First chapter from a new house. I should really be in bed right now for the all-nighter at Waffle House, but here I am making sure you guys get a new chapter to read. Thanks to xTRESTWHOx and NaanContributor for being there.

Chapter 79: Heartfelt Search

27th of Evening Star

Weiss focused on the magicka in her hands, squinting as she tried to focus it into the pattern she wanted. Red and blue spilled out as she let go, the magic coalescing around her fingers, palms, wrists, and forearms. The fluid power then solidified, becoming a pair of weightless gauntlets that fit her arms perfectly.

"Well, what do you know," Serana stated after quietly observing her fellow vampire cast the spell for the first time. "Bound Armor on the first try."

"I know we've said it before, but you've really got a talent for Conjuration," Onmund said from her scroll. "I'm still working that one out."

"I suppose it's just my affinity," Weiss figured, picking up her scroll gingerly, finding the gauntlets to be a little bulky for her tastes. Something to work on. "We'll be stopping at Winterhold for a short resupply. Were you able to get the parts?"

"Brelyna's trying to put one together right now. You know, if these things were produced at a quicker rate, they could change the way we communicate forever."

"I know. That's why we're being selective about where they're going."

Weiss closed her eyes and wondered if handing over one to even the Dawnguard was a good idea, but then recalled that absolute legion of undead that required dragon fire and a team of Huntresses to beat back. Everyone was certain that the vampires of Tamriel would not be able to pull something like that again, but those people were probably the same sort who thought the vampires wouldn't have been able to do it in the first place.

"I mean, I get it, but at the same time…" Onmund started, but he was almost immediately interrupted.

"This one imagines you do not wish to tilt the powers-that-be," J'zargo's voice spoke up before he sat within view of the communicator's lens. "He would have no such reservations, but this is not his choice."

"We shouldn't be the ones choosing what polities rule over Skyrim," Weiss reminded him. "We're very…disconnected, and we won't always be here. I don't like the war any more than the next person, but I don't really have any right to end it."

"J'zargo understands. He simply does not share the viewpoint. Then again, perhaps he would not choose a side for lack of a favored one."

"Either way, there should be enough parts for four,"

Onmund interjected. "How soon should we expect you?"

"Maybe a day, at most. We won't be staying long," she said.

Weiss' thoughts then went to Nurelion. She wasn't sure how much longer the old elf had, but she knew that the briarheart was on its way and that Ruby was close to retrieving the snow. The young team leader had made good time, considering the distance, but she also had the flattest terrain to traverse for most of her trip.

"Got a lot of things to do," Serana dryly added. "Busy schedules."

"Of course," the Nord mage said with a nod. "We'll see you soon, then."

A few more good-byes were exchanged, then the call was ended. As the two sat in contemplation, not quite ready to stow themselves away for the night, Weiss found herself looking across the cold waters toward Skyrim's distant shore. As the young woman took in the land's shapes and allowed her thoughts to run amok, the far older one stood up and stretched.

"You know," Serana started, "I'm not quite sure why you're in a rush to help this guy. Not saying you should look the other way and let him die, but from what I've heard, he wasn't exactly the nicest sort."

"It's…not a simple answer," Weiss tried, unsure how to explain her thoughts on the matter.

"I've got time. It'd be nice to hear more than the bare-bones."

The heiress sighed and looked over to the vampire princess before nodding and closing her eyes a moment. She then began softly, "Well, it feels like forever ago, but it was only a couple of months. Nurelion was looking for the White Phial and had narrowed down its location. Unfortunately, he couldn't really retrieve it himself. I just happened to hear a bit of his argument about venturing out to find it with his apprentice and offered to get it myself. He was…happy then. I think he was really looking forward to finally seeing it."

Weiss made a light smile, which soon faded. "Of course, when I found it, the Phial was damaged. I'm not sure if something happened to it directly, or if it was just the ravages of time, but it had huge cracks on it. It couldn't hold a liquid for even a second. Everything would just drain out. I tried to repair it myself, but nothing I did worked. Nothing I did ever damaged it further either, I should add." A mirthless chuckle left her. "Nurelion even said that I couldn't have damaged it if I wanted to. When I brought it to him like that, he was angry for a moment then… He was just so, so…disappointed. He spent decades, maybe centuries looking for that thing, and when he finally had it in his hands, it was a broken, useless piece of enchanted ice."

Weiss sighed and leaned back against a crate. "I saw a man's heart break and his dreams die. Even if he is a grumpy old elf, no decent person deserves that. I figured if this could work, maybe I could give him back that dream before the end."

Serana nodded as she seemed to soak in the whole tale. "So, a sense of obligation?"

"Maybe? I'm not really sure. He's not even the one that asked me. It was his apprentice, Quintus. He's a kind man." She chuckled again. "Tried to give me some money for my troubles when Nurelion handed me practically nothing, but I couldn't accept it."

"Weiss Schnee not accepting offered gold?" Serana verbally prodded while giving a wry smirk.

"Oh hush, I'm no miser. Just trying to make sure we're well-funded."

"I know." Serana smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "You're doing a good deed, don't get me wrong, but are you sure it will matter in the end?"

"I'm not, but if it does, even a little, then it will be more than worth it."

The two remained in a companionable silence for a while. Cold winds blew by as the ship slowly cut though the icy waters towards the east, and two unliving women simply soaked in the moments of calm.

"Well," Weiss said as she stood, making her way towards the stairs that led below deck and to their bunk. "I will admit that I do have a sliver of curiosity about the White Phial myself."

"Yeah, I can see the appeal. That thing was legendary even in my time."

"You know, I've wondered," Weiss began, turning her head towards Serana with an inquisitive look, "what year were you…entombed, as it were?"

"Well, that's a difficult answer to a simple question." Serana rubbed her chin in thought. "Okay, first of all, the calendar was completely different back then. In fact, our New Year was held at the beginning of the Lord Sign…"

Yang and Blake trudged into Markarth in the early hours of the morning, beckoned into the so-called "safest city in the Reach" by the guards just after the unlocking of the massive Dwemer-made gates. Few people were out and about at this time, but inns did their best to have a keeper up at all hours, so they managed to get a room easily enough. Yang was a little uncertain about sleeping on a stone bed, but, luckily, they cushioned them to a reasonable degree. In all honesty, the stone part was merely the frame.

A few hours in, the two managed to get enough rest to feel alive again and headed out to a much livelier city. Stalls were set up selling wares, foodstuffs, and sundries of all kinds from both local and travelling merchants alike. They began browsing, but Yang was pulled away from her window-shopping by a small ruckus at one side. It seemed under control, as it was happening in a roped-off octagon, but it was definitely giving off a rowdy vibe. She walked over, and found it to be a fighting ring, only the fighters within weren't what she expected.

Instead of two men, like Yang expected, there were two Centaurs going at it, fists raised and horse bodies circling each other. Both stopped and turned, first punching and blocking, but then one reared back to kick with his front legs, forcing the other to backstep and rear up in defense. The first to kick had to go back down, but then the other quickly followed, landing a punch on his opponent's cheek with the momentum of his drop.

"Ooh, nice!" Yang said in appreciation, looking over to a Centaur near her. "Say, can I have a go?"

"Uh, sorry miss," he apologized to her. "This isn't for ladies. Or well, I guess it is, but not in that way."

Yang quirked an eyebrow, then felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned back to see Blake, who thumbed in the direction of the ring. Yang looked over and saw that opposite of them was a handful of female Centaurs, some of whom looked around their age. And they were all very excited. Some were watching with rapt attention, a few with eyes and mouths in a wide smile, a couple trotting their hooves in place, and one who seemed to be making small hops every other time one of the fighting men landed a hit.

"Uh… What am I looking at?"

"Centaur stuff," a man nearby said. "Ladies like to see their men fight. Yeah, go for the jaw!"

"Wait, so like…" Yang looked back at the two fighters, looking over them both more closely. "I mean, sure they're kinda hot, but not because they're fighting."

"I think it's cultural," Blake put in. "I don't know much about it myself, just what I've read, but apparently they've done this sort of thing forever. It's not even a winner takes all type of situation. Most matches don't have a real winner, they just decide to stop at some point, then the girls get a chance to faun over their fighting prowess. They might also have races, archery competitions, or even cooking contests."

"Horsemen are a bunch of show-offs," a woman watching from behind them seemed to agree.

"Huh, neat." Yang watched them continue on, noting the way they used their unique physiology to fight. They were putting a lot more weight into downward blows and having to account for their extended bodies when maneuvering. There was less kicking from their back legs than she expected, one of them only doing it while he was turning and his opponent tried to come in at what looked like an opening. Eventually, the two seemed to wordlessly agree to an end point, their fists coming down and both giving each other a friendly smile as they exited the ring. A couple of the female Centaurs stuck to them both as they left, chatting them up as they walked away and the ring was taken down and replaced by a cart setup as a new stall. Yang was actually interested in some of the things they had and stuck around a little longer to look through them.

A few moments later, she and Blake came out with a new book on traditional Centaur stories and fables. Yang flipped through a few pages and then handed it over to her partner.

"Happy New Life!"

"Rather quick," Blake commented with a smirk. "Not gonna wrap it up?"

"Doesn't seem to be the tradition around here. You're too gloomy for giftwrap anyway." Blake shoved her lightly with a laugh, Yang smiling brightly. Something bumped into her from the side, and she quickly look over to see a woman in an orange and yellow robe.

"Oh, excuse me!" the priestess quickly apologized. "I'm terribly sorry! My mind was just… Wait, don't I know you?"

It took Yang a moment to put a name to the face, but in a few seconds, she had it and snapped her fingers. "Senna!"

"Yes, that's… Oh, you were the ones from…" Senna's apologetic look became one of annoyance. "Now I remember. You and your friends trashed our temple." Her glare then floated over to Blake, who blushed and averted her eyes in quiet shame.

"Hey, come on, that was months ago," Yang pointed out. "We've cleaned up our act since then, and besides, we cleaned up our mess back then, too."

"Yes… I suppose you…did." Senna seemed to take particular interest in the nearby Centaur group, then turned her gaze back at Yang, then Blake, particularly her ears. She then looked again and moved her eyes back and forth a few times from the Centaurs, to Yang, then to Blake. "Oh, you have to be… Dibella, help me," she muttered.

"Uh," Yang tried to figure out what she was doing, but nothing about the scene, aside from their shared past, stuck out to her. "You okay?"

"Could I bother you for a favor?" Senna asked her, seemingly coming to a decision. "If it's not too much trouble, would you come with me to the Temple of Dibella? I can assure you it has nothing to do with our past grievance. There's just something that you might be able to help us with."

"Uh, okay. You cool, Blake?"

"I guess." The Faunus shrugged. "Don't know what she thinks we could do, but we might as well."

"Thank you," the priestess said. "This way. And be careful. I can tell you haven't been to Markarth long, but the darkened streets and alleys have become dangerous of late."

The two followed the woman, their interest piqued by her warning.

"What do you mean it's become dangerous?" Blake asked after a moment.

"It's not certain when, but a string of disappearances has occurred. Some people think it's that mad, fallen Vigilant, but from what I've heard, his victims tend to be far more…messy."

"Fallen Vigilant?" Yang probed.

"They say in his despair, he turned to the Daedra in hopes of gaining the power for vengeance." Senna shook her head, as though in disappointment. "Whatever he did, he's become a brutal murderer, leaving a trail from Solitude through the Stormcloak's holds and back through Whiterun. He never stays in one place, but there's always a couple of…traumatized witnesses left to spread the word."

"Damn! Haven't heard anything about that."

"It is a recent occurrence. He can't avoid attention for too long, though. But, as I said, it's too quiet for him. I think it's more likely the Forsworn, trying to bloody the nose of the Nords and the Empire again."

Blake pursed her lips at that, recalling what she heard about the group of radical Reachfolk. It just so happened that she heard someone getting called a 'Reacher barbarian' about two blocks away at that time, souring her disposition further.

'I hate what this place reminds me of.'

The three entered the temple, which was dead quiet and empty. Senna set a basket to the side and led them further in. They headed down a few flights of stairs to the lower level, stopping where a dozen other priestesses sat either in chairs or on mats on the floor. Some seemed to be in deep meditation while others looked as though they were praying. A few looked up from their positions, surprised to see the two women following behind their fellow priestess. An older woman at their head noticed them as well and stood to full attention before walking over to confront them.

"Sister Senna, what is this?" the woman angrily asked their guide. "Why have you brought two uninitiated into the inner sanctum? During the Exalted Protocol no less."

"Forgive me, Mother Hamal, but I think they might be who we need. I found them next to the Centaur's regular stall. Look at them. What do you see?"

Mother Hamal looked over both Yang and Blake as Senna stepped aside. The woman's eyes scanned them both, seeming to take in every detail meticulously while her hard gaze considerably softened. Both Huntresses felt in the spotlight as she and the others all stared at them, unsure of what to make of their judging eyes.

"Golden scales… Black cat…" Hamal muttered under her breath. "And you say they were next to the Centaur's usual spot?" she directed at Senna.

"The Centaurs were present there as well. And I think they were doing their exhibition fighting."

"A sunny dragon and shadowy cat by prancing horses," another priestess mumbled.

"Uh, what are you talking about?" Yang decided to finally ask.

"You…seem to be who we were waiting for," Hamal began, rubbing her chin. "We were in the midst of the Exalted Protocol of the Dibellan Sybil." She closed her eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to know what exactly it means, but suffice to say, our Sybil was recently lost to us."

"Uh, sorry for your loss?" Yang tried.

"I think I can guess what it's for," Blake spoke up. "Sybil's a title. They, or she I suppose, is a person connected to Dibella for direct communion to the Goddess."

"Oh, so it's like an Oracle," Yang realized with a snap of her fingers. "Okay, cool, and… Ah, you guys got some visions!"

"Yes, precisely. Through the Protocol we have seen the home of the next Sybil, to the north, in a small village pressed against the stone."

"And you saw me as a dragon!" Yang declared with a bright smile, proudly thumping her chest. "Which is awesome! Glad Dibella sees me as the biggest and baddest."

"Yang, not the point," Blake reminded.

"Yeah, I know. We've got us a mission." Yang crossed her arms and nodded. "So, village pressed against the stone? Like against a cliff. That…does not bring anything to mind."

"We believe this village to be Karthwasten, actually."

"Oh right, I totally see it now. Ah, we were just there," Yang lightly berated herself.

"Then you know the way. Good. If you go there and bring the Sybil back to us so that she can take her place and begin her reverie, we would be in great debt to you. Normally, we or one of Dibella's knightly orders would go forth, but the roads are not safe, and the knights would have to first come in from Cyrodiil."

"Right, and who're we getting?"

"We know not her name, but we know she is young, maybe twelve summers, and dark of hair."

Yang froze a bit and blinked a few times. "Uh, wait. Did you say…twelve?"

"We assume so, yes."

Yang's mouth began moving, but no words were coming at first. Her arms fell away, and Blake stepped forward the moment she realized her partner's anger was beginning to rise up.

"Wrong Dibellan Temple," Blake quietly reminded her. Yang was stilled, but it took a moment for her temper to lower itself. Some of the priestesses looked offended while a couple seemed to find her confusion hilarious. Mother Hamal, for her part, just had a look of annoyed resignation. Clearly, Yang hadn't been the first one to make that assumption.

"Right. Okay. What if her parents are against it?" Yang asked.

"Doubtful. Any family on Tamriel would count themselves blessed for their daughter to be chosen. She'll never want for anything and be safe from all the world's dangers. It's more than most could hope for." The woman then reached over next to the chair and pulled up something to present to the Huntresses. "Here, this is one of the unique amulets of our temple." Yang took it in hand and looked it over. It was smaller and seemed far more delicate than the average Amulet of Dibella she saw every other day, but it also felt light and strong. "It is made in secret out of mithril and curses those who steal them. Only one entrusted with a task from Dibella or her faithful may take one from the Temple grounds."

Yang nodded as she accepted the trinket. "Right. Well, I guess I'll head over there and bring her back. Shouldn't take but a couple days."

"We can head out first thing tomorrow," Blake suggested. "We just arrived from a rather…tiring venture, and I'm sure you'd like us at our best to escort your new Sybil back."

As the two headed back to the inn, new quest in mind, Blake suddenly stopped in her steps and turned before sprinting towards an alleyway. Figuring she would know what it was about soon, Yang wordlessly took off after her. The two stopped at the scene of a murder, as well as what looked like the murderer meeting his end at a guardsman's mace. A crowd was already beginning to gather at the scene, and several other guards came in to keep order.

"Everyone, stay back!" one of them ordered. "We'll handle this. Go about your day."

"Safest city in the Reach, huh?" Yang mumbled at the sight. From the blood and positions of the victim and perpetrator, it looked like the former had been stabbed before his killer either went after the guard, or tried to escape in his direction. A knife didn't really stand up to a heavy mace, though, and so the murderer had his face crushed. From the look and smell of them, Yang could figure the killer as Breton or Reachman and the victim as a Nord.

"Either it's a lie, or the others are places I'd never want to visit."

"So, you wanna stay behind, huh?" Yang asked her partner as they checked over their inventory.

"Yeah, sorry, but…" Blake's ear flicked as she sighed. "There's a lot going on around here, but something rotten is happening. The guards are hiding it, too. That wasn't some random Nord who was murdered. He was well-dressed, and had that look around his eyes. Not to mention the smell."

Blake had to observe from afar on a nearby rooftop, as the guards wouldn't let anyone but themselves and the Arkayan priests nearby, but she had seen the signs of skooma addiction enough to recognize it on the victim. As soon as she did and relayed it, Yang sniffed around for the narcotic, but only found traces. There was the possibility that his dealer was just out and the deal had gone bad, but it seemed far too simple and didn't quite fit. His dealer being out should've meant that he attacked rather than the other way around, and it was highly unlikely he would have been out of coin and after skooma while still wearing silken garments.

That, plus the other murders that seemed to be brushed under the rug by the guards was painting a strange picture. One that both girls were deeply suspicious of, but Blake was clearly more equipped to investigate it.

"Don't worry about it. I'm basically just going to pick up some kid," Yang insisted while giving a gentle wave of her hand. "It'll be a day to get there and a day to get back, maybe a little longer if the goodbyes take a while."

"We ended up fighting two dragons on the way to our last mission," Blake reminded her with a smirk.

"Eh, I'll be fine. Even if they try to get smart with the breath attacks, I got our new buddy." Yang then stuck the mask of Otar to her face, which magically stayed in place with nothing to hold it there. "Protection from pretty much every element, and that armor bonus."

"It increases the resilience of skin, clothing, and armor with magic," Blake reminded her. "It's not just some arbitrary increase to a general defense number."

"Yeah, but if this were some RPG or something, they'd just call it an armor bonus, so that's what we're calling it." She took the mask off and stuck it on her belt next to the Helm of the Unburned. "Point is, I'm safe from just about anything I could feasibly face on the road to Karthwasten and back. Besides, what's the chances of running into another dragon out here?"

"Enough to worry me," Blake admitted. "Dragon attacks have been steadily increasing. Not by much, admittedly, but it's still happening."

"I'll be fine. If it makes you feel better, I promise to run first before trying to fight one." Yang raised up a pinky and gave Blake a huge smile. The Faunus shook her head and chuckled while putting her own into the blonde's, sealing the pinky promise.

"Just come back quickly. There's no telling where this will lead, and we need to get what we can underway as soon as possible so that we can move on. We've still got a big trip ahead."

"Yeah, not looking forward to our deep dive, but what can you do?" Yang asked and shrugged. She then shouldered her pack and headed out of the inn, Blake walking her out.

"Keep the room warm for me," Yang said with a wink. Blake smiled back.

"Don't be long."

After they waved goodbye a final time, the Nightingale turned her ears towards the inn patrons, letting words catch her attention here and there.

"…Mjar got done in today."

"Heard it was the Forsworn. They've really been hitting those overseers lately."

"Silver-Bloods been raging about those last few. Apparently, they were important for 'em."

"…blood and silver, that's all that flows through this damn city."

Blake frowned. They were in the Silver-Blood Inn, owned by said family. She might have gone to another to avoid handing that questionable clan any money, but the only other decent inn was closed – another murder case from a few days ago – and the rest were of a much lower quality. In fact, it seemed odd how that death benefitted the Silver-Bloods while the most recent one, if what she was hearing held any truth, was someone in their ranks slowly getting consumed by a skooma addiction.

It needed more looking into, but the biggest question now was where to begin. Entering her room, she reached up to her chest and activated her Nightingale armor. With the door locked, she climbed out the window and leaped towards the nearest shadow. A quick test against a beggar aimlessly walking about told her that even in bright daylight, shadows still hid her well enough so long as she put effort into staying hidden. And so, she set off to look into what cases she knew about and see if there was anything more to find.

"Feel the wind, Dovahkiin. Hon nii lovaas. Hear its song. Listen to the tones and find where they differ."

Ruby nodded at the dragon's advice. She closed her eyes and 'felt,' or perhaps even 'heard,' the shifting, cold winds of the mountain. Rather than listening to it whistle around her, she focused even deeper on something that played across her ears more akin to a soft touch than a sound. It was gentle, but with an undertone that it could easily become harsh, speaking of heat and its absence. It was there even when the wind momentarily ceased, letting her know that it wasn't merely the wind she was following.

There was another song. It wasn't of cold, or rather the absence of heat; neither was it of the ignorance of heat like she suspected. Instead, it was the shirking of it. A complete rejection of warmth, as well as light and wind. Ruby followed the song until it began to grow as loud as the other. When it seemed that she had reached it, she stopped moving and looked around herself, but found the area she was in to look almost identical to any other random part of the mountain.

"You have found it," Paarthurnax told her as he softly landed near her. "Here is where a number of my students once practiced the extent of their Thu'um and spoke words of unchange upon ancient snow. Perhaps some of the first. Faal gein od mulhaan nu diin."

"Maybe, but there's a lot of snow here." Ruby pondered over it, trying to figure out how she could find the right snow out of the literal tons that was in this one spot alone. She took off her Yang-enchanted glove from her left hand and reached down, scooping up a handful of the frozen condensate. Squeezing onto it, she felt it pack and melt against the warmth of her flesh. Sighing, she dropped it and looked back across the expanse of white.

'How am I supposed to find the Unmelting Snow in all of this? I can't just go through all of it and find what melts and what-'

Ruby's train of thought stopped abruptly as a realization dawned on her. The Unmelting Snow was as it was because of the specific Thu'um used on it, and it would take an equally specific Thu'um to remove that. A far more general application, however, would harm it no more than direct sunlight.

Smiling, Ruby took a deep breath, the knowledge of three words taking the forefront of her mind as they left her throat.

"Yol Toor Shul!" she Shouted, fire rushing forward and covering the area before her. She swung her head back and forth, trying to get as much area as possible and letting the immense heat of her Fire Breath soak into it all.

When she stopped, a single patch of snow remained somewhere near the center of it all, the rest melted and evaporated while the stone and dirt once hidden beneath it all was slightly scorched. Paarthurnax chuckled a moment before releasing a large laugh.

"What's so funny?" Ruby asked as she approached the remaining snow. "Did I do something wrong?"

She grabbed some of the snow and immediately felt the difference. No cold leaked into her hand, and the snow didn't pack no matter how hard she squeezed. It felt almost more akin to a powdered substance than what she knew it to be, but visually it still looked like freshly fallen snow. Even as it slipped between her fingers and fell back to the ground, it drifted as snow was wont to do. The Dragonborn smiled at the sight and began stowing away handfuls into a special velvet bag she got for just this occasion.

"Not at all, young one," her teacher told her, an amused rumble still coming from his chest. "There were many correct ways to do it, but that was the one most like a dovah. The Greybeards may have tried to discern its location with their Voice far more subtly, while most mortals would have looked for clues where their goal contrasted with the surroundings. Dovah uth ann miir bex."

"Oh, okay. Well… Makes sense, right? I'm basically a really tiny dragon."

The dragon nodded. "Indeed. Yours is still Sossedov. However kind the heart, it is still a dragon's."

Ruby nodded. They talked a little longer as she made her way back down to the monastery, mostly her recounting some details of a few adventures with Paarthurnax responding or giving advice on how to better deal with similar events. Of particular interest to the old dragon was her retelling him of her meeting with Tooths. Hiding one's name wasn't too uncommon for dragons, but completely changing it was another thing entirely.

"So, you never met a dragon who changed their name?" Ruby asked.

"I have not. Dov los do Tiid. Dragons do not change much or often. We are not unchanging, but dragons and time bring change more than they change. For this one to escape Alduin's hold by changing himself so much must have been a great undertaking. To know oneself and know how one has changed from what they once were is not as easy for dovah as it is for joorre."

"It isn't?" Ruby knew how intrinsic a dragon's name was, but she thought that maybe a change of character was all it really took for their name to shift. "So, you can't just be different, you have to know you're different."

"And accept the changes that have occurred. Something a dragon's pride may prevent. Dovah kah aal kos aan mah."

Ruby nodded at that. 'Pride comes before the fall' was a pretty well-known mortal saying.

Soon enough, they made it to the end of the path, and Paarthurnax took off back to his mountaintop. Ruby waved goodbye and reentered High Hrothgar, where she found everyone more or less where she left them. Lydia was on her feet, approaching her Thane as though to check over her, while Arngeir and Dexion were in a deep discussion on what sounded to Ruby like someone called Ebonarm. The two sorts of priests had hit it off surprisingly well, despite being from two completely different religions. Ruby supposed that it had to do with the fact that nothing about their sects really contradicted each other. The Greybeards were a traditional Nordic religion that believed the Way of the Voice could lead to enlightenment. The Moth Priests were an order dedicated to keeping the Elder Scrolls safe and studying their prophecies.

"So, if the Ebonarm still walks the land, then it is possible he could give aid to heroes of today," Dexion figured.

"True, but would he be recognizable as the figure we know him as?" Arngeir proposed. "Gods often have multiple faces that change depending on who sees them. Perhaps even the Dragonborn has run into them, a mysterious stranger who was oddly helpful at a time of need."

"Don't recall anything like that," Ruby spoke up, thinking of times past to see if she'd encountered such a person. "Then again, I'm not the only hero walking around. I already know most of the people who help me."

"Ah, well then I suppose we'll just have to see." Arngeir stood up and nodded his head to the girl. "Did you find what you were looking for, Dragonborn?"

"Yep. Unmelting Snow." Ruby held up the bag to show them. "Gonna send this to Weiss by express. Hope she helps that guy in time. Thanks for letting Dexion keep warm while I was out."

"I suppose we'll be back on the road then?" the Moth Priest asked her.

"Yeah. We need to get to Fort Dawnguard as soon as we can, and it's a bit rocky in the next part. Luckily, I don't think any vampires will be this close after what happened last time."

"There are other dangers to worry about," Lydia reminded her.

"Yeah, but none gunning straight for our buddy." Dexion didn't look so certain, but followed along after Ruby patted his shoulder. "I'll be back after a while," she told the Greybeards. "Hopefully, I'll have the right Elder Scroll to figure out what to do next time."

"Good luck on your journeys then, Dragonborn. May the roads and skies be clear."

With hardly any interruption, Yang made her way back towards Karthwasten, going over and over in her mind how to approach the situation. She tried telling herself that her own apprehension was mostly just a case of values dissonance, but even still she couldn't quite imagine someone just giving their child away.

Well, not anyone who truly loved their child, anyways.

Still, she kept herself on track, heading back into the village, the members waving at her in greeting, and started searching. At first, she started looking around for where the kids would usually be, but then figured that going to the adults might be better. Also, wherever the kids were hanging out was probably some well-hidden spot she didn't want to have to sniff out.

She first approached an Orc woman, likely the same one she spoke with briefly during the New Life Festival feast. Said Orc was working a smelter, carefully pouring molten metal into molds. Yang got her attention as she approached and the woman looked at her expectantly.

"Hello, friend," she greeted Yang with a nod. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone on behalf of the Temple of Dibella," Yang explained. "Young girl, dark hair."

"That describes half of them," the woman said with a chuckle. "Still, I think I can help you. Enmon has a girl, but I haven't seen her in a while. He might be able to help you find the right one if it's not her."

Yang let out a grumble while she looked over to the indicated man. He was going through a minecart, sorting rock and ore pieces with a down look on his face. The Huntress walked over to him and cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Enmon?" she called out, stopping a few feet away from the minecart's side.

"Yes?" he asked, looking up at her with dreary eyes. "If you need something, Ainethach could probably help you more than I."

"Not really. You have a daughter, right?"

"Damn it, woman!" he growled, catching Yang off-guard. "Are you trying to taunt us?"

"Whoa! What's wrong?" Yang asked, worry filling her voice.

The Reachman sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. It's just… our daughter, Fjotra, was taken from here. The Forsworn descended and... they didn't touch anything else. Just our little girl."

"The Forsworn?" Yang had hoped things with them had cooled down after dealing with the eviler Hagraven.

"The ones from Broken Tower, not the clan at Blind Cliff. It's more of an outpost, but we've never had much trouble with them before." He then looked directly at Yang and hummed while narrowing his eyes in suspicion and a slight amount of hope. "What's my daughter to you, anyways?"

"Well, let's see, is she about twelve years old and black-haired?"

"Yes?"

Yang took the Dibellan Amulet from her pouch a presented to the man to see. "Well, there's a good chance that she's the new Sybil of Dibella."

Surprise overtook the man's face. For a moment, he didn't move or speak. Then he incredulously whispered, "She... really? That's... I wouldn't have dreamed." His voice droned out, then his expression turned into one of pure resolve. "Of course, she needs to go to Markarth, then. We didn't have any hope of rescuing her from the Forsworn, but if you're willing to go after her, I'll come with you."

Yang was slightly surprised at how readily Enmon had accepted the revelation, as well as his apparent willingness to have his daughter be taken to the Temple, but at the moment she had more important things to take care of.

"Okay, but let's take this slow here," Yang told him then held up a finger. "First, if I'm right and she's the Sybil, we have to consider why they took her. Also, if it comes to a fight to the death, can you hold your own?"

"I-" Enmon paused and gulped loudly, then nodded and admitted, "I'd do anything to see my daughter safe, but…I'm just a miner, not a warrior like you."

"It's all right. You're just trying to protect your daughter." Yang reached over and clasped a shoulder with a hand. "You can come along, but if I end up needing to fight to get her out, you have to stand back. I can more than handle them, and you'll honestly be more likely to get in my way than anything."

"Of course, you're right. You are one of the two women who took down that Hagraven and her elite guard. Just let me get a few things ready and tell my wife where we're headed."

A short time later saw Yang and Enmon heading to the old, once-abandoned redoubt known as Broken Tower. It looked like an old Imperial garrison with most of it elevated out of reach of the everyday man without first getting through the main entrance. Two towers went up even higher from its base perpendicular to each other. Several Reachmen wearing hide and leather armor patrolled the top of the main section with bows, and all of them turned their attention towards the two strangers as they approached on horseback.

"Hey!" Yang called up to them. "I wanna talk to the guy in charge! Let 'em know Yang Xiao Long is here!"

Someone started to take aim, but one of his fellows stopped him. Yang didn't have to have werewolf ears to catch the bits about 'Melka', 'Petra', and 'blood debts'.

'So, these guys have a connection to Blind Cliff. I guess this is like a defensive outpost for the Reachfolk tribe.'

It was several minutes before a response came, mostly just asking them to wait a moment for an escort. Four Forsworn came out wielding iron and bone weapons that looked like they'd tear out chunks of flesh more than they would cut. Yang just casually hopped off of Lucky Day and handed the reins to one of them. He looked confused for a moment, but then went with it and guided the horse away to tie up while the others took defensive positions around the two visitors.

"I don't like this," Enmon muttered.

"It'll be fine," Yang reassured him. "If they wanted to kill us, arrows and rocks would've been the way to go."

The one Reachwoman looked at a male counterpart with a smirk. "Told ya rocks are valid."

"It's still dumb."

With the fourth returned, they headed inside. Most of it was how one would expect even a newer fort to look, though the Forsworn had added wooden stakes for defense here and there, likely hammered into place then sharpened. There were even a couple of traps, which their guides warned them about ahead of time, including a spiked swinging door and a cart of round boulders ready to be sent down a set of stairs. They had to go outdoors for a moment to reach their destination, going past several tents and a decapitated skeever head on a table with no sign of the rest of the rodent. Enmon visibly gagged at the sight, but Yang was used to such things by now and didn't even spare it a second's glance.

Then they entered the tower's top room and immediately saw several differences to the rest of the fort. For one, there was a large statue of Dibella off in one corner, though this one was half-painted in blood. Going by the smell and the rest of the skeever nearby, Yang could guess its source. In another corner was a cell, inside of which was a fairly comfortable setup, including a rather fresh-looking bed, candles, lanterns, a nightstand, chair, and table, along with a young girl sitting at the table with a cup and a pouting look.

"Fjotra!" Enmon called out, almost running forward before Yang caught his shoulder. Their guards looked a little tensed by the sudden movement, but no one was drawing on them, so Yang let him go. The man ran over to the cell to his daughter, who had looked up and was practically crying tears of joy as they embraced through the bars. Yang smiled at the scene, but her attention was taken by another Forsworn who walked over from the apparent shrine. Seeing as he had a hole in his chest and one of those glowing, pulsing fruits, this was a briarheart warrior.

"So, this is the golden-haired woman who helped to stop Petra's foolishness," the briarheart said. "I'd ask why you're here, but it seems apparent."

"Hah, apparent!" Yang laughed. The Forsworn all looked at her questioningly, and she pointed over to the reunion. "You know, a father is a parent."

The room was silent for several moments, and Yang could feel everyone's attention focused squarely on her. Even Enmon and Fjotra had stopped their warm reunion to stare at the Huntress. Then, all at once, they let out an exasperated groan.

"Oh gods, why?" one of them mumbled. Yang merely chuckled, amused at her pun, then moved on.

"Anyways, from the look of things, you know who the girl is," Yang pointed out, noting the flowers and berries set before the statue in offering. It didn't seem so much like a defilement as another kind of worship. Although personally speaking, if she were the Goddess of Beauty, she'd be rather annoyed to be anointed in the blood of a skeever of all things.

"Aye, we know she is Bella's chosen. I've prayed and made the proper torpors and seen the visions. We brought her here before the damned Nords could cart her away where none will see her again."

"Yeah, nice setup you got for her there," Yang sarcastically said while looking over at the cage.

"We've done what we can to make things as comfortable for her as possible," the briarheart defended.

"We're making curtains for privacy, too," one of the others added.

"A cage with golden bars is still a cage. You don't want her to be kept away in Markarth, but is this really that much better?" Yang posed to the Forsworn leader. He frowned deeply with one fist balled tightly.

"If she were to go there, the Nords would deny our people further!" he hotly declared. "It's already impossible for even the most whimpering of sops to walk the streets of the city without suspicion. You think they'd let us speak to our Goddess' Chosen?"

"You know, I really hate all of that. If I could, I'd go and punch every racist son of a bitch trying to step on your people in the mouth until they apologized and made everything better, but it's not that easy," Yang admitted, seeing the parallels between their situation and that of the Faunus, a plight made more relevant to her thanks to her partner. "But we're not talking about that. We're talking about a little girl and the family you stole her from. A family of Reachfolk, in fact."

Yang indicated the child and her father, who had looked back to the people trying to bargain over the girl's fate. The briarheart groaned and turned from them, looking back at the blood painted statue.

"She's meant to be with her people," he tried to argue. "The Goddess chose her, not some Nord or Cyrod."

"She did," Yang agreed. "But you know what Dibella also did? She sent a vision to those priestesses in Markarth, telling them exactly where she would be and who to send to bring her back. Now, that might seem a bit conflicting which, let's face it, it kinda is, but there's a pretty easy answer to that. Let's just ask her."

The Forsworn stood still a moment before looking back over to Fjotra. He unfolded his arms and sighed.

"Very well. Bella shall choose." He walked over to the cage, Enmon standing protectively next to it, and pulled out a key. "Child, we ask that you speak to the Goddess on our behalf and tell us with all honesty what her will is."

"I will do so," Fjotra answered, standing and looking at the fearsome man with a brave face. He unlocked her cage and opened it before standing back. The young girl then walked out and over to the shrine before kneeling and bowing her head in silence. Everyone practically held their breath as they awaited the Sybil's reverie. After a while, she finally stood and looked back to the expectant adults in the room.

"I keep seeing stone and bronze. I have to go to Markarth."

Blake's investigations were, for the most part, not revealing much she hadn't already figured going in. The Markarth guards seemed to be doing their best to keep all the murders quiet, though that didn't mean they weren't, in some form, exacting justice. Every five or so murders had a culprit found and either killed or arrested to be thrown into Cidhna Mines, so it wasn't like they weren't doing their jobs at all or ignoring the deaths. They just weren't looking into the obvious connections between them or whatever force was perpetrating it all. Everything Blake found just brought her to the same conclusion; the Silver-Bloods had something to do with this.

Here and there a Silver-Blood employee or even family member would be killed. It seemed almost like the White Fang all over again, only instead of Faunus it was another kind of human. She had wondered off and on how her former comrades might have viewed the situation these people were in, but some memories reminded her that she probably didn't know them all as well as she thought. It wasn't all that strange, save for one fact; almost all of them had, in the end, been beneficial to the Silver-Bloods. The dead relatives were a drunk or gambling addicted uncle or cousin or such, wasting the family's money as much as their lives. The slain employees were incompetent or later found to be corrupt. Every time she was able to dig further, save for a few cases that were completely unrelated, the information always pointed to the Silver-Bloods coming out on top.

Then there were the cases that blatantly served Silver-Blood interests. A mine owner dying, opening up his property for sale which the Silver-Bloods immediately bought up. A village that was sitting on top of a prospective silver mine being raided and destroyed. The death of the competing tavern owner. It was all rather straightforward. If the Silver-Bloods ultimately always benefitted, then it must have been that they were behind it.

The only problem was that the culprits, whenever one was found, were always Forsworn. Not just Reachmen, but members of the very group that, back on Remnant, would be classified as a terrorist organization right alongside the modern White Fang. That one link made no sense to Blake. It would be like the White Fang going out of its way to perform actions that benefitted the SDC. Subtle or not, they wouldn't have stood for it. It was often a question at the meetings they held before planning assaults; would this help the SDC in any way? Jailbreaks on prison mines were held off if it was thought that the SDC might be able to swoop in and make any profits off an equally cruel but much smaller competitor's misery.

That left Blake with a big missing link to fill, but if she could figure out just why the Forsworn seemed to be doing things to help the Silver-Bloods, that could also, hopefully, lead to proof that they were behind it all.

The next step she was undertaking was to investigate the Hall of the Dead. There, at least, the guards wouldn't be able to stop her from investigating the deceased. Even if Mjar Orsenson was the only body with clues fresh enough to investigate, that could still give her a decent lead. She just wished she had Yang's nose to help her investigate him tonight.

Blake made sure her hood was covering her ears and focused on holding them still as she entered Understone Keep and headed towards the mausoleum. Hopefully, the priest would accept her story about visiting dead relatives and let her in.

"What are you hiding, priest?" she heard a voice from up ahead growlingly ask.

"I'm not hiding anything," came the response just as she turned the corner, seeing it to be the Priest of Arkay. "It's closed for a reason."

"Typical Imperial lies. First you take away Talos, and now keep us from seeing our honored dead? You and the Jarl will answer for any desecration of my ancestors' bodies!" the Nord before him swore.

"That's enough, Thongvor. We're done," the priest told him with finality. The Nord man glared at him a while longer, but soon backed down and stomped away, brushing past Blake as he did. The Faunus watched him go a moment then turned back and approached the priest.

"If it's about the Hall of the Dead, no, you can't go in there," he immediately declared before she could say anything, clearly hoping to avoid another confrontation, but Blake merely stopped before him and raised her eyebrow inquisitively.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, and the priest of Arkay let out an exasperated groan.

"I can't talk about it. Rest assured, the Jarl hears everyone's concerns. You will be able to visit the dead again soon."

It certainly sounded like something was going on in there. Blake hoped that it wasn't more evidence suppression, but if she recalled correctly, Thongvor was one of the Silver-Bloods. Part of the main family even. That meant it was likely something else.

"Maybe I could help," Blake suggested to the man. "I've given a hand to a priest of Arkay about similar things before."

The man studied her for a moment, trying to determine if Blake was telling the truth. After a few moments, he nodded in acceptance then whispered, "I'm not sure if this is similar but…all right. I was going to suggest the Jarl hire someone to sort this mess out, anyway."

"Less work for the bureaucracy this way."

"Right." He nodded, his features only showing a smile for a moment before becoming completely serious again. "We've discovered that some of the dead have been... eaten." Blake's eyes widened at that while the priest continued, his voice grim. "Flesh had been chewed off. Bones were snapped to get at the marrow inside. We haven't caught anyone or anything yet. It's like it knows when I'm there. If you can get to the bottom of this, the Priesthood of Arkay will reward you. Take my key, and be careful."

The priest handed over a key, which she graciously took, and stepped aside. Even if she had only intended to find any evidence connecting the Silver-Bloods to the murders, stopping whatever was desecrating the dead was of equal importance in her mind now. Blake then entered the Hall of the Dead carefully, pulling back her hood to better listen around her as she did. She wasn't sure what could be in there, but whatever it was, it had to have been smart to avoid the priest.

She first headed to where she believed Mjar to be placed and grimaced when she saw that he'd already been found by whatever it was. Blake turned away from the corpse and decided instead to focus on investigating the creature that had ruined her previous search.

"Not many would walk blindly into a crypt, smelling of steel and blood," a voice suddenly rang out after a few minutes of fruitless searching, "but not fear."

Blake's ears went about as though on a swivel. She couldn't quite lock down where the voice was coming from, though it was definitely a person. Whoever they were, they knew how to use the cavernous space's echoes to conceal their location.

"I feel the hunger inside of you," the woman's voice called out again. Blake tried to zero in on it, but felt a pit form in her stomach. "Gnawing at you. You see the dead and your mouth grows wet. Your stomach growls."

Blake shook her head, wanting to block the voice out, but knew that she couldn't. However, she was sure she knew the general direction and went that way, further into the crypt.

"It's all right. I will not shun you for what you are. Stay. I will tell you everything you have forgotten."

Blake walked up the stairs leading to a shrine and looked around. She could see nothing on either side or behind it like she had thought. There were no signs of life as far as she could tell. As she turned around and readied herself to summon her Nightingale Armor, she came nearly face to face with a woman with a tattoo over her whitened left eye and spots of blood at the corners of her mouth.

"You were young when you first tasted human flesh, weren't you?" she asked as though it were an innocent question. Blake fought to not hyperventilate as a memory came unbidden, sweat beading around her forehead. "A cold winter. Not much food around, and the old are closer to death anyways. But it's all right. It's okay now. You've found a friend who understands you. You can let go of your guilt."

28th of Evening Star