Fredas, the 7th of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Saya hissed and recoiled, fighting the inner urge to throw everything she was holding to the floor with reckless abandon. For the fourth time now in the past hour, she managed to prick herself with her needle. If she didn't know any better, one would hazard a guess that she was just practicing Restoration magic, but no - despite the frequent usage of healing spells, this was a task unrelated to the high pursuits of the arcane. Nay, it was a quest much grander, and much more important.

Saya was trying to sew together a mattress that she had been stuffing with hay for the past Seht-knows-how-long.

It has been five days since the Blades had discovered this ancient temple. Of course, as the adventurer instinct dictates, they immediately began exploring. It had taken them the remainder of that day to properly loot all the chambers, and many curious things were uncovered in the process. Among them were dusty records that nearly made Esbern faint, ancient weapons and armor in surprisingly good condition, rooms full of various utensils for homekeeping, old practice dummies and targets… And, of course, the dozens of furniture items which were all this close to rotting away. The cushioning was ruined, the wood was withered, the nails were rusted to shit - needless to say, the group spent their first night in bedrolls on the cold stone floors.

The very next day, Saya took Annie from the cave and set out to the nearby settlement, Karthwasten, with gold from both Esbern and Fortunata and a single goal - to get some proper bedding. Unfortunately, it was immediately obvious that transporting multiple beds would be quite inefficient, so instead the redhead purchased a good amount of cloth and hay. She even took a small cart from the Karthspire camp along with her for this very purpose. The day after, the Blades have gotten around to looting the camp itself, too. Furs, bone, metal, lumber - the Forsworn had stockpiled more than enough resources for three people to stay afloat for the next few days, maybe even weeks or months.

The hard part began on day three, when it was time to actually put said resources to use. Many hours and many more inappropriate exclamations later, the Dragonborn managed to throw together some decent bed frames. And now, in the afternoon of the fifth day, the two women in the house were sewing together the mattresses after stuffing them for an amount of time that, for the sake of their pride, shall remain omitted.

This is not to say that Esbern did not try to pitch in. It's just that after watching the poor blind bat try to stick a thread through a needle for five solid minutes without any success, they've decided he was better off doing the things he actually enjoyed doing - that is, digging through the books and archiving all and any information he could find. Not at all surprisingly, he didn't object to such an assignment.

"So, have you decided yet?" Fortunata asked, not lifting her eyes.

The Dunmer glanced at her briefly before resuming her work. "On what?"

"When you're going to Markarth." Saya's hands stopped briefly. Of course. "Don't get me wrong, our food situation isn't bad, but it's always better to stay ahead of schedule. Besides that, we still need to stock up on things like potions, candles… You name it."

"Look, I understand, I just…" She sighed. "I don't know."

Fortunata stopped her work, looking at the elf with a knowing gaze. "Are you scared?"

The Dragonborn didn't respond immediately. "...Yeah, I guess."

"Of what?" Saya didn't answer. "Is it Ondolemar? The cultists? Those cannibals you told us about?"

A tired chuckle came from the Dunmer's lips. "All of the above?" She smiled wryly, shaking her head. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm just… Nervous. I mean, the Thalmor do know what I look like, even if not all of them. It feels like going into the lion's den."

"I don't think you get to say that." Fortunata laughed. "Not after the stunt you pulled back at the Embassy. That was the lion's den - and you didn't seem all that worried about it."

"Don't forget you forced me into that one yourself. And the only reason I agreed was because I was completely incognito. This time, it's different. They know what to look out for, even if I did my darndest to burn any loose trails." The girl's expression grew more serious as she leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. "If I mess up somehow, I'll be on their turf. Hell, if I fuck up badly enough I might lead them back to you. What then?"

"Then don't get caught." Fortunata shrugged. There was an awkward silence that hung for a few seconds before the Breton spoke up once more. "You know, in the old days I would've envied your position."

Saya raised an eyebrow, looking down at the Breton with one eye. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded. "A spy, going into hostile territory where every damn person dislikes the one thing you're trying to get intel on? Now that's a gold mine. Think about it - the Thalmor have a strong presence in the city. That means every citizen is, to an extent, negatively disposed towards the Thalmor, right?" The Dragonborn hummed, signifying that she was following. "And what does a bad employee do when the boss isn't looking?"

That's when it clicked in Saya's head. "They talk."

"Exactly. People bond easily over complaining, and you would be surprised how often they let something slip that they didn't intend to. Riften may have the Ratways running all over it, but Markarth?" The Breton pointed at a wall behind her, vaguely gesturing in the city's direction. "Right now, that's where the real rats are."

"...Noted." The Dunmer muttered, continuing to work the fabric in her hands. Fortunata definitely had a point: she had been so stuck worrying about the Thalmor that she hadn't even considered... "OH MOTHERFUCK!"

Aaand that would be the fifth time in the past hour.

Oh, how good it feels to lie down in an actual bed. It's shoddy work, but I don't even care. I made this and I'm content with it - and oh boy, does my spine agree.

That aside, we sat down to talk in the evening to decide what we were doing tomorrow, and after some discussion, we agreed that it was time for me to finally go and scout Markarth. I put together a list of things to buy, as well as things I should ask for and investigate while I'm there.

I really didn't miss you, Markarth. I really, really didn't.

Loredas, the 8th of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

I set out in the early afternoon. Left Annie at the stables, I think I can trust the people there enough not to do anything to her or the cart. The stablemaster gave me a weird look when I walked by, though. I think we might've met somewhere?

The absolute first thing I did was head off to the inn and ask around for the news. Apparently about a month ago their prison had a big outbreak and a lot of the big shots ended up getting killed in some hold-wide conspiracy. The Silver-Blood family got slaughtered, leaving only Thongvor, the guy that shoved his nose everywhere in the political side of things.

In particular, he's an avid Stormcloak supporter. And that, I can definitely use.

The Understone Keep was as impressive as Saya figured it would be. An entire mountain turned into an ancient fortress of the Dwemer, surviving thousands upon thousands of years and generations of rulers who all claimed it as their own. Carved angular patterns, metallic finishes of bronze-gold metal, dancing lights - everything one would expect in such a ruin. This one, however, was different in it being much more… Well, alive. There was not a single speck of dust or a cobweb barring only the most unreachable of corners, the banners and carpets were all relatively new, and even the old stone chairs and benches all looked to be actually usable, with proper cushioning in place instead of bare chunks of hard rock.

And of course, there were the people. Workers, servants, guards - the place was very well-populated, and the cave echo carried the sounds of footsteps and quiet conversations quite far. Saya kept to herself as she walked through, cloaked and hooded. Of course, such an attire indoors would draw attention of the passing eye, but she figured that it was a small sacrifice to make at the cost of not being recognized. Much better for a dozen completely indifferent people to vaguely remember a generic cloak than one or two really bad people remembering her face. As quickly as she entered their view, she would leave. It's not as if anyone particularly wanted to strike up a conversation with the girl, anyway.

Now the Dunmer, herself, was very much interested.

"Thongvor Silver-Blood, I presume?"

The man she spoke to lifted his head and regarded her with a quiet, if a bit scornful gaze. He was a Nord of seemingly respectable age - definitely at least around his fifties. The top of his head was bald, but the sides were covered in silvery grey that stretched into unkempt sideburns, which themselves flowed into a short full beard. One would not really guess he was a noble from attire alone, as the man wore a full suit of steel armor and had a sword hanging from his hip. if she didn't know any better, she'd have probably mistaken for a mercenary.

"What, another Imperial puppet come to gawk at the last Silver-Blood? Well gawk all you like. You'll know who really owns this city in due time." He barked, crossing his arms. By the smell of his breath, Saya could tell he was not exactly sober, though his speech indicated he wasn't entirely wasted either.

"I'm afraid I'm not here to gawk." She said, as softly as she could. However, this seems to have only had an adverse effect. "I just wanted to-"

"Well what ARE you here to do then, you elven bitch?" Thongvor practically growled, leaning towards her. Alright, she may have misjudged his state of inebriation. Just a tad. "Have your masters sent you here to be a thorn in my arse? Yes, yes, a whole family of old Stormcloak allies, all dead - you things must be squealing with delight in your pig pens, huh?!"

"Masters?" She muttered, pretending not to know who he was talking about. "What masters?"

Thongvor gave her a look that would be at best described as bewildered. "Th… The Thalmor? You're not with them? Then who in the frozen wastes are-"

"Shh. Keep it down." She hissed, putting a hand over his mouth as she side-eyed the direction of the stairs. Up there, in front of the throne, she could faintly see the glimmer of trademark Dominion armor. "Come here." The hooded girl whispered, taking Thongvor by the hand and all but dragging the man away. Though it wasn't as though he was protesting much, really just following her lead.

When the two of them had left the chamber, the Silver-Blood once again asked her. "You didn't answer my question. If you're not Thalmor, then what the hell is an elf like you doing here?"

She sighed, taking a look around the corner to make sure they weren't noticed. Then, she turned to the man beside her. "Let's call it a little business trip. I have… Friends, who are not on the best terms with the Thalmor. I was really hoping you could help me."

Thongvor glared at her like she was mad. Then, after seeing she was serious, he started bellowing in laughter. "You? You sharp-eared whore, coming in here all sneaky-like, you think I'm stupid don't you?" Then he suddenly stopped laughing, slamming his fist on the wall before he looked her straight in the eye. "I know what you bastards are trying to do. But you've got nothing on me. You got that? Nothing. So take your polished elven arses back over to Sumurset and take your Imperial friends with them. Your time here is soon over, Ulfric Stormcloak will make sure of it. And when it is - it's off with your heads."

With that hostile little remark, the man shambled away and out of the keep. Hopefully, to get some fresh air. Realistically, probably to get more mead. Regardless of the intent, the result of the exchange left Saya feeling rather frustrated as she stomped the floor. What was she even thinking? Ugh. Maybe she really should just take the supplies and go. With that thought in her head, the Dragonborn just about stormed out herself.

"Um- excuse me!" Saya stopped in her tracks, turning back to the person calling her over. From what she could see, it was a simply-dressed servant girl, a Breton judging by the height. Or maybe a Reachman? The lines really blurred in some aspects. "I couldn't help but overhear… And…"

Saya instinctively took hold of the sword hilt beneath her cloak. "And…?"

"I- I think master Raerek would want to see you. Please, if you would…" The timid girl gestured back inside the keep. Saya was hesitant, squinting to try and peer in whether or not the Dominion soldiers were still around. But eventually, she did relent - not so much of her own interest in the meeting as much as because of the servant girl's pitiable expression. She seemed very young, and considering Markarth's recent history, that… Did not leave Saya with a particularly good mental image of what could've happened to get this girl to end up in her current position.

So she followed, though never once letting go of Stormblade's handle.

The halls stretched and turned until she was led into the back of the keep. The doors opened and the girl looked at Saya expectantly, and the Dunmer sighed before entering. It was a small chamber, decorated like a war room. She half expected to see a bunch of monarchs here arguing over something or another, though she was unsure why. But instead, she saw a kind-looking old man, dressed in quite expensive-looking garments, waiting for her in a chair on the other side of the table.

"Good day." The Dunmer nodded in greeting. "I'm guessing you're Raerek?"

The old man smiled. "If you're guessing, that must mean you don't remember me. You should work on that, Dragonborn." He leaned forward. "It wouldn't do for a person of your importance to not remember the people she interacts with. But for the record, your guess is correct."

At that moment, all politeness dropped from Saya's expression. Her ears twitched at a creaking noise, and as she turned to look behind herself she realized that the doors behind her were now closed. "...That little waif." She grumbled under her nose. Idiot. "Alright, I'll start with the ox in the room. How do you know me?"

Raerek tented his fingers. "Dear madam ambassador gathers all kinds of people on her parties. Influential folk from all over the province - traders, nobles, Thanes, Jarls… And stewards, too, of course. So when an unknown face showed up at the party, looking like a lost lamb, and then so hastily disappeared, I had my suspicions. But I didn't think much of them… Until, of course, the entire group had to be evacuated after the building had suddenly caught fire."

She winced. Maybe giving Illia that scroll wasn't her best idea after all. "And the Dragonborn part?"

"You did kill a dragon last Sundas, didn't you? That kind of event doesn't go unnoticed. Especially not when an entire camp of Forsworn goes with it, and an interprovincial trading artery is suddenly unblocked." Raerek chuckled. "As a steward, I ought to reward you for your service to our hold."

"But you've other business on your mind. Am I correct?"

Not completely oblivious, this one. Raerek nodded. "I had my servants keep an eye out for you - or one who looked like you. It was a matter of time until you came along to Markarth. And believe me, Markarth has much need for someone of your… Skillset."

"Get to the point, please." The Dragonborn said, a note of impatience twisting her voice as she put one hand on the door handle. Raerek sighed, shaking his head.

"I want to offer you assistance in exchange for removing a mutual problem." He said. "Your display at the party had not gone unnoticed, and you made your attitude towards the Thalmor known loud and clear. The people of Markarth share that attitude." He gestured over to the chair on the opposite side of him. "Sit down, would you? It's impolite to speak while standing."

Saya looked down on it with a slight glint of suspicion in her eye. Nevertheless, she sat down. "Go on."

"That's much better." Raerek clasped his hands together, the count of wrinkles on his face growing threefold as his smile grew. The next moment, it vanished, and the tone of his voice dropped as he spoke. "The Silver-Blood clan have been conspiring with the Forsworn. This is what we learned last month, the night before Cidhna Mine, Markarth's pride and joy, experienced the single largest breakout in all of its history. Ever since then, there has been a power vacuum in the hold's nobility. The Thalmor overseer in Markarth, Ondolemar, is looking to make use of this."

The Dragonborn squinted. A Thalmor justiciar looking for a foothold? Was the situation here that bad for them? "How, exactly, is he planning to do that?"

"By undermining Jarl Igmund's authority." Raerek tented his fingers. "My nephew is a kind ruler, but not a stern one. I have received reports of Thalmor-affiliated spies snooping around Thongvor's house, and the man himself has been confronted multiple times by Thalmor authorities. He and Ondolemar have never gotten along, mostly because of Thongvor's… Shall we say, openness with his political and religious beliefs. But so far, Igmund has been keeping them in line by saying that they do not have any tangible evidence to get rid of Thongvor. Which is why I believe they're looking to frame him."

She raised an eyebrow. She should've expected this level of political intrigue, but she didn't consider that the Thalmor would want to be so involved in it. "Frame him how?"

"Ondolemar is the chief Talos hunter in Skyrim. He's been given almost free reign to do whatever he wants with the prisoners, and all the squads in the province report to him. And he doesn't need much to justify his actions." Suddenly, Raerek pulled out an Amulet of Talos, showing it to her in the candlelight before placing it on the table. "Something like this would easily be grounds for execution. And planting something like it? Child's play, for a Thalmor agent - but their hands are tied, because we already know the identity of every single person affiliated with them."

Saya crossed her arms. She didn't like where this was going. "And what do you want me to do, exactly?"

"That's the easy part." Raerek smiled, pleased with her cooperativeness. "As you already know, I am the steward of this city. And the Jarl's steward has a number of responsibilities, one of which is to ensure that all of the court guests are given proper accommodations." He pulled out a key from his pocket. "This is the key to Ondolemar's study. He returns there every evening to compile the information on Talos Cult activity and to hold correspondence with other hunting squads. Receiving reports, giving out orders, everything an Emissary is to do. On one condition, I will give this key to you and tell all the guards to turn a blind eye for a few hours. I trust you'll figure out what to do from there."

He placed the key on the table. Saya looked at it, then up at the old man. "What's the condition?"

Raerek leaned forward, smiling as pleasantly as an old man like him could. "Tonight, a Thalmor squad will receive an anonymous tip. They will break down the doors to Thongvor Silver-Blood's house, look in the drawer by his bed, and discover an Amulet of Talos in his possession. For his violation of law imposed by the White-Gold Concordat, Thongvor will then be arrested and, most surely, will resist any attempts to restrain him. This, of course, will lead to an on-the-spot execution, which the Second Emissary will need to write quite a lengthy report on…"

Her eyes narrowed. "You want me to get him killed."

"Such a villainous way to put it." Raerek shook his head, sighing.

"I don't like mincing words when I can help it, sera." Saya replied coldly. "Out of sheer curiosity, what do you have against Thongvor?"

The steward scoffed. "What do I have against him? What doesn't the entire city have against him is what you should be asking. He and his family have turned this entire hold into a monopoly. The smaller folk have no way of providing for themselves without his treasury getting in the way. The land-owners are terrorized by the Forsworn the Silver-Bloods made deals with, and without Madanach to keep the raids in check - they will only grow more reliant on his family's mercenaries. For the Divines' sake, we cannot detain him or any of his associates in the Mine because the bastard owns the very prison he would be thrown into!" He slammed his fist down on the table, anger seething from his voice. "And if that wasn't enough? With his brother dead, Thongvor has devolved into a proper mess. He cannot manage the entire web his family has built on his own, and without a guiding hand to tell them what to do - the hold's businesses are choking on their own tails."

Saya smirked sardonically. So that's what it's really about. "You can't get rid of him with the hold's own forces because of his influence, so you want the Thalmor to take care of him while I take care of the Thalmor for you. That way, the government can repossess the industry and start rolling in gold while the Dominion gets booted out and leaves the workers in peace."

"Bravo." Raerek gave her a small applause, not without a slight hint of sarcasm. Behind that sweet grin of his, though, there was a rising concern. Clever mercenaries were good at their jobs, but always more difficult to deal with. "So, what do you say?"

The Dunmer leaned back in her seat, considering her options. Getting herself involved in undermining a syndicate sounded good on paper, but the risk was definitely a factor to consider. If she was going to risk her hide, it'd have to be worth it, and she had no guarantees other than his word. After a moment of silence, she lifted her hand with two fingers sticking up in the air. "I have two questions, first. If you'll indulge me?" Raerek nodded. "Thanks." She leaned forwards again, propping up her elbow against the table. "First, compensation. Surely you understand that I would not get involved in such dangers to my person without some kind of reward."

The steward rubbed his hands together. "Oh, do not worry. You may request anything you wish once the job is complete." Once again, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope stamped with the Markarth's seal. "This here, is a written check from the Jarl's court. If you present it in the treasury, you will be permitted to request any supplies and merchandise in any of Markarth's stores, farms, and other such facilities, up to thirty thousand gold in total costs. The rest of the sum, of course, you may retrieve in coin, if you prefer. I think this would be sufficient, wouldn't you agree?"

Saya's eyes widened slightly at the amount. This was quite an exorbitant price considering the simplicity of the job. And she did need the supplies… Well, she didn't. But the Blades definitely did, and there would be no better opportunity to get them than this. "Alright. As for my second question…" She rose from the table. "What, exactly, is preventing me from killing you right now, taking all of those things, and then leaving without doing anything you requested?"

Raerek smiled, staring up at her with a piercing look. "If I don't leave this room within the next five minutes, my servant from earlier will personally alert Second Emissary Ondolemar of your presence in the city, and the guard will be ordered to keep you here at all costs. And in the end, he will be your problem no matter what."

The Dragonborn was quiet for a minute before she laughed. "Alright. You have yourself a deal, sera." With a wave of her hand, both the key and the amulet flew into her grasp. The steward jumped in his seat slightly at the sudden display of magic, while Saya quietly pocketed both under her cloak and gave a small salute. "Your assistance is much appreciated."

The steward gave her a quiet wave as she left the room, and then sighed heavily, almost extinguishing the candle in front of him by accident.

Talk about risky business.

Clever bastard. I wouldn't have killed him but that kind of trap…

Safe to say that it's best not to cross him. Maybe I should refrain from making other deals with this Raerek. But if they're as profitable as this one, I guess we'll just wait and see.

Thongvor's house was not very well guarded. Most of the servants were dead and not yet replaced, and avoiding the few that were still around wasn't difficult. Become Ethereal also came with the benefit of stepping through locked doors, but I still have to pick the cabinets and such. Just because I phase through objects doesn't mean that I can just pick up or drop things. Every time I tried to drop the Amulet inside the cabinet it just phased right through it. I think I could do it with some practice, but I didn't have the time for that, so I was in and out in just a few minutes.

Raerek gave me the key, as promised, and now all I had to do was go to the office and wait. I decided to make my waiting game a little more productive and searched through everything that I could unlock, throwing all the papers into my backpack.

And there were quite a few useful ones. Lists of Stormcloak sympathizers sorted by hold and settlement, suspected Talos worshippers, letters of correspondence and notifications about new Dominion arrivals… Fortunata and Esbern have their work cut out for them.

The big one, in my opinion, is this Northwatch Keep place. I don't think I've ever heard of it being mentioned. Apparently it's some old fort in the absolute farthest northwestern edge of Skyrim, used to belong to the Empire but now was handed over to the Thalmor as a sort of gatehouse. Keeping prisoners, getting supplies, arrival of reinforcements… The whole thing is like a secondary embassy. Troops, gear, money - they just keep pouring resources there. I wonder what for.

We should deal with that. The Thalmor are spread a little too thin after the embassy got fired up. Everyone is working on guarding and repairing, so Northwatch is understaffed and the next batch won't come until the next quarter. Maybe we can even bust out a few folks if we're lucky.

Ondolemar walked through Understone Keep with a satisfied smile. Almost proud, even. Why wouldn't he be? At long last, the filthy manling pig that has been causing him so much annoyance was finally out of the picture. All the wasted time, all the impeded operations, all of it was worth it. In fact, the Altmer personally put Thongvor to the sword. He would not give up that kind of vindication to anyone else, not even if it was the First Emissary herself ordering him.

Humming a tune to himself, Ondolemar opened the door to his study with his key. It was a small and, frankly, kind of cozy chamber. The walls were lined with bookshelves, sorted in perfect alphabetical order and by contents: the left side containing everything related to his glorious homeland, Alinor, while the right compiled all things related to Skyrim and the pursuit of the man-god worshippers. He scoffed mentally. A man, becoming a god. What a ridiculous notion.

He stepped into the chamber lightly, with a slight spring to his gait. At the snap of his fingers, magical flames flared up and lit the candles of the miniature chandelier hanging from the ceiling, granting him a wonderful view of his ivory-colored wooden desk, crafted from the finest Auridon ash. Above and behind him, as if overlooking the workspace, was a landscape painting of said island. Ondolemar marvelled at it for the briefest of moments before he sat down, sighing contently and pulling out a piece of parchment from his drawer before dipping a quill in ink with the intent to write another report.

But the quill didn't touch the paper. No, it stayed frozen in the air as the door to his office clicked and his eyes darted up, seeing a figure that he did not notice earlier. A cloaked and armored woman of short stature, light brown skin, red hair - and almost glowing red eyes.

"You."

Ondolemar was to rise from his seat before suddenly, a magical pressure forced him back down and he struggled so much as to lift a finger from the arm rest. The Dragonborn smirked, waving her hand as the green wisps of magicka disappeared.

"Yeah. Me." She said, stepping forward towards his desk. Her eyes weren't focused on him, however, instead drifting around the chamber. "You've quite the archive here. A fascinating read, I must say." She stopped, glancing at him before grabbing the table and flipping it over to the side, removing the one thing separating the two of them. "But I'd prefer a chat with the librarian."

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Altmer kept his cool, hiding the previous look of surprise under a mask of amusement. "I'm afraid this section is not for visitors. And you would do well to know that, if you do not wish to join the names on that list."

"Ooh, scary." The Dunmer mocked, throwing her hands up comically before returning to her previous disposition. "I don't think you're in a position to make any threats, Second Emissary. And I would advise you to cooperate, if you wish to save both of us the time."

The Altmer smiled. "Really now? Noted." In an instant, his expression was warped into rage as he lifted his hand, each finger crackling with lightning and reached for the Dragonborn's face, releasing the spell. He watched with a grin as the shock was released from his palm, blasting the entirety of it into the woman before him.

But something was… Off. Instead of the expected blast, it looked like the energy started to ripple. Before he could question it, Saya grabbed his wrist and moved his arm off her head. She looked unamused, to say the least.

"Now, now. That's not something I'd call cooperation. Though, I am quite unfamiliar with the Summerset customs." She tightened her grip, and Ondolemar felt a hot, searing pain on his skin, making the hairs on his arm curl up and his nose pick up the smell of burnt cloth. "Am I doing it right?"

"ARGH! LET GO OF ME, YOU-" before he could finish the sentence, a metal-wrapped knuckle slammed into his face, followed by spittle leaving the Altmer's mouth. Saya kicked him in the middle of the chest, flipping the chair over and leaving the man on the floor, holding his jaw.

Saya squatted down in front of him. "I'll find out what I need eventually, you know. There are more than enough records for that. You're just a convenient shortcut." She pulled back his hood, wrapping her fingers around his hair and slamming his forehead into the stone floor. The Altmer wailed in pain, though Saya didn't much care for it as she leaned closer to his ear. "I can keep going. But both you and I know that I don't need to. All you have to do is tell me aaall about Northwatch. Think of it as… Introducing your friends to each other for the first time. Come on, how many people are there, who's in charge…"

The Altmer chuckled, spitting out a tooth and raising his head. "So this is what it's all about." He laughed, staring up at her. "You'll find nothing, and I will tell you even less, you mongrel bitch."

She sighed, moving her hand to his cheek and caressing it. "You know, I think I finally figured out what it is about you Thalmor that pisses me off so much. You lot just look too damn perfect." She grabbed both of his ears and slammed his face into her knee, covered by a steel guard. The ringing noise made even her wince. Ondolemar recoiled from the impact, clutching his head with shaking arms. The Dragonborn exhaled slowly, calming down her rising heartbeat. He's earned this. Just stay calm. "You have two options, Emissary. Either you can tell me what I want and I'll go on my merry way, or we can test my plastic surgery skills. Unless, of course, you think I make a better general practitioner."

The Dunmer pressed her knee in between his shoulder blades, planting Ondolemar firmly into the floor while she pulled his arm back and grasped his pinky firmly. Whatever incoherent murmur left the Altmer's mouth was quickly turned into a scream as she snapped the finger, holding down the thrashing mage beneath her. One after another, the noises of bones cracking and ligaments tearing echoed in the stone chamber.

"I'm not exactly well-equipped here so you'll have to forgive me for the… Barbaric methods." She told him as she released the ruined arm. "But then again, you're not really in the position to complain with your line of work, hmm?"

She put her hand on his jaw, carefully turning him to look at her. An orange eye stared back at her, trembling with fear, pain, and rage. His nose was broken, snapped at an odd angle that felt uncomfortable to even look at. On his face was a big, murderous scowl. "Look at the scum of the earth preaching. Degenerates, all of you. Manic idiots. You think you rot-brains are worth a damn in the Thalmor's eyes? One eruption was too little!"

"Ha! Good one."

Crack.

I got my check from the steward as promised. I think both of us were very happy to get out of each other's sight as soon as possible.

It took a few hours to arrange the delivery but once everything was done, I set off in the evening straight towards Karthspire with a whole cart full of clothes, food, medicine, and all kinds of other goods. Overall, a very productive trip. If not as pleasant as I had hoped it would be.

Although… No, nevermind. Not pleasant.

Sundas, the 9th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

The morning after I brought back the haul, we sat down and reviewed what we knew.

Firstly, Ondolemar did crack - the Northwatch overseer was a justiciar named Ilanwe. She carried a master key with her that could lock or unlock any cell, so that would come in useful.

Secondly, most of the prisoners were either Stormcloaks, Stormcloak sympathizers, or already dead from either execution or excessive torture. However, there was one person of interest - an ex-Blade by the name of Fultheim. Up until now, he was living under an assumed identity of an alcoholic peasant at Nightgate Inn.

After some deliberation, we eventually reached the decision that Fortunata would go alone to investigate Northwatch. She's used to covert operations and if all else failed, she would be the only casualty and would much sooner die than break under interrogation.

Esbern would be left at Sky Haven to sift through all the records, looking for anything that could interest us. We've already looked through everything for the most part, but any kind of minor details could be useful later on.

Meanwhile, I would go visit High Hrothgar again. It was high time I asked Arngeir about this Shout on Alduin's Wall. If he can help me, I'd rather take the help now instead of waiting for later. And if he turns out to be useless, I'd rather know it now and then start searching on my own.

Morndas, the 10th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

Bed, sweet bed. How good does it feel to wake up in something made by a person that knew what they were doing when making furniture!

No offense to myself or Fortunata.

I stopped by the Mare for a drink before setting off. Hulda was happy enough to see me, and I also met one of the kids I let Kura play with. It was Carlotta's daughter, Camilla. I didn't even recognize her in the costume last time. Told her to pass on my best regards.

And I dropped by Lydia's. Got her caught up with things, brought some flowers. I think she'd like them.

Tirdas, the 11th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

It was quite cold in High Hrothgar. Saya knew this well over the many times she'd visited it, and yet, she still found herself shivering slightly as she opened the door and a cold draft blew straight into her back, nipping even through the cloak. The lights within the interior flickered briefly before returning to their proper state of peaceful crackling.

Arngeir had been expecting this return and closed his book as soon as the draft reached him, tugging at the edges of his long robes. The old Greybeard would likely not admit to this openly, but he was growing quite restless in her long absence. But he knew better than to let that worry overtake him. A hero's quest may take the Dragonborn far and wide, but she had to return eventually. All he had to do was wait, and that was a skill he had perfected over the decades.

"Hello." Saya greeted, a little quietly. The rasp in her voice did not escape the Greybeard's ears. Arngeir lifted his gaze, the pale blue eyes looking her over attentively. She looked quite different from how he remembered. Then again, that would be a given after an entire month of absence.

"Dragonborn. Welcome back." The old man smiled, though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You sound… Unwell. Did something happen?" He asked, keeping his speech soft as to avoid sounding as though he was scolding her.

Saya scratched the back of her head bashfully, avoiding his gaze. "It's… It's nothing. I just happened to run into some trouble when recovering the last word. I got injured and had to take some time off to recover."

"I see." An injury, then. He wanted to remark on her carelessness, but decided against it until he asked of her progress. "But you did succeed in finding the word of power, yes?"

"Yeah." Once again she didn't meet his gaze. One of her arms lifted to hug the other. "It was Yah, 'Seek'. The second word for Aura Whisper. I learned its meaning from a dragon soul I absorbed a week ago."

"Good, good." Arngeir looked pleased, but there was still something off in the back of his mind. It sounded as though she was almost uncomfortable with speaking of this challenge, so he diverted the topic. "I see your companion is not with you this time? A shame, I'm told master Wulfgar quite enjoys her feedback on his writing." The man didn't register that he'd made a mistake until the half-smile that Saya wore slipped from her face and she went quiet. Arngeir took a second to connect the dots, at which point his expression saddened. "I'm sorry."

"...It's fine. I-" Saya stopped abruptly, her fists clenching. She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. The tone of her voice grew noticeably colder. "We went to Valthume and… Happened to encounter something that we were not ready to handle. It's… It's also the reason why my throat was injured."

"I see..." The Greybeard nodded, not sure what else to say. He was not one for soothing someone who was mourning, so the best he could do is once again change the topic to something that didn't make her visibly uncomfortable. The tension never quite fully left his body, but he was definitely growing more at ease, clasping his hands together. "I assume you've come to receive your next task, then?"

"Kind of?" The Dragonborn shrugged, grimacing slightly. It was as though she hadn't yet fully come to terms with her request, but she pushed that hesitation out of her mind with a sigh. Taking a moment to steel her nerves, Saya looked Arngeir straight in the eye and spoke. "I want you to teach me a specific Shout. I don't know its words or its name, but I think I can describe the effect. I promise, it's really important."

Arngeir raised his eyebrows, surprised but intrigued. Saya had definitely questioned him quite thoroughly before, but this was the first time she directly asked him for anything in particular. "I see. Very well, if I know this Shout then I shall do my best to teach it to you. What is it?"

Saya's eyes seemed to almost light up at the prospect, excitement leaking into her voice almost like when she first came to the monastery. "It's… I'm honestly not sure on the details, it was rather vague, but- it seems to have something to do with dragons specifically. When it's used against a dragon, its power seems to bring it down from the sky. The mural I saw depicted it being used against Alduin."

"Where did you hear about that?" Arngeir replied sharply, grabbing his chair's armrests and almost standing up. He stared back at her from under the hood, eyes wide. "Who told you about this?"

The Dragonborn backed away slightly, straightening her back. "I saw it on Alduin's Wall, a relief in an abandoned Akaviri temple. The Blades and I were looking for a way to-"

"The Blades! Of course, the Blades!" The old man exclaimed, leaning back into his seat. He crossed his arms, tapping his arm in visible frustration. "Always with their meddling. Their reckless arrogance truly knows no bounds."

Saya pursed her lips, her tone almost defensive as she spoke. "What's so bad about what they've done? All they did was help me uncover something I needed. They've been actively encouraging me to learn, and-"

"They have always sought to corrupt the Dragonborn, to turn them away from the path of wisdom!" Arngeir looked positively enraged, interrupting her as she spoke. "They do not want you, they want your power. That's why they cultivate it! Have you learned nothing from us? Are you just another tool in their schemes?"

"I am no tool, Arngeir." Saya practically hissed the name, stepping back. "They control me no more than you do. And you most definitely do not control me. The Blades did what they were made for - they helped me. I have to defeat Alduin, that's why I am here, that's why you have been teaching me all this time how to use my power. Or do you not want Alduin dead?"

"What I want is irrelevant." He responded curtly. "This Shout was used once before in the past. And what now? Here we are again, with Alduin looming on the horizon. The Harbinger of the End of Times. Most of Skyrim doesn't even realize whose shadow they live in, and those few who do are all rushing to slay the great enemy, just like the old times. But have you considered that maybe he wasn't meant to be defeated in the first place?"

The Dunmer's face contorted in shock. "Arngeir, what-"

"Those who overthrew Alduin in ancient times only postponed the reckoning. They did not stop it." Arngeir spoke with a bitter, lecturing tone. His hood covered his face almost completely, only his lips and long grey beard peeking out from under the shadow. "If you are to learn anything, then you must first learn to ask questions. If the greatest of Tongues failed to defeat Alduin, if he has returned… Then perhaps the world is simply meant to end, is it not? Let it end and be reborn. Your only concern should be to study the Voice and protect the people."

Saya did not reply immediately. For a while, she just stood there, motionless, running the words through her mind like a stuck recording. Her hands were shaking and she found her fingers twitching, aching to grasp the hilt of her weapon. Her ears were ringing and her breath became uneven. Erratic. Sharp. Inhale, exhale, interrupting one another in alternating patternless chaos. Until her voice cut through.

She erupted into laughter.

Arngeir lifted his eyes, looking at her from under his hood. The Dragonborn's entire body was trembling, the girl holding her stomach as her frame convulsed with loud, unconstrained, hysterical laughter.

"Protect the people? What for? To offer them all on a silver platter when Alduin comes around? You're a fucking lunatic!" She shouted, looking at him with twitchy eyes. "You're a deluded, apathetic, cowardly corpse that missed the memo for its own burial!"

The monk watched her, unblinking.

"'The world is meant to end', cut the bullshit! Is that your idea of a joke?! Or are you going to tell me that all of this, all that has happened in these past months was all for nothing?!" She lifted her arms, gesturing wildly. Her voice was starting to crack. "Did I come here for nothing? Did I kill Mirmulnir for nothing?! Did I risk my life, time and time again, all for nothing?! Did Lydia die for nothing?!"

Arngeir pursed his lips, having no response.

"Why did any of this happen, then? Why did you tell me I had a purpose, why did you LIE to me?! Why didn't I just die in Helgen?!"

She stepped closer, grabbing Arngeir by the robes and lifting him off the chair.

"Well, master?! I'm waiting! TELL ME!"

The entire monastery rumbled, the ground shaking beneath it from the Dragonborn's words. She was staring Arngeir right in the eye, her own ruby irises blurred with tears while her mouth was stretched in a deranged grin, her shoulders still shaking with the occasional manic giggle. The seconds that they looked at each other in nigh-absolute silence seemed to stretch on and on, as the Greybeard made no attempts to free himself or respond. The laughter had long since subsided. In its place came raspy, choked up breaths. She stared at him, pleading wordlessly for him to tell her something, anything. To tell her she was wrong. To tell her it wasn't meaningless. To tell her that all that she did was worth something.

But all the while, he remained silent.

Saya's grasp weakened and she dropped him. Not for lack of strength, but for lack of will. He didn't say a thing. What point was there in holding him? And so the old monk crashed back into his seat as the Dragonborn remained unmoving before him. Her eyes didn't even twitch in his direction and she stared blankly where his face used to be, her arms hanging limply by her side.

"...Now I know why they warned me about you. But even she was wrong." Saya's voice was barely a whisper now, devoid of its previous energy. "You're not afraid of power. You're afraid of consequences." She lowered her head, her gaze traveling down to meet Arngeir's. All anger was sapped from her eyes now. Instead, they looked almost glassy. "You never interfere. You never do a thing, even though you could've fixed so much. And all of that, why? Because you would rather leave the universe to die than use the power you've been given, because then you would have to face responsibility - the same responsibility that you shoved on me, and that I have to deal with every single fucking day."

She turned to the side, looking off into the dark corridor. Away. She wanted to go away.

Saya glanced at Arngeir one last time. Still, he would not speak a word. Her fists curled and she could feel her fingernails digging into the flesh of her hands.

"So you know what? If the world really is doomed, if everyone really is to die, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're first on the list." She said, walking away from the monk as she fixed the backpack on her shoulders. Her footsteps once again echoed across the stone chambers. "Because then even if I am destined to bite it like a dog, at least I'll do it with the last thing on my mind being you rotting as you should."

And even after the echo of the door being slammed shut had reached his ears, the room remained woefully silent.

Middas, the 12th of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

I came back to Whiterun yesterday, reading through my old writings and wondering what I should do all evening. I didn't want to do a thing, if I'm honest, but I knew that would just be reverting to what I was a month ago. And sleeping every single day away is a lot more miserable than it sounds.

I noticed that I made a side note about some place called Mzinchaleft - a Dwemer ruin, by the sounds of it. Lydia told me about it when we left Riften after fetching Esbern.

Since we didn't go into the sewers together, Lydia found something else to occupy her in the meantime. That something was a woman named Mjoll, and after some conversation she had told her about her misadventure back in Mzinchaleft and how she'd lost her old sword, Grimsever. Lydia suggested to me that we could go there and get it back, and there we have the note.

Now I know I didn't make any promises but… I suppose it'd be something to take my mind off things. And I don't know what she might've told this Mjoll. I wouldn't want to leave her waiting or guessing.

The ruins here aren't as distinct from those in Vvardenfell as I expected. Though of course, if you look at it up close, there are still some notable differences. For example, I'm seeing a lot more stone all over the place, and metal only occasionally pops up as a minor accent or a trap of some kind. The actual automatons also look VERY different, much more angular and decorated. A lot less variety, though. Their weapons are very simple and one-track, I've yet to find something that breaks the mold in a meaningful way. It's all the same designs.

The weird… Creatures are certainly new, though.

The ruin continued deeper and deeper in and eventually opened into an enormous cave, and that's when I found the first of them. I'd almost mistaken it for some kind of goblin until I killed it and tried to take a closer look.

It looked kind of like an elf of some kind, but different from anything I'd seen before. Maybe a goblin?

It was hunched over horribly, almost bent in half, and walked while constantly crouched. Its face looked even worse, though. It seemed to have eyes, but it's eyelids looked stuck shut, like the upper and lower ones have grown together to completely cover the actual eyeball. The mouth couldn't come to a full close for lack of lips and its teeth were uneven and jagged, but still incredibly sharp.

What caught me completely off guard though was the absence of a nose. It's not that it didn't have breathing passages or anything, but there was just no nose on the outside. It was completely caved in, like a bat almost. It reminded me a little of the vampire lord from that one time, but less animalistic and more… Disturbing.

Maybe I should ask around, find out something about these. Would do well to be prepared.

Taking a breather inside a storage room I found. A part of the ruins was flooded, and boy was it an effort not to fall. Those pale things are surprisingly agile and seem to communicate in some way. At the very least I can tell that they are definitely moving their mouths, but I couldn't hear any noise no matter how close I listened. I can only guess that the sounds they make are not something regular people can hear, because the only other option I can think of would be reading lips or facial expressions, and that'd be problematic with the lack of eyes.

So, the storeroom. Nothing too impressive, and mostly empty except for a bunch of scrap metal. I tossed a few of the good pieces into my pack, maybe I'll fix something up out of these. Its much better than regular old steel, and it's not like all the dwarf-hounds are any closer to figuring out what the bloody thing is actually made out of.

Another point of interest was a dismantled centurion. I can only assume this one was in the middle of repairs, since its torso had the casing removed with all the innards exposed. I studied the thing a little bit for any possible weak spots and then took the 'heart' component. I can think of a person or two who would pay a pretty drake for something like this, and you'd be surprised how often an eccentric rich person could try to use an item like this for decoration without any regard for its actual function.

Almost a little depressing, really.

Found the sword! It was guarded by a centurion. Go figure. But I can see how someone who has never encountered this kind of thing could lose their weapon in a fight. I've had to deal with a few of these back home when I was still starting out with the whole adventuring thing. I don't even remember why I went into the ruins back then. I know it wasn't money, mom is pretty loaded from her own work to this day. I think it was some kind of project? Oh, whatever.

I guess now it's just a matter of getting it back to Riften. I could stop by Nightgate Inn on the way so I don't have to camp out in the snow. I swear, this province just doesn't know what seasons are supposed to be. I don't know if there even is a part of the year when it does NOT snow up in the north.

P.S. - I marked Mzinchaleft as something to revisit later. The last chamber had an elevator to take me straight up to the surface, but there was another apparatus I couldn't figure out. It looked like some kind of lock, but the keyhole was more like… I don't know. A pedestal for an orb of some sort? The lock was holding down a bunch of metal bars, and I could see a staircase on the other side spiraling downwards. Might be more to this ruin than I thought initially.