Last Time: Dulurza got an appointment with the Jarl, L'laarzen politely collected some debts, Hjar got some leads on the Forsworn Conspiracy, and Xander proved he could at least teach magic in the college.

The Life that Smacks Back

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Aranea Ienith exhaled, her breath frosting in front of her. Above the howling wind could be heard the soft sounds of someone cautiously ascending the stairs behind her. Finally, after decades of waiting...it was time.

"I foresaw your coming, traveller." She called out, not turning around. "My lady Azura has granted me visions of prophecy. I knew you would walk up the steps to this shrine since long before you were born."

"Uh...okay?"

Aranea turned to look at him. The Imperial man was just as she had seen; though perhaps with slightly redder cheeks than she had expected, and she'd been certain her vision had had a beard.

"My name is Aranea." She told him. "I am a priestess of the Daedric Prince Azura."

"Azura of the dusk and dawn?" He gaped, some life entering his eyes. "The mother of the rose? The queen of the night sky?"

"Indeed." She smiled. "I'm glad you know your legends. And my lady has chosen you to be her instrument."

She had expected some reaction to that. Fear, trepidation, resolution. She had not expected Azura's champion to squeal like a child, then jump up into the air and pump his fist a few times. "Yes! Yes! This is everything I've ever wanted!" He hissed gleefully to himself, before coughing and turning to her. "Right, yes, of course. What does Azura wish of me?"

"The lady's star has been stolen." Aranea stated. "The-"

"The Daedric artefact that functions as a soul gem but doesn't break allowing an unlimited number of souls to pass through it?" He interrupted, all in one breath.

"Y-yes. It has been taken and corrupted, and Azura has chosen you to retrieve it. I cannot see it's location, yet I have had visions of those who are closely linked to it. I believe that there is an Elven Mage, living in the city of Winterhold, who may know more. Your task is to go out in Azura's name and reclaim the star, then bring it back here to be restored."

"I would be honoured to enact Azura's will." The Imperial bowed, before pausing. "...This doesn't sell my soul to her for all eternity, right?"

"There are worse Oblivion realms than Moonshadow, but no, your soul is still your own."

"Oh, good. Just...one more question."

"Hm?"

He winced. "Do you happen to know which way Saarthal is? I set out from Winterhold a few hours ago, and I think I'm lost."

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"Weylin? Aye, he lived in here. I suppose his room will go to someone else now."

Hjar nodded, trying not to shiver in the cold dark of the Warrens. I never understood anyone who could work in a mine. This is horrible. She tried to keep a pleasant face. "Right. Say, do you have the key?"

"I do."

"Mind letting me borrow it?"

He shook his head. "Can't. I'm in charge of the rooms here, no letting random strangers in."

Anger flashed. "Please? It's important, and I'll only be a few minutes."

"Sorry, miss. Rules are rules."

It was dark, and claustrophobic, and he was in her way- "I Wasn't Asking." She growled.

Something in her eyes must have given him pause; he shuffled and glanced towards the exit. "Alright, fine. Just be quick."

He pulled a key off his belt.

She took it with a curt nod, walking towards the door he pointed out to her.

Once inside, she quickly found what she was looking for, a note addressed to Weylin, instructing him to carry out the attack in the market. "And who is this 'N' who gets off sending people to commit murder?" She muttered to herself, looking at the single letter at the bottom of the page.

But the room was even more claustrophobic than the hallway had been, and Hjar didn't want to be in there a minute longer than necessary. Grimacing, she pocketed the note and left.

She hadn't made it five steps outside the warrens before an Orc pushed himself off a wall and stood in front of her, arms crossed.

"You." He declared.

"Me." She replied. "Need something?"

"Apparently you've been snooping around. Putting your nose where it doesn't belong." The Orc cracked his knuckles ominously. "I'm here to convince you to stop."

"Right." Hjar leaned backwards, squinting at him. "So d'you work for the poorly hidden Forsworn or the poorly hidden corrupt mine-owners?"

"Funny." He took a step forwards. "I know your type. The type'a girl that goes around causing problems. It's about time you made your way out of this city."

"I have business here." Hjar told him, stretching out her wrists. "If you want me out, you'll have to drag me out."

He grinned at her. "That's the plan."

"Alright." She shrugged, putting her hands up. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

He took another step forwards.

She punched him in the face.

Her knuckles broke.

She hissed but continued forwards even as he stumbled back, delivering a knee to his groin that made him double up and bringing her elbow round to the side of his face.

He bore it with a grunt, dropped his centre of gravity and charged forwards, pushing her back and forcing her off of him. He swung in with his own fist and she blocked it at the armpit, but then his other arm came round and her broken hand couldn't stop it. It collided with the side of her face, cracking something and knocking her to the ground. She lashed out with a foot at his knee, but it held, and he kicked her in the stomach, making her curl up. His arms grabbed her lapels and he pulled her up to his head level. "See here's the thing, miss-"

She spat a tooth out in his face.

He roared and slammed her into a wall, then threw her back to the ground. She grimaced through the pain, working to get both her hands on the stone beneath her. Her blood boiled, and her vision went red, not now don't lose control now-

The Orc was bearing down on her, but suddenly he howled and his legs buckled, a figure appearing behind him.

Hjar didn't waste the opportunity, launching to her feet and bringing her second fist round, punching him square in the jaw.

Her other fingers broke, and he fell on his back.

"You know, I get the feeling this isn't the family you came here to meet." Margret remarked, idly twirling a steel dagger around her left hand.

"You said you were leaving this morning." Hjar accused, cradling her hands.

"I was." The redhead shrugged. "But then you started picking fights with people a head taller than you. Speaking of which-"

She leaned down and pulled a second knife out the back of the Orc's leg. He howled again. "Hey, milk drinker. Who sent you after my friend here?"

The Orc spat. "Go to-"

"Answer her." Hjar growled at him. "Or it'll be a race between who gets to send you to your Gods fastest."

"Ugh, fine! It was Nepos! Nepos the nose." He pulled his leg in and put pressure on it, glaring at them. "But you and your psycho girlfriend are in for a whole new world of pain if either of you go anywhere near-"

"Great; thanks for your time." Margret replied, boredly, immediately tuning him out. Both women walked away.

"Guess you're my girlfriend now." Hjar told her, feeling the gap in her teeth with her tongue. "Sorry about that."

"Eh, its alright. I could do worse." Margret turned to look at the Breton, concern appearing on her face. "Are you alright? You look pretty banged up."

"I'm fine." Hjar grimaced. "This is normal."

"I suspected something yesterday, but-" Margret hesitated. "You have Weakmarrow, don't you? Normal bones don't break that easily, even on someone as stubborn as an Orc."

Hjar froze in place for a moment, before sighing. "Yes. I do."

And it was a pain.

The Forsworn valued strength, and independence. But it was hard to be strong when your body ached after a minute of running, and your bones cracked under any real pressure. They had wanted her to be a shaman, staying at home hunched over an alchemy table, or worse to be made into a briarheart by the hagravens.

She had refused, of course. Too stubborn. That was part of why it had all gone so wrong.

"I'll be fine." She insisted. "I know how to get myself fixed up, don't worry about it."

Margret looked at her for a few more seconds, before sighing. "Alright. If you say so. So, looks like I'm going to be staying in town for a little longer. Who do you want to visit first? Thonar, or mister Nose?"

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Alexander was having the best day right now.

He elegantly flourished his sword (of the ancient Nord design, claimed about five minutes ago) before stabbing it through the draugr's throat, then pointing his fingers at the zombie behind it and watching it explode into flames.

First, he'd found out he was apparently the chosen one for a proper Daedric prince.

Then, some creepy dude in yellow had frozen time and said that the Psyjic Order had a mission for him! The Psyjic Order! Actual super-wizards from an island in the middle of nowhere with untold magical power had a vague quest for him!

And now he was merrily slaughtering his way through the stupid and weak draugr that had appeared to defend Saarthal. A task made significantly easier by the scrolls that J'zargo had given him to test out.

Sure, they set Xander on fire when they were used, but they were damn effective and the basic healing spell was just about the only thing he did know how to use. And besides, maybe if his fake robes got all burnt up, he could request new ones. He kicked the draugr he'd just impaled backwards, making it stagger into its compatriot, and dropped the ashen remnants of the scroll to draw his staff from his back. With a thrust, a gout of flame shot out the wooden dragon's mouth, and blasted into the two undead.

They fell to the floor, crumbling.

Sure, it was a novice level enchantment, but it had been enough to blow up that one door with all the ancient Nordic runes on it.

Now that had been fun. Five minutes of deciphering the purpose of the door and the amulet from the ancient language scrawled over them, five minutes of trying desperately to summon an offensive spell like it told him to, before eventually resorting to just using his staff on the thing.

And now he was here, and Tolfdir had followed him down, calling after him.

"Ah, Mr Meteuse! I trust you're alright?"

"Alexander, please." Xander wiped the guts off his sword in what he hoped was a casual fashion, trying not to shudder at the gross, hundreds-of-years-old dead bits. "And yes, I'm fine. These undead aren't too much of a threat."

"I'd remain vigilant." The older mage cautioned. "The simple draugr are easily dispatched by a competent warrior, but their wights and overlords pose much more of a challenge."

Pfft, whatever. Wait, don't act too vain. "I'll keep that in mind."

The teacher smiled back at him. "Thank you. It's good to see you have a sensible head on your shoulders." Oh wow, that worked!

Xander continued walking forwards with Tolfdir, approaching another black iron door. "This is as far as I've gotten."

"Then, let us proceed together." Tolfdir checked Xander was ready, and at his nod, opened the door.

An ominous blue glow awaited them.

"Oh. Oh my..." Tolfdir stepped forwards, putting his hands on the balcony. "What on earth is-"

"Staff!" Xander vaulted the balcony, landing on the floor below and rolling, and immediately slamming both hands on the staff on the table. "Hello my darling~"

It looked like a restoration staff, but when he cradled it it felt more like it had destruction magic within it, and ooh it was such a beautiful thing...

"Um, Alexander?"

"Hm?" Xander looked back up at Tolfdir, coming back to his surroundings. "Oh, right." He looked around.

There was a giant, glowing, floating, spinning blue orb with a protective forcefield in the centre of the room. "Yeah, you'd think I'd have spotted that first." Xander mused.

Then he looked down a bit and saw the draugr in a fancy hat sat at the table he'd taken the staff from. Glaring at him.

"Oh."

The draugr rose and Xander screamed, stumbling backwards away from the table. He drew another one of J'zargo's scrolls and activated the thing, blasting flame into the draugr's face. To his horror, however, a blue shield blossomed into existence around the zombie, the attack barely even moved the thing and now Xander's arms were on fire-

"TOLFDIR HELP!" He screeched, scrambling backwards as the draugr stabbed its axe onto the stone between his legs, inches below cutting something very valuable to him.

There was a whoomph from one side and then a fireball slammed into the side of the draugr's head. Tolfdir's attack staggered it, but again did no damage, and when Xander lunged in with his sword, that clattered harmlessly off the thing's chest as well.

"Nothing's working!" Tolfdir shouted.

"Yeah, I got that!" Xander shot back, vaulting clumsily over the table to put some distance between himself and the draugr. There was a brief respite, but then it reached out with its left hand and blasted a steam of frostbite at Alexander, which he held his arms up to try and block. On the plus side, his arms weren't on fire anymore, but on the downside they were now going numb.

"The orb!" Xander shouted. "Attack the orb!"

In desperation, he clutched the staff he'd just taken and pointed it at the draugr. If anything, that just pissed it off.

"Fus..." it declared, and Xander's eyes widened, "Ro Da!"

The Shout was weaker than the legends said it should be, but it still sent him stumbling backwards to crash into the force field around the orb-thing.

"Hold on!" Tolfdir shouted, then began blasting electricity at the shield. It did something, as the glow around the draugr vanished, replaced by a dark cloud.

Xander didn't hesitate. He pointed the staff again and bid it fire.

Lightning blasted out the top of it (lightning, huh) and the bolt took the undead in the chest, staggering it backwards.

He kept firing, dropping the sword from his right hand to palm another of J'zargo's scrolls, his eyes a little bit crazy with panic and adrenaline.

Another bolt of lightning took the zombie in the chest, and then in the arm, and then another hit it in the face as a blast of fire crashed into its stomach. That was enough, sending it off its feet and crashing into the back of its own throne before falling limply to the floor.

Overlords and Wights are stronger. Yeah, okay. Xander breathed out, slowly. Then set about putting out the flames on his robes.

"Are you alright?" Tolfdir asked, rushing over to him. "That was amazing, my boy! You were able to immediately discern that the shield around the draugr was magically linked to the orb!"

"Hehe, yeah, sure." Xander agreed. They are? Really? I'd just noticed that they were both the same greeny blue. Then he scowled. "How come the freaking zombie had a greater comprehension of the dragon language than I do? That's not fair."

"What?" Tolfdir squinted at him.

He gestured vaguely at the draugr's head. "Fus Ro Da. Force balance push. Fair enough, a lot of the old Nord kings could do it in life, but still, I've practiced."

"You speak the dragon tongue?" Tolfdir's eyes widened.

"Sure." Xander cleared his throat. "'Nii Nunon Tinvaak'. It's only a language. Ten septims says there's a word wall through one of these doors that tells us some more about who this guy was. Of course, Shouting is more than that. You have to intrinsically understand a word with all its connotations to Shout, which either takes decades of meditation in silence or a bunch of traumatic events. For instance, I have just now been very attuned with the concept of fear. Faas! Nah it didn't work."

Tolfdir shook his head. "Incredible. I imagine Urag may request your help with many of the tomes in the library. But for now..." he turned, to look back at the glowing orb. "What on earth is this?"

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It was two forty. Dulurza strode purposefully through the streets, beelining towards the Blue Palace. An audience with the Jarl. Finally. She couldn't kill Elisif here, obviously, it was still some time before the raid on Solitude was planned. But now was an opportunity to build trust, get in close. This woman was still a Nord, and Nord culture overlapped with Orsimer in a few key ways. If Dulurza proved she was loyal, reliable, then Elisif should quickly come to acknowledge her usefulness. To trust.

Wrongly, of course, but that was the whole point.

"Please tell me you don't intend to visit the blue palace dressed like that."

Dulurza, jolted out of her reverie, stopped and stared at the Elf woman who had just randomly accosted her on the street. "I do. What of it?" She responded flatly.

The Elf looked her up and down without bothering to conceal her disgust. "By the eight, you're serious. You can't present yourself to the Jarl dressed like a barbarian from the hills!"

Dulurza shifted. Yes, her Orcish armour was ugly, and currently spattered with blood, but it was effective, and the blood showed that she'd been successful in combat.

Although...Nord culture did still have many differences to the Orsimer. For her, appearing before the chief in recently used armour was fairly standard, but the Jarl of Solitude might see it differently.

"So, what would you suggest?" She asked the Elf, crossing her arms.

"Hm." She paused. "I wonder...Radiant Raiment could provide you with an outfit."

Dulurza recalled her modest coin purse, knowing that this sounded like the sort of clothing that nobles wore. "For what cost?"

"Well the exposure would be more than worth it if you...Hm. Tell you what." The woman straightened. "Let me dress you up. Go in wearing our garments and ask the Jarl what she thinks of it. If she doesn't like it, you keep your trap shut, but if she does, tell her where its from. I'll pay you if you can get us custom from the Jarl, and you can keep the outfit."

Dulurza bit her lip in thought. Making a good first impression was important...

"Alright. So long as you don't put me in a dress."

8˂

"Ooh." L'laarzen's eyes adjusted back from the lower light of the sewers to the relatively bright cistern. "Your organisation has a beautiful base, friend."

"Don't think anyone's ever called the ratway beautiful before." Brynjolf chuckled, walking in behind her. "But aye, the cistern's one of the nicer parts of it. Welcome to the Thieves Guild, lass."

"This your new recruit?" Called another man, walking over with a confident stride.

"Aye, Mercer, this is her." Brynjolf gestured between them. "Mercer, this is L'laarzen. L'laarzen, this is the guild master of the Thieves Guild. Mercer Frey."

"A pleasure." She smiled, holding her hand out for him to shake.

"Hm." He took it. "This is the one you think will help put us back in business, Brynjolf? Not much to look at."

"Not everyone does their work in muffled armour, Mercer." Brynjolf clapped her on the shoulder. "This one was able to collect all the debts we're owed by Riften's businesses without bloodying a knuckle. All while wearing plain clothes."

"Khajit has her ways." L'laarzen preened. "Sometimes all that is necessary is to find a different approach."

"Yes, I heard about that." Mercer stared her in the eyes. "Was that due to an excess of skill, or a lack of resolve, I wonder?"

L'laarzen blinked, innocently.

"I vote we find out. Set her on Goldenglow."

"What?" Brynjolf frowned. "Mercer, not even Vex could get in there!"

"You think she's going to help fix the guild? Let her prove it!" Mercer smiled at her. It wasn't a nice smile. "Perhaps this special way of hers will let her get in where we couldn't."

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest, but L'laarzen held up a hand to stop him. "Please, friend. Khajit will not disappoint her boss on the first day." She turned to show Mercer what a kind smile looked like. One tinted with a challenge. "Could you introduce me to this Vex? I'd be happy to trade a styling session for information on the target."

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Jarl Elisif the Fair had seen some funny things in her life. Certainly there was always foolishness occurring in the courts; politics was a recipe for embarrassment and as long as that was occurring to your opponents it could be very amusing. Of course, then Torrgy had...and she had not laughed, since then.

And yet, when an Orc woman taller than the city guards walked up the steps towards her throne, wearing the kind of clothes you'd expect to see on a court noble and a battle-axe strapped to her back, the image was so comically ridiculous that Elisif had to resist bursting out into hysterics right then and there.

Fortunately she was able to restrain herself to a smile slightly wider than was strictly necessary. And Falk had made this a private audience (it was just him, her, and the new arrival there) which was good. Elisif knew that there were many in her court who would have laughed aloud at the new visitor, and quite possibly been murdered for it, given by the specs of fresh blood on the weapon. Alright, Falk, what on Tamriel have you brought me today?

"Jarl Elisif," he said, in his official voice, "this is Dulurza, daughter of Larak. She is the one who disrupted the events in Wolfskull cave."

"Ah, that was you." Elisif inclined her head. "In that case, we are in your debt, Dulurza." She rolled the foreign name around her tongue. She found she liked it. "Potema's rule marked some of the blackest years in the history of Skyrim. You did us a great favour by ridding us of her."

"Your court wizard warned us that the spirit might not have left." Dulurza pointed out.

"Then I'll be sure to keep you around in case she returns." Elisif replied.

"Your court wizard is a vampire."

Elisif's smile became something of a grimace. "Yes, those rumours made their way to me rather quickly. There isn't any proof-"

"Simple. Put her out in the sun." Dulurza shrugged. "If she blisters and burns, behead her."

"Now that is a rather...direct path to problem solving."

The Orc snorted derisively. "Your Imperial courts are far to complicated. Waste too much time. Direct is better."

"Sometimes, I cannot help but agree with you." Elisif admitted, smile returning. She found she was beginning to like this newcomer, as crude as Dulurza may be. "So, what brings you here? You've done much for my hold with no expectation of a reward."

Dulurza shuffled in place. The finery was obviously uncomfortable for her. "I left my stronghold a short while ago. I sought a position of honour, one which would let me exercise my skill in battle."

"The Imperial legion is always willing to accept-" Elisif tried, but Dulurza shook her head adamantly.

"I'm an Orc. I won't serve an emperor thousands of miles away, or his lackeys." She nodded in Elisif's direction. "You're here. I'll serve you."

"Is that so?" Elisif looked at her critically. "Well, if you can continue to be as helpful as you have been, then-"

"My lady." Falk coughed, from the side. "I don't mean to downplay her accomplishments, but perhaps it wouldn't be ideal to have someone of her...heritage, in the court? I mean no disrespect, Dulurza, but many of the Men and Mer in the Blue Palace have enough trouble with each others' presence. And Elisif already has a housecarl."

Elisif looked down, cowed. "You're right, of course. I-"

"You're in charge, right?"

She looked up. Dulurza had spoken, and was looking at her intently. "It's a wise chief that listens to their advisors. It's a weak one that is controlled by them. Unless they're willing to challenge you in protest, your word is law."

Elisif couldn't keep the shock of her face. That...that was the first time anyone had stood up for her since Torryg.

Falk was backing up in embarrassment. "My lady, I never meant to-"

"It's fine, Firebeard." She placated, chuckling. "But Dulurza has a point." She turned to meet the Orc's eyes. "If my court isn't accepting of other races then that's their problem, and one they should rectify. Perhaps some exposure would do them good. And besides, my housecarl needs to be by my side at almost all times. I need someone I can rely on to send out into Skyrim, and act in my name."

Falk frowned. "Surely, you can't mean-"

"Not Thane." Elisif reassured, then, cheekily, "not yet, anyway. Ensure Dulurza is suitably paid for her efforts so far, and equipped if her current arms and armour aren't suitable. If they are, have them cleaned and sharpened."

"Can I have the headsman's axe?" Dulurza asked.

"Ahtar would probably betray us if we tried to take it from him, so no. Make sure you are present here tomorrow when court begins."

Dulurza nodded and turned to go.

"One more thing." Elisif called after her, trying not to stare at her backside. "You look quite fetching in those. Where did you get them?"

"Radiant Raiment." Dulurza muttered, not looking back. "I thought I should...well, to meet the Jarl..."

"Then you can let Radiant Raiment know that I'll be placing an order for some new dresses very soon." Elisif replied. "Perhaps we can match?"

Dulurza nodded, stiffly, and continued walking out.

Elisif leaned back in her throne, smiling.

Then she turned to shoot an annoyed "What?" at Falk, who was giving her a look.

Our heroes begin getting themselves into difficult situations. Hjar's condition isn't a canon one, but I figured 'osteo-genesis imperfecta' wouldn't be Skyrim's official word for brittle bones. And let me reiterate; Xander Cannot Shout. He's just such a nerd he learned a dead language for absolutely no reason. I'm going with the headcanon that all the races of Men (Nords, Imperials, Redguards, Bretons) could theoretically learn to Shout the Greybeard way, but the Elves, Argonians and Khajiit can't. Elder Scrolls lore is a little vague on that. And of course, the Dragonborn could be any race, he gets his powers direct from Akatosh.

Next Time: Someone robs a guy, someone robs a guy, and someone robs a guy.