Last Time: Xander claimed Azura's star, Hjar claimed Hircine's ring, and Dulurza and L'laarzen were both caught up in Falk Firebeard's murder.
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Aranea Ienith heard the footsteps on the stone steps behind her, and turned. When she saw who was approaching, she let out a breath in relief.
Thank Azura; he survived.
Alexander Meteuse was...different. For one thing, his robes had changed. These new ones were black, and much finer than the last she'd seen him in. But that wasn't the source of the change; something was different in the way he carried himself. There was more confidence there now. The confidence of a man who had fought, and killed, and even if he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, the door to do it had opened.
Forgive me for my doubts, my lady. I had assumed that you would send your champion on your quest, but instead, it is the quest that makes the champion.
She opened her mouth to greet him and-
"It's really cold." Alexander chattered. "Sorry, but, how do you deal with this? You stay in that tiny little tent over there with that tiny fire? How don't you have frostbite?"
Aranea shook her head and smiled. And yet, some things haven't changed. "I serve the prince of the dusk and dawn. It would be remiss if I could not handle heat and cold. Now, you have retrieved the star?"
He coughed. "I have. Only..."
"It is broken?" He gave her a flabbergasted look and she continued, "I told you, I have foreseen all that is to come. I know that the Star was damaged by Malyn in his experiments. And I can repair it."
Alexander smiled. "Awesome! ...Uh, how?"
"First, you give the remnants to me." Aranea replied, turning back to the altar. "And then...tell me, champion. Would you like to meet a god?"
Alexander Meteuse was absolutely bricking it right now.
Oh, don't worry, it's fine! It's just, you know, a Daedra. One of the original spirits, a notoriously fickle goddess of incredible power. No pressure, right?
He inhaled, closed his eyes, and put his hands on the altar.
There was a pause, in which nothing happened.
Xander opened his eyes, frowned, and turned to Aranea. "Uh, I don't think it's-"
"BOO!"
Xander shrieked and jumped on the spot as the voice appeared in his head from seemingly nowhere, being quickly followed by an echoing, booming laughter.
"Oh, you mortals. So easily startled."
Xander gulped and looked up to the statue. "Azura?"
"Indeed."
"I meet a Daedra and the first thing she does is pick on me..." Xander sighed. "This is my life. Hi, by the way. I, uh, I brought your Star back."
"So I see, so I foresaw. You have done well to retrieve it, young mortal. And yet I must wonder...why?"
Xander blinked. "Come again?"
"You are not a religious individual, Alexander." Azura continued, "You have prayed from time to time, when you were desperate or afraid, but never have you truly worshipped anyone. And yet, when my servant requested your assistance, you did not hesitate. Why was that?"
He paused. "You don't already know?"
"I see much of what mortals do, child, but why they act is often a mystery to me."
Xander sighed. "Alright. I took your quest because it...it made me feel important. Getting handpicked to reclaim an artefact for a deity? It made me feel special."
"An honest answer. Thank you." Azura replied. "Yet perhaps not the whole truth? I know that the mage in Winterhold offered you an opportunity to change my star, in a way that would have made it much more useful to you. Why did you not take him up on it? Was it perhaps that, seeing what happened to Varen, you were too afraid of my wrath to defy me?"
Xander opened his mouth, then paused. Fear was a very common motivating factor for him, but something about Azura's judgement...wasn't quite right.
"What's your account of this whole thing?" He asked her. "Why can't your Star trap black souls?"
The giant statue seemed to loom a bit harder, but that might have just been his imagination. "Have you ever heard of the Ideal Masters, child?"
He frowned and wracked his brain. This was unusual, but, "Nnnno. I don't think so."
"Understandable. They are not common knowledge, even amongst the most learned mages." Azura continued. "Allow me to teach you a closely guarded secret of enchanting. There is no inherent power within a soul that an enchanter draws out to use as fuel. The souls are bartered. They are trapped within the soul gems, and energy is claimed from the Aetherius in exchange for their safe return. Or in the Star's case, from me. But the souls of the sentient mortals...they cannot be so easily trapped. Enter the self proclaimed Ideal Masters, a race of beings who have carved out their own plane of Oblivion and from there trade in souls with the mortals foolish enough to deal with them. Black souls can be traded to them in exchange for great power, but those souls are subjected to vile torment." Azura's voice became angry. "They are tortured for amusement, and consumed to prolong the Masters' lives. It sickens me. For a mortal to be torn early from their just afterlife, and instead given a fate worse than any realm of Oblivion."
"Then...every black soul gem is a crime against humanity." Xander gulped, realising.
"Indeed. My soul could trap black souls, to claim them instead for my realm. I know that many other Daedra, such as Molag Bal, do such a thing with their implements. But I despise such things. I desire my subjects love, willing supplication, not their domination. So when Varen attempted to corrupt my Star to such a purpose, I was incensed. I sent him visions warning him of what he was doing; and when he did not listen, I turned those visions sharp. I regret only that I could not break him before he finished his work."
Xander nodded, slowly. It was...about the response he'd expected from a vaguely benevolent, debatably omniscient, and possibly psychopathic Goddess. "For what it's worth, I think you're in the morally good area. I'll try and explain to Nelecar what happened."
"Thank you, mortal." Azura's voice was amused, as though an ant had just told her it appreciated her life choices. "And now, if you are willing, there is one more task I have for you."
Xander groaned internally. "I did some observations on the way back. Varen's still in there."
"He is."
"You want me to get him out."
"I do."
Xander groaned externally.
"And you will not be able to bring your companions with you this time. I can transport your soul and your soul alone into the gem, if you are willing. And it will be in danger. Once you enter, you will not be able to exit until the intruder is destroyed."
He grimaced. This is so not what I signed up for when I tried to trick my way into magic school...
"I will not force you." Azura told him. "You have been a great help already. The Star will reconstitute in Moonshadow within a few centuries. But if you desire it for yourself-"
"No." Xander interrupted her. "I'm not doing this for a magical present."
He looked up, straightened his staff on his back, and narrowed his eyes. "This guy's killed dozens of people. I want to put him down. Send me in."
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Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Dulurza slammed her fist repeatedly into the back wall of her cell.
It wasn't helpful, it wasn't particularly anything other than painful, but the pain helped her focus.
Think, think, think. What do I do? Elisif's in danger. What do they want with her? What's this all for? Is it just a coup? Dammit, I should have asked the chief for more details. What happens if someone else kills my target?
Blood began to trickle down from her knuckles as she raised the fist again, but she paused when she heard some shuffling from the ground next to her.
"Mph. Could this one maybe stop with the banging?" A vague lump in the corner sat up, golden eyes seeming to shine despite the darkness. "Khajiit has been hit in the head quite hard, and there is already quite enough pounding going on...what time is it?"
"Just past dawn." Dulurza growled in annoyance. "And get over yourself, cat. I don't concern myself with-" She stopped, blinked, and looked more closely at her cell-mate. "Wait. L'laarzen?"
L'laarzen shook herself, and squinted more closely. "Dulurza?" A smile cracked her face. "Friend! Khajiit did not expect to meet you so soon! And not in such a place as this! L'laarzen is so happy, she will forget about the 'cat' comment!"
"R-right." Dulurza winced. "Sorry. Why are you in here?"
"Khajiit was caught up in the scuffle in the Palace." L'laarzen explained, standing up. "She tried to explain that she was there for entirely legal reasons, but they didn't seem to be interested in talk."
"There's been a betrayal." Dulurza hissed. "The guards killed the Jarl's advisor, and pinned it on me. I need to get out of here and stop them! You're a sneak thief, can you get us out of this cell?"
L'laarzen frowned. "Khajiit could, yes, but such escapades have proven problematic in the past. If the friend breaks out without trying to explain herself, then she is almost certainly guilty in the eyes of the hold. You will be unable to ever return to Haafingar, not without facing justice or a heavy fine."
Dulurza winced. That would certainly put a stopper in the plans. A criminal can hardly become a trusted agent of the Jarl, but if she dies...or wait, would that be a good thing?
This was the first (but not the last) time Dulurza noticed that her objectives, with regards to Elisif the fair, were getting a little...muddled.
There was the slam of a door, and both women turned to see the executioner walk into the room in the centre of all the cells.
"Ahtar!" Dulurza shouted, running up to grab the bars of her cage. "Get over here!"
He turned, saw her, and walked over. "Dulurza. I thought I'd find you in here."
"Get me out of here!" She shouted through the bars. "The guards killed Falk! They fra-"
"I know." He told her, frankly.
She paused and frowned at him, and he chuckled, setting his axe to one wall. "Divines, you're oblivious. I guess things are a lot simpler in the orc tribes, huh? Lemme make things easier for you. This is a coup."
...Hmph, right, got it. Should have thought of that, really. "Why?" Dulurza demanded. "Where's your damn loyalty?"
"I was loyal to High King Torryg." Ahtar walked up in front of the cage, squaring up to her. "Not his concubine. Elisif isn't my Jarl."
"Then who? Who in Malacath's name is going to take her place?" Dulurza countered. She was dimly aware of L'laarzen moving beside her, and (not breaking eye contact) moved further from the door.
"No-one." Ahtar told her, and grinned at her reaction. "And I guess I can't blame you for not understanding what that means. I admit it, the plan's a bit crazy, but I'm sure Stentor knows what she's doing."
"Stentor?" Dulurza's eyes narrowed. "She's going to be Jarl? A vampire?"
"Eh, basically." Ahtar shrugged. "It has to be Elisif's face, of course. She's the only one who can end up as High Queen out of all this. But there's no reason it has to be her mind sat behind the eyes."
"You're going to mind control her?" Dulurza gave him a horrified look.
"No, apparently that's impossible." Ahtar replied. "But there's a workaround. We can put something else inside her, and bind that."
Summoned by words, bound by blood. The Septim dropped, as did Dulurza's jaw. "By Volendrung. You're putting Potema in Elisif's body?"
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Margret shoved the last few things into her bag; a wrapped loaf of bread, her notebook, her backup backup knife, and then drew the drawstring tight, tying it and pulling it over her shoulder. She took one last look at her room, grimaced, and started walking.
Things were getting bad in this city. If anything she'd been toning it down when explaining the situation to Hjar. People had been pulled out of houses and beaten in the street before being hauled off to Cidnah mine. It wasn't even a united front from the police force; guards had been sighted getting into fist fights with each other. It was plain that either Madanach or Thonar (or quite possibly both) were looking for something. Margret had a sneaking suspicion that that 'something' was her. Well, either her or...
Don't think about Hjar. She internally berated herself, walking out into the Inn's central room. Don't think about what she is. Especially don't think about how if you leave the city now, she won't be able to find you...
Margret wordlessly tossed her keys to the innkeeper, making her way to the door, eyes downcast. It was too dangerous. That was the phrase she'd had to repeat to herself over and over again all last night. The longer she lingered in Markarth, the higher the chance that she'd be snatched off the streets and hauled off somewhere she'd never escape. She shouldn't have even been here the last two weeks. She needed to return to Solitude and report.
No sane woman would stay.
It still felt like a betrayal to go.
She shoved open the doors to the inn, walking out into the street and bringing up one hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun. Her breath fogged in the cold air, and her feet beat a hasty rhythm on the cobblestones as she beelined for the city gates.
"Halt! You, the redhead!"
Margret froze. Looking behind her, she saw three of the city guard approaching. Their helmets concealed their faces, but to a man their hands were resting on their swords.
"Need something, gentlemen?" She asked, fists clenched.
"You're Margret? We're gonna need you to come with us." One of them said, not even bothering to phrase it as a request. "We have some questions for you."
Her legs tensed, and her eyes strayed to the gate. If she could get out of the city walls, she was almost certain she could lose them in the hills...but there were two more guards by the great Dwarven doors, and they were looking at her. Almost begging her to try it, and give them an excuse.
"Why me?" She turned back to the guards that had accosted her, expression desperate. "I'm done looking for trouble. I'm leaving right now, getting out of your business like you wanted. Isn't it easier to just let me go?"
There was a hacking laugh. Margret looked in surprise as an old man in black robes walked out from behind the guards.
"And who in Oblivion are you?" Margret asked.
"My name is Logrolf." He grinned at her, sickeningly. "And we don't want you for you. We need you as bait for someone else."
Margret's eyes widened. Hjar.
After that, she did try to run.
It didn't go so well.
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"Well well well. You can learn!" Ahtar grinned. "That's why we had to get rid of Falk; he knew Elisif far too well. And thanks for helping us get that skull back, by the way. That combined with being a great scapegoat almost makes up for all the trouble you caused in the first place."
"Once a traitor always a traitor." Dulurza warned him. "When you're useless to Stentor she'll turn on you too."
"Hmph. Maybe." Ahtar shrugged. "But loyal muscle is hard to come by. I reckon if I keep my head down I'll be able to live a decently long life."
"Then why? What do you have to gain?" Dulurza slammed a fist against the grate in protest.
"Apparently she'll double my salary." The executioner replied, nonchalantly. "Plus, Stentor doesn't much care what happens with Potema. Not as long as she can keep teaching magic secrets and putting on appearances for the court. Says everyone in the guard who helps is allowed to take a 'turn' with the puppet-queen once she's bound properly, which I am looking forwards to."
Dulurza's fists tightened. "I won't let you get away with this."
"Really? You know I get plenty of statements like that from my prisoners." Ahtar spread his arms and moved closer to the bars. "But, just like them, you're locked in a cell. How do you plan to stop us?"
There was a polite cough.
"Oh, L'laarzen is sorry." Remarked the Khajiit, stood calmly in the middle of the room behind him. "Was that door supposed to be locked? Khajiit hardly noticed it."
Ahtar turned to see the cell door hanging ajar and Dulurza reached out of the cage, grabbing his outfit and slamming him into the bars. His head cracked against the metal with a satisfying clang and he stumbled backwards clutching his nose, while Dulurza ran around the door and out, bringing her left fist round to smash into his jaw.
He recoiled, blocked her next two hooks and jabbed her in the nose, then brought an elbow round to her temple. She ducked it, and brought up a knee to his crotch, then hooked one of his arms and threw him over her shoulder, slamming his back into the floor.
He wheezed, and Dulurza walked over to the wall, grabbing the executioner's axe and giving it a few test swings.
"I told you." She said, approaching him again. "I was gonna get this axe."
"Hey, wait-"
She slammed the butt of it into his temple, knocking him out cold. L'laarzen clapped energetically, and Dulurza spat on him for good measure, before turning back to the Khajiit. "What happened to you being worried about fines?"
"Oh, please." L'laarzen smiled. "You are chasing something much more valuable than gold. Go."
"Heh. I promise I'll have your bounty removed!" Dulurza shouted it over her shoulder, running for the stairs.
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Hjarnagredda's muscles heaved and she panted heavily, veritable clouds of fogged breath emerging from her snout.
Laying dead beneath her paws was a great stag, white fur slowly staining red with blood.
She'd thought it would be easy. Hunting had always been either painfully easy as a wolf or damn near impossible as a Man, but this ruddy stag had had her chasing it for damn near two days. It was fast, and agile, and got tired slower than her, and had led her halfway across the Talos-damned country. She'd had to stop and think, use her head, lay traps, lure it into a specific point to graze and then spend hours sat in a bush (holding in the wolf in) for the right moment to move…then chased it all the way across Whiterun plains, using the city on one side and the giants on the other to herd the thing into the passage leading up to Morthal, and finally she'd gotten it to trip and fall over the snow-hidden ruins of the Labyrinthian.
Now, transforming back into her human form again, she was exhausted, hungry, freezing cold, after hours upon hours of frustration, pain and boredom.
It had been...fun. Really fun. Landing the final claw blow had been one of the best things she'd ever felt.
"Well met, Hunter." Said a voice, and a now naked Hjar nearly jumped out of her skin.
Stood in front of her was an ethereal rendition of the beast she'd just slain.
"Hircine." She inclined her head. Internally, she was freaking out that she was receiving audience with the god she'd worshipped almost all her life, but she kept a calm face. She'd set a precedent with how she interacted with Molag Bal, and didn't want to be accused of favouritism.
"Hjarnagredda. Thank you for sending Molag Bal's regards, it has been some time since he and I spoke."
Hjar coughed. "Yeah, sorry about the sass."
"Not at all. We always find it amusing when the mortals deign to 'sass' us." The beast's head turned downwards, to the stag's corpse. "Impressive kill. I was watching your hunt. You have talent."
"Hmph." Hjar looked down at herself and shivered. "Not really got the body for it though."
"Oh? Is the form I granted you unsatisfying?"
"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I just..."
"You were faced with a problem. You did not believe you were worthy of the hunt. And so, you gave up, and turned to prayer."
"I couldn't run!" She protested. "I couldn't swing a sword, or pull back a bow-"
"You made excuses." Hircine told her, frankly. "Perhaps you might find an example in a man named Kodlak Whitemane, who still hunts to this day, despite the rot that plagues his body. He does not use his wolf to strengthen himself."
"Another werewolf?" Hjar blinked. "But the beast form cleans us of our ailments. He has the rot, and he doesn't transform to cure himself?"
"Treat, not cure." Hircine replied. "Regularly becoming the wolf might grant him better health, but it would not save him. No, Kodlak desires Sovngarde. He sits, and suffers. And despite that, once every week he goes out into the plains. And he brings back a kill."
Hjar winced, and looked down. The ring glistened on her finger. "You won't repair this. Will you?"
"Defeatism again? Perhaps I should have expected it." Hircine turned around, ethereal hooves resting atop the snow as if it was hard packed earth. "Recall when you fled from your clan, rather than explain what you were? Or when you did the same with the woman you care about?"
"What does Margret have to do with this?" Hjar snarled.
"All actions have consequences, every hunter knows that. Perhaps had you not chosen to pursue the girl, she would not now be languishing in prison."
"She what?" Hjar's jaw dropped.
"Oh, indeed. She is being interrogated in Cidnah mine this very minute." The stag, looking away, turned it's head towards her, giving the impression that it was talking over it's shoulder. "Ah, but cursed as you are you do not trust yourself in her presence. How amusing. You disappoint me, daughter of the Reach. Oh, but this was a good hunt...very well. I will grant you a chance to restore your ring. There is another werewolf such as you, by the name of Sindig. If you find him and-What are you doing?"
"Making clothes." Hjar said, crouched in the snow, tearing the stag's pelt from it's carcass.
"I am talking-"
"And I stopped listening after you told me Margret was in danger." She bundled up the bloodied pelt into a roll. "Thanks for the tip-off, but she's halfway across the country and you're wasting my time."
With that, she slung the pelt over her shoulder, and took off at a run through the snow back towards Whiterun. She didn't look back.
"...Promising." Hircine mused. The stag took a small gallop, then leaped, and vanished from sight.
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Dulurza ran. It was the second time in as many days she'd found herself charging towards the Blue Palace as fast as she could, though this time she was forced to take the back roads to avoid the eyes of any guards that might be patrolling.
The extra time that took was made up by how much lighter she was without her armour. She'd have preferred half an inch of steel between herself and her enemies, but considering her target, maybe it was better to be only carrying the rags on her back and the axe in her hands.
Indeed, when she smashed the lock on a back door and made her way into the kitchens, she only had one goal in mind. Kill Stentor. Get the Jarl safe. Get out.
She found a back staircase she'd made a note of on one of her earlier stays in the palace, climbing up them to the second floor. There was a guard there, and she didn't take the time to figure out whether he was friend or foe. Before he could cry out she slammed the haft of the axe into his neck, shoving him backwards into one wall and holding him there. One...two...three...He slumped, and she dropped him, keeping moving. First stop, Stentor's quarters. Dulurza shoulder charged the door, hurling it open and looking inside, but...empty. Dammit. That meant one of two things.
Turning, she returned to the corridor, and ran down it's length to the door at the other end. There lied the master bedroom.
Elisif's quarters.
"Are you certain this is necessary?" Elisif protested, sat in a chair at her tea-table. "I assure you I am fine."
"Quite necessary." Stentor replied, setting up various magical instruments on the table. "The palace was attacked, my lady. Checking your person for lingering harmful magics is standard procedure. I would have done it sooner, were I not preoccupied preparing Potema's skull..."
"Preparing?"
"Exorcising." Stentor corrected, smoothly, "Magical jargon. And of course, I had to ensure that Orc was safely transferred to her cell."
"Right." Elisif looked down. "I...will have to question Dulurza myself. This morning, ideally."
"Question her?" Sybille looked at her. "My lady, she killed Falk."
"Yes, well..." That was the problem. Looking in a mirror, Elisif could see the dark rings around her eyes. She'd been too busy thinking about it to sleep. It still hadn't sunk in yet that the man who'd helped her since she was a young teen was dead. And that his killer was... "I would still like to hear what she says. It seems wrong, and there's no proof that-"
"No proof? Besides her standing over his body? My lady, please, I warned you since the beginning that this would happen-"
"I Will Speak To Her. Nonetheless." Elisif returned, harshly, hands clenched on the table.
Stentor paused, then sighed. "Alright. Enough of this petty facade." She reached into her bag, and pulled out a skull with a gold circlet about it's head.
Elisif recoiled in shock, "What-"
Sybille didn't give her a chance to react, conjuring green light in her hands and firing a flash that took Elisif in the chest. It felt like her limbs turned to ice; she was frozen in her position in the seat.
"I know it's generally better form to leave the gloating until after the victory, but there was never much chance of me pulling this off subtly and I could not put up with your whinging any longer." Stentor said, focusing on the skull. It's eye sockets began to glow. "Honestly, first with your husband, then the moment you start to get over that you spend all evening complaining about that accursed Orc girl. Perhaps if you were good for anything other than whining we wouldn't be in this mess."
Elisif's eyes flicked about wildly as she strained to move any part of herself, trying to escape her invisible bindings. Ten seconds. Paralysis spells run out after ten seconds, so if I can just get a second when that happens I can overturn the table and scream for help-
"I know what you're thinking." Stentor remarked. "And it's twenty seconds. I'm an expert, dear, you won't find a more effective paralysis outside of Winterhold. And anyway," she looked up from what she was doing and brought her hands together again, firing another spell, "that's it refreshed. Should be enough. Now, where was I...ah yes, Torryg! Do you know how much time, effort, and sorcery I put into that boy? All down the drain in an instant? I swear, if I get my hands on Ulfric I'll make whatever petty revenge fantasies you've had look like flea bites. And believe me, I will get a hold of him. I suppose you can have that consolation, when your soul becomes nothing but your fuel and your mind is torn asunder by a deranged necromancer queen."
The skull was humming now, and Elisif found herself transfixed by it's eyes. Her heart was pumping, as her vision tunneled slowly in on the object. Strands of blue light began to stretch out towards her, latching onto her face, and a dark voice began to echo in the back of her mind.
No. She thought. Not now. Not like this.
"I wonder." Mused Sybille. "What must be going through that greenskin's head right now? Perhaps later I will have you kill her yourself. Ooh, I like that idea. Maybe there will be enough of you left over to see how betrayed she looks?"
No. Elisif tensed. The paralysis was fading, and even as her thoughts began to muddle, one thing became perfectly clear. I won't ever betray her. And she won't ever betray me. I know it.
In what was in fact just really fortunate timing, but looked an awful lot like a genuine summoning, it was that exact moment that the door to the room slammed open.
CULIFFUHANGARU! Originally Dulurza's final conflict was meant to be in this chapter, but it ended up way too long, so here you are. Sorry I'm a little late. As I've said on the Naruto fanfiction (go check it out) things have been hectic lately, and editing times have been...tight.
And damn. I don't remember when the Daedra became life advice coaches. Godly beings are just great vectors for an 'outside perspective' to judge someone's life.
Next Time: ...It's the goddamn conflict resolution I ain't giving you anything.