To no one's surprise, the Forsworn were outraged that the other end of the deal wasn't going to be held up. Wulded immediately tried to kill Jarl Igmund, charging at him with swords drawn, and none of his followers held him back. The guards and Legionnaires stood in his way; shields raised. After a second to think, the Forsworn held their leader back.

The Forsworn warriors were a strong force, but only six hundred. The Legion and city guard numbered around two thousand. Wulded's host would be able to steal, kill and destroy much of the city, they wouldn't be able to win the battle. After they were dead, they could easily wipe out what's left of the tribe with no one to stop them.

The next day, they would meet to discuss an amendment.

Rena, Ansgar and two captains of the Reach escorted a diplomatic entourage to Reachwind Eyrie with a battalion of men. It was made of Jarl Igmund, Legate Admand, Ondolemar, and Thonar Silver-Blood, with Igmund's housecarl Faleen acting as head of security. Now, most of those made sense, with Igmund being needed to approve of any treaty, Admand being a force to draft one against the Stormcloaks, Ondolemar as an observer for the Thalmor and Faleen as a trusted protector against assassination, but Thonar was just a businessman. No one understood it.

Reachwind Eyrie was a tower stood upon a cliff. It was of Dwemer origin, left behind like Markarth when they disappeared. No had claimed it as their own in all that time, though it had been used by unaffiliated mages over the years. It was currently unoccupied, so it was the agreed area for the summit.

Wulded's entourage was already there. They were shaman and warriors, distinct from the host behind them. Rena didn't know if the soldiers behind her many as the soldiers were ahead of her as behind her. If it was less, they could easily take them in battle if this was to turn south. If it was as many or more, hopefully the better equipped Legionnaires and hold guards were enough to take the far more ruthless Forsworn raiders. Hopefully, it was unnecessary.

The soldiers set up tables and chairs in the yard for the talks. The Markarth party was on one side and the Forsworn were on the other. It was at high noon that they sat down to talk. Servants set out food and drinks for lunch. Wulded seemed to read something and frown. Rena didn't recall him getting anything.

And so, they began.

"Let me begin by apologizing that we are unable to fulfill our end of the deal," Legate Admand spoke first, offhandedly looking at Ansgar, "We hadn't discussed the terms before you attacked the Stormcloak camp."

One of the shamans replied, "If you were unable to fulfill any of the terms you discussed, why did your envoy present them?"

He sighed. "My envoy was given numerous options for the treaty, but land and Ulfric's estate was not amongst them," he stated, "I should've been clearer with him on these points."

"Then what will you give us?" Wulded seethed. The treaty obviously upset him, but there was something Rena couldn't tell what that gnawed at him.

"Nothing," Jarl Igmund stated, "The Reach will give you nothing.

Thonar, the one out of place, spoke up. "Let's not be hasty. We can find a fine reward for your services."

"We want no gold you could give us, Silver-Blood," Wulded growled, "You know what we want."

Legate Admand spoke up. "The Reach doesn't need to give you anything! All of what we can give you is under the Empire's protection."

The shaman laughed. "What's the protection of a dying empire worth nowadays?" she inquired.

"Please," Thonar asked, "Can we discuss this like the civilized human beings we are?" Ondolemar sneered. How come he was so silent?

"These are savages, not civilized folk," Igmund hissed through his teeth.

"Oh, really?!" Wulded barked, jumping onto the table, "If that's the way you want to treat us!"

Before the warlord could draw his blade, Ansgar stood between them. "Please!" he commanded, "We must discuss this as allies! If we are to protect the Reach from Ulfric's reign, we cannot allow ourselves to be divided." He continued, "Between him and the Empire, we will let you live your lives. The Stormcloaks were hunt you down like dogs!"

"This, coming from the man that hunt our people himself?" one of the warriors spoke up. Another asked, "And gave us such empty promises before?"

Of all the ways for Ansgar to get his, a public shaming was not what Rena expected. Honestly, there was more she could add that they didn't even know, like unintentionally causing all this in the first place. Still, this was unhelpful toward their goals and she couldn't just let it stand.

"Ansgar's an ass, but we ought to take his advice and just talk," she interjected.

The Markarth party had the vague sense of agreement. They didn't say anything, only looking at one another. Wulded just looked at them, waiting for something to come out of their lips.

Igmund begrudgingly look at the Forsworn. "We can allow your camp to thrive and give you supplies to improve it, make your own settlement," he offered, "Out of the Empire and Silver-Blood's pockets, of course, but you will be under my protection. My guards will patrol your land as they would the other towns in the Reach. You will be a protectorate state of Skyrim."

"Agreed," Legate Admand nodded.

"Agreed," Thonar sighed.

Wulded looked in as much begrudging acceptance as Igmund. "Agreed," he seethed.

They brought ink and paper and drafted the treaty there and then. The Markarth party signed it, as did Wulded, but he didn't seem to enjoy it. It was like he wanted to have over with and leave as soon as possible. Once it was certainly acceptable to leave the summit, he left with his army in tow.

"Personally, I would've put some decent clothes in the treaty," Ansgar remarked.

"I meant what I said about you," Rena stated.

"I know."

Skathi was on the front porch of the Sleeping Giant, waiting for Esbern and Delphine to finish up. She had managed to escort the old Blade to Riverwood but was absolutely worn from all the travel and action. As such, she was content to ditch her armor and rest for a day in more comfortable dress.

While the Blades dictated her fate, Skathi was content to eat apple pie. She might accept her fate as Dragonborn, but that was not the same finding her path to meet it. She was upset she had no agency, but at least it was less tress stress on her head. Was that even worth it? She may be stressed, but at least she would be a master of her fate.

"My thane!" Lydia called.

Skathi looked up from her plate to see her housecarl. Strange to see her. The thane had not seen her in a while. With all the travel from Solitude to Riften, she did not have the time to stay in one place for long. As such, they had not spoken in some time. She blessed that time apart.

Stepping onto the porch, Lydia remarked, "It's been a lot time, my thane. What do you wish of me?"

Skathi just looked at cold, dead expression. "Nothing," she stated and went back to her pie.

Lydia sighed. "You may not like having a housecarl, but it's my duty to serve you in whatever way you see fit," she replied.

Skathi shrugged. "I suppose that's why I haven't called upon you," she speculated, "I don't think I have any use for you."

Lydia had a grouchy look on her face. "I could trace your genealogy for you," she purposed, "I have some experience with that, and I doubt anyone's going to torch the libraries any time soon."

Skathi thought about this. She had forgotten so much since entering the wilderness. She could not say if it was all bad memories that caused her to run away or she needed to make space in her mind for all the survival skill she needed. Perhaps this could help remember some things, or at least know where she came from.

"Alright," she replied, "You can do it."

"Oh, good!" Lydia cheered, happy to finally have a task, "All I need to know for this is your family name."

Skathi's face scrunched in confusion. "I thought you knew," she remarked, "It's Wolf-Runner."

"I know that, but how do you spell it?" Lydia explained.

Her thane was close to answering, but her brain failed to function. She had no idea how to spell. She knew how to read fine enough but could not string letters together to make a word if she had on hour and all the letters written down.

"I don't know," she admitted.

Lydia looked confused. "Didn't your parents teach you how to read?" she questioned.

"No, my sister taught me to read," Skathi explained, "but no one taught me to write."

Lydia's widened in shock. Her thane could not dispute the implication. She was full of shame, but it was true. For an adult to not know how to write is infantizing.

"Well, let's see if we can fix that," Lydia purposed.

She went over to the Riverwood Trader. A minute later, she came back with paper, charcoal, ink and a quill. She sat down next to Skathi and wrote down the alphabet at the top of the page. Her thane knew what each of them were; she just lacked the knowledge of how to use it. She then wrote several variations of Wolf-Runner and showed them to Skathi.

"Which one of these is your family name?" Lydia asked. Her thane pointed at the top one. "I should've guessed." She then handed an inked quill and a piece of paper. "Now, how do you spell your name?" she asked.

Skathi was about to write something, but she once again could not visualize it. She tried to remember the sounds each letter makes but could not be sure. She knew how to spell a few things, but they were simple or inappropriate. She tried writing something, though it seemed a little off. She showed it to her housecarl.

"Scaty?" Lydia questioned.

Skathi kicked the ground and tried again.

"Scechy?"

And again.

"Skiri?"

And again.

"Fuck!" Skathi shouted.

"Language!" Gerdur barked from the mill.

"Fuck," Skathi whispered.

Lydia sighed. She took a piece of paper and began writing. Her thane was so humiliated she could not spell her own name, out of all things. If it was 'jarl' or 'Skyrim', she would still feel shameful, but this is something everyone learns before anything else. If you could not spell your own name, you could not spell at all.

"Is this it?" Lydia inquired, showing her work.

After a moment, Skathi said yes.

"Write it out for me," her housecarl requested.

She wrote it out on her own paper. If only to show she could spell, she picked somethings to write that she did know as well. They were, "Jarl, Skyrim, king, Kili, dog, Sigi, Agata, trade, milk, bread, cheese, west, sword, fur, rock, fire, water, girl, boy, love, home, puppy, meat, blood." Lydia looked it over.

"You didn't need to spell this other stuff," she stated, "All I wanted is for you to write your name."

"I know," Skathi replied, "I just did this for me."

"Your handwriting is chicken scratch," Lydia remarked, "But your spelling is spot on."

Hopefully with some confidence in her thane's ability, Lydia went left to Whiterun. It all honesty, Skathi was sad to see her go. She needed someone to talk to, but what she did not need someone to hold her in such regard. She just wanted someone to know. Just one. If only someone to talk to without any requirements or obligations, she might be able to know what she felt from day to day.

Behind her, she heard the inn's door open. Looking behind, it was Delphine and Esbern. They had finished whatever they were talking about. They seemed a little peppier, like the world may be full of horrors, but they had an ally to face it with.

"We're heading to the Reach, Dragonborn," Esbern explained, "I'll show you were."

The old Blade took out a map and marked a spot in the left-hand corner. Some place called Karthspire. She let them go ahead of her; she wanted to wait a day. She needed some time to rest. After she finished her pie, she decided to cash in that golden claw business. The shopkeeper was ecstatic to have it back and payed her well.

Skathi spent the rest of the day just calming down. Pie is good, but it is not everything. Unfortunately, she could not think of anything calming. For years, she spent every day in the wild trying to survive, never settling on a hobby or whatnot. As such, she could only just wander around town, waiting for nightfall. She would have to look something up.

The streets of Falkreath knew Stormcloaks quite well over these past few days. The new guards from Ulfric's warband had taken to watching over the people like they were their own families. Some of them even were, as many Stormcloaks came from all over Skyrim, not just Eastmarch. However, they had become familiar with them for a different reason of late.

Kottir Red-Shoal had returned from his men's deployment in the Reach. Of the three thousand he had set out with him to claim the hold, the survivors could be counted using only the stars in the thirteen signs. They had met hardy resistance from the hold guard, Legion forces and even the Forsworn. It was clear to anyone who could think that he had failed to secure the Reach.

There were signs it was going to be difficult. The terrain, the sheer size and training of the combined local military forces compared to the Stormcloak size and training, and the experience of the parties involved wouldn't have matter as much if their commander could lead them. Kottir's military record was as a reserve soldier, a hold guard officer, and another in the wave of faces at Whiterun. Perhaps offering a chance of glory should've included an easier task, like Morthal, not the impenetrable walls of Markarth.

Of course, this was with hindsight's reminders; everyone thought it was a fair chance to Kottir. Galmar didn't dispute it, Jeanne didn't, nobody really thought about the actual the fact he wasn't a good choice for the assignment, and no one suggested another choice. They really made a mistake and they were dealing with that in their own ways.

Jeanne was drowning her sorrows at the Dead Man's Drink. Surilie Brothers' wine was easily available there compared to other regions of Skyrim, given it was a Cyrodiilic drink and they were closest to the province. Here, it came cheaper, and was a far better drink than the Nord mead, so Jeanne preferred it to the local drink. Hangovers were a little better.

By dusk's edge, Jeanne and the other Stormcloaks had begun drinking after a long day. After reinforcing the holds taken in the past week or so, they needed food and a good drink. They had been in long conversation about the things they saw on patrol. A talking dog, werewolves and even Daedra. Must have been fun, but Jeanne's position couldn't allow for that sort of running off into the blue.

Eventually, the conversation came around to the people they wish had joined the rebellion. It started with Thorygg wishing a childhood friend hadn't gone off to join the Legion, which led to others talking about the people they knew that they would have to fight in this war. But then it descended into a Wishlist of people they wanted to recruit. It was getting ridiculous.

"I'm gonna bet that we'd have the Imperial City if we had the Dragonborn on our side!" one soldier belted.

"Oh, please!" Harling replied, "Ulfric wouldn't even consider recruiting someone who had better things to do than play war!"

"What is more important our freedom from the Thalmor?" a soldier growled.

"That's nothing!" Galmar burped, slamming his mug down, "Ulfric tried getting Dagrun Blood-Maiden!"

The crowd was shocked. Jeanne was not, because she didn't know who in Oblivion that was. "Who in Oblivion is Dagrun Blood-Maiden?" she asked.

The crowd was even more shocked. "You don't know who Dagrun Blood-Maiden is?" Galmar gasped, "She is the daughter of Kyne, the warrior who fought two thousand Orcs on the eastern border and the greatest legend of today!"

"Looks like we're going to need to educate our Breton friend!" Harling stated, getting on top of a table, "Bard, lead us in song!"

Before a note could be strung or sung, a rumbling could be heard outside. Jeanne checked the outside to find a host of Stormcloak soldiers going further back than the eye could see. However, you could see the main attraction of the men: Ulfric Stormcloak.

"My Jarl!" Kottir stammered, running to meet him, "Are you here to give us reinforcements?"

Ulfric glared at the commander. "No," he stated, "I'm here to repair your failure."

Kottir was confused, but then a swift punch caught him in the gut. "Any who will follow me into battle," Ulfric declared, "now is the time!"

Jeanne was the first to join him. Then Galmar. Harling, Mikaela, Barisen, Eoni, Heimrand, Mirafang, Ralof and many more joined his party. When they joined the Stormcloaks, they sworn to be his shield siblings and more. They wouldn't allow him to face this alone, though he wasn't alone with the thousands he brought. This was the time to fight with him, shield to shield.

With around eight hundred more than when he arrived, had more than enough men to claim Markarth. For now, they made camp, but tomorrow was war. Jeanne caught him before they were lights out.

"So, you appear to have become an officer," Ulfric remarked.

Jeanne nodded. "Galmar thought it was fitting," she stated, "They called me the great titles."

"So, I've heard," the Jarl replied, "Do you know what they called me in the Reach? The Bear of Markarth." He looked spiteful of the name. "They called me that for the greatest mistake in my life. I fought to free the city from Forsworn occupation with brutality and remorselessness for nothing."

The tale was known. Jeanne knew it well enough. "Would you have done it without the promise?" she asked.

Ulfric sighed. "Then? No," he explained, "I was far too focused on reinstating Talos worship that I didn't see the suffering for what is was. As the man I am today, I would've done it. Skyrim cannot suffer because I chose to do nothing."

That seemed specific. "Is that what this rebellion is?" Jeanne inquired, "A better alternative than doing nothing?"

At first, he was silent. "No," he stated, "I see the suffering in Skyrim because the Empire cares about the Thalmor than the citizens. The council and the emperor have never been here, never seen the people they rule. All they care about is a treaty, not the need to protect their kin. My Empire died with Martin Septim, theirs is on the verge of death. I will not let them take my home with them."

As serious as this was, Jeanne snickered. Ulfric raised an eyebrow. Jeanne whispered what "verge" meant in Nedic.

"I hate Tamrielic," he chuckled as his hand met his face, "Good night."

"Good night," Jeanne replied.

Tonight, they rest, but tomorrow was war. Stendarr would not save the Legion.

Time was closing in on Skathi. The Stormcloaks were going to launch another attempt at conquering the Reach soon and would make the roads too dangerous for travel. If she wanted to reach Markarth safely, she was going to move quickly and quietly. Fortunately, that was her natural form.

As she road across the cobblestone paths, she found the remnants of the war. Soldiers in blue, Imperial red and green were spread across this the terrain and roads. So many lost. Was there even a point? Even in thinking about. What purpose was there in taking in these horrors if no one of worth would ever see them? No jarls or kings would look upon this battlefield and say it was not worth what they fought for, not when they hated their enemies too much speak to them. Such waste.

By nightfall, Skathi had reached Markarth without incident, maybe a wolf or two to slow her. Maybe she traveled on a good day. As one who bolted at the sight of Dwemer ruins, she was nervous in the shadow of the converted city. At any moment, a malformed Elf or mechanical monstrosity would jump out and no one would save her as she would bleed to death in the lonesome snow. She could fight most things that came out of a cave, but Dwemer ruins were a far different danger.

"This is Markarth, traveler," the guard proclaimed with pride, "The safest city in the Reach."

It did not feel like it.

There was nothing anyone could do. The Legion, guardsmen and Forsworn were mustered for war, but the Stormcloaks had not arrived yet. They were over two thousand strong, waiting with bated breath for the moment battle began. No one knew when it was, only that it would begin when they crossed the border. There was nothing anyone could do.

The barracks was dead quiet. Rena said nothing, not finding jovial energy in the looming threat of the Stormcloak warband. Everyone around her kept to themselves as well, trying to find something to do. Maybe they were afraid to make friends with those who soon could be dead. That was possible, but maybe they too were gripped with the same awareness that Rena had, knowing the any moment could be the last before war.

That did seem to be something Mariqa could accept. "Legionnaires," he spoke with a grin, "guess what this one has?"

"An aversion to shirts?" Rena asked. He seemed to prefer not to wear shirts when he didn't wear armor.

He seemed to understand the joke but wasn't amused. Out of his pant leg, he pulled a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy. Every eye in the barracks went wide in shock. For one, liquor wasn't allowed in Legion facilities, so his ability to smuggle it through was amazing. For another, this brandy was rare beyond rare in Skyrim. The fact he even had it was a feat onto itself.

"Dibella's gifts are not always of the flesh," he remarked as Legionnaires took brought out cups.

Rena and Ansgar look at each other with a knowing nod. They knew it was against the rules for this brandy to be here. As much cheer as it would bring, it could leave less than formidable soldiers with hangovers in the morning. They knew what they had to do, but it wasn't desirable.

"Mariqa," Rena asked, "leave enough for us."

Damn it all to Oblivion.

The night was full of good cheer, as songs were sung, and good food was snuck into the barracks to go with the drink that bizarrely didn't seem to end. Tomorrow, they may die, but tonight was a time for hardy celebration of their lives. They would make this night count, for what said they could only dine in Sovngarde?

Eventually, it got very bizarre. Rena found herself face first in her lamb chops. She picked herself up to find the Legionnaires in drunken cheer, falling over their beds. Mariqa, seemingly sober, was observing the madness he had created with a smile on his face. Ansgar was stood on a table, tankard in one hand and his Zweihander in the other, completely slurring his appreciation of the Legionnaires' sacrifice.

"Thank you for your time," he burped to an uninterested crowd before stepping off the table and onto someone's bed.

"You seem to be handling this with grace," Rena remarked, in the mist of being simultaneously out of energy and still going.

"I'm just as surprised as you," Ansgar replied, "I can count how many times I've gotten drunk on one hand."

Rena thought that was odd. "That's weird coming from a man of about thirty years," she remarked.

"I'm actually twenty-four summers," he stated in a matter of fact.

It was then Rena had to come to terms with that fact. Not only was Ansgar younger than she thought by well over five years, but he was younger than her. It was one of those moments that liquor makes better or worse and Rena wasn't sure which it was doing for her. Probably worse.

"I think I was thrown off by your beard," she speculated, "If we shaved it off, would we find a baby face."

Ansgar looked offended by the remark. "I think if you shave any man, you'd find a baby face he's trying to hide," he stated.

Vorsaz approached, one of the only two sober people in the barracks. She said it was because of her religion that she couldn't drink liquor made from plants. Mariqa tried to convince her that it wasn't made from plants, but she knew only Bosmer liquor made that certain. Rena wasn't sure how you make liquor from anything else, but she was too drunk to think of any possibility.

"How about we shave him and see what's under there?" the Bosmer suggested.

"Nope!" Ansgar replied, "I like my beard and so does my wife!"

"Oh, there's no chance that you have a wife!" Rena retorted.

"And what about you?" Ansgar said as he tripped fell onto the bed and fell asleep cold.

Rena wasn't sure what to do with him, but Vorsaz did. She led the captain to drag his unconscious form to his bed. He was heavy beyond belief, having his steel armor on being only a slight explanation. Rena could only assume all that muscle she saw on him made him heavier than the average man. Then again, she had never dragged a drunk man before or someone as big as Ansgar.

"So, what made you join?" Rena asked without prompt.

Vorsaz thought about it. "Well, it just seemed like a good idea," she explained, "I left Valenwood because of the religious conflict between Altmer and Bosmer that I wanted nothing to do with. If I ever came back, I wanna be able to say my home is safe from that."

Rena's wasn't anything like that. "I just joined because that's what Imperials my age did," she explained, "Now I feel stupid for having a dull reason."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Vorsaz comforted, "I think Ansgar just joined because it meant he could legally have the chance to kill Ulfric."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Rena remarked.

The two plopped Ansgar onto his bed, but it looked like Vorsaz wasn't done with him. She put a finger to her mouth as a sign to be quiet. When she tip-toed off, Rena assumed she was going to get shaving cream and a razor. That was such a bad idea, even a drunk woman could see that.

But as Vorsaz made her seventh step, her body language changed. It was though a lever was pulled and her mischievous behavior dropped to a state of base existence. She droned over to her bed, tucked herself under the covers and fell asleep instantly.

A still seemingly sober Mariqa appeared behind Rena. "I wouldn't worry about her bad ideas," he remarked, "She'll get hers."

However, before Rena could say a thing, she realized that she should probably lay down before she falls over. She slumped over to her bed before she passed out onto the sheets.

That night, sleep seemed unnatural. Something was keeping Skathi awake. She darkened the candles in her room, soften her bed as much as it was possible with stone, even tried keeping outside noises away, but still could find no rest. She had slept on graven from before midnight to dawn but could not find even a minute on flat stone.

Instead, she tried to meditate. She remembered the calm of High Hrothgar, let it inform her tranquility. Only then was it clear what was happening. Something was summoning her. Someone wanted her to go somewhere. She was not one to sacrifice sleep for boldness.

It was midnight. Armor clad, Skathi walked with a hand on her sheathed dagger through the streets. The city's streams and waterfalls had slowed. The buildings hovered over her, watching, clouding the night sky. The few fires of torches and the forge kept the blackness at bay but did not keep the cold out.

And then the keep. She needed to go to the keep. Call it a hunch or magics, she knew this summons wanted her there.

The guards did not stop her as she approached it. She went passed the waterfalls so calming to the brass gate and opened it. No one stopped her from roaming the keep. No one kept her from spotting the priest.

"If it's about the Hall of the Dead, no, you can't go in there," he stated as Skathi approached him.

"Why not?"

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

She wanted in. "I could help if you told me."

"All right. I was going to suggest the Jarl hire someone to sort this mess out, anyway," he remarked. "We've discovered that some of the dead have been," he paused in disgust, "eaten. Flesh has 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."

A strange speculation. Perhaps it was someone that began roosting in the Hall. Skathi was unsure of where this idea came from. Nor was she sure why she was so drawn to this place. A piece of her knew. A dark place that she never seen in years.

The priest collected himself. "If you can get to the bottom of this, the Priesthood of Arkay will reward you," he explained, "Take my key, and be careful."

The priest gave Skathi a key and enter the Hall. She took in the death around her, ancient and decaying. Cobwebs and withering bodies stunk up the catacombs. They suffocated the air. But there was something strangely intoxication about the death. Where did this come from?

And then, a voice.

"Not many would walk into a crypt, smelling steel and blood, but not fear."

True. She felt no fear at this death. She understood that she would die, and this only reminded her of that.

"I feel the hunger inside you. Gnawing at you. You see the dead and your mouth grows wet. Your stomach growls."

Untrue. One does not eat the withered remains of the dead. One eats it when it is fresh. Where did that come from?

Passed the webs and coffins, she saw candlelight in an alcove. It held a shrine to Arkay, the god of death and birth. This was not surprising; graveyards and halls of the dead always had a shrine. Why did she know this? She approached the shrine and would receive the blessing, if not for fear.

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

Who was this? She drew her sword and stood on guard. She pointed her blade at every corner the alcove allowed her. She did not know where her enemy was. She did not know what she defended. All Skathi knew was her name and she was afraid. Then, from the shadows, a woman stepped up the stairs.

"You were young when you first tasted human flesh, weren't you?" she inquired.

"Get back!" Skathi barked.

The woman continued to climb. She was unafraid of the outsider. In contrast, Skathi was terrified. As she spoke, something came back. Something wretched and shameful. The taste of human flesh, warm and raw from a fresh kill. How did this woman know?

"Someone came to steal your sister and you had to get rid of the body," the woman pressed, "You couldn't think of anything else. Besides, what's the harm with just one bite?"

True. The jarl's steward lusted after her sister, want her body for his own. When he came to take her away, he had mercenaries, but they were too slow. When he was throwing her onto a carriage to Riften, Skathi ran at the bastard, stole his dagger and drove it through his throat while his hired help just looked. Without any knowledge of how to get rid of his body, she tried to eat it. She was barely through the first mouthful when the guards came upon the scene. Afraid of being caught, she ran, and she's kept running since.

But that did not make this woman a friend. Skathi held her blade, shaking in fear.

"It's okay, now," the woman cooed, "You've found a friend who understands you. You can let go of your guilt."

That implied she does not deserve punishment for what she did. She tried to make sure not an inch of her soul could be given over to this. But why when she already had a mile? Her fear and rage left her for a feeling of indifference and her blade fell from her hand. Good thing too; the woman was close to touching her. Might have killed her.

"What do you want?" she asked without emotion in her voice.

"Nothing," the woman replied, "Namira, the Lady of Decay, accepts you for what you are. She has a place for us, where we can sate our appetites without judgement."

"And are you Namira?" Skathi asked.

"Oh, no," the woman corrected, spooked by the implication, "I would not be so bold as to claim so. I'm Eola, her faithful servant."

"Alright," Skathi replied "then where is this place?"

"It's inside Reachcliff Cave," Eola explained, "But the dead have stirred from their slumber recently and I was forced here." She ordered, "Meet me there. We will fight our way to Namira's embrace together. Until then, tell the people of Markarth that their dead won't be disturbed anymore. We have bigger plans ahead."

And then she disappeared. What monster had she discovered?