Last Time: Xander found the Eye of Magnus and started searching for Azura's Star, Dulurza introduced herself to Elisif, Hjar investigated the Forsworn alongside Margret, and L'laarzen was introduced to Mercer Frey.

A Rock and a Hard Place

8˂

"Uh, sir? There's someone at the gate asking to see you."

Aringoth froze, ink dripping from his quill onto the paper he was writing on. Oh no.

"Who is it?" He spun on the mercenary. "I told you not to let anyone in! Is it an assassin? Is it Mercer? One of his lackeys? Is it Maven?"

"Uh, no sir." The man coughed awkwardly. "It's, well...she says she's a hairdresser."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

"Oh no." Nelacar paled. "You're from her. From Azura. How did you find me?"

Xander snorted derisively. "Daedric princes know much more than us mortals would expect, mage. She pointed me right to you."

It was a lie of course. He had just stopped at the Frozen Hearth for a drink after his near death experiences at Sarthaal. Nelacar had been the first person he'd asked about the Star since he'd met Aranea at the shrine that morning. Hey, maybe this is some godly intervention after all?

"Dammit. I had hoped to bury that part of my life in the past, but I suppose it had to come to light sooner or later. Come with me." Nelacar lead Alexander into his room, taking a seat at the only chair. Xander, with no alternatives but the bed, walked over to lean on Nelacar's bar-cupboard-thing.

"Alright. I'll start from the beginning." Said the mage. "What do you know about soul gems?"

"They're crystals designed to store the souls of creatures that have been soul trapped and then consume them in enchanting." Alexander replied, without missing a beat. Enchanting (not requiring any Magicka) was one of the few things he could actually do.

"Right." Nelacar nodded. "But Azura's star is-"

"A special soul gem and Daedric artefact of Azura which allows an unlimited amount of creature souls to pass through it." Xander replied, again. Daedric artefacts were the best things ever.

"By the Gods, Azura certainly sent an expert." Nelacar shook his head, looking suitably impressed. "Well, anyway, I worked with a man named Malyn Varen some years ago. We had found the star, and were attempting to alter it so that it could allow black souls to pass through it."

"Unlimited human souls..." Xander tried not to drool. It was an enchanter's wet dream. Human life was relatively cheap, but black soul gems were as expensive as ebony equipment and just as rare. With a 'black' Azura's star, a skilled mage could visit a bandit camp with a soul trap spell and...well, get rich.

"Did you get it to work?" He asked, a little too eagerly.

"No." Nelacar grimaced. "I could, I'm certain of it. But while Malyn was working on the star, he went mad. Azura started messing with his mind as he got closer and closer to success. One day I arrived and he'd...killed a student. It was the event that got me kicked out of the college. Malyn fled with a group of his followers and haven't been seen since."

"Hm." Xander nodded, temporarily distracted with something he'd spotted on Nelacar's shelves. "So if I wanted to find the star, where would I go?"

Nelacar raised his eyebrows. "You're pursuing the star?"

"Azura wants it back. Apparently she's been scheming and prophesising about it for decades." Xander squared up, fixing a determined look on his face. "I've got to get it back, no matter the cost."

"Well, you'd have to go to Illinalta's deep." Nelacar looked down. "It's a mostly submerged ruin off the coast of the lake near Falkreath. But it will be filled with Malyn's disciples. Powerful, fanatic mages who have no qualms about murdering people for their experiments, not to mention all their undead minions, as well as Malyn himself, who's almost as strong as the teachers in the college. If you're willing to go there, then-" Nelacar paused. His audience was gone. "H-hello?"

Outside, Xander walked very rapidly up towards the college.

Nopity nopity nope nope nope.

Fortress full of psycho mages? Me, with my zero mage prowess? Sorry Azura, find someone else to be your errand boy. I'm going back to wizard school.

Back inside, ten minutes later, Nelacar was about to get back to his reading when he paused, scanning all of his shelves. "Wait. Who stole my staff of Arcane Authority?"

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Hjar and Margret walked side by side into the Silver-Blood treasury house. Hjar's hands massaged her still broken fingers, Margret's sat comfortably on the hilts of her two daggers.

The receptionist looked up, and paled.

"Thonar." Margret told her.

She gulped. "Thonar Silver-Blood is not-"

"We aren't asking." Hjar growled.

"His room's to the left." The woman gulped, cowering. "Here's his key."

Sat on a nearby chair reading, Betrid Silver-Blood tutted but didn't say anything.

The door unlocked with a click.

The room's occupant looked up with a sigh.

"Oh, perfect." Muttered Thonar. "Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?"

"Send out assassins, apparently." Hjar supplied, glaring.

"Cute. I take it you're aware your compatriot is an Imperial spy?" Hjar nodded at that, and Thonar turned to Margret. "Great. You are terrible, by the way. I knew who you were the moment you entered my city."

"A criticism I'll take to heart, but we're not talking about me. We're talking about-"

"Oh no, I think we are talking about you." Thonar stood up to face them both. "You know this city is problematic enough as it is. I would know, I own half of it, and I'm busy enough dealing with the Forsworn here without you two lovebirds snooping around."

"Lovebirds...People keep making that assumption about us." Margret mused.

"We want answers." Hjar declared, blood boiling from the pain and from this obnoxious asshole.

"And you won't get them." He glared. "What you'll get is a life sentence in Cidnah mine if you keep asking questions. I think it's high time you-"

Hjar tuned him out. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going-"

She ignored him, sprinting down the stairs and forcing broken fingers to yank her mace free from its holster.

She had smelled bloodlust.

The receptionist (previously meek demeanor gone) had just grabbed Beitild about the neck from behind and drawn a knife when Hjar slammed into them both, knocking both to the floor. She'd learned from Weylin, not waiting before she raised her mace above her head and brought it down on her target. The receptionist barely got her arms up in time to block the blow, resulting in both being heavily damaged, and Hjar raised her arm again, only to have to jump backwards as another one of the servants swung at her with a shortsword, drawing a small line of blood across her exposed stomach.

"Who in Oblivion are you?" She yelled at him, baring teeth.

"We are the children of the Reach!" He yelled back, brandishing the sword. "And we will not be silenced!"

Forsworn. Hjar froze. And then Margret was vaulting the desk and swinging, forcing the man to catch one dagger with his blade and then burying the other in his gut. She elbowed the dying man in the face to force him away, before sinking to a crouch and stabbing her other dagger in the receptionist's head before she could get up.

And just like that, it was over.

"Nice instincts." Margret panted, smiling up at her. "That was one fast reaction."

By the Divines, you just can't stop helping people KILL YOUR BRETHREN, CAN YOU?

Hjar nodded mutely, internally wallowing in self disgust, as Thonar came thundering down the stairs after them.

"Beitild! Oh thank the gods..." he ran over and crushed her in a hug.

The woman didn't look all too pleased with his empathy. "You told me you had them under control!" She snapped at him. "You told me we were safe, Thonar!"

"We should have been! They were!" He shot back. "Damn that man, he's an animal!"

"Thonar?" Margret said, sheathing her daggers and looking at him imperiously. "What in Talos' name is going on?"

He glared up at her, but then stood up to face her. "You wanna know so bad? Fine. The Forsworn work for me. I have their 'king' locked up in Cidnah mine. They kill who I tell them to kill and stay away from me and mine, and I keep their leader's head off the chopping block."

Hjar's rage was growing again. "Clearly you don't have as much control as you think, given that they'll send out murderers after your family."

This was an outrage. No self-respecting Forsworn would work as an attack dog for their oppressors. Or at least, that's what Hjar was going to tell herself.

"Clearly." Thonar spat on one of the corpses. "He and I are going to have words about this."

Beitild looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Words? He tried to kill me and you're going to have words?"

"Don't worry baby, he's never going to come near you again I swear-"

"Don't you come near me, bastard! I don't want any more part in-"

Margret nudged Hjarnagredda, and whispered "Maybe now's the time to go."

Hjar nodded. As Thonar and Beitild's voices rose, she plucked the key to the treasury from the receptionist's body (as insurance) then both women quietly slipped out the door.

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Dulurza's presence in the Blue Palace the next day came with about the amount of hubbub as you'd expect. Bolgeir Bearclaw, Elisif's housecarl, was surprisingly the quickest to accept her. His immediate response was to threaten to kill her if she made one wrong move towards the Jarl, but Dulurza understood that, it was something Orcs did all the time. She made a brief comment back about how "my loyalty isn't up for debate, which is good because there's nothing you could do to stop me if it wasn't". He chuckled, pat her heartily on the back and said it was good to have someone else guarding the Jarl.

See, some Nords made sense.

The rest of the palace, however, weren't quite so accepting. Sybille still gave her death glares whenever they were in the same room, in response to which Dulurza (in what she felt was a very mature response) threw back every curtain she could to let as much sunlight into the room as possible. Most of the other courtiers looked at her with poorly veiled disgust, but she'd decided to actually show up in armour today. Funnily enough, none of the nobles were willing to voice their dislike of the towering, battle ready orc looming from behind Elisif's throne.

Cowards.

Amusingly, this seemed to transfer some residual respect onto the Jarl herself; Elisif was constantly making surprised looks every time the nobles accepted her decisions without any backtalk.

Dulurza concluded that Elisif was used to much less respect than she'd received today.

So, during lunch, she asked about it.

Off to one side, Falk almost choked on his bread, while Elisif grimaced and set down her cutlery.

"Well, yes." She admitted. "These last few months have been hard. Torryg was always the High King, not me. After he died, most of the Jarls agreed I should be given Solitude in his place. But not many were prepared to leave me the power and responsibility that entails."

"Did he die? Or was he murdered?" Dulurza asked.

She'd expected sadness from the Jarl, and been fully willing to drop the matter if Elisif didn't want to talk about it. Mourning was something Orcs understood too. She hadn't expected genuine surprise.

"You...you don't know?" Elisif asked.

Dulurza shook her head. "Orc tribes are very isolated. All I know is that the old ruler of Skyrim died, and now there's a war to decide the next one."

Falk stepped in. "Please, this is a very sensitive subject. If you'd like I could fill in the details in private-"

"It's fine, Falk." Elisif waved him off. "I need to be able to talk about it without breaking down. It's been long enough for me to manage that much, at least."

She turned back to Dulurza, expression gloomy. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm (though we no longer recognize him as such) entered the Blue Palace to confront Torryg, my husband and the High King. We all thought he was going to ask him to declare independence from the Empire, he'd been going on about it for years."

"Why?" Dulurza asked.

"You have been living under a rock." Elisif leaned back and sighed. "Well, after the Great War with the Elves about thirty years ago, the Empire signed the White-Gold concordat with the Aldmeri dominion, a peace treaty. The Emperor was desperate, some say weak, and there is much about the treaty that the empire's citizens find unfair, but one of the biggest issues was outlaw of the worship of Talos. Talos, the god who was once Tiber Septim, dragonborn and founder of the modern Empire."

Dulurza grimaced. That she could understand. If someone had tried to tell the Orc tribes they couldn't worship Malacath...well, there would either be victorious Orc tribes or no Orc tribes when all was said and done.

"And this Ulfric objected?"

"He did. Many people, even Torryg, agreed with him in spirit. But Skyrim could not possibly stand alone against the combined might of the Empire and the Thalmor. Standing up against either alone would be foolish. At least, so thought the sensible. Ulfric...he decided to take matters into his own hands." Elisif gulped, taking a moment to control her expression. "He challenged Torryg to a duel for the right to become High King, an old Nord tradition. And then he...Shouted at him."

Dulurza blinked, confused.

"An ancient power of the races of Men, originating in Skyrim." The Jarl elaborated. "Ulfric learned it from the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar. He shouted, and my husband just...crumpled. He was hurled backwards into the wall. And then Ulfric just walked up and executed him, right there. I have to hold court in the same room where my husband died."

She took in a shaky breath, before shaking her head and looking away. "I'm sorry for my weakness." She apologised, bitterly. "You probably think murder like that is a perfectly honourable way to take power."

Dulurza thought about it. "Is the Shouting cheating?"

"What?"

"After the old chief dies, the others fight for the right to take his place." Dulurza explained. "Or, if the current chief is weak or dishonourable, he can be challenged directly. But it is not fair for an Orc to poison his blade when making the challenge, or come in with some magic weapon or strength potion. Such things are likely to bring down Malacath's rage, let alone the rage of the rest of the tribe. So, is Shouting cheating, or is it fair?"

"I suppose that's the question of the hour." Elisif chuckled, humourlessly. "It's a very traditionally Nordic power, one any Man can learn, but those who do are supposed to remain atop the Throat of the World...Whether Ulfric was an honourable hero or a power hungry barbarian is what has split this country in two."

"Hmph." Dulurza grunted. "Either way. Orc challenges don't have to end in death. Often enough they are between brothers, or good friends. He had no right to leave you a widow. Especially if you can't even give him a funeral with his own God."

Elisif looked back up at her. "Is that important for Orcs?"

"Very. How's one's soul meant to reach Malacath if their rites aren't performed properly?"

"Hm." Elisif paused. "I wonder...there's a very personal task I'd like to ask you to complete. Not the sort of thing I can ask in my official capacity as Jarl, but-"

Dulurza laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I am at your service. What is it that you need?"

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

There was a knock at the door to the archmage's quarters. Savos Aren didn't look up from his book. "Come in."

It opened, and someone came in.

"You'll be one of the new apprentices then." He remarked, glancing up at the Imperial. "I don't believe we've met?"

"No, sir." Said the young man.

"Sir? How quaint." Savos smiled. "You may call me Archmage, or some combination of Mister, Savos and Aren if you're feeling adventurous. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here from Saarthal." The apprentice replied, eliciting a groan.

"Please tell me another one of the apprentices hasn't been disintegrated again." Savos replied, already mentally beginning the paperwork. "I've got enough on my mind already-"

"No, Archmage. It's an...orb. Tolfdir sent me to ask you to come look at it."

"An...'Orb'." Savos rolled his eyes. "Well, I trust Tolfdir will provide me with a more cognisant explanation when I see him next..."

He watched the apprentice's gaze sharpen.

"It's a glowing blue sphere approximately three metres in diameter." The boy said. "It floats above the ground and rotates at approximately nought point five radians per second. It's decorated with runes that don't match Daedric, dragon, Dwemer, Falmer, or any modern Tamrielic alphabets. I might suggest an Aedric origin, given the makeup of the energy it emits, and the fact that it can apparently be harnessed to generate protective forcefields. It was guarded by a son of the second archmage, indicating Gauldur and possibly Shalidor were aware of it, and given it's presence in Saarthal it may have something to do with the Snow Elves' reason for the Night of Tears, which would call into doubt previous explanations (mostly by Aldmeri historians) that the attack was a response to Nord barbarism."

Savos Aren paused to take that in, then closed his book. "Are those Tolfdir's observations?"

"No, Archmage. They are mine."

Savos looked up at the young man, paying closer attention this time.

"What is your name, apprentice?"

"Alexander Meteuse, Archmage."

"Meteuse..." Savos pondered, looking at him. "Yes, I know that name. You're from Cyrodil, yes? Three Meteuse siblings are causing quite a stir in the Synod, or so I hear. 'Some of the most talented mages of the generation'. I don't recall one being called Alexander, however."

Meteuse shifted awkwardly. "By the time I was of age to join, my elder brother and sister were already there. My younger sister was quite happy to follow their footsteps, but I didn't want to piggyback off their success."

Savos made a mental note to look up whether there was, in fact, a fourth Meteuse child, but decided it didn't really matter. This boy's knowledge spoke for itself.

"Well, it will be your name alone on the paper that gets published about this." He said aloud, smiling at the gobsmacked look on Alexander's face. "Alongside mine and Tolfdir's, of course. Obviously we will need to have this artefact brought back to the College for study, first, but congratulations on your find. Here-" he held his arm out, and the staff of magelight he had standing up in the corner flew across into it. "This staff was of much use to me when I was a young mage. I hope it serves you just as well."

"Thank you sir-Archmage." Alexander's tone was calm, but the staff was snatched out of Savos' hand before he could blink.

"Now, I suppose I'll have to go and facilitate this orb's retrieval." Aren stood up. "I'd like you to go to the Arcaneum and ask Urag if he has any relevant tomes on the matter. The Night of Tears or Archmage Gauldur, you said? Let's see if your theories pan out."

"I won't let you down."

Alexander nodded, and left.

Savos watched him leave. He almost pitied the boy. What must it be like, for his family to have such high expectations for him to succeed?

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

My family are going to be so surprised when I actually succeed!

Alexander was grinning from ear to ear as he walked down the steps to the Arcanum.

Okay, he was still lying to everyone around him, but he was on his way to publishing a Genuine Official magical paper on a historical find! His family couldn't ignore that!

...right?

Xander was the third of four children, in a relatively minor noble family in Cyrodil. Child one and two had both been powerful mages; just like their father, and his mother, and her mother and her father up until about 200 years ago when one of their ancestors had married an Altmer man. He was still alive, actually, elves and their long livespans, but he had participated in the sacking of Cyrodil so relations between him and the surviving Meteuse were a little strained.

So Alexander's parents had waited with baited breath for him to show the same aptitude. Waited for years. And then, when their fourth child began to demonstrate even more incredible magical skill while he had remained magicless...

Feim Zii Gron. It was like he had become ethereal, his parents' gaze passing over him, their attentions going straight through him and being lavished onto others.

But that was fine!

No, it was fine.

If he could use his knowledge to unravel the secrets of powerful artefacts like this, his name might be spoken across all of Tamriel! And of course, the Arcaneum was where he could plunder the greatest collection of magical knowledge in Skyrim, so those magical problems were about to wash away like they had never even happened.

Brimming with optimism, Xander walked into the library, stepped up to the counter and said-

"I already know what you're about to ask. And the answer is no." Said an old, angry looking Orc.

"...Okay." Xander paused, thrown off. "So just in case there's a mixup, I was asking about-"

"You want my books on the Night of Tears." Urag told him, flatly. "News travels quickly here. Well I don't have any. Not anymore."

No! My international fame! My thesis!

"Not anymore?" Xander latched onto, desperately. "What do you mean by 'anymore'?"

"They were stolen." Urag growled, and the world seemed to shake as though he was uttering a forbidden phrase. "A man named Orthorn took them from the college and ran off with them to Fellglow keep, northeast of Whiterun."

Xander nodded to himself, hope returning.

"Alright. Okay. I can get them back."

"You're sure?" Urag checked.

"Of course." Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "How hard can it be?"

"Heh." Urag grinned. "You're that one apprentice who's been making the news around here, aren't you? I suppose this won't be too much trouble for you."

Corner one flighty apprentice, threaten him with your new lightning-Magicka-damaging staff, get books, get back, get thesis written. Easy! Can't be as difficult as Nelacar sending me off to a group of powerful necromancer mages, can it?

"You'll have to fight your way through a group of powerful necromancer mages to get to him."

Xander blinked at Urag. "Come again?"

"Fellglow Keep is home to a cult of necromancers and mages in service to a woman named the Caller." The Orc told him. "But again, I'm sure someone like you will be able to get them back just fine. Might want to hurry up; the Archmage will be waiting for you to get back."

"...Sure. I'll get right on it." Xander replied, calmly. He walked, at a reasonable pace, through a few doors and stairways, making his way up to one of the balconies of the college.

There, he faced the northern sea, opened his mouth, and screamed.

8˂

"And that's the simple truth." Aringoth sighed. "I'm stuck between the Dark Brotherhood and the Daedric Prince, proverbially. No matter what I attempt next, there's practically nothing I can do!"

"There, there, friend." L'laarzen gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before returning to braiding his hair into a respectable Elven pattern. "L'laarzen has been in similar situations many times. The trick is to think about what you truly have to lose, and if you can live without it. Material things are not always necessary to live a good life; though admittedly this is only usually said by those with to those without."

"I suppose you're right..." he mused. "I'm terribly sorry, you must think me awfully pathetic to just blurt out my troubles to-"

"Not at all, friend!" L'laarzen reassured, finishing up. "The stylist has an often unappreciated role as confidant. Providing a nonjudgemental ear is part of Khajit's duty! And...there, that should be that. Do you like?"

Aringoth looked at his reflection in the mirror she proffered. "Yes, actually. Much better. Are you sure you're only charging five septims? I would hate to underpay you for such amazing work-"

"Oh, no, L'laarzen insists!" She giggled, putting away her things. "Besides, Khajit feels like she is taking away much more than five septims from this meeting."

"If you say so." He turned around and shook her hand. "Thank you again, I think I needed that. I'll have one of my guards escort you out. Not that I suspect you of thievery, of course, but-"

"No, of course! It is always best to be prudent!" Shouldering her bag of equipment, L'laarzen met up with the mercenary. She chatted happily with him as he walked her out, even while she was memorising every hallway and stationed guard. He took her to the gate, unlocked it, and let her walk out, locking it again behind her. She made her way to just inside the forest's edge, where she she stopped, and put down her bag.

She stripped off her clean, green clothes (simple, lovely, and far too brightly coloured) and folded them neatly into the bag. Her dark grey fur blended seamlessly into the evening light. She opened up a different pocket of the bag, from which she withdrew a set of lock picks, a tinderbox and matches, and a potion of brief invisibility (for emergencies) all of which she fixed within pouches on a tactical belt about her waist. Next to them, she put the key ring she had stolen from Aringoth. He was a contract breaker, after all. Contract breakers and traitors were the only ones she broke her rules for.

"No claws, L'laarzen, no claws." She whispered to herself, closing her eyes and holding her hands tightly together.

Then, she crept right back up to Goldenglow Estate, and began to scale the walls.

And there we have it. Some more lore dumping, and groundwork being set for further adventures. I start to fill in some more of Xander's backstory, and Dulurza learns more about her country's backstory. You'll notice it's never explicitly said in-game exactly what happened between Ulfric and Torryg? Plus the characters have a tendency to spread rumours and tell conflicting stories. Skyrim storytelling I guess.

Next Time: Someone kills out of desperation, someone kills out of self defense, and someone kills out of rage.