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The Disclaimer: see Chapter 1: Warm Sun, Glittering Dark
Massive chapter here, nearly twice the average size of this story's chapters. I couldn't find a good place to cut in in half, so… here you go!
Warnings for this chapter: A lot of swearing, Riften, a dragon (!) and Hermione being exposed to Sorine (RUN FOR COVER!) Jurard.
Why are you still reading this?!
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Chapter 10
A Few Brave Souls
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Afternoon, 1st Second Seed, 4E201
15 Minutes South of Valtheim Towers Guard Outpost, Whiterun Hold
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Serana couldn't remember the last time she'd been this furious.
"Shite! ... Bugger- damnit! Stop that!"
When Hermione had come home last night, smelling of forest and dog, the last thing Serana suspected was the explanation she'd given: a Daedric Prince, Hircine, had declared her 'Mione Most Favored before replacing her shadow with Kresh, Hircine's First, Alpha of the Wild Hunt; the only reason Serana knew those titles was due to her mother's teachings in her youth, and later direct apprenticeship under the Grandmaster of Necromancy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were countless ways to attract the unwanted attention of the Princes when raising the dead, or, much preferably to Serana's disposition, conjuring and binding Daedric creatures to a location or individual; there were, however, two Daedric groups that could never be bound due to their unflinching loyalty to their Princes: the Illuminated Host, Meridia's final reward to those of her faithful who pleased the Lady of Infinite Energies…
And the Wild Hunt, Hircine's children, born of mortal womb and divine seed for the sole purpose of destroying those who defied the Huntsman's edicts. It was said, in the annals of Molag Bal's faithful, that Potema herself had been dragged to Coldharbour by all six hounds of Hircine after the Wolf Queen was finally killed, her punishment for defiling several of Skyrim's holy glades.
Hermione's partially awed response of 'So that's what Hircine meant…' after Serana related that story the previous evening didn't much help Serana's feelings about this situation.
On top of all that, the presence of the Daedric hound made attempts at continuing their 'physical activities' quite awkward, seeing as Hermione's commands for Kresh to 'get out of the bed!' went ignored, the hound remaining in her 'Mione's shadow and making the bed smell like dog.
Serana didn't much care for the smell, and both women slept restlessly as a result; hence their grumpiness when Drevas cheerily woke them from their restless sleep so they could get on the road… with that Werewolf Farkas in tow.
Farkas wasn't such a bad guy, in Serana's opinion; he'd kept Hermione alive during that adventure down in Falkreath and possessed a no-nonsense personality that reflected her own. But… he smelled strongly of wolves, and, combined with Kresh's constant presence, overwhelmed Serana's senses and kept her on edge.
But Serana could forgive all those things; no, there were two reasons for the feeling of rage boiling through her being.
The first was Drevas' overall cheeriness, no doubt due to the fact he got laid last night. If she didn't know better (or had not smelt that Redguard chef's scent all over him), Serana would've suspected he was actually happy at the prospect of seeing Isran and the Dawnguard again; when she'd last been in the castle, the two powerful warriors had gotten into a loud argument about… something. Probably Drevas' position as one of Boethiah's Proven, or his worryingly comprehensive knowledge of the Daedra, if Serana's recent discoveries said anything.
Which explained the volume of the argument in question; on the bright side, no one would have to dust the ceilings in the main hall of Castle Dawnguard, for another year at least.
The second reason was… right in front of her.
"NO! You can't go after the rabbit-GAAH! STOP THAT!" Hermione shrieked, her shadow, currently looking like a large Chorrol Shepherd, having just tripped the armored teenager before trying to drag Serana's beloved after a rabbit that had run across the road a minute ago… which was now watching the proceedings from atop one of the many boulders strewn at the feet of the Throat of the World with as confused an expression as could be managed by a rabbit.
Not even two hours out of Whiterun, and they'd already discovered Kresh's ability to not only do this, but that Hircine's Alpha wasn't able to go more than ten feet from Hermione before being reeled back in, much to the Daedra's displeasure.
Farkas, at least, was trying to get the accursed mutt to stop mucking around. "Ah! No! Bad dog!" the Companion chided the shadowy Daedra as a silently fuming Serana helped her 'Mione back to her feet while said shadow growled at them, "No hunting without permission! That's a-SHIT! HE BIT ME!"
That was another thing: apparently, if Kresh acted on someone's shadow, it affected his victim's physical body. Serana had two bite marks, one on her ankle and another on her hand from last night's attempted 'activities', to prove that the stupid fucking bastard mutt was more hindrance than help in this adventure.
And what were Drevas and Scales doing during all this? The clannfear was, apparently, smarter than Serana or Farkas, and was currently stood a dozen yards up the road, not wanting to get closer than necessary to the belligerent Daedric hound.
Drevas, on the other hand, was watching these proceedings with a small smirk on his face, like he watching some impromptu comedy skit and not helping in the slightest, the ashskin fuck-wit.
No sooner did Hermione regain her feet did she chide the hound herself, "BAD KRESH! Don't bite my friends!" the thrice-damned bloody impertinent mutt responded by trying to run off again, this time causing Hermione to fall right on her face once he sat at the edge of his range like the mangy little snot he was, "OOF! Holy Daedric Blessing MY FIRM ARSE! IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN-… RGHAAAAAAAAAH!" Serana recoiled slightly at the utter fury roiling off her beloved as the stupid shadow-dog began rolling in the dirt; the Daughter of Coldharbour wasn't sure she wanted to know what that felt like, but it must be far from pleasant if Hermione's seething rage was anything to go by.
Snicker.
Eyes flashing, Serana whirled to level her strongest glare on Drevas, who'd actually chuckled at the sight of his apprentice essentially throwing a tantrum over the belligerent Daedra; over Hermione's continued swearing, some of which was quite inventive, and Farkas' caustic grumbling as he healed the bite on his hand with a poultice, Serana hissed, "Something funny, Drevas?"
Smiling at her, the Dragonborn replied, "Mostly, it's funny how you're all going about this the wrong way."
"Then enlighten me, oh glorious Master," sneered Hermione from the ground while Serana wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn't killed Drevas yet, "How to get this fucking dog to listen?! NO! KRESH, IF YOU DO THAT, SO HELP ME, I WILL FIND A WAY TO OBLITERATE MY OWN SHADOW! SEE IF I DON'T!" the younger Dragonborn all-but roared at the Daedra, which had just lifted a leg right next to Serana's shadow; thankfully, it relented in the face of Hermione's threat, though Serana was now even more angry at the hound for even thinking to attempt doing… that, on her shadow!
Drevas sighed, smiling as he shook his head and muttered, "This, Serana, is why I wanted to teach her Conjuration rather than Mysticism and Alchemy." Louder, he barked in a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a Legion Barrack, "OI! Kresh, Alpha of the Wild Hunt!" the Daedra turned its head in Drevas' direction, "Keep this up and I'll be letting your father know you've been misbehaving and ignoring his Most Favored's commands! Now get your furry arse in line or else!"
And, of fucking course, the Daedra shifts into a human shape and sulks apologetically back to Hermione's feet, much to the shock of the other three adventurers.
Dusting his hands off, Drevas continued blithely, "Really, it's not that hard; the Wild Hunt have always answered to Hircine and Hircine alone. That aside," he continued as Serana's fury built, mostly due to the fact that he could've mentioned this hours ago, "we should find some bandits, maybe a barrow, so you two can get a feel for one another. I mean, it is one of the Wild Hunt," the Dunmer added to his apprentice's confused expression, "and there's nothing that tightens the bonds of friendship, for the Daedra anyway, like a rousing fight."
While Hermione looked at her shadow in contemplation, Serana thanked the Nine that Drevas wasn't wearing his helmet as she asked him sweetly, "So, in your opinion, our arguments over the past months have brought us closer together?"
"Well," he allowed, unaware of the imminent danger to his person, "you haven't run off and we haven't killed each other; on the other hand, I don't consider you a Daedric creature, so I'm quite confident in my calling you fri-"
She punched him. Hard. So hard, in fact, that his jaw clearly broke from the impact as Serana knocked the ebony-clad Dunmer to the dirt.
Fuming, the Daughter of Coldharbour hissed down at the groaning Dragonborn, "Then the next time you have information that could benefit your apprentice, MY beloved, then please, share it, so that we're not delayed from, oh, you know, SAVING THE WORLD FROM MY JUMPED-UP DISEASED CUNT OF A FATHER, you… BELLIGERENT FUCKING OUTLANDER!"
The silence that fell in the wake of the noble vampire's tirade would've made Sithis himself shudder, if not cough awkwardly.
Rubbing his jaw with a glowing hand, Drevas slowly got to his feet, Hermione, Farkas, Scales and Hermione's shadow watching fuming vampire and grimacing Dunmer warily. Rolling his jaw around to make sure it all knit back together, Drevas looked Serana in the eye and said very quietly, "I deserved that."
"You did," she snarled back.
"Feel better?" he asked mildly; Serana bristled, so he raised his hands, "Serana, it's not like I asked Hircine to give her Kresh."
Behind her, Hermione spoke soothingly, "He's right, Serana. I mean, I'm sure he's useful," the shadow huffed, "but, all things considered, I think I'd rather be a Werewolf," Serana shuddered involuntarily at the idea of her beloved being on the opposite end of Daedric blessings with herself.
Farkas agreed, speaking hesitantly, "You… really wouldn't, Hermione. Just being in Serana's company makes my Inner Wolf… well, agitated, I guess is a good word for it," he turned thoughtful for a moment, "Hey, speaking of fights, isn't there a bandit camp nearby?"
"There was," replied Drevas while Serana glared at Hermione's shadow, which was scratching an ear with a foot, much to the teenager's apparent annoyance, "Now it's an outpost for Whiterun's guard… Actually, all the nearest forts were cleared out during the crackdown, so no bandits for us."
When no ideas were immediately forthcoming, the party got moving again, though more subdued than when they'd left the gates of Whiterun that morning; they were taking the northern road around Skyrim's highest mountain to The Rift. A two day journey to Riften, then another half-day march to Castle Dawnguard, in the passes of the Eastern Jeralls. Serana, personally, hoped the journey went by quickly so she could research more ways to help Hermione's… condition; the older woman wasn't entirely sure how relationships like the one she was in were supposed to develop, but one thing the vampire was sure of was that she wasn't about to let a Daedric creature get in the way of her feelings for the budding young witch.
As they passed the outpost at Valtheim Towers, Drevas leading the way with Scales at his side, Hermione and Serana in the middle and Farkas bringing up the rear, the object of Serana's affections suddenly perked up; when she didn't immediately say anything, the Daughter of Coldharbour glanced down at the girl.
She was gnawing on her bottom lip, brow furrowed in a way Serana knew meant her 'Mione was deep in thought; it was also so cute, and made the older woman wish she could kiss those lips while walking. In fact, if it wasn't just begging to get shot or make Drevas tease them relentlessly, she'd have tried it.
Blink. Hermione brightened before chirping, "Hey, I just remembered! Farkas," Serana's girlfriend (mental squee) started walking backwards and addressed the Companion behind them, "remember that barrow near Morthal?" The Nord grunted, making Hermione smile for some reason, "Well, according to that idiot's research notes, the next piece of the amulet is in a barrow on the lake just east of Ivarstead."
"Huh," smirked Farkas, glancing at Hermione's shadow, which had turned back into dog-form and was wagging its tail in eagerness; looking at Serana, he asked, "Think we can swing a quick detour?"
"What's so important about this amulet?" Serana asked, looking between her beloved and the Companion. From the tilt of Drevas' head, the old Dunmer was also interested about the subject being discussed and was listening attentively.
Hermione's bright smile made Serana's stomach backflip, "You mean besides the fact that Arch-Mage Gauldur was the one to create it?" Okay, now Serana was interested.
"The Gauldur Amulet?" she queried in surprise, receiving an eager nod in response; warmth filled her at the revelation that her 'Mione had taken on a quest all her own, which was echoed by Drevas' declaration.
"Credit where it's due, Hermione: you don't do things by halves," the younger Dragonborn blushed prettily, to Serana's eyes anyway, as her mentor went on, "I suppose we can add a day of travel… unless you've got an objection, Serana?"
She didn't, and said so with a shrug, "Not at all; in fact," Serana looked at Hermione, "it looks like we'll get a chance to see what Kresh is capable of." 'Not to mention I can vent my frustrations in a productive manner,' the Daughter of Coldharbour added to herself while her beloved grinned again.
Buoyed by the prospect of adventure and potential riches, the party moved on to their new destination in high spirits.
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Early Afternoon, 2nd Second Seed, 4E201
Geirmund's Hall, Lake Geir, West Rift
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"MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHITE DEATHLORD! I HOPE MALACATH AND MOLAG SPIT-ROAST YOUR DAMNED SOUL BEFORE PASSING YOU OFF TO SHEOGORATH SO HE CAN RECITE BAD POETRY AT YOU WHILE DAGON PLAYS TWO OFF-KEY LUTES FOR ETERNITY!"
Maybe I should explain why my Master's swearing up a storm in a Nordic barrow...
Finding the barrow was the easy part of this side adventure; plumbing the place, on the other hand…
Well, there were more draugr than Folgunthur, and these were better prepared, tactically, to face us; despite this, the six of us, four adventurers, one clannfear alpha and Daedric Hound, were more than a match for the crypt Lord's forces. Unlike the barrow in Morthal, most of the draugr congregated around choke-points in attempted ambush and tried their hardest to drive us off. To no avail.
Stormbringer made its presence known, loudly at that, much to Drevas' and Serana's excited shock; even though she helped me enchant the powerful weapon, my girlfriend ('Eee!') was stunned by its combat effectiveness. Master Drevas just got a look in his eye, like he was going to ask for something ridiculous in the near future.
Though I had doubts about my ability to take this barrow single-handed, no matter what Serana said. My friends shouldered most of the burden regardless; although, it was kind of humbling to see Master Drevas actually whistling as his mace, the aptly-named Starfall, crushed ancient armor and weapons like they were made of blown glass, as well as my love wreathing her hands in blood-scented magic(?) before whipping one undead guardian after another with bloody ribbons ending in flail-like hooks, tearing arms and bodies asunder with ease, or flinging pointed darts that exploded on impact.
Farkas and I actually felt unneeded at points, what with the two juggernauts plowing the way to the burial chamber; not that we took the chance to slack off, claiming at least half of the kills for ourselves with bow and blade.
Kresh turned out to be a true Boon as well, though I was still kind of mad at the hound for rolling my shadow in the dirt; ugh, that felt so weird! The shadow-based Daedra zipped out to the formations of draugr, breaking legs and hamstringing our enemies, Scales cackling as he moved in the Shepherd's wake and tore quite a few snipers and spellcasters to shreds; their contribution actually resulted in us making great time through the moldy, soggy barrow.
But then we ran into the Deathlord… who was a total arsehole.
Shortly after arriving in the deepest part of the crypt, the undead corpse of Sigdis Gauldurson busted out of his sarcophagus and proceeded to make us regret waking him up; he created illusory copies of himself, scattered them throughout the room, and began shooting arrows at us with reckless abandon. Curiously, his copies shot the usual ancient, rusty arrows that most draugr used; such ammunition was practically useless against our armor, which had been seen to by Master Eorlund before we left Whiterun, and they died in one hit, so they were more annoyance than anything.
Sigdis, on the other hand, used Daedric arrows, had a bow that drained our magic every time he so much as scratched our armor, and kept switching places with his copies while constantly creating more to distract us, the utter bastard; even Kresh and Scales working together couldn't pin the slippery Deathlord down, though they did make the fight a little more even as they darted around the room, destroying Sigdis' copies while the four of us hunkered down near the Deathlord's sarcophagus and rained arrows, bolts and blood darts at anything that wasn't white (Scales' current color) or a violet shadow (Kresh).
The upside: Sigdis had a lot of arrows, so once the arse inevitably bit the dust (courtesy of Farkas putting an arrow through its eye right as Serana blew its chest out with one of her darts), not only was I the proud owner of another Gauldur Amulet fragment (victory dance!), but we now had two score Daedric arrows to split amongst our archers; on a side note, this is how I discovered Serana was a well-trained archer. Not as good as Drevas, who'd been using the bow for more than a century, or Farkas, who had been trained since he was small(er) by Aela, but my Ana was no slouch herself, despite preferring spells to arrows.
The downside: Sigdis had a lot of arrows, and knew how to use them. Hence why my Master was swearing up a storm as a battered Farkas broke an arrowhead off right before an equally battered Serana yanked the arrow out of his knee, which my scratched-up self was holding steady with a regenerative potion at the ready.
Serves him right for laughing at my earlier dilemma.
"VILE'S CHEESY TAINT, BE A LITTLE ROUGHER, WHY DON'T YOU?!" roared Drevas after the shaft left his knee with a squirt of blood, the potion in my hand pouring over the wound as my Master growled furiously and shunted golden magic into the limb.
"Oh, shut up, you big baby," hissed Serana, tossing the bloodied shaft over her shoulder, "You didn't hear me screaming after Durnehviir cut me in half, so suck it up," Drevas didn't reply beyond another incoherent snarl of pained fury.
I, on the other hand, was rather shocked (and a little absolutely livid) at the news that someone (or something) hurt my Ana, "Who or what is Durnehviir?"
"An undead dragon that Drevas and I had to fight in order to get to the Scroll from my mother," was my girlfriend's airy reply, "It was actually so impressed with Drevas' combat prowess that it gave him a Shout that would summon the immortal beast to Mundus, for a time." Holy shite… I didn't know whether to be frightened or ask Drevas for the Words of Power; as if he needs to be scarier than he already is, what with Starfall and the mind-shattering awesomeness that is the Toolbox.
Mistress? What the hells?! I looked down at my shadow, which was holding the Amulet fragment in its teeth; a voice rang in my head once more, sounding like a young Imperial man, This hunt was rather challenging, but the fiend's treasure is now ours! Will there be more such foes for us to slay, mistress?
"Ah… uhm… err," roll with it, Granger, "Not here, Kresh, but there might be vampires in the near future… and I hear the Rift has wild trolls, so if they attack us…" I trailed off, mostly because Serana and Scales were looking at me weirdly.
Jubilation, mistress, Kresh's tail wagged in eagerness, before adding in a regretful tone, Please excuse my earlier behavior. This is the first time I or any of my siblings have been Bound to a Mortal, and I wanted to gather a rabbit to aid the Pack and prove my worthiness.
"Oh. Well, while I appreciate the thought, it's not really necessary; just… don't roll in the dirt anymore… or annoy my Ana," I glared down at the Shepherd, "She is precious to me, and can get as close to my person as she wishes; bite her again, and your Father will hear of it."
Of course, mistress; please, convey my apologies to your mate for my crass behavior. Giving a little bow at the end, Kresh morphed back into my natural shadow. In my own mind, though, 'Great, the Daedric dog can speak into my head… Err, Kresh? Can you hear this?'
Did you need something, mistress?
'No. Just ignore my thoughts unless I call for you.'
Very well.
I then proceeded to scream internally, the recent rash of unusualness finally taking its toll. Honestly, at times it felt as though the Gods were having a laugh at my sanity's expense!
"Um, 'Mione?" oh, right, Serana's staring at me, probably wondering why I'm talking to my shadow; bright side: Farkas and Master were too busy divvying up the spoils of a large chest to notice, "Were… were you just-"
"Talking to Kresh? Yeah," replied I, glaring at a rather deep gouge in my right gauntlet, 'Stupid Deathlord,' "Apparently…" I took a steadying breath, "He can speak directly to my thoughts; oh, and he says sorry for biting you and being a general arse."
"Oh…" my girlfriend's glowing eyes drifted from my face to my vividly edged shadow, a perturbed look on her beautiful face, "That's… well, I accept his apology, but… um… that's kind of worrying."
The feeling was very mutual, but I didn't show it, instead raising an eyebrow and pointing out, "Beyond making the start of this journey hell, which he apologized for and explained to me, he seems to be more help than hindrance, Ana; honestly," I shrugged, smiling, "at this point, I think we should just take it in stride. Hircine did say having Kresh at my side would aid my path," I added when Ana continued to look worried, "And… well, I'd rather have the Huntsman at my back than, say, Mora." Reading The Book of the Daedra had given me a good deal more insight into the mysterious beings than I'd previously had, but that particular Prince… well, again, better Hircine than Mora. Tentacles, yeah, no thanks.
We shared a shudder as Drevas and Farkas strolled back over, the old Dunmer asking carefully, "Okay, first: sorry for all the swearing, but knee plus arrow equals pain. Second: that looked like a 'thank goodness it's this and not that' shudder; what's up?"
A brief explanation of Kresh's newfound ability was followed up with a question for Farkas, posed by Serana, "Out of curiosity, has your Inner Wolf ever-"
"Nah," the Companion grunted, "It's mostly…" he frowned, obviously trying to find the words, "I get his emotions in regards to a situation; ever since Kresh showed up, he's been itching for a good hunt. Oh, and he doesn't much like you, probably because you're a vampire, but he's less on edge now that we've had a good fight."
Drevas clapped his hands, "Well! Now that we're all a big, happy, dysfunctional," 'Really Master?' I irritably thought, "lightly dinged-up family, complete with Daedric dog, let's get back to the light of Magnus and the land of the sane." At least we could all agree on that; moldering ruins were all well and good when you had a reason to be there, but when it came to communing with friends, you couldn't beat a tavern.
That and, I realized as we headed through a hidden doorway, there was something in my boot… "EEK! THERE'S SOMETHING IN MY BOOT!"
"Okay! Don't panic-" clang! "Err…"
"IT'S WRIGGLING! GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!"
"Easy now-AAH! FUCK-MOTHERING SPIDERS!"
"Really, Farkas? You're scared of a few- MOLAG'S STONES! FIRE! DREVAS, KILL THEM WITH FIRE!
"Holy shite, that's a lot of spiders. Did you step in an egg sac or something?"
"LESS TALKING, MORE BURNING!"
"They're still on her leg, Serana! No, bad Scales! Don't use your tail, use your claws and scrape them off! Yeah, like that!"
"KRESH! KILL! KILL THEM DEAD!"
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Late Morning, 5th Second Seed, 4E201
Lost Tongue Pass, Southern Rift
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So, minus having to take a two potions a day to stave off being poisoned by frostbite spiderlings (awful experience, that), the remaining journey to the city of Riften wasn't very eventful…
Okay, so I ended up getting some hands-on training on how to skin, gut and bone a deer from Farkas and Kresh, and Serana took some time to teach me how to use an actual bow (when we weren't snogging in our tent), but none of that was particularly interesting.
The Rift is a lot like Falkreath, actually, but less wild; we took the south road around the Treva River and Lake Honrich to reach the Hold capital and avoid possible bandit attacks on the northern bank of the river. The local Jarl, Laila Law-Giver, was, according to Drevas, 'a corrupt, honor-less poser of a woman who wouldn't know justice if it reached up and took a bite out of her-' and that's as far as he got, thankfully, seeing as another troll ran at us and promptly died; downside of the south road, sure, but between the six of us none of the filthy things got close enough to do anything except smell bad.
But, yes, the upshot was that the woman didn't bother sending out patrols to deal with the bandits holed up in this fort or that cave, instead relying on Ulfric Stormcloak's militia recruiters to bring the idiots into the fold, with… impressive results; in fact, most of Stormcloak's Nord-dominant army were former bandits, which explained both Farkas' and my Master's mutual dislike of the traitor and everything he stood for.
Anyway, the land; most of the Rift is, much like Falkreath, composed of highland forest. Unlike that untamed wilderness, however, the trees here aren't as tall or grow so close together, which allow for settlements to pop up along the road, or for farmers to till small but profitable fields near the abundant springs and small streams at the feet of the Jerall Mountains. Most of this came from my studies, the book on Skyrim's geography heralding this Hold as one of the three that provided crops and foodstuffs for the Empire's northernmost province, Whiterun and the Reach being the other options for settling fertile ground.
As a result, the Rift had a well-cared-for feel to it, though with an edge in the background, like walking through a forest glade with a sleeping bear in the middle; one misstep, and Oblivion might break loose. Falkreath had a similar feel to it, so at least I felt like I was on familiar ground.
Until we got to Riften in the afternoon on the 4th, that is.
Entering through the South Gate was kind of weird, seeing as the guards stiffened at the sight of Master Drevas before hurrying in unlocking said gate; my mentor's quiet 'Good, they're learning,' didn't much help the anxiety in entering a new city, especially one that smelled like Riften did!
Built on the edge of Lake Honrich, Riften was home to Skyrim's oldest fisheries and brewery, the Black-Briar Meadery. While not as old as the other major cities in Skyrim, the importance of the city wasn't anything to scoff at; situated as it was in the South-East of Skyrim, the city lay on a trade route that ran into mainland Morrowind, said road branching into Cyrodiil's Eastern marches and travelling as far South as Black Marsh. As such, nearly all of the North-most province's land trade passed through Riften, the city getting the choicest bits before the trading caravans made for the other Hold capitals.
Though, in these days of civil war, the city had fallen on hard times, the Jarl's decision to side with Jarl Stormcloak not helping matters; according to Drevas, as we approached the city, the Jarl of Windhelm all but alienated his Dunmeri neighbors with his decision to shove the Red Mountain refugees his father gave sanctuary to into the city's slums, then refusing to investigate any crimes which occurred there. The Morrowind Council, on hearing of Riften's Jarl declaring her allegiance to the Kingslayer and Oathbreaker (a Jarl, I'd learned from Lydia, swears to uphold the Rule and Letter of Law for all their subjects, and Stormcloak's actions broke those oaths), cut all trade to both Riften and Windhelm, the treatment of their kin overriding their hatred of the Aldmeri Dominion.
While all well and good in my book, that didn't help the fact that Riften reeked.
Unlike the advanced aqueducts of Whiterun and Solitude, Riften relied on an inefficient sewer system that dated back to the mid-Second Era to deal with the city's waste; on top of that, Lake Honrich was the source of the Treva River, which meant that anything the people of the city threw into the water would make its way downstream… or, in the case of human waste and fish guts, settle on the bottom of the lake. That there was an apothecary just above the city's waterline certainly didn't help the unique stench that lay omnipresent over Riften: a burning smell of potions gone wrong, shit, and rotting fish filling the air like a pestilent fog.
The people didn't seem to mind, however; we'd arrived just as the market rush (such as it was) wound down for the day, so we split up to make last-minute purchases and flog the spoils of the barrow. A couple axes, jewels and Septims lighter made me four Grand soul gems heavier, so I went and waited by the nearby tavern, the Bee and Barb, with Serana while Farkas and Drevas bought up arrows from the smith and some moron thought it a good time to harp on about his spurious wares, a case of expensive-looking potions which he introduced with bombastic aplomb.
"Make love like a Sabre Cat, or crush your enemies to dust like a Giant; all this and more can be yours with Brynjolf's patented…" pause for effect, Serana suppressing a giggle at his ridiculous posturing, "Falmerblood Elixir! Only twenty gold Septims, for a limited time only!"
Okay, as Farkas would say, what in the actual fuck?! Who, in their right mind, would want to drink anything that has Falmerblood in its name?! Or is stupid enough to pay twenty bloody Septims for it?
"Well, at least you don't need an Elixir to 'make love like a Sabre Cat'," my Ana's teasing whisper erased my incredulous expression, replacing it with a blushing grin; ooh, I hoped we got separate rooms from Farkas and Master! Now that Kresh was behaving (if grumbling to himself over the rotten stench of this place), Ana and I could continue what we started… oh, wait, bad idea. We were still on the road, and it wouldn't do to head out into the wild wobbly-legged and grinning like fools. Blast.
"Not here, my Ana," was my whispered response, a coy grin promising retribution for her teasing, "Maybe somewhere less… smelly." She hummed in agreement, noble face twisting slightly in sympathetic disgust as I spotted Drevas and Farkas approaching, the Companion looking like he was fighting not to throw up; Gods, but I felt bad for him. Having the nose of a wolf in Riften was probably the worst part of being a Werewolf.
"Sir, surely an adventurer such as yourself," Brynjolf the Moron accosted Drevas, who turned a neutral gaze on said Nord, "can see the benefits Falmer blood can have on a potion! For are they not fiercely powerful-"
"The Falmer are slightly more annoying than skeevers and about as smart, which still makes both species more intelligent than you, gobshite," go Master! "I hope to all the Gods, Aedra and Daedra, that you're not actually putting Falmer blood into a potion and trying to sell it, Brynjolf." The gobshite blinks a couple times before his eyes widen in recognition; he must be drunk, which, given the water in the lake around us…
Yeah, eww. I'll stick with ale from Drevas' Toolbox, thanks.
"Oh, haha, Thane Drevas," the idiot gulps, smile fixed on his face, "Still thinking about that offer I made?"
"Thought about it, and my answer hasn't changed: fuck yourself, thief. Oh, and tell that whore Maven, next time she wants to hire assassins, try the Morag Tong; they might actually succeed where the Brotherhood died," the now-outed thief stiffens and pales at the same time, an impressive feat, before backing away as Master Drevas strides past him, Farkas keeping one eye on the gobshite as they approached us.
"Don't ask," the aged Dunmer said exasperatedly to Serana and I as he walked into the Barb, the rest of us at his heels.
We ended up not sleeping in different rooms, but at least Drevas and Farkas were gentlemen and gave us girls the bed. An uneasy night followed, Farkas staying awake for much of it due to Hircine's Blessing (I was still coming to terms with the idea of something the Temple saw as a curse, as a Blessing, though Serana's presence and advice helped), with the rest of us waking at small creaks and the occasional cough of the female Argonian proprietor as she did her nightly rounds. The reason?
The Thieves' Guild had a base in Riften, which was located, presumably, by Drevas' observations last time he was here, in the sewers. Double eww! That gobshite's stupidity made a lot more sense now, what with the fumes that must congregate in the cisterns! Idiots!
That morning, we left the city with our throats and coinpurses intact, making for Stendarr's Beacon at the far end of Lost Tongue Pass with all speed; both Serana and my mentor were eager to get this leg of their journey, which had taken the better part of the last three months, over with, while Farkas and I were eager to lay eyes on the Castle Dawnguard. From what the Companion described, taken from the history lessons of his youth, it was an impressive structure, though its location had been lost to the grinding roll of years.
The pass, as we entered it, gave me a bad feeling: high mountains on either side, sparse tree cover, uneven ground, little wildlife; everything about the place practically screamed 'ambush', and from the set of Master's shoulders and Serana's swiveling head, I wasn't alone in my suspicions that we might get jumped. The only question was: what form would our opponents take?
I would regret such a question in but a few moments.
Not ten minutes into our brisk march through the pass, Drevas stilled, staring at a… crater in the middle of our path, the menhirs that once encircled it shattered and strewn about the surrounding earth; he drew his bow, Scales becoming nearly invisible as he took on a green/brown mottled coloring and chittered in worry. I brought Stormbringer to a ready position and searched for threats. Nothing… but it was too quiet. No bird sang, not even the chirp of a cricket. At the back of my mind, I felt Kresh's hackles raise, an eager growl backing my worried thoughts.
Farkas spoke for our worries in a whisper that carried in the eerie silence, "Lord Drevas? What is this?"
My mentor nodded at the crater, "That was a dragon burial mound. It was still filled in last time I came this way," blood running cold as the sound of Kresh's eagerly gnashing teeth tore across my mind, I set my crossbow to its Reductor setting and cursed, for the last time, that I still hadn't found a way to make the damn thing reload itself.
"Likewise," Serana threw in, blood-scented magic rippling across her fingers, copper eyes scanning the mountaintops, "It was filled when I headed out to Morthal while you took the North road to Winterhold, Drevas."
Growling savagely, Farkas put his sword back in its harness, drawing the Orcish bow Drevas gave him back in Ivarstead and nocking it, "Fucking great. So where is the flying terror?" I silently seconded the question, though with quite a bit more fear, which was at odds with my slowly warming blood. Despite not liking the path I was on, the prospect of a real fight excited me!
An ageless minute passed, our group creeping ever closer to the burial mound, keeping our eyes on the skies and hands on weapons, before-
The wyrm's thunderous roar of challenge split the silence like nothing I'd ever heard, its gold-black body banking suddenly around the mountain on our left, coming down the pass right at us!
"Spread out!" roared Drevas, sending an ebony shaft at the beast, "Don't give it a target and keep moving!" I hastened to comply, dashing for the trees at the foot of the mountain, staring in wondrous horror at the dragon bearing down on us all the while.
The legendary creature could've easily flattened Breezehome with its body alone, all rippling muscle and adamant scales shining in the gathering noonday Sun; its fell wings covered a full half of the pass in shadow as it flew over above arrow-shot, head swiveling to look at Master Drevas, jaws that could easily rip a mammoth open curling into the cruelest caricature of a grin I'd ever seen, a clubbed tail that could smash the Gildergreen into the ground arresting my attention as the beast banked right over my head, wings brushing the mountainside as it came about with another Nirn-shattering roar and I fought not to piss myself in utter terror.
MISTRESS! Oh, right, Kresh. Steel yourself, for the beast will not allow us to pass in peace! Let us fell this demon, for Lord Hircine!
Not the best motivational speech ever, but I'll take what I can get! Blood boiling as the dragon came to a hover in the middle of the pass, I watched as it took an arrow in the belly, courtesy of my mentor, before the dragon spoke in a voice like an avalanche while I took aim at a wing.
"Dovahkiin! Zu'u fent drun hin krent kopraan wah Alduin, tol rok aal velaaz nau hin slen! YOL TOOR SHUL!" (Dragonborn! I shall bring your broken body to Alduin, that he may feast on your flesh! FIRE INFERNO SUN!)
With a great flap, the demon lunged forward on fell wings, bathing the pass beneath it in white-hot dragonfire; Scales shot out of the way of its flames and closer to me as I abandoned my cover and darted further into the pass, the clannfear alpha's visage grim with focus. I spotted Drevas tracking the beast with an arrow on the other side of the burning canyon as it came back around, blood darts flying from behind one of the toppled menhirs that marked my destination.
He loosed the arrow before, "WULD!" my mentor blurred to the other side of the pass, dodging a fireball as our opponent roared in primal fury. Sliding behind a toppled stone, heart pounding hard against my ribs, the whole battlefield heard Drevas' roared response to the dragon's taunt, "Kuz gein laat frolok do, dovah, fah daar staad fent kos hin graad! KRII LUN AUS!" (Take one last look about, dragon, for this place shall be your grave! KILL LEECH SUFFER!) The dark purple blast struck true, though that didn't stop the beast from replying with another fireball before flying back up the pass, one of Farkas' arrows striking its leg as it went.
I kept my crossbow up as the great wyrm turned about, flying low and aiming to bathe Serana and I in flame; my hands shook at the cold, alien intelligence that shone in those eyes, boiling blood beginning to replace fear with rage. 'Kresh! Help me aim!' I thought as the beast bore down on us.
A cool, furry feeling rippled up my leg and over my arms, steadying my shaking as distant howls rang in my mind; a wing-joint filled my vision, time seeming to slow as fire gathered in the dread wyrm's maw.
Chack!... BLAM!
I hit it! Scales, blood and tissue flew from the dragon's right wing-joint, where the limb met its body; aborted flames spewed into the air as it let out an agonized scream that would haunt my nightmares for the week to come, its great bulk falling to gravity's pull and bringing it to earth.
The wyrm had been flying fast, its fall resulting in not only a Nirn-shaking boom that rattled my bones, but also in its plowing the ground right for Serana and I!
"MOVE!" my girlfriend screamed, darting right as I ran left, the vampire peppering the beast's head and side with blood darts while I threw a quick lightning bolt at its wounded wing; the dragon's body shattered the remains of its burial mound before coming to a rest slightly past us. I reloaded as fast as I could, taking partial cover next to a boulder, Kresh howling encouragement while still helping to steady my arms, The demon is grounded, mistress! Come, let us fell it!
'Not yet Kresh!' objected I, watching Drevas loose another arrow at the dragon's wounded wing while it struggled to rise, tail whipping in agitation and blocking Serana and Farkas' attempts to flank it with arrow and spell, 'It must be worn down before we can fell it safely!'
Taking aim at the uninjured wing joint, just visible past a ridged spine, my singing blood was nearly stilled by the dragon leveling a glare at me and speaking once more, "Impudent joor! Ag fah Viinturuth! YOL TOOR!" (Impudent mortal! Burn for Viinturuth! FIRE INFERNO!)
My vision was immediately filled with orange and white as it bore on me, Serana's cry of horror carrying to my ears. I ignored both, listening to the song in my bones and bringing my own flames quickly to bear for a punctual and desperate reply.
"YOL TOOR!" my fireball crashed into the dragon's, both Shouts detonating against each other in a fantastic explosion of flame; shielding my face with my bow, the flames washed over me as I ran closer ('What am I doing?!'), the enchantments on my armor keeping me from being roasted alive. I heard Master Drevas roar in anger before the hiss-shick! of an arrow striking the beast reached my ringing ears and I wasn't too sure but it smelled like my eyebrows might have burned away.
Lowering my impromptu shield once the flames passed, I found the beast shirking from Drevas' bow, another ebony arrow lodged in its neck as it turned to face me, eyes furrowed in a primal rage that would've shook me, were I not taking aim again; its deep voice rattled my bones as the demon spoke in disbelief, "Faal joor Tinvaak?! Fos kromaar los-?" (The mortal Speaks?! What sorcery is-?) I didn't let it finish.
Cha-BLAM!
Seeing as its statement was turned to a scream of pain and fury as Stormbringer tore part of its face away; the force of the Reductor spell might not have been enough to destroy dragonbone, but flesh and blood were another matter. Holstering my crossbow with a savage grin, I drew wand and axe, Kresh's snarling howls and blood-song filling my being. 'This kill is mine!'
Another arrow slapped into the beast's face, opposite where my bolt hit, courtesy of Farkas; Serana's blood-flail snagged the creature's tail, tearing flesh and tendons as this dragon desperately tried to escape the killing circle we closed about it. Farkas' and Drevas' arrows struck with regularity now, aiming at joints and damaged scales. I threw Piercing Curses at any wounds I could see as I ran about, keeping my distance from the thrashing beast. A primordial shriek rang out as Scales leapt upon the wyrm's uninjured wing, beak and claws tearing at the leathery limb; as it turned its head to remove the annoyance, I took my chance and ran at the dragon's neck.
"Bombarda!" my spell struck the same spot Stormbringer had, ringing the dragon's bell; I holstered my wand, tightened my grip on Eclipse, and jumped at the demon, grabbing a horn and swinging onto its back with a victorious cry as Drevas arrived with Starfall raised and a feral grin of his own decorating his ashen features, reaching the beast right as it keened in dying frustration, "WULD!"
WHUDD! The Dunmer's super-heavy mace shattered part of the beast's jaw, teeth and scales flying through the air as he passed; stunned, the dragon didn't notice my getting into position until it was too late.
A blood dart followed an arrow at the base of the beast's neck as I used its disorientation to my advantage, standing upon its head and readying my axe's enchantments; the wound further back exploded, making the dragon jerk in pain, nearly unseating me as it tilted its head.
Its one remaining eye met mine as I roared, "DIE FOR HIRCINE, DEMON!" I raised my axe high for the final blow!
I felt it stiffen below me as that pained eye widened in horror, "Dovahkiin?! VOKORASAAL!" (Dragonborn?! IMPOSSIBLE!) Those were its last words as I claimed my prize!
Eclipse fell, cleaving dragonbone like wet paper; throwing my body backwards as the beast convulsed, I dragged the ebony axe through its skull, cutting clean through its brain before leaping free, Kresh's baying of approval ringing in my head as the beast gave a full-body jerk once, twice… then slumped to the ground, its broken jaw hanging loose in a final expression of shock as the wyrm finally died.
I howled my victory to the heavens, bloodied axe held high! My first dragon! What a battle, what a hunt!
Wait…
I blinked. Looked at Master Drevas grinning maniacally at me, panting in exertion himself. Saw Serana running for me from the right, looking like she didn't know whether to kiss me or yell at me. Farkas came running right behind her, swearing up a storm while sporting a face splitting grin, as Scales mounted the dead dragon's back and shrieked in victory, claws and beak bloody, before leaping down and trotting over to us.
What. The. Fuck?
I just killed a dragon.
I just jumped onto a dragon's back and killed it, dedicated the kill to Hircine…
What in the hells…?!
"Hermione!" Serana appeared in my vision, grabbing my shoulders and searching my no-doubt pale face, "Are you okay?! Gods above, what were you thinking, doing something so reckless?!"
"Lay off, Serana," my mentor drawled, ambling closer and holstering his mace, "Her dragon's blood is probably to blame, though I can't argue with the results," he smiled proudly at me while my girlfriend sent him a withering glance, "Nicely done, lass. Quite a step up from Falmer, hmm?"
I turned to my right, axe hanging limply in my grip; yep.
Dragon.
Quite dead.
I killed it.
Huh.
Farkas was saying something, but I didn't hear him. Or anything else; the sound of my slowing heartbeat filled my being as a white light shone from the wyrm's corpse.
I felt, vaguely, Serana tighten her grip on my shoulders as a prismatic light burst from the beast, filling my vision and flying toward my body!
I tensed for but a moment as the searing light wrapped about me before seeping into my skin, burrowing deep and filling me, from my marrow and back to my skin again, with the same fiery heat that had sung in my body during the battle.
I saw things in the light.
A priest wearing a black mask, offering up a group of beautiful women for me to devour.
The sky burning, golden light upon the mountain, Alduin's cry of fury cut off suddenly.
Sleep, rest, blind eternities pass me by.
Alduin returns, waking me with his powerful Voice.
"Wait in the pass, Viinturuth. When you feel the Dovahkiin's presence, break him and bring him before me."
The Dovahkiin has come. I lunge upon him and his allies.
They are ferocious, prepared. I fight still.
My Thu'um quashed.
My body broken.
A mortal girl, eyes burning with battle-lust, the Huntsman's mantle on her shoulders, axe raised in victory.
My Qahnaarin.
She is Dragonborn!
IMPOSSIBLE!
The axe falls.
The world darkens…
…
…
…
…in the cold darkness, I hear a voice.
HERE IN MY SHRINE
And I know no more.
. . . . .
Five Bells in the Morning, 6th Second Seed
Castle Dawnguard, Dayspring Canyon, East Reach
. . . . .
Everything hurt, like I'd been hit by a Giant, or Master's mace. Either or. The difference?
I was alive.
The smell of leather, weapon oil, healing potions, and the faint scent of a home-cooked meal reached my nose as I came slowly, painfully, back to reality.
"Kolos… kolos zu'u?(Where… where am I?)" I groan, rubbing my aching eyes with hands that feel wooden, arms like lead.
Opening my eyes, I took stock of my surroundings, slowly sitting up as the aching in my body lessened: masterfully crafted stone above and around me. I was in some kind of castle infirmary, if the Alchemy desk, racks of potions and multiple beds were any indication. I could hear very faint snoring coming from the wall to my left, which was decorated with a long, low dresser, my armor and gear laid out neatly on top. Faint light came from a narrow window above my bed, illuminating a small table and chairs, a stack of books and several cups on the well-worn surface telling me that I was most likely safe.
Someone had gotten me out of my armor and into casual clothes, probably Serana, seeing as I was wearing a blue and gold silk brocade long-sleeved blouse with silver buttons, and rather nice-looking netch-leather pants, the boots from Blackreach set next to the camp bed I was laid in. The well-fitted outfit, which definitely didn't come from my pack, complemented my figure nicely, even if it was a little too soft for my tastes; still, it felt good to be in clean clothes-and someone had given me a bath, too. 'Oh, Serana… I'm going to kiss you dizzy for this,' I thought, a rush of warmth filling me at my Ana's thoughtfulness.
Then I remember the fight.
The wyrm's roar of challenge.
My taking it from the sky.
Kresh's assistance.
The killing ring.
Starfall shattering the beast's maw.
My axe raised, declaring my kill to the God of the Wild.
The vision. The voice in the Void.
We'd killed a dragon; I'd killed a friggin' dragon! Sure, I probably wouldn't've stood a chance by myself, but still! Why hadn't I been afraid?! Well, okay, I was afraid, scared out of my wits in fact, but then the fear had vanished… right about when… 'Kresh?'
A shudder tickled the back of my mind, before the Daedra's tired yet eager voice rang through my mind, Mistress! Praise Hircine, you wake!
'Yes, I'm awake,' thought I a little irritably, swinging my legs off the bed I'd been laid in; there was my vivid shadow, Kresh's natural body taking form and settling a bit apart from my natural shadow, watching as I ran my hands over my face, 'Oh, and you have some explaining to do.' The Hound tilted his head in confusion, so I spoke aloud, "Hi drey zos wey hiif zey mor, ahstiid krif- fos?! Druv los zu'u tinvaak med daar?!" (You did more than help me aim, during the fight- what?! Why am I speaking like this?!) What in all the hells?! I was talking like a dragon!
Ah, yes, the other Dragonborn said this might happen, admitted Kresh, tail wagging slowly while I fought not to have another breakdown, According to him, it should go away within a few minutes of waking, mistress, and that the first time is the most intense; or, that's what he said to calm your mate. She was rather distraught at your fainting, mistress, though the other Dragonborn said that was normal as well. He cleared his throat, a strange sound between a growl and a bark, before finishing, As for my assistance… you were afraid, mistress. I gave you some of my courage and improved your reaction time, so you wouldn't be felled by the beast.
That explained most of what happened, but, 'And declaring the kill to Hircine?'
Oh, that was all you, mistress! Kresh wagged his tail happily. Tis a good thing, that you are taking your role as father's Most Favored seriously!
My eyebrow twitched. None of what had, or has, happened to me was in the book my Master gave me on the Thu'um. Oh, and apparently Kresh's presence and my title of Hircine's Most Favored meant dedicating some of my kills to the Daedric Prince. More twitching. Oh. I. Was. Not. Happy.
Then someone knocked on the door. "Laas." Drevas. I didn't know anyone else with that profile, "Haav!" (Enter!)
The Dunmer himself opened the door, dressed in a shirt like mine, except black instead of blue, a pained grimace on his face as he looked apologetically at me; at least he took the time to close the door before speaking, "Before we have this conversation, remember your oaths. Speak only in True Need, do no wrong," the reminder of my path, of what I'd chosen to stand for, calmed the fires raging in my heart and mind enough to process my mentor's next words, said with quiet, empathic sincerity, "Next… I'm so sorry, Hermione."
Eyes widening as the aged Dunmer walked to a chair with a sad, almost angry, look on his face, I felt more than heard his words as Drevas continued, "I'm no slouch with Restoration, so believe me when I tell you this: there were literally dozens of other ways to heal the injuries you sustained in Blackreach without giving you a blood transfusion. In fact, if I'd had help or wasn't so bone-deep tired from plumbing Alftand, you wouldn't be Dragonborn…" he paused, sitting and glaring at his boot-clad feet, "If I could, I'd take it back. It's not worth the power, what having dragon's blood does to you; you become… cold. Instead of trying to get in good with people, you're driven to dominate, to conquer, to take what you can and damn the consequences!"
He was all-but snarling now; this was a side of Drevas I'd never seen, but he continued to shock me with his next words, "It's a fucking curse, not some Blessing from Kyne, like the Greybeards told me it was, and the more you use it, the more it tries to change you," he looked at me, tired red eyes meeting watchful browns, "It will change you; before Helgen, before killing that dragon outside Whiterun… I wouldn't've given two golden shits about whether or not Skyrim got torn apart, whether by vampires or dragons or the civil war; it wouldn't have mattered to me, some aged adventurer just waking up after a night in the local brothel, taking in another execution before heading south. Hells," he gave a humorless laugh, "I'd probably be in Leyawiin by now, under a different name, setting up shop, selling the trinkets I've picked up over the years and writing my memoirs."
"Ruz zu'u fund lost dir ko tol vul raf, krah ahrk naalein,(Then I would have died in that dark hole, cold and alone) and no one would've known what happened to me," I replied steadily, trying to be strong for both of us, because, I realized… "Neither of us may want this, the path we've been set on… but if not us, if we don't do something, then who?"
"Outside the whole, dragons ending the world, bit, I can think of a few good people who'd fight tooth and nail to make sure Harkon dies screaming," admitted Drevas, still sounding tired, but with a smile on his face, "Not that our feelings matter, in the eyes of the Gods."
"Then why believe in them?" It was something I'd wanted to ask since Blackreach and reading of the Aedra and Daedra, but the opportunity never presented itself, until now.
He shrugged, "Between the Aedra and the Daedra, the Divines are the lesser of two evils. Plus, none of the Nine have ever actively tried to end the world; make our lives hell, sure, but you don't see Stendarr ripping holes in reality and killing Emperors."
How very cynical… and more like my Master than the quietly despairing old man from a moment ago. I couldn't think of a reply, but Drevas seemed to be feeling a little better as he continued, "I get what you mean, though; if Alduin hadn't returned and attacked Helgen, you'd have died… probably," he waved his hand through the air, as though to dispel the depressing thoughts clouding the air, before asking softly, "Anyway, now that you're not talking like a dragon, how're you holding up, lass?"
I smiled, looking down at Kresh; Gods, but there were so many things to say to him… fuck it, "When you absorbed your first dragon… did you… hear a voice, at the end?" I asked, looking up at the end to see his reaction.
He frowned. Severely. "What did it say?"
"'Here in my temple'," I shivered, broke eye contact; just the memory made me feel… unclean, "I… I've never heard a voice so… so… Master, it was so cruel. Even Alduin's voice wasn't that cruel."
Drevas came over and sat across me, on the other bed; after glancing at Kresh, who was rubbing his head against my leg in comfort, he assured, "Whatever it is, I haven't heard it, and while it's… worrying, that you heard it, there's no point in dwelling on the matter; for all we know, you heard Alduin's thoughts, or a Dragon Priest's."
"What?" I gave my mentor an incredulous look, "A Dragon Priest?" The only one I'd encountered wasn't that intelligent; but, then, it was being controlled by a vampire at the time, so Drevas might have a better idea of what they're naturally capable of.
He gave a disgusted look, which showed through in his tone, "Those fuckers were crueler than the Wolf Queen and smarter than the average Deathlord. I wouldn't be surprised if one of the masked bastards made a shrine to itself in hubris."
I blinked, saying urgently, "I saw one with a black mask, in my vision!"
"Huh," my mentor looked thoughtful, "Mine was copper-colored, with a green tinge. More research for when Harkon's dead at our feet," he ended with a chuckle, while I looked at him questioningly, "Once this is over, Hermione… Serana's stated a desire to head to the College of Winterhold, to hone her abilities and relax for a while; I spoke with the Arch-Mage, about two weeks before Blackreach. He's got no problem with a vampire taking up residence. To tell true, I think the idea of having a Master Conjurer and Necromancer in residence was more of a selling point than anything."
"Oh," I replied, becoming a little crestfallen; Ana hadn't told me about this… why?
Drevas pushed my knee, smirking at me, "Lass, I don't know if you've noticed, but Farkas knows what he's doing better than most adventurers I've worked with, and Serana really cares about you. You're probably the first person to look at her and see something other than a vampire or Daedra worshipper, the first meaningful relationship she's ever had, barring her mother, but you already know how unhealthy Serana's home life was, so... When this journey is behind us," he finished with a kind smile while my eyes watered at the implications, "Farkas'll help me uncover what I need to put Alduin's head on a spike; you, on the other hand… if you don't go with Serana for whatever reason, I'll track you down, pack you in a barrel of salted fish, find the most rickety, wobbly-wheeled carriage I can, and mail your tiny arse to the College myself."
"I can go with her?!" at my mentor's nod, I could barely contain myself, so I hugged him with a barely suppressed squeal of happiness! The College of Winterhold! One of the world's largest libraries! With Serana! "Thank you, Master! Oh, I'll be sure to do you proud!"
Patting my back with a chuckle of his own, Drevas replied with a smile in his voice, "Oh, of that, I have no doubt, lass; foreigner you might be," I looked up into his fondly smiling face… then he ruffled my hair, the jerk! "But, with your talent and brains, if you're not Arch-Mage by the time you go back home, I'll eat my mace. With ketchup."
Swatting his hand away with a growl, my stomach made its own protests known, "Speaking of food…"
He pointed at the door, red eyes rolling in humor, "Loo's out the door, second one on the right. Stairs are to the left, just go down and out to find Serana in the Rotunda; she'll show you where the dining room is."
. . . . .
"Serana!" oh, she looked so worried, biting her lip and pacing like that; at my call, she all but darted to me as I grabbed her in a hug that cracked her spine, the delightfully warm feeling of her burning unlife comforting me like the softest blanket.
"Hermione! Oh, I'm going to kick that Dark Elf's ass for not warning you," my Ana pulled back, looking into my eyes with worry while I smiled up at her, "You're okay? Kresh still behaving?"
"Yes and yes," replied I, "Oh, and before I forget…" rapping her lightly in the middle of her collarbone ("Oof!"), I chided my Ana teasingly, "That's for not telling me about your plans to run off to Winterhold! Ana, how could you?!"
Before she could answer, and it was probably a good one if her sheepish smile was anything to go by, a deep voice, tinged with old hatred, spoke from off to my right, "Ana, eh? Something you want to admit to, vampire?"
Turning, I took in the speaker… or his chest. I looked up.
A bearded Redguard man, as tall as Drevas and wearing heavy-looking body armor, thick, dark brown leather gloves and slacks, what looked like blocks of steel on a heavy-duty leather cuirass, nice boots… and a glass warhammer that was taller than I was, shining with some extremely powerful enchantment, probably something truly vicious if the sunset-orange glow about the haft was any indicator. His face was lined and worn from experience and hardship, steel-grey eyes that had an unusual glow, making the severe man look almost as sinister as Master Drevas did when he fought, and that was saying something!
Not that I cared much how he looked, or even who he was, seeing as his words, gaze and tone implied Serana had… ensorcelled me, or something; to wit, I gave him a dirty look and asked my Ana, "Who's this guy?"
Nervously, Serana withdrew just beyond arm's length (sad face!) and introduced us, "Hermione Granger, Griffoness of Whiterun," obligatory grumble at my unwanted title, "Meet Isran, Vigilant of Stendarr, Leader of the Dawnguard. He owns the castle," my Ana shrugged while this Isran glared at her, "Or, Sorine lets him stay here while she works on her Dwemer engineering Magnum Opus."
Sorine? As in the person who made Master Drevas' crossbow?! I was about to give my suspicions voice, but Isran cut in, voice steely as his eyes, "I asked you a question, bloodsucker."
"Yeah, you know what?" snapped I, glaring at the arsehole, "No-one asked you, I'm not ensorcelled, go be a jackboot somewhere else," turning from the startled Redguard and back to my Ana, who looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or chide me, I asked her, "Sorine? As in, Sorine Jurard?" she nodded slowly, which made my excitement peak, "The Sorine Jurard is here?!"
"My ears are burning," came a female voice from behind Isran, who turned a bit and revealed a redheaded Breton woman with wide eyes, like a surprised deer, wearing a grey version of the same armor Isran was wearing, "Which means someone's talking about me."
"This girl," 'Don't roll your eyes, Hermione, he can't help being an arse,' "has apparently heard of you. She's one of Drevas' companions-"
"Apprentice, actually," the Dunmer in question saved us all from having to deal with the burly Redguard's ire as the man in question whirled to glare at my mentor, who'd just come downstairs and was smirking at the bearded Vigilant, "On that note: Isran, we need to talk." Drevas jerked his head at the stairs.
"You're damn right we do," grumbled Isran, giving me one last suspicious glare before following Drevas out of the room.
Then I was exposed to the unrivaled, inexhaustible exuberance that is Sorine Jurard, "So you're Drevas' apprentice? I saw them bring you in yesterday. Nice armor, wish I had access to a Masterwork Forge; then again, Gunmar's nearly as good a smith as Eorlund Grey-Mane, so it balances out. Felled a dragon, huh? Not bad, but then, Drevas and Serana here are pretty tough. That Farkas fellow seems quite capable as well, good eye-candy at that, and even Gunmar's trolls are afraid of Scales, though I can't blame them; clannfear alphas are some of the most dangerous creatures out there, you know. Between the five of you, nearly any dragon would have their work cut out for them... too bad you got magically exhausted, I was hoping to interview someone concerning dragon combat behavior so I can write a pamphlet, help people living in cities avoid getting burned to death, you know? Drevas doesn't really pay attention to things like the pitch of their wings when they bank or what tells they give off before breathing fire, so a second opinion would be better before I work on the final drafts."
I blinked. Wow, this woman was amazing; not as amazing as my Ana, but still, "Err, well I'll try to write down what I can remember of the fight, if it helps. Oh! I wanted to talk to you about your Dwemer crossbow."
"Oh, so you saw the prototype I made for Drevas?" PROTOTYPE?! "Some of my best work, there; the designs weren't too hard to come by, actually. Did you know," Sorine's eyes, somehow, got even wider while my mind tried to come to terms with the fact I'd used a prototype weapon for a Masterwork enchantment, "that the crackdown on banditry in Whiterun Hold had the secondary effect of gathering the Dwemer Schematics I needed to produce that crossbow? Oh yes," she added at my incredulous look, "the bandit groups based in that Hold raided the Dwemer ruin that held the schematics and distributed them amongst themselves as… payouts, I suppose. Drevas gathered them all up while wiping the scum from the face of Skyrim and brought them here. On that note, how does it work? He has been using it, hasn't he?"
"I'll… I'll be right back." Before reaching the stairs, visions of finally finding a way to make Stormbringer reload itself with the Sorine Jurard's help, I bade a giggling Serana, "Fix me up a plate of breakfast, Ana!"
If my suspicions on how the crossbow's creator would react to the enchantments I'd made were correct, I was going to need a full stomach for what was coming.
. . . . .
Drevas rolled his eyes for the fourth time in as many minutes; if it wasn't for the fact that he respected Isran as a person and equal, the quiet rant the burly Redguard was just winding down on would've really pissed him off, mainly because it was directed at his apprentice.
Leaning against a pillar in the Dawnguard leader's rooms, the old Dunmer fished for his pipe as Isran's pacing and ranting turned to quiet fuming and pouring of ale, the man coming to a stop in front of Drevas and placing fists on hips, "Are you even listening, Dunmer?"
"Vaguely, Isran, vaguely," Drevas replied calmly as he filled his pipe, "Mostly, it sounds like you're: one, concerned for my apprentice's closeness to Serana, and two, hacked-off over her apparent disrespect for authority. Am I following you so far?" Raising an eyebrow at the tall man, he received a curt nod in reply to the rant's summation.
Sighing, Drevas tried to explain the situation without pissing Isran off, speaking his thoughts slowly, "In the case of the first, I'll say the same thing I told Hermione an hour or so ago: Serana hasn't really had any meaningful, healthy relationships with anyone, and Hermione needs someone who is compassionate enough to help keep her from breaking down; despite what you think, Isran," he cut across another possible rant before it could begin, "you don't know Serana as a person, choosing instead to only see an extremely lethal vampire. Though I can't blame you for your disposition, it doesn't change the fact that she is compassionate, one of the most caring people I've ever met, and Hermione sees this more clearly than either of us.
"Therefore, to my apprentice, Serana is a precious person, who she wants to help and keep safe, and, from what I've observed, the feeling is very mutual," pointing at Isran with his pipe, Drevas finished, "And that's one reason I believe Serana isn't controlling Hermione in any way. The other reason is… really Isran? I've dealt with enough vampire dens to know the difference between a Thrall and a prisoner, and Hermione's neither. If anything, young lass wears the trousers in that relationship," a chuckle left his lips as he finished, biting the stem of his pipe and waiting for the Redguard's response.
Isran's eyes narrowed slightly, arms folding as he mulled over Drevas' declaration, "…I'll take your word for it, seeing as you've been travelling with the woman for several months; not that I'll be letting my guard down around her. She's far too dangerous for my liking."
Drevas shrugged; if he was in Isran's boots, or not the Dragonborn, he'd probably say the same thing.
The other man wasn't finished, and asked with a growl, "So, how do you explain your apprentice's disrespect for authority? Or is that Serana's influence?"
Red eyes blinked before their owner groused, "I think I just explained why she basically told you to go bugger yourself, Isran. Next time you feel like hurling abuse at Serana with Hermione in earshot, think twice; lass knows nearly as many ways to verbally tear strips off someone as a follower of Namira could literally."
Isran blinked back, then smirked, "Got on her bad side as well, did you?"
"Ha!" the old Dunmer lit his pipe, taking a long drag while Isran sat and pulled his mug over, "I swear, Isran, that girl's gonna be a force to be reckoned with, once she comes of age. Never, in all my long years, have I met someone with so much damn potential."
Setting down the mug and dabbing his beard with a handy rag, Isran asked, "What do you see for her, then, old Mer?"
Drevas didn't even need to think about it, and started ticking off things he knew Hermione would be capable of… if she stayed in Tamriel, "Youngest Arch-Mage since Shalidor himself, no doubt she'll become Thane of some Hold or another before she's seventeen, both Jarl Balgruff and Jarl Ravencrone confided in each other that she's got the mind and temperament for Jarldom herself, though I'm trying to keep her away from politics for as long as possible…" he took another drag, blew it out, and smiled at Isran, "Oh, and if Sorine reacts the way I think she will, on seeing what Hermione did to that-"
"WHAT IN ARKAY'S NAME DID YOU DO TO MY CROSSBOW?!" Sorine's shrill voice made both professional soldiers jump and reach for weapons, though Drevas relaxed once the sentence made its way through his pipe weed-clouded brain.
Chuckling, he took his hand off the dagger on his belt and bit down on his pipe again, turning to a slowly relaxing Isran and flashing the man a vicious grin, "Harkon's not gonna know what hit him, once we show up on his doorstep."
Relaxing fully, Isran raised an eyebrow, lips pulling at the edges, "What is it, then? Magic? Crafting? Something else?"
"Isran, the girl somehow figured out Dwemer runic engraving to such a level that not only do I never need worry about cold or wet while in armor again, but she turned that prototype crossbow into a Gods-damned Masterwork of such power that it all but ripped a dragon's wing off yesterday, with four days training in Enchanting and Serana's help," the aged Dunmer savored the utterly gobsmacked look on Isran's face for a moment, then finished up with a savage grin, "On top of this, we just left Serana, a Master in several schools of magic who can do symbolic pattern calculus in her sleep, Hermione, the next Arch-Mage and brains behind that Masterwork, and Sorine, a scholar of Dwemer engineering in possession of such skill and insight she'd make Calcelmo, that hack, weep with envy, in a room with each other with the most incredible weapon ever made by mortal hands and a forge tended by a bored Gunmar within easy reach. Fuck Auriel's Bow, Isran, imagine every Dawnguard member equipped with a crossbow that can shatter a gargoyle in one shot and reload itself."
By the end, Isran's grin was just as vicious as Drevas', "You might have understated it, Drevas," the Redguard growled excitedly, raising his mug to toast the smiling Dunmer's pipe, "Harkon's going to shit himself, when we front up to that ugly castle of his and claim the mad bastard's head."
. . . . .
6th-12th Second Seed, 4E201
Dayspring Canyon, East Reach
. . . . .
In all honesty, some of the things I've done since arriving in Blackreach really make me wonder…
Am I a good person?
Lucia, Sister Danica and Lydia would scoff at such a question, as would my Ana, but they were all more than a little biased, in my opinion; Master Drevas was a non-issue, seeing as he's the one who created the foundations for my recent successes. Farkas was the only person I'd encountered thus far who made me question my means and methods, who planted that annoying seed of doubt that, lately, makes my actions and experiences that much more raw, nightmares forming in their wake.
To tell it true, it was when we were clearing that bandit mine right after arriving in Falkreath that I'd first asked that question; as I'd stepped over the top half of a dirty, scarred woman, fingers twitching as her nervous system fought desperately against death even though most of her insides were spilled onto the ground and the life had already left her blue eyes…
I didn't much want the life of an adventurer, I'd realized as I moved passed that woman's corpse… but if it meant not having to tell some mother or father, sister or brother, that their loved one was killed before we could reach them, not having to stand there as they cried and pleaded with their deaf Gods for a mercy that couldn't be given…
If it meant sending those who caused such pain to Oblivion so they couldn't ever do it again, then I'd grit my teeth and bear it. This was justice, what I was doing; it wasn't for me, the bloody path of corpses that would lead me home. It was so the people of Skyrim could sleep a little easier at night, content in the knowledge that the nearest group of kidnapping, rapist thugs wouldn't swing by in the night and drag families screaming from their beds to do Kyne and Hircine only knew what.
Killing these… people, because even though they were awful excuses for sapient beings, they still felt pain, still screamed when you blew their legs off… killing them wasn't a mercy, like killing the Falmer; killing bandits was a justice… not that the fact made dealing with the killing any easier…
Nor was it the same thing as hunting down and swiftly killing a beast of the wild, which was how Kresh and I spent our evenings in Dayspring Canyon, replenishing the party's food stores with venison and boar meat. I feel compelled to mention that such hunting was done with a javelin and a dagger, at Kresh's insistence. It was, to the Daedra, a sign of further devotion to Hircine to keep the playing field as level as possible while on a hunt, which led to me explaining this to an inquisitive Drevas, who handed me a couple practice javelins with a much fancier affair made of engraved silver, along with a book on proper technique with a wry grin and an order to be careful; and yes, all of that came out of his amazing Toolbox.
The hunting itself wasn't messy, once I got the hang of throwing, but taking meat from bone and removing skin for tanning before carrying it all back to the castle wrapped in that bloody hide was very smelly.
But I was used to the mess and smell of death.
That I could do it at all should have been a cause for concern. That I, a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old teenage girl, could do so without batting an eye and a smile on my face was a cause for concern, and not just personally.
Six days we spent there, in that idyllic place, but only a two of those days was more than enough, even with Serana's loving presence and coffee-fueled innovation with my Ana, Sorine Jurard and Gunmar, a Master Smith, to begin realizing that I didn't know how many people I've killed. That realization shook me, had me becoming unfocused when I should have been trying to puzzle out how to get a crossbow bolt from the quiver to the cradle without touching it; instead I had Astrid the Bitch's hateful, accusing eyes flickering in my peripherals, the sounds of those poor Falkreath guards as that Ogrim Titan tore them apart haunting the sounds of the forge as Gunmar hammered away and oh Gods I'll never get the smell of blood off my hands.
What truly made not only myself, but those closest to me, realize something was indeed wrong was when I woke in the middle of the night after my first day in the castle, choked gasps of fear making my chest hurt, the images of fell-masked beings throwing me naked to troll-like bandits burned into my mind… and what came after…
I all but ran to Serana's room, Isran's objections be damned, and gripped her tightly till morning.
It was after the third day of this, with bags under my eyes and smelling faintly of both blood and lime (from tanning), that one of the younger Dawnguard members, a handsome young Nord named Agmaer, took me aside after breakfast and brought me to a small meeting hall with a circle of chairs.
Isran may have been a jackboot, but, as a former Vigilant, he was well-aware of a condition nearly all soldiers and adventurers suffer from: combat shock, a side-effect of surviving life-threatening situations where said survival required killing.
As such, he had the resident priest, a strange man named Florentius Baenius (who claimed to speak for Arkay; given my exposure to Heimskr and Hircine, I was only slightly inclined to disbelieve such claims), organize a support group where people could talk to each other about their experiences in a safe environment.
Which I did, speaking of all the above things at length and with no small amount of tears, once everyone had gathered.
Agmaer was actually the reason the group had been founded, the Nord in question told me a little embarrassedly once my tears died down and Florentius argued quietly with 'Arkay'; his family's farm was attacked by Harkon's agents for some reason or another, the young man's entire family killed before he could return from hunting with his husky, Bran. Though he'd never been trained to fight properly, my fellow teenager managed to avenge most of his family with his father's axe, taking the bastards by surprise and cutting them down one by one... Four days of wandering with Bran later, he'd come across the Dawnguard recruiter, an Orc named Durak; one thing led to another and, he laughs lightly, an armored Bran wagging his tail under the chair, here he was.
My Ana attended as well, though her part in the group was, mostly, an advisory role for the female members of the Dawnguard (and to curb Florentius'… exuberance). Speaking of which, there was one other girl, the nineteen-year-old Sapphire, a former member of Riften's Thieves' Guild… and bandit escapee. So, we ended up chatting my first session away, me relating my experiences with bandits thus far, and Sapphire telling me not to regret even a single kill, before explaining why.
Her story was much the same as Agmaer's, except the swift vengeance part; she'd been captured and held prisoner, the bandits taking advantage of her over and over again, for months. Unlike the woman in the Pale, however, Sapphire held out long enough to gain the bandit's trust… then killed them all in the night. She'd been my age.
As the farm she'd lived on was burnt to the ground, and all her family slain, the hard-faced brunette eventually found herself in Riften; the Thieves' Guild seemed like a good idea at the time, she said, but two years of hiding in the sewers (ew.), dealing with a bunch of pig-headed men with delusions of grandeur (in a sewer, ew.), and barely enough jobs to put bread on her plate (why would you want to eat dinner in a sewer, blegh!)…
After poking me in the temple, which shut me up, Sapphire told me that her life changed the day Drevas walked into town, talked her out of fleecing a stable-boy, told her about the Dawnguard and how they could use an experienced archer, and dealt Maven Black-Briar's chief enforcer such a savage, glorious beating after the idiot basically told my Master that, by walking into Riften, he was now in this Maven woman's debt and to hand over his Toolbox… Sapphire laughed to herself as she told me she'd gone into the Ratway, picked up her bow and belongings, told the Thieves' Guild leader where and how far he could shove it, and caught up to Master Drevas just as he made the very same pass we'd gone through, not four days ago.
The older brunette wound up the story with touching words, "Having blood on your hands, even if those you made bleed deserved it… that's a different kind of scar, like the ones Serana and I carry, from… from being raped," Sapphire forced the words out in a clipped voice, shaking her head and smiling at me before continuing, "That blood won't wash off any more than the scars stop hurting, but, if you let that guilt and shame define you, then the bastards may as well have killed you instead. But if you accept that spilling that blood was the right thing to do, and use a sense of justice as a balm for that shame,"
"And you have something to hold onto…" I added in a small voice, remembering a conversation in a bed, a million years ago.
Sapphire grinned, giving my Ana a thankful look before saying to me, "You got it, hon. Hold onto that purpose, no matter what it is, and don't let anyone or anything stop you from fulfilling it."
I was a good person.
I had to be.
There's no way Serana would like me if I wasn't a good person.
And speaking of archery, the work to improve Stormbringer ended up taking five days and four nights of near-constant work; once I'd regained my convictions, I was able to put my all into getting the damned thing to do what we wanted, which was the furthest thing from easy.
The first issue was getting the bow to move back into position after a bolt left the cradle; Gunmar, unsurprisingly, as he was a Master Blacksmith, came up with the solution: placing springs inside the crossbow, right near the bow itself, that bounced the bolt cradle back onto the steam-powered conveyer that, when I pulled the lever next to the gem buttons, brought the bow into firing position. This essentially eliminated the need for the lever, so once we'd done that, Sorine switched out the old steam generator for an improved, twin-piston affair that was faster and more air-efficient than its predecessor.
As a result, instead of one bolt every five seconds, Stormbringer could fire, re-draw, and fire again in the span of two seconds.
One bolt per second, sixty per minute. Not bad… for three days' work. Honestly, compared to getting the bloody incredible crossbow to reload itself, that part was easy.
The problem of getting that bolt into the cradle without touching it was Serana and my responsibility, though, given my emotional state those first days, we were understandably delayed; even with Sorine working with us, the issue of adding another enchantment on an already taxed-to-the-limit object nearly had us despairing.
Until Gunmar came to the rescue again.
Looking over Serana's shoulder, my girlfriend looking like she was about to rip her hair out, the majestically bearded Nord peered at the schematics spread out over the table for a moment; humming to himself, he then calmly addressed Sorine, who had the look of a wild animal with her gnashing teeth and wild hair, "Not that I'm well-learned in Enchanting, but… what if you removed the bolt cradle and replaced it with a pre-Enchanted one?"
A moment of stunned silence, before I replied in a voice hoarse from arcane arguments and therapeutic screaming, "While that is an inspired idea-"
"And I can't believe I didn't think of that," growled Sorine lowly, scribbling the idea onto a spare bit of paper.
"-there's still the issue of the spell itself," I finished, staring blankly at Aetherial Symbology's entries on Conjuration patterns; stupid book had been written in 4E105, so it had nothing on Mark/Recall, which would have rendered our current issues null and void!
Gunmar hummed again, glancing over at the troll pen (exposure to its occupants going some ways toward lessening my fear of the beasts, though that fear was still there) for a moment before asking curiously, "Has anyone asked Drevas? He's been all over Tamriel, and rumor has it he knows a Telvanni Master Wizard personally-oi! Watch it, Serana!" he called to my Ana's back as she dashed out of the room while Sorine and I screamed in self-depreciating disbelief; of fucking course we should have asked Master Drevas, the only person I knew who was better at Conjuration than Serana! What kind of geniuses were we?!
Serana came back looking even more furious than when she'd left, and explained why, much to Sorine's exasperation and my own incredulous anger, "Bound Arrow. Which, apparently, is such an unused spell that only a few people know it even exists."
Once we'd finished pulling our collective hair out, we then had to modify an existing and incredibly hard to use spell pattern to create a crossbow bolt instead of an arrow, translate said esoteric spell formula into Elder Futhark Runes, and then carve those Runes (all 176 of them) onto a 4-inch long piece of Dwemer metal.
My Carving Charm wasn't precise enough for doing the last, either, so Gunmar, having the steadiest hands of the four of us, had to chisel each Rune into the cradle. By hand. Without making a mistake. If he hadn't been a Master Smith, we'd be S.O.L. on upgrading Stormbringer; not that the Nord didn't gripe about cramping hands and Sorine hovering as he tried to focus on the delicate work.
The result was everything I'd dreamed of and more.
. . . . .
It didn't look much different, to Farkas' eyes, but if Hermione was grinning that widely, it meant only good things for the future of the mission he found himself pressed into.
Haring about Falkreath with the buck-toothed lass left the young Companion of two minds; on one hand, he'd not seen that much action since the Whiterun crackdown, or that much loot. His current kit of Nordic carved armor, courtesy of that Gunmar fellow (he was no Eorlund, but in a few years he might be), had cost a pretty Septim, even with the discount, but not only was the extra protection worth the price, Farkas could easily afford it.
On the other hand, the Nord didn't know if he was actually needed on this adventure; between Hermione's crossbow, Scales, Serana being… Serana, and Thane Drevas, Farkas felt like he was an unneeded part of this group of legends-in-the-making.
When he'd confided in Hermione, seeing as she was the closest thing to a Shield-Sister as he could get, while Farkas supervised her hunting practice, the lass just raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Silly Farkas. You're one of those legends."
At his questioning grunt, she clarified, "Let's see… You've fought through a small army of bandits, vampires and draugr with Scales and me at your side, took on practically the entire Dark Brotherhood with nothing but your claws and Scales and won. Mate, trust me, with how many bounties we pulled down in Falkreath, Farkas the Hound will be the toast of plenty of taverns throughout Skyrim."
Giving the required groan at the unwanted title he'd been saddled with (courtesy The Black Horse Courier), Farkas responded, "Not nearly as much as Hermione the Griffoness, Enchanter Extraordinaire," he grinned at the sour look on her face and nodded at a watchful Kresh's shadow, "Friend to Animals Everywhere."
The handful of mossy peat she flung at him was worth the blushing grin she'd had on her face afterward.
At her age, Farkas would've given anything to be touted in the broadsheets as 'an up-and-coming champion of justice and protector of Skyrim's way of life', though, now that he had a title and all the trimmings of being just that, he could why Hermione was annoyed by what she called 'silly nomenclatures'. Whatever that was…
Now, though: the Dawnguard was assembled just outside the doors of the castle, three piles of dirt arranged where there'd once been a firing range. According to the buck-toothed lass holding that crossbow like it was her child, normal targets wouldn't hold up to Stormbringer, not with the improvements the crafting team placed on it.
Farkas was just glad Durak and that Agmaer lad brought a barrel of mead for the demonstration. Drinks and explosions, two great things that are even more enjoyable together.
Sorine kicked the demonstration off with a grin bright as Magnus, "Right, everyone, this is the final test firing of the Masterwork crossbow Stormbringer! Initially Enchanted by Drevas' apprentice Hermione Granger," said lass waves enthusiastically at everyone, "and Serana Volkihar," a shyer wave from the vampire member of Farkas' new Pack, "in Whiterun, it is the very first Enchanted item in the history of Tamriel that has not two, not three, but five separate enchantments placed on it!"
Cue brief muttering before the cute Breton went on, "What was once a prototype of a new crossbow I'd developed with Drevas' assistance, will now, through the combined efforts of myself, these two ladies, and our own Gunmar, be the bane of Harkon's entire existence! But enough grandstanding; Hermione, if you will?"
A bit of applause came out of the curious crowd as Farkas' partner stepped forward with a nervous grin on her face, "Erm, hi, everyone. Ahem. Stormbringer works like this," holding up the crossbow so they could all see the glowing gems on the stock, Hermione explained each one, "If you put a little magic into one of these soul gem 'buttons', the enchantment on the crossbow changes; this example has a powerful frost spell, a hybrid fire/lightning spell, great for undead, a paralyze function for capture, and a spell that shreds whatever it hits; additionally, this bow no longer needs bolts,"
'Wait, what?!' was Farkas' immediate thought, along with most of the Dawnguard, though Thane Drevas didn't look surprised.
"As it uses a modified Bound Arrow spell to create the bolts directly from the Aurbis, as well as draw the bow automatically," while Farkas reeled at just how deadly a weapon this now was, Hermione pointed out a small clip on the firing lever, "To fire, flip this switch back, tap a button," she pressed the Frost button, one of Farkas' favorites, as it wasn't as loud as her explosion setting, "And select your target; bear in mind that you'll have to manually fire each shot by tapping the firing lever once the next bolt appears, though, at one bolt per second…" she took aim at one of the mounds of dirt.
Chack-FWUMP! Chack-FWUMP! Chack-FWUMP!
Where was once a mound of dirt was now a steaming hill of permafrost. Farkas admitted he was really impressed, then wondered if that's why she insisted on placing Cutting Curses on both his and Drevas' bows.
The demonstration went on, with expected explosions and expletives erupting from all those in attendance. And drinking. Much drinking was had by all, along with demands by Isran for more of these crossbows, which Sorine assured were already in the works
It was, after all, the next morning that the party set out once more.
They had a vampire menace to resolve.
. . . . .
15th Second Seed, 4E201
Ancestor Glade, Falkreath
. . . . .
Another moth landed on the arm of my crossbow, waving its wings lazily as I stood guard behind a boulder, watching the tunnel.
Three days getting here, only to end up standing guard with Farkas, Kresh and Scales while Drevas and Serana did things with Elder Scrolls; while I'm sure it was a rather fascinating ritual occurring behind us, the Tower of Mzark had been more exposure to the eldritch objects than I'd ever wanted.
One might think that, given my goal, I'd have more interest in the things, but between Master Drevas' warnings of madness or worse when reading the Scrolls and the results of my studies in Breezehome, I was perfectly content to stay as far away as was safe from the things that both existed in reality and didn't exist at any point in time.
So I put down some trap wards in the tunnel, just in case Harkon's minions came a-calling, set Stormbringer to Lightning Helix, and settled for playing a few games of I Spy with Farkas and Kresh while we waited.
I spy, with my Daedric eye, something that starts with M.
"Moth," deadpanned I with no humor, glaring at one such insect making itself comfortable on my right gauntlet.
Wrong, mistress! Try again!
"Is it 'M' again?" queried Farkas dryly from where he was propped against a canticle tree, an arrow at the ready and just as covered in moths as I was; at my nod, he grunted, "Moss."
Darn. The Blessed's turn, then, mistress.
"Your turn Farkas," reported I in boredom, another moth fluttering across my vision.
We were interrupted by Master Drevas' approach, heralded by his continuous swearing. We both looked back…
And I had to fight with all my strength not to collapse to the ground laughing! Farkas hardly-suppressed snort told me he wasn't much better off, and Scales didn't even try hiding his amusement, cackling remorselessly at my mentor's current dilemma.
"Oh, sure, laugh it up you three," snarled the swarm of ancestor moths that sounded a lot like Drevas of Mournhold! "Next time we need to read an Elder Scroll, one of you can slap a piece of moth-bait to your armor and gallivant about."
It was working too, another dozen or so moths making a beeline for Drevas like children to a sweetmeat vendor; snickering as my willpower began to fail at this hilarious sight, I retorted, "Yeah, sure, Master. When Farkas or I find an Elder Scroll, we'll take one for the team."
"We'll even send you a postcard, so you can be there for the event," put in Farkas as we both gave into our humor, laughing while the mass of moths fumed in anger.
Before he could retort, however, a golden pulse of light suddenly blazed from his silhouette! Once the spots in my vision faded, I saw that it looked more like that light was shining on him from somewhere else, rather than Drevas glowing himself.
"Whoa!" Serana's voice came from nearby, "I, err, I guess that's what we were waiting for! Come on down then, Drevas. The Scrolls are all set up."
"Be right there," called Drevas before adding in a lower tone, "Provided I don't break my hip walking back down there," and off he waddled with Farkas and my laughter at his back.
It was another ten minutes of I Spy before the first of my wards went off, blowing the legs of a vampire clean off and sending the fiend sailing into view, further into the dark tunnel. An inhuman roar, all stone and the promise of death, came soon after.
Harkon's agents had found us.
.
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A/N:
… Longest chapter yet. Not counting date/location breaks, scene breaks, and A/Ns, this chapter is 16,293 words long, 31 pages in MS Word.
…Once again, I respond to reviews in PM's.
… Sorry about the cliffy. Thanks for reading!
~Baked
Next Time: The Forgotten Vale Part 1: The Betrayed
