"Why were you so determined to go to the island, little Nord?" Gjalund asked. Ren looked at him curiously. She was sitting on the tip of the ship, legs crossed beneath her. It was night and the rest of the crew were asleep, the cargo packed away below them. According to Gjalund, they'd be at Raven Rock, in Solstheim, at dawn.
The water was calm, rippling gently with a faint breeze-wind a thousand times warmer than Skyrim had ever been or ever would be-and the stars shed more than enough light to see by. No wonder Nocturnal and Azura were considered sisters, Ren mused. The night was so bright there was no need for a lamp or spell to see by.
"Someone there wants me dead. I'm not going to leave this alone and wait, to leave my son in any danger. But I'd be lying if I said I was going to Solstheim purely for my son's safety. This person, whoever they are, interrupted my vacation. Which is very, very irritating." She added the last part in an attempt to alleviate the dark mood gathering with her words. Gjalund frowned at her, looking troubled.
"I don't want you causing any trouble in Raven Rock or for the Skaal-"
"I won't be. I have a feeling whoever I'm after doesn't live in any settlement of any sort." She shook her head as she spoke. She was glad Gjalund seemed to care about the people of Solstheim, unlike most merchants she'd met. Even the Emperor of Cyrodiil's cousin, something-or-other Vici, hadn't cared at all about her clients. Ren, along with half of Solitude, had not mourned her death at all when news of her assassination by the Dark Brotherhood themselves had begun spreading.
"Good." He said, still studying her with narrowed eyes.
"So what do you know about Solstheim?" She asked. Ren hoped he knew something of value about the island. She'd never heard of it before the attack at Dragonsreach. She had only rarely felt this uninformed about something she was investigating. He shrugged.
"Ah. Well, the Empire colonized it at one point, turned it into a booming mining town. The island itself is very close to Morrowind, so the Dark Elves began moving in. Eventually the Empire abandoned it, and one of Morrowind's ruling families took control of it. Most of Raven Rock's people are Dunmer, but there are a few Imperials and Nords scattered through it. And then there's the Skaal. I don't deal with them, though. They believe in taking what they need from the earth or some such like that, so they don't buy goods. They keep to themselves, mostly."
"Anything else?" Ren pressed. Gjalund began to shake his head slowly in a 'no', but suddenly stopped.
"Well, there's a legend that Solstheim was originally part of Skyrim. Eras ago, though, it got blasted away from Skyrim itself by a battle raged by men using the Thu'um. But that's Greybeard business, and to be honest, I don't believe it." There was a strange note to Gjalund's voice, as if he was subtly warning her not to press matters about the tale. Frowning at him, Ren nodded and murmured her thanks. Without waiting for it, he turned and strode off to the other end of the boat as quickly as he could.
Why was he so uncomfortable speaking of the legend?
Ren shrugged to herself and let herself slide down to the deck of the boat. Curled up against the wall, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, but she had endured much worse before. She slept dreamlessly and deeply for perhaps the first time in four years, only to wake up when someone shook her.
"Little Nord, wake up. We're here." Ren flapped a hand at whoever was nudging her while she opened her eyes. It was barely dawn yet, but Gjalund was looming over her. Cursing softly underneath her breath she obliged. Indeed, a port city was appearing before them, strange-looking walls and houses crowded together like beetles. She grabbed her belongings.
The entire island was alien, like nothing she'd ever seen before. For some reason, this shocked her more than any other place she'd been-even Sovengaurde itself. It was warm, warmer than even the ocean's breeze had led her to believe. Everything was buried beneath massive drifts of grey snow, snow she realized a second later was falling from the sky and, no, it wasn't snow, it was actually ash. Off in the distance loomed a massive mountain smoking violently from its peak.
The Red Mountain!
Strangely shaped containers cluttered the side of the docks-not barrels, but urns. Gjalund glanced back at her and laughed, sending Ren's cheeks flushing scarlet. Her wonder must be amusing to him, when he was exposed to this so often.
But, at least her jaw hadn't been hanging open.
The boat bumped against a dock and within second Gjalund and his crew had the Northern Maiden tied into place. Almost immediately a tall, stiff Dunmer man stepped aboard. His pinched face appeared cold and perpetually suspicious as he headed directly for Gjalund. Upon spotting her, however, he changed course.
"Who are you? What is your business here in Raven Rock?" He demanded, narrowed eyes studying her closely.
While his gaze was as far from a leer as it could possibly get, she still felt the sudden urge to cross her arms over her chest and clothe herself, despite the fact she was already dressed and wearing the terrible leather armor.
"Ren. My business is my own." She said curtly.
"It is precisely that sort of attitude that will land you in prison, outsider." He said sharply. She shrugged and pushed her way past him, stepping onto the dock and heading into town. A few men who she assumed to be guards dressed in the strangest armor she had ever seen glared at her suspiciously while she walked into the town of Raven Rock itself.
It was like walking into an alien world.
She headed down what appeared to be the main road going through town, studying each of the buildings with undisguised curiosity. What were they made of?
She emerged into what had to be the main square of the town. A well sat in the center and a variety of shops and stands formed a ring around it, most of them in front of a particular house. All of them were manned by Dark Elves, although there were one or two Imperials shopping around and one Orc. Immediately to her right was a forge run by a Breton that looked…familiar. Inquisitive, she stepped forward until she stood before the man's forge. He was in the middle of a conversation with one of the Dark Elves, and didn't notice her.
"So where do you hail from, Glover?" The Dunmer asked, friendliness evident in his expression. The Breton-Glover-looked up.
"Skyrim, born and raised." The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
"Have any kinfolk?"
"Just a brother. Lives in Riften." Ren stood ramrod straight.
"That's quite a distance from here...what's his trade? Is he a blacksmith as well?" People here really knew nothing of Riften, Ren realized. No one would ask such a stupid question about the city of thieves.
"Nah. He…finds things that people are looking for. Makes a good bit of coin doing it, too." There was no mistaking the pride in Glover's voice as he mentioned his brother. And the only Breton Ren knew to live in Riften and….find objects for others….
Ren cast a quick eye around the place, looking for something in particular. She found the Shadowmark on the door frame of the Breton's house, a diamond with an empty circle enclosed within it. The mark of the Thieves Guild itself.
"Can I help you?" She blinked and looked at the Breton, watching him follow her line of gaze to the Shadowmark.
"Didn't expect to see anyone here." She said, shifting her bags to even out their weight. Glover looked up at her and laughed.
"Well. No one from the Guild's been here in….ever. Not since I came here. How are they doing?" He asked jovially.
"Good. We've spread our influence across all of Skyrim. Coin's coming like water through the Cistern. Mercer's been brought to justice for murdering Gallus and framing Karliah." Ren added, struggling to keep the ice out of her voice when she mentioned the bastard. Glover's eyes widened. He let out a long whistle through his teeth.
"Damn. I missed all the fun, didn't I? I left before it happened, got a letter from Mercer a month or two later. Never bothered with it after. Gallus was a good man but I was done with the Guild." Glover mused, setting the sword he'd been sharpening down on the workbench in front of him.
"How's my brother doing? Old Delvin? Is he still pinning after Vex?" Glover asked suddenly, focusing on her. She laughed.
"He was still doing that even back then? Yeah. I don't think Vekel minds-as long as Delvin pays for his drinking, Vekel's got a steady source of coin." She said, relaxing her guard.
"Can you believe him? Nearly thirty years I been out here, and never once has he bothered to send his own flesh and blood a letter. Remind him to do so next time you see him, won't you?" Glover asked, eager and obviously pleased. Ren wondered curiously about their relationship. Delvin had never mentioned any siblings to her. But, he was always busy trying to convince her-or any woman who took two steps into the Flagon, for that matter-to bed with him. Ren doubted he realized just how angry that made Vex, despite her adamant refusals of his usually less than elegant advances.
"Oh, I will alright. Are there any embarrassing stories you can tell me? I'm sure Delvin would love to be reminded of them." She said, a grin splitting her face. Glover roared with laughter.
"Tell you what-if you do me a favor, I'll give you all the dirt you could possibly dream of."
"What do you need?" She asked. His expression sobered up immediately.
"A couple days ago I was approached by someone who spotted the Shadowmark too. I thought he was Guild, so I let him stay at my house for a night. I figured he'd leave in the morning and that would be that. Well, he left alright-stole my Bonemold Formula too! I need that recipe to make the Bonemold armor the Redoran guards keep paying me to make. I can't go much longer without it, and I can't afford to leave my forge unattended." Glover seemed to be seething in rage by the time he'd finished. His fists were clenched so tightly around the sword he held she was shocked he hadn't cut himself on the razor sharp blade.
"Where did he go?"
"He-his name's Esmond Tyne-said something about Castle Karstaag Caverns. That's all the way across Solstheim-here, I'll mark it on your map." He sighed, holding out a hand. Ren dug around in her bags, eventually finding the folded slip of paper he needed. He unfolded it carefully, his movements at extreme odds with the anger on his face, and found a piece of charcoal. He carefully marked in not one, but two spots on her map.
"Here's the Skaal Village. If you need somewhere safe to stay, they'll probably let you stay there for a night or two." He said, pointing at a small hut-shaped mark on the edge of the island. Slowly Ren nodded, memorizing its location and where Raven Rock was marked. He moved his finger a distance away to point at a vaguely cave-like mark.
"And here's the Caverns. I have no idea what's inside of them-just teach Esmond not to steal from me again. And, if you see Crescius Caerellius, tell him to bring back my pickaxe!" He added, folding the map back up and handing it to her.
"Can't you just buy a new one?" He glared at her.
"If it was a normal pickaxe, sure! But this one is an ancient Nordic pickaxe. They're as hard to come by as good Black-Briar Reserve out here, and there are only a few left in all of Tamriel. I need it to forge Stahlrim, but the crazy bastard stole it from me."
"For someone so involved in the Guild, you seem to get in a lot of trouble with people taking your belongings, Glover." She said dryly. He continued to glare at her.
"Just go do it." He muttered, turning back to his business. Ren laughed but nodded. She put the map away and continued walking down the road. She fell in step with a woman wearing a blue hood, an expression of rapt ecstasy evident in her eyes.
"That they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us." The woman sang, her voice beautiful and clear. Ren opened her mouth to ask what exactly she was singing, but then another man dropped what he was holding and fell in step with her, adding his voice to her chant.
"Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be." There was something strange about the lyrics they sang, Ren realized. She didn't know what exactly it was, but she felt certain there was a meaning behind the seeming ridiculous words. Another pair of Dunmer dropped what they were doing and fell in step with the chanters, singing loudly as they left. A couple of guards joined them, and soon Ren was following an entire congregation of followers.
But followers of what?
"Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us, our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see." They traveled on a dirt road through a handful of shattered, broken homes. They appeared nothing more than the foundations, with strange vegetation bursting out of the ash covering them. A few urns and barrels were crammed between the crumbling walls, but other than that there was no sign of inhabitation. Not even squatters.
Something was wrong with this town.
The congregation pooled out into an opening, and Ren stopped dead with a gasp of shock. A stone spire rose out of the ground, every inch covered in intricate markings and sigils, runes that she had never seen before. It glowed a gentle green light that spiraled up into the heavens, vanishing where only a dragon would see. Wooden supports circled it, some made of stone rather than wood. The spire sat in a small pool sunken into the ground a few feet. The ringing of pickaxes and hammers almost drowned out the chanting, as it began again. As the congregation took up positions around the spire and picked up tools, Ren curiously inched towards it. Two guards stood beside a Dunmer who kneeled in front of the stone, arms upraised to the sky and face upturned. His body trembled slightly with what she assumed religious fervor, crying out the chant with his deep voice.
"Our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be. Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near us." The people, these worshippers, appeared enthralled.
Maybe she should have asked Serana to come.
Cautiously, Ren reached out pressed a hand against the spire. There was a sudden shock, violent and raw, that traveled through her body. Then-
…
….
…Darkness. Movement. She realized her lips were moving, her voice too lifting in a song. Praise be to Miraak-this was what she was meant to do. To serve. To worship.
Eventually, light. She became aware she could see what she was doing. She was etching fine carvings onto stone, carvings of such detail and intricacy that, had she been working without Miraak's guidance, she could have never done. His power surrounded her, weighing her limbs down and cushioning her entire body, guiding each breath she took and each movement.
Here in his shrine that they have forgotten….Here do we toil that we might remember….By night we reclaim what by day was stolen…Far from ourselves he grows ever near us…
He commanded her to bow, to sing glories to Him, and she did so. Her tools dropped into the water, and another took them up. Tanned, weather-worn skin, face rough from days without shaving, brown eyes vacant.
Glover.
With a start, Ren fell back into the water, staring up at the spire with eyes wide with disbelief.
What had just happened?! She looked around quickly, unnerved by what had just occurred, as she pushed herself to her feet. Then her eyes landed on the markings she'd done, the markings Glover was continuing.
Hui Fen Dir Laan Naal wruth tuz Dovahkiin- Miraak.
You will die slowly by my blade Dragonborn –Allegiance Guide.
Miraak? Allegiance Guide?
How did he know Dov tongue? Could he really be another Dragonborn? Was he-had he been-a Dragon Priest? How did he control the townsfolk of Raven Rock-and probably the entire island? And, more importantly, how had he managed to take such tight control of her?
She became aware of a trembling in her limbs, a severe weakness in her body as if she had just recovered from a mortal blow with a sudden burst of Restoration Magic.
For a moment, she thought she heard faint laughter-but she dismissed it. She was hearing things, that was all.
"Glover." She said shakily, pushing herself up. Her belongings were undamaged, a quick check revealed. Thank Nocturnal her knapsacks had been treated against water. The blacksmith didn't respond to her voice at all.
"Glover." She repeated, reaching down and shaking his shoulder as hard as she could. He continued as if nothing had occurred, simply pausing in his carving until she'd stopped before continuing.
"Glover!" She called a third time. A massive hand suddenly dropped over her shoulder, startling her. She looked up and saw the vacant stare of a guard gazing down at her. His helmet was missing and he chanted with the rest of the people even as he pushed her towards the shrine. She waved her arms frantically as he shoved her off balance, realizing with no small degree of horror that Miraak, whoever he really was, wanted her incapacitated, beneath his direct control, and was willing to force her to do so.
So he wanted to keep her under his thumb. Probably to know where she was at all times so, that when the time was right, he could kill her. As his followers had shouted at her, they wanted to use her as an offering, a glorified sacrifice.
Ren fumbled with her free hand for one of her bags, grasped the hilt of a dagger, turned, and plunged it into the guard's exposed face.
It was a fairly poor dagger. Iron, clumsily made and with terrible balance. She had a stockpile of them because, as she'd found many times before, daggers were useful for all sorts of things like throwing at a long distance. But it did its work, and sent hot blood pouring across her. Disgusted, she let go of it and slipped past the man, glancing one last time at Glover. No one seemed to notice. If anything, the chanting increased as the man crumpled and gushed blood into the crystalline pool of water at the spire's base.
"Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be." The song followed her as she staggered into the sea surrounding Solstheim-not too deeply in, it only came up to her knees. Blood swirled in the water around her and debris floated to the surface, disturbed by her frantic movements. She didn't care. She wanted as far away from that shrine as possible.
She still felt unexplainably weak, and being weighed down with water and her belongings did not help matters at all. She forced her legs to continue moving until she got to shore, and then glanced over her shoulder.
The spire was nothing more than a faint pillar of emerald light vanishing into a thick cloud bank.
She collapsed against a scraggly tree, grateful that the waves had kept the stone she was sitting on free of ash. She dropped all of her packs into a neat pile and then pulled out the one containing her Nightingale armor. She pulled it out carefully, inspecting it for…anything. The movement was to distract herself from the fear in her heart, not to actually help anything tangible. Fingers still shaking, she pulled the leather armor and wet clothing she wore off and tossed it into a strange-looking bush. She pulled her armor on slowly, concentrating fiercely on every movement she made.
By the time she finished, she felt much calmer, and a thousand times more prepared for whatever was about to come at her. She dropped the amulet of Articulation-a special amulet she'd been given when she'd been voted Guildmaster-over her head, and slipped on the ring that Hroar had given her, the ring that she had first given him the day she had brought him home with her.
She double checked to make sure she was set, strapped on her weapons and a quiver crammed with arrows, then hoisted her bags up and left. The armor and wet clothing stayed behind-she had no further use of it. From here on out it was too dangerous to try and hide her Nightingale armor. If anyone did get too nosey, she could just kill them anyway.
She had no idea how long she walked before a slope that looked as if she could climb up it appeared. By this point she was trudging through more snow-like terrain. The map marked it as the Moesring Mountains, when she checked it for reference. It was about midday and the sun beat down steadily upon the chilly snow as she began climbing up.
Around three hours passed before she had to admit to herself she was utterly lost. Maybe off of the coast and onto the solid part of Solstheim, but nonetheless, lost.
Although, to begin with she'd had no idea of where she was headed.
With the wind trying to stop her, Ren dropped her forehead into her hands, took a step forward-
-and was suddenly falling.
"What in Oblivion-?!" She was cut off when she landed on her back. On snow, thankfully, but beneath the snow was a rock, which knocked the air from her lungs and hurt.
"Damned…cliff." She groaned, pushing herself up. She stood shakily, drawing in a deep breath to reaffirm that she was in fact alive-save for the fact her cowl had slipped off of her nose-and looked up.
She was surrounded by angry and slightly freaked-out looking Nords.
There were two massive, bulky men who were wearing furs, although one of them was wearing nearly nothing from the waist up, and two women. The older woman was the most conservatively dressed, but again, she was dressed in the same furs as the men wore. The other, obviously the younger, wore only a skirt and a thin band around her chest. She was lucky her chest was mostly flat.
"Outsiders are not welcome here." One of the men rumbled. He wore a hood of what appeared to be a saber cat, the fangs framing his face as if it was trying to swallow his head whole. Ren rolled her eyes.
"That seems to be a reoccurring theme on this island. If I went to only places I was welcome, I wouldn't have bothered to leave home." She snapped. The younger woman suddenly came forward, stopping just shy of touching Ren. A puzzled expression worked its way across her features.
"You smell like….cold…night….shadows. What are you?" She asked. Unnerved, Ren took a step back.
"Rakel!" The Nord with the hood barked. The woman flinched and backed up, but didn't take her eyes off Ren.
Damn. Were these Nords werewolves? She'd heard of them before, from Delvin and Vekel when they tried to scare the Guild, drunk, at night on the various festivals Riften celebrated. Some whispered that the Companions knew a thing or two about lycanthropy, or that there was a group of lycanthrope hunters that called themselves the Silver Hand.
The parallels between the Silver Hand and the Dawnguard had absolutely horrified Ren. While the ancient Dawnguard would have reached out and combined their efforts, the new Dawnguard was different. For one, torture was not allowed unless it was extremely justified. And for another, if a vampire was found living peacefully with the inhabitants of whatever village or city it lived in, they were left alone. Isran had not liked Ren's adjustments, but the others had, and the rules had been put up without much of a struggle.
"Look, I just want to know if any of you know where a being called Miraak is." She said shortly, after a long moment spent staring at the Nords. The large man with the hood scowled at her, and the other man followed his example. The elder woman sniffed disdainfully and turned, vanishing somewhere behind them.
It was the younger woman who showed her.
She lifted her arm to point somewhere to Ren's right. Ren turned, and saw a faint pillar of green light standing strong against the strong winds blowing.
"Thank you." Ren murmured, and hurried over a pile of fallen rock.
She met no trouble walking through the wilds. Her walking was peaceful, to her relief. If Miraak really was this close, she wanted to be ready for him when she found him. It was dark by the time the light really grew strong and she knew she was close. She cast a Candlelight spell, summoning an orb of blue light to guide her. It would make her an instant target or any enemies near her, but she could faintly hear the ringing of pickaxes and hammers. She doubted she'd hear that, even if Miraak's control was absolute, if there was a beast massacring the islanders. With the illumination of her spell, she saw a step ahead of her and let out an explosive sigh of relief. She was almost there.
And then she found the first skeleton.
It was a dragon, there was no mistake about it. While vegetation had claimed most of the bones and time had eroded the rest, it still gleamed a dull ivory beneath her spell as she slowly approached it. It was spread out as if it had spiraled from the heavens, wings outstretched and tail curved, neck thrust upwards. It was clear that the dragon's soul had been taken, and that its head had been crushed by its landing. Agony was written into every inch of bone. She could feel the faint remnants of its soul, lost and screaming desperately for help, for salvation, for deliverance.
Two steps up the staircase and she found another one.
The land around her was a bone yard for dragons.
She traveled slowly up the stairs, seeing an innumerable number of skeletons. One was even sprawled across the steps, and she had to pick her way through its bones to continue. The dragons ranged in size and shape. One was about her size, another the biggest she had ever seen, nearly twice the size of Alduin himself.
She realized that adults had not been the only ones to die here. Children, if the sizes were any indication. She'd never heard of a baby dragon, though. It was something to ask Paarthurnax next time she saw the white Dov.
"Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us, our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be." The sound of chanting, and the striking of metal on stone, grew louder. As did another sound.
Shouting.
She reached the top of the hill to see another stone spire reaching towards the clouds, another group of men and women-and small green creatures clad in bones and fur, the likes of which she had never seen before-but also, another woman who was desperately trying to awaken one of the devoted worshippers.
The worshipper in question was kneeling before the stone, face and arms upturned to the green light as she sang the chant. She seemed
unaware of the woman sobbing beside her, shaking her in a vain attempt to wake her. Like the other stone, two other people stood on either side of the praying woman, chanting with the rest. Most of the men and women were Nords, which surprised her. They were clad in thick fur clothing, most with nothing save their faces poking out. Could these be the Skaal?
"Ysra, can you hear me? We must leave this place!" The woman begged, tugging on the praying woman's arm. The movement had no effect whatsoever. She had a beautiful, strange accent that Ren had never heard before-come to think of it, so did all of the other chanters, save of course the green creatures.
"By night we reclaim, what by day was stolen…" The woman cried, tone rapturous. One of the men standing beside her turned, movements slow and deliberate, and picked up a hammer. One of the laboring green creatures set down their tools and stood in his place, but although Ren was certain it was chanting the same things the Nords were, she couldn't understand it. The woman who was as sentient as Ren herself, still crying, stood. She wiped her cheeks as she looked up-and saw Ren.