If you don't know where the disclaimer is, ask Scales. He knows.

And now…Chapter 4!

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Chapter 4:
Prophecy of Blood
. . . . .

Date Unknown
Location Unknown
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My school flats clacked loudly in the empty hallway as I followed the grey tabby cat.

The walls seemed to be made both from grey stone and warm light. I felt safe within them.

There were picture frames, with no pictures. Only shadows where paintings should be.

The cat turned into an open door. I followed. It was a classroom, with rows of worn tables and benches before a large desk. It was all so pleasantly familiar…and unsettlingly not.

"Ms. Granger." The cat was gone, replaced by an elderly woman with a severe face and tartan robes. I wasn't surprised, only curious, which was curious in itself.

"Professor M…" Whatever her name was came out of my mouth in a ringing hum. Nevertheless, I was smiling.

"I'd try to dissuade you from your request to take all the electives," the Professor told me with a tired smile, "but you seemed rather adamant when I visited over the summer, so…" She strode to her desk as I followed, excitement making me shiver.

From a drawer, she withdrew a box and placed it carefully on the tableau, as though its contents were extremely volatile, before regarding me sternly, lips pursed. "Given our previous conversation, I won't repeat the risks that come from using this item…Hermione."

I nodded, despite not remembering any such conversation, "I won't be seen using it, ma'am, and I'll be very careful with it."

The Professor gave a curt nod, and moved to open the box-

. . . . .
27
th First Seed, 4E201
Tower of Mzark, Elder Fragment Research Facility, Lower Atrium
. . . . .

I woke with a gasp. Bedroll beneath me. Stone ceilings. Chugging sounds of Dwemer machinery. Flickering light from the campfire. The events of the previous day came back to me. I relaxed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 'Just a dream…or was it?'

Once the Dwarven elevator finished its ascent, Master Drevas, Scales and I found ourselves in another section of Dwemer ruins, a long-abandoned campsite just outside the elevator's exit. After wrecking the operating lever ("No sense giving those fetchers a chance to sneak up on us," my mentor explained), starting a campfire and laying out our bedrolls, we all but collapsed into sleep, the events of the day taking their toll. Which led to now…and that odd dream I had.

'Who was she?' I thought, hands clasped on my midsection, 'Was she my mentor, like Drevas is now? What was in that box, and why was it so dangerous? More importantly…why would I need it?' I frowned, feeling a headache coming on. 'Stupid bloody amnesia…' I tore the blanket away and sat up, noticing that my mentor was already awake and preparing breakfast.

"Good morning," Drevas, sans ebony cuirass, greeted me softly. "Breakfast should be done in a few."

I hummed, yawning and stretching, before getting up to use the loo. "Once we're done with that, we need to talk," I said as I walked to the nearby red curtain to do just that, glancing at Scales, who was gnawing on a bloody bone in a corner of the room.

"Ah," my mentor said sagely, "the words all men dread hearing from the women in their lives…" He then had to duck a stinging hex.

As we ate, I contemplated how this conversation should go. There were a number of things about my mentor that I didn't know about; for example, adventuring couldn't be the only thing he did. I knew he was an Alchemist, but beyond that? The questions of why he was even in this miserable place, where would we go once we left, and just what the hells was that spoken magic he used last night were only the most important things I needed to know.

Once we'd finished our food, Drevas placed a bottle of some golden liquid in front of me before preparing his pipe. "What's in this?" I asked, picking up the bottle to examine it.

"Light summer ale," he replied, holding his pipe but not lighting it, "A sort of celebratory drink, for getting through your first ruin. Not much alcohol, but that's not the point of drinking it."

I took a sip, and I saw what he meant: it was good, a bit on the sweet side, but not too sweet. It also made me feel a little less nervous. "Thanks…So, I…had a strange dream last night."

"Define 'strange'," he lit his pipe, taking care not to blow smoke in my direction.

I related the dream to him, sparing no detail; once I was done, he had a thoughtful look on his face, but said nothing, so I went on, "Obviously, whatever was in that box might be an important clue to how I got here."

Drevas blew a smoke ring into the air, "Maybe. We shouldn't jump to conclusions, however, until we have more clues…Pity you didn't see what it was; it might have something to do with the golden dust I found near that purple mushroom." I looked at him questioningly, so he elaborated, "When I retraced your steps, remember? The trail ended there; amidst the broken body parts of that other guy and the tracks of the Falmer, I noticed flecks of gold dust in the dirt. It was focused in one area: the area where your trail began."

I rubbed my forehead in frustration, "Stupid amnesia," then sighed, giving Drevas a tired smile, "Well, I should remember more as time goes on; besides, there's more important things to talk about right now." My mentor gestured for me to go on. "Such as, why are you even down here?"

Drevas blew out a stream of smoke in a great huff, before dropping a mountain on me, "I'm looking for an Elder Scroll in order to prevent a cult of Molag Bal-worshiping vampires from taking over the continent." To say his tone was matter-of-fact was like saying fire was hot. 'What. No, seriously, WHAT?!'

"Could-um, could you elaborate on that a bit, master?" I requested in a weak tone.

"Sure, I could, but, be warned, it's a bit complicated," I nodded quickly, "Alright…So, apparently, some vampiric devotee to Old Molag received a prophecy from a fortune-teller thousands of years ago, supposedly saying that if he found Auriel's Bow vampires would never need fear the sun again. This fetcher, whose name happens to be Harkon, discovered that in order to locate the bow he needed to acquire three Elder Scrolls; once they were read, the path to the bow would become evident. The twit managed to locate two of them, and was trying to find the third, when his wife and daughter did a runner, taking both Scrolls with them, and hiding from the mad bastard for the last few thousand years; he almost reclaimed one of them, when some Vigilants of Stendarr uncovered the tomb his daughter had hidden herself in. Of course," Drevas smirked ruthlessly, "he didn't count on me showing up; I'd recently joined a group of vampire hunters, called the Dawnguard, based in a fort near Riften after some of Harkon's peons attacked a farm near the city of Whiterun, where I'm Thane. His daughter, whose name is Serana, brought us most of this information when she defected." I tilted my head in confusion, so my mentor explained, "She went home to her family's castle, to get an idea of what was going on in and around Tamriel, as well as in house, before bringing the Elder Scroll to the Dawnguard and explaining what her moronic s'wit of a father had planned for everyone."

"But…How do you know an Elder Scroll is here? Did her mother hide with the Dwemer?" I really couldn't see that happening, seeing as…Well, the Falmer. My mentor agreed.

"Of course not! No, we don't really know where Serana's mother went, though we have some ideas. As for a Scroll being here…well, that's where it gets complicated…" a long pause, where my master looked very hesitant to go on and I fidgeted with worry, before, "The person who told me about an Elder Scroll being here, of all places, was once the leading authority on Scroll lore."

"Once?"

"Mm. He went mad. Probably from mucking about with knowledge too complex for mortal minds. Right now, he's hiding out in an iceberg out in the Sea of Ghosts, trying to find a way into a Dwemer Tonal Vault; he thinks the Heart of Lorkhan is inside it," Drevas chuckled as I intelligently cried 'WHAT?!', "No worries, Hermione: the Nerevarine destroyed the Heart at the same time as Dagoth Ur. No, the poor bastard wanted understanding of the Scrolls so badly that he sold his soul to old Herma Mora, Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate; and Old Mora never makes a deal that isn't to its favor. In this case, Mora gets Septimus Signus as its mortal pawn, Signus is gifted with knowledge that no mortal mind can comprehend and retain their sanity. I think Mora's current use for the poor man is finding a way to open the Tonal Vault, as Signus' condition for giving me the means and directions to find the Scroll was to bring him an inscribed copy of its knowledge."

I'd read of the Daedra; most of them were awful beings that saw mortals as pawns in some great inscrutable game. Others saw us as even less, and Mora was one of those. I didn't like where this was going, and expressed my misgivings, "Doesn't that mean you might be pulled into Mora's machinations?"

Drevas knocked out his pipe and smirked, "Only if I play along and help Signus open the Vault, which I have no intention of doing."

I blinked several times, before asking, "Aren't you curious as to what's in the vault, though?"

"Of course I am; the researcher in me practically demands it. And I'd go along with it, were I not old and wise enough not to."

Oh. I smiled in relief, "Thanks, master, for explaining that."

"Anytime, Hermione." He began collecting his armor, "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, actually," I took a swig of ale; it really was good stuff, "Where are we going, after we get the Scroll?" I wasn't even about to consider us not getting ahold of it; my mentor was too good at his job for failure to be an option.

He explained as he strapped on his cuirass, "Whiterun. I'm going to meet up with Serana, who's been scouting out places her mother may have gone, and go from there. You'll meet my Housecarl, Lydia, who'll help you make introductions and adjust while I'm away." Wait, what?!

"You're…not taking me with you?" why did that hurt?

"I don't know where I'm going, Hermione," my mentor, and the only friend I had in this place, told me calmly, "For all I know, Serana's mother could be hiding in one of the Oblivion Planes…or somewhere even worse, like the Void; I'm not about to take my apprentice into an unknown situation when she has virtually no experience in such things. Hence, you'll stay in Whiterun and get that experience, so when I return you'll be ready to follow me into the unknown. Okay?" He placed his hand on my shoulder, and looked into my teary eyes with a smile.

I sniffed, nodding, "O-okay. Is, um, Lydia nice?"

"She's a bit of a stick in the mud, but don't let that bother you. She's a good woman, and takes care of my house and affairs while I'm away. Does a good job of it, too; I might just give her a raise when we get back." He picked up the Toolbox, about ready to go, but I had one more question.

"Last question: what the heck was that…thing you did down there? To find out where the Falmer were hiding, I mean," I clarified when he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh…That…" Now he looked uncomfortable, which did nothing for my anxiety. "It was the Thu'um, or Dragon Shouts. I think there was a chapter about the Greybeards in one of those books?"

I perked up, eager for a test of my knowledge, "Oh! Yes, there was. They live on the Throat of the World in their monastery, High Hrothgar, and are the masters of the Voice, or Thu'um. That makes sense now; and no wonder I felt that quiver of power whenever you used it!" Drevas flinched, but I didn't notice, it was so slight; and I was so excited: a Shout user! Could I get any luckier? "Did you apprentice under them?"

"No." His tone was…strained. I blinked, confused. "…I'm the Dragonborn."

"…" I objected.

"…" elucidated Drevas.

"…" was my intelligent rebuttal.

"…Bwack?" Scales interjected from the corner.

"…" Drevas masterfully riposted.

"…Pull the other one." I finally deadpanned.

"There are some things one can joke about, and that, isn't one of them." My mentor's voice was still strained.

Ah…wow. What have I gotten myself into? "Anything else?"

It was Drevas' turn to blink, "I'm sorry?"

"Anything else I should know about you? Are you actually the illegitimate child of the Nerevarine and Tiber Septim, and are hiding out-STOP LAUGHING!" Honestly! This was serious! A potential heir to the friggin Ruby Throne, and he's been mucking about in moldy ruins!

My arse of a mentor took a moment to find his composure, before clarifying a few things, "Sorry, oh, I haven't laughed that hard in years; ahem, okay…Firstly, I have no idea who my parents are, as I grew up in an orphanage, till I was kicked out onto the street at nine." 'Oh…shite, I feel like a berk.' "Secondly, I didn't even know I was Dragonborn until I killed one outside Whiterun last year, on the 10th of Frostfall." 'DOUBLE WHAT?!'

"Bu-bu-but dragons are extinct!"

"They're coming back…Which, according to another prophecy, means the end of the world is nigh. To which I say, over my cold, broken corpse."

"Oh, well isn't that lovely," I said bitterly, "I show up, lose my memories, and it turns out I arrived just in time for the bleedin' Apocalypse."

"Language. And like I said," my master's voice was hard, "Not if I have anything to do with it. I've run into half a score dragons in the past four months, and I've killed them all; way I figure it, this world is in good hands. I'd explain more about this Dragonborn stuff, but you've got enough on your plate as is without worrying about my situation." I nodded, as there was wisdom in that. "Thirdly, and the reason why I broke down laughing…Hermione, the Nerevarine was Argonian." He started snickering again, and stood to start taking down the campsite…

While I helped, all the while trying to figure out how the notoriously racist Telvanni accepted an Argonian as the Nerevarine. Amongst other things…such as, "Master? Oh, don't sigh; I was just wondering if I could learn the Thu'um?"

He finished putting out the fire and regarded me carefully, "Right. First, spend the rest of your time, until we reach the surface, contemplating the forces of life which inhabit all beings, and how that force flows through them. Then I'll think about teaching you a Shout." And he stalked off, grumbling about 'overly inquisitive teenagers' while I followed, bemused, Scales taking his place next to me with that bone held in his beak.

. . . . .
27
th First Seed, 4E201
Tower of Mzark, Elder Fragment Research Facility, Fragment Storage/Lexicon Transcription and Study Department
. . . . .

It was beautiful. So beautiful, I forgot for a moment we were in a Dwemer ruin.

A dome stretched over our heads, fifty feet high and maybe fifty yards across, over a hill-like mass at the center of the room, the top of the sphere we'd just spent the last ten minutes walking around. The ceiling was covered in worn patterns and mosaics, so ancient I could no longer make them out, all made from brass and white stone, with crystal trimmings in every shade of blue. Around the hill, a stone ring held desks with heavy metal chairs; were they studying the Scroll? Well, this was the Dwemer…Along one wall, a ramp led up to a control station of some sort, while an impossibly complex chandelier hung from the center of the dome. Amidst the clanks and hissing of Dwarven steam machinery, there was an undertone of…something. Like a keening cry on the edge of my hearing, or a plinking of steel strings on the other side of a wooden door.

As beautiful as this place was, it was unnerving. "Well…this is creepy."

My mentor was in agreement, "Hmm. Right," he made for the ramp leading up to the control station, "Let's get that scroll and leave." I followed; looking about the chamber from the ramp, I noticed there was a fine layer of dust over everything…except a path leading from Blackreach to the archway beneath our destination.

"Err, Master?" That seemed like a problem; if the Falmer could get out onto the surface…

"Noticed that too, eh? I kind of figured the little fetchers had a way to the surface; not long after I became Thane of Whiterun, I was made aware of reports of kidnappings and disappearances in the mountains between Whiterun Hold and The Pale, which has gone on for decades, so most caravans avoid the passes between those holds in favor of the longer route through Hjaalmarch because of that. Most assumed bandits, but ever since the Legion retook Dawnstar the bandits in The Pale have scattered, most hiding in Dwemer ruins or Nordic tombs, and people still went missing around those parts; there was also a crackdown on banditry in Whiterun three months ago, but not many escaped to the north, most going west or south. Now that we've wrecked the lift, that shouldn't be an issue anymore." Oh, right! Looks like covering our backs had a wider effect; it warmed me a bit, knowing some good came out of this whole adventure.

The control apparatus consisted of four covered switches, arrayed two-by-two around some kind of constellation display; Drevas tapped it with a gauntleted finger, but nothing happened. To the right of the apparatus, a triangular pillar came up to my chest; there was an indent in the top, like something was supposed to go there. I ran a hand through my short, spiky hair, "Now what?"

Drevas set the Toolbox to 'safe' and placed it on the ground, "Now, we use the Lexicon to activate this machine," and withdrew, from one of the drawers, a cube made of Dwemer metal, with shiny corners and a disk on each of the cube's faces; each disk had tiny runes inscribed on it, with a larger rune dominating the center. "This thing was used by the Dwemer to transcribe vast quantities of knowledge, in some cases an entire library's worth, for easy transport and access. Put that in the cradle there." I took it from his hand, and gave it a closer look…

A chill ran down my spine, 'I know these runes…Elder Futhark alternating with Greek and…that big one in the center is a Sumerian/Egyptian HYBRID RUNE! This shouldn't be possible!'

"Hermione?" Drevas' voice seemed to come from far away, but it brought me out of my study of the Lexicon.

"I know these runes, master," I hissed, Drevas stiffening; in shock or horror, I didn't care. My mind was trying to puzzle out how the Dwemer, curse them, knew the runes from my world. "And," I continued slowly in a progressively stronger voice, "I know enough about runic languages to know that this setup shouldn't be possible…If they get charged with magic, the cube might collapse from magical overload!" I looked up at him…

His face was completely neutral, body still like a statue, but his eyes were locked on me. Oookay…

"Um, master?" Scales nudged his limp hand. "Scales, he might be broken."

"I am most certainly not broken, Hermione." He sounded normal, which I guess was good. "Also, I'm going to forget everything you just said, partly because I value what remains of my sanity, and partly because I'm pretty sure the Dwemer were a hell of a lot smarter than you or I; they did build this place, after all." He added when I opened my mouth to protest. I wisely shut my gob and went with it; Drevas was a lot more experienced in these matters than I was.

"Well, alright then…" And I placed the Lexicon in the cradle.

The pillar flared with light as soon as the cube came to a rest, a bass tone resonating all around us; I hid behind Master Drevas, fearful of the unknown, while Scales hid behind me. Drevas gave us both an unimpressed look-

Click! The cover on the first two switches opened.

The three of us stared at them for a moment.

Master Drevas turned back to us, "See? Nothing to worry about." He pressed the first switch before I could reply.

Shhhiiiii! The top of the hill opened in a swirl, parting like an aperture; from our vantage point, we saw the interior of the sphere move, settling on a grouping of crystalline circles before stopping.

"Hm." My mentor tried the second button, but nothing happened; he tried the first one again. Burrr another bass hum came from the hill, the interior sphere moving to another grouping; still, nothing happened, so he pressed it twice more, with similar results, then-

Vweeeee! The Lexicon's seams opened, the corners moving off the central hedron as it rose from the corner that rested in the cradle. Master Drevas, Scales and I watched with wide eyes as the artifact took on a bluish tinge, the revealed sides of the central hedron lighting with millions of tiny runes, while the corners began orbiting it, the whole thing turning with a low hum; it hurt my eyes to look at, so I looked up at Drevas. He was rubbing his eyes. "I suppose that was supposed to happen?"

"I guess it's transcribing the Scroll," master said, turning back to the controls for this place. "and if that was a simple process, it wouldn't feel like bugs crawling on our eyes." I nodded, mostly because it felt exactly like that.

Drevas pressed the second button. This time, it did something.

From the ceiling, the chandelier lowered slowly, accompanied by a brief hiss of steam and a longer chorus of tones in varying notes; the most I can say was that, even though it was pleasing to the ear, I felt a rising tide of dread run up through me. 'Please let it almost be over, I want to get out of here.' The Chandelier opened, a larger crystal in a cage studded with its smaller brethren revealed in the center before receding back to the ceiling, while long metallic arms holding crystalline lenses extended to hover over the opened sphere. Once everything stilled, a shaft of light came from the central crystal, striking its brothers in the cage, sending shafts of light to random points on the floor.

Click! A third switch opened. My mentor, probably also feeling unnerved, pressed it immediately.

Shhhiiiiiiaaaaammm. The arms moved, the cage rotated, the lenses turned in their cradles; yet there were no seams or hinges, only sound. "How is this possible?" I whispered in mingled shock and awe.

"The Dwemer were masters of harmonic resonance," Drevas whispered back, "With it, they could make all sorts of wonders; there's a theory, for instance, that all they built, even their cities, only required the right music." He pressed the switch again, and the chandelier shifted in its beautifully haunting dance again.

I let out a sigh as it came to a halt, "I'm glad I've never read about anything like that, then."

"Why?"

"Well, given that I know the runes-"

My mentor pointed at me, fixing me with a glare, "NO. Stop thinking about that right now. That way leads to madness." I raised my hands in surrender and did as he asked, after filing that information away for later examination…Much later, as in after I get home later.

A third press of the switch brought the lenses and cage into the correct alignment, seeing as the Lexicon closed, while the shafts of light touched the crystalline circles in the dome, a high-pitched tinkling chime came from the dome, and the fourth and last switch became available. Master Drevas quickly pressed it.

The arms of the chandelier moved out of the way, the crystal cage lowering as a ramp extended from the edge of the stone ring, curving to a halt in the center. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as the large crystal was lowered from the cage with a loud keening; it turned lengthwise…and opened.

A golden light shone from within, but Master Drevas paid it no mind at first. "Right," he said, turning back to the Lexicon and collecting it from its cradle. It went right back into the Toolbox, "Now for the Scroll."

We descended to the stone ring, walked up the ramp, and looked into the opened crystal.

A scroll, as tall as I was and made of what looked like gold, rested within. In its center, a purple gem carved into the shape of a dragon's head.

Master Drevas then gripped the dial on his belt, pulling it out with a 'clink!'; the colors changed: instead of the six primary and secondary colors, plus white and black, there were now only four; pink, cobalt, indigo and gold. He turned the pointer from cobalt to indigo while unslinging the Toolbox, face serious as I watched with wide eyes. He opened the Toolbox…

There was another Elder Scroll in there. 'That must be Serana's.' I thought, trying not to freak out over how surreal this all was, as my mentor snatched up the Scroll in the crystal and placed it in the case, shutting the lid and pressing the dial on his belt so it went back to its normal setting.

A loud sigh sounded then; we looked at each other, both coming to the same realization: we'd both been holding our breath. Master and apprentice laughed nervously as Drevas stood and followed me off the ramp. "Alright then; now that we've shaved a few days off our lives with stress-"

"Don't be sarcastic, Master. It's unbecoming." Scales huffed, agreeing with me…maybe.

"-Let's get out of this place. I hope you like the cold, because my sense of direction tells me we'll probably come out on top of a mountain." Oh, joy; and from the sounds of my mentor's grumbling and Scales' whine, I wasn't alone in my dread. 'Wait a tick…am I a witch or not?!'

"Well, Master," I drawled, drawing a raised eyebrow from him, "if you don't like the cold that much, I suppose I could put some runic enchantments on your armor to keep you warm and dry." I looked at him askance, but he had that same "don't think about it" expression from when I last mentioned runes, so I tried to assuage his concerns: "It's nothing like what we just saw, you know; just a binary rune cluster, one half keeping the interior of your armor warm while the other half keeps the surface clean and dry," I chirped, trying to raise his spirits; it seemed like it worked, because he became thoughtful.

After a moment, he asked, "You won't accidentally disintegrate my armor, will you?"

"What?! No!" Honestly! I'm not an idiot! Wait, why's he smiling at me?

"In that case, do your armor first." At my indignant 'Why?' he told me, "Because my armor is masterwork ebony, and therefore prohibitively expensive to replace, while yours can be replaced in a matter of minutes. I made a spare breastplate," he elaborated when I tilted my head questioningly. 'Huh. Well, I guess I can't argue with that…Now, what do I need?' I tapped my chin, chewing on my bottom lip in thought, for a minute or so, going over arithmantic calculations and runic formations in my head.

After coming up with a probable solution, I asked my mentor for quill and parchment, which of course he had plenty of; on one of the desks of the stone ring, I worked out how to draw the runes in such a way that it wouldn't make my armor red hot or crumble to dust, while my mentor watched from the chair in silence.

It took me the better part of thirty minutes, but, after three sheets of crumpled parchment, I had it! "There. Finished," I said at last, placing my wand on the desk before undoing the straps for my breastplate. Master Drevas picked up the parchment with my calculations and the finished runic array while I set my armor on the desk next to my wand.

"So, all these squiggles are going to equal warm and dry armor?" He asked suspiciously, handing the sheet back to me.

"Yes." I replied in an even tone. "Now, don't distract me." Taking my wand, I steadied my breathing and heart rate, double-checked the array for errors, activated the Carving Charm, a focused point of sharpened magic, and began carving on the inside of the front breastplate.

Carving runic arrays is very different from drawing or painting them, for two reasons: first, the margin for error is nonexistent, meaning you cannot make even the slightest mistake in creating the runes; seeing as human minds are prone to error, mostly because our brains have an annoying habit of saying something seems imperfect when it is, early enchanters discovered a way to carve every rune perfectly: by entering a trance-like state, where the enchanter's entire attention becomes single-mindedly focused on the runes they are carving, blocking out any outside stimuli. Learning how to enter this trance was part of beginner-level Runes, as it was found one could memorize runic definitions better when their focus was only on that and nothing else.

Whoever taught me runes must have thought I was a prodigy, seeing as I could memorize virtually anything I read about and have perfect recall; but I'm no prodigy, my mind is simply really organized…except for the parts that my amnesia locked, of course.

I absently brushed the hair away from my right eye, examining my work. Perfect. I moved on to the back-plate.

The second reason carving is different from other runic mediums turns out to be simple: permanence. If the runes are made to last, they have a quirk of becoming more potent, and can therefore hold magic more efficiently; it's for this reason almost all ward stones have runes carved into them, rather than painted or drawn with chalk.

Arithmancy and Charms theory also allow for a rune-carver to create all kinds of secondary effects, or even change the activation principles of the cluster. These runes I am currently carving, unlike other runic artifice, won't be activated upon completion by my wand and magic; rather, they will be activated or deactivated by their proximity to a bio-magical source…which means they'll turn on when someone puts on the armor.

My eyes flicked over the second array, which would help expand the internal warming and surface drying effects throughout all attached fabrics, but ignore the skin on the latter effect; it wouldn't do if I put on this armor and have the top two layers of skin all over my body instantly obliterated. Also perfect. I closed my eyes, straightening my back and coming back to myself with a shuddering breath.

Drevas was smoking again, looking up at the chandelier in contemplation, having moved to the next desk on the ring, his feet on the table and Scales curled up on the floor, dozing.

I cleared my throat. He looked at me while Scales perked up. "Finished, master."

He stretched, snuffing out the embers in his pipe, "Hmm…And it only took you one whole hour." Ah, right; the downside to the runic trance was a loss of temporal perception.

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, quickly putting my armor back on. The enchantments flared immediately, like a tiny tickle between my breasts and shoulder blades that lasted a split second; my whole body was then enveloped in comfortable warmth. I'd set the temperature to stay at a constant 68oF; not too hot, not too cold. I smiled up at my master, "Well, it was worth it! The clusters work." He smiled his approval, but I wasn't done! "Now, strip off that ebony so I can do yours…Master, where's your…" Where was his armor?

He lifted up his ebony cuirass from the floor, just outside my vision, and set it on the table; all without taking his pipe from his smirking lips.

"Right," I said, trying to cover up my embarrassment, "then, err, just relax. I'll try to go a bit faster."

Master Drevas just hummed, walking back over to his desk, as I fell back into the trance.

. . . . .
27
th First Seed, 4E201
Skyrim, Pale/Whiterun Border
. . . . .

My first impression of Skyrim, once we'd ridden another elevator to the exit, was of snow.

Stepping carefully outside, so as not to slip in the shin-deep drifts, I couldn't see more than a dozen feet in front of me, due to the snow falling in thick flakes and covering everything. The air was a bit thin, proving Master Drevas' prediction of us exiting atop a mountain correct; still, I could see shadowy spires through the curtains of white, my mind connecting the dots and telling me we were close to an evergreen forest.

"Laas Yah!" Drevas' whispered Shout shook me from my observations, "Seems clear; granted that Shout only shows life signs within a few hundred feet." Oh, that reminded me.

"I'd like to give it a try, Master," I requested hopefully. "I did as you asked, after I was done with our armor."

He hesitated a moment, then sighed, "Righto; let that feeling, of life flowing through all living things, fill your being. Imagine it taking a swirling form, much like the snow about us, and then shunt it up to your throat while whispering Laas, which means Life."

I did so, feeling that sensation that came with my master using the Thu'um running through my body with every breath; letting it roll up to my throat like a gentle wave, I whispered, "Laas!"

A purple cloud, tasting a bit like cinnamon, left my lips and went up to my eyes, sinking into them and making them a little itchy. I blinked the itch away, and found a smiling Drevas was now glowing with a pink light; gasping in surprise, I looked to Scales next, finding a similar glow about the clannfear. Grinning, I turned back to my master.

I almost missed the other pink cloud appearing in the snow, coming at us. "Incoming!" I hissed, drawing my loaded crossbow and aiming it at the cloud, Drevas pulling his mace as Scales crouched low and growled menacingly; the pink cloud dissipated as the figure came close enough to see, and I would have nightmares for months about what came barreling at us through the snow.

Covered in matted, dirty white fur, towering over both of us at seven feet, arms as long as my body with brutal claws at the ends helping it move forward on all fours, three black eyes set over a snarling maw full of teeth; it was a beast I'd read about and hoped never to see, a monster that could tear a bear apart in seconds: a full-grown Frost Troll!

Panicking, I fired at its chest; my only hope was that my crossbow had a draw strong enough that it could punch through armor at fifty yards. The bolt shot into its breastbone with a thuck! I may as well have thrown a rock at it. The troll roared furiously and turned its charge to me.

Time slowed to a crawl, adrenaline and fear heightening my senses. I dropped the crossbow, going for my wand as Scales leapt at the beast with a screech. It swatted him out of the air with a backhanded blow that cracked through the air, its sights fixed on my terrified form. 'No no no please-'

"FUS ROH DAH!' The Shout shattered the air like a thunderclap, a wall of visible force slamming into the troll with the force of a charging mammoth and sending it flying back into the white flurries, a visible circle briefly appearing in the falling snow to mark its progress.

Time came back. I was breathing fast, panicked. As I was about to search for Scales, Drevas appeared in my field of vision; my sight was immediately drawn to his face.

He was clearly furious, but managed to keep his tone even, "Stay here." He turned, running in the direction the troll went.

A familiar black head popped out of a snowdrift to my left with a low squawk. "SCALES!" I ran over to the clannfear, Banishing the snow around him and looking for injuries; to my surprise, he just hopped onto his feet and gave himself a shake, seemingly no worse for wear.

"There you are you fetcher!" My master's harsh voice was distant, but boy, did he sound mad.

"Laas!" I whispered, looking in the direction he'd gone. I almost wish I hadn't.

My mentor's pink form was standing over a cowering mass of pink; that Shout must've broken one of the troll's arms, or perhaps the fall had done that. I say this because it was raising one of its arms, as if trying to ward off the mist that was Drevas, to no avail.

His pink form whipped at the troll's form, knocking its arm away with a crack that could be heard from where I was crouched. The creature's howl of pain rang through the white wilderness, cut off suddenly by the sounds that followed.

CHUD! CHUD! CRUNCH! The troll's life sign vanished after the third overhand blow my master's form delivered to it. I gulped, assuaging my frayed nerves, 'It's dead. Good. Good.' Then Drevas' life sign vanished too.

I gasped, suddenly feeling alone; I looked to Scales, seeing nothing at first, until I got nudged in my right side by my crossbow. Looking at the clannfear, who held my crossbow in his beak, I found that his scales had changed to white. "How'd you do that?" I asked weakly as I reclaimed my weapon. Scales just chirped quietly, looking in the direction Drevas had gone…

Who then came walking calmly through the flurries, swiping his mace through the snow to clean the blood off of it. I stood shakily, staring at him with wide eyes as he approached; watching him bowl Falmer was one thing, but he'd just destroyed that troll! I was at once in awe of him, and terrified of the power he held; this was one Dunmer no sane person should ever cross.

Holstering his mace with a sigh, he gave us both a once over. "Are you both alright?" he asked with quiet concern; I nodded mutely as Scales chuffed next to me, clearly no worse for wear. "Good. Let's get a move on, before more show up." I took one shaky step, then a more confident one, and then I was walking briskly after Drevas down the mountainside path.

Some minutes passed in silence, broken only by the occasional "Laas!" from one of us, before anyone found the nerve to speak.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was I who broke the silence, "I'd ask Scales, if he could talk," I began slowly, the clannfear in question giving an indignant chirp, "Sorry, mate; but how can he change the color of his scales?" I asked Drevas.

"Laas! Clannfear alphas aren't covered in ordinary bestiaries, mainly due to their rarity; I believe there have only been three documented sightings since the retaking of The Battlespire, and all of those were during the Oblivion Crisis," my mentor explained dryly, "When I found Scales, he was still a runt, badly wounded and caught in an steel net, the corpses of four Argonian hunters around him; once…once I'd nursed him back to health, I found he was able to change colors to suit his environment. Not much is understood about alphas, so I don't know if his ability is unique, or if all alphas have it." Scales gave another chuff, and moved ahead of us a bit. I noticed the odd pause in the story, but didn't comment; it was probably just another bad memory.

"Laas!" I was getting pretty good at that; the itching took some getting used to, though. "He shook off that blow like it was nothing, too. These alphas must be pretty durable, huh?" Said alpha raised its head in pride ahead of us.

Drevas nodded, "His skin is harder than a daedroth's, and his bones are like ebony. Those three sightings I mentioned all had one thing in common: the piles of corpses the alphas left in their wake." I shuddered, because I could see it; half of those eight Falmer fell to Scales' claws and beak.

Still, "I'll take Scales by my side over any daedroth, master." The clannfear in question turned to look back at us, blue eyes wide with surprise.

My master chuckled, "I agree completely. Laas!"

We continued toward the forest at the base of the mountain, and if either of us noticed Scales trotting proudly, we said nothing.

. . . . .

Another hour of walking brought us to the forest I'd spotted from the mountain; a maze of old-growth evergreens, its southern edge marking the official (and traditional) border between Whiterun and The Pale. According to Drevas, it was also very easy to get lost in: unless you kept to the highway running through the forest or had a compass handy, you could fall prey to the native wildlife, like bears, ice wraiths, wolves, wandering draugr, and of course, trolls.

Or worse: bandits.

Drevas explained that, after he'd been elevated to Thane of Whiterun, he and the Jarl's Housecarl, a female Dunmer named Irileth, had made it their personal mission to clean up Whiterun Hold of bandits while there was a lull in the civil war; apparently, after The Pale was retaken by the Legion, Ulfric Stormcloak decided to play a defensive war, sticking to small raids in Imperial-held territory to aid morale. Not that Drevas or Irileth cared for such things, seeing as Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was staunchly neutral in his political dealings, which ended up working in their favor as they were given free reign to deploy the Jarl's forces in a (apparently very violent and bloody) hold-wide crackdown on banditry. The upside was that the roads in Whiterun were some of the safest in Skyrim, improving trade for the Hold, not to mention an uptick in recruitment at the city barracks.

The downside: any bandits that survived fled into the wilderness of the neighboring holds; the only exception, according to my master, was Hjaalmarch, as Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was of like mind and behavior with Jarl Balgruuf, and had mobilized her own soldiers as well as the local Legion presence to stamp out any bandit contingents fool enough to cross her border. Some of the (arguably) smarter bandits had fled into the mazes of The Reach, any Nords among them joining the Forsworn barbarians, while others hid in abandoned redoubts or caves; the Jarl of Markarth, Igmund, saw pursuit of both Forsworn and bandit as a waste of his Hold's resources, as The Reach was difficult to navigate even at the best of times, and was currently awaiting assistance of the Legionary variety to begin his own crackdown. Likewise, Falkreath's Jarl Siddgeir didn't see much point in sending his limited forces on a merry chase through Skyrim's densest forest. Few bandits had escaped to the north, as my master had explained earlier; given the choice between a swift death at the hands of Whiterun's Thane and braving the wilds of the Southern Pale, most chose to defend their stomping grounds to the last man, and died where they stood.

"Laas!" I whispered for the umpteenth time as we strode through the forest; this time, I spotted a grouping of clouds that didn't look like rabbit or deer that were all we'd run across for the past hour. "Master," I hissed, "I think there's some people ahead."

He tensed as Scales crouched low in the snow, all of us stopping near a frozen pond. "Laas Yah!" Drevas spotted them immediately, his face going grim; "Bandits," he spat, "probably remnants from Silent Moons."

The pink clouds had faded, so I tried again, "Laas!" wondering why my master thought they were bandits.

One cloud was seated on the left, maybe eating something if its movements were any indication; the second cloud stood across from it, shifting in a way that seemed like he was carrying on a conversation. The last two…

One was on the ground, trying in vain to jerk away from the other, larger, cloud as it thrusted away at it. I felt sickened as the pink glow faded away, a broken feminine cry drifting to my ears.

I was brought back to my immediate surroundings by my mentor drawing his bow, "One for each of us, then." Nodding grimly, I checked my crossbow. 'I really need to figure out how to get this thing to reload automatically,' I thought, doing so manually while looking around; the flurries were still drifting down, combining with the trees to provide decent cover. Downside: I couldn't see where the bandits were camped.

Luckily for us, this was old hat for Master Drevas. "Scales, you circle around and hit the one in the middle. Hermione, circle to the left and get that s'wit rapist; once you're done, see to the prisoner." I gave a jerky nod, actually feeling eager to end the piece of troll shite. "I'll stick the one in the chair, ask him a few questions, see if this group has any…neighbors, and then off him." A beat of silence, only broken by the twitter of a bird somewhere nearby. "Go."

"Laas!" I kept the clouds on my right side, moving through the snow and trees, Drevas' words from the house in Blackreach echoing in my mind: 'They won't hesitate to kill you for your shoes, if not capture and rape you.' The harsh reality of those words was rather sobering, and helped me focus. I pulled up about even with the apparent encampment, going by the pink clouds; the large one was clearly defined; it had left its victim cowering on the ground ('probably has a tent…') and was now standing by its fellows. I crept forward as the pink light faded until I heard snippets of conversation.

"…gettin' loose, th' slut." A gruff voice, presumably my target.

"Well maybe you should stop fuckin' her three times a day," high, nasally voice, lower to the ground, must be the seated one.

"Agreed," twangy voice, might be local, "A' this rate, we won't even be able to sell 'er to a brothel, let alone trade her to the boys up by Silverdrift." Yup, local.

"Laas!" I whispered as quietly as I could as Troll Shite displayed some genius-worthy leaps of scholarly logic.

"Bah! Wha' do we need tho'se weaklings fo'? We'll jus' wai' by th' road, like las' time, 'n take th' next carriage wha' passes; get sum fresh pussy and extra coin." The other two lumps made varying hums of agreement with this inspired master plan as I lined up my shot with the speaker's throat; Orismer, as tall as Drevas, all done up in leather armor with his back to me and an ebony axe at his hip. Seated lump was a shorter elf, Bosmer, with a mug in his hand. Lump number two was a decidedly stupid looking man in fur armor; given his facial features, he was obviously a Nord.

A broken sob came from a large tent, off to the right. Troll Shite growled, "Shaddup, ya fuckin' wh-"

Chack!

Troll Shite fell to the ground, choking and kicking with a bolt in his throat.

The lumpen Nord had about a half second to be shocked before Scales ploughed into him from behind, a wet crunch and gurgle signifying his end.

The Bosmer never had a chance as a green-fletched arrow skewered his crotch, nailing him to the chair as he let out a high-pitched scream.

I reloaded, walking calmly toward Troll Shite as he convulsed on the ground in a desperate attempt to breathe. Another arrow hissed from the right, piercing the Wood Elf's dominant hand and pinning it to the chair leg, accompanied by another agonized scream from said elf.

Drawing even with the Orc, I looked down at him as he looked up at me, eyes bulging and bloody froth on his lips; one of his hands flew from his neck to the axe on his belt.

Chack! My next bolt sent him to Oblivion.

Drevas walked over casually as though he was only out for a stroll, sparing the barest glance to my kill, before focusing on the sobbing elf, "Good afternoon, fetcher," master's voice was disturbingly cheery as he drew his mace, "I've got a few questions for you. Ah, and please, don't get up on my account." He chuckled darkly as the trapped Bosmer began blubbering in fear.

I tuned them out as I approached a bound Nord woman, a few years older than me maybe, bruises yellowing on her face and bare breasts, hands and feet bound in dirty rope, and staring at me in wide-eyed terror. Removing my hood, I set aside my crossbow at the tent entrance and tried to set her at ease, "Hey. It's okay, you're safe now."

She blinked, clearly disbelieving of what she was seeing, poor thing, "W-w-who?"

Smiling in what I hoped was a disarming way, I answered slowly, "I'm Thane Drevas' apprentice, Hermione, out of Whiterun." I crouched in front of her, drawing my boot knife and making the woman flinch. "Let's gets those binds off you. Where are you from?" I asked as I did her ankles first.

"D-Dawnstar," she whimpered, "I-I was g-g-going to Falkreath…to visit m-my aunt, when…" she trailed off as I freed her hands, setting my knife down on the dirty bedroll she occupied.

"Well," smiled I, "You're free now, but it's dangerous out here;" As if to confirm my words, the last bandit cried out in pain, cut off suddenly by a metallic thwack. "We're going to Whiterun, so you can follow us; you can rest up there, before taking the carriage to Falkreath." She stared at me blankly as I looked over her injuries, "You could do with some healing first, though," I turned to find master standing over the Bosmer's corpse, "Master?" He looked up at me with polite interest, "Do you have a healing potion, or maybe-" His expression shifted to horror.

"DON'T-"

I turned back to the woman-

As a gout of warm blood splattered across my face from her gaping neck.

. . . . .

She killed herself.

. . . . .

Drevas' hands glowing, briefly, about her gushing neck, his face going from determined to sorrowful in an instant, the wet rattle of her death sounding like the cruelest chuckle.

. . . . .

She killed herself…

. . . . .

A pool, so red it was black, spread from the woman's neck.

My hands going through the motions of cleaning myself off, a quick cleaning charm removing the blood from my face and armor.

. . . . .

She killed herself…with my knife…

. . . . .

My master laying her out as respectfully as possible; as he placed coins on her eyes; as he prayed to the gods for her; as we burned the tent, a makeshift pyre to the nameless woman.

As I collected the ebony axe from the Orc's corpse, Drevas giving some encouragement: "You'll find a more noble use for it, I'm sure."

. . . . .

Why…don't I feel anything?

. . . . .

As I followed along behind him, Scales trotting at my right side once more, the forest's exit somewhere in the distance.

. . . . .

"…no such things as civility or mercy…"

"…rape you until you break…"

"…worse things than death…"

"…out of your worst nightmares…"

. . . . .

His words as we approached the forest's edge: it's not your fault.

Things will be better once we're in Whiterun.

A roof over your head, a warm bed, good people; you'll be safe there.

You'll be able to train in whatever catches your eye; plus, my main library is there.

As I frowned and nodded and asked questions and smiled at his promises.

. . . . .

As I finally understood what had disturbed me so greatly in the dark of Blackreach.

All the stories of great and mythical deeds had one thing in common:

They were all full of death.

Getting back home to Harry would be a mythical undertaking. Therefore…

The path home was paved with corpses.

And the worst part was…I now knew I had the strength to walk it.

. . . . .

. . . . .

Yep, the story starts getting very interesting after this.

Mostly because I don't have to write Drevas into every other sentence anymore! (Celebration occurs)

This chapter fought like a hacked-off Hunger to get written; first it was a sinus infection, then the muse took a break, then a friggin fire alarm at the library while I was putting the finishing touches on before work.

Anyway, it's 2AM EST here, and I'm going to bed.

Thanks for the favorites and reviews! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Next time: Our heroine meets a vampire, gets yelled at by a priest, and makes another friend.