The order to evacuate Rorikstead had been met with some reluctance by Larian's bandits. They had become comfortable in the town, and were loath to let it go for any reason. Hearing that it would come under attack before long, however, was more than enough to urge even the most stubborn bandit into leaving.

That had left Larian to wonder where they would hole up next. She had to admit, she'd become quite comfortable in the town as well, and was going to miss having a comfortable bed to sleep in. Ruined forts seemed rather out of the question in comparison; caves, even more so.

Then she'd heard rumors of an abandoned encampment, somewhere in the Reach. Formerly used by a band of Khajiit, all of whom had either been killed or moved on to other things over the years. On the one hand, she liked the thought of settling into the encampment... but on the other, she did not like the prospect of living in the Reach, given her history with the natives.

"You have history with the Forsworn?" Derrick mused.

"I do. They consistently assaulted our camp over the course of a few years, and killed several of us. We gave almost as good as we got, though; I killed many Forsworn myself." She scowled and glanced over her shoulder at the Imperial mage. "Which earned me some notoriety among the Forsworn. I have no idea how long I'd survive in the Reach, if they caught word of me being there."

He gave a small nod, and they both continued in silence.

While Larian had ordered the rest of the bandits to evacuate Rorikstead and seek refuge among the other bandit camps, she and Derrick had set out to the east. She hadn't dismissed the notion of digging through a cave to reach the underground Dwemer ruin, but refused to force her bandits to dig through it themselves.

To that end, she and Derrick had opted to 'convince' several miners from the eastern reaches of Skyrim to do the digging for them. Darkwater Crossing and Shor's Stone were high on her list of places to visit for that purpose. They had passed the capital of Whiterun several hours ago, and were coming up on the Valtheim Towers.

Traveling alone with Derrick had given her some insights as to the mage's fighting abilities, as well as snippets of his own past.

"Let's get back to you, though," she continued after a few more minutes of silence had passed. "You were wanted in the Imperial City?"

"Not just the Imperial City, but throughout all Cyrodiil," he replied.

"For...?"

"None of your business. It's a province away." As usual, he'd proven elusive on the finer details of his own past. All she'd learned about him so far was that he'd awoken a few years ago outside the Imperial City with no memory of his past, and had scraped by doing odd jobs. He'd discovered the shrine to Clavicus Vile months after that, and had opted to serve the Daedric Prince. It hadn't been easy, but it had gotten easier over time. He'd crossed the border to Skyrim illegally on Vile's orders, so as to help Larian accomplish what she'd been tasked with.

That was all he'd shared with her. If she was being honest, it was all she cared to know about him, at first... but traveling alone with him had made her far more curious than before. That he was so insistent on withholding the details irritated her, but she did her best to suppress it. It wouldn't do if she attacked him in aggravation, after all.

"Do you really think your crime is going to change my opinion of you?" she mused. "I dislike you already; my opinion of you could only get better at this point."

"Fair enough, but it's still none of your business."

She scowled and faced forward, to look at the bandit standing guard outside the first tower's entrance. The bandit was advancing toward them, but the closer Larian and Derrick got, the slower the bandit moved. She eventually stopped and pointed at Larian.

"Larian!" she exclaimed. "I... wh-what are you doing out here?"

"Good to see you too, Nadine," Larian said with a chuckle. "Rorikstead will be visited by His Racist Majesty's cronies before long, so we've abandoned it for our safety."

"I... see." The bandit named Nadine looked at Derrick. "So who's the Imperial?"

"His name is Derrick, and he's an ally. He can be... well, barely trusted." Larian also looked at him. "Derrick, this is Nadine, one of the few survivors of the years in the Reach."

"Ah. So a friend of yours." Derrick's tone was rather dismissive. "Might we stay the evening-" He stopped once Larian cleared her throat and shot him a pointed glare. The request had already been made, though, so there was no sense in Larian repeating it. She instead glanced at Nadine.

"Of course," she replied, looking at Larian. "There's something you could help us settle anyhow, so this works out."

"Problem?" Larian asked, quirking a brow. She and Derrick followed Nadine into the tower.

"Yeah. Some guy attacked us without any provocation," Nadine grumbled. "We lost a couple, but managed to take him down. He's still alive, but he's a captive. We've been arguing as to what to do with him, but maybe you can settle this for us." Larian glanced at Derrick, who only gave a small shrug.

"Well... there is a cave to the west..." Larian began with a reaffirming nod to Derrick.


"Winterhold," Mia grumbled. "I ain't missed this frigid corner." She pulled her white fur cloak tighter around her, trying to warm herself. She, Adalla and Adima had reached the College and were waiting for Runael at this point. Mia and Adalla were just inside the Hall of the Elements, with the doors to the Arch-Mage's quarters on their left and the Arcaneum on their right; Adima sat outside, at the paranoid request of more than one staff member's request.

"We're only here for a little while, I hope," Adalla reminded her partner. "Unless Runael's business is here in the hold."

"Gods, I hope not," Mia muttered. "Why can't it ever be some warmer place, like... Falkreath, or even the Rift?"

"Let's not forget that you've chosen to live here for the past... eleven? Twelve years?" Adalla couldn't remember exactly how long Mia had lived in Skyrim. "And yet, you don't complain about Solstheim when we visit Frea there."

"Solstheim ain't always bleary like Winterhold," Mia mumbled.

"I'd say you get used to it," came a third voice, familiar to both of them, "but just when you think you are, Skyrim catches you off-guard." Both women turned their attention to the third speaker, emerging from the Arch-Mage's quarters: an Altmer with pale blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, green eyes glimmering with amusement, and a pack slung over her shoulder. Behind her stood a Dunmer with black hair, red eyes and a similar pack, though it appeared lighter. Both were wearing robes: the Altmer wore what both Adalla and Mia recognized as the Arch-Mage's robes, though the hood was down for now, while the Dunmer wore a light brown robe with a small, darker brown drape over her shoulders.

"Runael," Adalla said with a smile, stepping forward to embrace her old friend. "It's been a while."

"So it has, Adalla," the Arch-Mage replied, returning the hug firmly. "Solstheim treated you well?"

"Excludin' eight years ago, it ain't treated us badly afore," Mia replied with a small chuckle. She stepped toward Runael, who was letting go of Adalla, and slid her arms around the Arch-Mage in a gentle hug. "Good t'see ya again."

"Aye," Runael replied with a light wink.

"Oy, that's me thing," Mia said.

"Galmar wants words with you, then," came the chuckled reply. Mia didn't respond to that. "You two remember Elsera?"

"Aye," Mia said, glancing at the Dunmer. "She ain't gonna turn me purple again, is she?"

"That was Brelyna," Elsera retorted, "and it was a prank."

"...Oh," the Akaviri woman replied, looking sheepish. "Er... sorry."

"She's coming with us?" Adalla asked Runael, glancing at Elsera.

"I'm not letting her do this alone," the Dunmer replied.

"We're with her," Mia reminded her.

"I mean from..." Elsera sighed. "If she's going to do this, I'm going with her. Simple as that."

"As she says. I tried to talk her out of it, but she's always insistent on, ah... 'protecting' me."

"You told her 'no' once, then began making plans together once she said 'yes', didn't you?" Adalla mused with a chuckle.

"You know me too well," Runael replied with a quick wink. "Anyway, we ought to be off. The sooner we get out there, the sooner we'll be out of Winterhold. We're heading to Rorikstead to deal with a bandit problem."

"That's what's so urgent as t'pull us from Solstheim?" Mia said with disbelief.

"They've held Rorikstead for over two weeks," Elsera said. "How normal is that?" When no response was given, she nodded. "Ulfric and Runael both think there's a leader behind Skyrim's bandits, and that they're at Rorikstead. Catch the leader, and the rest will fall into disarray, or so the theory goes."

"Eh... fair enough." Mia gestured to the doors leading outside. "Hope ya both got yer own bedrolls. We'll all be sharin' a tent, but I only got me own bedroll and Adalla's only got hers."

"Of course we do," Elsera replied, tapping her pack gently.

"You two don't sleep in one together?" Runael mused with a wink. The comment brought a small blush to Adalla's cheeks and made Elsera roll her eyes. Mia simply shook her head at the question. "Curious, but I won't press the matter."

"It's hardly any of your business anyway," Adalla replied with a light huff. She braced herself against the cold as Mia opened the doors that back out to Skyrim, and watched the Akaviri woman and Elsera step outside. She glanced at Runael for a moment.

"What? I said I won't press-"

"What aren't you telling us?" Adalla murmured softly, cutting off the Arch-Mage. "I know you well enough to know when something's bothering you. This is one of those times."

"What makes you think something's bothering me?" Runael replied, quirking a brow.

"You have a tell," was all Adalla said in response. The response made the Arch-Mage sigh slowly and heavily. "I don't mind you keeping it from Elsera and Mia, but we've been best friends for so long... don't treat me like I don't deserve to know."

"It's just something the Augur said. It's not important."

"It's important enough to have you unsettled," Adalla pressed.

"Not important enough to worry you over, though," Runael added. "It's fine, Adalla. Everything will be fine." She didn't give Adalla a chance to press any further; she stepped outside into the biting cold of Skyrim, leaving the other Altmer to feel irked. Adalla mentally cursed Runael for being so dismissive of whatever was troubling her, but followed her outside.


Helgen's residents had been sad to see Neria go, but word had gotten back to the town that Nurelion was, in fact, waiting for her - and was growing rather irritable that her visit was being delayed, at that. The Stormcloak whom Neria had become friends with, Galar, had been to the White Phial in the past, and knew that an irritable Nurelion would only get worse over time; he'd been the one to suggest that Neria leave Helgen as soon as possible, lest the elderly Altmer lose his patience altogether.

She'd taken him up on the suggestion, and had been on the road east of Helgen for at least a day now. The sun was starting to set behind her, and she knew she'd have to find a place to sleep for the evening... if not set up camp somewhere safe. She'd heard the stories of how vicious Skyrim's wilderness could be, especially for the unwary at night. She was not keen on living one such story for herself, even despite all her skill in combat. A sleepy warrior was a poor warrior, or so her old mentor had once told her. She was always inclined to believe it.

She'd seen her fair share of danger since leaving Helgen, but she'd also had some interesting encounters, as well. There was a trio of Nords drinking, laughing and otherwise having a good time; one of them had given her a bottle of something she'd never seen or heard of before, Honningbrew Mead. When she'd asked, she'd learned there used to be another meadery on the road just south of Whiterun, Honningbrew... but that it had gone under because of an incident involving the captain of Whiterun's guard. Honningbrew Meadery never recovered from the incident, and it eventually closed, to be replaced instead by a secondary Black-Briar location. Honningbrew was rare nowadays because of it, and according to the Nords, tasted far better than the 'Black-Briar poison'. They had departed shortly thereafter, their own moods soured by the mere fact that Black-Briar had even been mentioned.

She'd also come across what appeared to be a fellow Breton... except he'd appeared quite sickly, and she'd kept her distance so as not to risk becoming ill herself. She'd pursed her lips at mention of Peryite - whom the Breton had apparently served once - but held her tongue. Barring Meridia and Azura, there was no Daedric Prince nor follower of such that Neria trusted. She'd kept a wary eye on his receding figure until he had disappeared over the small hill she'd just crossed over.

She'd had her fair share of dangerous encounters, too: a wolf pack, a pair of saber cats, a thief who thought to try and rob her, and a flame atronach that, from the looks of the situation, a conjurer had been unable to maintain control over, if his nearby charred corpse was any indicator. None of these things were too dangerous for her to handle, however, and only the atronach had given her any real trouble.

It was all more than enough to give her an idea as to what some of the developments in Skyrim, both recent and otherwise, had been. She'd known full well that it had been host to a civil war years ago, of course - news of its end had spread like wildfire, and even reached her in Elsweyr four years ago - but little else was said about Skyrim. The two friendly encounters she'd had only served to remind her that beneath its rugged beauty, Skyrim was still, for all intents and purposes, a land of turmoil... that, although the civil war was over, the province was still plagued with its own problems.

She shook her head and snapped herself out of her reflections. A distracted warrior begs for death, or so her mentor had told her in the past... several times, as she'd been quite easily distracted in her earlier years of learning. While the memory brought a brief smile to her lips, she felt it slip when she remembered that, in a fit of irony, her old mentor had died because - as fate would have it - he had been distracted in battle. She had ingrained that particular lesson deep into her mind, such that she was confident that even if she forgot everything else, she'd remember that.

Her attention, then, was brought back rapidly by a pair of figures ahead of her. One wore a black robe with a hood over their head; she decided this figure was a mage, and opted to keep her distance. She did not like tangling with magic, even despite her innate resistance to it. She turned her attention to the other figure next, curious as to whether or not they were a mage as well. The other figure wore what she surmised to be hide armor; she couldn't really tell from the distance she'd put between herself and the two unknown figures. Unlike the robed figure, however, the second figure didn't wear a hood - which revealed what seemed to be dark brown hair.

Neria froze. She'd not seen hair that dark since... She put it from her mind and, without thinking, started running toward them. She needed to be certain. Footfall after heavy footfall heralded her approach, and both figures turned to face her. The robed figure, sure enough, suddenly had flames dancing in their palm - while the lightly armored figure was lifting a pair of crude iron war axes from their waist. She slowed her approach, and eventually came to a stop.

The figure in light armor was male. It wasn't...

"Something we can help you with?" the robed figure asked snidely. This close, Neria could see the scales beneath the hood that identified the mage as an Argonian.

"Come now, Sees," the other figure said with a wicked chuckle. "Obviously she wished to throw her life away, charging us so recklessly." He sounded to be a Nord, but Neria wasn't positive.

"She slowed and stopped, though," Sees said after a moment's pause.

"And that's our cue to charge her, instead," the Nord mused, taking several steps toward Neria. "You picked a bad time to get lost, 'friend'," he continued, addressing Neria directly.

"Bandits?" was all she asked.

"We like to think of it as 'living outside the law'," the Argonian named Sees replied. The fires in his hands intensified briefly, and he brought his hands together. She recognized the fact that they weren't giving her an option to back off, and drew Dawnbreaker from its sheath slowly.

"You're not Larian," was all she said before she charged at the Nord.


A.N. - Neria knows Larian. Neria knows Larian. This is actually going to have a HUGE impact on the overall story, but why? Well... that's giving away the surprise early.

Fun fact: the Argonian named Sees is a 'throwback' to an old Argonian character I played way back when, when Skyrim first came out. Sees-Too-Much. I found the name amusing, and rolled with it for a while. (Sees in Eventide, however, is not the same as Sees-Too-Much from my old game.)

Larian's history with the Forsworn was just something I thought up in the earlier minutes of the game, when I was chilling at Four Skull Overlook. Figured 'this is probably one of the only places in the Reach where the Forsworn are not situated...', and BAM! Bad blood with the Forsworn was born. It's just stuck ever since.

So my 'W' key is being stupid. In the next couple chapters in particular, I kept having typo after typo after typo - because pressing the 'W' key would not result in a 'W' appearing. I hope to all that is holy this computer lasts for quite some time yet, as I suspect I'll have it for much longer than I care for... but as a head's up, if you come across a word where the 'W' is missing... that's why. I checked this chapter over with 's spell-checker, and will do the same with the next two chapters (which are both completely finished), but it's still irritating all the same.

-Spiritslayer