonborn's pouch, scooping out a handful of golden coins, "you can rent a room and stay there until I'm back. I don't think I'll take much longer."

The housecarl took the coin, noticing that there was a lot more than enough for just a room and some food for herself and the horses. She made no comment, however. Last time she did, it turned into a rather lengthy conversation out of which none came out pleased. "Why do you think so?"

Saya turned back at the portculli, giving them a long, careful look. Then, she set one foot forward, preparing to dash as fast as she can. "Because there's never a choke point like this in a Nordic crypt unless the thing behind it is something worth desperately hiding."

The leather in Saya's boots stretched to accommodate for her sudden takeoff. As she passed each pillar, she was met with a low hum and a flash of red from behind her back. Soon, she was right in front of the portculli - which is precisely when they began to fall. Not a half-second after she passed it, the first spiked gate came falling down. With her head just below it, the second one let out a creaking noise of rust being scratched off before collapsing as well. It was then that the Shout she'd gotten quite familiar with had left her lips: "Wuld!"

As if a banished ghost disappearing, her body vanished from sight, the momentum of her sprint turning into a gale that blew between the metal bars. With the noise of the last gate crashing down into the stone came the much quieter sound of two feet landing on the stone tiles. Huffing, the Dunmer stumbled to stop herself from continuing to move forward. Her red eyes opened as a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead from the burst of exertion, scanning the room as an all-too-familiar crack emanated from the wall and another lid popped off its respective coffin. With a grunt, Saya pulled out her Lunar blade. Nap time is over, back to work.


Hopefully Lydia would be okay on her own. Though, I guess she hadn't given me any reasons to worry - she'd proven to be nothing if not reliable this whole time. I trust her to be able to get out of a cleared ruin on her own.

As for the occupied part, I'm uneasy at best and anxious at worst. The draugr are not getting up as often as they used to, and the wounds are a lot less careful now. Messy. Whoever was in front of me was getting impatient.


When the final room of Ustengrav was reached, what should have been a feeling of accomplishment was instead replaced with an almost paranoid wariness. The bridge in the middle seemed like it would fall out from under her feet, even though there was no pit to fall into. The water on the sides with its grand sculptures that were slowly rising to greet the newest Greybeard felt like white noise that was purposefully there to conceal something.

No, it's okay. Nothing is here. Just grab the horn and go.

As her fingers wrapped tighter around the handle of the longsword, Saya forced herself to exhale and continue to move. Right in front of her was a coffin. She could notice the script on its sides, repeated in different tongues: Tamrielic, Daedric, even Draconic. The text read "Jurgen the Calm" - a memorial to the person buried here. Something more appropriate to replace a gravestone.

The closer she approached, the more detail could she notice: the various inscriptions reciting the etched tablets on the way towards High Hrothgar, the carvings of dragons and men standing beside one another, roaring flames or crystal frost gushing from their bodies. The centerpiece of the scene was placed on top of the lid - a carefully, painstakingly sculpted forearm, reaching upwards, as if in celebration of victory or in offering to the sky; the veins and muscles of the limb were defined and chiseled with the finest detail, giving it the appearance as if it were not a work of art, but an actual petrified arm; the fingers were curled, holding-

-nothing.

There is no horn.

"And thus, the offering arrives to the altar of its slaughter." The words came in a husky, muffled voice, as if spoken through a mask. Saya's head jerked around, her entire form entering a battle stance. Her gleaming eyes darted around the room, searching for its source. Just barely, a blurred form could be seen by her, entering through the main chamber door, approaching the bridge she had just passed. A chameleon spell.

"The Deceiver comes of her own volition, ripe for judgement." Another voice - female, yet similarly muffled - echoing the chamber, before the sound of the doors being forced shut drowned it out. Another form, standing besides Saya's grip around her blade grew tighter, knuckles whitening under the gloves.

"Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see." A third came from above, reverberating off the stones and water. Like a chameleon unmasking, a shadow leapt off one of the statues - only barely visible thanks to the water drops sliding off its robes.

"Our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak." The fourth, whispering from behind. A transparent arm reached from behind the coffin, but swiftly withdrawing when the Dragonborn's reflexive swing produced a bright flash from the blade in her hands, revealing the outline of a leather glove.

The four silhouettes stood still once spotted, abandoning any notion of hostility in their posture, instead staring at her, unmoving, except for the very first one, who continued to approach Saya. Her gaze fixated on him, one of her hands already weaving a firebolt in preparation. The figure made no move, as if waiting for her to reply before he were to speak again.

"Who are you?" She practically hissed. The figure raised one arm, Saya's eyes latching onto the smallest distortions to see the movement, and then a snap split the room's eerie, unstable quiet. Like dust scattering, the chameleon spell faded away from all four figures, revealing them to be wearing identical outfits: dark brown robes, with black trousers and matching boots visible from underneath; gloves of tough leather, the back of the palms covered in yellow scales fashioned from chitin, trailing all the way to the shoulder on the right side; dark, long hoods obscuring the ears and hair; and lastly - bone-white masks with practically nonexistent eyeholes, fashioned with esoteric carvings and shaped in such a peculiar way, that one could not tell if it were growing horns and gnashing fangs, or if these were tentacles, hanging loosely from the bottom as if the face a sleepy netch.

The voice spoke again. "We are the bringers of a new world, Deceiver." In unison, two blades were drawn, while the fingers of the speaker, previously rubbing against one another after the snap, were now crackling with lightning.

"And you shall be the sacrifice to its new God."