The nearest city was Markarth. I was deep in the Reach, where rocks, mountains, and Dwemer architecture were the most prevalent sights.

Markarth was a city I often tried to avoid in my games, as you only need to be falsely imprisoned once to not want to do it again, and the other two notable quests that were important in the city involved cannibalism and the Mace of Molag Bal.

That being said, it was a lot easier to ignore that quest if that guy couldn't shove a note directly in your pocket.

Although, I thought as I approached the path to the city, maybe I should give some investigation into the Reachmen. They were rather interesting, outside of the hostility in the games. Maybe they were less aggressive in a more realistic depiction?

The guards were polite as they greeted me, but also not very conversational. I entered the city.

As the door closed behind me, I noticed with a small sense of dread the very sight I was hoping I wouldn't. Of all days, even in a truly realistic society with living breathing people who acted without me, the Forsworn agent was attacking the Imperial agent right in front of me.

Rather, he was pretending to browse a stand as he eyed the Imperial woman, a dagger tucked away in his belt just subtly enough to be inconspicuous.

I had to make a choice. Save the woman, or not. I would be on Madanach's radar, but I also wouldn't have this woman die in front of me. The man would die regardless of my intervention.

With a distant click, I realized the guards only killed him after he attacked because they were some of the corrupt ones. They had more time and reason to stop the killing, but this whole ordeal was clearly intended by Silver-blood himself.

Instead, with some sorrow in my heart, I turned away from the spectacle that would soon take place and went to the inn to the left. The door shut behind me as I entered, just barely cutting off the sound of the man unsheathing his dagger.

"She would probably die either way, in a real setting." I muttered to myself, quietly enough not to be overheard.

"Well hey there, friend!" a man shouted at me, and I looked up in mild confusion to see a somewhat unexpected sight.

It was Sanguine in his black robe, or I suppose it was Sam.

"Come have a drink with me?" He offered with a smile.

"I can do one. I'd rather skip the contest though." I replied a little more earnestly than I intended.

"Ah, of course, of course! Besides, half the fun is taken out of it when you already know who I am." Sam replied, offering me a stool.

I took it and a cup, taking a sip to see what it tasted like.

"Sweet. Actually, this is really good." I noted with a hint of surprise.

Sam smiled. "One of the perks of the job, you might say." he replied. "So what brings you here... Rick, was it?" he asked.

"Konahrik." I corrected. "I was here for a little break, but I guess I started wondering about the Reach. Do you know anything about the reachmen?"

Sam chuckled. "Some fun folk, the reachmen. I don't know as much as Peryite or what have you would, but I know a fair few clans. It's probably as you expect. The whole lot are considered Daedra worshippers and scoundrels alike. Probably the biggest reason they don't have their own little niche is they didn't have anything like the Tribunal to keep back the armies."

I nodded. "Hmm. what about the Forsworn, then?"

"Ah, they're the type that gets a little... aggressive. I admire the impulsiveness, if nothing else. A little blood is good for the wine, but they probably won't last long unless they succeed."

My thoughts were, if nothing else, more muddled than before. I had the ability to do something about the Forsworn, but what was a good option?

"It was good talking with you, friend. Oh, and take this." Sanguine said, tossing me the notable staff. "The original guy would've been a hoot, but I like your style well enough. Come see me whenever you'd like. I bet you'd enjoy some stories about Martin when he was young."

"I'd like that. I'll consider it." I agreed as I watched him walk away with a smile and a wave.

20 reputation with Sanguine

20/100

Finishing my drink, I firmed my resolve. Markarth was a hole. A void derelict of honor or compassion, and Madanach was touched by it. Let's see what the Forsworn are like on their own.

I decided to start with the Sky Haven Temple. It would either be a great place for the Forsworn to base from if I sided with them, or a great place to loot if I had to kill them all.

Quest added: The Fate of the Reach

Find out from the Forsworn the history of the Reachmen and why they feel they should rule Markarth.

The journey to Sky Haven Temple was pretty simple from Markarth, except for the slight inconvenience of ke actually not knowing where the temple was. I recalled the mountain and the name of the camp, but I also recalled that I usually swam across the river to climb a hill, and I both didn't want to swim in my armor, but I also didn't recognize the hill.

I would have been out of luck and forced to find a different camp, when I was either fortunate or misfortunate enough to hear an echoing roar.

A dragon. My first one to fight.

Just my luck.

Eyes towards the sky, I could see the beast clear as day. It was impressive, and sent a cold chill down my back as unnoticed instincts warned me of the danger.

Or rather, that was a side effect of a blast of icy magic, the Blizzard spell, from the Forsworn shaman behind me, aimed at the Dragon.

The minor dread faded as I redoubled my focus and drew my sword. The Forsworn, a woman, scoffed at me.

"Joor" I muttered. It was the only word I remembered from the Dragonrend shout, but it's effectiveness was miraculous.

The Dragon flinched as it hit, eyes widening in terror as it lost altitude instantly, coming close enough for the Forsworn, of which two more had shown up, archers this time, to make strong hits.

"Come, Dovah!" I yelled, grabbing it's attention. "Is it not traditional to greet one another?!"

"... Dovahkiin..." it muttered, shocked.

"Yol Toor Shul!" I shouted, scorching its hide and making it writhe on the ground like a snake.

I charged the beast and cut away like my life depended on it, which admittedly, it did. Without the help of the reachmen or the surprise of my existence, the Dragon would have thrown a decent fight, and I wasn't prepared for that yet. At least, not if the dragons truly did routinely fight to the death over arguments, which felt correct.

"Drem, Dovahkiin. Peace, once more." it muttered with a growling voice.

Then, it's scales began to flake as a magical nimbus escaped from the corpse, flowing into me in a kaleidoscope of golden and blue light, that made me feel lighter, stronger...

For a moment, I just absorbed precious fragments of soul and power, just like the games... then it became memories. I learned about aspects of this Dragon's life, it's history. The Shouts it knew, the way it travelled the land, even the way it thought.

I rejected it's reality, and it was an it, these dragons were handmade by Akatosh, not a race capable of breeding, so they lacked sex differences, and with that rejection, some of the Shouts were lost too.