Author's note: Special chapter for number 30! 3/10 of the way to my goal is not exactly a reason to celebrate, but I wanted to change it up a bit before getting back into the mini plots with Kano, and changing Aranel's follower and all that.

I'm going to die this took a solid day and I haven't edited it and it's a hot mess in places but I'm going out of state so here it is, in all its unedited glory. This took so long I swear if you people tell me it's too long I will club someone. Anyway, here we go.

HAha please review it makes my day, and I like making new friends.

Disclaimer: Not mine

The Dragonborn knows many commoners, villagers, and they have friends in many places- both high and low. But some pay the price of friendship, no matter how innocent a connection they may have. For those who befriend one with a destiny as tangled and twisted as the Dragonborn are bound to trip in the strands of fate which trail behind.

The Dragonborn smiles, face upturned to the sun. The last time they were here was three years ago. So much has happened since then… it's still hard to believe that three years have gone by, though. At the inn, the owner directs them to the house directly next to the General store. Pawn shop. Whatever they call it, the Dragonborn is never exactly sure. They've been to far too many places in the short time they've been in Skyrim. A taste of home would be nice, though, which is why they've made a short detour at this town. They knock on the door, waiting for an answer. The sound of pattering feet informs them that yes, someone is at home. A child of around six opens the door, her face glowing and blonde wisps of hair somewhat askew. Directly behind her, the Dragonborn can see a tall blond man come racing down the hall, yelling.

"Cali, you get your little- self back here! We've told you not to open the door to strangers!"

The Dragonborn laughs, and savors the look of surprise on the man's face as he registers the fact that there is someone standing in the doorway. The man comes a bit closer, and pushing Cali behind him, studies the Dragonborn. A second later, his face breaks out into a wide grin, which is quickly followed by an embrace.

"My friend, it's been so long! Don't tell me.. You're the one they call Dragonborn."

They nod, laughing once more at the look of satisfaction on the man's face. He leads the Dragonborn inside, shutting the door, and upon turning calls to his wife.

"Risa, we have a visitor! My old friend, from Whiterun. The one that saved my life during the bandit raid! Remember, I gave them my necklace as the return favor? To ward off those cursed vampires."

Risa comes around the corner, smiling. She has a sword in hand, and seeing the look of slight amusement on the Dragonborn's face, she flushes and puts it back.

"I know, I know. It needs polish. That was just what I was doing." Quicker than an arrow, she turns to her husband.

"Var, you idiot, did you make sure the door was locked? You know that Cali loves getting out."

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, and after a sharp look from Risa dashes from the room to accomplish his task. Cali peers around the corner at his retreating back, but when she catches the Dragonborn looking at her, she quickly darts around the corner. A bit of her yellow dress sticks out behind the door frame, which a small hand quickly whips out of sight.

The Dragonborn shoots an inquisitive look at Risa. She grins, and explains.

"You remember Cali, I'm sure? She takes after her father, I'm afraid. A little slow sometimes, but an absolute sunshine. Cali! Come out and say hello to our guest!"

The blonde head peeks around the corner once more, this time followed by a body edging slowly into the room. The little girl quickly scuttles over to her mother, hiding behind the long skirts. The Dragonborn smiles, and Risa moves out of the way. They extend their hand to the little girl, and after a moment of hesitation, she puts her hand in their palm. A strong handshake seals the deal, and only moments afterwards she is jabbering on about her upcoming birthday celebration.

"I think she might remember you," Risa notes. "She was only three, true, but you make… a bit of an impression, what with the armor and all. We didn't get too much of that around here at the time, remember? What a sleepy town this was."

The Dragonborn nods, turning to Var who has entered the room. He backs up the statement, sweeping his hand around the room.

"The guards are everywhere now. We can't go a day without some sort of incident. If someone doesn't bring an end to that blasted-" He remembers that Cali is in the room, and stops for a second. "- Civil war, we'll never be able to get any peace. And, before you ask, no we're not partial to the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. All we truly care about is keeping each other safe."

Var glances over at Cali, who has by now formed a bit of an attachment to the Dragonborn. They are somewhat at loss of what to do with the child clutching their leg, but they agree good-naturedly. The conversation lulls, and in the silence, Cali's stomach growls.
Var and Risa make lunch shortly, and afterwards Cali shows the Dragonborn around the small farm. There are plenty of beehives, and she explains rather excitedly that "Honey cakes are the best! The bees know my birthday is coming, so they are making honey for me!"

Risa asks the Dragonborn of their adventures that night, and the little one falls asleep to tales of dragons and their fire.

The next few days pass uneventfully, and as her birthday draws closer, Cali gets more and more excited. She asks the Dragonborn if she can see a dragon for her present. The Dragonborn answers with a definitive no, but her attention quickly seizes on a more realistic goal.

"A sword! So I can fight the dragons!"

The Dragonborn sees nothing wrong with this request, especially since they have a wooden one on them, so they confer with Risa and Var. Var is a little more reluctant than Risa in agreeing to it, but in the end they both have no problem with it. As long as it's wooden.

The Dragonborn takes one of their own swords, an impressive length of enchanted daedric weapon, and works all week to make it light enough for a youth to wield. They give the parents both the enchanted weapon and the wooden sword, and ask if perhaps they could give the real one to Cali when she is sixteen. They don't expect to live that long, and so Risa and Var accept the weapons.

Cali, of course, is very excited about the possible, wooden, sword. Her parents don't tell her about the other one, but to the child it makes no difference. The Dragonborn, unfortunately, is forced to leave before she receives her gift, but several weeks later they are gifted a honey stained letter from a smiling courier.

"Little girl wanted me to give this to you. I almost didn't believe it, when she said her friend the 'Dragon- dragon fighter… dragonborn?' had given her a sword to 'fight dragons.' Did you really?"

Cali smiles and waves to Risa and Var. She wants to go fight dragons, this time for real. Of course, her parents don't need to know that. They think she's on her way to Gloria's house, just beyond the mountain. But it's been eleven years since she got her first sword, and she has been training the entire time. She knows how to fight and now, since she has a good sword, she'll be able to take on anything that is thrown in her way. After all, it's going to be her birthday in a few days. Cali briefly thinks back to the mysterious stranger, her father's friend. The Dragonborn. She never did see them again. But inwardly, she thanks them. After all, without them, she wouldn't be the strong young woman she is today. She wouldn't have the destiny of a warrior. So, hoisting her pack onto her back, she sets out.

Three bears and a sabre cat later, Cali is feeling a little less optimistic. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to go alone. She rests by a large tree, checking to make sure there aren't any other threats nearby. She's heard tales of spriggons, and so makes sure to check for those as well. The women in her village say that an offering of nirnroot will appease the spriggons, and so she retrieves the plant from her pack. Shifting the soft soil, she nestles the roots in the ground, and steps back pace to examine her handiwork. Nothing happens, but it can't hurt to be careful. She leans back against the tree, closing her eyes for a second, and breathes in. And as she does so, something lands with a gigantic thump on the ground in front of her.

Cali screams, seeing the gigantic form which is staring her down, and it breathes in as she had done so only seconds ago. She dives out of the way, and watches from her side as scorching dragon fire passes over her pack, and obliterates it. Jumping to her feet, she rushes the beast, stabbing the scales on its neck while it's distracted with the fire. The sword goes in an inch, then sticks. She yanks it free as the dragon begins to turn its head, and pelts to the back, slashing at the tail, legs, and then stomach. Only the tail is a successful strike, which chops of the very end. The dragon, enraged, spins around, and she finds herself facing rows of jagged teeth.

"Oh no," she whispers, dropping her sword, and the dragon's mouth open and flames spew from inside.

Cali succumbs to the flames of a dragon's ire, and her ashes sigh in the winds. There will be no more honey cakes for her birthday, she thinks as she goes. It is too hot for the bees.

Ink stains his fingers. Grimacing, Rίs puts the quill to his lips, anxiously nibbling at the feathers on the end. It's kind of a stereotypical thing to do, he reflects, but then he remembers the situation at hand, and quickly gets back to writing. Four months ago, his best friend, Laen went missing. They had been out at the lake together, trying to see who could catch a slaughterfish faster, when some Thalmor had shown up. The elves were creepy, if that was the right word, in the way they were able to practically melt out of the trees. It was as if they were made of moonlight, the way they moved… or perhaps shadows. Laen had smiled at them, as had Rίs, and they had continued to fish. The Thalmor had asked for directions to the nearest inn, the two friends had sent them towards it, and they were gone. Rίs had thought nothing of it at the time. In fact, the two had joked with each other, about being Talos worshipers, about the elves, and about the poor folks at the inn who would have to put up with the grim elven warriors. It wasn't until a day or so after Laen had gone missing that Rίs had remembered the amulet Laen was wearing.

When Laen first went missing, they hadn't thought too much of it. He was always off in the hills for whatever reason, typically attempting to domesticate the wolves. It wasn't really working, but it was fun to watch. So on the second day of his absence, Rίs went up to the pine grove. It's a small and secluded area high in the mountains which is usually frequented by wolves, for a stream runs through the clearing and many deer and elk like to gather to drink. Some years before his disappearance, Laen and Rίs had been up to the mountains to see what were the best areas for hunting. They had found the pine grove, and had proceeded to claim it as their hideout and hunting ground. Rίs had figured that if Laen was going to have gone off, it would be to go hunting… or domesticate the wolves.

But Laen wasn't there. Neither were the wolves, deer, elks, or any wildlife for that matter. In fact, it was almost eerily silent, with the wind being the only thing he could hear, despite being high enough in the mountains to typically hear at least the sound of approaching rain, or birds. But there was nothing. It was as if the wildlife in that one area had completely disappeared. His face had paled with the absence of sound, and Rίs had suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong.

From the trees on the left side of the clearing, something rustled. Rίs had turned to face it, and as he did so, a towering figure sprang out of the bushes, heading straight for him. He stood, transfixed, staring straight into crimson eyes. His strength had fled, and he fell to his knees in face of the draining power of the vampire. It bent over him, and he remembers the terror of something beyond evil, trying to take his soul. As it had done so, though, someone else had burst from the trees, and they shot a bolt of lightning into the back of the vampire. It had turned, going after the figure, and Rίs got to his feet with a feeling of relief. And he had fled.

He doesn't remember what the run through the trees was like, or how exactly he came to that place, but he does remember skidding to a stop. He looked around, taking in the light, forgetting his previous fear. The trees were knitted above his head in a basket type pattern. Bits of light had filtered in through the trees, and played along the edge of metal which lay in the center. After going closer, he had seen a shrine of sorts, covered in moss. Once, perhaps, it had had carvings, but with age they had worn off. At the base, something metal glinted from the tall grasses.

Brushing them back, he recalls feeling astonishment. A blade, forged of some material he had never seen in his life had laid there. He remembers picking it up, forgetting about the oddity of finding a shrine in these woods, and brushing off the dirt and dust. It shone with some sort of enchantment, though he wasn't- still isn't- able to discern what type of enchantment had been placed there. Stowing the sword in his pack, he had turned and left, heading East, to home. On the way he had tripped and fallen over something. It was soft, and he had realized with no little disgust that it was the body of the vampire. He had hurried onward as fast as possible, wishing to get away from the wretched creature, and had made it back to his village in good time. Upon arriving, there was quite a crowd gathered in front of the inn. He pushed his way to the front, and after some inquiry was told that a stranger had come to town. The throngs had dissipated after realizing that the stranger would not be coming out anytime soon, which thankfully left Rίs able to go inside without being shoved out of the way. He climbed the steps as quickly as possible, bursting in through the front doors with as much force as he possessed.

"Father!"

His father had looked up from where he was cleaning the mugs, with a good deal of concern. In front of him sat a figure that Rίs had most certainly seen before. The stranger from the woods was sitting at the counter, still fully clad in their armor, and was speaking in low tones to his father. They looked up as he came in, and tilted their head to the side. Or at least, their helmet. He couldn't see their face beneath the spiked monstrosity of their armor. The breastplate glowed a vibrant red, and he realized with a wince that the glow faded in and out. Like a heartbeat, part of him thought. Shaking his head, he pointed a finger at the stranger.

"You. I saw you earlier. Were you the one who killed that-" remembering his father was in the room, he hesitated to say the word. It would only make him more apprehensive. "- thing?" He ended weakly, hoping his father wouldn't notice the momentary pause in conversation.

Soft laughter floated across the room, accompanied by a small motion. The stranger reached into their pack and pulled out an amulet.

" Do you know anything about this?"

He shook his head, and the stranger put it back, frowning.

"I would speak with your son alone, if that is alright."

The stranger addressed Rίs's father, and with a slight churning in his stomach, Rίs watched as his father put the mug and cloth down, and exited the room.

"Of course, Dragonborn, if you think it will help."

The quiet words were the last thing he heard before his father shuts the side door, and Rίs is left alone with the stranger. Or, perhaps, the Dragonborn. They both started at once, speaking in unison. The Dragonborn motioned him to go on, and Rίs recounted what happened to Laen, and his subsequent venture into the woods. He left out the part with the sword and the shrine, though. Some things are too personal to share with a complete stranger. The Dragonborn nodded as if they'd heard all of what he said before, and explained that they had been tracking a group of Thalmor when they had run into the vampire. They had retrieved the amulet from its body, and had been wondering if anyone would know how it got there.

"Why?" Rίs inquired, frowning a bit. "Is it yours?"

The Dragonborn frowned at their pack, and in a voice even quieter than his father's, they whispered, "It was."

Rίs didn't push it any further than that. He saw that the topic was painful, and he quickly changed the subject to something that had been on his mind.

"My friend, Laen… what if the Thalmor saw his amulet?'

The Dragonborn nodded, confirming his suspicions.

"They must have. Tonight, I am going to seek out the Thalmor stronghold. I know there is one around here somewhere. If your friend was indeed wearing that amulet, then I have no doubt that he has been taken by the Thalmor. If you wish, perhaps write him a short letter so that I may pose as a guard, delivering a message. I can scout out the interior, perhaps deliver your message to its actual recipient, and return with enough weapons to level the place." In a slightly lower voice, they add, "It's worked before."

Rίs had grinned, admiring the audacity of the stranger, and had returned to his room. The plan was to meet on the outskirts of town around ten at night, with his letter. He didn't have to write anything much, just something nonspecific, that the Dragonborn could try and use as a way to breach the fortress.

Easier said than done, Rίs thinks, ruefully. Something general, the Dragonborn had said. But he also wants to be able to tell his friend that help is coming. Or at least not to worry. Finally, inspiration strikes, and he finishes the short note, making sure to mimic the handwriting he's seen on the notices around town. It wouldn't do to have his new ally caught because of a fault in the handwriting, or something similar. Folding the note, he stands, brushes off the hunter's leggings he's wearing, and checks the time. Nearly ten. Slipping on his boots, he rushes out of the house, shouting a brief explanation to his father, who is standing beneath the stairs and clearly wondering at all the confusion.

Rίs pauses at the front door, and instinctively sniffs the air. Something feels… off. As if the town is holding its breath. Breathing in- like the town, he thinks- he opens the door to the silent street and slips off into the night. While the streets are dark, the moon lights his way, and he reaches the appointed meeting spot without issue. The Dragonborn is already there, looking a little awkward in their elven armor. They hold out their hand for the note, and Rίs is about to place it in their hand when their expression morphs into one of shock and horror. Rίs spins around, and misses the warning shout from behind as he finds himself staring straight into at least six drawn bows. An ambush, he thinks, and opens his mouth to call to the rest of the town. He doesn't get a chance.

Rίs falls to the ground, pierced by Thalmor arrows, and a note clutched in his hand, ink staining his fingertips. Laen's name is upon his lips, and his last thoughts turn to that peaceful afternoon before it all began. They never did catch any slaughterfish.

Mikha doesn't particularly care for the large cities, especially ones full of people. Empty ones… those are scary, yes, but at least they aren't full of beings who can't pull their head out of their- he stops himself rather quickly. It isn't exactly nice to curse people out, even if they are idiots. He walks into the inn at the end of the street, one of the only establishments that seems to be almost devoid of people, and orders a drink. Resting his head upon the table, he doesn't notice the approach of large feet. They stop at his table, and he only senses something slightly amiss as the being slides into the seat across from him. Mikha glances up, in slight surprise, and into the face of someone who looks half troll. He freezes, not saying anything, and the thing in front of him grins. He doesn't run, and doesn't look down as the being begins to speak.

"You're in my bar, little one."

Mikha looks at him coldly, then glances to the doorway. It opens, almost silently, and the wind seemingly blows in a tall, lean figure. They glance in his direction before taking a seat at the other end of the bar. Great, he thinks, no help from that quarter. As it is, the bartender looks terrified by the great brute in the seat before him, and there seem to be no other patrons. He turns his attention back to the thing before him.

"What do you want from me?"

The man- by now he has realized that the person in front of him is not a troll, but an exceedingly ugly human- dons a shrewd look.

"This is my territory, clearly. I want you to get out of here."

"I've paid for my drink already." Mikha isn't going to be scared off that easily, especially not by some halfwit with troll blood.

The man leans forward, and pulls out a small knife, shoving it towards Mikha. Behind him, the man who blew in with the wind has gotten to his feet, and looks ready to leave.

"You need to leave now. I can't have some tiny kid challenging me on my own turf."

Mikha swallows, realizing he has backed himself into a bit of a corner. Too stubborn to back down, he merely glares at the man in front of him, until the other decides that their miniature staring contest has gone on long enough. He brings the knife directly up to Mikha's neck, and begins to cut a shallow but painful line on the left hand side. Mikha closes his eyes, hoping that maybe the problem will go away if he thinks hard enough, and as if on cue, the pain stops. There's a smacking sound, and a soft thud, and then all is silent. Opening his eyes back up again, he sees the slim man from before standing behind the chair. The brute with the knife is slumped over, and the tall man is rubbing his knuckles. Mikha can inference what happened, but as he goes to thank the man, about six or seven men built just like the one slumped over in the seat step into the bar. The joking and laughing stops all at once, as their eyes alight on the still form in the chair. Mikha doesn't hesitate, and, grabbing the other man's hand, runs for his life.

The two manage to make it past the people in the door, and they dart out into the street. The taller man takes the lead as soon as they get out, swinging left into an alleyway. Another left, then right, and then straight ahead, passing by the urchins and beggars of the street. After what seems like forever, but is probably only a few endless minutes, they come out onto a completely different section of the town. Here, Mikha releases the other man's hand, and they both lean over panting.

"Ha, uh, thank you." He's quite out of breath from their sprint through town, but he does manage to choke out his thanks. Now that they are in the open, he gets a much better look at his compatriot. Tall and slim, the other man looks as if the slightest gust of wind could knock him over. Long, white blond hair tumbles across his shoulders, before meeting in the middle of his back with a small black ribbon binding it in place. A dark cloak fell across his shoulders, and Mikha was once again struck by just how tall he was.

"What's your name?"

The stranger regards him in slight amusement, before answering.

"I'm Ciel. I can see you staring, don't try to hide it. Yes, the height thing is not magical. No, I'm not a wight. And I must say, that was quite an idiotic move you pulled back there. Why didn't you comply with his demands?"

Mikha flushes, knowing that the man is right, and straightens up.

"The same could go for you, Ciel. Why endanger yourself for a complete stranger?"

The other man pauses, and winces, turning his head away. His actions shouldn't be cause for such a reaction, but it's obviously a touchy subject. Mikha drops it, not wanting to provoke his new acquaintance. The two of them sit in silence for a minute, catching their breath and regaining their stamina. Finally, Ciel looks back at him.

"What do you say we get a drink at a slightly less… problematic establishment."

Mikha laughs, and the two of them set out on a search for the nearest inn.

A few hours later, both of them are thoroughly satisfied with their drink, and consider themselves fast friends. (This could be a result of the drink, but they'll never know.) They've pooled enough money to rent a room- though the woman at the counter looks at them strangely when they ask for a room with two beds. Once inside, Ciel sits down fully clothed, and watches as Mikha unpacks and prepares for sleep. A sheaf of papers which have been placed on the nightstand catch his eye, and he sends a query in Mikha's direction. Mikha glances down at the items in question, and looks back up, smiling.

"These? I- I have a friend at home. She loves to paint. So before I left our home, she made all of these landscapes, based off of… places she's seen. I promised her that every time I came to a place that looks like one of her paintings, I'd write something about what it's like, and I how I'm doing. I'm actually in this city for her. She's sick, and wants me to find something for her. But that's neither here nor there. What about you?"

Ciel notices the small breaks in conversation, but doesn't question it. Mikha's last question takes him by surprise, but he doesn't answer. Finally, he takes off his boots and flops over on the bed. Mikha doesn't expect an answer, and so he finishes setting his stuff up and curls up in bed. After a few minutes of quiet, Ciel says "Here's the thing."

He automatically stiffens at the unexpected sound, but doesn't turn around. A soft rustling alerts him that the other man has righted himself on the bed.

"I'm here for reasons I… I really can't explain. You'd run away screaming. Better that you find whatever it is for your girl at home and be on your way."

A soft whisper follows this statement, "And it's not like you could help, anyway…"

Mikha immediately turns over, staring at the man in the bed across from him.

"Try me."

Three hours later, the two are finally asleep, having exhausted their conversation topic. What Mikha has learned, so far, is that his new companion is turning into a vampire. A former Vigilant of Stendarr, he was cursed during a vampire attack. However, unlike the typical affliction which vampires give to others, praying at shrines has not made it go away. The only thing it seems to have done so far is stave off the full transition. He's been attacked and harassed rather than receiving help, and so far hasn't been able to find any shrines in this city. But he's looking for a cure, and Mikha wonders if he can do anything. Either way, there isn't much he can currently do, and so they have both fallen asleep.

A few days pass in a similar fashion to the first- that is, picking fights with strangers, heavily drinking, and in between the two, trying to find a shrine. Ciel is getting desperate, and he goes off every once in a while, when the amount of people gets too overbearing. And it is when he is off on one such excursion that Mikha meets the Dragonborn.

Ciel and Mikha have been keeping an unobtrusive eye on the entrance to the first tavern they were in, the one which nearly got Mikha killed. So it's to his surprise when, as he swings past, he notices someone going into the tavern. They look fairly competent, but he can't be too sure. So, pulling up his hood, he steps in through the doors. Like Ciel, he makes sure to enter quietly, and slips over into the corner.

The other person takes a seat near to where he was sitting for their first encounter, and he inwardly winces, remembering the feel of the knife against his throat. The person, who, he notes, is in full daedric armor, orders something from the bartender. And then, like with Mikha, the troll looking man emerges from a different seat. He almost starts out of his seat, but instead settles back down, waiting to see what happens. The same thing happens as last time, but when the man pulls a knife, the stranger stands up. The man looks satisfied, having driven an unwanted visitor out of his bar, and then slumps over the table. The stranger is holding the pommel of their sword in the air, having clearly hit the other man. From the front of their armor, Mikha glimpses an amulet, which has fallen out in the miniature combat .The stranger turns and walks out of the bar, leaving anyone and everyone else left to stare.

Mikha gets up and hurries out, quickly pursuing the ever disappearing stranger. Finally, he's able to come up behind him and he grabs their shoulder. The stranger whips around, staring. Then, just for a second, it seems as if their helmet grins. It's horrifying, and he almost lets go as a result, but instead he still hangs on.

"Your amulet."

The stranger nods at him, bringing it out from their armor in a smooth motion. It looks like an Amulet of Stendarr, but Mikha notices something off about it.

"Please, I have this friend… he needs help- your amulet, shrines, do you know of any?"

They look down at him, and then lead him off into a smaller alleyway. It's quieter in there, and while the stranger doesn't remove their helmet, Mikha is still able to hear what they're saying.

"I'm going to assume you don't have any idea of the importance of who exactly I am. But I am the Dragonborn, regardless of whether you know it or not. To get straight to the point, my amulet has the ability to function similarly to a shrine. It removes diseases. Why does your friend need it?"

Mikha stares for a second.

"He's being turned into a vampire. The shrines won't cure him, for some reason, but they keep it from progressing. There doesn't seem to be a single shrine in this place, though, and it's been nearly a week."

The Dragonborn looks at the amulet, then up at Mikha. And then they remove it and hand it over.

"Your friend may be in serious trouble. Tell him to meet me in the city directly south of here. I have a friend there who may be able to help him, and if I call in a favor or two we might be able to help him. But why are you here? You don't seem like the traveling type."

Mikha bristles at the minor insult, but doesn't complain. After all, they just gave him something to ward of Ciel's turning and a possible cure.

"There's this woman at home. She's looking for… a planted star. Something she saw long ago. I'm trying to find it for her, since she's sick. But, uh, thank you. For my friend. I hope it works."

The Dragonborn seems to smile- he can't tell underneath their helmet. And they disappear, in a flash of light, leaving Mikha to wonder if what had just happened was real. But the amulet in his hand is real. He closes his fingers around it, and rushes back to the tavern, hoping to find Ciel.

Ciel is there, as he hoped, but he's packing to leave. Something seems slightly different in his eyes, as if they're a little saturated with red. Mikha comes up behind him, and puts his hand on his shoulder. Ciel spins around, reaching at his waist for a dagger, which isn't there. Mikha withdraws his hand, and offers up the amulet.

"It acts like a shrine."

Ciel looks at him blankly, but slowly takes the amulet. He smiles as it fastens around his neck, and he claps Mikha on the shoulder.

"Thank you. I can feel the progression stop. But I have to go, my friend. The people here are getting too curious about what exactly I've been doing at night. Which, mind you, is usually sleeping, but they're a little superstitious."

Mikha laughs, and relates what the Dragonborn told him. Ciel's eyes light up with the knowledge that he might be able to be cured, and he clasps Mikha's hand before shouldering his pack.

"I can never thank you enough for this. Please, if you ever need materials or supplies or something, I have a house… here." Pausing to retrieve a quill, some ink, and parchment from the desk, he scribble down a location. "If you ever find yourself in the area, take what you need. And who knows? Maybe I'll be cured by then, and I'll be at home."

And so they part ways.

In the months that follow, Mikha does wonder if Ciel managed to be cured. It gives him some semblance of hope, even while he's navigating the darker reaches of the land, or the icy mountains. And he does manage to find what he's looking for, in the end. But not even the most stout of heart can outlast evil forever, and Mikha collapses at last, finally giving into the biting cold and stinging winds of the mountains. And of course, the weariness of his journey. Blue lips, a blue face, and blue flowers. And a blue ribbon, to make it home safe and sound.

Ciel doesn't exactly remember getting infected. It's kind of hazy to recall, like a bad childhood memory, or a dream that continues to slip away despite all attempt made otherwise. But he remembers what it was like directly afterward. Staggering away from the zone of the fight, feeling like he was going to throw up. Remembering what exactly had happened, and then losing it. He remembers disgust, with himself, and then dawning realization. Praying to Stendarr for help, and getting none, in any way. Trying to cure himself with the shrines, and nothing happening. And then, leaving the Vigilants. He had worn a dark cloak, which kept him from the sunlight, and had started wandering. But shortly after leaving, he had realized what the shrines actually did. They might not have cured the affliction altogether, but they stopped the progress before he became a true vampire. It isn't something to be too happy about, but it's better than becoming a mindless vampire.

And then he meets Mikha. An incident with some guy who, Mikha later noted, looked a bit like a troll had thrown them together, and they had spent about a week wandering the city together. The other man had found out about his curse almost the first night- the first night? They had spent that fairly uneventful week looking for shrines around the city, (which had been unsuccessful), drinking, (very successful), and trying to stay out of the way of the locals. But at the end of the week, he could feel the curse growing stronger and stronger. He had needed to find shrine, but hadn't been able to. So he had left. But before he had gone, Mikha had given him an amulet. Which would stave off the effects of the vampirism, and a tip to go to a different city, to be healed. Ciel hadn't even known what to say, except "thank you." A gift like that… his humanity, well, Mikha deserved more than he could give.

But things had gone wrong almost as soon as he had stepped out of town. Apparently the people he had noticed looking suspicious earlier had been a lot more paranoid than he had thought. They hadn't waited to see his intentions after they had caught him before calling the Thalmor in. And the Thalmor hadn't waited to hear his intentions before whisking him off to some forsaken prison in the middle of nowhere. They take his weapons, his map, and in the end, his amulet. The thing is, since they didn't listen to his story, they had no idea that he was a vampire. And so Ciel is stuck in a prison, where he is unable to stop himself from turning into the creatures which he has tried so hard to destroy. And then he meets Laen

The young man is dragged in one day, and is hastily deposited next to Ciel. He's got a large cut on his head, and is somewhat groggy. Ciel is relatively worried for the younger man, and he asks him why the Thalmor have taken him. The young man, as it turns out, has been taken under the charges of being a Talos worshiper. Ciel can relate, since the amulet the other was wearing is only a family heirloom, rather than an actual symbol of worship. Being wrongly accused is something Ciel has had plenty of dealings with. Unfortunately, he can't control any of that, and so the two are stuck in a cell.

But Ciel can't stop himself from turning, and while Laen knows about his situation, there is nothing he can do. The curse continues to take him over every day, which is terrifying. He can feel his hold on sanity slowly slipping, and the poor young man is absolutely terrified. Apparently, when he falls asleep, he has no control over what happens. Laen has had to fight him off at least once every night, and his eyes glow, and, well, it's horrifying to think that all this happens while he sleeps. But Laen is seemingly okay with everything that happens, and Ciel can only thank the Divines that he hasn't killed the young man yet. And then the Thalmor come back for him. They take him out into the hallway, and slam the door on Ciel's queries. Later that day, he hears screams.

Laen doesn't return.

After that, he has no way of knowing what happens at night. But he does know that it gets worse and worse. He wakes up to bloodied cell walls, with no idea how they became like that. The bars of the door are sometimes bent when he wakes up, and the floors are scratched. Typical food tastes horrible, and he starts wondering what the blood on the walls would taste like.

The Thalmor come again, wanting to know why he isn't eating. He tells them it's because honestly, blood tastes better than water right now, and could they please bring in some rats or something? They slam the door in his face, and leave. But they come again. And again. And then, one of them brings the amulet. He doesn't see it as an amulet, exactly. It glows to him, beckoning with the promise of humanity. Of a future without feeding on humans. So he attacks them. One weakened prisoner, however, isn't quite enough to overpower all of them. And inside his heart he feels something pulsing. Like it wants to break out, explode. At first he tries to keep a lid on it, but as the Thalmor kick him and beat him, he has no choice. He lets it go.

Ciel laughs, a guttural scream almost, and collapses to his knees. The thing that looks up is no longer human, and its eyes flash in the darkness. The Thalmor scream and run, but they're too slow to escape the wrath of a blood starved vampire. It takes back the amulet, not that it has any attachment to that anymore, and proceed to blast its way through the prison, killing anything and everything that gets in its way.

The amulet flashes in the sunlight as the vampire makes its way outside. And with the birth of this monster, so does Ciel meet his end.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was sick. Not always in the body, though. And she remembered colors, not names. When she was very young, she had made a shrine. A secret place to go, whenever the colors left. They were always there, in that small shrine in the woods. Vibrant green, and yellow. And darkness, for the light was never alone. There were branches overhead. She had tamed them, and they made a roof for her.

It had taken years to grow the branches. Now, many more years later, she does wonder. Do they look like a giant's basket? Or perhaps the ropes which bound them fell of, and now the trees grow as tall as they did before she harnessed them. Once, in those woods, she had seen a dragon. A real dragon, not just her mind creating more pointless fantasies. She knows this because there was a girl there, too. The girl planted something blue, which glowed like the stars at night. And the girl had screamed when she saw it. That was how Kara knew at first. People don't scream at things the mind creates. And then, she burned. And there was the color. Kara remembers the color. It was very reminiscent of something she had seen very long ago. Before they had taken her. It shone, like the plant, and the girl dropped something as she cried.

Kara had crept over to the girl when the dragon left. But the girl was no longer there. Ashes there were, instead, and the thing she had dropped. When she picked it up, something felt wrong, and her finger was like the anger of the dragon. Except darker, and unmoving. She had licked it, and wondered at the taste. A taste like metal, and like fear, and hatred. She didn't like it that much, but the color went away as soon as she licked it, and she cried because it was gone. The thing which had made the cut… she hadn't known it for a sword at the time, it had whispered to her. It told her of the color, and how many times it had tasted the color, and why it tasted like hate. Kara brought it to her shrine. It liked the green. Too much of the other color was tiring, it said. She visited it almost every day, and it told her about the girl who had planted the star. And the name of the one who had made the sword itself lighter, the name of the one the girl wished to follow. The girl could have been special, it said. Kara asked it if she was special as well. The sword hummed, but it didn't answer her question. That was the last time she saw her shrine, and the sword.

They had taken her away the next day. Her room turned into a house, but it was all the same to her. It was locked, like her room had been. But this time something was different, something very important. There were no windows. Her little room had once had a window. That was how she visited her shrine. The new place was bigger, but the colors were the same, and the windows were gone. That's how she learned to paint. The ingredients in the cellar were enough to make the color of the sky, or at least how she remembered the sky.

When her Keepers came back next, she made Them go get her real paint. And They had. Her house without color had turned into a splash of everything. Some, she could not name. Some she could. But she could never get two colors right. The first was the color of the star. No matter how close she came, the brilliance of the star was always missing, and then she remembered the how the girl looked, which was bad. The girl looked like the color, a little bit, the one of hate. The one that the sword made. Oh, she found things which were close. "Red" they said, but it was not quite right. Kara could never quite make Them understand what she wanted, but then again, They never seemed to understand what she said. She wondered if They spoke the same language. Surely, if They knew she wanted to see her shrine, They would let her leave.

Something changed, though. The Keepers came less and less, and They started wearing Their faces differently. Faces like the girl's. She could see the color around Them, like a cloud, and it made the air smell funny. And They moved quickly, and they started adding things to her door. She knew what They were doing, she could hear the scraping behind the door. But then They stopped coming altogether. Her food supply ran short, then ran low, then dwindled into the color of shade and was gone.

Once upon a time, there was also a young man. And after the cradle of leaves had grown around the ropes Kara had tamed, during the time when she began to turn her house into the sky, he began to fight. And once upon a time, there were villains, who would keep people away. Who kidnapped women and men and children who they thought were dangerous. And his parents had been taken by them, so he picked up a sword and a shield and met steel with steel. The young man fancied himself a hero, and when he defeated the villains, he met a princess as well. And the princess was sick. Not always in her body, though. He asked to help her, and to his surprise, the princess let him. So they taught each other. She taught him of the things she saw and heard, and she taught him of colors and of shadows. He gave her names for all the things she spoke of, and after a long time, a very long time, he helped her to stop seeing the evils in the darkness.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a land of ice and snow with her hero, and she fell very ill. Not just in her mind, but in her body. And she realized she might not make it through the winter, and so she requested three things. The color of the planted star, the color of hate, and the color of the dragon's anger. And so the young man set out to find them for her, with a blue ribbon in his hair, to make it home safely.

He didn't.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who read too many stories, and who waited for her prince to find her a star. When he didn't come back, there was a woman who burned her colors in the dead of night, and stared at the the flames, and realized that she had asked the impossible for the last time. She left that night, taking one of the pieces to her puzzle with her. The color the dragon had breathed, something she discovered for the first and last time as she burned her paints.

Kara finds her new life as a farmer peaceful, thankfully, and she no longer thinks of the colors. Until a stranger appears at her door. The Dragonborn, they say, and though the name means little to her, she lets them in. But they ask her for the one thing she can't do.

"I need you to paint something for me."

And they detail exactly what she needs to paint, but she cannot. She burned that part of herself long ago, and though she had found one of the colors she was searching for, it seared itself into her soul so painfully that she never wants to relive the colors again. The Dragonborn sees this in her eyes, and they smile softly, reaching into their pouch. Kara tenses, ready to deal with a dagger or a threat, but instead they pull out a small apothecary's satchel. And they say, "I met someone, once, who said you were searching for the planted star."

She nods, for what else can she do.

And from their bag, they pull out the plant from her memories. It isn't as bright as she remembers, but the color is the same. Reaching across the table, she cradles it in her palms, and her eyes shine with the light she once possessed inside.

"Please Kara, help me."

So she does. They have brought her the second piece of her puzzle, the one that her hero could not find. She mixes and she stirs, and she watches them as they doze off on her kitchen table while waiting for her to finish. It takes three days and nights, but it is done, and she hands the painting to the armor-clad stranger. They nod, bow, and place something else on the table. Another satchel.

"What is this?" Kara doesn't know whether to be anxious about it, or excited.

"Something of yours." And with that, the Dragonborn is gone, out the door in a gust smelling of herbs and metal and lightning. She crosses to the satchel on the table, and with shaking fingers, and collapses as soon as she opens it.

A blue hair ribbon binds a sheaf of paper. Not just any paper, but paintings. Small ones. Pocket sized ones. Of all different places, the mountains, the rivers, snow, fields. On the back of each is a small journal entry. She remembers making these. Their intended purpose. And she remembers sitting down to spin the ribbon out of the color of the sky. She remembers the color of the sky, and the color of his face, and how she had told him that the ribbon was to make it home safe and sound. A muffled sob escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth. How the Dragonborn found these, Kara does not know. But she doesn't particularly care, she reflects, and she begins to read through the first.

The Stormcloaks begin attacking her city one chilly day, similar to the day he left. The Imperials fight back, of course. In the middle of the confusion, citizens run back and forth, searching for escape. The woman with the paints dashes out of a burning house, and heads for the back exit to the city. But on the way, she spots a figure she recognizes.

Kara skids to a dead halt to stare at the Dragonborn, whispering their name, the one the sword had told her in what seemed like another lifetime. And as she does so, a spear protrudes from her gut. Blood, she realizes, was the color she was searching for.