Tirdas, the 16th of Hearthfire, 4E201
Life.
A small spark of magical energy, flickering within a construct of flesh and bone. A soul, we call it. So small and insignificant at a glance, and yet holding within it seemingly infinite potential. A celestial warmth, an endless capacity for growth and emotion. Precious to all but those who seek to extinguish it, fleeting as it is, and embrace the cold.
But the warmth will remain, in one way or another. When the bones of the earth will reclaim what once belonged to them, the candle-flame of life within oneself, too, will return to its home. Until then, the skies will cry in mourning and mother nature will grieve, for yet another one of her children has grown deaf to her song, listening instead to the drumming lullaby of the spanning void.
In that time, the world will continue to move, dancing to the nonsensical, psychedelic song of existence. The bright moments and the dark moments will continue to sing and weave and craft a painting of swirling, neverending grey - but concealing within it a myriad of colors, each one echoing a memento of when a part of one's soul shone the brightest. A new love. A painful loss. An overwhelming sadness. A radiant happiness. Hot or cold, the light of one's soul will shine, so long as they walk among those like them, never truly alone.
And sometimes, that light will be perceived by another.
For some, a tickle at the back of their skull. For some, a prickling sensation at the tip of their ear. For some, a wisp of light in the corner of their vision. For some, a shiver down their back.
For Saya, it was a heat in her chest. Small pink flashes fluttering in the darkness, stabbing her vision even through shut eyelids. A deer hiding off in the woods, shuddering and fleeing at the slightest sound. A thrush, sitting comfortably in her nest. Three dim, gestating sparks hidden beneath her feathers.
The rising and falling shoulders of her housecarl, sound asleep.
And then, it was as though they were all consumed. An enormous flame choking all the others out, none of them even visible behind its bright, ravenous tongues. Light pink and purple gave way to fiery orange and sky blue, wrapping like a shawl around piercing, painful, stark white. Saya's eyes shot open and she gasped, gulping down on the cold air to kill the burning ache inside. Her gaze turned upwards, and she saw that the flickering sparks she was sensing had disappeared without a trace, like forgetting a dream right after waking up. Only one weak sensation remained, a vague pull that led her away from the encampment and into the retreating night.
The Dragonborn's fingers wrapped around her blade and she followed this tugging feeling, and soon she saw the grass begin to hide beneath a thin layer of snow. The Dunmer pressed onward, pulling a hood over her head to stave off the cold. The white cover did not give way, continuing to thicken as the grass gradually vanished and Saya's steps became more and more cautious when she felt dirt give way to man-made stone stairways.
The pull was growing in strength as she ascended higher and higher. Natural rock was slowly replaced by carved granite blocks, reminiscent of ancient Nordic crypts and temples. Soon, the staircase ended, and she stood at the top of a large, elevated platform, adorned with carved pillars and an enormous curved wall, covered in dragon tongue scriptures, facing the horizon as the sun was just beginning to rise into the sky.
But the Dunmer didn't notice any of these. Her hand reached up to her mouth to stop herself from screaming in panic. Her red eyes shot wide open, darting back to the stairway before her body followed suit, and she ran away as quietly as her emotional condition allowed. By the time she was back at the camp, she was heaving with exhaustion, collapsing into her bed roll. Once the beating of her heart slowed to a more normal pace, she glared back - almost begrudgingly - towards the mountain before grabbing Lydia's shoulder and shaking her awake.
"Your shift."
Her words were met with a yawn and a murmur, something vaguely resembling a "Yes, Thane" leaving the barely-awake housecarl's lips. The Dragonborn sighed and took off her cloak, placing it beside the bed roll before crawling into the warmth of the furs inside. Faintly, she could still feel the heat pulling at her, beckoning her to go back to the mountain. She shook her head.
Before she drifted off to sleep, the last thing on her mind was the image of a dragon sleeping atop the mountain's peak.
So much for a night of sleep, huh? I could barely manage an hour or two tops, kept waking up, thinking that the fucking thing was flying overhead.
I told Lydia about what I saw when her watch was over. Understandably, her initial reaction was the same as mine this very night - run away before it notices us. I have to say that I wanted to agree, I really did. But I couldn't.
This place was just two, maybe three hours of walking from Morthal. Make that six hours, and you'll get to Dawnstar. Give it another hour, and you could probably get to Whiterun from here. On foot.
Dragons are smart creatures. They probably wouldn't risk taking on a target they can't take down. But that doesn't mean that they can't hunt civilians who stray too far from cities, or their livestock, or the occasional guard patrol. And that's not even talking about what kind of damage even one dragon could cause if that was its main objective.
It could not be left alive. That's what we decided. But on the other hand, fighting this thing head-on sounded like a very terrible idea, so we had to come up with a plan. And honestly? I'm kind of proud of it, stupid and unnecessarily risky as it is.
The snow crunched under Lydia's boots as she stepped up to the hill. Her fingers were curled tightly around both her sword and shield, partially from the cold and partially from anger and anxiety. She already knew that her Thane's plans were always ridiculous. Why she agreed to it this time, she'd never know.
But alas, it was too late for regret. The raven-haired Nord was becoming painfully aware of every little clink and creak of her armor as she approached her goal closer and closer. Soon enough, at the very corner of her vision, she could see a bit of contrast: on a background of dark grey mountain rock, chiseled black stone, and pure white snow, there glistened the scales of the dragon Saya had told her about.
This is the last time I agree to do this. Definitely.
It probably wouldn't be.
The dragon sat perched atop the word wall, wings hanging at the sides, as though trying to wrap around the monumental structure. Its body was a muted, dark shade of purple, almost bordering on grey. The thick patagium of its wings grew even darker in color, becoming a navy blue reminiscent of the color of storm clouds, but splattered with thick formless spots of snow white, creating a sort of natural camouflage. Its two horns were slick and streamlined, growing out to the sides before curling down, not unlike a ram.
Sensing Lydia's approach, the dragon opened its eyes, revealing a dark lilac iris with a sharp vertical pupil. A wolfish grin crawled onto its features. "Kril joor… Heheh." Its thick neck rose up from its relaxed position, the creature taking a more intimidating position atop its perch. "And what might you be doing here, hmm…? Strunmahhe do Keizaal los tahrodiis. The mountains of Skyrim are… dangerous. Especially for a little morsel, such as yourself."
If one didn't know any better, they would think that Lydia was staring the dragon down stoically, not answering him out of pride, or perhaps to try and establish rivalry or dominance with the beast. Really, though, she was just scared out of her damned mind and anything she tried to come up with got scrambled before she had a chance to form a proper sentence, so instead she just watched.
The dragon bared its teeth, its grin growing wider. "Nahlot. Your silence is almost… amusing." It leaned forward again, its neck stretching out. "I'll give you one chance. Turn around and leave. Then, perhaps, I will not chase you for… interrupting my rest so rudely."
But the Nord didn't move an inch. She continued staring upwards, her brows furrowing. She squinted, the light from the white clouds above stabbing her sight even against the dragon's immense silhouette. The creature's gaze narrowed, equally perplexed and aggravated at the lack of response. "Very well. Ni ru, oblaan. If you will not run, then you will die, like all of your kin."
The woman did not respond, again. Even as the dragon's jaws parted, pulling in air for an attack she knew would be devastating, she did not take a defensive stance. Instead, she lifted her shield and her weapon into the air. The beast paused, watching her in confusion, only to wince as she began to strike the pommel against the shield, banging them together and producing an obnoxiously loud noise that echoed across the mountaintops. The entire time, her gaze was fixed on something - but not the dragon before her.
No, it was the two stone pillars that towered by the word wall's sides. At the very top of those pillars were two thin stone bridges, connected to a higher point in a large stone wall that was carved into the mountainside. On one of the bridges, she could just barely see a dark shape move through, preparing. Lydia took a deep breath, and slammed her equipment together with extra force, the loud clang ringing in the dragon's eardrums as she shouted: "NOW!"
The very next moment, the shape dove from one of the pillars, paired blades of black iron and ebony glinting with the sun that poked through the cloudy sky. An air-splitting hiss grated the ears before it suddenly cut off, replaced with a wet squelch of metal sinking into flesh. The dragon released a guttural, agonized shriek, swinging its head around wildly to shake off the attacker. With nothing but her own weapons to hold onto, Saya was violently thrown into one of the nearby pillars as soon as her blood-greased blades slid out of the wounds.
"THANE!" Lydia cried out, rushing towards her and dropping her equipment to catch the Dunmer into her arms. The housecarl grunted, her arms stinging from the impact, but her mind ignoring the pain as she looked at Saya, her expression screaming worry. The Dragonborn coughed a few times, opening her eyes and glaring at the frenzied dragon briefly before reaching out and putting a hand on Lydia's shoulder.
"...'m fine, I'm alright," she said, patting the housecarl reassuringly. The Dragonborn sought to get on her own two feet as soon as she could, shaking off the dizziness and readying herself. Her eyes locked on the dragon, and she couldn't help but inwardly celebrate. Where its lilac eyes were before, now there were only two red pits spraying blood.
Saya quickly snaked to the other side of the pillar, sheathing her sword. After considering her previous encounters with dragons, she already knew that she had no chance of overpowering one in direct confrontation. She would need to prioritize speed and maneuverability, things that something this big would lack, and abuse its weak spots with quick jabs from the dagger rather than try to single-mindedly cleave through the scales.
She peeked out, seeing that Lydia followed her example and took cover behind the word wall after grabbing her weapons off the floor. A brief glance around the pillar's other side showed that the dragon was snorting and growling, as though trying to sniff them out. The initial pain seemed to have passed, leaving in its wake only a lingering sense of absolute rage as the beast scowled, slowly turning side to side. Just as its neck finally moved to face the direction Saya was in, it was met with a blazing hot fireball flying straight for its snout, exploding violently and scorching the bleeding eyeholes. The dragon howled in yet another wave of pain, falling off its perch atop the word wall and flailing its wings and tail wildly.
Saya's hands became engulfed in fire yet again, setting two more unstable spheres of flaming magicka in the creature's direction, yet the heat broke against its scales with no harm done. The Dunmer bit her lip, considering her options, but before she could come up with anything the enormous thing before her flipped over, scrambling onto its legs and spreading its wings for a hasty takeoff. Lydia didn't need a signal to ready her bow, sending a series of arrows after it. Most of the projectiles bounced off relatively harmlessly, but a few lucky ones managed to get stuck between the hardened scales, drawing yet more blood and noise from the dragon.
"We need to bring this thing down!"
"I'm working on it!" Saya responded, loosing yet another fireball off into the distant flying foe. The projectile initially whiffed, but the Dunmer quickly reacted by clenching her fist. Her hand flashed, and the next moment the fireball exploded anyway, releasing a blast of magical fire that singed the dragon's bleeding wounds. The creature tossed and turned in the air, not knowing where to flee when the damage came from all sides.
But then, she made a mistake.
"YOL!" The Dunmer's breath morphed into a blast of draconic flame, striking the dragon's right wing and scorching it black, almost revealing the bones beneath. She almost allowed herself a victorious smile before she noticed the beast's eyeless gaze suddenly focus on her before the dragon turned itself around and lunged forward, flying straight towards her.
"WATCH OUT!" Lydia screamed, dashing in front of Saya and pushing her back, putting up her shield. The dragon crashed onto the floor, its nails digging into the hard stone as its jaws parted wide and then snapped ferociously around the housecarl's defense. The housecarl barely had a moment's notice before her arm got grabbed by her Thane and she released the shield's handle mere milliseconds prior to the wood being shattered into splinters while the metal was crunched into pitiful scrap.
"Right back at you," Saya quipped. She flipped her dagger around, dragging the blade across the side of her opponent's face and cutting into its cheek. Blood sprayed forth from the severed muscles, splattering onto Saya when she grabbed the handle with both hands and twisted. A wet snapping noise resounded at the rapid motion, and all of a sudden the right half of its jaw sagged, hanging down pathetically as yet another pitiful, desperate pained growl rumbled from its throat at the dislocated jaw.
…which it followed up with a powerful headbutt, ramming its snout right into Saya's abdomen. The headbutt's force knocked the lithe Dragonborn straight off her feet. After a few solid seconds of air time, she came crashing down into the ground, tumbling through the snow and dirt. She erupted into a violent cough, struggling to inhale as she spat blood and saliva alike onto the snow. Her vision was hazy, a mess of colors blurred by the tears welling up from the pain. She blinked several times before she could register the silhouette of the dragon's open jaws aimed at her, ravenously sucking in the air around itself. All in preparation for a final Shout to end her, if not save itself.
She lifted a shaking arm and whispered the incantation for a fireball, hoping to feed it some fire as well. But instead, the spell fizzled out, creating only a small plume of smoke. Her eyes shot open in shock. She tried again and again and again, yet there was nothing. Only an all-too-familiar sensation of emptiness in her stomach.
The beast's jaws snapped shut for the briefest instant before its throat began to contract. She could see its neck visibly expanding as the air was pushed out of its lungs in a thundering roar that echoed through the mountains: "FO KRAH DIIN!" Saya lifted both arms before her in a vain attempt to protect herself and closed her eyes.
However, she felt nothing. The pure white tempest of frost was still flooding towards her, hoarfrost covered the stone and snow turned to ice, crystallizing into spikes along the area of impact. And yet, she didn't so much as feel the slightest nip of cold. On the contrary, she felt oddly… Warm. As if an unnatural heat was beginning to quickly well up inside her. Beads of sweat were rolling down her forehead. The Dragonborn reached up, wiping her face with the back of her hand, only to recoil as she was zapped by her own touch. There was a tingling sensation coursing at the tips of her nerves, and even at a glance she could see her veins… glowing. The ache inside her was beginning to well up, increasing with every second the frost continued trying to assail her body, but breaking against some bizarre invisible barrier that rippled mere inches away from her skin.
Through ringing ears she could distantly hear Lydia's battlecry. The ground under Saya quaked as the dragon roared again and slammed its tail down. The Dragonborn winced, feeling as though the vibration had shaken through the earth only to then pass through her very body, and she felt a pressure beginning to build up inside her. She tried to inhale but her nostrils were blocked, and she broke out in a violent cough. Her eyes were tearing up, leaving her blind to the blood dripping from her nose and onto the snow.
"Watch out!" The Dragonborn struggled to raise her head at the cry. From all the way by the word wall, Lydia was screaming, clutching one of her arms. Her hazy vision moved to the left, seeing the dragon turn towards her after sniffing the air. It used its wings as front legs, walking towards her as the weight of its mangled body forced the claws into the floor deep enough to leave deep scratches in the solid stone.
Her heart started beating faster. As if shaken awake by the panic, she fell back and raised her arm. Speaking the mantra out loud, she felt the heat of a fireball form at her left palm, the prior feeling of emptiness gone without a trace. Another wave of pain gripped her as magicka continued to flow through her arm, not so much a controlled stream, but more like a violent, flooding river. The heat was growing so intense that the ice around her was beginning to melt, but they showed no signs of stopping. The flames continued to grow larger and hotter, so bright that she could barely see the dragon's jaws open, dripping spit, bile, and blood from its teeth.
And then, one small crackle caused everything to boil over. Magicka leaked from her fingertips, bolts of lightning flashing within the swirling fireball, turning it from red flame into pure white. Its spherical form was lost, becoming an amorphous shape of energy before violently exploding.
Agony grasped both of them. The force of the explosion pushed Saya back, sending her tumbling, while the dragon's already drooping jaw was ripped clean off. All-consuming fire grasped both of them and the dragon shrieked, thrashing about and slamming its body into the ground in a desperate attempt to extinguish itself as its skull and throat burned from the inside into a charred black.
Lydia stared at this with a mixture of awe and deep, soul-gripping terror. Leaning on her elbow, the Nord cursed as the ache in her left arm made itself known. She spared a moment to consider the limb possibly being broken, but quickly discarded the thought, forcing herself onto her feet while clutching her ebony sword. While the dragon had already collapsed, small twitches could still be seen as its muscles continued to seize.
The housecarl approached the dragon's head, wincing at the sight of it. Its right eye was mangled to pieces, the flesh around it burnt to a dark red. The left eye was blown out completely, hanging outside of the skull by the blackened blood vessels. The scorched tongue rolled out onto the snow, the beast's jawbone lying on the floor in a pool of bubbling blood that continued to squirt out of its throat. Her fingers wrapped tighter around her sword's handle and she stabbed it through the creature's eyehole, twisting the blade multiple times. When the muscular twitches ceased at last, she sighed with relief.
"...I think it's finally dead. Should we rest first, or are you going to absorb its-" Lydia asked, turning to look where Saya previously was. However, there was nothing there. "Thane?" The housecarl called out in confusion, walking over to the spot where she had last seen the Dunmer and looking around. Seconds later, with a shocked gasp, Lydia quickly ran down the stairs, completely forgetting about the dragon corpse behind her.
At the bottom of the stairs lay an unconscious Saya, the snow around her rapidly turning red.
"Sleep well?"
The words sank into Saya's mind like a stone into mud - slowly, gradually, and very very reluctantly. Her head felt like it was split into a thousand pieces, and every damn piece was hellbent on giving her the worst headache possible. She tried lifting her arm to rub her forehead and immediately felt a jolt of pain, like a spike of electricity running across every inch of her nerves. A pained gasp left her lips and her body tensed, only for a wave of pleasant warmth to wash over her, dulling the sensation until it was nothing more than an uncomfortable buzz in the back of her mind.
Her eyes slowly opened. She did not recognize her surroundings. From what she could tell, it was just another small wooden house, the likes of which Skyrim was filled to the brim with. Stuffed animal heads decorated the walls, and in the corner stood a lone arcane enchanter. The shelves above it were lined with small vials, bottles, and other such containers. Doubtless, the owner was a mage.
"Where…?" Saya asked, and immediately broke into a cough. In response, the warmth moved upwards, drifting from her chest and towards her neck. Once more, the itching sensation prodding at the back of her throat was drowned out by an ethereal warmth - healing magic, she gathered. In the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark blue sleeve leading towards her neck. Her gaze moved up, following the loose cloth of the robes until she saw the owner's face. It was a kind-looking Redguard man, middle-aged if she had to guess. Now that she thought about it, she recognized the face. "You're…"
"Falion," he finished for her. Right, Falion. So she was in Morthal, after all. Must've fallen unconscious after the dragon… Wait. Then what about- "Your friend brought you here a couple of hours ago. She's out doing some shopping for me, she should be back soon."
Saya visibly relaxed after hearing that information, letting herself sink into the bed a little more. She still felt fairly dizzy, like she wasn't quite all there yet. The little sparks of pain continued to nip at her fingertips, but she did her best to ignore them. "How is she?"
Falion paused for a moment, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "You have some nerve, worrying about someone else in your state." Saya gave him a nasty look and he chuckled, waving her off. "She's fine. A couple of light scrapes here, a bruise there, she'll walk it off in a week. Can you sit?"
The sudden question caught Saya a bit off-guard, but she nodded. Lifting herself off the bed proved to be more difficult than she initially anticipated, though she did succeed. If she didn't know any better, she'd think her ribs were trying to kill her. Or, well, kill her faster. Thankfully, the pain eased up as Falion moved behind her, his hands giving off the familiar restorative glow. She took a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to relax and steady her nerves before opening her eyes.
That was when she caught a glimpse of her arms. Her hands were completely wrapped in bandages, though the few bits of flesh she could see were darkened and scorched. She almost didn't recognize them as her own fingers, initially. She flexed her fingers a couple of times, and swallowed nervously upon realizing that she could barely feel them. Her eyes drifted further down, where the bandages ended, and she saw the burn scars interlaced with… something. Dark lines unlike anything she'd seen before, running all across her skin - no, under her skin - in a pattern that gave her an awkward sense of deja vu she couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Finally noticed them, have you?" Falion said over her shoulder.
She did not respond immediately. Instead, she followed these black marks with her eyes. The way they stretched up to her shoulder and around, weaving under her every muscle. The further away from her extremities they were, the denser the pattern seemed to become. This continued all the way up to her chest, where they seemed to gradually vanish as they moved closer and closer to the heart. She frowned.
"What are they?" She asked him. She still felt that tickle at the back of her throat, daring her to start coughing again, but she pushed it down to the best of her ability.
"Those are what would've gotten you killed, if not for your friend," he replied vaguely. Then, she slowly felt the warm in her back vanish as the mage backed off and got up from his stool. He walked over to a nearby shelf, browsing its contents briskly before picking out a vial and handing it to her. "Drink this. It should help with the pain." The Dunmer obeyed the instruction, though she didn't take her eyes off him. Then, the flavor hit her and she stuck out her tongue, coughing yet again. Falion laughed softly, rolling his eyes. True to his word though, Saya felt her headache begin to slowly back down and her thoughts clear up. "Better?"
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You still haven't answered my question."
Falion sighed, sitting down once again. Stubborn, this one. He was starting to understand how someone like her could get injuries like these. "I should be the one asking you questions, you know. Your injuries are not normal. You should thank your friend when she's back, she was smart to bring you to me. Nobody else would've known how to treat you."
Her eyes lingered on him for a few moments longer before she sighed as well, shaking her head. "I had a feeling. I'm guessing I owe you something now?"
The corner of Falion's mouth curled into a smirk. "That would be awfully charitable of you. Though your friend is already covering part of it. I was just starting to run short on some reagents," he said lightheartedly. Then immediately, his tone dropped and grew more serious. "I take it you're a mage."
That change of tone seemingly caught her interest. She turned to him, nodding. "I dabble. Why?"
He lifted one of his hands, pointing towards her forearm. She looked down, and saw that he was touching one of the black marks. She didn't even feel it. "Those," he tapped her arm, "are your magicka channels. They are the currents along which energy travels through your body whenever you cast a spell. I've mended them to the best of my ability, but…" He trailed off. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a while, before he spoke up again. "What happened to you?"
"We were fighting a dragon," she began. Her expression soured the moment she opened her mouth. She could still taste the potion on her tongue every time she inhaled. "We were at Skyborn Altar, a bit south of here. It was going fine until we got the bloody thing to land."
Falion seemed notably more interested at the mention of the dragon, moving a bit closer. "It attacked you, I presume?"
"You could put it that way." Saya chuckled grimly. "The way that thing opened its jaw, I half-expected it to just swallow me whole. Instead, I got a front-row seat to what the inside of a dragon's frost breath looks like." Her sardonic smile slowly disappeared as she looked at her arms again. She pursed her lips, took a breath, and continued. "...I didn't feel it. The frost breath, I mean. For a few seconds, it felt like I was in a bubble. Somewhere where nothing could reach me. And then I felt… full."
"Full?" The man echoed her words, cocking his head quizzically. "How do you mean?"
"I tried to cast a spell, just before it happened." She lifted one of her hands, clenching it into a fist. Her brows furrowed and a quiet curse dropped from her lips. Her fingers wouldn't curl all the way. "I ran out. Of magicka, I mean. For just a moment, I felt so… empty. And then the dragon attacked me and…" She sighed, relaxing her hand and leaning back. Her head fell into the soft pillow, and she stared blankly at the ceiling. She felt filthy. The stink of her own sweat and blood on the pillow didn't help. "...all of a sudden, I felt… full. It was like I spent a whole day in the desert before someone forced me to drink a whole bucket of water in one go. And even though I couldn't drink any more, it just kept going and going and..." She closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling. "It… burned. The most awful, burning pain you can imagine, right in the center of my chest."
Falion listened to her patiently, nodding as he did. The more she said, the clearer the image in his head became, but he said nothing for now. "And the burns?"
"I said it burned, didn't I?" She glanced over at him, her eyes only half-open. She gave a weak smile. "Felt like hell. I couldn't even touch my own face without feeling like I just got hit by lightning." Falion internally questioned how she knew how that felt, but decided not to voice the thought. "So I figured, might as well put all that to good use. Little known fact about dragons is that they're not nearly as flame-resistant on the inside as they are on the outside. So I tried to make good on that, conjured up this big fireball… and then I lost control, almost immediately. Next thing I know, the whole thing goes 'boom', I get blasted off a set of stairs, and…" She gestured around herself. "Well, here I am."
By the end of her story, Falion was very visibly intrigued. Stroking his chin in thought, he hummed at all the different possibilities swirling about in his head. "That… is bizarre," he said, slowly. Multiple possibilities were swirling about in the Redguard's head, though none of them quite made sense.
"Any ideas?" Falion turned to her sharply, snapped out of his thoughts. "On what this could be, I mean."
He paused for a moment before responding. "I've seen similar things happen before in my experiments, yes. Though… with a small difference." Saya tilted her head to the side, giving him a curious look. He could read the unspoken question in her expression and sighed. "What you're describing is very similar to magicka overcharge. It's a common novice mistake in more complex rituals. It happens when too much magicka is poured into an inanimate object that is supposed to serve as the spell's focus. The energy is too much for the object to handle, and…" He gestured in a way that mimed an explosion in his hands.
Saya's eyes widened ever so slightly. "...oh."
He nodded. "The reason why this usually doesn't happen with living creatures is precisely because we're living." He gestured to his own arm, small magical lights appearing above his hand as he spoke. "Every single body has a certain capacitance, allowing it to safely store magicka for spellcasting, even if the person in question has no actual talent for it. Normally, all living beings absorb magicka from their surroundings passively, though the rate of absorption differs depending on the individual and the species. Something like an atronach could probably absorb magicka much better than a mortal, since they don't have the restrictions of our biology. As for us, our natural magicka reserves determine the upper limit of how much energy our bodies can hold, not allowing us to store any more… in most cases."
Saya felt like she had a lump in her throat. Her expression remained neutral, but Falion could see the tension in her lips and the way her hands grasped the sheets. She opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it again. Took a long, deep breath. Then, she finally spoke. "...is this permanent?"
Falion stood up from his seat, stretching his neck a bit. "Well, I did say you're fortunate that your companion brought you to me, didn't I?" He gave her a small, reassuring smile. Saya watched him walk closer to her and pick up some of the surgical tools he had lying around and carry them around the room, cleaning them up and putting them away. "I'll give it to you straight, you can't cast spells right now. Not without severe harm to yourself. I stabilized you to the best of my ability, so for the time being, you won't get worse. That said, it'll still take a few months before you can make a full recovery." He closed a chest on his floor and then turned to her. "What I'd worry about more is your ability to gather magicka at all. The way you described it, whatever happened to you made your body absorb all that energy the dragon was releasing, and that's where you started hurting. That means the damage was dealt on the way in, not on the way out."
At that, Saya hummed thoughtfully. A lot of things were running through her mind at that moment. Not being able to cast spells was definitely a large setback, but not as major as the damage done to her hands. And if she couldn't hold a weapon… Well, no use thinking about that right now. She'd deal with it whenever it became relevant. "So… what should I do?"
"For now? I recommend you rest." He huffed as he sat down behind his desk in a far-off corner of the room, scribbling something down into some kind of journal. "Ideally, you should stay in bed for the better part of the next two weeks. Though from experience, you adventuring folk rarely listen to that part, don't you?"
She laughed softly at his comment and turned over, lying down onto her side and closing her eyes. She slid one of her hands under the pillow, the same way she usually slept. It took her a few seconds to realize why she didn't feel it. Somehow, she felt both sensitive and completely numb at the same time. She could discern every single scent that touched her nostrils, every single motion that Falion's quill made on the blank pages, every whistle of the wind as it picked up outside the door. And yet her mind refused her information about her own body. She wondered what Lydia would think when she'd learn of it.
Though now that she thought about it, Falion probably told Lydia first, didn't he?
Well, there was no use thinking about it now. The Dragonborn exhaled softly once more, getting comfortable with the pillow she was lying on. Now that her eyes were closed, she was gradually beginning to feel her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Her mind cleared - or perhaps, grew more foggy as she ran the conversation through her mind over and over again. Slowly, she drifted off to unconsciousness…
Something like an atronach could probably absorb magicka much better than a mortal.
The last thing she remembered picturing in her mind was a lone, carved stone standing upon a hill in the middle of the night.
Lydia was back by the time I woke up. Actually, I think her closing the door is what woke me up in the first place. Alongside the massive bag of reagents Falion requested, she also brought me a new, clean outfit from a local clothier, which she promptly put on my bed before turning away. Honestly, I didn't even register that I was naked until she did that. I mean, one does not exactly examine life-threatening wounds through two layers of clothes and armor over the top, right?
Regardless, my old clothes were apparently fucked up beyond any repair via a mix of cutting, tearing, burning, and being soaked with dirt and blood like the rag of an arena janitor, so she took the liberty of using some of my money to buy a replacement. She tried to apologize for the money, but I told her not to sweat it. I'm glad she's getting comfortable enough to show initiative, and besides, it doesn't look half bad either. When the conversation got to other gear, though, she said that she had to leave our backpacks behind in the dead drop we set up before fighting the dragon, otherwise she wouldn't be able to carry me all the way here.
She also made me drink the biggest healing potion I had on me, which explains the persisting bitter taste in my mouth. Absolutely vile, those things. I swear, if there was ever a cook who'd invent a way to make potions while making them taste like some kind of juice or broth, he'd be filthy rich.
While I got geared up, Falion used the time to brew me another dose of that pain-killer he gave me earlier. He said I shouldn't drink it if I don't have to, but if all else fails it would work in an emergency and help me focus a bit more. Smells even worse than last time.
Regardless, I paid for his help (which is leaving my pockets feeling quite light) and rented a room at the local inn so that we could stay the night. Tomorrow, I think we'll check out the ruin south of here. Labyrinthian, I think it's called? It's pretty large and I've heard things about it, but besides hiking up and through the mountains this seems to be the most direct way to get to Whiterun from here.
We'll just scout it out and see if there's anything interesting, and then get back up to Skyborn Altar. Hopefully the dragon corpse doesn't rot too much, though I don't think it even could with how cold it is up there. Also, getting our maps, potions, and rations back would be nice. Wouldn't want some wanderer getting their hands on them before we do.
Middas, the 17th of Hearthfire, 4E201
I can't say that I thought Labyrinthian would be smaller, but I didn't think the fucking thing would be THIS big. Like, what the hell - this "ruin" is like an entire city! There's so many buildings here, and a lot of them are still intact, too! B'set, if I had the time I'd explore every nook and cranny of this place, but I have a feeling that its "denizens" wouldn't take too kindly to that.
For now, I guess all we can really do is a small sweep on the ground level. Diving underground will come later. I will say though - that big fuckoff metal door is very intriguing. Definitely cracking that one open someday.
A snowy valley opened up between the mountains of southern Hjaalmarch. Grey cliffsides gave way to stark white hills and arches of monumental size, adorned with draconic imagery. The ancient city of Bromjunaar stretched across the landscape, its sturdiness betraying its age. The durable masonry prevented the degradation of the settlement into disorderly ruins, instead adopting the visage of an abandoned, weary ghost town. All of the inhabitants had moved on long ago. Now, the only life here was the occasional mountain goat that managed to evade the pursuit of a wolf only to be caught by a gargantuan snow troll and devoured alive.
A corpse of one such troll now lay at Saya's feet. As she pulled Stormblade out from the body, she once again lamented the absence of her gear, wishing she had some kind of cloth or handkerchief on hand to wipe the weapon of the viscous blood and fat. Sighing, the Dunmer knelt down to clean it off with the troll's fur. Normally she would pause to collect some of the fat in a jar for later sale, but her interest was aimed elsewhere at the moment.
The object of her attention was a relatively small, dome-shaped building in the center of this ancient city. She waited for Lydia to catch up before the two stood by the door, side by side. Then, the housecarl quietly counted to three, and the pair kicked in the doors violently, blades at the ready. Thankfully, a quick inspection revealed the building to be free of any inhabitants, and so both women continued inside, looping around to find a locked metal door at the back. Curiously, the lock was much, much newer than the door - placed in the last few decades at least, which was nothing compared to the millenia-old building itself.
Thankfully, as the lock was foreign, it was not as soundly attached as it would've been were it part of the original construction. A couple solid kicks in just the right spot had the rusted thing busted in less than a minute, and the doors swung open with a pathetic creak.
It was a wide circular room, decorated with all manners of masterfully crafted rugs and flags adorned with artful depictions of a stylized dragon. By the walls stood eight stone chairs, each one following a similar general template but ultimately customized with colored cloths, carvings in old draconic, and crevices that very obviously housed gemstones - at least, before they were stolen by a passing adventurer looking for a quick cash grab. More importantly, in the far end of the room there was a large, complex stone pedestal. The triangular slab of stone gained progressively more intricate carvings as Saya's gaze wandered closer and closer to the top. At that point, the simple geometric form was completely discarded, transforming into a series of pristinely carved busts with stone cloaks and cowls covering faceless heads. There were eight of them, matching the number of seats, and they were arranged in a descending, stair-like manner, moving away from the center where a big carved dragon head was placed.
The Dragonborn approached this pedestal, inspecting it with a curious eye. When she reached to touch it, she suddenly heard a crack under her foot. Her eyes drifted down, and she reflexively kicked away what appeared to be an ancient, dessicated skeleton covered by a layer of snow. With the sense of a duty fulfilled, she turned back to the pedestal only to whip around in the direction of where she kicked the skeleton to, her ears catching an unexpected noise somewhere in the far off corner of the room.
When Saya walked up closer to inspect it, she found a small wooden object that seemed to be some kind of ritual mask. She took it in her hands, examining it closely. Visually it was a relatively simple design, featuring two small horizontal eyeholes - not unlike a closed helmet - and the design was distinctly old Nordic, perhaps even Atmoran. It seemed to be carved out of mahogany, giving it a nice, orange-tinted dark brown color. The surface was smooth, showing that the thing was carefully polished and covered in some kind of resin or oil to give it a shiny finish. However, the smoothness was almost suspicious - despite the mask being here for seemingly thousands of years, it didn't have a single nick or scratch on it. On top of that, this polished glint was accompanied by a second, different one, and it didn't take a woodworker to realize it was unnatural. Indeed, if Saya were to focus her gaze on it, the material gave off a faint orange glow, and it made the edges of the item feel almost… blurred.
"This thing definitely has something going on with it. I'm not sure what, though." Saya turned around, lifting the mask up in the air and showing it to Lydia. "Some kind of enchantment, I think."
"I believe I might know what," the housecarl responded from the other end of the room. She approached Saya, handing her a tattered piece of paper. "You should read this."
The Dragonborn raised an eyebrow, her gaze moving down to the note.
It seemed like an easy enough job. Groz and me done plenty like it before. Some chinless Breton wants bodyguards for a trip into the mountains. Fine. Easy clink for us.
He goes on about this twice-forsaken mask of his the whole way, of course. Got a pretty good laugh when Groz snatched it and put it on her face - he threatened to fire us for that one. Not smart out here on your own, he realized that right fast and shut up about not paying.
So we get here, he thumbs through some papers and mutters to himself - never you mind that me and Groz had to cut through ten stinking trolls just to get him here - and without so much as a warning, poof. He's put on that mask and vanished. Could have put my hands on his throat one moment, the next he's not so much as thin air.
Well, after a while we didn't know what to do, and Groz picks her gear up to head home, when he poofs back, that mask in his hand. Begs us not to leave, says he needs us to wait, this is what he's paying us for. Then puts the mask back on his sorry face and he's gone again. I'd seen cloaks do invisibility before, but a few swings of my fist proved he wasn't pulling that one. Nothing there to hit.
He shows up again, tells us he just needs more time. Has to figure out something about other masks, and vanishes again. That was yesterday, and I'm done with twiddling my thumbs and writing letters to myself. We're leaving come sunrise, and if he shows up again I promise Azura I'm putting this dagger through his chest to keep him in one place. We'll pull more loot off him dead than he could have paid alive. But not the mask. That cursed thing can stay and rot with him and the trolls right here.
Saya slowly lifted her gaze off the note, looking Lydia straight in the eye. The housecarl maintained a stone-faced expression, staring back at her Thane as one normally would at a pet that's about to misbehave. Without breaking eye contact, Saya put the note back into the Nord's hand and lifted the wooden mask.
"I'm putting this on," she said.
The housecarl squinted, her look slowly evolving into a glare that seemed to drill at the Dragonborn's divine soul - to no avail. After a long few seconds of silence, the black-haired girl sighed, her shoulders drooping. "Of course you are."
With a smug smirk on her face, the Dragonborn spun around and waved back at Lydia. "Catch you on the other side," she purred and promptly donned the accessory. Her eyes closed, and her hearing was drowned in a quiet, yet persistent hum. It was undulating in volume, ranging from a barely audible noise to a deafening ringing in the ears, resonating with itself and swinging from one end to another like a pendulum.
Then, eventually, it settled down, returning to a quiet, barely noticeable thrum. The Dunmer opened her eyes, and the sight before her was… perplexing, to say the least. She found herself in the same room, but the colors were more vibrant. The slightest of cracks in masonry were gone, not a single cobweb stared back at her from the darker corners of the room, and the decorative cloths on the walls were devoid of any damage, looking as good as new to the smallest strand of fabric. Saya turned around, her attention turning to the thrones she saw earlier. Her eyes almost sparkled when she saw jewels of immense size - rubies, sapphires, emeralds, garnets, opals, even diamonds and pearls were used for decoration of these lavish seats.
Rational thought took a backseat as she reached out for one of the crevices, grabbing the gem in it with her hand. And yet, the reality check soon followed. Her hand phased right through the chair, as though it wasn't even there, and the Dragonborn took an effort to stop herself from falling, stumbling forward and just barely managing to regain her balance. It was only now that she thought to inspect herself rather than the rest of the room, and the surprise that followed overwhelmed any sense of curiosity from before. Her own hands seemed to be transparent and faint, the edges of her body blurring and glowing with the same faint orange light the Wooden Mask emitted. It was as though she was made out of vapor, with thin streaks of unknown aetherial matter flowing outward, like smoke rising from burnt kindling.
And, now that she could see them, it looked as though these faint threads were being pulled towards something. Saya's head turned back to the pedestal, and now she could see that, of all things, it looked the most clean, the most definite of them all. It was like looking at a painting with background out of focus, where only the main object was painted with sharp lines and distinct features. She stepped closer towards it and placed her hand on the carved visage of a dragon, her fingers trailing along its features. She could touch it. Feel it. It was as though this pedestal was pulling her in, beckoning to discover its purpose. The touch of her fingertips grew, her entire palm placed unto the snout of the stone replica, and she felt an uncomfortable lightness disappear from her body. A certain weight returned to her, as though anchoring her to this place- no, to this time.
Suddenly, she shook her head. As though waking from a half-dreaming daze, she came to her senses, stepping back from the pedestal. Her gaze darted back at the entrance. The Dragonborn whipped around, hastily walking towards the door and reaching out to push it open only to phase straight through it. An unexpected headache gripped her brain. The hum returned, intensifying and bouncing around her skull, pressing it together and tearing it apart at the same time. She kept walking around the circular dome, finding the exit and leaving with utmost haste. Then, her eyes were stabbed by a flash of light. Through blurry, squinting vision she could see a glimpse of green grass, of people walking around, of a dark shadow flying by and landing with a greeting, almost welcoming roar directed somewhere away from her.
And yet, brief as it was, even this glimpse was stolen away from her as tears filled her eyes, her ears threatening to burst and her brain trembling within its thought-box. Her nails dug into the wood as she gripped the mask and closed her eyes, screaming out as she ripped it off her face and collapsed onto her knees. She felt her hands touch the snow on the ground, heaving and coughing as she fought to regain control of her breathing. She heard Lydia slam open the shoddy wooden doors, rushing out to help her.
In front of her, the wooden mask laid on the snowy path, not a single scratch on it.
So let's do a little roll call.
Ancient city full of buildings that haven't collapsed despite being around for thousands of years? Check.
A big labyrinth that I am NOT entering build by fuck-knows-what and is probably a trap in which dozens of adventures found themselves dead? Check.
A weird mask made out of wood that somehow hasn't rotted and can make you time travel? Triple gods-damn-it check.
What the hell is this place? No, seriously. This is a legitimate question, even though I know that just because I wrote it down in my journal I won't magically get an answer. But gods, do I wish I would. I went from "cool ruin" to "ancient ghost town" to "time travel" in the span of like an hour, I need a BREAK from all of this shit.
One thing I did not let Lydia do is take away the mask from me. This thing is really weird and potentially dangerous, so I'd rather keep it on my person. Also Three knows what'd happen if she'd try to put it on.
Actually, so do I. When we got far enough from Labyrinthian, putting on the mask doesn't do anything. The hum isn't there anymore and it's just a regular mask. I wonder what the condition is for it to work, but I also really don't feel like having that kind of sensory experience again.
Either way, there's more pressing matters at hand. The sun is setting and it's already been one day. I don't want to have our stuff lost or stolen, so we'll pick up the pace. Hopefully by the time the moons are out, we'll already be there.
It was when the snow's hue had begun to shift that Saya and Lydia knew they arrived at the right place. The dark red mixed with stark white, coating the ground with a layer of crimson ice. The dragon's corpse was pretty much the same as the two left it, barring the dried and frozen blood on all of its wounds. The Dunmer picked up her dagger off the floor, brushing off the viscous blood and then taking it by the blade, offering it to her housecarl.
"Think you can find some good scaled chunks and pry them off?"
The Nord shrugged, making a face. "I could try, I suppose." She took the weapon, approaching the carcass and carving into it.
"Go for the back, legs, and tail. Those are the thickest from what I've noticed," Saya advised, getting a thumbs up in response. Once her companion was finally preoccupied, she then turned her attention to the word wall. Again her vision scoured across the script and she felt it with her hands, as though it'd help her understand the words. But alas, even if some symbols were familiar - perhaps even readable, at times - the wall's message remained a mystery for her.
Barring, of course, the one word that called to her. Like all the other times, she could feel a faint whisper, almost like a chant, beckoning her to one of the words. She squinted, connecting what she was seeing to the memories of Mirmulnir's and Sahloknir's vocabulary.
"Fo," she muttered. A flash of cold gripped her nerves, traveling from her fingertips, through her limbs, and into her torso. She slowly inhaled, held her breath, and then exhaled just as slowly. She recognized the word. It was the one that the dragons used to create streams of frost, like a self-contained ice storm.
"Did you say something?"
Saya turned around, snickering. "Yeah, just talking to myself. Don't worry about it." She approached the dragon carcass, just in time to see Lydia pry off what looked like a solid sheet of scaly dragon leather off a thicker section of its tail. She winced slightly. So much blood. "How's it? Not too bad?"
"There's a lot of it that's burnt and covered in cuts. I don't think there's really much to salvage here, and if there is," the housecarl pointed up into the sky, "then we don't have the time to do a thorough inspection. You might want to do your thing now and then work on getting back our packs and setting up camp."
"Fair enough. Think you can carry this thing?" The Dunmer glanced at the thick scales, glistening with blood.
Lydia folded the leather up like a sheet of cloth, taking it under her arm. "I'll manage."
The Dragonborn nodded. "Time to dig in, then." Her housecarl's eye roll didn't go unnoticed, prompting a self-satisfied smirk. Nevertheless, Saya adopted a more serious expression once she looked at the massive body before her. She did her best to empty her mind, focusing only on what was in front of her, and searching. Searching for its heat, the energy she sensed during her meditation. Something to latch into. Something to feast upon.
Warm yellow light began to emit from the corpse as flesh began to burn like parchment. Saya opened her arms and closed her eyes, as though welcoming it. The skin and organs dissipated, revealing only ivory bones covered in pulsing, shimmering energy. She gasped involuntarily as she felt the soul reach out towards her, light pouring into her like an unstoppable torrent and then germinating within, fusing with her own.
She focused on the word she heard before, the word that called her to the wall. Saya hissed. An infectious frostbite started nibbling at her fingers, an agonizing sensation of numbness and pain mixing within, dulling and strengthening one another. Feeling was leaving her, her limbs refusing to move and her lungs denying her air as her heart began to pump faster and harder, responding to a phantom sensation. Her teeth were chattering, the noise filling her ears as she shakily looked down. Her hand was covered in a thin white layer of frost.
Fo. And all of a sudden, she was back to normal, as though nothing happened. The memory finally settled down within her mind, and the understanding - with it. "Alright…" She sighed after a moment. "Guess that's-"
The words got stuck in her throat as she felt something push down on the insides of her torso. It was a pressure building up, not unlike what she experienced before collapsing into unconsciousness, but this time it was less… threatening. It was like soaking into hot water, but rather than start from the feet, she was plunged into it head first. Slowly sinking into it, the warmth enveloped her from the inside, continuing to pulse with every heartbeat.
And then, she felt it all release in a wave. It passed through her entire body, leaving a lingering sensation of warmth starting from the depths of her lungs to her muscles to her skin to every hair, every nerve, every capillary within her. She moved a hand to her chest, slowing down her breathing to come down from the sudden rush of sensation.
She felt… full.
Instantly, her eyes shot wide open in recognition and she looked at her hands, mouth open in shock. It… it was gone. They were gone. The burns, the scars, the black lines - it was all gone. Ignoring the temperatures around her, the Dunmer pulled up her shirt, inspecting her skin and failing to contain the bewildered glee at the complete absence of scars and marks. Even the small bumps and bruises today have vanished without a trace.
"LYDIA, LOOK-" with those words, the Dragonborn promptly turned around and chased after her housecarl into the cold.
With full confidence I can now say that everything we hid away was safe and sound (sans the backpacks themselves - soaked like a dishrag, they are). Ahh, loot, sweet loot. How I missed you. Never shall I ever let you go.
Until I do. Inevitably and regrettably.
Anyway, we set up tents. I never did end up asking about a weather Shout, though even then who knows how long it'd last? Would've probably started snowing in the second half of the night either way. Once we're up, though, I'm thinking we should make a stop at Whiterun, at least. Selling off all this good stuff, stocking up. Oh, and I should probably do something about that dagger, shouldn't I.
Turdas, the 18th of Hearthfire, 4E201
Well what do you know. Just as I figured we finally have time to take a break, I am woken up by a familiar… Actually, now that I think about it, it really would be a Daedric Familiar. Point is, the bird was there and it had a letter from Fortunata. She says she's done with the planning and told me to come by, quote, "as soon as possible".
I guess we'll have to move our leisure to some other time. But a trip to Whiterun is still 100% in order. Having more food than you need is always a good thing and Lydia needs a new shield. Also, a change of armor sounds pretty nice. This stuff is getting pretty banged up, and it's also definitely not good enough for the colder places.
So, to tally everything up, all of the random gear, loot from the corpses, and the ancient coins and weapons that I pawned off to Farengar, we managed to gather a little under two thousand drakes. I'd say this was a solid sum…
If I didn't immediately spend almost all of it. Carlotta came in with the rescue, giving me a discount on some of her things so I could make us a good meal. Regardless, we walked away from the marketplace with a pair of new cloaks, two pairs of warm boots, two scarves, padded leather armor for me, and a brand new Skyforge steel shield for Lydia.
I spent the rest of the evening cooking while Lydia cleaned up around the place. One would be surprised by how much dust can collect in just a few days of human absence. Now that we're done eating, it's time to go to bed.
Pretty sure I can hear Lydia snoring from her room. I shall tease her relentlessly about it.
Fredas, the 19th of Hearthfire, 4E201
"I got your letter." The Dragonborn pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, waving it around. After being held for a moment, the paper flashed yellow and caught aflame, disappearing into ash. "You said that your preparations were done?"
Fortunata nodded and hopped off the table upon which she was sitting. Beside her lay an envelope - previously sealed, but now the wax has been broken, signifying that the contents were already read and known to the Breton. She slid the paper over to Saya's side, who quickly put her hand on the table to keep it from slipping off. The Dunmer picked it up and pressed the two halves of the seal together. The seal was an easily recognizable image: a stylized eagle with both wings spread, flying skyward - the symbol of the Aldmeri Dominion.
Saya scoffed quietly, opening the envelope and pulling out a stark white piece of paper with golden filigree decorating its edges. Flipping it open, the two red eyes scanned over the letter's contents.
Elenwen, First Emissary
of the Aldmeri Dominion to the Kingdom of Skyrim
Requests the Pleasure of the Company of
Saya Indoril
at a Reception on the 22nd of Hearthfire, 201 at
the Ambassador's Residence.
Regrets only. Formal attire requested.
The aforementioned red eyes rolled dramatically while their owner closed the invitation and put it back in its place. "I really hope they won't be talking like this at the party, because otherwise, I might just break something."
Fortunata sighed. "Well, try to keep that desire contained. You'll have plenty of time and reason to turn the entire place upside down once you're out of Elenwen's sight. Remember: your goal is information, not destruction."
The Dragonborn sighed, almost pouting. "I know, I know. So what's the plan now? There's still three days to spend on whatever, but I don't know how long the road to Solitude would take."
"We'll be taking a carriage. I know a man who won't ask too many questions and can get us to the city faster than the coin-grubbers at the stables."
Saya raised an eyebrow. "Smuggler?"
Fortunata crossed her arms. "You take what you can get in this line of work." Her expression soured. It wasn't as though she particularly liked working with the local riffraff, but sadly, the old Blades network was dead for all intents and purposes. What'd the newbies call themselves now, Penitus Oculatus? The Breton scoffed internally. "We take off tomorrow, and hopefully we'll be at Solitude by sundown. I'll make camp by the city, and you use the rest of the day to buy anything you might need at the Embassy, and after that you'll be meeting up with my insider."
"Speaking of which-"
"Malborn is his name." Fortunata cut her off, and the Dunmer promptly quieted down. The blonde briefly had to fight the urge to smirk. "He's a Bosmer, born in Valenwood. Short stature, brown hair, light brown eyes, won't miss him. He works at the Embassy, and he can help you smuggle equipment inside. The security in there is tight and you'll probably be checked for anything suspicious before they let you enter, so he's your only bet on getting any kind of weapons into the building."
Saya hummed, thinking. A dagger would be the obvious choice to get into the Embassy, but some kind of scroll might be useful if the push comes to shove and she has to take on multiple agents. "I might need to stock up on some magical things. Think we can afford a stop by Farengar?"
"Do you think he can get you what you need?"
There was a brief pause. "Good point. Do you have anyone who could get things done in Solitude by the time the party rolls around, then?"
Fortunata thought for a good minute, scratching her chin. "...I do know of a person who could do that, but I don't know if they would. The influence of the Blades runs thin these days, especially since they've been officially disbanded. Put together a list of what you need and I'll send it over to them. If they choose to do it, it'll be done by the time we arrive. I'm sure of that much."
"And nothing more reliable…?" Saya cocked her head, grimacing a bit.
"Nothing except for your own hands. I don't do magic." The Breton grabbed a sheet of parchment and slid it over along with a quill and inkwell. "I'll give you the passphrase later."
"Passphrase?"
Fortunata raised an eyebrow. "What, you think that going into a Thalmor-infested city and saying 'I'm a Blade, give me weapons against the Thalmor' is a better strategy?"
Saya glared at the woman but sighed and lowered her head, saying nothing as she began to write. The script was a bit messier, seeing as how she was more used to writing with dry utensils, such as her cheap and trusty coal pens, but overall it was readable. 'Delphine' put the letter away, hiding it away in her pocket.
"So, is that everything?"
"More or less." The Breton was about to return to her documents before pausing. "Actually, there was one more thing. I don't assume you'll have appropriate clothes for a party like that?"
Saya thought back to the dress she still had in her wardrobe in Whiterun. She winced. "Nothing worth noting, no."
"Figured." She sighed, scratching the back of her head. "Then prepare yourself for a visit to the Radiant Raiments. You can't exactly go to a party looking like…" Fortunata gestured at Saya's general appearance. "...that."
The Dragonborn felt a sudden, almost explosive urge to retaliate and defend her outfit like her honor depended on it. However upon further thought she couldn't logically argue that worn armor covered in blood stains and pouches was the peak of high society fashion. Then, instead, a different reply found its way into the Dunmer's head. Her lips stretched into a shit eating grin.
"My, buying me a dress on a first date? How bold!" The chill in Fortunata's glare was enough to make the room feel cold, prompting a giggle from the Dunmer.
But rather quickly, it was swept away. Instead, the Breton's expression became very similar to that of the smug Dunmer, and she replied. "Keep making remarks like that, and the only dress you'll be getting is a wooden one."
There was a moment of silence that hung in the air until Saya couldn't help but snort, breaking out into a series of giggles in front of the Blade who was, with partial success, holding back a smile. When the laughter eventually died down, the Dragonborn took a moment to catch her breath. "Well, good thing I'm a suit kind of girl then, isn't it?"
Fortunata chuckled, shaking her head. "Go the hell to bed already."
The Dunmer gave her a thumbs up and promptly closed the door out of the secret basement.
