Jaric Frostvein: 53 years old, born in 4E 148 in Bruma County, Cyrodiil.

Father: Jorlund 'the Hammer', Mother: Aeslyn.

No known siblings. Family Occupation: Horse breeders and trainers, mother is an alchemist/healer and follower of Mara. Father follows Zenithar to his benefit and out of respect for other tradesmen.

Jaric was a rambunctious but hardworking lad. He took some interest in his mother's work, but never learned more of it before taking a liking to his father's business and playing in the cool, mountainous pines of northern Cyrodiil. As time went on, his father took an injury that hampered his work. Though Jaric did his best to help out, pressure was put on the family by local 'benefactors' who sent many groups of hired hands to push for the sale of their stables and herd. Eventually, with increasing difficulty in doing his work, the inability to pay and maintain enough workers, and a slandered name resulting from the benefactors' political influence; Jorlund chose to sell the stable and the herd.

At the age of sixteen, Jaric saw his family move into the main city of Bruma, into a squalid little shed that his mother worked hard to renovate into a home. In time, he caught the eye of the city guard trainer and was invited to test his skills. Jaric proved some mettle, and was eventually taken up to serve. For the next seven years, Jaric performed his new role well until the Great War broke out. Over those four years, Jaric ended up serving under a northern Jarl, Ulfiric Stormcloak, and eventually assisted in repelling the Aldmeri invaders from the Imperial city. With his mother brutally murdered during the war and his father left to alcoholism and ruin, Jaric took up a renewed interest in magic and alchemy to Aeslyn's late honor. He worked tirelessly in and around the Red Ring to help those he could, and to learn what it was to be an Imperial Battlemage. Earning the nickname 'Frostvein' from some of his acts following the war, Jaric eventually caught the critical glare of the Thalmor just as he was beginning to spread his assistance beyond Cyrodiil.

A questionable and difficult experience leading to a new facial scar later, Jaric fled to Skyrim to seek out the remainder of his days in peace. For a time, he evaded Thalmor agents and even enlisted some help of the Mages guild before making good on his 'disappearance', complete with a faked death and some political influence to lie and cover for him to boot.

Jaric has since spent the last thirteen years in relative isolation, among the deep forests of Falkreath and at the foot of the Throat of the World, making his way into the Rift from time to time. Jaric ventures into small villages and homesteads only when absolutely necessary, and has primarily rededicated his life to one of meditation, naturalism, and veneration to the Eight – yes, the Eight. Although privately inflamed by the Dominion's ban of his people's ancestor-god, Jaric fails to see the point in what he perceives at Talos' abandonment. Furthermore, the man does not agree with acts of rebellion – the empire is ailing and should be saved, not burned away like some common disease.

That being said, an accidental mix-up with a horse thief following a terrifying morning revelation would see Jaric set on the path to something he never intended, and would never have dared to dream.

oo1. "Shattered Heart"

It was a bitter cold that drew away that soft morning, as so many in this part of the hold had been that time of year. The blackened char of his dinner fire was dotted with dew, clinging like a newborn to any vestige it could lay hands on. The air still held a slight chill to it, though as the old Nord turned over in sheepskin furs, he could tell Magnus' brilliance would soon shy it away. The camp was small, as was best to avoid attention. Jaric had learned to avoid nighttime pyres, taking instead to the little bit of flame magic and a specialized lantern trick he'd learnt long ago in keeping his tent warm over these unique southern Skyrim nights.

With a stretch and a yawn, the man rose tearing off the layered furs. His tent flap snapped back, causing a few birds among the pine to call out and flit away just as quickly as the aged man's appearance.

The dawn must have been brilliant, though missed as Jaric intended with his thick-leathered choice of an abode, the morning clouds drifted ranges of fury and iced breaths against the deep, pale blue. Turning to face an odd arrangement, Jaric set to making a meal.

An alembic set upon a simple wood table, small enough to host it and the mortar nearby. At the roughly hewn furniture's base sat a simple grey sack, from which Jaric now pulled several herbs and a streak of dried venison. "Hm," a growl emanated as the man realized this had aged more quickly than intended, the gamey muscle now incapable of infusing with the juniper leaves and crushed jazbay as he'd have liked.

With a sigh, the Nord turned towards his lifeless fire – a trifecta of charred logs strewn with damp, ashen debris. Above it was a simple pot, held aloft by rope tied to a metal rod, set over two solid branches perched in the ground. With a firm and somewhat agitated grip, Jaric untied the utensil and moved towards the nearby pond.

Chitinous claws raised at him, warning off a blow that would have been a further irritation. With a slight altering of his path, the white-haired, grizzly Nord knelt down and gathered just enough liquid from the quicker waters. Returning to his home, Jaric set about mixing the jerky, herbs, and a bit of mixed, crushed berry-jam that a woman in a not too far-off homestead had traded him. 'That may help the dryness,' the seasoned camper mused, now content to set the water to boil while a wood bowl held his concoction to settle, covered and placed safe in his quarters.

'Now then…' There was a need for more mountain flowers and beehive strippings, and Jaric had seen just the perfect glade to investigate that last evening. Pulling his robes over lightning-scarred arms, and a hood to cover his hair and cloud his identity, the ex-battlemage took off towards the northeast.

An eerie call pierced the calm forest, sun now almost at its full standing and glory. The male elk rushed by, failing to notice the being crouched low beneath the shaded branches and ferns of a northern pine. 'Goblins… with highwaymen?' It was an odd arrangement, to say the least.

Jaric had noted the ruin of a tower peeking amongst the trees a few days prior, and had neglected to investigate until now. It was a quicker way to the glade he'd set a goal upon, but now more dangerous, as well.

A patrol of man and three beastly grayish-green malformities spread amongst the tower's approach, a ruined entrance sat beside makeshift wooden planking which served as a ramp. This wound up and behind the foundation, hugging the mountain wall which catered quickly towards a cliff and the steep path from which Jaric had come.

An open field lay between him and a sloping route towards his itinerary. 'They'll no doubt see me,' the old man considered, well-aware that perhaps learning a thing or two – being an invisibility spell or calming effect – from the damn elves may have actually been helpful here. With a quieted sigh and shuffling of his feet, the man broke his encampment and readied sword and spell.

It was a larger fight than he'd intended, the opposing treeline hid an encampment of the creatures that had come to some sort of agreement with these brigands. How they understood one another and what possessed the men and mer here to take on such a task, he did not know and did not care to find out. A glass sphere hidden behind locked iron bars, complete with swirling deep purple magics set within it, and signs of necromantic rituals had Jaric turn away in disgust – first for the sight of it, and more importantly out of frustration that he had no picks with which to force entry and bring ruin to the abysmal artifacts.

Staying close to the trees, Jaric meandered down the hill – now all but two hundred steps lay between him and a relaxing noon of reagent collecting.

All until a fierce, shrieking cry pierced the air.

Sounds of clashing metal and arcs of lightning came to him next, and just so instinctively, Jaric cast a strengthened arcane shield about his body and settled down into a crouching position once again.

A large, snow-white Khajiit clad in painted steel burst from shrubbery at the opposite base of the hill, an iron greatsword just missing the singed, dark clothing of a cultist. Arrows whipped past the dark practitioner's head, a dunmer no less, as ethereal sparks coursed the air between himself and the would-be attacker. Before the mighty cat could bring his blade around again, a storm of violet appeared several feet behind the dark elf, as a manifestation of rock and thunder approached the well-armed and armored felid.

From then, three figures emerged: two from beside the warrior – a Nord and an Argonian skirmisher – and opposite them, yet another dark elf cultist. The party made quick work of the pair, and their conjuration. As each picked over the fallen's belongings, with the Khajiit curiously standing aside and leaving such a task to his Argonian and bosmer party members, Jaric elected to reveal himself and inquire of the group.

Their presence, and that of the necromancers, was a bit unnerving.

This region of the hold wasn't known to be well-traveled, far enough from any road or path that it was strange to come across such a large party of adventurers, and stranger still to do so and find a necromantic cult possibly hidden among goblins and rogue mercenaries.

"Hail there, friend!" The old Nord called out, weapons stowed and magicks concealed. The Argonian turned a side eye to him before drawing up to attention, hand at the hilt of her blade, as the blood-brother took note of this and returned Jaric's call. "Hello," the greeting was almost rude for someone of his kin – had this been anything but the wilds. 'He's still wary,' the camper observed. "I've just been camping up the ridge," he went on to explain, "Have you been tracking them?" Jaric motioned his chin towards one of the dunmer corpses, the one furthest from the battle-ready Argonian.

"No, friend," the burly redhead answered, "These 'ave just shown up a short while ago today. We've chased them down, from the main road." Well, that answered their reason for being so far off the path, at least.

"I see," Jaric answered in kind, only to have their scaled friend cross arms and speak in a rather dry-mouthed tone: "This one needs something?"

Taken aback, the skirmisher Nord seemed unable to respond. Their Khajiiti friend was clearly paying no mind, and the bosmer archer that'd finally appeared made no action but to smile wry. It took Jaric a moment to consider kindly firm words, "No, just passing through." He'd have said more if not for the elf and the cat nearby.

Satisfied, the scaled woman turned away. "You best not stay off the road too long," the crimson-haired Nord offered, "These woods have a certain… strangeness to them." 'Superstitious,' Jaric noted, but at the same time he could not blame the man. After all, he had seen many a time when it served others – and even himself – well. That being the case, he'd spent years here. Jaric knew these woods like the back of his own hand, and he knew just what areas the spriggans would have him avoid, and just where the spirits tended to draw thick.

"Aye, thank you, friend." With a brief nod, the group recouped and started on their way back towards the main road. 'What a chase that must have been,' the battlemage mused, turning to find his path once again.

Not but three moments had passed before the loudest, shrillest, and most terrifyingly fierce roar pierced the air – this time, from far above and to the northwest. Before Jaric could even turn his head, fierce flapping of wings – batlike wings – filled his ears, along a mix of shouts, loosed arrows, and streaks of lightning and fire.

What met his eyes was something the man struggled with for what would end as years to come.

A hulking, if streamlined form – wings of stretched viridescence and flecked with gold, maw full of ridged ivory, a whip-like bladed tail, and the strongest blast of air from a distant call that Jaric had heard from any beast, arcane or corporeal.

His mind took too many moments to wonder, 'A… a dragon!?'

By then, the beast had circled back, and only its piercing flax gaze stirred the old Nord's feet to act. A cascade of flames met upon the earth, encapsulating the Khajiit and bosmer that had returned to do battle and lay claim to such a beast.

"Augh!" The wood elf collapsed to hands and knees, as the now ashen-furred cat grimaced and raised a mighty roar before turning with his archer's leathered collar in hand, a mad dash back towards the thick of the trees.

Among the prior corpses, now added were the scaled woman and a barely-moving man. Jaric felt the draw to aid, his heart's blood beating fast and warm – but his mind kept a quicker pace as the experienced soldier scanned the sky, finding the thing turned away and just as he was to make a dash of his own – the hue of red liquid downed his brother's throat, and the younger took to his feet, scurrying up and away into fresh cover.

Another rush of air, this time beat forward by the monster's swift descent. Swift, but without flame – it seemed to only be toying at a possible kill, before encircling the glade once again and disappearing south, southeast.

For a good long minute, Jaric only doubted his eyes and wondered if the gods had delivered him to the trappings of madness. So shaken was the old Nord in this, that as he approached the still-recovering adventurers, it took only a similarly shaken expression in his Nord brother's eyes to tell the man all he needed to know.

Their big cat was now kneeled, half hidden tears and half heard prayers, over the fallen Argonian. The bosmer rested, eyes drawn shut with his head flung back against a tree. The burns were severe, perhaps enough to warrant an end to the career of a drawn bow. Jaric made to speak, but words could not form. Instead, the redhead before him, mouth previously slighted agape, now shut his heart and his eyes, his soul and mind, along with his mouth – then turning away to gaze at nothing in particular at all.

The action somehow both wounded and incensed Jaric, and before he could think, the man asked, "Did you… did you see that!?" The bosmer's head and eyes rolled, slightly open if for but a moment. There was no response, as the grayed tiger among them continued his prayers. With a step forward, Jaric tried again, "That- that was-" The wordless response came, his brother-by-blood turning to cast the fiercest, molten, and heartless gaze deep into Jaric's soul.

The Nord before him would not speak of this.

It was then the man recognized his own rudeness, after all, he had seen tragedy and terror too.

There was all too much truth, in that even simple flames or a hardened beast – much less a dragon – could render even the fiercest veterans into a mire of the past.

Eyes softened, Jaric cast them down briefly before meeting his blood-brother's again, a quick and softened nod giving all the pair needed to say between one another. The redhead's gaze flinched for a moment, before casting away and back towards nothing at all, though at least now the man had the sense to move and check on his wounded bosmer friend.

The cat had stopped speaking, and now Jaric made to take a few steps towards him. Eyes closed, a brief moment passed before the green of them opened, and it turned to give the old Nord attention as it spoke. "Walker," a greeting not heard from his kind too often so far north. Jaric looked over the cat, taking in his form and being, gauging the character and personality. "I trust you have seen stranger things, yes?" These words met Jaric with surprise – for what reason did the Khajiit say this?

A brief curl at his lips, and the big cat looked away. "Our path leads to home," a clawed finger pointed before the southern-born turned back to him, glancing down at the corpse among his feet. "For some," a sadness in his words – simple, but clearly a hidden great meaning. Jaric met with the respect in his heart for such a warrior as he would to any Nord. His gaze and focus softened at this, as the Khajiit added, "And what of you? Where does this one's path lead?"

The cat seemed trustworthy and up to something at the same time. Briefly, Jaric wondered of Thalmor influence – hidden eyes and ears, as it were. His tongue held still for but a moment, as with a solid gaze and firm, questioning tone, the Nord asked: "Why did you fight it?"

A warrior such as himself should understand, that without ranged weapons, taking on a dragon – even with backup – would almost certainly never go well. But his question held a deeper meaning than that: Jaric wanted to know, if these were the type to run back and sing songs, crack mugs, and boast overly of all they'd done.

The cat seemed to understand, at least in part. It answered with crossed arms, "This one would see his friends remain safe, no?" A flick of the tail – clear annoyance, as Jaric had learned to tell. "It does not do to face a difficult foe, nor to turn tail and hide."

In so simple of saying, the cat had made clear that he'd accomplished just what he set out to do: defend his party, and potentially drive off the beast.

That he should see one fall, was likely a fact the warrior would guilt himself heavily over.

"Hm," Jaric gave a brief nod, "I understand."

Another smile and brief flick of the tail, as the gray-furred unlatched his arms and turned, lowering himself, once again to give mind to his thoughts and his heart. A low humming escaped the beast now, as eyes slowly drew shut while Jaric made to step away.

"Leave it-" "They will heal!" The bosmer and blood-brother seemed in a disparity over added bandages, likely for the preferred naturalistic tendency wood elves had – especially where their string arm was concerned. More retorts and a lowed discussion faded as Jaric moved away from the group, now at a crossroads: He knew the way to the glade, left and along the outcropping rock set within the grassy earth.

Or, he could turn back… head south, southeast.

Something pulled at him, as if fate itself had stirred his mind and set alight this new idea, a path, a goal he felt drawn to and yet did not clearly come to call his own.

'No…' What fool would chase after a dragon?

But… it was dragon!

Could his mind be playing tricks on him? Certainly.

But then…

The morning had been odd. Nothing in the forest seemed out of place, and yet… everything had changed.

Looking back, Jaric would see this moment as the point before such changes had occurred. It was in taking that first step, that led him along towards a point of no return.

An old riverbed, devoid of running water and left with meandering puddles among mud and moistened earth. The treeline stood above him, as Jaric pulled through the path not entirely sure of where he was going. The deeper parts weren't always hard to find, though it was twice now that the old man had worked to free his step from the ground.

A bale of air rushed among the treetops towards his left, further ahead and beyond a split in the riverbed. To the east, it quickly dried to reveal a crevasse traveling up, further into the woods and eventually winding up a mountainside near Falkreath. Ahead of him, the path turned right at about one hundred yards, the rest of the old riverbed running up and into a meadow which Jaric had never seen or visited before.

His mind drew towards the straight path or the right, and a hint of uneasiness came over the veteran Nord as his thoughts meandered towards that darkened treeline, instinctive and primal fear somehow making it's way toward him for that south-ward passage.

A noise emanated, and the old man turned: to his left, far ahead in the crevasse now stood a young man. Clad in leather and cloth, with a simple hood and some bandoliers and a pack. This was all Jaric could tell at that distance, and the blade set upon the stranger's hip. He seemed to raise a hand, as if in a waving gesture. It dropped quickly as the newcomer continued their approach, clearly somewhat towards Jaric. 'How did he…?' The only place this man could have come from would be further up the crevasse, which had been empty just moments ago, or from the nearest treeeline – a good thirty feet or so from whence the man first stood. 'How…?'

Immediately, Jaric's mind began suspecting magic, and with that fear for the Aldmeri Dominion's hunt of him. 'It's been…' The Nord's mind racked, trying to recall the last run-in he'd had so many years before. 'How could they have found me, after all this time!?' Frustration piqued in his heart, as another part of Jaric's mind – the soldier in him – calmed down, 'I don't know that,' he reasoned, 'I don't know it… yet.'

Caution still remained the better part.

Jaric chanced a glance away, taking a few moments before turning back. The stranger had indeed come closer, and picked up their pace slightly no less. Jaric did the same, moving to offset the intercepting path this potential foe would have to take – either through the riverbed, with walls too high to climb, or up to attempt to attack him from above. Either way, Jaric held influence over the man's path – if he did indeed mean to come after the old one.

Running.

That did it, Jaric drew his sword and did not waste his reserve on a spellskin – yet. Taking a few steps back and with flurries of ice swirling ready in his left palm, Jaric observed the man's path as he seemed to consider the higher edge – only to turn towards the woodline and disappear.

The Nord remained motionless, readied. He took a few more steps back, wary of a sudden rush attack from above – better he not be too near the riverbed edge.

Terse moments passed, more and more. At one point, Jaric could swear he heard the forest at a longer range than usual, until a passing gnat came by his ear.

Another exhale on the wind, and the noise of disturbed foliage as the figure re-emerged, slightly atop the beginning of the ledge, before smirking and decidedly stepping forward over it – a resulting squelch into the mud, though the figure pulled himself out far easier than Jaric had been expecting.

A drawn blade, and dagger: this man indeed meant Jaric harm.

Flurries of ice picked at the foe's armor, a mix of leather and iron and cloth. Jaric recognized some of the deep aqua-colored patterning as belonging to the Niben bay, but no further hints revealed themselves, apart from what potions and vials the man hoped to recover and analyze should he live through this attack.

Their distance closed, the veteran's footwork forcing the would-be thief to shift and alter their own several times before the first swing took.

A clang of steel and iron, blade dashed aside by a sharpened dagger – Jaric grunted as he leaned back, taking his cheek out of range. A quick thrust by the longer edge, to which Jaric sidestepped and lifted his own – forcing the thing away, but leaving his left open. Or it would have been, had he not also been a mage: ice clung to the Imperial's right hand, surrounding the dagger to the point it was rendered useless. A resounding crack emanated as the enemy instead punched him with it, the barest grunt escaping as resulting frozen shards dug into the man's own hand as it was kept clenched shut.

Stepping back, Jaric meant to prepare his own thrust – a counter-maneuver with eyes set and aware on the other blade. It was then a familiar roar drew across the sky, granting an expression of shock and confusion among the two men.

But they were still close, Jaric took the moment to stab an attempt – this was delayed, and instead grazed the treated edge of his enemy's armor. The man stepped back, moving quickly to create distance – and fearing another downpour of fire, Jaric did the same. He could not remain in the open riverbed, and instead pushed himself into its wall – not at all much of any cover, but better than nothing all the less.

The man glanced up, still moving quickly and now seeming to dance in evasion for some unseen threat. Fire pooled around him, though the attacker managed to escape a direct hit, and instead turned back the way he had come, retreating into the wood as another gust of wind clearly forced its way past the veteran's ears.

Pausing only to listen, Jaric took this chance to hug the riverbed's edge, moving along it's length and towards the split path off towards the right. This was not his goal, as it seemed clear by his previous foe's steps that the beast had come from here – a relief to Jaric that his instincts still held right – but instead, the man wished to reach the thickened range of pine trees beyond that junction.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jaric checked for both the scaled beast and his new human threat, finding neither. The Nord passed the split path, and made to begin climbing a short embankment up towards the treeline – only for the mighty thump of those great wings to beat again, making their way above him and to the right, before settling ahead of him. An outcropping stone, set amongst ruined rock and debris hidden along the woods, granted a perch just so for the seemingly young green dragon.

It turned a thick and mossy neck towards him, irides of pure sunlight glowing into his own. Jaric fumbled, stepping back and certain he was too close – enough for it to make a crisped snack out of him had the beast tried.

Instead, a new sound caught Jaric's attention; although tearing himself from the draconic beast's eyes was an effort and battle all it's own.

By the time Jaric glanced over to his left, the human foe had closed half the distance between them. He too, glanced back and up at the dragon, clearly intent on giving it a wide berth and using that fact to position himself in an attempted pincer attack towards the old Nord.

'Oh, no! No, you don't!'

The man scuffled to action quickly, more so than he had thought himself capable in his years as he was. Ample speed and footwork found the pair renew their clash a mere few feet from the riverbed wall, with each daring glances at a seemingly motionless – and turned to stone? – dragon perched behind and above them.

The pair danced, and Jaric broke free – turning into a run to grant ever more distance between the pair, and the monstrosity looming over them. He'd taken and given a good blow, but the enemy seemed to have greater respite. A new frenzy of attacks met Jaric, and his right cheek broke in a flash of hot pain.

That gave the Nord a renewed vigor, the knowledge of his own freshly trickling blood enraging him just enough to turn the battle's edge in his favor.

A step, sidestep, thrust, lunge, deflect – frost spell, advance, block, deflect, stab, throw… and the man was done. Again, Jaric poured his winter fury towards the offender – just to be sure.

It wasn't but a half-second before the Nord turned back towards the dragon, which remained motionless in it's observation. The thing's eyes had turned dull, the skin truly as if it had turned to stone and been a statue for centuries – again, the fear of madness crept into Jaric's mind.

Moving quickly and in short, wasteless motions; Jaric investigated the brigand for any signs of who he was and where he'd come from. A note, some potions, oddities of any sort… Jaric was sure to glance back every now and then, keeping track of the dragon's interest or lack thereof. A moment's distraction, as the fraction of a black soul gem revealed itself along torn and tattered parchment rippings. These, Jaric dared not try to read, but all the same – the great flapping had returned.

Standing tall and moving back to catch the beast with his eyes, Jaric scanned only to find a missing statue, a movement of treetops, and nothing more.

It was several long moments before the being's voice emanated, again as a roar and approaching him from the woods just across the darkened path. Jaric formed hard, crystalline magic – launching the shards from both hands as the dragon made it's approach, catching the Nord veteran out in the open.

A wall of flame poured down, which Jaric managed to sidestep at the last moment. The beast seemed to slow, and Jaric moved back towards the way he'd come – certain that he could lose the thing in deeper forest.

It took several tries, and hugging the riverbed's protective formation to make his way halfway along the path. At one point, the dragon flew farther – back towards the place Jaric had left the party of adventurers. From here, he heard yet another fierce roar – the arc of lightning and an arrow jutting from the monstrosity's chest, as the beast wavered on it's wings and made way back up towards it's previous perch.

For a moment, Jaric turned and considered going after the beast – only to find it circling back, teetering once again… before finally failing, and slamming to the earth just back the way his first attacker had been.

It took several seconds for Jaric to believe the risk of moving towards the thing worthwhile. Finally, he did so – not as cautiously as he'd care to admit, but then soon came upon the thing: a verdant young dragon, ruined into the earth and with blood and scales scattered.

The eyes had turned dark, not to a stone-like variation as they had before, but rather… there was simply a muted color to them. Jaric thought the beast might yet rise, and took his time in tenuous approaching at first. As he did so, Jaric held fast the creature's gaze – it was dead, of that there was no doubt. The thing's chest and ribcage had shattered against rock hidden buried in the mud, shaped by the old river that had been and movements of the earth to jagged edge, now outcropping just so by the bare and disturbed dirt surrounding the dragon's mighty fall.

Blood had spewed and pooled, and though the Nord had not yet fully taken it in, the dragon's flesh, organs, and muscle had all begun to deteriorate – as if exposed to some acidic substance or made to melt away by unseen forces, decay took hold fast of the being's form.

And yet, Jaric could not draw himself from it's eyes – the dragon, the thing… it was still in there.

He knew this as certainly as he would draw his next breath.

The dragon was dead… and yet, it could not die.

Not as he and other mortals understood.

Confused, Jaric finally broke free of the mental hold this creature had announced over him – turning to investigate the scaled debris, particularly among that which had met the monster's demise.

'Perhaps… it would have lived, had this not been here,' the Nord pondered, grateful that this fight had not gone any other way. 'Hardly a fight at all…' He hadn't done a thing, in truth it was the bosmer archer and mage back in that party whom had any true affect.

'Hm, at least his sword-arm's good,' the veteran mused, almost chuckling at remembering the elf's previous disposition.

Leaning down further, Jaric pushed and pulled at the now broken cavity before him – the chest already laid open and bare far more than what could have been due to any natural decay, though muscles still held loosely around the edges of the beasts' form.

'Hm, I don't suppose…' The man pondered for a moment, before extracting a clear, empty vial from his bag and letting it intercept and fill with blood. Jaric moved to repeat this process, three should certainly do to provide him insight and perhaps, if he felt the risk worthwhile, a good amount of coin.

It was then Jaric's heart froze – the moment he saw it, still beating.

The heart of the dragon: pulsating, undulating… clearly, on fire despite that no flames enveloped nor emanated from it. Again, Jaric felt the distinctive pull that he had noticed just when looking into the dragon's eyes – only now, it was somehow ever more familiar, and stronger. As if the dragon were still looking at him, from it's own heart.

The man lay frozen, paralyzed in his crouched form.

For the life of him, Jaric could not move.

His mind seemed to panic, cold fear and icy sweat emanating and gripping him, his heart turned to a lump in his throat and his stomach felt as voided as the depths of Sithis itself. For a long time, it seemed nothing in this universe existed, except Jaric – frozen as he was – and this still-beating heart.

'No… let me go…' his thoughts slowly, gradually returned to him.

He felt, rather than heard, a low grumbling roar.

Memories came to him, of the war – of the Imperial City.

Of elves and blood, men and battle.

Of loves and lives lost, of his family, and that of others.

Of whispering smiles, glee painted clearly across the teeth of those with long ears…

His vision snapped back into focus just as suddenly and fiercely as those visions had come. The universe had returned to him, or Jaric to it? He did not know.

What the man knew, what he felt deep in the core of his being… was that this heart, was to be protected. It was his calling, for some reason, to do so… the dragon's blood had spilled, no more did it flow. Wrecked and trampled upon the earth, this beast had chosen him, it had called to him.

Or so he felt.

Jaric fumbled a step backwards, nearly falling over into the dirt and catching himself by hand – a hand now planted in dragon's blood. Raising it to gaze upon the slowly congealing scarlet, Jaric considered what he thought he must do.

Truly, this must be the beginnings of madness.

The man set that thought aside, raising his blade with bloodied hand, and began pulling at the heart set deep within a viridian husk.