At the start of the day, Jeanne was at the cemetery, checking the scene of the crime. Despite it being a day and a half old, the blood was still staining the ground, dried like ink. Though harder to discern from the dirt, the snow and light color stone made it easy to follow. Jeanne decided to track the blood stains to where they led, perhaps finding where this sloppy killer's effects.

They led out of the cemetery and into Valunstrad. She heard the district was perhaps the oldest area of Windhelm, which itself is perhaps the oldest mannish city in Tamriel. It was built by Ysgramor himself when he came to Skyrim for revenge. It's rumored the city was built over the grave of his son, but she hadn't seen the evidence. Would there be evidence? She didn't know.

The trail of dried blood led to one of the houses. Unlike the others on the block, it was empty. No light came out and windows and a peek inside revealed it abandoned. Odd that someone would use this house for their murderous deeds, but never use it. An obvious lead, so Jeanne went straight to Jorleif to report her findings.

The steward was shocked that it was the murderer's base of operations. "That was Friga Shatter-Shield's old place. It's been abandoned ever since she was killed," he muttered, "I think her mother, Tova, has the key."

"Can you think of anyone else that would have the key?" Jeanne asked.

"No, there shouldn't be anyone."

That wasn't a good sign. No one was supposed to be there, but there it was still being used. The murder's skillset then involved what they needed to get into places they shouldn't be. Forging keys or stealing them or never needing to use them, it wasn't something to put anyone at ease. A nightmare for all who would walk the night.

In that, Tova Shatter-Shield was an essential piece of the puzzle. To Jeanne's understanding, the Shatter-Shields were an affluent family in the city, something around shipping. They had suffered much indignity of late, with murderers and thieves taking what they held dear. If Jeanne was to do right by them, she would catch the one who killed them.

Jeanne approached the grieving mother at the market, barely paying attention to the produce. "Excuse me," the Breton inquired, "I'm sorry to trouble you."

"It's alright," Tova replied, putting on a smile Jeanne could see behind, "What did you want to talk to me about."

"I have some questions about your daughter," Jeanne stated dryly.

Her facade fell away and the grief was more obvious. "I'm sorry," she muttered, "she was very dear to me, and it's rather painful to think about. I'd rather not talk about my daughter, if you'll excuse me."

Tova was about to leave when Jeanne lightly took her boney arm. "Please," she asked, "I'm trying to find out who did this. I was hoping you'd help."

The woman didn't struggle and turned to face the adopted Nord. "Well, all right. What exactly do you need to know?" she asked.

"I'd like to investigate her house, but I'll need the key," Jeanne explained, awkwardly. She didn't want to hurt her, but there wasn't any way around it.

"Hjerim?" Tova said confused, "Well, I'm not sure what you think you'll find there, but you're welcome to have a look."

The grieving mother took a key from her pocket and handed it over to Jeanne. She had another question. "Can you think of anyone else who would have this key?"

"No, not that I can think of."

"Okay," Jeanne nodded, "I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"Good day," Tova replied.

It was awkward to talk to a grieving mother. She had never met someone who had lost a child before. She never had a death in the family or knew much of anyone well enough to say if they grieved. Pain was unfamiliar to her in High Rock, but she had become well-aware of it in Skyrim.

Jeanne entered house of Hjerim, a question in the back of her mind as to why someone would name a house. It was immediately obvious that someone was here, despite cobwebs and little furniture. There were a few empty bottles of mead on the floor, something anyone with any decency would clean up if they were removing the furniture. Someone was using this for something, but she wasn't sure what.

The impromptu detective searched the house up and down and found a journal, if nothing else. It was horrifying. It read as though the one who did this was excited that they were making progress in his efforts. They seemed to be using flesh magic and necromancy with the remains of those they killed, though how they got ahold of them was anyone's guess. They mentioned going to Winterhold, of how they wasted time with magic they already knew for too long, though how long wasn't specified. It had surprised Jeanne that those renegades didn't approve of this.

Continuing the search, Jeanne found her way in a small room with a wardrobe. She poked around and found a switch. Her pleasant memories of playing in her tutor's wardrobe were interrupted by the sight of what was behind this one's secret room. It was an alter with bones and flesh and blood and morbid instruments scatter around it. It was from more than one body, as a red bones and dry bones laid together, some redundant as two ribcages. This sight turned Jeanne's head to vomit.

A cloth to her mouth, the amateur mage searched the secret room for anything. She found another journal just a morbid as the first. It spoke of body parts as specifically and coldly as a grocery list Jeanne would write for servants. Whatever this monster was using the remains for, it was clear they would kill anyone for the sake of their goal.

On a shelf, Jeanne found something a little tamer. A necklace with a turquoise skull for a jewel. It laid on top of a pile of pamphlet warning of a "butcher" that would come in the night and kill you. There was someone by the name of Viola Giordano who knew this was the work of a serial killer and was trying to warn others of their terror while acquiring information about them. Seemed to spook the killer enough to hoard these and keep others from seeing them.

The necklace was strange, and Jeanne would follow up on it, but the pamphlet would have to be investigated. Useful information might be going to the wrong person and she needed it.

Apparently, Viola Giordano wasn't a good person to be part of a murder investigation. Nosy, stingy, boisterous and oblivious as a fish were all things that could be said about her. She was mostly known for pining the entire tree for a widower sea captain of less advanced years. The fact she was trying to find the Butcher, as she called them, was as reassuring as the word "Oops".

Jeanne found Viola trailing the widowed Captain Lonely-Gale from around ten feet back. Trailing wasn't the most appropriate word; stalking, more like. Jeanne took her skinny arm to get her attention and she yelped. That alerted Lonely-Gale of her presence and he bolted to the market.

"Oh, great," Viola seethed, tearing her arm from the Breton's grasp, "There goes my one true love."

"There's an ancient Colovian proverb," Jeanne remarked, "never put your dick in crazy."

The middle-aged woman slapped the young warrior. "Don't you use that language around me!" she barked.

The idea to use a different language had crossed her mind, but Jeanne decided it wasn't worth being that petty. "Then how will I ask you about the Butcher?" she asked, rubbing the bruise as she feigned leaving.

The frog like woman's eyes bulged in their sockets. "No, wait!" she called, "Are you really looking to the Butcher?"

"Yes, under the guards' authority," Jeanne stated, "You aren't though."

Viola rolled her eyes. "They say they're too busy with the war," she remarked, "I say what good is winning a war if we're still terrorized by one of our own?"

There was so much to unpack with that. The hold guard and the Stormcloak warband were two distinct entities, but the recent movements by the Legion had caused the two to work closely together. As a member of the latter, Jeanne was insulted by the implication that this was somehow her fault. She fought this war, not this wrinkly bag of blood and cartilage that calls itself woman sailors would fall for.

"I assume you wrote these," Jeanne remarked, holding up the pamphlet she found in Hjerim.

The already pale woman got paler than the snow. "What are you going to do?" Viola inquired, appearing to fear for her life.

"First, I'm going to ask you to stop," the Breton stated, "Next, I'm going to follow up on some leads."

The other lead was the necklace. Jeanne had very little experience with designs like these. However, if magics the College of Winterhold would disapprove of were involved, perhaps a mage of the college would be useful. There was one such mage in Windhelm: Wuunferth the Unliving. The name cast immediate suspicious.

Wuunferth could be found in the palace halls. Unlike what that would sound like as one who lived in High Rock, these were dark and tight to even a Breton. No windows to cast natural light or show the way in the near labyrinthian passageways of the palace. Perhaps the architects thought making it confusing and small, no enemies could effectively move in the halls compared to those who lived there. Clever, but bothersome.

Eventually, Wuunferth's lodgings could be found. The shelves and tables were littered with skulls and gems of whatever use the court wizard could find for them. He had a table most mages used for enchantments, both for learning and applying them. The chamber in general was a little refuge for the arcane in this city and Jeanne had used this to learn many techniques for destruction magic.

The old man she knew as Wuunferth looked up from his book and gave a greeting of, "Ah, Hawksly. Are you ready for the expert level spells?"

"I don't know," Jeanne admitted, "but that's not relevant right now. I have some materials I'd like you to look over."

The mage apprentice handed over the journals and the necklace to her trainer. He took a moment to read the books, scanning every word with thorough intent. When they were read, he examined the necklace closely and was seemingly disturbed that he was even touching it. He clearly knew what these were.

"I know this well," Wuunferth explained, "Or at least, I've heard of it. There is necromancy at the heart of this for sure."

"I know," Jeanne replied, "I found what appeared to be materials for a necromantic ritual in Hjerim."

"Hjerim?" the court wizard repeated with a raised eyebrow, "That place was supposed to be abandoned."

Interesting how many people knew this. "Any clue who would be able to get a key for that place?" Jeanne inquired.

The old mage thought for a moment. "No, I don't keep track of these things," he admitted, "Maybe the family, but the killer took their daughter first. With how much grief they have, it's illogical for them to be the killers. Unless they're faking it, but I'm sure the only dirt on them is how they treat their employees."

Yes, it did seem unlikely for them to kill their own child, but that was never considered. "So, what can we do now?" Jeanne inquired.

He perked up at that mention. "I've been noting a pattern to when the killings happen," he explained, "Now that we know they're tied into some sort of necromantic ritual; I think I know when the next might occur."

He opened a small book and flipped through the pages to specific spot. "Let's see. From a Loredas of Last Seed until a Middas of Heartfire," he muttered, "it will happen soon. Very soon. Keep watch in the Stone Quarter tomorrow night. That's almost certainly where the killer will strike next."

Good to know. "Thank you for your assistance," Jeanne replied. She took the journals and necklace with her.

The fact Wuunferth was so open about this probably meant he was either innocent or guilty and trying to throw her off. Of course, he would need a reason for these things. Jeanne currently couldn't think of a reason to do these things. There may have been something she couldn't think of, but there wasn't any way she could think to check that.

Of course, there was something else she could follow up on. Those instruments at Hjerim had to have come from somewhere. If she could find who would have them or where someone could get them was imperative. She would have to act quickly if Wuunferth was to believe; the killer would strike soon, and she needed to stop them just in time.

Skathi arrived at the Dwemer ruin of Alftand. From what she could presume, it was some sort of outpost in the days of Dwarven civilization. It seemed unlike a city; too small, but who was she to judge? She could, however, judge when someone else had been there. Scaffolding is a dead giveaway.

There was no obvious entrance to the ruin, but instead a cave in the rockface surround it. Entering it, it seemed people were here, but abandoned it. Wheelbarrows stiff with disuse, crates and barrels blended in frost, and cold bedrolls about.

And blood. The place looked in ruin, as though a fight was there. Just a little deeper in and there was disturbed snow and broken wood and stained red snow around a cold campfire. What violent end did these poor souls meet? Were the tales of Dwarven automatons true? Possible, what with dragons being real.

Deeper in, someone was speaking. Raving scared and angry. It sounded like the voice of fresh murder.

Skathi turned a corner, keeping to the shadows, and found a wretched scene. There was Khajiit with bloodstained, rambling on about why his brother before him was dead. He argued with the corpse about hiding the Skooma, how he could've still been alive if he was a little more generous. And then he saw Skathi.

Wild eyes, he stared straight at the intruder. "What? Who is this, brother?" he sneered, darting his gaze between the corpse and Skathi, "Another of the smoothskins looking for food? But this one wasn't trapped with us."

The madman pulled a woodsman's axe from his side and swung it at Skathi, her being just able to dodge it. She took her knife and put it to his stomach. He hissed and started clawing his attacker. He scratched and bit, drawing blood. Skathi stabbed again and again until he was limp. His body fell and the blood that was on Skathi's armor was now on the snow.

This type of bloody violence came too easy but left far harder for Skathi. Times like Helgen or the Thalmor Embassy, they were not who she wanted to be. She didn't want to kill anyone. Why was she forced to kill again and again? When would all this just end?

Still, she soldiered further into the cave, perhaps to find the Elder Scroll or die.

As she went in further and further, the icy cave gave way to far more familiar stone halls and pillars. They were Dwarven in design, old and scratchy, but sturdy and golden. The ice still permeated every nook and cranny of the stonework, but you could at least tell it was no longer a cave.

And then there was a noise. Strange, clicking and tinkling, like daggers doing a dance. Skathi turned her head to see a spider-like thing, golden and lifeless, but living. Some sort of contraption was spinning on top of it, like nothing she's seen before. An automaton if ever there was one. It didn't seem to notice her, but an arrow was the only way to make sure of it.

Skathi loosed an arrow to puncture its hide, but it only bounced off. There was a dent, but it still lived. Now it was aware, as it turned and faced Skathi to strike. It pounced and tried to stick its pincers into her skin, but she remembered the gyro on top and tried to stab it, break it off. With enough prying, the spider's movement was ended, falling limp on top of the Nord.

Skathi threw off the gold spider corpse and went further in still. She came to a far more open room with light at the center. Perhaps she stepped on the wrong stone because something fell out a golden hole in the wall. It was a sphere, but then it stood up. Bows would be of no use, unless she aimed for its weak points, none of with she knew for certain. It was obvious then what she had to do.

"Fus Ro Dah!"

The automaton was thrown onto the wall by the unrelenting force to the sound of cracking metal. Seeing this opportunity, Skathi drew her sword and jammed it into the machinery, breaking it apart. From the other side of the room, another standing sphere appear. Her throat was still sore from the Shout, so she ran around it and wacked its torso. With enough effort, she broke the contraption and it fell on the ground.

Deeper and deeper into the ruins, she encountered many more spiders and spheres, all of which died now thanks to some well-placed arrows. It was nothing she couldn't handle. Something that did give her pause though was a strange rack, weaved with a black fleshy material she had never seen. Someone did this. Was this the Falmer? It was known the fallen Elves tended to roost in Dwarven ruins.

Eventually, there was only one way forward: a ledge. Any other doorway was a dead end and the ramps down were broken. At the end of this ledge, an Orc corpse lay in its own blood. Skathi figured it was time to commit to this path, the only way she could think of that would go somewhere. So, she jumped and landed on her feet. How did this Orc fowl that up?

She might not have. Down the ramp, she found a creature. It stood like a person, but it didn't look like one. Its skin was wrinkled white bag over lanky bones. It wore no clothes, but a loincloth and a quiver made from a strange hide. Its ears were long like an Elf's. Surely, this was a Falmer. There was no reasoning with it, so Skathi nocked an arrow.

And then the Falmer's head shot. It heard that. It pulled the string of a fleshy bow with its own arrow and Skathi loosed hers. It impacted straight in its chest, but it was still alive enough to let its arrow loose. Missed. Skathi knocked another arrow, this one aimed for its head and it met its target well. The creature fell down the ramp and into the waters bellow.

There were more Falmer still. They were just as hard to dispose of, even harder. And some came together. By the time she had passed them, Skathi was stained in blood, some of theirs, some of hers.

After a particularly bloody fight, there was something worse. Up the stairs of some ancient walkway was an arch with a tall suit of golden Dwemer armor, tall as a Giant maybe. And it moved on its own. It moved over to crush her with its hammer hands, but Skathi just dodged it. This would be a hard battle.

"Fus Ro Dah!"

The Shout seemed to have no effect on the machine. It swung its hammer hands again and missed, but just barely. Skathi drew her sword and charged it. She was too close for the machine to reach and that's how she wanted it. She took her sword and jammed it into some of the exposed machinery. Something popped and banged, and the automaton fell, dead as a machine could be.

Skathi climbed the stairs again and came to a room with someone in it. A Redguard woman in steel plate and a man in Legion armor. They had sword drawn at each other. So, this was what was left of those who came before. She wasn't impressed.

"Sulla, let's just get out of here," the Redguard begged, "Hasn't there been enough death?"

"Oh, of course," the legionnaire, Sulla, scoffed, "You're just waiting for me to turn my back so you can have all the glory for yourself!"

Skathi was tired. "Could you bastards just kindly fall on your own swords to spare yourself whatever cruel end fate has in store for you?" she barked, making her presence known.

The two turned away from each other and faced the Nord. That was a mistake. The Redguard went in first but lost her head. The legionnaire took his bloody sword and turned it on Skathi. She swatted him and a red cut was there on his face. That made him angry. He based his sword down, but that not accurately.

Skathi tackled the bastard and drew her dagger on him. He caught her hand and growled. He tried to chock her, but that was a mistake. Skathi wrestled the dagger into her other hand and forced it into his throat. His arms fell on his dead body.

Skathi sighed. Why was bloody murder so often in her life? Still, she soldiered on. She used the attunement sphere to activate a device in the center of the room and the floor gave way into a stairway. A path ahead of her, she descended into Blackreach.

As Jeanne learned, the tools were ancient Nord embalming tools used in the mummification since before the first Cyrodiilic Empire. She confirmed with the priest of Arkay preparing Susanna's body that was the murder weapon. Nothing else was strange about the body, but the fact is was something few people even considered owning narrowed down the suspects to within to a handful.

The perplexed detective couldn't think of someone who would own Nordic embalming tools. A priest of Arkay were on that list, but the fact the one closest to the crime scene had no one they thought could be a suspect and gave her this lead made it unlikely one was the murderer. A collector maybe, but that makes everyone a suspect while she investigated their hobbies.

By the Thirteen Divines, she needed a drink. And a more concise pantheon.

Candlehearth Hall was out of the question, as she stabbed the clientele and she didn't think that would be tolerated, but she heard the New Gninis Cornerclub was good. It was a bar in the Gray Quarter, the Dunmers' district, so it was obviously an unwelcome place to Stormcloak officers. Although, she was out of uniform, so perhaps no one would say anything.

Her first step into the Gray Quarter and a lot about Ravani's actions made sense. This place was its own little plane of Oblivious for the Daedric Prince of Claustrophobia. It was clear this place was built after the walls were put up. Even then, the numerous Dunmer made this place clear the wasn't enough space for everyone, with barely three feet between each one. They needed a place more than they had the choice of where to stay.

The New Gnisis Cornerclub was easy enough to find she supposed. To her surprise, they not only had wine, but Argonian bloodwine. She was always under the assumption that Dunmer and Argonians had quite a lot of bad blood between them, but perhaps a not so much they couldn't unite over a little alcohol. That's gotta be a sign of unity, brewing, drinking and selling liquors.

As the strong liquid made itself apparent to Jeanne's digestive system, the bartender, Ambarys, made a remark. "You gotta reason for drinking?"

Well, this was a scene out of a fair few books she read. "Well, I'm looking for someone and my only lead is ancient Nord embalming tools," Jeanne explained.

Ambarys thought about it for a moment. "Useless, ancient, worth some level of money," he muttered, "I'd say that fits Calixto's House of Curiosities, but that implies robbing the place wouldn't increase the worth of the building."

"It's something," Jeanne replied, throwing her gold on the bar and leaving.

Calixto's House of Curiosities turned out to be on the other side of the Gray Quarter, just as it became the Stone Quarter with the main market and Candlehearth Hall. It was an ideal location for a good business, appealing to two districts at once, but this wasn't a reputable business. It was about as trustworthy as a the most transparent confidence trickster.

Stepping into the house, Jeanne could see the building was full of things that could be generously considered mundane. And then there was who could be presumed to be Calixto, the Imperial from the scene of Susanna's death. Both were clearly surprised to see each other, but Jeanne was immediately suspicious.

However, he was nothing if not a professional. "Welcome to the House of Curiosities!" he oozed with false charm, "I offer a brief tour for a few coins, or you can simply browse at your leisure."

Jeanne shrugged. "Alright, show me your collection," she said as she gave five Septims.

The tour was brief, but educational. The first exhibit was of a selection of embalming tools exactly like those in Hjerim. That immediately made him a prime suspect, but she decided to get her money's worth out of this. Granted, this was worth a lot more than what she paid, but it's not like anything here was worth much.

The next was the Book of Fate, a book that could tell people's destiny. It changed for different people, but some just saw blank pages. That could mean they had no destiny, or that their death was imminent. Or it was just a blank book.

Next was the Dancer's Pipe. Straight from legends, it was said to have ended wars with the power of its music that compelled people to dance. It could only be activated with a phrase Calixto almost said but stopped when he caught himself. Jeanne never heard of this thing in her life.

And the last was Ysgramor's soup spoon. It was a fork. Nothing else need be said.

Calixto was in the middle of his goodbyes when Jeanne decided to test him. "Actually, I would like you to tell me something," she said as she reached into her pocket, "Do you know anything about this amulet?"

His eyes immediately betrayed him and went wide with surprise. "Let me see," he muttered as looked closer in with faux necessity, "ah, yes. This is the Wheelstone. It's an heirloom symbol of power in Windhelm. Traditionally it's carried by the court mage. I would, eh," he paused to find his words, "be interested in acquiring it. If you're willing to part with it, that is. For a piece like this, I could pay," he thought for a price, "500 gold?"

Telling. "Shouldn't the court mage have it?" Jeanne inquired.

"Wuunferth?" he sputtered, "Bah. It's purely ceremonial, and he has no use for it. Besides, I wouldn't want to be the one to give it to him. Gives me the creeps. They say he dabbles in necromancy."

Trying to deflect the suspicion. Clever, but not enough. "I think I'll hold on to it for the time being," she stated.

His annoyance was obvious. "Suit yourself," he said with fake ambivalence, "It's only of value to collectors, though. Good luck finding anyone else who will appraise it that highly!"

Jeanne turned to leave. She decided to try and provoke Calixto. "I wonder if there's still blood on those tools."

That was enough. As she put her hand on the door, something was jammed into her back. She pushed the man behind away in a sweeping motion. Calixto was thrown into a table and he grabbed a fork to fight her. Jeanne obviously outclassed him and set him ablaze. He screamed as the flames engulfed him and he fell over, dead.

Jeanne threw the dagger out of her back and went outside. The wound was still painful, but arrows and crossbow bolts were just as successful as this blade. She went over to the nearest guard and said:

"I've caught the Butcher of Windhelm."

Blackreach turned out to be a strange and wonderous place. Glowing goo hung off the ceiling, strange plants stood taller than trees and Dwarven ruins littered the landscape. It felt like entering a far different world, as though Skathi had left her own behind for something Man, Mer and Beastfolk had yet to step.

But she was not. Falmer wandered this place like bats, the Dwarven automatons patrolled as if in waiting for someone to fall into a trap, and Divines know what else was lurking behind the corner of her eye. Despite this place's strange beauty, it was as deadly as any place Skathi had roamed, perhaps more.

Wading through the dead bodies of any creature who fought her on her way, Skathi searched Blackreach for anything. There were few places of note and they weren't anywhere close to each other. In one little home, she found the research notes of someone who ventured here to study the fauna. Gathering the plants of note killed some time waiting to find something.

Eventually, she discovered an elevator to somewhere else. Somewhere that clearly wasn't Blackreach, so that was good. It seemed someone else had been there before, as a bedroll or two, cold pots and a skeleton don't just end up in Dwemer ruins. The remains left nothing but a journal to learn what fate this poor fool reached far from the sun and moons.

Further in, there was a jade incrusted gold sphere so large that you wouldn't notice the curve so close. It took up most of the room but left enough space to walk around. Up a ramp to the side, Skathi went up to a control panel and found a strange apparatus around the top of the ancient contraption that seemed to reflect a beam of light.

At the controls was a pedestal, for which the lexicon seemed perfect for. Skathi placed it there and the panel came to life. The buttons glowed bright blue and revealed themselves to her. When she pressed them, the apparatus shifted, and the reflecting light changed with it. Perhaps the Elder Scroll would reveal itself with the machine arranged in the right way. Well, that was obvious, but Skathi always thought of herself as slow on the uptake.

The only way to operate the console was with the buttons, none of which were labeled in anyway. Thus, operating this damn thing was trial and error. Sometimes, the glasses were so close to aligning, and other times, all her hard work was thrown out with the piss. She was fed up at one point and tried smashing the orb, but it didn't break. The Dwemer clearly built things to last and be as overcomplicated as possible.

Skathi never considered herself intelligent. This was not specifically why, but everything else. She hated learning her parent's economics, but they might've saved her a lot of headaches. She never was educated in the presence of priests or mages like one of the better families. She had no trade to fall back on, no skills to use, no knowledge she could use. Everything she still remembered was the art of surviving the Jerall mountains.

When this crisis was over, Skathi wouldn't be able to return to her old life. Her acclaim as the Dragonborn would remain, even if she returned to her hunting grounds. Many would follow and praise her unrightfully. She could find a job in a city or one of the smaller towns, but not because she had a trade; they'd just want to give the Dragonborn a job. She couldn't settle down, she couldn't find a life in the real world, she couldn't find anyone who truly knew her enough to love her and not the Dragonborn.

These thoughts ran their course, as they always do. After smashing and squashing the buttons, something different began happening. One button, previously blocked, was revealed. All the lights were aligned with the incrusted jade. Skathi pressed the button and the apparatus pulled away and a great crystal descended from the ceiling. She approached and it opened to reveal a scroll.

The scroll was beautiful, with a gold guard against the elements incrusted with great jewels. The image of wings was carved in the center. When Skathi took it, it was heavy and light at once. With a touch, even the smallest insect surely would tell this was a source of power as ancient as creation and twice strong.

This was an Elder Scroll.

When Skathi went back to the console, the Lexicon was covered in runes, presumably Dwemer script. Septimus would be happy. She found other elevator and pocked her head out to find night had fallen. Suddenly, her tiredness made sense. She went back into the tower and found one of the bedrolls to crash on. Cold, but she had worse and she drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, this would be read.

Skathi had gotten used to the cold winds of High Hrothgar. They bit harder than the Jeralls, but a mountain woman like her could handle storms worse than this. Perhaps they still were too cold to sleep in, but Skathi could weather them for now.

What was a greater shock to the system was Paarthurnax. He was still unnerving, as a dragon would be in any circumstance. What was worse that, perched upon his roost, he seemed to be waiting for the Dragonborn. He looked toward the path up the mountain, his eyes fixed with no waver. There was no question that dragons were unnerving.

"You have it. The Kel," Paarthurnax deduced, "the Elder Scroll. Tood kreh, qalos. Time shudders at its touch."

He continued, never wavering from a tone of foreboding, "There is no question. You are doom driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal," he nodded, "Go then. Fulfill your destiny."

He raised his wing like a hand and pointed to part of the snow the storm seemed to favor. "Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound" he ordered, "Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."

Then this would be it. If they were going to fight Alduin, they would do it now. Perhaps that's what he meant by "doom driven": destined to fight the impossible battle, whether not they would live. Very well, then.

Skathi stepped in the Time-Wound, the energies flowing around her, and opened the Scroll. The letters glowed aethereal light and stayed in place when the Scroll moved away. The letters swirled together and showed the long and short of time. She saw things she would never be able to explain, from ancient secrets to prophesied events. It was far from the world she knew a month ago.

When she passed through the light, she was still at the top of High Hrothgar, but it had changed. The sky glowed a deathly red, clear as the summer sky. When she tried to move, she couldn't. This was the place where she opened the Scroll, this would the place the Time-Wound was formed, this was the place she would watch.

Up the path to the peak, a Nord warrior ran from dragon fire. He wore armor ancient to Skathi, but new to him. "Gormlaith!" he called, "We're running out of time! The battle-"

He was interrupted by a dragon landing behind him, drawing his attention.

"Daar sul thur se Alduin vakrii," the beast proclaimed, "Today Alduin's lordship will be restored. But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain."

The warrior gritted his teeth and cried, "For Skyrim!"

He drew a battle axe and fought the dragon. He dodged the beast's strike and jammed his weapon into its scales, but it did not die. Soon, the warrior was joined by another, a woman, who drew sword her sword against it. She jumped upon its head and started slashing the creature's throat until it fell dead.

"Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!" she cried as its breath left it.

When the dragon died, it didn't give up its soul. Its skin didn't burn like paper. It was just another dead creature on Skyrim's snow. Skathi understood her place as the Dragonborn, for that dragon would surely rise again, but it wouldn't be so easy if their souls left them. As if she didn't have enough pressure to do this right.

"Hakon! A glorious day, is it not?" Gormlaith greeted.

"Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?" Hakon asked, worn from battle.

"What else is there?" Gormlaith genuinely wondered.

Hakon rolled his eyes and looked off the peak. "The battle below goes ill," he observed, "If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."

"You worry too much, brother," the warrior woman smirked, "Victory will be ours."

The two warriors approached an old man in robes. "Why does Alduin hang back?" Hakon asked, "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."

"He will come. He cannot ignore our defiance," the sage stated, "And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well," Gormlaith grinned, "Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day."

"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself," he retorted, "Galthor, Sorri, Birkir," he remembered his old allies.

"They did not have Dragonrend," the warrior woman remarked, "Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head."

"You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength," the old man stated, "Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll." He pulled out the very Scroll Skathi had in her hand for the point.

Hakon's eyes went wide "Felldir! We agreed not to use it!"

"I never agreed," Felldir retorted, putting it back into his robes "And if you are right, I will not need it."

"No. We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now," the worn warrior stated.

For the first time in this vision, Gormlaith's seemed to feel fear. "We shall see soon enough. Alduin approaches!" she cried, looking at the sky.

Hakon's expression was unchanged. "So be it."

And so, it was that Alduin landed on the peak, staring at the Nord warriors. There was little difference between his form now and his form when he sacked Helgen and Kynesgrove. Understandable, given he was only thrown through time, not dug underground for these thousands of years. Only now did she notice how he seemed younger than Paarthurnax.

The Beast Shouted and rocks and fire fell from the sky like Helgen before, but the warriors were unphased. Unlike the people of Skathi's time, it seemed they were just used to the idea of this apocalyptic display. What a time to be alive.

"Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!" Gormlaith proclaimed.

"Joor Zah Frul!"

The warriors three Shouted and Alduin's eyes were shook with horror. He tried to fly but fell like rain instead. He twitched and scrambled like a wild and rabid animal. So, this was the power of Dragonrend.

"Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?!" the frightened Beast screamed, "Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first," he rose his head and stared straight at the warriors three, "dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate," he crawled towards them, "To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"

"If I die today, it will not be in terror!" Gormlaith proclaimed, "You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes."

The Nord warriors charged the Beast and brought their weapon down on him. He tried to swipe and bite but didn't connect. The warriors, too, tried to break his skin, but his black scales were stronger than their steel. And then, Alduin managed to get Gormlaith in his jaw, chewing and tearing her until she moved no more and threw her corpse aside.

"No, damn you!" Hakon cried, "It's no use! Use the Scroll, Felldir! Now!"

The old man ran back to gather himself. He put away his great sword and took out the Elder Scroll. As he prepared, Hakon distracted the Beast as best he could, dodging its bloodied teeth. By the time the Dragon noticed what Felldir was doing, it was too late.

"Hold, Alduin on the Wing!" the old man shouted, "Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"

Hakon was worn from the fight and couldn't stop Alduin from unleashing a burst of fire on Felldir. But the fire didn't burn. His robes, hair, skin and the Scroll were unphased by the flame, as though a more powerful force than any Shout protected him. Was this the power of Kynareth or what empowered the Scroll?

"Faal Kel?!" Alduin cried, "Nikriinne."

"You are banished!"

Energy like those of that grant this vision surrounded the Beast. They penetrated his impenetrable scales and he screamed. They covered him entirely and close in as parts of him faded away. When it was done, Alduin was gone and all that was left on the mountain were Hakon and Felldir.

"It worked," Hakon sighed in relief, "you did it."

"Yes, the World-Eater is gone," Felldir, "may the spirits have mercy on our souls."

This great moment in history ended, Skathi's vision faded away from this. The energy returned around her and she returned to the High Hrothgar as she knew it. She could move again, and sky was not a deathly red. But Alduin was there.