It was a shock when they heard the news. A courier of the Legion's services came to Castle Dour without expectation. Couriers, typically, were signs of doom for those with the sense to see them. He went into Tullius's war room and was just as soon out. There was a pause and the Legion personnel were summoned to the courtyard for an announcement.
"Falkreath has fallen to the Stormcloak rebellion."
It was a blow to morale everyone was expecting. Falkreath was always going to be next on the Stormcloak's warpath, but it's capture meant more than some miles on the map. There were only so many roads to the Imperial Province and they just lost their last two. There would be no reinforcements for the Legion.
The cheer from the night before was replaced with gloom and hangovers. Soldiers practiced with either fury or ambivalence, trying to cope with the facts of their situation. Ansgar broke every training dummy in the yard with his unbridled rage. Rena just repaired broken armor left at the smithy's that he couldn't handle on his own. Coping was hard when you were sure you'd die the next time you were deployed.
Rena blamed herself for her situation. Her mother always told her not to go into the military, that it would be the death of her. She wanted to serve her Emperor, her Empire, but it seems her mother was right. Within less than a week, they lost over three thousand soldiers to Whiterun and Falkreath. With odds like that, they wouldn't survive a month.
While at her work, Rena noticed four legates walk in the castle. A Nord, an Altmer, an Imperial and a Dunmer. She didn't remember if she learned their names or not. No matter; their presence was more important than if she knew who they were. They were the leaders of half of what was left of the Legion in Skyrim, so they were presumably here to discuss strategy.
By midafternoon, there wasn't anything more to fix. Straps and bolts were fashioned, plates were fused back together and ripped leather was replaced. Rena became quite anxious with nothing to do and the knowledge of their imminent failure really settled in. It was terrifying and she wanted to curl up into a corner and die now.
The Imperial was on the verge of panic but tried everything to distract her. She checked and dinner wasn't for a few more hours. There wasn't anything to fix in the castle, they didn't need any help in the kitchen and every training dummy was getting replaced after Ansgar's rampage. There wasn't Rena could do to make herself useful.
"You could look a lot less shit-scared," a dusky voice spoke behind her.
Rena turned around and found Ravani. She was in simple clothes that couldn't hide all the bandages that held her together, especially on her head. One of her eyes was covered, though whether by incident or necessity was unclear. Her legs didn't seem able to carry her weight and she had crutches on each arm.
"What are you still doing here?" Rena asked, "You look like you should be discharged."
"Oh, they tried," Ravani remarked, "I even thought it might be better for me. I mean, kids better off than me are on their way out." She sat on a bench and continued, "But I'm not giving up so easily."
Rena couldn't help but be confused. "Weren't you trampled by the Stormcloak warband?" she questioned, "How is that giving up easy?"
Ravani tilted her head with a wince. "Yeah, it'd be easy to give up after something like that," she explained, "but I won't."
"Why in Oblivion would you still fight after that?" Rena wondered.
The Dunmer set her head straight, as it was probably in pain from an improper position. "My neighborhood was a shitty little place called the Gray Quarter," she recounted, "It was full of crime, violence and fear." She sighed, "It didn't have to be that way if the Nords had any respect for us or the Jarls had any empathy, but there you go."
If Rena remembered it right, Morrowind was almost uninhabitable now. The eruption of the Red Mountain left clouds of ash and smoke so thick the sky was black as night at noon. The southern lands were okay, but conquered by the Argonians, leaving little territory in Dunmer control. Many fled to Skyrim as refugees, but few were ever accepted.
"I want someone to come down to the Gray Quarter and do something about it," Ravani explained, "Just see how I used to live and try to fix it. Or maybe I just wanna kill Ulfric for keeping this war going despite a dragon coming back from the dead."
Rena nodded. "That's probably at the end of all this," she remarked.
Ravani picked herself up and made a haphazard curtsy. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get my prescription," she stated and walked out the castle.
Just as this happened, a soldier ran up to her from the war room. "Captain Donton, General Tullius has asked to see you," he stated and ran off.
Rena went to the war room and Ansgar was already there. Tullius seemed far less stressed and more in control. The meeting with the legates probably left him motivated to continue.
"Captains," he greeted, "We're ready for war."
The captains smiled. They felt pride for their military, despite everything telling them they shouldn't. They were hemorrhaging soldiers and had no chance for reinforcements. Still, they would make this work as best they could. If Ravani, scarred, trampled and qualified for a discharge was still going to fight, Rena surely could.
"We have several operations underway," Tullius stated, "but all you need to know is that you'll be reinforcing Legate Admand in the Reach at this time."
Ansgar smiled. "Then I'm heading back to my old stomping grounds," he remarked.
"Indeed," the general confirmed, "While you're there, I'm authorizing you to use whatever means necessary to keep it out of the hands of the Stormcloaks."
Ansgar nodded. "Understood."
Rena wasn't sure what Tullius meant by that. Nothing good, most likely.
Recovering wasn't as bad as Ravani had assumed. Sure, there was a lot of pain, but it was easily treated and that was underway. What was incredible was Solitude. A place with clean streets and nice people to a Dunmer wasn't something she was used to. Despite her crutches and bandages, no one had anything against her. Maybe greeting everyone as a Legionnaire had something to do with that. Maybe.
Such treatment was so alien to her. When she grew up in Windhelm's Gray Quarter, she had to stab and steal to survive. Becoming a Stormcloak wasn't much better, as the guards were always called to report a stolen uniform and her former neighbors had mixed reactions, somewhere between disgust and thoughts of opportunity. Two days in Solitude and she already knew more kindness than any moment in her life.
However, she felt much better with people who didn't know she was a Legionnaire. They were far more honest with their time, treating her like a person instead of obligation. They were even more honest with their opinions. It was interesting to hear that the people believed High King Torygg, the late great monarch of all of Skyrim that the Legion proudly seeks to avenge, was kind of a shit king in the eyes of his people that talked of glory and duty without much depth or awareness. It was hilarious.
Ravani frequented an apothecary called Angeline's Aromatics. No, she didn't really understand the name, but the healing potions were kind on her injuries, so it was much welcomed. The storekeeper, Angeline Morrard, was a kindly old lady, but seemed to be hiding something. When Ravani went into the store that night, she heard an argument between the alchemist and her niece.
The conversation wasn't easy to hear, but when Angeline returned to the storefront, she was wiping tears out of her bloodshot eyes. "You are part of the Legion, correct?" the old woman asked, "Were you there at the Battle for Whiterun?"
"Actually, yes," Ravani nodded.
Angeline gave a grateful noise. "Wonderful," she said as she almost teared up again, "I hadn't really hoped to run in to someone who had been there."
Alright, she was a loyal patron of this woman, she might as well do something besides spending the Legion's coin here. "You mentioned something about Whiterun before?" Ravani inquired.
The old woman nodded tearfully. "My daughter, Fura, was assigned to Whiterun after she joined the Imperial Army," she explained, "I was hoping you might have met her. I haven't heard from her lately. I've tried talking to Captain Aldis, but he hasn't been any help."
Ravani knew this could be a grim task, but she knew she should do it anyway. "I haven't met her," she admitted, "but I could try to get more information."
"Oh, that's very sweet of you," Angeline thanked, taking the Dunmer's free hand in her own, "Anything you can find out from Captain Aldis would be welcome news."
From that, Ravani bought her potion and left for Castle Dour.
This task had the potential of being grim. There was a mass of casualties after the battle and Ravani was lucky to have survived any of it. It was likely Angeline's daughter was just another in a long list of the fallen. She didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but it was better to know now than never. Well, unless Fura was just another one of the injured yet to be discharged. Hopefully, it was just that.
Ravani didn't know what it would be like to lose someone or be lost. Everyone in the Gray Quarter was just out for themselves and she didn't have any friends or knew who her family was. If you wanted to survive and you were a Dunmer, you had to look after yourself and anyone who was worth anything. As such, she didn't think anyone would miss her if she died. She only lived to get what she wanted.
Captain Aldis could be found in the Castle Dour courtyard. He was a tall man with long dark hair and a big beard. He looked like a man who couldn't lead an army to save his people, but could protect his people from vicious criminals, like tax evaders. Ah, Ravani was being factious; she knew this guy could rip her arm off and use it as a club.
"Hey, cake-taker-general!" Ravani called, "I'd like to talk to you!"
The captain sighed. He knew Ravani was a bit of a snarker. "I'm waiting," he said as he turned around to meet her.
"Captain, Angeline sent me to ask about her daughter," Ravani stated.
His grim face was guarded against this question. "Generally posting information is need to know only," he dryly informed. He knew something but didn't want to say it.
"I think Angela needs to know," the Dunmer replied, putting on a look that asked for him to do the right thing. Well, if this was the right thing.
"I," he stuttered, knowing he was found in the act, "I've been trying to find the time and place to let her know."
That didn't sound good.
"Her daughter was sent to Whiterun," he reported, "you know how that went. The Whiterun legate, he needed to know the Stormcloak positions. He sent out a party to scout the area. They happened upon the warband," he stopped, losing his words for a moment, "I'm told none of them made it back. Private Morrard," he hid his eyes like he was about to cry, "Angeline's daughter was in that scouting party. She needs to be told."
Ravani knew this too. It wasn't right to withhold information if it pertained to something important, like what family was supposed to be. Despite this, she felt uncomfortable giving this news. What was this feeling? Guilt? She wasn't used to emotions, not really. She just felt worse thanks to these.
When she came back to Angeline's, she was shaking in her crutches. Her mouth was dry, maybe from moving around so much, but that didn't explain what was happening to her eyes. She tried to say something to the old woman waiting for waiting on every word, but nothing came out. What was happening to her?
"I have some news about your daughter," Ravani finally got out.
"You got Aldis to tell you something?" Angeline perked up from her work before worry blanketed her face, "I knew you would. What did he say?"
"Angeline," Ravani barely got out, "Mrs. Morrard," she tried straightening herself out, "your daughter is dead."
Ravani leaned into the old woman to hug her. Her crutches couldn't support her for this.
"I told her," Angeline cried as tears fell from her eyes, "I told her the imperial army would kill her. That this was a war of Jarls and Imperial Generals and we had no part in it. She just wouldn't hear it." She looked into Ravani eyes and said, "It was brave of you to come to me with this."
She didn't feel brave. She felt like, if she was a god, she would damn this war to the deepest, darkest depths of Oblivion.
Rena and Ansgar set out at dawn to Markarth. They left on horseback for speed. They knew the road would take them into Whiterun Hold, so prepared to face Stormcloak patrols. It would only be for a short while, but they could easily be ambushed in the time it takes to reach safer borders.
But the Nords ahead of them might not have be the only Nords Ansgar had to worry about. Their new companies were made of the old soldiers and fresh-faced recruits. Given they couldn't get reinforcements from Cyrodiil, these were Skyrim natives. If their rushed training wasn't enough to cause for alarm, their captain wasn't exactly a local celebrity. It was a formula for failure, but those were the only materials.
Someone who rode with them that was bizarre on every front was Mariqa. He insisted on assisting the Legion, but he had no background he was willing to give. He seemed okay, but Tullius allowed him to join if he cleared out Fort Hraggstad of bandits. They didn't know what they were expecting but coming back with the severed forearm of a bandit in his mouth was bizarre. They allowed him to join but didn't know what to make of him.
As the border was upon them, they prepared for to fight or to run. Many soldiers had one hand on their reigns and another on their hilt, including Rena. Ansgar, however, signaled to take their steads into a trot. Their movement increased, but their nervousness didn't. Still, they looked around, expecting a bear-head helm or a blue clad soldier to appear from behind a rock or ridge.
In the distance, they spotted smoke in the south. If Rena recalled, there was a town, Rorikstead, that way. She couldn't help but hope their troubles weren't anything they couldn't handle on their own. It was a terrible sentiment for one who could probably solve it for them, but they had their orders. If they diverted from their path, their officers wouldn't be understanding.
What's more, they didn't know what laid down the road. It could've been the Stormcloaks making their way to Rorikstead, of how many soldiers unknown. Or could've been bandits that were more trouble than expected. It could've been a Giant someone egged on. Whatever was down there, they didn't know if they could take it and still be able to fulfill their duty.
Rena would ride out herself, but she knew there would be those who followed her, and more would fail the Legion. If she were to turn south, she would betray the legion, but west to the Reach, she would betray herself. Ultimately, she went to the Reach.
As if the Divines voiced their anger, a shot of screams was heard from the back. A horse and its soldier made a ruckus, for what reason was unknown. Rena rode to the source and found the stead bolting away from the company, its rider dragging on the ground behind it. The silhouette of arrows was clear as day.
"Ambush!" Rena shouted.
Out from the cliff, Stormcloak soldiers sent arrows toward the Legionnaires from the ridge. They raised their shields, but their horses were their weaknesses. They had no armor, so an arrow could easily find purchase. That combined with the rider's inexperience at war led to many riders falling of their steads, dead or from their horse bolting from pain.
Ansgar, however, was not so easily dismounted. His experience in the Reach was on display as he bolted up the ridge, Zweihander drawn, like a madman. His sword smashed against a soldier's chest and sent the fresh corpse against a rock two meters away. His display was surely a sight to behold, in terror and otherwise.
Rena rose her sword and led the still mounted cavalry up the ridge to meet the other captain. The Stormcloaks were frightened by their display and were unprepared for this. They tried to raise swords but were quickly trampled and slashed. It was less than a minute into this charge when they retreated, lost to every advantage.
"Archers!" Rena ordered, "Leave no word we were here!"
The mounted bowmen loosed their arrows toward the retreating Stormcloaks. Some fell short, others managed to find purchase, fewer killed their targets on impact. It was an unnecessary tactic, as they couldn't have a camp that close by, but Rena hoped this would lead to fewer soldiers to fight in the future.
But something Rena forgot was her soldiers. In the eyes of the new recruits, she could find pain. They didn't ask for this war, to fight their kinsmen. For all she knew, they were killing their family. She didn't know if Ansgar would care, but she did.
"Hold your bows!" she ordered, "There's been enough bloodshed today."
They put away their bows and breathed a sigh of relief. It would not last long, as now it was time to take stock of their casualties. When they counted it up, they lost twenty-one, a little over a tenth of their force. They started digging graves for them, unable to carry bodies on their path. Their families would hardly be happy.
Neither were the recruits. Most of the dead trained alongside them, green as the forests in spring. They had little chance to prove themselves in battle, as misguided as that was. Rena could see they held back tears as they buried friends. They didn't have to. They shouldn't have to.
Rena checked the sky and it was clearly high noon. "Ansgar, we break for lunch," she told to her fellow.
He grimly nodded and the war took a halt for an hour.
A Bosmer, Vorsaz, cooked up a stew. She was the one from Ansgar's company. Rena didn't expect much, as they had few meat rations and the vegetables would probably be bruised. It was strange seeing that it was a very brown stew. When she drank what little there was in her bowl, it was nice and savory. A surprise, but a delightful one.
"I didn't know there was enough meat for a stew," Rena remarked, "Even if there was, how much did it take to take it off their hands?"
"Oh, I didn't take anyone's rations," Vorsaz explained, "There was a boar I managed to corner during the skirmish."
"Hm," Rena muttered, "I didn't see one."
"Don't worry about it," the Bosmer smiled.
Rena hoped it was nothing.
Skathi, like many Nords, never stepped foot in Solitude before. The furthest north she had ever gone was Whiterun, but her recent trip to Morthal and Ustengrav changed that. Now, she was the furthest in the north she had ever been, even if the warmer weather cast doubt on that.
What brought her here was Delphine. The Breton explained they were going to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy during their Harvest's Day celebration here to search for evidence they were behind the dragons' return. Skathi was still doubtful of their involvement, but at least it was a lead. The Graybeards might know, but Delphine seemed untrusting of the monks and would keep the Dragonborn away if she could.
Skathi was supposed to meet with a Bosmer called the unfortunate moniker of Malborn to get into the embassy. Before that, she felt the need to resupply. Her armor was rent, and she was low on arrows. If she was going to infiltrate a presumably secure area, she would need to sharpen her dagger for the occasion.
The local blacksmith, Beirand, was useful. While busy with orders, he took time out to sharpen her blades and pick out some fitting armor, notable without putting a hand under her arm. She got a set of scaled armor and another mail shirt and went to the local fletcher next door for the arrows.
"Hello and welcome, my friend," the shopkeeper greeted, "How may I help you on this fine day?"
The shopkeeper had incredibly dark skin, darker than any she had seen before. Despite that, he had a tuff of blonde hair atop his head and small mustache like her father's. Where did that come from? Nevertheless, she never saw the likes of him before. He was probably a Redguard, thought she still never met one with such skin.
"What have you got for sale?" Skathi asked.
"What are you hunting?" he asked in reply, "Never mind. I don't want to know."
The arrows were many and varied. Some cheap iron, standard steel, rarer Orcish, still rarer Elven, even rarer still Dwarven and glass. Not one was the black clawed arrows she used on the dragons. She wondered how rare they, even that they might be unique.
"I need some arrows that can take down a dragon," Skathi inquired.
"Why of course. And will you also be needing the bow that shoots rainbows?" the vendor snarked, "Or perhaps a quiver that dispenses beer? Look, if you want arrows, we have them, but don't insult my intelligence."
Skathi sighed and took out one of the black arrows to show. "How many of these do you have, dick?" she asked, agitated.
He looked it over from head to nock. His eyes pointed at every grain, scratch, mark and rust. A professional at work, it seemed. Eventually, he took out a book and skipped through several pages until he found a familiar design.
"This is a Daedric Arrow, fashioned with ebony and the essence of Daedra," he explained, "Where did you get it?"
"A Khajiit," Skathi answered, eyes hardening to the news.
"Well, they either bought them from a Daedra or killed a Daedra made a batch from its heart," the shopkeeper explained.
That news in mind, she bought some Orcish arrows and left the fletcher's shop. She wondered who it was that fashioned these arrows. He was clearly a Khajiit, but she knew nothing else about him. Did he make some deal with a Daedra? Did he kill one? Was he just disguised as a Khajiit and one of their kind? Only time would tell.
Skathi went over to The Winking Skeever. "Not only the best inn in Solitude; it's also the only one!" she heard from some random crier. It seemed a cozy little place, but she was not here for comfort. She was told to meet Malborn here and was interested in getting a room for after the party. Given there was only one Bosmer there, she would have to ask. She went over to his for lone table for two
"Malborn?" she awkwardly inquired.
He raised an eyebrow at this stranger than knew his name. "Yes?" he replied.
"Our mutual friend sent me," she whispered, taking a seat beside him
"Really? You're who she picked?" he remarked at this Nord outsider, "I hope she knows what she's doing."
"Here's the deal," he explained, "I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously. I'm ready to go. Give me what you can't live without, and I'll make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you."
"I'm ready. Here's what I'll need," she stated, holding out her typical weaponry, what few lock picks she had and her new armor. She did not give the Daedric arrows, as she was unlikely find dragons in the embassy
"Okay. I'll get this inside the Embassy for you," he promised, "I've got to go. I'll find you at the party, don't worry."
After giving over her gear, she soon left the city and snuck out to a farm she passed on the way there. It was a lovely little homestead with a mill and stables. She might want to live here, though the way they worked the only child here was disheartening. In the middle of the yard was Delphine and a carriage to take her to the embassy tonight.
"Have you given Malborn the gear you want to smuggle into the embassy?" the Blade asked.
"Yes, Malborn's all set," Skathi answered.
"Good. I have your invitation to the party," Delphine stated, handing over fine piece of paper, "But the only way you're going to get past the guards is if they really believe you're an invited guest. Which means you need to look the part, and not be armed to the teeth." She held out a set of fine clothes and continued, "Here, put this on. When you're ready, I'll keep the rest of your gear safe until you get back. You'll only have what Malborn smuggled in for you, plus whatever you can pick up inside."
Skathi took the clothes and asked, "Mind if I change in the house?"
"I paid the farm for use of the facilities," Delphine explained, "You can use the house to change."
Skathi went into the homestead and set out the clothes. She threw off the rent armor and was about to put on her party outfit when she spotted herself in the mirror. Her face was rough and a little freckled from mountain life and her hair was frayed and barely kempt with her braids. She would surely stick out like a sore thumb amongst the guest, especially others her age. So, she decided to fix herself up a little.
She could find useable makeup easily enough, but she was out of practice with applying it. She tried to remember what her sister taught her during dress up and go from there. While her hands were shaky, she did decently enough for her. She might have had a masculine face for a woman, or a feminine face for a man, but she was content no one would mistake her.
Her hair was a little easier. She had maintained her hair for years, especially with the length it was now. She undid her knotting braids and use a basin and soap to clean out the dirt. After she dried it the best she could, she braided it again, put on the clothes she was given and exited the house.
"Hmm. I guess that will have to do," Delphine remarked, "You should pass for a real guest, at least until you open your mouth. Ready to board the carriage to the embassy?"
Skathi sighed and replied, "I'm ready. Keep the rest of my things safe for me."
"Don't worry, it will all be waiting for you when you get back," the Blade reassured, "Just make sure you get back out of there alive with the information we need. Good luck."
With that, she climbed into the carriage and took the ride to the Thalmor Embassy. She prayed to whoever would hear she would not fail, lest she die.
By the time Skathi made it to the Thalmor Embassy, the last embers of the day were fading away. The sun was fading away into the night and its last light hit the snow like a coat of orange dye. A familiar sight, as she would often see this as night fell in the wilderness. It was also there when the dragon attacked Rena's camp at Whiterun. This soured the sight somewhat.
Not even the Embassy was safe from the day's last light, though it was still as cold as Eastmarch. The building was built of brick and steel, a spiked fence dissuading anyone from climbing the wall. The manor itself seemed cut from the same cloth as Solitude's structures, dark shingles and fine architecture, but a lack of warmth that was unlike the rest of Skyrim.
When the carriage came to a stop, Skathi dismounted and was soon met by a Redguard at the gate, talking to the guard. His garb was familiar, like a well-off merchant's, but dirtied and stained from something rank. His beard and hair seemed unwashed, as though water and soap were expensive to this moneyed man. A strange thought for someone invited to this function, though Skathi was hardly one to talk.
"Now then. Here's my invitation," he declared, "I don't have a poisoned dagger strapped to my thigh, et cetera, et cetera."
"I'm just doing my duty, sir," the guard stated, looking over the invitation, "Everything's in order. Welcome back, sir."
"Yes, yes. Now to find myself a drink," the rich man slurred.
After the rich man left, Skathi approached the guard. He was clad in golden armor, sculpted into imagery of a bird of prey. The plate armor seemed as though you could knock on it and it would echo like a bucket. Despite the display, he seemed a weaker armor than the scaled vest she hoped was stored somewhere here.
"Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy," he coldly greeted, "Your invitation, please."
"Here you go," Skathi remarked as she held out the forgery. She hoped it would her past this.
The guard look over the invitation. "Thank you, ma'am. Go right in," he stated. Perhaps rumors of Elven eyesight had been greatly exaggerated.
Immediately after entering the Embassy, Skathi was met by another Altmer. This one was clad in black and gold embroidered clothes. Fine clothes do not make a fine face though. Her jaw was as round and sharp as a steel dagger, her eyes deep and surrounded by black make up. If you were to look at her and Skathi together, you would think one was a High Elven caricature of the other.
"Welcome. I don't believe we've met," the woman remarked, "I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are?"
"My name is Skathi Wolf-Runner," the Nord greeted, giving a clumsy curtsy, "Pleased to meet you."
"Ah yes. I remember your name from the guest list," Elenwen remarked, "Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this, to Skyrim?"
Before Skathi could answer, someone at the bar interrupted. "Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt-," a familiar Bosmer inquired.
"What is it, Malborn?" the ambassador snapped.
"It's just that we've run out of the Alto wine," he reported, "Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red?"
"Of course. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles," Elenwen stated.
"Yes, Madame Ambassador," Malborn slinked.
The ambassador turned her disgusted expression away and put a fake smile on to her guest. "My apologies. We'll have to get better acquainted later," she beamed like moonlight, "Please, enjoy yourself."
Elenwen broke off from the Nord and went to the rest of the crowd. Skathi sunk over to Malborn's station at the bar. His subservient demeanor dropped away to a more natural, relaxed expression. While the outsider was surprised that she noticed that.
"What can I get for you?" he asked. Once her was certain no one was watching, he leaned in and whispered, "You made it in. Good. As soon as you distract the guards, I'll open this door and we can get you on your way."
Skathi nodded. "I'd like a drink," she requested
"Here you go, ma'am," Malborn announced, "The finest Colovian brandy."
The bartender handed over a green bottle and Skathi took it into the crowd. She lacked any interest in alcohol, but she could figure who did.
"What does a fellow need to do to get a drink around here?" the rich Redguard mused before noticing the outsider, "Ah, pardon me, friend. I didn't see you standing there. Allow me to introduce myself. Razelan, imports and exports, by trade. Observer of human nature, by avocation."
"You look thirsty," Skathi remarked. If she was right, he would be more interested in brandy than her.
"My friend, you are very perceptive!" Razelan remarked, "I have a powerful thirst that cannot be slaked! And none of the waiters will bring me a drink, Elenwen must have told them to cut me off, the frigid bitch. Afraid I'll cause another scene, I suppose."
Skathi smiled. This was perfect. "Here, I brought you a drink," and she handed him the bottle.
"Ah, the one generous soul amongst a gathering of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles! If there's anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to call upon me!"
"Actually, there is something you could do for me," Skathi stated.
"Of course! I would do anything for you, my one and truest friend! What do you need from me?" He asked.
"I need you to cause a scene," Skathi stated, "Get everyone's attention for a few minutes."
"Is that all? My friend, you've come to the right person," Razelan explained, "You could say that causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Stand back and behold my handiwork."
With a glazed smile on his face, the drunkard drank the entire bottle in one swig. Got up and went into the middle of the room and began announcing to all the world that the thought of anyone wanting Elenwen in their bed was a bizarre and impossible thought indeed. In hindsight, Skathi believed this was a mistake, but too late anyway.
She quietly stepped behind the bar and followed Malborn behind, loudly saying for the crowd that it was for a specific liquor to see if they were out. They did not pay attention. Snuck into the back and almost made it to the pantry before someone saw them. A female Khajiit who was presumably a member of the kitchen staff.
"Who comes, Malborn? You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen," the cook inquired.
"A guest, feeling ill," Malborn lied, "Leave the poor wretch be."
"A guest? In the kitchens?" she gasped, "You know this is against the rules."
"Rules is it, Tsavani?" he smugly replied, "I didn't realize that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador."
Skathi was rarely aware of the Khajiit lifestyle, but once or twice would meet a caravan passing through the Jeralls. Moon Sugar was something they only traded in confidence the buyer would never tell anyone else. What this meant, the outsider did not know, but what she inferred was that it was generally not acceptable.
Tsavani immediately shushed Malborn with a scared and angry expression. "Get out of here; I saw nothing," she stated and turned away.
Skathi snuck into the pantry and quickly found the chest with her equipment inside. The fresh armor was not a perfect fit, ill-fitting in some places, but she could adjust that. Otherwise, it seemed a better pick than her previous armor.
Her blades, bow and quiver equipped, she snuck out into the private chambers of the Embassy. Guards were not immediately aware of her presence; despite the rumors they were quite aware of their surroundings. Perhaps that was just Wood Elves or none of them. Nevertheless, their magic and swordsmanship made them difficult to subdue.
Something Skathi was surprise she picked up on was how empty the Embassy was. Embroidered pillows, fruit as fresh as the hour, furniture of fine fabrics, wood and craftsmanship; all empty and unused. This was meant to have all the comforts of home, but whoever lived here lived in an empty mirror of their reality. Perhaps it was better that they just go home.
Skathi snuck out into the yard once it was clear there was nothing to find in the main building. Under the cover of the freshly fallen shadow of night, the half dozen guards do not notice her. She was used to sneaking up on prey and hunters alike in the wilderness. As such, she passed through the outdoors unnoticed. A Thalmor mage perhaps, but he was quickly dispatched without too much fuss.
Entering the second structure, she spotted a Thalmor talking to Nord that should not have been there. He was commonly dressed and a scruffy fellow. He could not be called a guest, so he was logically a secret ally. If not, how did he make it this far?
"But I need that money, I earned it!" the Nord argued, "I have my own expenses, you know."
"Silence! Do not presume, Gissur," the Thalmor barked back, "You are most useful, but do not presume. We have more informants who are less", he paused for the right word, "offensive."
"But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they?" Gissur sneered, "Etienne, he's talked, hasn't he? He knows where that old man you're looking for is, he told me himself."
The Thalmor paused. "You'll get your money when he's told the rest of his story, as agreed," he blankly stated.
"So, he has talked! I knew it!" Gissur laughed back.
"Everyone talks, in the end," the Thalmor remarked, "Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment."
Were ambassadors allowed to take prisoners? Skathi might not have known; she knew nothing of the game of politics across the province, but she had to assume there were rules. Taking citizens off the street gains the ire of its citizens if the jarl or their men did it. If visitors did it, they would not rest until they were not guests but prisoners. If the people found out. If not, they might get away with it. Someone just found out though.
"Can I, I could help you," Gissur offered, "He'd talk to me. He trusts me."
"You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur?" the Thalmor sneered, "Shall we loosen his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like and see how he answers."
"No, no," the Nord stuttered, "I, I'll wait outside."
"That would probably be best," the Thalmor stated, "Now get out!"
As Gissur began to leave, Skathi quickly loosed an arrow at his head, blood spilling and his body falling, dead. It is dangerous to have a traitor abound. The Thalmor and his guards drew swords against the outsider. They charged her, but Skathi had developed her fighting style. Fast, strong, wild. The guards were quickly dispatched.
That just left the leader. His magics of fire and lightning kept Skathi busy. Trying to survive him would not be easy, but she had embraced dragon fire; this was a shadow of that devastation. When her sword tried to break his skin, magic again cushioned the slash. That would not save him.
"Fus!"
The Shout broke his concentration and the barrier fell. With this opportunity, she cut his head off his neck. His body fell, dead. She was now left with corpses. She would turn away, but that would not hide her disgust. She could not bear herself.
Entering the room that the conspirators were meeting in, she searched for anything useful. She found a key and a few documents, one of which was around the current issue with dragons. They knew nothing, unlike what Delphine thought, but they were working on it. They had a lead, most likely with this "Etienne", and were trying to get everything they could out of him. Right, time to go dungeon diving.
She followed an implicitly disturbing stairway to the dungeon below from this presumed office. She found a few guards watching over cages, only one of which was occupied. Cries of pain echoed through the chamber. The stench blood and pungent piss chocked the air. This was had horrible as she presumed.
Arrows quickly took out the guards and left only two people alive. Skathi put her bow away and checked a desk before the cages for anything. She found a document referring to an old man named Esbern, a Blade that might know a thing or two about dragons and why they have returned. Finally, a lead that was not based on the paranoid ravings of middle-aged woman in a basement.
But first, the prisoner. Skathi unlocked the occupied cage to find a young Nord, beaten within an inch of his life. He was lean, though that might be from a lack of food. He appeared a broken man, but his eyes still had a glimmer of fire. Skathi helped him out of his bonds and he bolted to a trap door.
Where Skathi had entered the dungeon, more guards return, this time with Malborn. Either he had betrayed her, or he was discovered and is being brought in for questioning. With the bruises on his face, Skathi was inclined to believe he was still loyal.
Skathi bolted at the guards and took her sword to one of the guard's faces. Before the other could draw his blade, Malborn took his ally's dagger and jammed it into his throat. They both fell, dead. They took a moment to breath.
"There's a trap door," Skathi spoke.
"Right, that'll probably lead somewhere nice," Malborn snarked.
"It's something," Skathi replied.
After a short rest and funerals, the Legionnaires were back on the road. They found they were short a few horses though, so they asked for volunteers to double up. Most were uncomfortable with that, but they found enough when the idea of someone having to walk with the horses set in.
They passed through the town of Karthwasten, a small mining town. They didn't stop, as that would be them behind long after acceptable standards, but they did seem to influence the town. Some armed men saw their approach and were terrified, hiding as poorly as they did. Whether they were mercenaries or bandits, who could say? But it still felt good to let them know the Legion had deployed.
The Legionnaires followed the road exactly, as there were few other options. The Reach made of an uneven rocky terrain without a flat surface for miles. You could walk twelve feet and change elevation six times. How Ansgar's cavalry company managed to survive however long against the Forsworn was a testament to Nordic horses.
Their lot would have the advantage after all. The Forsworn were natives to the Reach that fought to remove Nordic control from their homeland. Ansgar once spoke of them as victims, another in a long history of the Nords oppressing others. But that was then. Now, the Forsworn are murderers attack people on the road, no better than bandits. The fact they found none on their road was suspect.
Eventually, they came within the shadow of Markarth. It was glorious Dwemer architecture of stone and gold. The city was well known for being a Dwarven ruin the Reachmen had used as a home but was conquered with the rest of the Reach. The walls couldn't be rebuilt, as they were solid stone, but they had never needed to. Markarth stood strong for thousands of years and it would stand strong for thousands more, long after Dwarves and Nords were forgotten.
The Legionnaires left the horses at the stables and entered the city. They were amazed by the architecture of the city. Though it wasn't clean cuts, the stonework was amazing. It did feel strange, seeing this immaculate craftsmanship on the same road as wooden stalls and the like. Perhaps it was just Rena.
The captains let the other soldiers head to the barracks and went to Understone Keep. It was time to check in with the Legate. The keep itself was much like the rest of city, but waterfalls wreathed the keep and went into the city's waterways. The inside felt more like a cave than a keep.
They found Legate Admand in talks with the Jarl. The officer seemed a hard-working man, face of a dockworker hiding behind a rich man's beard. The Jarl similarly looked like a smithy they dressed up like a king. The only one that looked like a man of politics was a Thalmor, dressed in gold embroidered black robes, whose presence demanded explanation.
"Excuse us," Rena spoke up, "We're here to report in."
Admand was torn away from the discussion. "Good. You're dismissed," he quickly got out before turning to the other two.
Rena looked at Ansgar, who just gave her a shrug. They felt like they would be useless here, so left.