The Irrelevant Skyrim Experience

by longherin

Two guys play Skyrim in first person mode. And also there's a dragonborn involved, but she does her own thing. Think of it as Skyrim, but not as railroaded due to videogame limitations.

23. The Wall of Alduin Experience (ish)

{ === + === }

Allllll-righty, so…where do I begin with this?

Currently, sitting at my long table, is Esbern, the hidden…Chronicler? VIP? Of the Blades, and Brynjolf, the second-in-command of the Skyrim Thief's Guild. Both seem to be relatively amicable with each other, and, understandably, we're all a wee bit thrown for a loop. Except maybe Delphine, who seems less thrown.

And we have tea and snacks. Because of course we do.

"Well, you seem to be in better health than I imagined." Delphine says stiffly. I'm not even sure who she's referring to, since she's looking at the empty space between the two visitors.

Speaking of: Esbern and Byrnjolf are on one side of the table, me and Delphine on the other. Jake is taking…a flanking position, leaning on the wall behind us. Byrnjolf's guards do the same behind him. Everyone else is in the Sneak Room. The Sneak Room is more or less a new addition, with primitive telephone technology™ so everyone else can hear what's going on without being seen.

'Cups and Wires' primitive. The fact that people can hear in the room is more due to the fact that there's an open door than anything else.

"I daresay spending all my time underground has done wonders for my skin." Esbern says with a light laugh, but his eyes are alert and on guard. For good reason.

I sigh. "Alright, before we continue." Electricity is crackling at my fingertips. "Brynjolf, I'd like to remind you that you have once broken into my house and tried to kill Atra and Alma after getting caught."

"But you did catch me, right? For what it's worth, I'm deeply sorry about my behavior." He says, sounding…reasonably sincere. But, then again, master thief. "Murder was never on the cards and had I followed through it wouldn't have been, either."

Uh huh. "Well, I'll hold my grudge for later." I turn to Esbern. "How'd you know this guy?" I point to Brynjolf.

Esbern doesn't quite look at me despite responding to my question. "He's been…instrumental, in helping me go to ground in Riften and stay unseen. Understandably, being in the good graces of those who are quite chilly towards the law has immense benefits, considering my current position."

Makes sense. Doesn't quite answer my question, though.

"You must know we were looking for you, then." Delphine says. "Has something forced your hand?"

Esbern nods. "In a manner of speaking."

Brynjolf's face darkens. "Suffice to say, a certain someone has agreed to be paid a rather egregious sum of money in exchange for information." The cloud passes like it was never there, and he shrugs good-naturedly. "It's not as if the thief's guild looks askance at information brokering, but, ah…"

Well. "Let me guess, can't trust a Thalmor?"

"Got it in one, sparkles." Byrnjolf grins. "It's an unspoken but a very understandable rule that the guild avoids doing business in such a way as to draw attention to itself."

…anybody else getting a sense of foreboding? Because I just felt my stomach drop. "Tell me you weren't tailed, Brynjolf."

He shrugs. "If they were, then they're better than the best thief in all of Skyrim." He fiddles with a coin. "Besides, it's not as if you're in any more trouble with us here. If somebody wanted to give you a hard time they would have done so already."

…Fair. "Alright, so we've…found, Esbern, I guess." I look to Delphine. "What now?"

She casts some serious side-eye towards Brynjolf. "I suppose this means you're now trustworthy?"

"About as trustworthy as this lot." He tilts his head towards me. "I imagine whatever's going on is something you'd like to keep between you, Esbern, and…" he looks around. "…that white-haired girl, probably. The rest are a happy bonus, I wager."

If this is something he picked up through sheer intuition then he's very good at his job.

"Besides," Byrnjolf leans back. "I am to understand that your goal is to deal with something that makes it harder for my nimble fingers to go where they need to. I see no reason to betray that."

Esbern folds his arms. "For better or worse, he's an honorable thief. Considering the money being offered by the Thalmor for my whereabouts, I would have been exposed much earlier if he were not."

…Which…I mean…if my understanding is correct, then we're at our current position because the current Thief Guild Number One, Mercer, is willing to take money, and I'm sure he's been the lead for a long-ass time. What changed?

Delphine, for her part, seems willing to bear with the arrangements. "I see. Well. Long story short, we're looking for a way to fight against dragons, Esbern."

Moment of silence.

Considering the expression on Esbern's face, I get the feeling that wasn't what he thought the problem was.

Delphine continues, "We're hoping you might have some more information than what little we do have."

Esbern coughs and gets his act together. "Well, let's start with the basics. What do we know?"

…

[Exposition]

…

Alright, so.

Prior to meeting up, Esbern was aware, on some level, about Dragons in Skyrim. At least, he was aware that Whiterun got hit by one. He was also aware that Dragons came back. I'm…not quite sure why he considers the two things to be separate. Separate as in: the dragons coming back wasn't because they wanted to burn Whiterun to the ground. It sounds silly, but everybody we've talked to has assumed that dragons had it out for Whiterun, and there's no reason to believe that somehow Esbern had more information than, y'know, people who weren't hiding.

Either way.

We filled him in on how it seems like the Thalmor and the Stormcloaks believe that the other side was responsible, and…here we are.

In retrospect we really don't know much, huh? And Esbern pointed out as much.

"That's why we need your help, Es." Delphine sighed at that.

Anyways, with Esbern's keen memory, we've now decided to go to the…uh…dragonborn sanctum. Whatever its name is. The place that I literally went to once to complete this stage of the quest and never went back because Side Quests.

That Place In The Middle of Nowhere.

Esbern pulls up a map and points to That Place and I remember it being somewhere else. "To my memory, Sky Haven Temple is around here."

Esbern is pointing to the correct position. We just never cared to memorize it.

"Well within the Reach, huh?" Brynjolf scowls. "We'll be within the grasp of the Foresworn in our search."

True. "I'm assuming we don't have anything more concrete, like an actual landmark."

Esbern shakes his head. "While there are records, we obviously have no access."

And the Reach is likely way the hell bigger than it is in the game, plus no waypoints…hoo boy.

"Well, alright, we know where we're supposed to go." Delphine sighs. "Now the question is, how do we begin?"

…

We plan a little longer, and ultimately decide on first going to Markarth, rest, then head deep into the mountains of the Reach to find this place. Reasoning being that smaller towns and villages are going to ask uncomfortable questions as we stock up (making us easier to track overall) and more importantly it lets us gauge the Thalmor response to me and Delphine, given that we, y'know, actively escaped from the law.

To that end, we'll be packing up today and leaving early tomorrow. Also, Byrnjolf and his bodyguards Sapphire and Rune will be staying around.

"I suppose this makes us honorary members of the Warwolf mercenary corps?" Byrnjolf says with a wry grin.

"Makes our lives easier, sure." Jake shrugs. "Though, obviously." He pats his sword.

Byrnjolf throws up his hands. "I know, I know, I'll be good."

As if to drive the point home, he takes the time to, with me and Jake in full attendance, bow his head to Atra and Alma and properly apologize for his past actions. The girls, after a moment, seem to consider his apology genuine and say so. None of us still trust him, obviously, but it's good to know that he has a sense of fair play.

In any event, we need to pack. Our destination is Markarth by way of Falkreath, and to draw the least amount of attention possible we'll be going with our mercenary colors. Falkreath, as far as we know, is still the mustering grounds for an army, so it makes the most sense that we'd head off in that direction now that the bigger local job is done.

Anyways, gotta get stuff together.

…

[Next Day]

…

It's a little hard to estimate the travel time from Riften to Falkreath, but we're estimating around three weeks. We got one wagon and eight people with Summon Bigass Wolf as an ability for a small amount of time, about four hours per day for the T-Sisters, longer for me, Aria, etc.

We'll be going via Helgen, skipping Riverwood and heading directly to Falkreath. Strictly speaking, this takes longer than going to Riverwood first, but since Whiterun's currently a battlefield the fewer direct combat risks we take the better.

Otherwise, we've locked up, packed up, and everything that is out of the ordinary has been rallied into the furnace, burned, and then the ashes burned again for safety! Just in case, really.

And with that, we're off! Southeast, then tilting east.

…

…

[Travelling]

…

…

After ten days, we arrived at Falkreath. The trip was uneventful.

I mean, there was that one time we saw a mountain lion on the way to Helgen, but Jake glared at it and it ran away, so…

Anyways, I imagine the reason why it was so uneventful was because troops were being rotated between Riften and Falkreath, ergo, near constant patrols. Also the big fuckoff giant ghost wolves might have helped.

So, we're in Falkreath, at one of the edge-of-city inns packed with off duty Imperial Soldiers.

Falkreath is…I mean, even in the game it was the city that had the least 'city-like' feeling, Winterhold notwithstanding. In game, it kind of felt like Riverwood 2.0, given how nestled it was with the forest around it. In reality, Falkreath is somewhat similar. There's comparatively more tree growth within the city limits than, say, Whiterun, and the general flatness of the city gives it a claustrophobic feeling that's…honestly not unlike Riften. Riften at least had a metric fuckton of noise to give it life, while this place is very quiet by comparison.

While our ultimate goal is Markarth, leaving immediately after arriving would attract unnecessary attention (of the 'why are you going to Markarth' variety) so we're staying for a few days.

We learn the city layout over the next day.

Falkreath's organization is a godawful mess, honestly. The best I can say is that it's like…I dunno, like a plate separate into fours. The center of the plate is the Jarl's palace and other city-crucial administrative buildings. The northwest quadrant is primarily industry and workshops, the northeast is the market district, the southeast is the temple ward, and the southwest is agriculture. Housing, as far as I can tell, is integrated into each quadrant, and comparatively most of the houses here are bigger than their Whiterun equivalent, making me think that it's pretty much all house/business combinations. As such, it's a bit hard to get a pop estimate, but most of the guards I've talked to seem to agree that Falkreath has about half the population of Whiterun, which…uh…I don't remember what it was.

Part of the reason for its comparatively low headcount is because the surrounding villages, strategic in their locations and well within half a day's walking distance, help provide what the city can't. This also contributes to the wall-less nature of the city, since…uh, well, if it got sieged it'd be dead, 'cuz it can't support itself. I…I have questions, not gonna lie, but we don't really have the time to answer them right now.

Either way, we're trying to not get involved in anything major, so as soon as we arrived near the city we swapped out equipment from looking like a mercenary company into looking like a trader caravan. Again, the fact that the girls of the group are all 100% eye-catching and turn heads wherever they go aside, we were pretty much left alone.

Over the three days of layover, we restocked on food. I sold some of my good quality rawmats for some pretty good coin and bought clothes and tools. Yes I make them, but I figured the girls would like to have something that isn't handmade, even if the quality is…uh, bad. I mean, it's about as good as what you'd get anywhere else, but compared to what I can do with my reality warping powers…yeah.

In any case, the clothier lady did her best to make something sellable, so I'm not going to judge. I will modify them to make them chafe less, though.

On the fourth day, we leave for Markarth.

If it feels like I'm glossing over Falkreath, it's because we are. Falkreath right now is basically one giant hotbed of opportunity, and we really, really want to avoid getting involved in anything that will distract us from our main quest.

…Which, in retrospect, is probably why we're being stopped at the west gate.

At the cusp of dawn, an Imperial Army Captain stopped us as we're caravanning with other traders headed west.

"Where are you off to?" He asks me. "In such a hurry?"

Well…"I don't know if 'a hurry' is what we're doing, but time is money and I'd rather not stay in a war." I shrug. I have Atra and Alma sitting next to me for bonus sympathy points.

"Is that so…" the Captain strokes his chin. "Where are you headed?"

No point lying about it. "Westward, we'll probably end up at Markarth soon enough."

"Is that so…" the Captain really likes stroking his chin. "In that case, I have a favor to ask of you." He jerks his head over to a small squad of five Imperial soldiers. "That lot lied about their age when they enlisted and couldn't keep their mouths shut after a pinch of ale." He scowls. "I'd like you to escort them back to Markarth."

Back to…are there really no other places nearby? "I mean, sure, but isn't that kind of far?"

The Captain leans in to whisper. "If they're dropped off at nearby camps, they'll more than likely be sent to fight in the front lines anyway. I have no intention of letting a band of young upstarts die with neither honor nor glory." He grimaces. "Too much of that already."

Mm…alright, I suppose. "We're going in the same direction, so we can keep an eye out, sure." Also I'm pretty sure I don't actually have a choice in this, so eh.

And with that, we're off!

Instead of traveling by ourselves, we're in a convoy of four wagons, and are consequently a bit slower. With us are three families emigrating and one trader headed home to somewhere east of Markarth.

With them, the bodyguards hired, and the five guys…the caravan's at twelve people not counting us. We're actually a really big party, now that I think about it…

Anyways.

…

[Travelling…]

…

It's a lot of woodlands. Like, Falkreath has a lot of trees and those trees really don't let up even as we start crossing into Markarth territory. Unlike the game, where…I've never gone from Markarth to Falkreath directly, so I don't really know the path.

Point is, here, there is a 'straight' path, so to speak, between the two cities. There are a lot of trees but it's obviously not a singular forest—the cobbled path we're taking goes through natural clearings, artificial clearings, small streams, creeks, so on, so forth.

It's very nice, not gonna lie. I can see why you're allowed to build a house here with Hearthfire. That other town, though. What's its name? The one deep in the marshes. Don't remember. Whatever. That place is dumb. Living there is dumb.

The trip is very calming most of the time, and very not calming during the some of the time where it's very obvious we're being stalked by wolves and bears from among the trees. Still, once they've established that they're not coming after us, then it's pretty nice to watch them walk along in the treelines. Also, again, giant fuckoff wolves.

It takes us the better part of three days to hit the foot of the Markarth Mountain ranges. The Reach.

It's…well, mountains in the distance, hills nearby, jagged edges everywhere, and…honestly a very well -maintained cobblestone roading winding through them hills. The sheer amount of dead corners and hiding spots is not making me feel very good about this, considering the…uh…Foreman? Foresworn. Forsworn?

Anyway.

…

As we travel, we do things.

So, first things: the soldiers…are kinda…I mean, their hearts are in the right place, I guess? Going by what they're telling us, they basically Fratboy-Drunk-Bad-DecisionMakingTime-d themselves into the army and are now regretting their…the process by which they came to their decision.

I guess.

In other words, they joined up while being heavily intoxicated (possibly under duress? That part wasn't very clear) and fessed up before they could be shipped off into a war. The Captain we saw earlier was lacking in manpower but the Fratboy Five seriously had nothing to offer, so he's willing to look the other way and pretend as if they had never enlisted (instead of, y'know, deserting).

I'm pretty sure there's a lot of detail being left out, but we…don't really care to find out, so if this is what they say happened, then so be it. Like…I'd say it takes talent to fail at being a meatshield, but as far as I can tell meatshielding doesn't seem to be a common Skyrim strategy of warfare, so eh.

Either way, they're honestly pretty good kids, bad decision making aside, so we're using them as sparring partners/dummies. Delphine's a good trainer by virtue of experience, and she helped break all of us of any bad habits we had, especially Jake.

That said, I get next to no training beyond the basics, because, as she puts it, "I'm not very good with educating war mages, so I don't want to teach you poorly."

She tells you as she beats the bejesus out of you every sparring match.

Which is fine. It gave me time to investigate that one spell Piers's squad used.

Per Jake's description, it was basically a bullet: a round propelled by a detonation. Now, fire is easy enough and the ice is also easy enough—any middling spellcaster is able to do something like that. Combining the two…is a little harder. Combining the two and using it responsibly, though.

The challenge, and the thing I'm most interested in, is the whole "don't blow up until I need you to blow up" thing. Fireballs technically fit that bill, but they're not controlled.

So, the first step was to just recreate the spell per Jake's descriptions.

It takes roughly the time between going from Helgen to Falkreath to figure it out.

Mine is probably not the same makeup as Piers, but it gets the job done. I have a tack of ice (in the general shape of a golf Tee) encased in a ward that acts as a shell. Behind the tack is a ward ball that encases a very high-quality fire spell.

The Tee is also like two feet long. Jake said that this spell was used to hit someone with an arc action.

After development, we test fire it during the first available camp time.

It flies upwards in an arc for about ten feet, drops dangerously into the dirt, bounces like a Styrofoam bat, tips over, and then the explosion goes off. So, no.

…Hm.

Test model two, about a day later.

It flies upwards in an arc for about twenty feet, and then the explosion goes off, and the thing sails into the sky, never to be seen again. Better, but…hmm.

Test model three, at the foot of the Reach.

So, the problem so far is that the wards don't really do what I want them to do, soooo…

Model three uses no wards. I was using wards because the spells wear them out and so they can actually be used, but obviously it wasn't working.

Instead, the new shape is basically a diamond, like a traditional RPG ice spear. The back is hollow, with high flames and compressed air.

…It doesn't even bother angling down.

…dang, this is hard.

For reference: this spell took Piers about eight years to get to the point where it can be reliably used and taught to others.

…well, whatever. I learned something useful through experimentation. I can use Physics to make spells more powerful. Now, according to Nerem, this kind of stuff is very MP-heavy, so it's only very, very situationally useful, with most other spells having better utility.

I, of course, have a magic pool of incredible size, so cost is not really a factor. If this gets me a better first strike, then it's all good. Likewise, I don't particularly need a line skipping strike of this specific type…I wonder, though.

…clouds are moisture, right? and thunderstorms are basically just energy? Hrm. Food for thought.

More importantly, though…wards can be strengthened or weakened given the right spin, and spells can be used to break through wards given the right spin.

Ergo, spells can detonate later than needed given the right spin. I imagine fireball works along this line of thought, though probably not the same way.

Buuut right now I don't know fireball, so I can only create my own. Well, I have scrolls, but it's not the same.

My thought is this: from a sheer physics standpoint, more energy = better. Magic gets to subvert some of the rules. Wards, in particular, can actually withstand a lot of sheer energy. Skin spells are very good at deflecting kinetic energy, and wards…uh…other energy.

I'm really wishing I took college level physics at this point, not gonna lie.

Either way, the goal is to have Fireball™. Like, not that crappy fireball in-game. Not even the fireball we saw back fighting the Stormcloaks, but like, the Fireball we all dream about when we play D&D. The Game Changer. The Wizard's Middle Finger, the…uh…y'know. That one.

You get the idea. I'll have to think over how it works.

…

[About a week into the Reach]

…

Markarth, from our current position, is around ten days away on foot.

Not gonna lie, the road to Markarth is actually quite quaint, if a little bit sinister. Villages dot the mountainside, and small communities revolving around mining and ranching are everywhere. Most of those places, however, seem tailored around the main road.

…That's not a very good description. Let me try again.

Most of the places, especially the mining villages, seem tailored to be…encampments, more than a place to live. I say this because of all of the non-agricultural focused villages that I've seen so far in Whiterun, Riften, Falkreath…all of them had some limited amount of self-sustaining capability. Here, it's a lot less so, even when taking into account the inherently hostile terrain.

If I had to guess, I'd say that the villages without any notable form of food production are settlements built by the Empire for digging.

"That's about right." Esbern says when we discuss this at one point. "Markarth provides most of the iron and steel for Skyrim. As such, holding onto it is of extreme import to the throne, despite any threats, local or otherwise."

Speaking of threats.

"Halt!"

We're accosted by three dudes in Imperial armor. Three more dudes in fur armor are dragging away naked corpses. Gee I wonder what happened here.

"Is there a problem?" Delphine asks lightly as we start taking defensive positions. There are a lot of us. I will note that we keep our weapons hidden unless needed, so there's a bit of 'look at this defenseless family suddenly bringing out all the weapons' going on.

"We, uh…" The Leader falters at the numerical difference. "…no, nothing, we're looking for, uh…"

"Who were those people you're dragging away?" Eric asks. "Seems strange to be so…lightly equipped." The morning now is rather crisp and cool, terrible weather for being naked in.

"Ah, shit." The Leader seethes. "Move it!" And then turns tail and flees now now we can't have that

We raise our hands up into the sky, and electricity crackles between them.

Aaaand HURL

The running soldiers see a pillar of lightning sail in front of them, hit the ground, and explode in a shower of blue sparks. Quite understandably, they stop running.

…in retrospect I realize I didn't have much of a reason to stop them.

"Why you runnin'?" Jake asks, his sword drawn. "We're with Imperial soldiers too, y'know?" He gestures to the five.

Now a bit spooked, the running soldiers…"soldiers"…draw swords.

"…you know you could've just lied about being soldiers and we probably would've believed you, right?" Jake sighs. "Alright."

We murder the fake soldiers and move on.

I kid. We brutalize the fake soldiers, free them from their armor, tie them up, and then drag them with us. We also look for any identifiers from the dead real soldiers, and find dogtags. Wooden dogtags, more or less, but dogtags nonetheless.

Afterwards, it takes us until nightfall before we come to a somewhat town-ish village (in the sense that it has more stuff than just the bare essentials for the people living there) and drop off the masquerading bandits to a small imperial outpost. They get put on a wagon to be shipped off to Markarth, and we get a small pouch of gold for our troubles.

…

Nothing else of note happens for the rest of the trip, and we arrive at Markarth.

I mean, we train, talk, learn, camp, and feel the unending gaze of the embittered local freedom fighters whenever we go to sleep, but nothing serious happens.

The fratboy five turned out to be pretty enthusiastic learners. They're actually very good at bouncing ideas off of one another and quickly figuring out what works and what doesn't. With some time they'll be pretty kickass mages, but uh…y'know, after they get back to wherever we're supposed to escort them they'll stop being my problem.

Anyway.

…

[Markarth]

So…Markarth is probably the most different feeling city of all the ones we've seen so far. By virtue of it being hewn into the mountain, it therefore has the most vertical feeling. Like Solitude, the walls of the city aren't indicative of the size of the city itself.

The following information is collected over a period of a few days.

The city is…how do I say this. It's like Riften, but more extreme. Most of it is built into and is an extension of the upper parts of a Dwemer ruin. No worries of things randomly appearing, though: most infrastructure that leads deeper into the live parts of the ruin have long been plucked out and repurposed into other things.

Markarth is built into a series of mountain ranges, with the tallest (for the city) acting as half wall, half repurposed ruins. The terrain is naturally hilly, and some of the hills are more 'small mountain' than hill. A river runs from one of the mountains down into the city, bisecting it (ish) and going underground near the city walls. It comes out at a point later in rather high volumes, which is neat. There are a series of nets in the water to stop people from going through, but falling in and getting pumped out is fortunately only painful rather than deadly. The river itself is at best two meters wide, so it's a good source of water and water power for the city as needed. Unfortunately, it does get progressively more and more dirty towards the bottom as a result of the city using it for, y'know, vital services, and the state of the river more or less denotes the relative power divide within the city.

Markarth can be divided loosely into three sections and holy hell are these sections mixed. The divide that's shown in game is also true in real life (in the sense that the city has two 'halves' of services and industry) but that particular divide is a lot harder to see play out when, y'know, people need houses to live.

The top area, the 'Peak', encompasses the higher areas of the ranges. It houses the palace and the keep, along with other essential city services and houses for the rulership. It's very visible from everywhere within the city, for obvious reasons.

The middle, the 'Range', is basically nobility, and their businesses if applicable. It's basically…if you have to walk upwards for any longer than five minutes, you'd be within the 'Range'. It's arguably the region that makes defining things the hardest by the sheer virtue of its ambiguity.

The bottom, the 'Mud', is everyone else. Markarth is very vertical and very dense, kind of like Riften's underground but, y'know, above ground. Getting around is simultaneously very hard and also very easy, because all of the major landmarks of the city are easily above ground level, but pathing is a bitch. Notably, despite the lowlands being referred to as 'mud', the locals, nobles included, don't seem to be bothered by the connotations. If anything, being mixed with the mud is a bit of a note of pride.

As I mentioned earlier, this division is pretty loose, since Markarth…as far as I can tell the city killed every city planner that ever set foot in here, or else they died of heart attacks upon seeing the city's layout, 'cuz there ain't any. In many ways, the remote location of the city is what's making it unassailable, because it's like two firebombs away from turning into a massive torch, nevermind how almost all the houses are stone.

Anyways. Though labyrinthine and migraine-inducing, Markarth's structure is loosely organized around three points: the palace, the temple, and the Dungeon.

By Dungeon I obviously mean the Dwemer ruins that are still unexplored underneath the city, and…honestly? Markarth is very much so a Dungeon hub world. Like, it's basically the city of an Etrian Odyssey game. As you move closer towards the ruins, the services being offered more and more tilt towards pawn shops, weaponry, inns, etc, to the point where the area that leads directly towards the dungeon can be easily mistaken as an open-air flea market. Lots of adventurers trying to unload what they found inside the dungeon for a better deal than what they could get at a pawn shop, or else people looking for parties. The occasional body-less funeral to help keep everyone grounded, etc.

Incidentally, about a month ago the city closed down the entrance to the dungeon in response to a sudden influx of frost spiders, plus the big one that you deal with in the game. In game it's closed "until further notice" for the player to handle. Here, the dungeon stayed closed for about…eight hours? Before the adventurers got themselves organized and, y'know, murderhobo-ed their way past the spiders in about five minutes and torched the place sparkly clean.

Like yeah there were a few deaths but there was just too much money to be made. It should be noted that, unlike the Riften expedition we went on, the expeditions into the ruins do not have a centralized organization, which means that the casualty rate is incredibly high. Fortunately, actual fatalities tend to be low, since, y'know, without that centralization there's less of a reason for a team to stay and duke it out for riches™ if they meet something dangerous, so generally groups will turn tail at the first sign of a motivated Dwemer defense.

Overall, I'm not sure how the ruin's been explored with regards to Adventure progress versus Noble Progress. That said, judging by how most of the tales from inns tend to be of the 'untold riches' type, I assume that means successful deep dives are few and far between. Makes sense, if you think about the difficulties of looting while facing pressure from a literal Dwemer Centurion.

Which leads us to the economic state of the city.

Markarth primarily exports rawmats and finished metal goods, there's a lot of Dwemer stuff here, a surprising amount of Orcish stuff too. It's a food importer, to nobody's surprise. The city's economic engines are more or less taxed in three brackets—the 'explorer' trade, the 'metals' trade, and the 'shinies' trade. Each bracket is pretty much ruled by a powerful noble family.

Which gets us to the Silverbloods. The Silverbloods control the shiny trade, and a branch of their house, ostensibly independent, controls the metals trade. A different house holds the explorer trade, and the only reason why the Silverbloods haven't made their move yet is because Adventurers are a rowdy bunch and insert a million other reasons why hourly wages is more reliable than an underground death lottery here. Long story short, not enough money, too much risk.

Either way, the Silverbloods are in control here, to the point of having a large section of the guard in their wallet, so making strange moves in regards to metalwork would attract unwanted attention. Like, a lot of unwanted attention. Best case scenario, we do business with them for the foreseeable future. Worst case scenario…we do 'business' with them without our input.

In somewhat unrelated news, we're going to use Markarth as the base of operations for the next, and arguably more time consuming, part of our search.

So…we…don't actually know what the temple looks like from the outside. Initially I thought that we could just look for, y'know, the giant floating Forsworn floating town that surrounded the temple, but as it turned out on our travels floating water structures were surprisingly common and they also move around a lot, so that's a wash. Alternatively, we can also navigate via the rivers, but the Reach has a lot of rivers, and, again, in-game versus real world discrepancies makes our geographical knowledge next to useless.

Ergo, we're going to open up an inn. There's a recently vacated one about two streets deep from the main path towards the Dungeon. The position is honestly not great as far as inns go (hence why it was abandoned) but it's the only one we can afford and not have it look hella suspicious. It still has old furniture that we (I) can 'fix up' and make presentable.

The general plan is this, in case anyone asks: Delilah (Delphine) and Elbert (Esbern) are retired scholars from Cyrodill, here to look into information concerning an old site of the Akaviri somewhere within the Reach as a kind of retirement pastime, since they're no longer in active service. Warwolf as a group is too recognizable to disguise (Jake in particular) so we're hired by them to be a bodyguard-slash-live-in-servants kind of situation, with the whole running the inn business as a front so we don't have to go out and kill shit all the time and have a place to stay when the oldies get tired.

Honestly? Kind of weird that we're disguising the fact that our inn is a disguise by openly declaring that our inn is a disguise. It's clever in a really convoluted way.

…I'm coming to the realization that I should've probably sold our property in Riften before leaving. Oh well.

The Gro-Kalas are going to the Orcish…stronghold? Nearby. They're doing something that they're not comfortable telling me, and I'm pretty ok with not prying. I trust them, if only because, statistically speaking, me and Jake are way the fuck more likely to get into trouble before they have a chance at selling us out. Like seriously we walked into Markarth and were immediately recognized by the town guards, I mean c'mon.

Erik will be running with Byrnjolf's crew to make some sense of the seedy underbelly of the city. He's got the charm of a country boy, which Byrnjolf assures me is useful depending on how it's done. I…I don't really know what he's doing. Byrnjolf, I mean. He's very willing to help us and does so with enthusiasm and a warm smile, and that rattles me to no end.

Oh well, if push comes to shove I'm pretty sure I can come out on top in a firefight, so…keeping myself optimistic.

…

[The Inn]

…

Jake's calling it the Rose Bell. Saves me the trouble of coming up with a name, and it sounds nice, so we're going with it. The insignia is the picture of a red flower-like thing decorating a plate with bread n'stuff. Took us a few tries because without including food imagery it looked depressingly like we were a brothel.

Jake's inspiration: We're outsiders, we're aliens, Roswell, Rose Bell. Yes.

It's a two-story building with a basement. The first floor is the inn, the second floor is for guests, and the basement is for staff. A bit of a problem, because we have a fairly sizable crew and this place is nowhere near large enough for all of us if we wish to maintain it as a business.

Positionally, it's basically a townhouse save for the fact that it's technically not connected to its neighbors. The front door opens directly to the small street that's about wide enough for four people to walk shoulder to shoulder. It's definitely not wide. The back opens to the small, muddy center that this block of buildings all…face…? I'm not sure how to describe it.

Like, from a bird's eye view, imagine a rectangle, and the inside of the rectangle is a hollow, technically speaking. The center area is definitely not large, and our building is one of the more egregious violators of that middle space. For context…if a person came out of the back door and ran forward at top speed, he'd hit the wall of the opposite building in about ten strides. It's not big.

So, first order of business: renovations.

Time of renovations: one week.

Fuck yeah Replace™. By digging deep into the floor and reinforcing the walls with stone and steel, the basement is now three stories, complete with magic lights and bedrooms for all of us. Sleeping underground is going to be disorienting, though, since natural light is so reliant as a timekeeping measure. Thus, each hallway has a grandfather clock to help keep time. I'm the best blacksmith around and I can't calibrate a fine instrument worth a damn, so the clocks are a bit off. Still, not like we have a strict adherence to a timetable, so it works fine.

With the basement earmarked for the crew, the above ground level is, therefore, beds for rent. Through a mix of carpentry and magic all the furniture have been upgraded to a level where they're comfortable and secure without a feeling of opulence. The rooms themselves have also been rearranged, so we have fewer total beds but a higher quality per room. Instead of each room being a closet, they're now equipped with a queen-size bed, plus table, chest, cabinet, and wash basin. No mirror. The roof, like our compound in Riften, is also switched to have a bit of a walking area with Brynjolf-approved, anti-intrusion railings, and cloth lines and pins for people to hang up their laundry if they have any.

Downstairs…the old arrangement isn't bad, but we're designing the place first and foremost for espionage, not profit, so the total amount of seats is greatly reduced. The bar remains…ish? And gets moved. The stairs up and down get separated and moved. New walls, old walls get torn down, pillars…so much to do, and so much mana to do it with.

Brynjolf, upon seeing how we're, y'know, doing what is functionally a whole building remodel like we're moving around modules in a videogame goes "are you sure you're not actually a god in disguise?"

The end result: with the main door being the 'south' of the building…there are now two sets of four-people booths flanking both sides of that wall, attached to the wall. Attached to the east wall are two more booths, with the staircase upwards on the northeast corner of the building. The center of the floor are two structural support beams which…y'know, not touching those. They get surrounded by a boxy flowerpot to help fill in the space a little.

I call them 'booths' but they're more like…kotatsu? The booths are less of a modern booth with fixed seats and more of a low table with cushions, separated by wooden barriers with steel reinforcements. There's plenty of space to lounge and, more importantly, space to put down gear without worrying about losing it. If needed, each booth has a clothline and a heavy curtain they can draw for privacy. The curtain has a piece of soulstone embedded inside with Muffle, and by virtue of being like ten pounds it blocks out sound fairly well.

The bar sits in the center of the building but is skewed a little to the west, so as to create an obvious barrier between the customer side and staff side of the floor. We have stools, because, y'know, bar. No alcohol yet, though, gotta buy that.

The north side of the building is reserved as a kitchen area, with all the amenities you can hope to find for a modern Skyrim cooking experience. Food and drink storage is here too, with a root cellar and semi-magically chilled meat and veggie cellar fridges. The eastern part of the dividing wall not occupied by the bar or its stools is the open window (plus bell) so the kitchen can send out the food.

The west wall is basically just the staircase down to the staff sleeping quarters. I thought about making an area for people to chill after hours, but doing so underground is depressing, so that got scrapped. Also, the armory and my workshop are underground. I don't plan to sell shit, though. Silverbloods™.

A portion of the second level is converted into a water tank that holds water for both the kitchen and the fire suppression system. It gets refilled via actively casting magic. Like I have a lot of magic. I plan to do room maintenance as well, since it's easier to just Replace wear and tear on things like bedding and furniture than it is to clean it manually.

The upstairs has ten rooms in total. Downstairs, eight rooms per basement level, for two levels. Both sets of rooms are comparable in furnishing, though the crew quarters have more stuff and more room for customized stuff, for obvious reasons. Each rental room is essentially a Skyrim variant of a modern hotel room, with the large bed, plus mattress, bedding, the works. I've taken the time to look around and set the prices to be about comparable with the local standard. Everything screams form over function, but there's enough space in the room for a group of four to sit down and discuss things, though it'd be somewhat cramped.

The inside of the building in general is a mix of finely laid wood slats (for disguise) and a half-inch wall of solid steel between us and the baddies outside. The first and second floors are also equipped with a fire suppressions system, which is just a series of pipes that lead to sprinklers. Each sprinkler is stoppered by a small wad of a material that will melt with exposure to an open flame (Replace™) and…honestly will probably not actually stop a fire, but will likely keep it contained enough so that we can actively put it out.

The outside…we really have no space to do anything with the outside, and major changes beyond what we've done already will draw undue attention, so after a few redraws we settled on one fairly sizable window plus flowers for each booth. The windowsill extends inwards to make use of the thickened walls and gives a good sense of space. They lack glass (too noticeable for a building in the Mud) so instead we have more weighted curtains that can be pulled aside.

For lockup and security…obviously, we have that steel building armor. The windows are secured from the inside first by wooden panels (for disguise) and then rolldown steel bars for actual strength, like the kind you'd see in a mall. The front and back doors also have those rolldown steel bars because the last thing I want is an ambush that actually gets in.

Anyway.

Staffing-wise, we'll be hiring a cook and a barmaid. Mixing drinks doesn't really happen in Skyrim, so a bartender isn't strictly necessary, which means that, depending on circumstances, any of us can man the bar as a kind of 'keeper' for the building if the others need or want to be somewhere else. Per our cover story, it's decided that we're going to be very open about the fact that the inn is a cover story for two old scholar types and we're basically doing it for the funsies, and that way nobody will be too surprised about the staff constantly rotating. Well, we'll be open for those who ask.

…side note, never thought that I'd be developing a menu in Skyrim. I don't know what I feel more weirded out by: the fact that I have to make a recipe book, or that I was actually excited by it. In general cooking lavish single meals isn't really a thing for Skyrim, and I have no interest in shaking up that particular boat.

For the record: we're planning to stock only local alcohol, along with whatever Mell can think of for mass production as a building special (alchemist). We're going to have simple breakfast/lunch menus and a reasonably diverse dinner menu, because that's generally when people come in to eat and talk.

Nothing too exciting food-wise, sadly. Can't have it be too hard to make and, even though we're obvious that it's a disguise, we also have to be mercenary about it turning a profit, so just shrugging and 'mooching' is no good. There's…a surprising amount of hoops to jump through for the sake of not being noticed by Silverbloods. Or, at least, not being noticed more than we probably already are.

Final result: The Rose Bell increased the local land value by, like, at least triple. Despite trying his damndest to keep it reasonably spartan, the inn easily qualifies as lodging for lesser nobility. The only reason why it doesn't is, quite literally, because it lacks the requisite decorative bells and whistles.

…

…

Ultimately, we opened up on day ten of us owning the building (around two weeks living in Markarth in total) after hiring a young Breton as our chef, her friend (Nord) as a sous chef, and a Redguard lad as the waiter. The two girls are ex-adventurers on the bottom of the bell curve. Their party got wiped except for them and in their retreat they basically lost all their shit, so…rock and a hard place. The dude's recently separated from his family due to some kind of arrangement and he's come to the 'big city' to make his fortune. The girls are 19, he's 17.

…also, very interesting dichotomy of how the world's been treating them recently, no?

…

[The Business as Usual]

…

Lodging of a decent quality and good food is rather hard to come by in Markarth, so by the end of the first week we were full up on long term residents, for a given value of 'long'. Foot traffic is low, as expected, but I hope word of mouth will attract the type of visitors that we're hoping to get—the curious kind with an interest in stories and rumors.

Despite foot traffic being 'low', the building is basically full up every day from the third day onwards.

We have a bit of a rotation of bartenders, with Mell being the crowd favorite and the T-sisters a close second. With everyone everywhere all the time, it's hard to keep track. Let's see…

Aria, Delphine, and Esbern are officially looking for the site, with Delphine pursuing a scholar track and Aria a…royalty? Track? She's more or less poking around within the Silverblood's turf and is the reason that we're taking precautions just in case.

Brynjolf, his posse, and Erik are unofficially looking for the site, looking around the seedier parts as they planned.

Jake's helping Aria as needed, and occasionally goes out by himself to the dungeon to mingle and treasure dive.

Mell's mostly sticking to the Inn, and is usually the Rose in question. She sometimes takes the time to do shopping and, with her alchemist acumen, has developed the in-house special, which we…very creatively named a Rosee. I'm too lazy to look for an e with the little mark over its head, and honestly, we're spelling it as 'Rosee' because it doesn't look as immediately out-of-place as the e with the mark.

As in, 'Ro-zei'.

According to Jake it's a sweetened wine of some kind. I dunno, I don't drink. Jake also said it's 100% not like an Earth Rosee. We're just appropriating the name.

…and then also about a week later after developing the Rosee Jake told her offhand that you can make alcohol with potatoes and now we also have vodka, so…that's a thing. I'm pretty damn sure we're not the only ones with vodka in Markarth, 'cuz people are creative, but we're the only ones who can get it on the cheap. In related news, Mell's now very good at Transmute and, to our great surprise, has picked up Replace. To the best of my memory we never learned how to 'make' people who are not us pick traits from the table, so…yeah. Gonna be looking into that.

Either way, Mell's the best. For the record, though, we still go out and wholesale purchase the more standardly available Skyrim drinks. I think she uses Replace on them for better quality, though, which…makes me think that she's probably very familiar with alcohol and the qualities that make them desirable for consumption. She also gets weirdly defensive when we complement her skills in relation to alcohol, so I think that's going to be something that's going to pop up for us later.

Like if she ends up having ran away from the Blackbriars or something I'm not even gonna be surprised.

Lessee…

Everyone else is split along those lines: Dungeons, Shopping, Inns, depending on the day, depending on the mood, so I won't go into too much detail. We're very free here while we're, y'know, stuck waiting on leads.

Rose Bell aside, the street itself is a little livelier as a result of us being here. Like, I don't need to be told that I basically turned what was once a squalor shack into the most upscale inn in the Mud. The most tangible nearby benefit is that the other businesses on the street get a notable boost.

For the record, besides us, there are twenty other businesses in this little street. Most are small eateries catering to the Ruin Diver Trade, but there are few shops for stuff here and there. They're all family owned (or at least appear so) and the increase in business is very good for their sense of financial security. As an added bonus, we're helping out with refitting the local floor planning and redecoration. Mostly changing the layout a bit to give a better sense of 'space' to help drive up customer retention and throughput, a little redecoration here and there, organized cleaning crew for the street itself, value of storefront present and organization, etc.

After a while, it gets to the point where our little street gets its own name, too. By virtue of the fact that the centerpiece is us, the street is now referred to as the Garden Nook, and every night it gets quite busy. I'm very proud of it.

The Silverbloods?

For clarification: I do not believe for a moment that we'll be able to escape the notice of the Silverbloods. I do, however, believe that we can build enough of a reputation so that when they approach us, it will be not on the terms of being out-and-out enemies. That's why I'm ok with doing this.

…

And so, time passes like a filler in an anime.

…

…

[Event 1: Undaily Occurrence, 3rd Person Camera]

…

It was another sunny day in Markarth, and the city rowdy as usual. The streets leading to the ruins of Nchuand-Zel were as busy as any other day…possibly busier, actually. A few parties found their way into a hitherto untouched section of the ruins and managed to disable a part of the automated defenses, allowing for plenty of time to strip the section for a few hours before they triggered back on.

One such party was leaving the grounds with considerably higher spirits than they had when they went in, a full week ago. Leading the Altmer (High Elf) Archer and the small Argonian Rogue, the Imperial Swordsman faces the shops of the Mud with a spring in his step.

"Wow, one stack of scrolls and you're over the moon." The Archer, Sheela, laughs. "Think you can get some good coin for that, Rich?"

Rich(ard)'s smile doesn't leave his face. "Well, I know a place or two that might buy this." He pats the rolls of scrolls. "Never underestimate a willing noble or his magically inclined compatriots."

…An hour later, he's a bit less jovial about his prospects. Of his scrolls, he's only managed to sell two.

"At least that covers the cost of us doing business for the day." Sheela points out. Scrolls were a mixed bag in terms of loot. While easy to carry, they also damage easily and can be rendered ineffective for a variety of reasons. As Richard's party lacked a mage or anyone with the relevant training, they were therefore at a solid disadvantage when trying to pawn off these items.

Rich scratches his head. "Yeah, well…" he stares at the exchange shop in front of him, swamped as it was with other adventurers just like him: successful, but nothing overwhelmingly so. "We can always go to the royal exchange." He says, defeated. The royal exchanges were always willing to take stock, but they paid massively below street prices.

The party's Rogue has a thought. "The Bell's open right now, yah?" The little Argonian named Miiter scratches her chin. "I heard the boss there is a powerful mage. Maybe he'll be interested?"

Rich makes a face. "Doesn't mean he wants a scroll…but I guess it's worth a try." He thinks on it. "Actually, yeah, let's do that. He can identify these scrolls for us so I can probably get a better price on them. Good thinking, Miiter."

Pronounced 'meter'.

Miiter's tail flicks with excitement. "I want their sweets too!"

"Aaand that's why we're going there." Sheela laughs. "Seriously, Mit, you spent all your coin in the Nook before we left."

Miiter scoffs. "Yeah, 'cuz it's fun there. If I'm gonna die I'm gonna do it happy."

The life of a dungeon diving adventurer is rough: the ruins are fraught with dangers, and the relative safety of the city is heavily tied to the weight of one's wallet. Many say they prefer to be out in the wild, going into ruins outside the immediate jurisdictions of a city gate, but those who tried to do so would quickly understand why such expeditions by individuals are few and far between. While the narrow and dark alleys of the Mud may be seedy, they were at least a sign of civilization and a little stability.

The party chatters along as they head towards the Garden Nook, one such oasis of relative safety and, surprisingly enough, one of the more welcoming ones. Seemingly springing from out of nowhere, the narrow, ignorable alley that once would have struggled to see a hundred people a week was now almost suffocatingly packed, with every shop doing a roaring business providing not just the necessities for daily living, but also an actual, near tangible sense of safety and comfort.

"Busy as always." Rich says as he sees a plaque with 'Garden Nook' written on it, hammered in place just last week on the sides of a much older-looking building. "Gotta say, this place makes me relax every time I come here." He says with an audible sigh of relief once they enter the alley. It was comparatively darker than the wider street they had exited, but felt immeasurably more like home.

Miiter nods. "Hard to believe it just appeared like that." She waves to Alita and her family, the ones manning the meat skewer shop that's practically the face of the Nook, at least on this side. "What was the story again?"

"Behind the Bell?" Richard says as the group stops to look at some trinkets. "Some rich learned rich folk of Cyrodiil wanted to look for something here in the Reach, and not all the mercs they hired are cut out for that shit, so they set the place up." He trades out his busted bracers for a pair of shoddily repaired ones at this pawn shop, along with five Septims for the privilege of not needing to buy new armor. "Hey, these aren't bad."

"And then they were so successful at running an Inn they revitalized an entire street." Sheela finishes off the story. "Nobody really believes it, but results are results." They see the Bell in short order. "Looks like you're not the only one who wanted to sell stuff to the Bell's master."

Richard shrugs. "Hey, smart decisions are made by smart people."

Miiter rolls her eyes. "Uh huh." Her tail flicks in excitement regardless.

They mingle with the waiting crowd and, eventually, end up inside the Rose Bell.

"Home sweet home." Richard says as he slides up to the bar with his party and notices the lady in charge. "Hey there, Mell." He winks at her.

Mell glances at him. "Too many faces in the past hour." She says after a moment. "What's on your mind?" Also he hasn't been here for like a week plus.

Richard looks around for the Bell's personnel. Mell aside, the two waiters were about to drop dead, and the cooks are, as usual, out of sight, and if the speed of dishes coming out were any indication, working like mad. "Is the master in today?" All the other seats, makeshift or otherwise, were filled. It's not the Bell if it's any emptier than this. He decides with satisfaction.

"Ash? He's downstairs." Mell says, serving Alto Wine like it's going out of style. "Is it urgent?" She hands an empty bottle to a small boy (new hire), who quickly delivers it to the alcohol stockpile and returns with a replacement.

The boy's trying to earn some Septims on the side and honestly the Bell needs the extra hands.

"Ah, well." Richard looks around. He's pretty sure at least five others who were already here had the same thought. "I can wait for him to show up."

Mell shrugs. "Suit yourself."

One of the patrons had his fill and excuses himself, leaving his payment on the table. Almost immediately his spot is taken up by someone else. "Boss, one Beil at five, please." The new patron says with a politeness that very much so doesn't match his otherwise rugged and weathered appearance.

Mell nods. "Alright, give me a second."

Miiter frowns. "Bell? Five?" The man pronounces it as 'Bei-el', which Miiter does not catch. While she frequented the Nook with unbridled enthusiasm and the Bell more so, she was, understandably, not familiar with the alcohol scene.

Richard grins. "a Rose Bell specialty." They watch as Mell pulls out a rectangular bottle and a small glass, designed to be comfortably held with only three fingers. She pours a small amount from the bottle and fills the rest of the glass with something else.

About a fifth is from the bottle. Miiter notes. So that's what the five meant.

The patron takes the glass and downs it in one go. "Oh, that bites." He laughs while he coughs.

His next seat neighbor laughs with him. "Two weeks in and you're still just at five, Elliot?" He pats Elliot on the back with aggressive vigor.

"Fuck off." Elliot grins. "Five's more than enough for me." He orders something much lighter for his second drink, along with snacks.

"That's the Wolf Beil." Richard says of the clear bottle. "The Rose Bell's specialty, and probably the strongest drink in all of Skyrim."

It's just vodka.

"And it's so strong they have to dial it down, hmm?" Miiter muses. "Impressive, I guess."

"Nothing else like it." Elliot laughs, making Miiter wrinkle her nose. "I've had something similar out in Dawnstar and lemme tell ya, this?" He taps the empty shot glass. "Dawnstar's got nothing on this."

The group chats with the surrounding patrons on their comings and goings for a little longer until Ash appears from downstairs. After a brief conversation, Richard procures some of the scrolls that he had been planning to sell.

"Master, this is in thanks for this." Richard says and pats the sword at his waist. "This thing's saved my life more times than I can count down there."

"Oh yeah? Glad to hear it." Ash says. The sword was a good piece, and he basically gave it away on a random lottery night for the Bell. "Hope you got some success out of it."

"That we did." Richard says with a sly smile. "Perhaps you'd be interested in these?" He procures the rest of his scrolls that he had stowed away, just in case.

Still next seat over after like an hour, Elliot laughs, red in the face. "You got some balls!"

Ash smiles as well. "Yeah, I can appreciate a good sense of business." He takes the scrolls and scans them quickly. "Hm."

The rest of the business deal goes by without further incident. Richard spent a little more coin at the Bell than he was expecting, purely on a whim, of course, and ultimately came out of it a bit richer and, somewhat surprisingly, with a room at the Bell to boot. Given that the group had been roughing it for the better part of a week, they decided to immediately head upstairs to see their new accommodations.

"Oh, wow, this place is impressive." Sheela whistles. "No wonder it's asking for fifty Septims a night." She puts her hands on the big queen-sized bed. "This is really soft." She makes a soft leap onto the bed. Ash had given them the room in exchange for a scroll, and was willing to let them have it for a good six days at no charge.

If there was any divisiveness about the Bell, it was the fact that their rooms are way overpriced and the business model too exclusive. Those who have slept in them were of the mind that the price was well worth it for the effort, and those who have not believed them overpriced and overblown.

Sheela, once in the 'overpriced' camp, changed her allegiance upon hitting the sheets.

"Oh, my god." Richard says as he mimics her.

Miiter does the same, giving out a rattling from her throat, an Argonian, or at least a Miiter-ian, sign of comfort. After the initial bliss faded, she noticed Richard looking at her. "What?"

"Nothing, just…" A strangely sad smile plays on Richard's face. "…just glad we're all alive."

"…you're damn right about that." Sheela agrees, and fixes her gaze square onto Richard's face.

Richard, for his part, thinks of last night. "That really appeared from out of nowhere."

'That' was a Dwarven Centurion, a towering mass of lost technology and menace, and, true to his words, had appeared out of nowhere.

Richard could still hear it. Could still feel it.

"Sheela! We're running!" He had said, his eyes completely fixed on the giant metallic bastardization of a man.

"Mother of god, what's that thing doing all the way up here!?" Sheela had said, letting loose arrows into its chest with zero effect, more just as a panic reaction than anything else.

The Centurion had shown up while they were camping with at least thirty others. Safety in numbers. It was alone. It was dark. Richard…he knew, logically, that they were camped in an open area for vision and ease of retreat, but the only thing on his mind was its metallic mask-like face.

The other adventurers, upon seeing the Centurion literally sneak up on them, had fanned out and counterattacked, if only to buy time. Centurions are equipped with massive weapons, meant to fight…something. Fuck knows. The only thing proven that night was that their weapon was also terribly effective on humans.

There's a blur in Richard's memory, in the moment where the Centurion's hammer comes down on the head of…someone. It's all a blur. A haze.

However, he does remember Miiter. At the time they were not a party: Miiter was attached to a different party and, as circumstances permitted, Richard and Sheela attached themselves to that bigger party. Miiter was a good girl, and for a man in his thirties, it wasn't hard for Richard to see her as an adopted daughter of a sort.

That's why, when Miiter fell and the Centurion rounded on her, he abruptly stopped his retreat and charged forward. Not that he was the only one.

"Oh like hell you will!" Sheela had also stopped her retreat and, despite her weapon being utterly ineffective, stood her ground and fired shot after shot into its head.

Richard distinctly remembers charging forward into the range of the Centurion with his Warhammer and bringing it onto a joint of the Centurion. He also remembers the Centurion shaking him off without much of an effort, but the swing brought Miiter enough time to scramble up and disengage.

He remembers, idly, that he lost his warhammer and would need an expensive replacement. Curses.

Even after getting away from the Centurion, their night wasn't over. Dwarven Guardian spheres were always around, and that night they were especially active. One such Guardian had targeted Sheela. Sheela, bow broken and quiver empty, was busy supporting Miiter. Besides, Richard knew his wife well, and was damn sure that she wasn't about to just run from that thing no matter the circumstances.

Which was why he threw the only weapon he had left at her. "Sheela!"

By chance, he had stumbled on what Mell called one of Ash's 'Acts of Whim', and, surprisingly enough, managed to win a strange sword. It was a steel short sword in make and appearance, but weighted oddly…and heavily. It was carefully crafted and decorated and definitely had an edge, but there was really no sense in using it in an actual fight. He kept it around as a lucky charm, because, let's face it, he did get it in an act of luck.

Sheela, for her part, remembers catching the blade and using it to deflect the incoming strikes of the Guardian with it, and being rather surprised after the fact that she wasn't hit. She stares at the sword, lying as it is on the bed.

She remembers one particular swing from the Guardian and frowns. It…was it just her memory being hazy? Because she clearly remembers it being aimed at Miiter, and…

There's a knock at their door.

"Oh, uh…" The three of them quickly peel themselves from the bed, and Richard hurries over to the door and opens it for Ash. "Sir." Richard says, "Thank you for giving us lodgings, I appreciate it to no end."

"Hey, man, it's a part of the business." Ash waves it off. "Now, as we agreed." He closes the door behind him and snaps his fingers.

Instantly, Sheela could feel the hairs on her neck stand up. He just casted something big.

Per their agreement, the two shared everything they experienced pertaining to the gifted sword.

"…And…" Sheela pauses, mulling over that memory. "I feel like the sword grows."

Ash's eyebrow goes up. "Grows?"

Miiter nods. She was in shock at the time, but… "yeah, there was a swing aimed for my head and Sheela went to parry it, and it was like." She makes a motion like pulling something apart. "It kinda felt like it did that."

"Eh, alright, cool." Ash says, clearly not believing or not caring. "You're obviously alive, so I'm happy it worked out." He stares at the three. "Hmm…you'll be needing new gear, I take it?"

Richard shuffles his feet nervously. "Uh, well. I'm down my hammer, though if I had a choice I'd go with a mace or something smaller." He coughs. "I thought, y'know, a big smashing thing would work against a Centurion."

"You're sometimes very stupid." Sheela remarks lightly. "Adorably stupid."

Richard rolls his eyes. "Says the woman who shot sticks at a giant man of metal."

"Alright, new bow, new hammer, probably new daggers for the rogue." Ash tallies off. "Armor's sadly not doable here, so that's out."

"Oh, er, um." Richard looks around. "I…I mean, I appreciate the kindness, but…"

Ash winks. "Call it a whim." And leaves.

The three just stares. Miiter's the only one with any kind of remark. "…He feels like an idiot. Know what I mean?"

…

…

[Event 2: Diplomatics, 3rd Person Camera]

…

…

"I assume you're joking."

The assistant looks to the speaker, leaning as he is against the doorframe. Her eyes flick between him and the letter in his hand quickly before cracking a small smile. "Sir, I assure you the letter is real."

The two Imperials stare at each other for a solid minute. The man's mood doesn't really get better, and he enters the small room, sits on the opposite side of the table, and lets the letter fall between them. The letter states, rather plainly, that there are two children in the care of a mercenary company, and that the Imperial army is interested in sponsoring them.

"I'm more curious to know why the dunderheads at Riften punted the issue over to us." The man grumbles. "Couldn't they have just approached the family while they were in Riften?"

The assistant shuffles through her notes. "Apparently the company went off to a Dwemer ruin as a part of a contract for a month, then they skipped town."

The man makes a skeptical noise. "Yeah, see, that's what I'm not okay with. You're telling me that a group of people like that are in care of children? That ok with you, Sheri?"

Read as Sherry.

"Well…people do what they can to make ends meet, Martin." Sheri says diplomatically. "I mean, I wouldn't consider Riften to be a good place to raise a family."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." Named after the Hero of the Empire so many years ago, he would be the first to say that he shared the work ethic but not the self-sacrificing candor. "Anyways." He taps an envelope. "When do we have time to hand this out?"

Some days later, Martin and Sheri get the opportunity to go into the Dwemer ruins, with Martin fuming the whole way. "You'd think that, after moving away from a place like Riften, they'd stop doing dangerous shit like this with their kids." Was Martin's summary.

The two of them were half-dressed as Imperial Battlemages, with standard, market leather armor to replace their otherwise specially decorated Lorica-styled armor. Even among the battlemages, the two of them had a very high standing…which is also why Martin's rather pissed at being a glorified delivery boy. Like many others around them, they pull up their hoods to cover their faces.

"Remind me why we couldn't have just dropped this off at their house?" Martin sighs as they descend the dark stairs.

"I feel like I shouldn't need to do that." Sheri says cheerily.

The Silverbloods. Martin sighs. "Funny how even we have to step carefully around money, huh?"

"Such is the way of the world." Sheri tosses a Septim over her shoulder. It rolls and lands at the feet of a dazed and emaciated boy. "Take care that you don't drown in it, Martin."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell who's in charge here." Martin grumbles, under his breath.

The two arrive at the main landing, the Underground Market.

"It's impressive no matter how many times I come here." Sheri sighs contentedly. "It's like coming home."

Martin shakes his head. "You've been here, like, twice."

True to its name, the Underground Market is the biggest series of platforms that are considered safe for Nchuand-Zel. More of a flea market than anything else, the most common form of showcasing one's good is a dusty carpet, the most common form of defense, trust. Participants in this place tend to divide along two lines: those who have connections above ground, and those who have been unlucky underground. Those who were lucky, obviously, could simply return to the city and sell things for coin. Incidentally, food tends to be a popular good in the Market.

Right now, the Market is in a bit of a lull: most of the action tends to happen around mealtimes, and it was certainly not mealtime right now. Sheri scans the few prospective sellers starting to set up and sees her target. She daintily navigates her way through the implied paths to the young Khajiit whittling a small piece of wood.

"Hey, Leila."

The Khajiit's ears turn to her but she doesn't look up from her work. "Sheri, right? What do you want?"

Sheri sits on the dusty ground. "I'm looking for a little information." She holds up a Septim.

Leila doesn't even look at it. "About the adventurers, I take it." Her eyes instead flicker towards Martin. "This'll cost extra."

For dealing with Imperials, I take it? Martin shrugs. "Hey, I'm just here for a job."

"I got plenty." Sheri takes out a pouch. "Have you seen two kids come down here recently? Little girls, comes as a pair, smells like money?"

"Sounds about right." Leila holds out her hand and Sheri forks over the pouch. "They're usually escorted by somebody, so it's not as if they're here on a whim."

"Dungeon diving?" Martin asks with a dangerous growl.

Leila shrugs. "No idea." She certainly didn't care.

"Do they pawn stuff off?" Sheri asks, taking out another coin.

"No." Leila takes the coin. "As far as I know, whenever they find anything, they take only what they can carry on their person back to their home."

Martin adopts his thinking expression. "Well, their father is supposed to have money, so that's not surprising." He mumbles. "Are they down here now?"

"Yeah." Leila's ears flick. "There's a bigger group than usual down there."

Martin felt Sheri freeze. "Alright, thank you." He says quickly, and half-drags Sheri to her feet. "You alright?" He asks when they had taken enough steps away to be considered 'alone'.

"Y-yes." Sheri's eyes darts around.

Old wounds, huh? Martin strokes her head. "It's fine, we're here now. We can come back another day."

"Y-yes." Sheri says, her eyes a little wild. "I…I mean, no, we have to go down there." She sinks into Martin's arms for a second, takes a breath, and focuses herself.

"Alright, alright." Martin lets her do her thing. "Ready?"

Sheri nods, and Martin allows his senses to spread out with the strength of his magic. If anybody could see, they would notice the blue hue around his irises.

Geez. Martin couldn't help but smirk. It's useless down here. His magic vision was picking up signatures from all over the place, almost all of it a result of Dwemer Metal's natural tendency to absorb magical power. Still, he was able to see the general structure of the parties in the dungeon. Things that are alive have a magical signature that swirls and moves, and Martin was certainly trained enough to see this subtle flow.

Martin notes a particular clump of magicka that seemed to swirl with rhythm, a sign of someone with significant magical training. I'm guessing those two are there? He notes. Judging by the size of the cluster, there must be around twenty people there.

The two bade Leila goodbye and dive into the dungeon proper.

Nchuand-Zel, similar to the game, has a massive main cavern section of platforms and stairs over a giant lake of water. Multiple, massive gates connect the main section to other sections, many of which remain untouched or barely touched. Similar to everything else, it's much bigger, and much more complex, than it is in game. Like other Dwemer ruins, the automatons defend the premises when disturbed, with the so-called 'Safety Ramp', a massive stone ramp sloped gently downwards, acting as the seeming division.

When viewed from above, the ramp looks like the tail of a comma, with the head of the comma as the Market.

Martin's focus is the clump of magicka, and zeroes into their position easily enough: the group was wandering around the Armory block of the dungeon. After that, it was a short trip through the semi-lit darkness to the group. They arrive at what is probably a small moving block, so named for the spinning gears and pumps within the room, and stomp a little with each step to let others know that there are friendlies around.

Martin's first sign that something was wrong was the two little girls poking around at the equipment within. They were immaculately dressed, especially when compared to your average adventurers. Their armor would not have looked out of place if they were participating in a ceremony, if you discount the (probably purposeful) dull coloring.

Well, the report did say they came from money. Martin reminds himself. "Hello there." He says as a greeting.

"Good morning." One young man, also immaculately dressed, says. "I hope you're not here for treasure, because I don't think there is any here."

Martin's smile has years of practiced friendliness behind it. "Well, a little poking around can't hurt." He says, moving to get a better look at the group. Including this man and the two girls, there were eight of them in total. Four seemed to be a practiced adventuring party given how they're working together, and the last…given by how the Argonian is standing apart from everyone else, he's probably an ad-hoc join.

Martin's gaze then focuses on the group in earnest. His initial thought was that the man was the adoptive father of the two girls, but he could see that they don't have that kind of relationship. Except the Argonian, all of them have the same general armor design, with the adventurers having what looked like a less refined version of it. Martin couldn't help but whistle. "Where'd you get armor like that?"

"Oh, this?" The man (Erik) says, looking at himself. "The master of the house made it. Good, eh?" He grins proudly.

"Not much of an armor man, but even I can tell it's some top-quality stuff." Martin says.

Erik laughs, taking care not to be too loud. "Damn straight." and stopped very abruptly. Martin took that as a sign that he shouldn't push the matter. A little more small talk, and Martin's party of two was allowed to tag along and observe.

An hour of observation later, and Martin was…appreciative, of what he saw. The two girls were intelligent, well-mannered, polite, and resourceful.

But that's about it. Martin concludes in his head. "Not seeing anything real impressive here." He mutters. Compared to other children of minor nobility, the girls were very much so middle of the pack.

Sheri nods. "Yeah, the Riften report oversold them…not surprising, all things considered." She figured that the Riften branch wanted to show that their campaign to win over the populace had a good effect.

Another hour, and the party was good to return. Martin, out of boredom and certainly not because he felt a certain kinship with the two girls, gave them pointers here and there on what to look for, how to handle tools safety, and so on, with the result of the girls managing to pry out some minor gems—not worth anything, but it made them happy.

As they return, they feel the ground slightly shake beneath their feet.

"Welp, somebody fucked up." Erik growls, only loud enough for Martin to hear. "Alright, double time, let's go before it gets bad."

True to his words, as the party picks up the pace, other groups of adventurers and miners flow towards the ramp back up towards safety with practiced speed and more than just a little bit of anger. They soon see the cause of the problem: a family of three, either blinded by greed or forced by desperation, had stealthed their way deep into the ruins in search of treasure. Following closely behind them is a Dwarven Centurion, lumbering forward in all of its twenty-feet-tall, Dwemer plated glory.

"Gamblers." Martin snarls, seeing the family of three run while holding onto something shiny. No, not a family. He corrects himself as they get closer. Their ages are too close for that…siblings? As they get even closer, he could see the shambling state of their clothing that was definitely not caused by these ruins.

"Gamblers, eh?" Erik pulls his sword. "Aiight, up the ramp, let's go now."

Except the ramp was now overcrowded. The safe level of the ruins could handle the throughput of bodies if it was clear of obstructions. Given that it was now crowded with scrap metal, tables, chairs, spare tools, wheelbarrows…

"I don't think we're getting up there." The Argonian says. "If we do, we risk getting crowded off." To puncture his point, a torch scone is knocked off balance and falls from the ramp, dropping quickly out of sight, eventually splashing into the waters below.

"This entire place is an oh shit violation." Erik grumbles, copying one of Ash's favorite complaints about Markarth. "Alright, we'll hide and cross our fingers." Martin catches the glance he shoots the adventurers and notes how they tighten their hold on the two girls. Huh.

So, without a good place to run, they hide. Instead of heading up the path, they go along one of the side paths that ends in what seems like a cross between a watchtower and a pavilion. There, they extinguish lights and stay low. Martin casts a Life Detection spell, and moves to observe the three Gamblers now nearly at the safety ramp. I'm impressed they're not dead yet. He notes with a little respect. "You alright, Sheri?"

Sheri, eyes squeezed shut, nods. "Bad memories, but it'd be worse if I was just sitting and waiting." She says hurriedly.

Martin strokes her hair. "It's fine, I'm here, we're here with friends. You're here with friends." He gives a look to Erik, who shrugs. "It's alright." He sees the magic signatures of the three reach the ramp…and stop.

"One of them tripped." The Argonian growls. "Shit."

If the guards manage to 'defeat' an enemy in a zone they previously avoided, the zone will be patrolled." One of the adventurers warns.

"Yep." Martin sighs. Upon seeing one of the three trip and fall, people from the ramp almost immediately turn and descend to assist…bringing them face-to-face with the Centurion.

Martin hears the strange growl of the Centurion as it powers up, followed by the crash of its fist hitting rock. "We're joining in." His hands light up with flames, and as soon as he gets a clear shot at the Centurion (now illuminated by many magelights) he lets loose with a barrage of fireballs. Each hit of the fireball strikes the Centurion on the head, knocking it heavily askew. If it had a neck it'd be broken many times over.

This extra time lets the one that tripped scramble to his feet and escape up the safety ramp…except now the Centurion was locked onto Martin, and given its position was definitely between him and the ramp.

"We can wait it out, but I feel like that might not be an option." Martin says. "I'll keep it distracted. Sheri, get the civilians to safety."

"Right." Sheri says, getting to her feet, keeping herself focused on the task at hand. "C'mon. Atra, Alma, you first."

Erik draws his sword. "Richard, as long as we damage the thing and retreat out of range, it'll fall back, yeah?"

"It's overextended and only defending." Richard the adventurer says. "So a good hit and no chance of counterattack means it'll go back for repairs."

"Aiight." Erik grins. "Let's get dangerous." He charges forward.

"Oy!" Martin charges up some fireballs. "Idiot!" He fires them at the Centurion. Now that it's facing him, the hits do significantly less at staggering the target.

"As expected." Richard sighs. "It's going to blow steam, Erik!"

"Gotcha." Erik keeps his eyes fixed on the mouth of the Centurion. As he passes some threshold, the Centurion suddenly opens its mouth…and is instantly hit by a bolt of lightning from Martin. The damage causes the Centurion to close up and, instead of using its steam, rear back for a punch.

As the punch drives home, Erik suddenly dives into a roll. The fist misses and slams into the rock. Erik, now suddenly stopped next to the arm, slams his gauntleted hand on the arm of the Centurion. The gauntlet was a metal glove with a leather layer sewn on top of it, both to provide coverage, as well as to disguise a soul stone fixed into the center of the palm.

Martin wasn't sure what happened, but there was the catastrophic sound of metal shearing, and the Centurion reared back, leaving half of its lower left arm behind on the ground. Erik gets to his feet and moves away from the downed arm. Martin wasn't sure what he was seeing, but Erik very obviously was in a battle stance without drawing a weapon. Strangely, his hands were not balled into fists.

The Centurion, now somewhat one-armed, rear back and readies itself for another punch, this time trying to sweep with its remaining right arm. This time, Martin sees Erik clearly generate a complex armored skin type spell and deflect the hit over his head, while also laying his free hand on its arm during the hit. There was that sound of shearing again, though the arm did not come off. However, judging by the way the arm moved, Martin deduced that some of its internals were critically damaged.

"Well?" Erik grins at the Centurion. "Round three?" He makes no movements despite issuing the challenge. The two stand off for some minutes, before the Centurion backs off, turns around, and then descends back into the darkness. "That's what I thought." He relaxes, shaking his left hand. "Ow."

"You alright?" Martin says, as the party regroups and returns up the now much less chaotic ramp to cheers and claps. "Where did you learn to make a shield like that?" As a Cyrodill trained battlemage, he referred to all magic skin spells as shields.

"Oh, here and there." Erik says. Truth be told he very much would like to sit down, because he was completely tapped on magicka, but at the moment getting out of this crowded environment came first.

"What was that thing you did to blow off its arm?" Sheri asks. "An armor breaking spell?"

Erik frowns. "Something like that? I didn't ask too much on the specifics."

Sounds like a homebrew. Martin shares a glance with Sheri. "What's it called?"

Erik frowns hard. "Uh…Palm something." He says. "The name was honestly not as important as knowing how to do it."

"Palma Fiokina." The small Argonian in Richard's party said. "That's what the master of the house called it."

Martin has never heard of the spell before. "Oh, so he made it up himself?" He makes a reminder to make a visit some time later. "What does it do?"

…

Later, Martin and Sheri bid goodbye to the group and went back to their office.

"So in the end, we're going to just drop it off in their house anyways." Sheri sighs. "Why'd we even bother?"

"We learned a lot, so it's not all bad." Martin says. "So, categorizing what we've seen. Sheri?"

Sheri reviews her notes as well as her memories. "Erik…he calls himself a warrior, but his spellwork would make him a squad leader if he became a battlemage."

Martin nods. "His melee prowess would make up for his comparatively low magicka reserves, I'd imagine."

Sheri continues. "The adventurers that were with them, the…Lionhearted? Pretty run of the mill. Not great, not bad either. Their rogue's got some skills but overall they're not too impressive. The Argonian…I'll have to look into him, but I think he's familiar for some reason."

Martin shrugs. "I can't tell them apart, so go for it. What about the girls?"

Sheri frowns. "It's hard to tell. They're obviously very smart and very talented, and I'd imagine they would also know how to do that palm thing, too."

"I'd think so." Martin nods. "You might've missed it, but when we first started hiding against the Centurion the two put up barriers that pretty much looked identical to Erik's, and they weren't running out of magicka any time soon."

"Implication being that their homebrew spell is very energy intensive." Sheri makes an amendment in their notes. "But, yeah, we're going to have to move pretty quickly on this." She glares at Martin.

Martin goes on defense. "What? We'll get them when we get them. Worst case scenario they get picked up by Markarth as battlemages, and then we'll just requisition them from there."

Sheri…sighs. He had a point. "Yeah…you don't think they'll be picked up by the Silver-Bloods when that happens?"

Martin grins. "I'll be very surprised if money's willing to go that far."

…

[Event 3: Storm and Silver, 3rd Person Camera]

…

It's the cusp of winter, though Markarth, being Markarth, would be unaware. While the rest of the reach gets blankets of snow, the inherent structure of the city and its position meant that it was covered in a blanket of warmth. Warmth that, quite understandably, was visible in the form of a perpetual, faint haze.

"How bad is it this year, do you think?" One young noble (Nord) asks his retainers.

"Production of all metalworks have climbed again this year." His retainer, a meticulously well-kept imperial, replies. "Judging by the trend? A thousand, easily."

"A thousand…" The noble scratches his beard. "That's not too bad." He stretches. "Alright, what's on my schedule today?"

…

The noble, per his schedule, descends into the town. Most of his tasks involve patrolling assets owned by the family. Today, his focus is a trio of inns under the family's guidance.

The first was essentially a poor house, built for the poor and downtrodden in the poorest sections of the city. Before entering, he puts a ring on his finger and his outer appearance shifts slightly, making him look slightly more like an Imperial.

"Guess I forgot to recharge it." He mutters and enters the building. Immediately, he was overcome with the impression that it smelled very poor. "As usual." He sits at the bar, orders a drink, and observes the rest of the sixteen non-staff occupants with a keen eye. He does so for an hour, pausing his observation every once in a while, to give a sign to his retainer waiting outside.

An hour later, he stands to leave. Six in total. He tallies in his head. Of the patrons that visited, six of them would vanish without a trace later…not that he cared. "Next."

The next locale was more upscale, more of a diner than anything else. Craftsmen, especially apprentices, worked hard schedules, and while many appreciated a warm lunch, very few had the time or skill to make anything substantial. The diner, then, capitalized on that clientele some years back, and was now a fixture in the local area. As it's more upscale, there wasn't much of a reason for the noble to hide.

"Hello, I'm here again." He says as he enters, a pleasant if apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry about that."

"Oh! Hey boss!" The keeper says with a bright grin. "Long time no see! It's been like, two days!"

The Noble returns the grin. "I call it my lucky curse." He finds a place to sit at the bar and does so. "…Though I have to say, I can't exactly get used to this new layout, Erin." He looks around. Compared to how the store was set up, the bar had been moved back slightly and angled to give more space for tables and cushions.

Erin shrugs good-naturedly. "What can I say? A good trend is worth following. Everybody with the space is copying some part from the Bell."

The Noble's smile slips slightly. "Says a lot about the place if even a piece of its name is so commonplace now, doesn't it…"

"Damn straight." Erin says, annoyed. "Still, just you watch, we'll have them singing our praises by spring."

The Noble nods. "I look forward to it. Like I said last time, if you have any requests we'll be happy to help."

Between the friendly banter, mingling with the patrons, and enjoying the food, the Noble ultimately stayed for two hours before finally leaving.

As soon as he leaves, his retainer pipes up. "I'd recommend against lingering for too long at one place in the future, young master."

The Noble was in no way sorry. "Sorry, sorry, couldn't help it." He looks around. "Our third place is a smithy, yeah?"

"That's correct." The Retainer brings out a map for the Noble.

He looks at it for a moment. The Bell's close by. He notes. "Let's take a slight detour."

The Retainer just sighs.

…

The trip to the Garden Nook was a slight detour, but one worthwhile, to some extent. Around a month ago, a fire broke out in a nearby building some two blocks away. The construction of the Mud being what it was, the fire spread quickly and had consumed everything around it in a three-block radius before being controlled. Notably, the Rose Bell was in the radius and, to everyone's expectations, survived the fire more or less unscathed.

As is the norm for the Mud of Markarth, reconstruction was immediate and total, with minor noble families quickly staking their claims and giving out funds in return for a stake in the business. Given that the area around the Bell needed to be rebuilt, the competition was especially fierce, and had gotten to the point where fights were breaking out in the streets.

Understandably, the Jarl intervened and, in a move that wasn't exactly unprecedented, gave the building rights to Warwolf, or, more specifically, Ash. Depending on who you ask, this act effectively made it so that Warwolf, a mercenary band, was now functionally being led by a minor noble. Given that much of the minor nobility in Markarth became so because of this, there wasn't much of an upheaval, and most of the retaliation were aimed at those who started the fights in the first place.

In any case, through Warwolf's direction, the area was in the process of being rebuilt. Ash's decision to focus on building quality was highly unpopular as it slowed reconstruction, but in the end…

…or, rather, as of right now, it seemed to be playing out well. The Noble takes his time to enter the new Garden Nook, jammed as it was with visitors, and takes stock of the situation.

The overall structure of the area is the same: since no main roads pass through the area, the burned out area was consolidated into one 'zone', with a wall comprised of buildings that face both the street outside and the zone inside. On the inside, two rows of buildings separate the zone, also two-facing.

Looking at it from the top down, it would look like a button with an equal sign, with four entrances at the edges of that equal sign.

As the Noble slowly wander through the streets, he couldn't help but appreciate just how quickly the buildings have gone up: sure, most of them were still unfinished, with their second and third stories just getting started, but the fact that Ash was insistent to the point of being domineering on the structures following a strict pattern definitely helped in terms of getting the resources together.

In retrospect, a closely-followed pattern of equipment and resources was just easier to organize, and upon seeing Ash's hell-bent determination, most builders and nobilities with the need to supply goods and services also either adopted the model, or else hired people with the fortitude to do so. The Noble himself was one such person, incidentally.

"Looks like things are going well." The Retainer notes of the suffocating crowd. "To no surprise."

"When their contract is over, maybe we should hire Warwolf permanently." The Noble muses. His eyes flicker over to the center of the two middle rows of buildings. While technically 'two-facing' due to their roof design, the center rows have a slightly hidden inner row that acts as housing. Each unit was cramped and only had enough room for a bed and a chest, but it was a significant step up from sleeping out in the streets. Rose Well, obviously, managed them and hired significant amounts of help to keep them running.

"Indeed." The Retainer notices the Noble's focus. "At a mere ten gold a week, it's a very profitable business model." Ten gold for rent was low…but for the people who need these rooms, it was just low enough that they're somewhat forced to continue until their luck decides their fortunes for them. "For many things."

The Noble nods. "Perhaps I should station some men here." He wonders briefly if Ash held similar views to him, but dismisses it as he's never seen the man, much less someone with similar physical descriptions visiting Namira. He puts the thoughts of his own business aside as he heads towards the Rose Bell.

Since the inn was untouched, it sits as the corner of one of the three roads, as the corner and the end of the road. Apart from a good scrubbing and some tables set out in front of the store, it really hasn't changed. The clientele, now somewhat reduced due to healthy competition, meant that the Bell caters even heavier towards the adventuring types…not that it mattered to him much.

"Well, hello there."

The Noble practically jumps out of his skin. His eyes dart around before capturing the face of a man he's only seen a week before, and yet never managed to forget.

"You're a touch early." Brynjolf says jovially. "I thought we had arranged a meeting for two days from now?"

The Noble had completely forgotten. "O-oh, yeah, I mean, of course! That's why I'm here!"

Brynjolf can tell that the young man had forgotten. "Wonderful. It so happens that the master is in today. I'll let them know to expect you." He winks, turns to leave, and five steps later fades from the Noble's line of sight.

That guy gives me the creeps. The Noble sighs. He now remembers the conversation he had for the conversation he planned to have. No time like the present, he strides into the Rose Bell with determination and purpose. That determination fades a bit when he sees the mercenary parties nearly all turn their head to critique him, and his purpose fades a lot when he sees Mell at the table.

Mell has no clue who he is. "Welcome to the Rose Bell." She says politely and professionally. "What are you looking for?"

"Well, uh, um…" The Noble stammers and his eyes, rather predictably, flickers to her chest and stays there.

Mell silently counts to five before the Noble was able to break contact. Depressingly impressive. "Sir?"

"Oh! Uh, yes!" The Noble gets his head screwed back straight again. "Per my arrangement with one of your…uh…Master Ash's contacts, I have arrived. A little earlier than planned, my apologies."

Mell's eyebrow goes up. "Alright. Alma! Is Ash free?"

Alma's basically just doing odd jobs behind the bar. "Uh…yes. Should I go get him?"

"Nah." Mell's eyes flicker to just over the Noble's shoulder. "Show him to the waiting room." She does something under the counter, then moves to open the bar door that separates the work area from the customer area. "Follow her."

The Noble, while still a little disturbed, nevertheless had full faith in the Rose Bell. He gives a signal for his retainer to wait and follows Alma down the stairs. The two go down a flight and enter a reasonably large sitting room, lit by very well-designed lanterns with glass that seemed to magnify the strength of the flames within. The room was otherwise threadbare: there were two long couches with a table in the middle, and that was it. Interestingly for the Noble, both couches are placed so that the door was to their left and right, respectively, rather than have one with its back to the door to enforce soft power structure.

Alma shows the Noble to a couch. "Please take a seat, the Master will be with you shortly." Bows slightly, and leaves.

The Noble takes a seat, is surprised at the softness of the couch, and waits for around thirty seconds before Ash enters the room.

Must've been writing something. The Noble notes of Ash's ink-stained hands. "Master Ash," he stands. "It is my privilege to make your acquaintance. I am Grant Tall-flame."

Tall-flame…Ash checks his mental notes. Minor family, owns primarily forges, recently expanding into hospitality. "Good day to you too. Ash, of the Warwolf company. I heard you talked with one of my men over something of interest, and he was damn coy about what it was."

While normally a noble would have a power structure advantage over a mere mercenary, Grant figured it made sense to at least play fair. "Yolt made contact with me after I heard about your mission and its currently fruitless efforts." He returns to his seat.

"Uh huh." Ash sits, facing Grant. "Well, if Yolt said it was important…so, what do you know about what we're doing so far?" With extreme effort he managed to say the fake name without putting undue emphasis into it.

"Well, you're looking for an old site in the Reach." Grant says. "And one that used to be owned by the Empire, before it was, I assume, abandoned. If my sources are correct, you've exhaustively searched the Reach and have found no leads."

Ash let a small grin slip. "That would be correct. We're looking into the next possible course of action within Foresworn territory."

As I thought. Grant nods. "Well, I happen to have contacts with the Foresworn. While I do not have the clout to guarantee safe access across all areas, I can at least give you a start."

As expected. Ash nods. "Sounds interesting. What are you looking for in return?"

…

…

[Two Weeks Later, The Reach]

…

Against the dying winter sunlight, Warwolf was on the move. Riding on ethereal wolves, Ash led the party towards the site of their target, the Sky Haven Temple. Grant, true to his word, could only give them a start: the Foresworn did not take to outsiders kindly, and the words of a lesser noble with deep Reach roots gave Warwolf the five minutes they needed to make their pitch to a reasonably well-ranked Foresworn captain. After the exchange of food and equipment, Warwolf was able to gain enough trust to proceed into what is effectively a Foresworn stronghold.

Riding hard on wolves that never tire, the party arrives (with a Foresworn guarantor) at the entrance to Sky Haven Temple.

As they had expected, the front of the temple was functionally a Foresworn town, with rafts and shacks dotting the stone mustering area outside the temple's entrance. Many small fires dot the town and the relative cluster of heads seen from a distance suggests that the site is well-used.

"Welcome to the Foresworn's Fortress Town." The Guarantor says. "This is the 'Sky Haven Temple' you're looking for."

"Not gonna lie, I expected some place that was more abandoned." Jake says with a slight chuckle. "I swear I must've passed this place like fifty times in the past few months."

"It's a good lesson to learn." Delphine says. "Good relations save time."

"If relations are warranted." The Guarantor says dismissively—she had utterly refused to give a name—and ties a piece of cloth onto an unlit torch. "Let's go." Riding with Ash, they lead the party down the slope and towards the makeshift dock. "I come with friends." She says as the people on the dock see her.

A little talking later and with wolves dismissed, Warwolf board the small boats and get rowed over to the temple.

The Guarantor catches Ash starting to look around. "No dallying. You're here for a reason, so let's go."

"Alright, alright…" Ash rather wanted to look around, but the mission came first.

The party crosses the town. Jake and Ash note how, in actuality, only a small amount of people wear the fur armor from the game. The Foresworn's love of giant teeth and furs are still there, but the visibility was most certainly not as pronounced.

The party enters the trapped tunnel that, in game, consisted of rather straightforward puzzles to deter large groups from entering. Of course, as life would have it, the traps have all been torn down thoroughly and provided no danger: the fire trap has long since lost its fire, and the stone drop bridge ignored entirely in favor of a wooden bridge that was wider and arguably safer to use. Finally, the stone wall and seal, meant to await a Dragonborn before it opened…well, the seal was still intact, just facedown and utterly failing at its duty of being a gate, as the rock around it had been chiseled and worked to such a point that, in the years between its abandonment and this very moment, somebody likely corralled together about a hundred guys with ropes and physically tugged it free from its sitting.

"Somehow, not surprised." Jake sighs, and enters the temple.

The insides of the temple superficially represents how it looks in game. Wooden constructions were everywhere, sectioning out the otherwise very empty temple with additional floors for cots, storage, defensive points…the walls were colored and painted in lavish hues of reds and yellows, and even as they watch a pair of children crush berries in their hands and paint over something on the wall, laughing.

"I…somehow feel like I sorely overestimated the value placed in this place." Esbern says slowly. "Perhaps my own knowledge is lacking."

"Yeah, yeah." T'ma sighs. "Alright, what are we looking for?"

"The information should be carved into the stone." Esbern says, looking around. "It might be difficult to see it from here…" his eyes rest on a suspicious section of wooden structures that seem to make a small, long chamber. He immediately makes a beeline towards said chamber.

As it so happens, the Foresworn had built their scaffolding essentially around the section of stone mural and preserved it, largely because trying to balance things on an inherently non-flat surface was difficult beyond reason. Thus, the party was able to see the information as told by the mural, and around three hours later were escorted off the premises again.

"I can't believe it took us months to do that." Jake grumbles as they return to the Bell in the middle of the night. "Like, seriously."

"Shit happens, man." Ash laughs. "Alright, so what do we know?" They had discussed it piecemeal while on the road, but being able to consolidate was definitely helpful.

"It seems that the Dovahkiin of old used some kind of Shout to defeat Alduin." Delphine says. "Which is, arguably, not a lot to go on."

Ash scratches his head. "I feel like that's the kind of thing we could have just, y'know, guessed. Alright, then, where do we go from here?"

Delphine looks mildly uncomfortable. "I…if we're talking about Shouts, then the only recourse would be to visit the Greybeards." She looks towards Ash, somewhat apologetically. "It would be most expedite if we were to leave Markarth." She felt bad since he worked so hard for the Bell.

Ash shrugs. "Hey, this was always meant to be temporary." He had, per Grant's deal, sold the Bell off to the Tall-flame family for a rather significant amount of coin. "Again, where do we go from here?"

…

[1st Person Camera]

…

Y'know, I could've sworn that the wall did more than just, y'know, tell you that the dragonborn was special, because I feel like that's all we learned.

"Well, first off, we would have to go to the Throat of the World." Jake says, playing as my foil because man we've talked about this AT LENGTH. "But I feel like there's a more pressing question we should ask, just in case."

"And what might that be?" Delphine asks.

Jake stares at Aria to make his point. "Suppose that we chase after the Shout, what are the possibilities that we'll get out of it?"

"Going by the wall, I would believe that the Shout plays an important role in at least hampering Alduin." Delphine says. "I'm not enough of an optimist to believe that a mere Shout can take down 'The World Eater' in one breath."

Everyone thinks it over for a moment. Again, we have prior knowledge.

I raise my hand. "Absolute, best-case scenario, the Shout just straight-up kills a dragon, or at least banishes it." I tick off a finger. "More likely, it just makes it possible for us to fight Alduin." Another finger. "Even more likely, we have to go through some shenanigans to get it, and only Aria can learn it." Another finger, this time with more finger waggling. "…and then everything else that's objectively worse or has other consequences." I look at my three upheld fingers. "Don't know about the rest of you, but I'm kind of ok not having Aria learn this Shout."

"Why?" T'nerem was the first to ask.

"Well, let's think about it." I have thought about it. A lot. "In the case that we're successful, Aria gets the ability to bring Alduin down so that…what, she can have an easier time killing it? So we can kill it? We don't really know, right?"

"Certainly, there're a lot of factors at play here." Esbern nods. "Such is the power of being a Dragonborn."

"Which means that in every other less optimal scenario, you" I look to Aria "get taken off the board as a fighting asset, and as far as I know you're the only one who can just straight up hurt a dragon as-is."

She nods.

"Which means that, from a sheer military effectiveness perspective, I wouldn't want to risk our only anti-dragon asset just to maybe possibly make them fight better." I've been thinking about this a lot. "It's like if you were to tell me that the best use of a sword is to throw it at the enemy."

There's a brief moment of silence. Me and Jake have talked it over and honestly if we're gonna derail it we might as well derail it now.

"Certainly, it doesn't seem favorable." Delphine says slowly.

"We should at least talk to the Greybeards first, though." Jake says as the 'voice of reason'. "Before we jump to conclusions." He also looks to Aria. "Also, at the end of the day it's your decision as to what you want to do, not ours."

"You sound like you have some idea of what this Shout might do, Jake, Ash." Byrnjolf says and he's about the only one I didn't plan around because fuck this guy can read people. "And the dangers."

"I mean…let's think about the possibilities." I shrug. "We care about this Shout if it either kills a dragon upon use, or makes a dragon easier to kill, and the most likely outcome for that second thing is if it grounds them or weakens their breath."

"And given that the mural depicts a man stopping the breath with his shield, we can reasonably deduce that the shout exists to bring a dragon down to the earth." Esbern finishes. "Very astute."

Byrnjolf just rolls his eyes.

"I imagine there are other Shouts out there, but bringing a dragon to the ground seems like the most anti-dragon thing." I say. "So…I mean, if the conversation is just 'can we bring down a dragon with human ingenuity' then the answer is fairly clearly yes. It just takes a lot of time to get it going." I mean like if I have to put up a giant array of Bofors then that's what I'm gonna do.

"Time that we may not have." Delphine notes. "Then again…" She looks at Aria.

"It's a hell of a coin flip." Jake says.

Aria scratches her head. "Right? Besides, even if I can bring a Dragon to the ground with the Shout, I have to be close enough to Shout at it to begin with. I can't run that fast."

…that…

…I feel kinda dumb that I didn't lead with that argument, to be honest.

…then again, maybe the Shout does more than *just* bringing a dragon to the ground?

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves." Jake says hurriedly. "First we talk with the Greybeards, then we figure out what to do from there. Fair?"

We all nod.

"Ash?" Aria says before we adjourn for what's left of the night.

"What's up?"

"Would you be able to give me the ability to fight a dragon on even footing?"

We all stop at that, because uhhhhhh "I mean…with the time and resources, yeah. It'll be dependent on how your Dragonborn-ness interacts with weapons and stuff, though." I know she did good back in Whiterun, but without knowing the specifics…

"Interesting." She puts a finger to her chin and adopts an air of innocence. "You said earlier that you'd recommend me against learning the shout from a military perspective. What are your thoughts from a personal perspective?"

I can feel the daggers on my back and I don't like it. She's such a goddamned tease when you least expect it. Also I would like to know who's staring daggers at me please.

"Yeah, what are your thoughts personally, Ash?" Jake says with a big goofy grin and I swear to god

This is mostly because we're very reserved when it comes to interpersonal relationships.

Y'know what? I'm a fan of collateral damage. "From a personal perspective? I would rather that you don't because I care for you." Pause for effect. "As a friend."

Jake goes 'oh shit' and chuckles. Aria bops him on the shin. T'Nerem is very divided in her thoughts. Nobody else really cares.

And with that, we're going to get our ducks in order and then set off for that little village again. Woo.

.

.

.

{ === + === }

Author Notes:

Hahaha what is chapter length management

Ash and Jake did not take any levels despite having them during their stay in Markarth because there wasn't a dire need for adjustment.