Disclaimer:

I only own the plot and my original characters.

A/N:

Hey all! Not much to say other than things have been a bit hectic for me lately. But, here's a new chapter! Enjoy!

Previously:

Estoril has lived in the city port city, Dusk, for the past 6 years. The tense atmosphere in Cloudrest that arose after her father's suicide caused it's citizens to protest her father's funeral, and even attempt to burn down Estoril's home. Master Sinyir - worried for her safety- told Estoril that he could make arrangements for her elsewhere, and set her up in an old student of his's estate. So, she was able to live fairly anonymously due to the Thalmor's weak presence there. She became deeply involved in necromancy and became obsessed with the famous Altmer necromancer named, Mannimarco. She began frequently conducting rituals ( especially on the night of the Revenant moon) in hopes of receiving a sign from Mannimarco - who she believes ascended to godhood. She too wants to become proficient enough in necromancy so that she can become immortal-in either the form of a litch or as an ascended god. Yet, despite how good she has become at killing people she intends to reanimate cleanly, she isn't doing very well with keeping human bodies reanimated indefinitely. One day, Estoril receives a letter from Master Sinyir, in which he implores her to respond to him and tell her how she is doing, and also lets her know that he received a letter from Taarmend - her mother. This letter greatley angers Estoril, and she rips it up into little pieces and tosses sit out the window. One day - the morning after she has conducted a sacrificial ritual to Mannimarco- Estoril goes into town to see the traveling merchant's wares. There she runs into two Nord women merchants - one who is a mage that mutters insanely. Yet, she eventually begins shouting fearfully about murders in a city in Skyrim called Windhelm. Murders that she believes were the result of someone possessing Mannimarco's Necromancer's Amulet. Estoril takes this as a sign- especially after the other Nord woman says that her counterpart is prophetic. So, Estoril immediately decided that she must go to Skyrim to procure the amulet. She sees it as her destiny and thinks that the amulet will greatly increase her Conjuration abilities. She immediately writes to Master Sinyir who tells her he will send her someone that will act as her guide and take her to Skyrim. A few days later, Ancarion, a Senior Officer of the Thalmor, arrives at her doorstep and the two of them - along with Ancarion's squadron board a ship to mainland Tamriel. Estoril has a very difficult voyage and doesn't manage to find a moment of rest the entirety of the voyage. She finds she strongly dislikes traveling by sea. The group eventually arrives at Anvil- one of Cyrodiil's port cities. From there they travel by carriage to Bruma and there Estoril ventures off on her own. As she crosses the border into Skyrim on foot, she is intercepted by a group of Imperial Soldiers and is captured.

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Chapter 8 - In which I am unbound and thwarted

Helgen - Skyrim

Morndas, the 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

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As my surroundings slowly come into focus, I realize three things. One, that I am lying down on an uncovered, wooden carriage. Two, I am not alone, the three human males - Nords?- that had bolted past me are seated next to, and, across from me. Three, I and my new companions all have our hands bound behind our backs.

" Hey you - Elf. You're finally awake." The Nord man with bright blonde hair directly across from me says matter-of-factly.

I awkwardly move my aching body into a sitting position - which is quite difficult to accomplish with bound hands - and groggily try to respond. When I cannot seem to piece together a sentence, the man asks me a question.

" You were trying to cross the border, right?" You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us - and that theif over there"

An Imperial ambush... What? Why? What does this have to do with me? This has to be a terrible mistake! My confused gaze shifts over to the man called a thief, a brown haired Nord with dark circles around his shifty eyes, wearing a grimace that deepens by the second.

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" The thief swears. "Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, coulda stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

"E-excuse me." I croak, finally finding a fraction of my voice. Both men turn to me - the thief's expression is now one of annoyance from clearly having wanted to say more. " You, " I begin as I gesticulate as best I can with my head to the first Nord who had spoken, "said something about an Imperial ambush as if it had some significance. What does that have to do with me? And, what are Stormcloaks?"

"Stormcloaks, like myself, are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim, standing in opposition to foreign, Imperial rule." the blonde Nord responds pridefully. " That 'Imperial ambush' was meant for Ulfric and I. As for your part in all of this... I suppose this just isn't your lucky day."

"Ulfric... the Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief asks incredulously, staring slack-jawed at the third individual in the carriage.

The mention of Windhelm immediately grabs my attention. Could this individual be of use to me? I assume a Jarl is someone of importance...?

"Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" The blonde Nord corrects.

Curiously, I observe this 'true High King'. He sits beside me, bound in a similar fashion to the rest of us, but also gagged in addition. This extra measure taken by our captors can only mean that this, Ulfric Stormcloak, is deemed the most dangerous.

"You're the leader of the rebellion..." The thief further surmises. " If they've captured you... oh gods... where are they taking us?!

Where indeed, I wonder. My thoughts take a somewhat panicked turn as the gravity of my current situation sinks in.

I am in the middle of the woods in a foreign country.

My backpack with all of my belongings has been confiscated.

Somehow, I have been mistaken for a criminal - someone that is part of a rebel group.

My magika is severely depleted from exhaustion.

And I have no idea where my captors are taking me and for what purpose...By the Eight! What am I supposed to do?!

I need answers. Now. My thoughts race. And so, I vocalize them. " Where are they taking us?! I- I have nothing to do with any of this!" I declare to everyone, because it is the absolute truth! " How could I possibly be affiliated with any of you?!" The injustice of the whole situation is so overwhelming that I seethe with anger, I am practically spitting the words at all of them. "I am not even a filthy Nord, for Auri-El's sake!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, knife ear. Whether any of us like it or not." The blonde Nord mocks, his even-tempered demeanor gone, he now eyes me with disgust that rivals my own. " I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits..."

I scoff at this. " You Nords and your false idols, I suppose that imaginary realm would provide you people with comfort ."

I know that I have enraged all three of them. But I cannot bring myself to care. They cannot do anything to me. This has all turned out to be a mess! Certainly, I did not expect everything to be easy, but I also did not expect to be apprehended for a crime I did not commit the very moment I set foot in Skyrim! So, I ignore the thief and the Stormcloak throwing a myriad of slurs my way . I have more important matters to ponder. How am I going to escape? My magika still feels quite drained from fatigue. So, magic will not be an option for a while... Perhaps I could reason with these Imperials? I do, after all, have an alibi. Surely they know about the Thalmor Emissaries in Solitude ? Surely they would recognize that there is absolutely no way that I could be affiliated with these Stormcloaks. I am not the one that they are after.

Up ahead, I see that the carriage is approaching what looks like a city.

"Helgen," the Nord in front of me muses to no one in particular." I was sweet on a girl here once." I roll my eyes and say nothing in response to his sentimentality.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something that causes both shock and relief to course through my veins. I whip my head towards it and strain to get a better look.

Yes! I was right!

Behind me now, an Altmer woman wearing Thalmor robes astride a horse is talking to what appears to be an Imperial Soldier. I strain myself further to see if she might be someone I recognize. But the carriage has advanced too far, and she is out of sight now. However, my spirits are somewhat is hope for me yet!

"Look at it, General Tullius, the military governor... And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. I bet they had something to do with this."

I sneer at the blonde Nord' s clear revulsion of my people. No matter, he will get what is coming to him. While I on the other hand will be free to pursue my destiny soon enough!

The carriage comes to a halt in what looks like a city square. I and the Nords file out of the carriage one by one. Both Ulfric Stormcloak and the blonde Nord - whose name turns out to be Ralof - walk forward calmly, accepting their fates. The thief's agitation and pitiful escape attempt, however, gets him nothing but a swift death by archers.

"You, step forward!" A male Imperial soldier orders me.

I comply immediately, knowing that everything is going to be all right - but still feeling blood rise to my face all the same.

"Who are you?"

"I am Estoril of Alinor - or The Summerset Isles as you humans call it. While I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, you Imperials have made a grave mistake. I have no ties with any of the Nords you have sought to apprehend. I know nothing of Skyrim's politics. This is, in fact, my first full day here. I came here to reunite with my mother, the Third Emissary to the Thalmor Embassy near Solitude - her name is Taarmend. I noticed an individual wearing Thalmor robes near the entrance to this... city, perhaps she would be able to vouch for me?"

I try to keep my tone as neutral as possible - I cannot sound too nervous, too hopeful. I see an interplay of conflicting emotions cross the man's face before he looks down to a sheet of paper.

"She's not on the list," He states to a woman standing next to him, heavily outfitted in Imperial armor - his eyes wide and brow furrowed. " What do we do? ... Should we call over Elenwen?"

My ears perk up as the sound of a proper, Aldmeri name. Yes! This is going exactly as planned!

The woman - an unfriendly Imperial with a unflinchingly stern expression - turns her gaze from me to the man next to her. " Orders are orders. She goes to the block."

" How dare you!-" I begin, indignantly panicked.

"- That is quite enough of this nonsense!"

I am cut off by that same Thalmor that I had spied before- Elenwen, was it? She is still on horseback and appears to eye the scene laid before her imperiously through piercing, amber irises.

" Elenwen," the Imperial woman begins- her firm voice wavering. " You're obstructing justice. What happens to be the problem? In the name of the Emperor- and in accordance with your White-Gold Concordat- these criminals must be executed."

" You will release this Altmer into my custody at once." Elenwen's voice is firm and offers no room for rebuttal as she states her intentions. She dismounts her horse, and within two brisk strides she jolts forward to where I stand. " I will take care of matters from here." She says this while staring at me - calculatingly - searching for something.

I swallow a lump forming in my throat. My savior is appearing far more sinister than I would have hoped. But it is either her or execution.

"Very well." The Imperial woman aquesces through gritted teeth.

Elenwen ushers me off to the side and I am overwhelmingly relieved to have escaped the chopping block. I look back to see the repulsed looks on the Nords faces. I hear them mutter something like " Filthy Thalmor bastards." I chuckle. How satisfactory this has all turned out. The group of them look so weak - tied up and herded off like lambs for the slaughter. How pathetic that the mere string around their wrists is enough to bring down such supposed Nordic heroes.

Elenwen and I enter a building which I suppose she must be using as her office.

"Sit down."

I comply with her request and I seat myself at an oak chair in front of a matching desk, she has situated herself behind it in a chair, that, while similar to mine, is intricately carved with a pattern I do not recognize. I have remained quiet, and continue to do so out of nervous anticipation. I watch Elenwen as she flips through some files before I allow my eyes to wander about my new surroundings. The rest of the decor in the room is decidedly rustic, with stone accents and wooden panelling making up the walls. Two skins from animals that I am unable to identify hang on the wall in front of me, symmetrically framing Elenwen's seated form.

" Who are you, exactly?" Elenwen's stern voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

" I am Estoril, Third Emissary Taarmend's daughter." I say as confidently and as matter-of- factly as I can muster. " I received a letter from her nearly a fortnight ago, a letter in which she expressed a desire for me to visit her at the Thalmor Embassy."

Elenwen's eyes narrow as she makes a sort of clicking noise with her mouth. "Is that so?"

" It is." I succinctly reply.

"And, can you produce this letter?"

The letter. The memory of torn pieces of paper flit across my mind and my heart sinks. I should have had better foresight. I should have not reacted so impulsively. I should have preserved the letter.

Attempting to disguise the shakiness in my voice, I respond. " I am afraid not, in my haste to get to Skyrim I neglected bringing it along."

"I see."

I have to strain not to avert my eyes from her ever-intensifying gaze.

"When was the last time you and your mother were in contact - before this letter you mentioned."

I gulp. "I do not see how this is a relevant question..."

"Oh, but it is. It is very relevant, see, I am the Thalmor First Emissary to Skyrim. Your mother worked for me-"

"-worked?" I cut in, the sense of dread hanging over me growing tenfold.

"Yes, past tense, meaning she does not work for me anymore - has not worked for me for nearly four years..."

Four years?! I furrow my brow as I try to digest this new possibility. But I stay silent, there is no use in speaking out of turn.

"...It really is a pity because she was both a very diligent employee and a friend. It was quite a loss when her mind began to deteriorate." Elenwen sighs and rubs her temples. "But there had always been signs... I had no choice but to force her into retirement. She lives...comfortably now. Well, as comfortably as her condition permits."

I cannot respond. The silence between us has become stifling - choking me so that no words have a chance to escape. So I desperately keep my expression in check as my mind wanders - I need to remain calm - but I am internally reeling at what I have just learnt. Mother?...Mentally handicapped? I am unsure if I should laugh of feel appalled. Mother has always been weak, but insane? That is a whole other level of weakness.

"So tell me," Elenwen, begins again - a smirk spreading across her face. "How is it that Taarmend - my friend - failed to mention over the past decade that she had a daughter? How did she - a mentally handicapped individual- manage to send a coherent letter to said daughter?"

I am rather taken aback. Why had mother not told Elenwen about me? This revelation hits me like a slap across the face... Perhaps she is talking about a different Taarmend?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I respond. "There has to be some kind of a -"

"- a mistake? No, I do not think there is. At least, not on my behalf. You have been mistaken in the belief that you could get away with the farce you are trying to portray."

My mouth hangs open - only slightly.

"Who sent you? The Psyjics? The Beautiful?"

How ironic that I am being mistaken for one of them again. The accusation is a punch to my gut. It is as if I am in that courtroom again about to have my sentence of 'indefinite suspension' read out to me. And that is the final straw. It is simply impossible to pretend to be calm. I feel myself slipping. I snap my mouth shut and bite my lower lip as I hang my head dejectedly and look at my feet. And I know that my behavior must look like an admission of guilt, but I feel defeated. I cannot help it.

"No matter. You do not have to answer me right now. You will be talking soon enough."

Elenwen shifts to the front of her chair and leans as far over her desk as she can until she is nearly invading my personal space.

" It looks like you will be having your wish granted. I will be returning to the Thalmor Embassy with you in tow. You may remain an esteemed guest in my dungeons. I am sure you will find them most hospitable."

My eyes snap up to hers. I do not try to hide the unbridled horror she must be able to see in them. My heart is racing, my palms are sweaty and my vision is starting to blur. No, no, no, no, no! I cannot allow this to happen! It must not happen! I have a destiny to fulfill!

"Please! First Emissary!" I stutter. " You could not be more mistaken! I am telling the truth! You said that you were friends with my mother, then you must have been well acquainted with her. Please! Ask me anything about her! Perhaps about her upbringing or her family? I will be able to answer correctly!"

Elenwen's smirk deepens the more I plead. I really must be a pathetic sight to behold. But I do not care. When she remains silent I know that I have to be more convincing. Digging my fingernails into the palms of my bound hands, I scry my brain for any and all information about my mother that I can provide and spit it out in a long, disjointed monologue.

"She grew up in Cloudrest and had lived there her whole life there until she left to work in Skyrim! She has no siblings! She comes from the Merchant class and married my father, Lord Orthntur! She reached the rank of Junior Officer just before her twenty fifth birthday!"

Elenwen rolls her eyes and settles herself back into her chair- crossing her arms. I need to come up with more personal information!

"She hates humid weather!... Her first pet was a rabbit named Lia!... She used to spend hours every day tending to her many proscato flowers in the garden! She wanted to be a florist! ...When she was very young she nearly drowned in a lake!"

The smirk has all but dropped form Elenwen's face, and her eyes have widened.

"Please, you have to believe me!" I search Elenwen's face for something denoting that I am getting through to her. From what I can tell, it appears that she is at least entertaining the notion that I am not a liar.

Elenwen opens her mouth to speak.

A chorus of screams from outside break the tense atmosphere in two. And a sound, a monstrous, thundering roar earth practically shakes from the force of the noise. In its wake, I hear a faint crackling akin to fire devouring kindling. Elenwen and I both spring to our feet.

"Stay here," she orders me as she rushes out the door.

She cannot reasonably expect that I will obey, can she? But my hands are still bound. Yet...I think that my magika may have regenerated enough for me to release myself...

I clench my fists and focus intensely.

Come on. Come on.

It takes me several minutes of concentration - and it being broken by the ruckus outside -but I find myself successful. Flames spring to my hands, burning my bindings. I move to the door and slowly open it - just a crack. I cautiously survey my surroundings to find nothing but sheer pandemonium. Buildings are burning, civilians and soldiers alike scurry to seek shelter in an effort to escape... something. What could it be? But perhaps I should be asking whom it could be?

And then the answer drops from the sky.

An enormous beast, covered in black scales - with equally dark horns and bat like wings - lands in the middle of the road mere feet away from me. It whips its monstrous head towards my hiding spot, and my breath hitches at the sight of its brilliant, vermillion eyes. Mercifully, it's attention is captured by several Imperial soldiers charging at the beast with their standard-issue swords drawn - archers holding their ground not far behind with their bows at the ready. But the monster snaps at them with an open, terrifying maw before sinking its teeth into several, particularly unfortunate individuals - sweeping them up and shaking them violently. All they can do is scream with their last, dying breaths before being tossed into the air like rag-dolls and landing on the ground with a sickening thud.

No.. It cannot be, can it? Is it...

The beast whips its head back and lets out a mighty roar before spitting fire at the few remaining Imperials - now in full retreat.

...A dragon?

But... They are supposed to be extinct! Yet, the impossible has proven itself quite frighteningly tangible.

Only one thought resonates through my mind - the building, the one I am in ... it will not catch on fire too, will it? I feel my throat tightening, it is becoming more difficult to breath by the second.

In a feverish, panicked haze I spy a stone tower close to the square, where I had first gotten out of the carriage. Currently, the dragon has distracted itself with an unlucky pair of archers. I do not think. I run - my heart pounding in my screams of the wounded and dying are deafening, and the taste of ash from the burning buildings coats my tongue.

As I reach the tower door I find it unlocked and stumble inside- breathless and gasping- ignoring the surprised stares from the groups of Nords - both young and old huddling closely together for comfort. A few eye me suspiciously, but they all seem preoccupied with one another. Some of them are wounded and spread out on bed rolls while others tend to them, yet others speak to their children in hushed, soothing whispers. Exhausted from my exertion, hoping that I might have found myself a moment of respite - I move to a spot against the wall that is not occupied and contemplate my next move. I need to calm down. I need to think.

Is it possible to hide in here until this all blows over? I really hope so. My hands are trembling, so I tuck them under my armpits - hoping to minimize my visible weakness.

I find myself idly wondering where Elenwen might have run off to. I had been so close to convincing her of my innocence! I had been so close to convincing her that I am indeed my mother's daughter.

...Mother...

Should I investigate what has happened to mother...? A lump of dread forms in my throat and I shake the thought from my head. No. I must still make my way to Windhelm. I cannot allow intrusive inquiries to cloud my judgement. I must pursue my destiny. I came to Skyrim with a purpose, I must procure the Necromancer's Amulet! I chide myself for even passively considering doing anything else.

But I miss you, Estoril!

Panicked, I slap the side of my head with my right hand. No. No. No! Go away.You are not my mother.

You will always be my daughter.

I refuse to respond to the voice in my head any further. I refuse to interact with it and affirm its existence. I must ignore it at all costs. A small, wailing child stumbles past me and I shift all of my focus onto her. She appears to be about two, but I cannot be sure - I assume Nord children are smaller than Altmeri ones. Snot dribbles out of her nose and tears stream down her cheeks from eyes the most startling shade of blue I have ever seen. I am disgusted by the wailing mess in front of me - now collapsing to the floor and screeching for her mother. Yet, she has the kind of blonde hair I used to envy when I was little. A Nord man that had been tending to a group of injured Nord soldiers scrambles over to the brat and scoops her up - intermittently admonishing coddling her.

You used to be her, you know?

My breath quickens. It is not safe here. I need to leave now. I would rather contend with a hundred dragons than this.

My eyes jolt to my right and I spot a narrow stairwell winding its way up against the walls of the tower. Perhaps I could climb them and see if I can get to the ramparts from there? If so, I might find an easier, more discreet exit from this damned city. My resolve clear, I begin my ascent when only a matter of seconds later, the dragon's snout - followed by a pair of scythe-like claws - burst through the tower's circular wall up ahead of me. I stumble backwards, just barely catching myself from tumbling all the way down to the bottom. With a tremendous roar, a stream of fire shoots through the hole in the wall before the sound of strong wings beating becomes audible - propelling the dragon higher, allowing it to rain fire on Helgen from above. A true terror of the skies.

I shudder, but I do not look back. What lies behind me is far more threatening than anything I might have to face by moving forward.

Then I see an opportunity and act on instinct. I take a leap of faith out of the hole - crashing down onto what appears to be a tightly packed, straw roof. I land gracelessly on my hands and knees. Above me, I note that the dragon is flying in a circle, seemingly hundreds of feet up in the air. As fast as I can, while praying it does not notice me, I precariously leap from the roof I am now on onto a nearby rocky ledge marking the city's limits. I peer over the ledge, and momentarily my head spins at the sight of the dizzying drop to the road that winds itself around Helgen. It takes me what feels like hours to cautiously make my way down using unsteady footholds, but relief courses through my veins as my feet finally touch solid ground. It has been a while since I heard the Dragon's roars and the tell-tale flapping of its wings. I can only assume that it has grown tired of terrorizing such a modestly sized 'city' and has gone off in search of more challenging prey.

I survey the frosty, snow-covered landscape before me and realize that I am cold. Now, there is little for me to do but lament that all my extra layers of clothing are lost with my backpack. I find myself woefully ill-clothed as I trudge along the beaten, frigid path - wearing thin medium-length, dark grey robes with short sleeves that are better suited to Alinor's balmy climate. My laughable excuse for a jacket does no more to insulate me as it is made of a rather breathable material, although it is quite long and covers everything my robes do not. Tailors in Alinor tend to go out of their way to make leather jackets - like the black one I am wearing- perforated, hence, as lightweight as possible. As I walk, I become acutely aware of holes forming in my knee-length boots and grimace. I had bought them specifically for my journey here - they had been quite pricey as well. Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair that has somehow come out of it's ponytail - this usually subconscious motion coming to my attention because of how difficult it is - my hair proving to be ridiculously knotted. I must appear rather haggard and I scowl as I attempt to comb my hair out with my fingers.

While I battle with the annoying, knotted mass that is my hair I wonder: Where could that dragon have come from? Are dragons common in Skyrim? If so, I do not think that I am equipped to deal with such a threat... I will make sure to ask around about them. But my objective is still clear - unshakable even - no obstacle will come between myself and achieving it, no matter what I learn.

It does not take long before I happen upon an overturned carriage with a pair of similarly overturned, whinnying palominos still hitched to it. Half of the carriage is gone - burnt to a crisp. Upon closer inspection, the rest of it is covered in three gashes that could have only been made by a dragon's claws, and inside are a pair of dead bodies- a male and female Nord. I assume that this all was the dragon's doing. Well, at least this couple's misfortune is my salvation. I strip the Nord woman of her clothing - which is still intact save for some bloodstains from the man's fatal wounds. Judging by the awkward angle which her neck was bent at when I first discovered her, its snapping was the cause of her death. The Nord woman's fur coat fits well enough over my robes, although it proves to be a bit too short, I let out a sigh of relief at the insulation it provides all the same. I salvage some unfamiliar gold coins that resemble currency, as well as whatever provisions and useful items I can find on the corpses, and load them in a saddlebag I find on one of the horses. Satisfied with my findings, I throw a calming spell at my horse of choice before I cut it free from the carriage and mount it.

I look back, wondering if I should bother trying to reanimate the corpses. I itch to feel the power of the reanimation spell flowing through me again. But, with a heavy heart and a last, lingering look, I decide against the silly notion. I cannot afford to draw attention to myself, no matter how alone I appear to be at the moment. And so, I make my way along the road, hoping that it will bring me to a signpost - or something that will point me towards Windhelm.

Suddenly, I find myself shivering - not from the cold this time, but from a memory. From intrusive, haunting words springing to the forefront of my mind.

You used to be her, you know?

The journey to Windhelm took exactly four days and eight hours.

Four days and eight hours of drudgery through inhospitable weather.

Four days and eight hours of restlessness.

I began by following a river, and eventually came upon a town I would learn was called Ivarstead. At the inn there, I asked for directions to Windhelm. I was instructed by the innkeeper to continue along the same river that brought me there - one he called the Darkwater River - and that I should arrive at Windhelm in about two days. I followed the road parallel to the winding tributary for three monotonous days - stopping twice to set up camp. I had managed to procure the necessary items to do so from a quaint little shop in Ivarstead. I found pitching a tent by myself irritating , I had never had to do it on my own before - certainly not when I was a Senior Officer in the Thalmor.

Finally, when I had arrived at Windhelm - an even more frigid and inhospitable city than the others I have encountered - I was determined to find the Necromancer's Amulet as quickly as possible. It is, after all, not in my nature to be patient. But first, I decided it would be prudent to find myself a room somewhere. Perhaps I had needed some semblance of security. Whatever the reason, the need brought me to an inn called Candlehearth Hall, whose name I recognized immediately. The Nord mage I had met in Dusk had mentioned it. While the accommodations were sub par, they provided the reprieve that I had sought after. Not long after I walked through the door of my newly-appointed accommodations, I collapsed on the bed and passed out.

The next morning brought nothing but disappointment of the highest caliber.

I began the day optimistic enough, starting out by fairly aimlessly asking around - looking for leads and being as discreet as possible. Each response I received left me more disheartened than the last. Not only was I on the receiving end of all manner of scoffs, slurs and glares from the local humans, the ones that did offer me any response had little to say.

"You mean... magic?" One particularly stupid, pudgy Nord woman had grunted in response to my queries.

I had sighed and reiterated my question - careful to speak slowly, enunciate and use as simple language as possible.

The Nord woman had shook her head. " Oh no, there's been none 'uve that round here. These murders are the brutal sort - done by steel. No magic here. No, ma'am."

That had been the last individual I had questioned before giving up. In essence the questions had all been the same - with slight deviations depending on the context. ' What can you tell me about the murders?' 'Who is in charge of the investigations?' And: ' Do you suspect dark magic like necromancy might be involved?'

When I got any response at all, it was one of confusion or one where they would point me toward the ironically named 'Palace of the Kings'. The residence of none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself - the 'true' High King of Skyrim. Apparently he had survived Helgen as well and is now back to fulfilling his role as the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion. I was also told to visit the court wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving. I quickly discovered he also resides in the Palace of Kings and seldom ventures out. Despite the potential usefulness of having an audience with him, I concluded it might be best not to, and to steer clear of Ulfric and his associates - at least for the time being.

Yet, perhaps the most common suggestion I received - usually paired with disdainful sneers - was to head over to the mages College in Winterhold. That, they said, was where 'the magic' happened.

Now I sit on a bed in the room that I had rented with the dwindling sum of coins ( which I found out were called septims) salvaged from the carriage. This is hardly what I had expected would happen, then again, what had I expected? For everything to be easy? No, to procure an artifact as significant as the Necromancer's Amulet would require a certain amount of trials and tribulations.

Perhaps heading to Winterhold would be the logical next step?

At least there I could get my bearings and be around individuals that practiced magic. The intolerance of magic that I have been faced with since getting to WIndhelm has been insurmountable. And when I choose to return to Windhelm, I could do so better equipped with provisions. I imagine I would also have the opportunity to brew or buy a batch of invisibility potions on the mage College's premises. Perhaps those would allow me to investigate Windhelm with greater ease.

My resolve set, I realize I have grown weary from a long day filled with disappointment, and decide it is high time I rested. I expect that I will have another lengthy day filled with arduous travel ahead of me.

And so, I allow myself to sink into the bed's stiff sheets and cover myself with a scratchy blanket - trying not to ponder their cleanliness.

I miss the Isles terribly already.