Monster
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It had been the better part of a week since someone had tried to kill Alexander Meteuse. He'd almost gotten used to not being in mortal danger all the time.
The Nord was in his face in a moment, bringing a sword down in a swipe that looked about to cut him clean in two.
Xander was barely able to draw his sword and put it vaguely in the way, but the force of the attack sent it skittering out of his hand and across the cobbles.
WHO IN THE-
That thought was interrupted by the Nord bashing with his shield, smacking Xander flat in the face and making him stumble back, as the sword drew back again and SWEET MERCIFUL DIVINES-
"FEIM!" Xander fell back on his last resort, his body turning intangible and allowing his opponent's weapon to pass straight through him.
The man looked surprised, but after less than a second his eyes narrowed into focus again. Xander didn't look for any longer, turning away and using his invincibility to run away, considering reaching for his fallen sword before realising that he would just phase through it, deciding he might be better off running to the party to get help-
"FEIM ZII GRON!"
WHAT?
He felt the Shout from behind him as much as heard it, and he also felt as a great weight slammed into his back immediately after, sending him crashing to the floor.
The Nord dropped on top of him, planting a knee in his back, and he was probably about to be run through but literally none of that mattered because-
"You're the Dragonborn!" Xander shouted, partially muffled by the thin layer of snow his face had been shoved into. "Oh my Gods, you're actually the Dovahkiin!"
It was quite possibly the sheer exultation in his voice that stopped him being killed right there.
Instead, the weight shifted, and Xander found himself being shoved over onto his front, looking up at the man who was still pinning him.
As expected, the Nord was also ethereal (presumably how he'd been able to resume the attack). He put his sword-tip right at Xander's neck and (in a gravelly, masculine voice) demanded
"Where did you learn to Shout?"
"I-ngh-studied!" Xander tried to speak, heart racing at approximately a million beats per minute. "Learned the language and then went through some trauma, I'm not affiliated with the Greybeards! Or, wait, that might not be a good thing-But, you are the Dragonborn, right? You could be Ulfric Stormcloak, I'm bad at faces, but I really don't think he'd get away with sneaking in here-"
"I am the Dragonborn." The man confirmed, seeming somewhat confused by Xander's choice of questions.
"...oh my gods." Xander repeated quietly. Then, despite everything, a whopping grin split his face. "Peace! Truce truce truce! Please, this is the greatest day of my life! You're the dragon slayer! You saved Whiterun! You're the one who's following the prophecy to save us from the World Eater!"
"There's a prophesy?" The Dovahkiin asked.
"What are you doing here?" Xander continued, looking around. "Aren't you supposed to be off slaying Dragons? This is a party!"
"I need to-" The man stopped. Adjusted his grip on the sword. "Why shouldn't I kill you? Are you with the Thalmor?"
"No! Divines no! I'm here to get them off my arse!" Xander insisted. "Trust me, I'm on your side!"
"You are?"
"I am now! What do you need?"
The Dragonborn paused, and then lifted the sword up. "I'm breaking in to learn what the Thalmor know about the dragons." He said. "The Blades suspect-"
"The Blades are still around too?" Xander squealed.
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Right, sorry." Xander coughed, then shifted. "Okay, got it. Thalmor intel. That'll probably be in Elenwen's private office, you were heading the right way. Let's go."
"Let's-What do you mean?" The man demanded. "You want to come with me?"
"Yes!" Xander insisted. "I cannot stress enough how this is immediately the most important thing in my life. I'm ditching my brother I haven't seen in months and my master wizard in that party, and I do not even vaguely care."
The Dovahkiin paused. "...I just tried to kill you."
"That happens too often for me to get mad about it."
"I'm going to kill more Thalmor soldiers inside."
"I've already done that a lot, it's fine. I'll help."
"Are you...sane?" The demigod looked genuinely concerned.
"Possibly. Point is, I have perspective." Xander grinned. "Are you uniquely equipped to save the world from a particularly scaly apocalypse?"
"...Yes."
"Then I'm helping you. To Oblivion with anything else."
The Dragonborn stared at him for a bit longer. His ethereal form cut off with a flash. And then he stood up. "Fine. Double cross me and die."
"Got it. What's your name? Mine is-"
"I don't care."
"Okay."
8˂
L'laarzen had never liked research. Oh, she understood it was necessary, and in fact despised going into situations unprepared. And when she had a goal, and a method of achieving that goal, she was always more than happy to get cracking and work at it, no matter how boring it seemed. The trouble with research, however, was not that she needed to learn new things. It was that she didn't know where to start looking to find them.
"This would be so much easier if L'laarzen could actually read any of these notes..." She groused, aloud.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to waste more time copying them all down for you?" Enthir piped up from next to her.
The two of them were cooped up in Mercer Frey's basement, along with Brynjolf, who was essentially acting as L'laarzen's pair of arms for the duration. He, too, looked incredibly bored.
"I just don't understand." Sighed the thief. "What was Mercer even doing looking into all of this...stuff?"
He gestured vaguely at all the Dwarven memorabilia decorating the room, and the scripts in the long-dead language covering the walls. They had noted with some amusement early on that the ex-guildmaster had (completely independently) made his own copy of the language tablet in Markarth.
"His motive is greed." L'laarzen stated, certain of it. "He gloated before attacking me that he was about to become 'the richest man in Skyrim'. Brynjolf, are there any treasures associated with the Dwemer he might be after?"
"Not that I can think of." Brynjolf frowned, creasing his eyebrows. "I mean, there's plenty of loot to be had in Dwarven ruins, if you're brave enough. The metal itself, the precious gems they use as focusing crystals, and the cores of their automatons are prized by mages and collectors. But nothing that would make him the..."
He trailed off, staring in a particular direction. L'laarzen followed his eyes, and saw a small, cross-legged brass statue (with eyes made of crystal) resting on one of the desks. The sight of it triggered a sense of deja-vu, and after some thought she was able to place it; she'd seen a similar statue in Nzchuand-zel.
"Well, there is one thing." Brynjolf admitted. "But there's no way that's what he's after. The Eyes of the Falmer."
Enthir barked out a laugh, not looking up from his work. "Are you serious?"
"No, I'm not, that's why I said 'there's no way'."
L'laarzen moved to raise a hand in interruption, then winced as the pain hit. Need to stop doing that. "What are these eyes you speak of?" She asked.
"Supposedly, there is hidden somewhere a great statue. Built by the Snow Elves during their slavery, or perhaps before, when they were still the dominant force in Skyrim." Enthir answered, turning around. "Stories say each of it's eyes is a diamond, which wouldn't mean too much. Except those same stories make the eyes out to be anywhere between the size of your fist to the size of a mead-barrel. For raw material value, they'd be the most expensive objects on the planet. Complete nonsense, of course."
"A thief's fairy tale." Brynjolf explained. "A story goong 'Find this great treasure and become rich beyond your wildest dreams', happens all the time. Like the crown of Barenziah, or the Amulet of Kings, or..."
"Or the Skeleton Key?" L'laarzen said, offhandedly. She walked over to the statue, and gingerly reached out with one hand. Leaning casually against it was a plaque of Dwemer metal, covered in their writing. Now, didn't Khajiit notice something like this was missing when she was last in Markarth...?
"Enthir?" She asked. "Have you translated this plaque yet?"
"Hm?" He glanced over. "Oh, no, I was getting to it."
"Please give it priority? I suspect it is important."
"If you say so. Just remember that there's only one of me."
Brynjolf sighed and leaned back, accidentally knocking over some knick-knacks and cringing. "Well, even if that thing says 'Giant Jewels Are Here' and gives us directions, we still don't know what to do about it. Mercer has weeks of a head start on us, and you're still crippled. If I'm being honest, lass, Karliah's deal is starting to look better all the time..."
"This one understands." L'laarzen nodded, looking down. "It is easy to see why the intelligent can be tricked into falling into a Daedra's grasp. L'laarzen finds herself wondering, 'perhaps there is a way to earn Nocturnal's boons without giving her soul away'. But such is a slippery slope, and none of us are proficient enough to take a few steps down it without tripping and falling the whole way."
"Right." Brynjolf produced a smile, clearly trying to bring some light to the atmosphere. "So we need to find someone else who's an expert on dealing with the Daedra. And also an expert on the Dwemer and Falmer, if at all possible. Don't suppose you know anyone?"
Enthir chuckled briefly, before going back to his work.
L'laarzen, however, looked up with widening eyes. "Actually..." She said. "Khajiit just may know someone."
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The Dragonborn, Xander was learning, was an absolute monster. He fought with the strength of a dragon, the ferocity of a dragon, the endurance of a-
Look, he was really scary. The man just cleaved through every Thalmor agent in his way like a...like a dragon through-
Okay, maybe Xander was overdoing it on the dragon metaphors a little. But it was hard not to, when the Dohvahkiin opened his mouth, bellowed "YOL TOOR!" And spewed a wave of fire through a corridor that burned through another five Elven soldiers.
It was almost impossible for Xander to withhold his questions.
So he didn't.
"Was that the Fire Breath shout?"
"What did it look like."
"Do you know all three words?"
"Yol Toor Shul. But I can't shout the last one yet."
"How many shouts do you know?"
"Not sure. Get new ones all the time. Five or six."
"Where do you learn the new Shouts?"
"The greybeards taught me two. The others, sometimes I see the ancient Nordic words in tombs or texts and the meanings just...click."
"Is that because you eat the souls of the dragons?"
"Yes."
"What does that feel like?"
"Good. Too good. A rush of power, knowledge. I don't want to get addicted to it, but I can't exactly stop..."
"So the souls are in your head?"
"Yes."
"What's that like?"
"Fractured voices, information. Power. Every time I slay one I grow stronger."
"How many dragons have you..."
Xander trailed off.
This was because, after following the Dragonborn through several corridors, committing wanton murder, stealing a key, and using it to access a restricted area, he had finally come across the cellar of Elenwen's Solar.
"...What in Oblivion?" He croaked.
It was a torture chamber. There was blood splattered across the hardwood floors, rusted iron implements hanging from the walls, a metal rack in one corner, cells from which he could hear someone shouting.
It was a torture chamber.
...In his auntie's basement.
The hoarse cries for help jolted him out of his reverie; he vaulted the bannister, rolled on the floor below, and ran over to the cage.
"Hello? Is anyone-Oh, thank the Eight. Quick, you have to get me out of here!" The man in the cell was shackled to the wall, half naked and bleeding.
Xander didn't even think about finding a key. He just drew his sword and hacked at the lock of the cage until it gave way, then pulled the door open and ran over to do the same to the shackles.
"Are you alright?" He asked, before quickly realising how pointless that question was and changing it to "Can you stand? Can you walk?"
"I-I think so." The prisoner gasped out. "They didn't do anything to...to break me. Not like the guy in the other cell. But...they haven't fed me in two days."
Xander looked across to 'the other cell'. It was empty, save for a large bloodstain on the floor.
"Alright." He gulped. "We're gonna get you out of here. Come on." He finished hacking the manacles apart with some exertion, then reached down and put one of the man's arms around his shoulder, helping him to his feet.
"Thank you, friend." The man gasped. "I...I thought I was going to die in here."
"Don't mention it. I think there's some food around here...Hey, DB! A little help?"
The Dragonborn wasn't paying attention.
Xander helped the prisoner to a seat, then rushed over to where the Nord was rifling through a series of red, leather-bound books.
"Thalmor Dossiers." Xander read over the Dragonborn's shoulder. "Oh, Divines, these are Elenwen's personal notes. Elisif the Fair, Maven Black-Briar, General Tullius, Ulfric Stormcloak...Alexander Meteuse? Hey, give me those last two-"
"Esbern. I know that name." The Dovahkiin said, ignoring him and picking up one book in particular. "Delphine mentioned him..."
The prisoner spoke up from across the room, between mouthfuls of bread he'd found on a nearby table. "Aye, that's the man they were asking me about! Some old guy hiding out in the Riften Ratway. They think he's a Blade or something."
"Hmph." The Dragonborn slammed the book closed and tucked it into his clothing. "Looks like the Thalmor don't know what caused the Dragons. But Esbern might."
"Then that's where we're going next." Xander said, frantically trying to think of ways to conceal the books he was taking.
"We?"
"Yes, we."
"You are not affiliated with me." The demigod huffed, turning away.
Xander grabbed his shoulder, calling "Wait wait wait! I know someone in Riften!" She was a hairdresser, but Xander didn't feel the need to point that part out. "I can help you find this Esbern guy. Friend, I am literally the Archmage of a wizard college. I'm useful. Please let me help save the world." Please let me talk to this dragon-lore guy please please please-
The Dovahkiin turned and glared at him, prompting him to immediately remove the hand. But didn't attack.
"Fine. Meet me in Riften's biggest tavern in four days. If it takes you five I'll be gone."
"Yes!"
"You know," sighed the prisoner, "when I imagined being rescued, this is not what I was picturing..."
A shout of panic echoed from somewhere upstairs, and Xander cringed. "Oh, perfect. I have to get back up there. If I play it right, I can make out that I saw the bodies and came in to investigate. But you two need to go. Trust me, you cannot fight my brother if he comes after you."
"I think I can." The Dragonborn replied, flatly, with a hand on his sword.
"Let's agree to disagree."
"Uh, there's an escape route!" The prisoner called out. "I heard the guards talking about it. Some old cave they dump the dead prisoners into, but it might be guarded-"
"Not a problem." The Dovahkiin approached him. "Show me the way out and I'll protect you as we travel to the nearest city."
"Heh. I'd have to be a madman to turn that deal down. Come on, I think I can walk on my own..."
Xander watched the two of them move deeper into the dungeon, then turned, making his way back up the staircase in a hurry. I think I can get away with this, so long as I'm not caught down here. Just have to hope Julius isn't the one that asks me what happened...I've never been able to lie to him before...
Still, he couldn't help but stop at the top of the stairs, looking back out at the prison.
He had known, distantly, that his Aunt had fought for the Elves in the Great War. Had been told in confidence by his father once that she had been a torturer during that time, and that it was impolite to talk about it.
But...Divines. This was a lot more real.
"She came to my birthday parties..." he muttered to himself, sparing a glance for the blood-soaked metal implements casually tossed onto one table.
Then, slightly shakily, he turned and went to go greet the approaching soldiers.
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"RRRRAGH!" Borgakh the Steel Heart sprinted forwards, dodging beneath the enormous fist that swept towards her head and dropping to a slide. The giant roared in anger as her sword bit deep into its leg, and collapsed to one knee as she yanked her weapon back out and rolled behind it.
Where she shoved her sword next...wasn't particularly glamorous, but it did the job. The monster stiffened, shook, and then collapsed forwards onto the dirt.
Giants. Not so tough, you just need to know how to deal with them.
She stepped backwards, panting, and the other warriors all decided that was the moment to rush in, delivering attacks to the head and body so that they could at least claim they'd helped. Bloody cowards.
She sighed, wiped down her weapon, then made her way back into the walls of Largashbur.
The stronghold was absolutely packed, as it had been for almost a week now. That was what happened when you tried to shove two strongholds worth of people into one settlement. Makeshift buildings had sprung up everywhere, leaving the entire place bustling and cramped. Ordinarily (if there was even an 'ordinary' for something like this) those shacks would have been built over a much wider area, the intruding Orcs of Mor Khazgor honour-bound to be as good guests as possible. Of course, that wasn't feasable with the giant attacks. And as per usual, if she wanted to find the heart of the issue, she only had to look for the loudest pair of voices.
"I'm not saying I won't keep granting you sanctuary! I'm saying that we simply can't afford to feed this many mouths!" Shouted chief Yamarz, from the courtyard outside the longhut.
"We do not ask to be provided for like frightened children!" Scoffed chief Larak, stood opposite him. "My people can hunt, they are willing to work for their board! Yet you tell them that if they are to stay, they must stay hidden!"
A few metres away from them, the wisewomen of the two villages were conversing much more quietly, tending to a shrine to Malacath. Borgakh walked over to them and quietly said "Killed the giant. Are those two still-"
"Aye." Grumbled Atub, Largashbur's shaman. "Every day, the same argument, round and round..."
"We hope to commune with Malacath." Sharamph said, performing some alchemy or another on the opposite side of the shrine. "I do not expect our god to solve our problem for us, but at the very least, he may provide some direction. It would certainly get those two to shut up..."
"We cannot risk drawing the ire of the Rift!" Yamarz was still yelling. "The more land we claim for hunting, the more resentful these damn Nords become. I cannot risk a war with Riften, not with these damn giants terrorising us!"
"Coward!" Larak declared, jabbing a finger into the other chief's chest. "Here we stand as the largest stronghold of Orcs in Skyrim, and you refuse to stick your neck out for fear of a mere Man taking an axe to it!"
"Oh, big words coming from you! Your people turned tail and ran at the thought of fighting the Nords in your own hold!"
"You dare-"
"Enough."
The word boomed, echoing over the entire camp and causing every Orc there to freeze in place.
Borgakh felt her mouth go dry, as a dark and powerful presence settled over her shoulders. She glanced across at Atub and Sharamph, both of whom looked a lot like children who had just been caught after smashing a vase.
It worked? Borgakh mouthed at them.
Yeah. Sharamph mouthed back.
"Both of you dishonour your clans. Dishonour me." Continued the voice of a God. "Not only do you flee at the sight of outsiders, you fail to show the welcome that true brothers in arms are due! Are you not all kin? Yet you squabble amongst each other like rats fighting for scraps!"
"Lord Malacath." Larak spoke up first, with a gulp. "We-"
"Silence." Malacath declared, and there was silence. "I care not for your words. Show me action. First, you must reaffirm your respect to your God. Perhaps then you will be able to respect yourselves, and from there, respect your people."
The two chiefs looked at each other, as Malacath continued. "The giants that plague you have overrun my shrine in Fallowstone Cave. This is unacceptable. One of you must go and cleanse the shrine, and bring me the weapon of their leader as offering. Choose."
It took the two chiefs a moment to realise what was being offered to them. Then they both turned and looked at each other.
"...You are the chief of the home tribe." Said Larak, quietly, as thought the Daedric Prince might not hear him if he whispered. "I will not deny you the honour of fulfilling this duty."
"On the contrary." Yamarz hissed back. "As our lord says, my duty is to stay with my people. I believe he means for you to take up the task."
"But is it not the duty of the chief to protect his own lands from-"
"I'LL DO IT!"
Both chiefs stopped, and turned to stare.
Borgakh didn't meet either of their eyes, looking up to the sky with clenched fists and a racing heart. She repeated herself, "I will cleanse your shrine, Lord Malacath."
I had to say something. If they'd kept bickering I have no idea what Malacath would have done...
"...Hm. Very well." Declared the Daedra. "Go, child. Prove to your chieftans what a true Orc is capable of."
The presence receded. Every Orc present visibly sagged, Borgakh among them, staggering back a few steps and putting her hand to her head. Oh, lord, what did I just do...
I wish Dulurza was here.
The thought was unwanted, and the moment she caught it she scowled, straightening her posture. Everyone nearby was staring at her now, and she met their gazes unflinchingly.
No. I don't need the help of that...that treacherous whore. And unlike her, I'm not going to fail.
"Well what are you all standing around for?" She snapped. "Where's this Fallowstone Cave?"
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Hjarnagredda walked, slowly, towards the shack. Her legs felt heavier than they had in a long time, and it was difficult to tell what was the cause. Perhaps the stink of wolf in the air, or the wounds that she had accrued in her last transformation and so maintained in her human form. Perhaps it was the weight of her choices.
Whatever it was, she shoved it to the back of the mind and pushed the door open.
Arnbjorn was sat in the exact same place he had been the last time she'd entered, and was once again sharpening his axe.
"That thing cannot possibly have dulled since the last time I saw you." She said, as greeting.
"You'd be surprised." Arnbjorn replied, before looking up at her. "It's done, then?"
"Done." She replied, voice cracking slightly. "Sindig is dead."
"Hm. Well done." Arnbjorn looked back down. "Do you have proof?"
"What did you expect me to do, carry the body?" Hjar rolled her eyes. "Word will spread soon enough. It wasn't exactly quiet. Besides, would I be back here if I'd lied?"
"...Indeed." Arnbjorn resumed his ministrations with the whetstone.
"...So does this mean we're done then?" Hjar said, when he remained silent. "My debt's clear?"
"It is." Arnbjorn said. "You are forgiven for your poaching."
"Then, what now?"
"Now, you are free to go."
Hjar waited a moment. Nothing followed. She turned around to the door and-
"Or."
Oh for Hircine's sake-
"Or what?" She echoed.
Arnbjorn stood, shouldering his axe. "How did it feel? The hunt?"
Oh, well, if that isn't a loaded question I don't know what is...
"Ignoring all the associated stresses?" She replied, not meeting his eye. "It felt good. It always does."
"I thought so. People like you and me, we are born to hunt. It's in our blood, in our nature. You are a hunter on your own terms, and I respect that. But if you continue on your current path, sooner or later, you're going to run into the Dark Brotherhood once again."
Is he trying to give me sage advice...?
"I'll stop." She replied, hastily. "Or leave Skyrim, I don't want any more trouble with-"
"Your respect does you credit, but there's a solution that's much better for everyone involved." Arnbjorn smiled a dangerous smile. "You can't steal kills from the Dark Brotherhood if you are Dark Brotherhood."
"...You want to recruit me?" Hjar gaped at him.
"You'd still be able to pick your own contracts, we all have that freedom. But you'd have a much easier time finding them." Arnbjorn continued, rolling through what sounded like a pre-planned speech. "You'd have access to resources, safehouses, information, and a group able and willing to help you when things go sour. You'd have a family that understood what you are, and won't run you out just for knowing it. And the pay is good." The smile widened. "Very good."
Hjar took another step back, digesting his words. Well, that wasn't what I was expecting...
"And if I were interested..." she hedged-
"None of that." He cut across her. "If you don't want a part of this, walk out that door. We never have to meet again, unless someone sets a contract on you. But if you're in, then you need to say so now."
Hjar was silent for a solid minute. Arnbjorn was silent too, watching her.
"...They know what you are and they don't judge you?" She said, eventually.
"We have a werewolf, a vampire, a shadowscale, and a ruddy jester." Arnbjorn answered. "You'd be far from the strangest monster in the menagerie."
"And I'd be my own person? I don't do well with orders."
"We obey the leader of the sanctuary. But all she enforces is mutual respect. That and the tenets. You'd be freer with us than you are dodging the law of the land."
Hjar took another minute. Her eyes drifted down to the ring on her finger. It gleamed silver, even in the low light.
"...I'm in." She said, meeting Arnbjorn's eyes. "What do I have to do?"
He bared his teeth, grinning ferally. "Our sanctuary is beneath the road just west of Falkreath, marked by a black door. The password is 'Silence, my brother'. Make your way there, and report to Astrid. Everything else will be explained once you arrive."
...And there it was.
Hjar sighed, and stretched. "Well. That was easy. I was expecting to have to tail you back."
For the first time she'd seen him, Arnbjorn looked genuinely confused.
"...What?"
"Alright, all cards on the table." Hjar cracked her neck both ways. "I didn't kill this damn Grelod woman. And I'm not a damn mercenary. And I'm certainly not working for you. And I don't normally like picking these sorts of fights so I would like to ask one more time for you to just let me leave. But I've already got you to fess up the name of your secret base so I suppose that's off the table anyways. Am I right?"
Arnbjorn's face slowly morphed into a rictus of anger.
"Thought so. Oh well. I'd also like to say that you're not nearly as cool as you think you are, and you have big ears." She put two fingers to her lips, and whistled as loud as she could.
Arnbjorn took his axe in both hands, dropping into a fighting stance-
And was promptly bowled over, and the southern wall of the flimsy shack shattered, wooden splinters flying as a great brown beast tore into the building, grabbed him in one arm, and smashed him straight through the wall on the other side.
Days before, Hjar raised the mace of Molag Bal, eyes fixated on the back of Sindig's head.
She held.
And held.
And held.
And then she roared in anguish and slammed the axe into a small nearby tree.
"BASTARD!" she shouted.
Sindig turned around in shock, as she proceeded to repeatedly swing her weapon into the bark of the tree, tearing great chunks out of the bark and repeating "BASTARD! BASTARD! BASTARD!" with every swing.
"Uh." Said Sindig. "Are you alright?"
"NO!" She yelled, before turning back and pointing the mace at him threateningly. "You just had to be innocent, didn't you? You little...GAH!" She took one last swing at the tree. There was a crack, and the entire thing toppled over.
He was innocent. He had been given the curse against his will, done everything he could be reasonably expected to do in order to control it and live his life, and then commit murder while functionally under a fury spell.
Which meant that killing him was wrong.
As much as she might wish it wasn't, because that would be so much simpler-
If the sky is blue, I want to believe the sky is blue.
She swore, colourfully, before turning back to Sindig. "Do you have any idea how inconvenient you are? Now I have to actively defy Hircine! Now I'm stuck with this bloody cursed ring! Now I have to spend my life running away from-"
No. No more running away, no more lying to ourselves, if there's a problem we have to Stop The Problem-
"I have to destroy the Dark Brotherhood." Hjar breathed. "I have to destroy the Dark Brotherhood! Because of you! Oh, once I find out who killed that Grelod woman they're going to need a NICE LIE DOWN."
"Uh-"
"No! You shut up!" The growling in her stomach (that had been rising for the entire tirade) spiked, and Hjar groaned, stumbling and gripping her stomach. "Right. You and me. We're going to find this hunting party, and we're going to turn the tables on them, and then I'm going to think about how to pull myself out of this fifty foot pit I've dug for myself."
"Wait. You...you're helping me?" Sindig said, looking at her like she'd grown another head.
"I am." Hjar sighed, as fur began to grow out from her skin and her body grew, strengthened. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Rubble was still crashing into the water of the swamp as Hjar leapt out of the hole in the shack's wall, charging towards the sounds of snarling, biting and roars with her mace in her hand.
You can kill werewolves, right? She thought at the god-weapon.
The distinct feeling of contempt washed over her mind.
Alright then...
Metres away, she saw Sindig, his werewolf form bearing Arnbjorn to the floor and swinging wildly at him with great clawed arms.
Hjar didn't even bother getting her hopes up that that was all it would take, rushing in.
In the moonlight, she was able to see the body underneath Sindig buck, shift, grow, and then launch the other werewolf off of itself.
Arnbjorn, now also transformed, clambered to his feet with a low rumbling growl. Oh, wow, am I crazy or is he bigger than-
She swung with the mace, and he lashed out with his claw almost too fast for her to see, and sent her flying halfway back to the shack with an enormous gash in her chest.
Yep. Okay. About what I expected. OW.
She crashed to the floor in a heap, and narrowed her eyes, clenching her left fist. On her finger, the ring of Hircine gleamed.
Oh, wolfey dearest~
When she rose, it was in the form of a great white beast. Sindig approached from one side, and she nodded to him, before the two of them began to circle Arnbjorn, all three growling threateningly.
The moon was full, a light fog was rolling off the surface of the swamp, and three werewolves were preparing to fight. It was quite possibly the coolest moment Hjar had ever experienced.
Then she snapped a bark at Sindig, and he charged forwards, and she darted right to swing around and attack from Arnbjorn's flank-
Which was when her left leg was stabbed with fire.
She howled in pain and stumbled, rolling over as whatever the hell had just touched her withdrew, just in time for another spike of pain to dig into her other leg.
Looking down, she saw the hilt of a knife sticking out of her calf. Clumsily, she yanked the offending object out-
Only to recoil as the blade of the weapon shone in the moonlight, burning her fur as her oversized digits brushed against it. Silver. She knew it in her blood.
"You know, I've always wondered how effective this stuff actually was. Arnbjorn told me it was dangerous, but seeing it in person? It's really bad for you, isn't it?" The low, hissing voice made Hjar look up, pinpointing the source of her aggravation.
An Argonian stood before her, dripping wet and grinning. He wore the same red and black as Arnbjorn, with a silver sword in his hand and a brace of daggers across his chest. Hidden underwater, most likely. No way for me to smell him, no need for him to come up for air. Clever.
Snarling and ripping sounds drew her attention backwards, to where Sindig and Arnbjorn were rolling around in the marshes, splashing through the shallows and tearing great chunks out of each other.
"Aww, you thought to bring reinforcements too? How clever." The Argonian chuckled. "But our dog isn't as stupid as he looks. And your friend won't be the first werewolf he's killed. Maybe if I'm quick, I'll be able to body-bag you before he gets his chance!"
Hjar tried to get back on all fours and charge, but the leg he'd managed to hamstring with his sneak attack wasn't healing. Should it be? She didn't even know, her wolf form had never taken this much damage before. She simply snarled, limping forwards and swinging.
The lizard drifted out of the way, then darted back in, drawing a line of pain across her forearm. She howled again, backed up, and he pursued, sword flashing out at her.
Oh, screw this- Hjar pulled up a piece of the debris and flung it at the assassin, jumping at him when he dodged to one side and swiping again. But the little snake could move, jumping and rolling out of the way of her arms. He drew a knife from his holster with his off hand, pulled back, and threw it. Hjar had to desperately throw herself to one side to stop it landing right between her eyes, and even then, it caught her in the shoulder, sinking deep into fur that was usually nigh-impregnable. And again, it burned, as though the knife had spent an hour among hot coals before being thrust into her muscle tissue.
She stumbled backwards, trying to yank it out, and the Argonian just laughed.
"Oh, this is easy." He hissed, sheathing one sword. "And look, my dog's killing yours! This is actually hillarious, did you genuinely think that this was going to work?"
Hjar spared a glance over her shoulder. The lizard was right; things were not looking good for Sindig. Arnbjorn wasn't fighting like either of them, he was fighting like he'd actually trained how to fight as a wolf. He had a guard stance, for Hircine's sake, and though Sindig outsized him by almost half a foot, the less experienced fighter was being taken to pieces.
Damnit. Need a plan...
"Alright then, lets have some fun." The Argonian pulled another silver blade, and grinned. "Let's see how many of these it takes to make you into a pincushion!"
He pulled his arm back, Hjar prepared her wounded body to dodge away again, and the dagger left his hand-
Only to stop, and go falling to one side with a clang.
Hjar was barely able to spot it, the flash as another object came flying in and intercepted the weapon not a foot out of the assassin's hand. He himself looked even more confused, glancing between her and the weapon. He was less confused when another dagger, this one steel, sprouted from his throwing hand.
It was his turn to scream, swearing in what sounded like his native tongue as another figure sprinted in from the treeline.
"You think you're the only one who's good with knives?" Shouted Margret, bedecked in full Penitus Oculatus gear, as she drew another two blades and tossed them.
The Argonian was able to swerve away from the first and swipe the other away with his sword, only for Margret to draw another pair and close into melee.
"Interfering little wench!" The Argonian spat, defending himself with his sword. "Who in Oblivion do you think you're dealing with?"
An agent of the Dark Brotherhood, which became very immediately clear. The lizard was good, and despite beginning the fight on the back foot, he was quickly able to disarm Margret of one of her blades. He backhanded her across the face with his wounded hand, then when she stumbled, lashed out viciously with a kick at the back of her knee, forcing her to the floor.
He raised his sword into the air...then paused, as a shadow fell over him and his intended victim.
"Oh..." Muttered the assassin. "Son of a b-"
Hjar's jaws clamped around his head, and bit down until they heard a crunch.
Blood flew, the body spasmed, and she shook him from side to side for a few seconds before tossing the corpse away.
Margret! Margret, Margret, what on Mundus are you doing here?
She couldn't speak, but hoped her growl was enough to get the message across.
Margret, getting back to her feet, looked absolutely furious. "This is what you left to do?" The Imperial gasped. "Oh, you and I have got a lot to-Behind you!"
Hjar spun around, just in time to be bowled right over by Arnbjorn's furious form.
Margret dived away to avoid being crushed, as Hjar and Arnbjorn went rolling away, she shoved him off over her head and sent him slamming into a tree but she was still injured, couldn't get up properly, and then he came charging right back at her, laying into her with his claws, so she tried to bite down on his neck, eliciting a howl of pain, and he just wouldn't stop tearing at her stomach until it hurt so much she had to take her jaws off him and scream, allowing him to throw her away into the the shallows and-
Get tackled by Sindig, the tall brown werewolf bleeding from innumerable places but still desperately swinging at the assassin, and Arnbjorn was forced down onto his back before he could kick Sindig away, standing back up to-
Get struck right in the ribs by a silver dagger, thrown by Margret, who had rushed over to the body of the Argonian and was now throwing the last two knives in his bracer, one of which missed entirely but the other stuck in Arnbjorn's left arm, meaning Hjar was able to rush up, sink her claws into his shoulder and drag down, taking the blade down with her and drawing a deep gash down the entire limb, making Arnbjorn roar like she'd never heard any creature roar before and lash out with his teeth, biting down and taking a full chunk out of her neck and shoulder, forcing her to drop backwards bleeding into the waters of the swamp, and he would have finished it but-
Sindig jumped right onto Arnbjorn's back, forcing him down to the floor, trying to shove his head underneath the surface of the water, ignoring the frantic swipes from the beast's claws in one last desperate attempt to drown the bastard, so Arnbjorn simply thrashed about until he was able to get two legs and his one intact arm underneath himself and heave, and Sindig was slowly forced to ride upwards atop the other wolf's back, as Arnbjorn's eyes and then jaws, shaking, were able to force themselves up out of the water, desperately gulping in air and then turning around-
And then Margret (with a very impressive scream herself) sprinted in with the silver sword held out in front of her, and buried it to the hilt in Arnbjorn's mouth.
The tip of the sword pushed all the way through and out, puncturing through the wolf's back. Sindig fell off, collapsing into the water, as Arnbjorn's limbs locked with tension...then sagged, and his body fell back beneath the water's frothing surface.
Margret fell back onto her rear, panting, covered in blood, mud, and water. Then she shouted "Hjar!" and sprinted over to her girlfriend.
Sweet lord, what is it about writing for Hjar that brings out the sadist in me. Every fight she's in turns into the most brutal painfest I can think of.
And yes, I'm finally introducing the Dragonborn to the story. I'll say now that he's not going to be a protagonist or even a central character. He's going to be important, obviously, he's the freaking Dragonborn, but he's more going to be another facet of the world that the Disasters are trying to make their way through. A very large, very powerful, dragonslaying facet, that Xander is totally obsessed with.
Poor Xander. He thought he was done with his main quest for all of five minutes.
Oh, and we also get a look at what happened to Mor Khazgor.
I, uh. I didn't have anything for Dulurza to do this chapter.
Next Time: Our characters Finally Actually start to Meet Each Other this arc.