Middas, the 24th of Hearthfire, 4E201
Fuck, my back is in agony. Note to self, next time I do something with the risk of falling asleep, drag myself to bed first. I don't recall grabbing a blanket, though…
Ah. Of course.
Our trip towards Riften started out innocently enough. Again we passed by Valtheim, but I don't think anyone's been brave enough to move in there yet except for a few wild animals. Once the towers were in sight, we took a sharp turn and moved straight for Ivarstead.
The sun was just starting to set when we finished our meals and started climbing. I would say I'm annoyed at having to do this every time but it's not like I have a better way to get up a mountain.
I told Lydia she could stay in Ivarstead if she doesn't want to climb and be bored all evening while I'm doing things, but she insisted on staying with me. Then she slipped and almost fell off the stairs by step ten because she was stomping a little too enthusiastically. I wonder who's looking after whom here.
Talked to Arngeir a bit. He gave me some tips on how to use Frost Breath, though I don't know how much I'll need it. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. In other news, the word wall from Volunruud was for Aura Whisper - a Shout that allows you to sense the presence of other creatures, living or dead. I guess that's what happened back at the mountain… So annoying, I was so close to figuring it out on my own, too!
Actually no, I wasn't. B'set, I bloody wasn't. Really glad for the shortcut.
I also got a new pointer. Arcwind Point, somewhere off in the south. I guess I'll ask around Falkreath whenever I get the chance to visit.
Turdas, the 25th of Hearthfire, 4E201
We moved out as soon as the sun rose. I was kind of surprised that I woke up that early naturally. Usually, I'd be up late and get up late, but I suppose the weight of knowledge pinned my head to the pillow real good last night.
On the way out, one of the guards name-dropped a small ruined tower a little ways off, called Nilheim. Said to be careful, that there's some dangerous folks that have been hanging around recently. We'll go check it out on the way, might get a hold of something useful there. You never know.
More bloody vampires! I swear, these things are like cockroaches these days.
You know, maybe Durak had a point. I'm going to Riften anyway, I guess it won't hurt to check out this Dawnguard place if nothing else comes up.
"Hold there." The passage of Saya and Lydia was unexpectedly blocked as one of the gatekeepers raised his arm. It was already past sundown, so they stopped in their tracks, the housecarl sighing wearily.
"Good evening, sera. Is there something in the matter?" Saya did her best impression of a person who did not want to drop dead into a warm bed. Her companion, meanwhile, slung her pack off her shoulders, grunting with relief. As Saya was usually the one charging headfirst into combat with all of her firepower, Lydia was the one carrying most of the loot, while her Thane only kept the bits that wouldn't get in the way. A positive side effect of this was that Lydia developed quite the muscular shoulders. A negative side effect was that said shoulders were perpetually sore.
"As per the new orders, all new arrivals to Riften must pay the visitor's tax," the guard said, crossing his arms seriously. His partner managed not to roll her eyes, but the hint of annoyance in her expression did not go unnoticed. "Seeing as how there's two of you, let's say… four hundred gold should suffice."
Saya's eyebrow twitched. She took a deep breath, counting to five before she spoke again. "I assume this… 'Tax' is set in place by the Jarl's decree, yes?" The Dragonborn mirrored the man's gesture, crossing her arms. "Would you, perchance, be able to procure a document confirming such a decree? Surely, the Jarl's steward would issue a tax of such importance in written form."
Lydia glared at the guard silently from behind her Thane's back. The guard clicked his tongue and turned away from her, instead looking back down at the peculiarly feisty Dunmer before him. "Are you suggesting that we falsified the Jarl's decree, traveler? Defamation is quite a serious crime…"
The Dragonborn groaned inwardly. This was one of the sleazy types. Very dramatically, she put a hand on her chest. "My, what a rude accusation, sera! I am simply worried for my own well being, that is all." Lydia did not let up on the stare, still drilling at the guard from behind her short-statured liege. The Dunmer took another breath… And then sighed, shaking her head. "Look, bud. We're tired, but not that tired. I give you points for creativity but next time you try to do a shakedown-" The female guard to Saya's left noticeably flinched at the raised volume. "-then say less things that can be used against you. It's not that hard to visit the Jarl and confirm whether or not you're full of shit - and you stink of it. Now, you gonna let us through or should I shout for someone more reputable?"
The guard stiffened, his lips pursed as the Dragonborn stared him up from under her hood. Most of his face was concealed by his closed helmet, but she could still see his eyes dart left and right before he grumbled under his breath. "Alright, alright, keep your voice down. Let me just unlock the gate," he said through gritted teeth before turning around, slotting an iron key into its respective keyhole, and opening the city gates with a tortured creak. Once finished, he turned to the duo and tilted his head in the entrance's direction. "Come on, get in before I change my mind."
Lydia began reaching for the pack but Saya pushed her hands away, instead sliding her own backpack off her shoulders and tossing it to the housecarl while the Dunmer picked up the heavy one. She grunted a bit, taking a few moments to get accustomed to the weight, but then finally slid on her polite smile and gave the guard a small salute. "You are most kind, sera. Thank you."
The metal hinges groaned when the pair pushed into the city. Once their footsteps grew distant and they were probably out of earshot, the female guard turned to her colleague, mumbling. "I told you we should've forged the order."
"Oh so NOW you want to participate-"
We stumbled straight towards the Bee and Barb as soon as we arrived. I remembered the innkeepers there from when I first arrived from Morrowind. They're a nice little couple of Argonians. I think one of them is from Morrowind, actually… Can't imagine life has been anything but difficult there. But they seem relatively well-off.
At the very least they can afford this Black-Briar brew. Though with that hag based in Riften I don't know if they even have an option to buy anything else. I don't know much about Maven but if anything I heard is remotely true, then with her recent attempts at "expanding" to Honningbrew's territory won't end well for… Who was it, Sabjorn? Poor fella.
The rooms are nice and cozy, if a bit small. I'm not really complaining though, the food makes up for it and with the amount of patrons you'd need to keep the place going I can see why they'd have to make cuts on the space to fit more people in.
I just hope that their baths will be open tomorrow… Godsdamnit, Esbern. You couldn't have picked a more nice-smelling place to hide, could you, old man?
Fredas, the 26th of Hearthfire, 4E201
When I managed to drag myself out of my room, I saw Lydia chatting with some intimidating woman. I couldn't remember her name to save my life but I hear that the locals call her 'the Lioness'. She's not quite a vigilante (not yet at least), but she's been raising waves about the Thieves Guild's presence in the city. Kind of an open secret I suppose, but it's almost a bit refreshing to see someone step up to it.
Personally I don't have much of a horse in that race. There will always be thieves and people to cover for them. If I can use their services, I will. If not, I'll look for someone else that'll fit the bill.
Breakfast was good. Lydia ate before me so she gave me a recommendation or two. Not gonna lie, not usually a fan of northern fish but Keerava knows her way around one.
After some conversation, we decided to split up. It'd be good for her to get some "me" time, and she seems to get along with that Mjoll woman well enough. She said they'd have a bit of a walk around the city, maybe get a few tips, who knows. Besides, I'd imagine it would be much easier to navigate sewer tunnels with one person rather than two.
That, and evade being tracked. There's a Khajiit that's been tailing me around the city for the entire day. I have to give credit where it's due - if Lydia wasn't there, I probably wouldn't have even noticed her. Though now I can only assume that the Thalmor are onto me, which is a very bad sign.
I'll need to take a look around later. If there's anyone else tracking us, I can't let them find out where Fortunata is.
Saya had to squint a bit when a bright light hit her eyes. The sewer tunnels that she had almost gotten accustomed to had abruptly opened up into a large, dome-shaped chamber. In the center of it was a massive cistern filled with murky water, but one could still walk along the edge of the room thanks to a brick pathway following the wall's shape. Right above the cistern was an opening to some kind of light source, which Saya could only assume was either a manhole or a well.
On the side of the cistern that was opposite to the Dunmer was a wooden platform, not unlike a miniature dock. A few folks were chatting there, one of them curiously clothed - quite similar to a mage's robes. Saya slowly made her way over to the right hand side and saw a small wooden sign, a bit worn but not indecipherable: 'The Ragged Flagon'. The Dragonborn nodded to herself, confirming that this is the right place to be, and moved in.
Or she would've, if a large Imperial two heads taller than her didn't step from around the corner, staring her down. Saya flinched slightly, but did her best to regain her composure after taking a quick step back and clearing her throat. "I'm uh, I'm looking for someone." She pointed behind the man awkwardly. "I was told to look around here."
The man growled, grimacing before he spit into the cistern. He then looked her up and down with a very careful eye and leaned forward, moving closer to her height. "Lots of people looking for someone down here these days. Vekel doesn't like strangers snooping 'round the Flagon. Cause trouble..." He pointed at the cistern. Now that she looked a bit more carefully, she could almost see some bones stuck under the platform. "And you'll end up down there. Clear?"
Saya swallowed, nodding a few times. "Yep. Loud and clear." She tried not to let the nervousness slip through into her voice. Gods, this one made her feel uneasy. Then again, that is the bouncer's job, isn't it?
He gave her one more intense look and then finally stepped aside. Saya could not feel more relieved to finally enter a den of thieves and charlatans if she tried. The first thing that caught her eye was that the place was weirdly… clean. Though, perhaps, it wasn't that weird if one considered that the Ragged Flagon is a bar. It wouldn't do well for a place that serves food to be infested with rats and insects.
People were drinking and talking about their nothings from their tables, but the Dragonborn still felt on guard while passing by the occupied seats, one hand resting on her gold pouch at all times. She approached the bar without sitting down, as if pulling up a stool would be a sign of staying for longer - which is definitely the last thing she wanted to do in a seedy place such as this.
"Uh, hello?" The sheepish greeting was good enough to attract the bartender's attention, who lifted his eyes from a mug he was cleaning. He didn't say anything back, simply watching her expectantly, so she took a moment to steady her breath and continued. "I'm looking for an old guy around here. Nord, somewhere in his 70's. Any pointers?"
The man - Vekel, as she guessed - stopped wiping his mug then, putting it down. "Old guy, eh?" He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Lots of 'old guys' around Riften. Don't really know where to point you."
Saya sighed, noticeably irritated. "Fine. Maybe this will help your poor memory." She reached into her pouch, grabbing a good handful of gold and sliding it over on the counter without breaking eye contact. "This is urgent. Tell me what you know."
The bartender looked almost impressed with the amount, wordlessly pocketing it while paying no mind to the side eyes of the patrons. Then, after clearing his throat with a little more emphasis than necessary and watching them turn away, he leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "Your guy is holed up in the Warrens, door to the right. Crazy old coot from what I heard, came here some time ago and hasn't come out since. Got someone bringing him food and such. Might want to hurry up though - you're not the first one to come asking for him."
A slight chill ran down Saya's back. "What- who else came?"
Vekel returned to his regular posture again, picking up the mug and going back to wiping it. "Some robed guys came here earlier, asking for this same old guy you're looking for. One of our folks said they were trouble, so I sent them on their way just a few hours ago."
"Fuck!" The Dunmer cursed, slamming her fist down on the counter. She began to walk back and forth, rubbing her temples. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, okay. Okay, thank you, I'm- I need to go. Door to the right, you said?" The wide-eyed bartender gave her a slight nod. Saya grabbed another handful of coins from her pouch and placed it down as calmly as she could with her thoughts running a mile a minute. Before Vekel could say anything, though, she was already out of the Flagon, the door to the Warrens swinging behind her.
I should've known that the Thalmor would be searching for Esbern, too. They even had the fucking Thieves Guild guy tied up in their dungeons, for fuck's sake. Ugh. What one wouldn't give for foresight as clear as hindsight.
There weren't many of them, thankfully. One of them got offed by a local cannibal, judging by the bite wounds. I took care of two more, but I could only assume that more were coming.
Actually now that I think about it, the Khajiit outside was a lookout, wasn't it? Huh. Clever bastards.
"Go away!" A muffled voice of an old man shouted. Saya was standing before an enormous metal door with - from what she could discern - about four or five separate locks. The bodies of the Thalmor Justiciars lay fresh at her feet, but only now that the adrenaline rush from the fight had finally passed did she remember that the Thalmor were a secondary opponent here.
"Esbern, I'm a friend. Please, open the door!" She banged on the door, growing increasingly jittery and looking back at the chamber entrance, as if expecting another wave to come charging in. She could feel it coming. "The Thalmor have found you, damnit, you need to get out of here!"
Loud laughter came from behind the door. "The Thalmor! Yes, of course! And how fortunate I am, to have you on the other side of the door. No doubt, waiting for me to open it so you robed fanatics can drag me off, aren't you?!"
Damn this old man. "I'm telling you, I'm not-" The words got stuck in her throat as she heard a click behind her. In a flash, she turned around, only to quickly duck below a lightning bolt that just barely missed her. Flames immediately clotted in her palm and she threw the fireball straight into the middle of the incoming squad, engulfing their robed selves in raging heat. Then she jumped down, driving Stormblade into the skull of a more armored agent before swinging it around to cleave off the fingers of an overconfident wizard preparing another blast.
"What?! I can't hear you, can you speak up louder? I'm a little deaf in my left ear-"
"Oh shut the FUCK up!" The Dunmer cursed, growling as one of the Thalmor tried to grab her. Instead of trying to resist, she leaned into it, bashing the man with her shoulder before blasting his unprotected face with a red-hot magical flame. "Just... give me ten seconds!"
Suddenly, Saya released a hiss, hand darting to her side. The armor was undamaged, but she could feel the unmistakable warmth of blood staining the inside. The Thalmor behind her smirked, pulling back his bound blade to go in for another strike. She quickly jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow, knocking the air out of the delicate elf duelist before prying his ribcage open with her sword and letting him drop on the floor like a sack of bricks.
With that ordeal past her, the Dragonborn leaned with her back against the wall, paying no mind to the filth and blood on it while she struggled to catch her breath. Healing magic wrapped around her fingers and she pressed her hand against the wound, biting her lip as the flesh began to knit itself together. "Gonna leave another damn scar, innit..." She spat, mentally cursing while she stumbled back up the stairs. Once there, she took a moment to compose herself, took a deep breath, and then slammed her fist on the door with as much force as she could muster.
"ESBERN! YOU THRICE-DAMNED GARBAGE RAT, EITHER YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW, OR I AM COMING IN MYSELF," the woman bellowed, her voice almost going a little hoarse by the end of it all. "I WILL COUNT TO THREE. ONE... TWOOO..."
"Wait, wait wait wait wait, what are you doing, no, you can't come in!" The old man panicked, scampering behind the door. There was a series of clicks - a result of Esbern haphazardly making sure that all of his locks were functional.
Luckily, Saya didn't much care about the locks. There was a wet squelch as one of the Thalmor corpses parted with its head and the Dunmer unceremoniously wrapped her fingers around its silky, now-bloodstained hair. "Ready or not, here I come..." She muttered, taking a few more long breaths and counting inwardly to steel her nerves. Then, an otherworldly whisper echoed throughout the chamber as the Dragonborn invoked an ethereal word of power and stepped through the door as though it was mist.
Esbern was even less visually impressive than she expected. Back when Fortunata talked of him, she was hoping for some kind of 'dignified grey'-type Blade with a reasonable physique and a scholarly appearance. When she first saw where he was hiding, she was hoping for at least some kind of bookwormy fellow who would be thankful for her arrival. What she got instead was a balding, decrepit, wrinkled Nord with a messy, grease-slathered beard, wearing clothing that a bog-cleaner would find disgusting, all while holding a cane as though it was the sharpest of greatswords.
"Why, you little-" Esbern wound back his cane, preparing to swing it with all of his might before being interrupted by Saya lobbing the severed head at him. "Augh!" He jerked in repulsion, dropping both his cane and the head, which fell to the floor with a thud. The man's expression was indescribable, a mixture of shock, disgust, and all kinds of emotions. "Is... Is that...?"
"The head of a Thalmor Justiciar. More specifically, one of the eight that I had to kill on the way to get here so I could get you out before they got toyou." Saya leaned back against the door as she spoke, slowly sliding down to the floor. Despite her best efforts, she was no expert in healing magic, so the aching wound was still sending the occasional jolt through her side. "Perfect... Just perfect," She huffed and reached into one of her numerous pouches in search of a red vial. The cork popped off easily enough and she gulped down the contents in one go, hoping to avoid the horrid flavor of the mixture. Slowly, her breath evened out again as the ache began to numb and the potion did its magic.
"You... eight...? All by yourself..." Esbern was muttering, rubbing his temples in confusion. Then, as sporadically as he spoke before, he went silent. Saya really, really wanted to say something witty in that period of awkward silence, but she had little energy to spare on snide comments. Five seconds of silence turned into ten, then into thirty, then into a minute. Eventually, the Nord pulled up a chair and sat down, turning towards her. "Whom are you really with?"
Saya's eyes widened. As if at the drop of a hat, everything about the way Esbern acted had changed. His posture became straighter, the panic vanished from his expression without a trace, his speech became calm, collected, and articulate. It was... almost as though he was a different person.
Color me impressed.
"I'm with Fortunata. A few days back, on the 22nd, we organized a break-in into the Thalmor Embassy and I managed to make off with some documents on the Blades they're hunting down. You were on the list, she recognized you, and she thinks you can help with this whole..." The Dragonborn gestured wildly, imitating the flapping of wings. "Dragon business."
Esbern hummed. "Fortunata... Now that is a name I have not heard in a long, long time." He clasped his fingers together, nodding. He considered his options before he spoke again, eyeing her carefully. "Did she have any messages for me? Or am I to believe your word without a shred of doubt?" He relaxed his posture, eyes half-closed as he watched Saya's expression shift. "Unconditional trust is not how I managed to survive this long, I'm sure you understand."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Saya waved her hand dismissively. No hard feelings. "She didn't say to give you any messages, but she did give me an instruction. She told me to ask you: do you remember the 30th of Frostfall?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, she questioned if it was a mistake to say them or not. It was as though Esbern's entire body went still after hearing that date. His eyes opened just a little wider, and his dry, cracked lips stretched into a sardonic smile. "Yes... I remember." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Saya saw that his eyes were distant, unfocused. As if he wasn't really there at the moment. "It was a cold, cold Morndas. The end of Frostfall is nearly winter in the Jerall Mountains, you understand. But there was no snow, no. The skies were grey, but the weather was dry, and the wind was bitterly cold." He chuckled grimly. "I still get shivers remembering it."
Saya changed her pose a bit, sitting a little more comfortably now that the ache in her side finally subsided. "What happened on that day? Why is it special?"
Esbern glanced at her, almost a little sadly. Then, he turned away once more. "That day, a courier came running to Cloud Ruler Temple, all the way from the Imperial City. Morndas, the 30th of Frostfall, year 171 of the Fourth Era..." His gaze was affixed to a candle burning on his table, lighting the room. Just as the weak flame pulsed and fluttered, so did his heart at the painful memory. "He told us that the Thalmor ambassador had arrived at the Emperor's palace, and presented an ultimatum: a list of demands that stretched on and on... Or surrender. Titus Mede refused, of course. No sane ruler would willingly give up everything his nation stands for at the demand of someone else." Esbern leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. "...The ambassador's servants flipped over the cart they brought with them right in front of his throne. Over a hundred severed heads of Blades and their associates from all over the Dominion territories... all on the floor." He shook his head. "That day, thirty years ago. That was when the Great War began." The Nord looked up at her with hollow eyes. "The beginning of the end."
Saya listened to the story with silent discomfort and a vague feeling of terror, not daring nor wanting to imagine the scene. Meekly, she stood up, walking up to Esbern and reaching out, hesitantly. "I... I didn't know."
The old man waved her off, uncaring. There were a few moments where he remained silent once more, so Saya just stood by his side and waited awkwardly. The flame continued flickering atop the candle, its scented aroma somewhat drowning out the stink of sewer filth.
"So," he finally said, "she's still alive. And after all these years, she's still keeping up the fight. I thought she would realize by now that it's hopeless. I told her, I told all of them, decades ago…"
Saya frowned, leaning onto a nearby table. "What do you mean, 'it's hopeless'? What's going on?"
"What's going on?" Esbern laughed, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "What's going on? Look around and see! What more do you need to realize what's going on?!" The Nord gestured around himself, throwing his arms up in frustration. "It's just as the prophecy said! Alduin, the World-Eater, has returned! Even in death we can't escape, because he'll just find us once more in the afterlife and devour us all over again! He'll devour everything, and nothing can stop him!" He stood up as his rant became increasingly more fierce. In a fit, he grabbed the chair he was sitting on and threw it at a wall, smashing it into pieces. Saya had to step back, out of instinct more than anything. That degree of strength was one of the last things she expected from a man of his appearance. "I tried to tell them, I tried to tell everyone! But none of them believed me, and now it's all coming true! The world is ending, and all any of us can do is wait and watch!"
Saya's eyes widened slightly, almost infected by the sheer frustration with which Esbern spoke. She almost wanted to agree with him. She sighed, shaking her head. "We don't have time for this conversation. Get what you need and let's go."
Esbern slammed his fist on the bed frame as Saya stepped away and began to slowly unlock the many, many mechanisms keeping his door shut. "Didn't you hear anything I said?!" He howled, his voice cracking. "The world is doomed! The Dragonborn was supposed to save us, and he hasn't! None of us can do anything!"
Saya grunted and one of the chains clicked, the rod holding it in place sliding out of its slot. "Well, then." She turned around, holding the rod in hand. "Maybe if the Dragonborn didn't have to run around dragging old men out of their sewer hideouts, she'd have more time to work on the World-Eater business." The metal piece was dropped on the floor with a loud, echoing clang. "You have eleven locks left. Get your shit."
I don't know how but I forgot about the literal dozen locks on the door when I went to open it. Good fucking gods, Esbern. The Emperor should be green with envy at this amount of security.
I don't even want to imagine what'd happen if a lock happened to get stuck.
Lydia met up with us as soon as we left the Ratways. Apparently, she noticed the Khajiit trying to slip out of the city as soon as she saw me enter the sewers, so she tried to stop her. Said Khajiit then pulled a knife on her, and one smack on the head later she was taking a leisurely swim in the canal.
None of the guards seemed to mind, and I'm not going to question that.
It was a bit of a trek, but we made our way to the Eldergleam Sanctuary again. I didn't want to head straight for Ivarstead in case there is anyone still following us, and if all goes well I'll be able to throw them off the trail tomorrow.
This place seems a lot more… Quiet, though. I wonder where all the people went. Maybe it's the coming winter?
Loredas, the 27th of Hearthfire, 4E201
We split up at Darkwater Crossing. Lydia and Esbern went the north way, through the mountain route we use to get to Ivarstead. Meanwhile I went to Ivarstead itself, and only after I let them leave my field of vision. Thankfully, nothing followed.
I think I'll stay here for a while longer before I move out to Riverwood. I said I might be late just in case, so maybe I'll ask around about this place Arngeir wanted me to go to. Information is the best weapon and all that.
Good news! Arcwind Point is a place that some people are familiar with. It's a fairly sizable ruin, secluded in the middle of a small clearing in the Jerall Mountains. A bit of a walk but other than the landscape, there should be no problem getting there.
There's a more troubling rumor, though. Apparently a few days earlier, some guard that wandered off his post during the night shift saw something in the sky. I asked him, and not only was he perfectly sober that night, but he also said that he could've sworn it had been a dragon.
I wanted to delay the visit until later, though I think it's worth going there today while I still have daylight. If the dragon is nocturnal, I'll have better chances catching it off guard right as it wakes up rather than as it is going to sleep.
There's people here.
It had taken two hours of watching for Saya to remember the guard rotation around the ruin entrance. Thirty minutes after that, she caught one of them wandering off the usual route. In ten more minutes, a naked body was lying cold in the bushes, while the Dunmer, having finished adjusting her attire, scurried back up to the now-dead guard's post.
The Dragonborn had to resist the reflex of reaching for her weapon when one of the patrolling guards approached her. Despite most of his face remaining unseen, he looked rather uneasy.
"What in Oblivion are you doing, taking a leak or something?" He berated her, his tone hushed but no less reprimanding and urgent. "Come quickly, the gathering must've already started."
She did not say a word as he grabbed her by the shoulder and led her further in. A thin, snowy trail surrounded by rock gave way to a path made of carved stone blocks. Totemic pillars surrounded them, braziers flaming red in the carved draconic maws that opened skyward. The sides were lined with many shelters - obviously recently built, constructed from wood, stone, and furs. There were enough for a sizable amount of people - possibly around fifty, if she was being generous.
The question of why one would need this many people answered itself as they approached the summit. Four enormous stone pillars came together above a large clearing, forming a sort of pyramid shape above a round pedestal, nearly as wide as a dragon mound. People gathered around it, forming a thick, identically dressed crowd. All as one, they wore thick furs to warm themselves, covering black iron chestplates with rough ornaments etched into them. Fur-lined boots and gloves of thick leather were capped with the same metallic material and adorned with small, almost tribal-looking carvings, while the elbows and knees were capped with decorative spikes. Lastly, but no less ominously, each and every member wore a hood with a mask on the front. The material differed person to person - for most it was dark wood, though guard uniforms sported ones made of the same black iron as the rest of their armor. The design was similar - plain and minimalistic, containing small diagonal slits to allow for vision, although the wooden ones were more so half-masks, leaving the mouth open for ease of speech, eating, and drinking.
The one exception was a man standing atop the pedestal. Rather than simple cloth, his body was wrapped in long robes of almost glowing red thread. On top of them, he wore ceremonial armor, obvious from its appearance that it was not made for combat, but rather for vanity and decoration. Instead of cold black iron, it was crafted of what looked like bronze, but gilded in a way to make it look like gold when the surrounding brazier flames danced across its edges. The chest and back were layered, solid plates exchanged for multitudes of metal scales that stretched downward, ending in tail-like fashion. The epaulets spiked upward, creating a menacing silhouette that shone against the shadows of twilight. Completing the look was once again a mask - black, like that of the guardsmen, but gilded with gold and bronze in an interweaving design that depicted none other than a stylized dragon skull, with two horns attached to the sides of the hood for added emphasis.
"-awakening will soon be finished. Our brothers have discovered his tomb and the sacrifices are being performed as we speak, thuri."
In a single moment, Saya felt her stomach sink. A form that she didn't even notice was there suddenly shifted, and the blank spot in the Dragonborn's vision filled up with an enormous form of a listening dragon. If she didn't see it moving, breathing, blinking, she could've easily mistaken it for a statue. Its large, assymetrical scales looked more like rough jagged rock than anything living, as though the dragon was petrified and broke out of a cliff or a mountain. The beast stood in a regal pose, looming over the priest before him and taking in his words with silent contemplation. Its pale yellow eyes weren't looking at him, however. They were aimed elsewhere, as though looking through the crowd. Searching.
The priest appeared perplexed at the lack of response, a hint of nervousness slipping into his voice. "My lord? Is something wrong…?"
All of a sudden, the dragon moved again, lowering its neck as a low growl escaped from its throat. The priest stepped back, almost falling as his entire body froze in fear. The dragon continued looking around, its pupil constricting and dilating as it searched through areas both lit and dark. The crowd was getting nervous, some of the people speaking in worried whispers and hushed warnings. That was when the dragon crawled forward, standing atop the pedestal in the center, and opened its maw.
The sound of Saya uttering the word to fade was drowned out in a storm of fire that gushed forth from the dragon's jaws. A discordant cacophony of screams erupted all around the ephemeral Dunmer, people's clothes lighting and their flesh burning black within a matter of moments. Only when the last of the cultists fell did the dragon cease its assault, its eyes locking with hers - the only person remaining amongst a small mountain of corpses.
"Mey aar!" The dragon growled at the cultist by its side. "You speak of the future while the Dovahkiin is hiding among your own men?! Dispose of it, or I will dispose of you!"
The priest required a moment to regain his composure, for even behind his mask, she could tell he was shaken by seeing all the people he had gathered lie dead at his feet. "As… As you command, thuri. But my followers…"
The dragon spat. "Vobalaan. Very well, you will have their assistance, if you so need it." The stony form lifted higher, facing skyward. The Dragonborn recognized the movements of the creature as it ravenously gulped down the night air, and fought past the ache in her throat, releasing another Shout that erupted from her lips like a squall of wind, smashing into the beast's ribcage. The dragon growled in annoyance at being interrupted, backing off before taking to the skies.
From beneath the dust roused by the monster's wings came a bolt of fire, flashing into the Dragonborn's vision. A shocked yelp escaped Saya's lungs and she rushed to rip the flaming cloak off herself. Another soon followed, this time easily broken against a ward. The dragon priest cursed, his hands motioning in patterns as he channeled magicka and stepped off the pedestal and up into the air, levitating above the Dunmer.
"No wings and flying?" The Dragonborn chuckled, charging an orb of fire within her hand and aiming it upwards. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're showing off in front of your master!" She said and released the spell, allowing it to lose form and instead combust into an amorphous surge of flame. The priest was quick to put up his ward, squinting behind the mask as the bright fires consumed his vision. Then, a stabbing pain pulsed in his side. He gazed down, grunting when he saw an ebony dagger sticking out from the bloodied cloth beneath his armor.
"FUS, RO DAH!" Before he could recover from one strike, she instantly sent out another from below. The ward shifted beneath him to react, but just as quickly shattered into pieces. The man grunted as his hands recoiled from the blocked force, and then contorted when yet another ball of flame erupted against his fake scales. He shrieked, pain crushing whatever semblance of concentration he had, and he came plummeting down, burning robes clinging to his skin.
Saya quickly closed the distance between them, standing on one knee as she grabbed a piece of his armor and jammed her dagger into his neck. As blood spewed forth, his frantic movements went still, and the Dunmer moved away from the growing stench of burnt flesh and smoke pouring into her face. There was a deep sigh as she slowly calmed down, looking around for any survivors.
"Krif voth ahkrin. It seems Alduin was truthful when he cautioned us against your abilities." The Dragonborn's gaze snapped upwards, where she saw a silhouette lurking atop the pillars. Once more the stony scales played into the creature's favor. The Dunmer had to hold back from huffing in frustration, falling for the same trick twice. "Pruzah. Consider me… Impressed."
The Dragonborn furrowed her brows. There was a degree of caution in her words and actions now that she was face to face with a dragon, with no element of surprise to even the odds. "Thanks. I suppose." The golden dagger entered its sheath once more while Stormblade left its. "Any more minions to throw at me? Or are you going to take matters into your own… claws? You don't have hands, right? I don't think you do."
A noise vaguely resembling a chuckle rumbled from the dragon's throat as its scaled lips stretched into a wicked grin."Wuth los onikaan, Dovahkiin. Appealing to pride may work on some of my kin, but not all. My body is old, and should I lose I would only make you stronger. While if you fight these dreadful zaamme instead, it would only take one of the hatchlings getting lucky to kill the little worm. And should they lose…" He licked his teeth, almost drooling. "You have nothing to gain."
Saya took a step back, avoiding the thick drop of saliva that fell onto the stone. She shuddered. "You got a point there, not going to lie." Although it hurt her pride a bit to admit it, the dragon was indeed clever in minions being a much less risky, if not as reliable, way of taking care of a problem. Barring one oversight, of course… "Probably would've worked great if you didn't burn them all to a crisp. Kind of undermining your own plan there."
"Undermining, you say…" The creature laughed once more, the growl in its speech so guttural that it seemed to come all the way from its chest, like damage from an old wound rather than a naturally deep voice. "I prefer the term… Strategic positioning.
LOK DIIL ON."
Saya felt her body quiver as the Thu'um echoed across the mountain and, for a brief second, the stars above became blacked out by an unnatural darkness. It spewed forth from the dragon's mouth like smoke from an explosion, and then rained down with streaks of pitch black, azure blue, and sickly green. Her first instinct was to raise her arm, protecting herself, but the wisps passed her by without harm, breaking against the stone floor and leaving not a single trace. And yet, there was a lingering sensation, almost like an invisible hand scratching at her bones and tickling the inside of her ribcage.
That train of thought, however, ended then and there as a series of horrific snaps and crackles resounded from behind her.
"Fight with bravery, Dovahkiin. You will need it." She could hear the sneer followed by the mighty flapping of wings, and the grip on her sword tightened. The Dragonborn turned right around, and she almost wished she didn't. The pile of scorched bodies from before began to move, all groaning and moaning in agonizing pain that haunted them even in death. As blackened flesh peeled off their bones, they rose one by one - five, ten, fifteen, guards and regular people alike… Soon, the entire crowd had risen onto unsteady feet, half melted armor clinging to their bodies, with but one thing that they all shared - that lifeless, flickering glow that danced in their eyes.
Then, a hand touched her shoulder.
In an instant, the Dragonborn spinned around and bashed her weapon's pommel into the person's jaw, yet resounding instead with a metallic clang that stung her ears from the proximity. She jumped back, taking a look at her attacker, and mentally cursed when she saw the last thing she was hoping to see - the priest, his head twisted from the blow, slowly turning to look at her from behind the dented metallic mask with the same, glowing, undead eyes as the rest of his followers.
He raised a hand, and wild flames burst forth from his palm like a blazing combustion. Saya's body vanished into thin air, yet she could still just barely feel the heat from the magical fires even while Whirlwind Sprint carried her away from it. Her landing was graceless and stumbling, but she reacted quickly with a fireball of her own - not directed at the priest, but at the crowd. The projectile exploded and, as expected, not all creatures stayed down: flaming and falling apart, they continued walking, rushing towards her. The Dragonborn met the assault, swinging her blade and smashing the first weak few into pieces.
A flash of searing pain engulfed the Dunmer's right half as the Dragon Priest released another magical explosion, flooding her in flame. With gritted teeth, she ripped off her burning hood, tossing aside the mask as well before tearing apart the flaming sleeve, revealing her armor underneath the robes. Her red eyes glinted with anger back at the priest and she pointed at him, green energies swirling around her hand. The levitating undead then collapsed to the floor, the bones in his legs producing a dry whine as they struggled to support the burden. Saya's own body, meanwhile, was set ablaze once more - though this time not with a spell from her enemy, but rather of her own accord, because a moment later an ancestor ghost stepped out of her flaming cloak. It gave her a look of acknowledgement before dashing off into the crowd of undead, a bladed polearm emerging from thin air in its hands to rend its opponents.
The Dragonborn took a brief moment of respite to look at the ensuing carnage before shifting her attention back to the priest. Keeping the burden spell up, she approached the undead with Stormblade raised before winding up a strong, decisive strike. Sweeping from left to right, the blade struck the priest right on the neck, aiming to take the abomination's head clean off. However, the blade simply bounced off, ringing as though it hit a rock.
Saya stumbled back from the recoil, her spell dissipating. The priest looked up at her again, and she could see now in the parts where his robes were torn or burnt to nothing, his flesh and bone were glimmering with magic, grey and rough as the stone on which the two of them stood. The dead man's eyes sparked at her moment of weakness. Suddenly, he lunged forward, flame lighting in his hands but not gathering together - instead, the undead clawed at her like a beast, fiery talons trailing behind each and every strike. Blow after blow, Saya did her best to dodge and block, at times worrying for the durability of her weapon.
She was slowly pushed back, step by step, sweat rolling down her face from the constant heat. With each strike, it was almost as though the flames grew bigger and bigger. But just as she thought she'd figured out the pattern, suddenly there was no fire. Instead of the sharp claws she was expecting, the stone flesh gathered around the undead's fist. The creature delivered a mighty punch that caught her straight in the stomach, knocking the air out of her and sending her tumbling backwards onto the floor from the force behind it.
The ancestor looked over at her briefly, concern showing on its face before it, too, suffered a strike from one of the priests and roared, striking back with such ferocity that the scorched zombie was cleaved in half. The ghost's fighting grew less methodical, turning from a fast-paced chain of cuts and stabs into a chaotic windmill of blazing heat. With the last of the cultists finished off, it once more turned its attention to its descendant. Its body grew yet hotter in rage when it saw the priest lifting her by the neck, stone nails digging into her flesh.
In a moment, the wraith crossed the distance between them, leaping into the air and striking with its polearm. The stony skin shattered at the place of the blow, the priest's torso almost splitting in two as the glaive entered from his side and left out of his shoulder. Frantic, the creature dropped the Dragonborn and grasped the flames that served as the staff and cut them apart, snapping the weapon in two. The ghost tossed its half aside while the half inside the priest disintegrated, and instead grabbed his mask, fingers clawing their way into the eye holes while the other hand held the undead by the fake horns on its head. It pulled, and in an instant, the stone flesh disappeared from the priest's body as the mask dropped behind them.
Suddenly, the priest that so far had stayed completely emotionless released a shrill, bone-chilling scream. It struck the ghost, pushing it away and escaping its clutches before lunging for the mask like a feral animal. Yet just as the coveted item was just within reach, there was a loud metallic clang as Saya kicked it away as hard as she could, sending the thing flying down the stairs. The dragon priest shrieked even louder, turning towards her while standing on all fours, and pouncing at her. Swiftly, the Dunmer struck him with the hallowed dagger, and the sizzling noise told her all she needed to know. The undead pushed away from her with all of its strength, falling onto the floor and howling as it clawed away at the burning wound that was fizzling with energy, white cinders gushing into the air.
"Not so mighty now, huh?!" Saya grunted, lifting Stormblade in her other hand and bringing it down in an arcing slash. With a crunch, the blade entered the priest's skull, wedging itself dead in the middle of its warped, blackened face. The Dragonborn stepped on his chest, yanking her sword out with yet another satisfying crack, and then lifted the dagger high up into the air before bringing it down right into the gaping wound in its head, driving it in like a chisel before twisting in all directions she could. The undead below her seized and thrashed about like a wild animal, blue flame bursting from its skull for multiple long seconds before it went completely still.
The Dragonborn trusted her experience more than she trusted what she saw. Rather than leave the corpse be, she continued to wedge the dagger until she split the head completely in half, and then grabbed hold of Stormblade again to sever it clear off its shoulders. Finally, she got back onto her feet, straightening her back with a huff. She glanced at the ancestor ghost, giving it a respectful bow that it returned before disappearing. And then, at long last, when she was finally alone, she let out a deep, deep sigh and sat down onto the floor.
"...should've just fuckin' gone to Riverwood."