Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Silver Soul, Dragon's Heart
by Storm Wolf77415, Wing Commander White Wolf, and Centurious the Azure
Duels, Bards, and Bad Omens!
Six months had passed since Sebastian arrived in this new world. He had learned from Phoebe it was called Nirn, on the vast continent of Tamriel. The Witcher had found plenty of work from the Jarl and other folks around the city. Sebastian had quickly become quite popular, plying himself as a "troubleshooter", thinking it would help to make him look more appealing. He had started even getting requests from the other holds.
His biggest job to date was bringing down Madanach, the leader of the Forsworn Rebellion, called by his subjects the King in Rags, due to his imprisonment in Cidna Mine. It had all started after a request from a man named Eltrys, looking for help in investigating the death of a friend of his, which led to him being caught up in a conspiracy involving the Silver-Blood family, the city's answer to the Battle-Bornes and Graymanes.
It resulted in him facing the head of the Forsworn Rebellion, Madanach, known as the King in Rags, felling him with a shiv to the back of his skull. It was a reminder that the life of a Witcher wasn't all fun and games. Not to mention that not every story has a happy ending. Thonar Silver-Blood was certainly happy to ensure Sebastian didn't say anything, but he was no better than Madanach. Regardless, coin was coin and Sebastian wasn't going to say no to it.
Needless to say, As a result of all the extra work and contracts Sebastian had taken on. He now had a very large pile of septims, the local currency to burn. He invested in some new gear, once again courtesy of Adrianne. Sebastian was now checking out his equipment, and first impressions were quite good.
The new armor consisted of a layered jacket made of leather and reinforced with metal studs and rivets, and reinforced pants all in a shade of deep green with a white shirt underneath, capped off by a pair of knee-high black boots with armor plates on the shin and instep, engraved with a wolf. It was based on the standard equipment for the Wolf School when it was in its heyday.
Hanging off his back were the familiar sight of two swords, one with a straight crossguard, and the same wolf symbol of Sebastian's medallion on the pommel, The other blade had the crossguard prongs slanted at a forty-five-degree angle, the pommel taking the shape of a pair of intertwined stylized wolves.
He slowly drew the steel blade, smirking as the light of the morning sun reflected off it. "Now this is the blade of a Witcher," Sebastian said with approval, looking to Adrianne, arms folded, quite proud of her handiwork. "Not bad at all, Adrianne. I definitely know who I'm coming to for all my armor and weapon needs in the future."
"And don't you dare forget it. You'll forgive me for being boastful, but I think this is some of my best work to date. Go ahead, and take a couple of swings. Let's see what you can do with your proper weapon." Sebastian needed no further prompting. He began his usual lethal dance. The sword sang as it cut through the air. The Witcher ended with a final swing downward. He stood up, sheathing the blade on its back.
"Oh yes, this will work nicely." He then drew the silver blade, taking note of the runes inscribed into it, as per his instruction. "You also did a superb job on the other sword as well. This is the sword that's going to be important going forward from here."
"Steel core plated in silver, as you requested," Adrianne said, leaning against the side of her shop, watching as Sebastian admired his new blade, treating it with great reverence. "I was a bit put off by the request for the second blade made of silver. It's certainly more fragile than a normal steel blade. What makes it so special?"
Sebastian cackled. "You have a very good eye, Adrianne. Yes, the silver blade is much more fragile, but it was made to take on a caliber of beast that's far beyond your average bandit or wild animal. Simply put, there was a huge event in my native land called the Conjunction of the Spheres. What happened was several worlds aligned and dumped all manner of strange creatures into our world. All of these creatures just happen to have a very strong aversion to silver."
"And because the silver sword is fragile, Witchers carry a regular steel blade so they don't risk breaking one of their primary tools." Adrianne finished, starting to get an idea of how Witchers did business.
"Furthermore, we don't dual-wield them." Sebastian's tone was sharp. He groaned in irritation. "So many times I've had people ask if we dual wield our swords. I don't know why it bothers me so much, but it just does. If that insufferable little shit Nazeem asks me, I'll punt him off the castle deck!" Adrianne laughed at that.
"I think the Jarl would make you a Thane on general principle just for doing that!" Ulberth said, having caught the tail end of the conversation. The officious Redguard came at least once a week to complain about something. It would be wonderful to see him put in his place. "I think it goes without saying he can't stand Nazeem either. I don't think anyone in Whiterun likes him."
"Sebastian!" He sheathed the silver blade as Phoebe raced down the steps from the Wind District, her braid and the expensive blue silk cloak she wore over her robes, whipping behind her. "Sebastian, there you are!" She looked quite excited as she stopped to catch her breath. "Sebastian, I have wonderful news!"
"Do tell," he said, having never seen Phoebe look so joyful before.
"My uncle and his daughter are coming up to Skyrim from Cyrodil for a few weeks. It's been so long since I've seen Uncle Victor and Cousin Laura." Phoebe blushed when she saw the strange look Sebastian was giving her. "Oh, that's right, you don't know who they are. My uncle is Viscount Victor S. Arseid, he rules a small fiefdom called Legram in the southernmost part of Cyrodil, the Empire's central territory. He's renowned throughout the realm as one of the best swordsman in all of Tamriel. They call him the Radiant Blademaster."
"That's quite the fancy title, tell me more." Sebastian's interest was immediately piqued. if this man was indeed the strongest in the entire empire. He certainly wouldn't be above having a sparring match with Viscount Arseid. The two left Warmaiden's together, walking up back up to the Wind District, taking a seat beneath the Gildergreen.
Phoebe beamed, clearly proud of her family. "The Arseid School is practiced by many throughout the Empire, in fact, it actually forms part of the foundation for all the sword training taught to the Imperial Legion. It's the reason why Uncle Victor is coming up here in the first place. He's going to be spending time training the men at the garrison over in Solitude, Skyrim's capital. While he's doing that, Laura is going to come over here to Whiterun and spend some time with me."
"Do you know how to wield a blade?" Sebastian asked.
Phoebe blushed again. "Actually, no I don't. I'm far more content with my magic than steel. Besides, Laura has that side of things covered, and I wouldn't want to steal her thunder anyway. But I'm really good with a quarterstaff, Uncle Victor trained me himself, said he would feel more at ease if I had some other means to defend myself. The Arseid School embraces many different kinds of weapons, so I can say I practice the family style."
"Lord Arseid certainly sounds like he's quite skilled if his techniques are the basis of what the entire army uses." Sebastian crossed his legs as he looked upward to the sky. "I'd like to see how he'd do against the strongest swordsmen I know, and there's quite a few of them." He gave her a knowing gaze. "Three men in particular I think who would be able to give your uncle a run for his money."
Phoebe tilted her head slightly. "You don't say? That's quite a claim to make. Very few in all of Tamriel could hope to match my Uncle Victor's strength. The main one being General Matteus Vander, the chief bodyguard of Emperor Titus Mede himself. They call him the Thunder God. He more than lives up to that name. It was thanks to him that the Thalmor were driven from the Imperial City during the Great War."
"He sounds like just as a fearsome an opponent. Not to mention someone else for the men I know to face." Sebastian gently stroked Phoebe's cheek.
The mage chuckled. "Then I hope they're ready for a fight. The Vanders are as renowned with the blade as the Arseids are, They have served as protectors to the Imperial Family since Tiber Septim established the Empire back at the start of the Third Era. The Vander School is as widely practiced in the Imperial Legions as the Arseid School." Sebastian filed that away, resolving to take closer note of the Hold Guards when they practiced. Some of those techniques could be useful.
"I've heard some of the guards mention creating a hybrid style specifically for the military, incorporating techniques from both schools. I've met General Vander as well, and like Uncle Victor he's always up for facing challenging opponents. Getting back to the original topic of this discussion So tell me, who are these men that could challenge such mighty titans?" Sebastian shifted uncomfortably on the bench. But the mage just took hold of his hand and smiled, her cheeks flushing once more.
"I suppose I should clarify a few things. Of these three men, two are still alive. The first was a man named Vesemir. He was the main sword instructor of the Wolf School. Every Witcher can owe their basic lessons in swordsmanship to him. He was the oldest surviving Witcher before." He paused for a minute. "Before he died." There was no hiding the crack in his voice. "You'll understand if I say I don't want to talk about it."
Phoebe said nothing, instead stroking Sebastian's arm and letting him continue. "The second man who could match your uncle is the Witcher who personally trained me. Mark Lamperouge, known as the Crimson Fox. He's earned that moniker because he mostly wears shades of red, and he's a right, devious bastard. In the Wolf School, it's standard practice for a trainee to be apprenticed to a senior Witcher, and I was assigned to Mark."
"He must have been a very good teacher, given what I saw you do at Fort Greymoor," Phoebe said, recalling the near balletic way the young warrior cut through the bandits. There was something about it that had greatly intrigued her. She tightened her grip slightly, relishing the gentle tingling sensation she was feeling from his palm.
"Yeah, he really was. Mark took me out on the Path with him for two years before my Trial of the Grasses, that way I could get an idea of what to expect. He was stern but fair." Sebastian relaxed, brushing Phoebe's braid over her shoulder. "Mark was also honest, he didn't always tell me what I wanted to hear, but I knew he would tell me what I needed to hear."
"He sounds just like Uncle Victor," Phoebe said, recalling her trips to Legram in the summer. Watching the Radiant Blademaster stand before his disciples. Praising them for making progress, stern in correcting errors, but in turn offering ways to improve. "He was never afraid to offer counsel to those who needed it. Even if they didn't know it at the time."
"The mark of a good teacher. Last, but certainly, definitely not least, is probably the most famous, or infamous, member of the Wolf School, depending on how you view him. Geralt of Rivia. He's known as the White Wolf, for his white hair and pale skin. He was never as involved in my training as Vesemir or Mark, but I could always count on him dropping a little bit of knowledge when he decided to look in on one of our sessions."
Fond memories of days at Kaer Morhen bubbled up in the young Witcher's mind. Sebastian remembered running the obstacle course under the watchful eyes of Mark and Vesemir. He sighed, looking to Phoebe. "Getting back to the original topic. I'm certain your uncle is very strong, and I would love to see what would happen if he went up against Mark or Geralt. Hell, I wouldn't mind taking him on myself."
"Uncle Victor is hardly the type to turn down challenges. I think he'd be quite intrigued to learn more about your sword technique." Phoebe said. Knowing how Victor often studied many kinds of weapons, even the Akaviri Six Forms, Yin-Yang Style. "Laura would too, so don't be surprised if she requests a match when she gets here."
"If the daughter is as strong as the father, then I imagine I'll have my work cut out for me then." The two were about to depart back to the Plains District, when they heard a shrill cry behind them.
"Today they take away your faith. But what of tomorrow? What then? Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your very lives? And what does the Empire do? Nothing! Nay, worse than nothing! The Imperial machine enforces the will of the Thalmor! Against its own people!" The priest in orange robes barked at the top of his lungs in front of the ornate bronze statue. "So rise up! Rise up, children of the Empire! Rise, Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man and Divine!"
Sebastian just tuned him out. "You would think Heimskr could take a hint after being arrested for the twentieth time in a row?" He remembered the first few days he spent in Whiterun and his run in with the firebrand preacher of Talos. "I appreciate his dedication to serving the will of his God, but I wonder if it's worth the trouble at all?"
"Hey, be careful what you say about that particular subject!" Phoebe spoke in hushed tones as the couple left the park. "Remember the whole Civil War started because the Thalmor forbade the worship of Talos in the first place. A lot of people across the Empire resented that, especially here in Skyrim."
She leaned in close to the Witcher. "I never worshipped Talos personally, I was more inclined to the likes of Dibella and Julianos myself but I can't deny Talos is the whole reason the Empire exists in the first place. Whether it's as Talos the Ninth Divine or simply Tiber Septim the man who became the First Emperor, he is a legend, and revered by many. Certainly there's someone the Witchers revere just as much?"
These words actually made Sebastian thoughtful for a few minutes. He looked up at the sky, before his gaze quickly flickered over to the statue of Talos himself. "Simon Dooku, First Grandmaster of the Wolf School. I get a chance, I'll tell you about his legendary swords, Caliburn and Cortana." Was all the Witcher said, before walking down the stairs.
(A Few Days Later)
Phoebe impatiently shifted from one foot to the other as she stood in front of the Whiterun Stables. She had dragged Sebastian out early in the morning. The sorceress paced about nervously, glancing down the road every so often. The Witcher simply leaned up against the fence post, watching in silent amusement. "When exactly did your cousin's letter say she was getting here?"
"She said it would be on the ten o'clock stagecoach." Phoebe sighed, tapping her foot against the cobblestone road. She looked out to the verdant hills surrounding the city. "I hope they're on time unless they were attacked by bandits or something."
"If your cousin is as skilled with the blade as you say she is. I don't they have anything to worry about." Sebastian reassured her. Phoebe relented, taking a seat on a small bench. It was about another fifteen minutes when she jumped up at the telltale sound of hoof steps coming down the path, as the carriage came into view.
Phoebe was overjoyed at the sight of the young woman hopping down from the back of the wagon. Sebastian finally got a good, long look at Laura Arseid. Long hair the same shade of deep blue as her cousin's, tied back in a high ponytail. Her blue and white traveling clothes were simple, but well-tailored.
Sebastian could see the familial connection, he could also tell the young woman in front of him was a fellow swordsman, if the toned muscles on her long legs were any indication. She exuded the grace and poise he'd expect of nobility, and there was a kindness in her amber-brown eyes. Laura smiled at the sight of Phoebe, running up to her. The two women sharing a deep hug.
"Hello there, Cousin. Welcome to Whiterun!" Phoebe said, giving Laura a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "I trust your journey from Cyrodil was pleasant? How is Uncle Victor doing?"
"Slow down, Phoebe. I'm happy to see you as well." Laura's voice was cool, but exuded kindness. "To answer your questions in turn. The trip from Cyrodil was just fine, much of the province has recovered from the Great War, but there are still some places where you see evidence of the battles. Father is stronger than ever, he's up in Solitude. General Tullius even had a small banquet for us upon our arrival. He's quite grateful to have Father and I here to help train his men."
She then noticed Sebastian standing there. "And who is this, Phoebe? Did you make a new friend?" Laura sized up her cousin's new companion. He seemed relaxed enough, judging from how he was leaning against the fence post. But she could tell the way his flickered back and forth showed he was mindful of his surroundings at all time. What stood out to Laura was the wolf-shaped pendant hanging around his neck, and the two swords on his back, also adorned with wolf markings.
He stepped forward, offering a slight bow to the Arseid heiress. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Arseid. Allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Sebastian Connor, I am a Witcher of the Wolf School, and a traveler from very distant shores. I had a rather rough journey to Tamriel, almost didn't survive in fact. Your cousin was kind enough to nurse me back to health. I'm in her debt for all her hospitality." She blushed slightly. "She's told me about your family, and how skilled with a blade both you and your father are."
"Is that a fact?" Laura raised an eyebrow, this stranger becoming more intriguing by the minute. "So what exactly does a Witcher do? It sounds like you're a mage, but those swords on your back tell a different story. Can I presume each of them serves a different purpose?" She was expecting a lot of answers, mad applause was not one of them. "I wasn't aware that my question deserved such praise."
"You'll have to excuse me, Lady Arseid. It's just you have officially proved yourself smarter than the other ninety-nine percent of people who ask me that question. Everyone else who asks about the two swords, automatically assumes that I dual-wield them." The way the vein on his forehead throbbed it was clear he wasn't fond of that question. "I'll just say this right now, it does not work that way."
"Please call me Laura. You've gotten to know Phoebe well. I consider any friend of hers, a friend of mine."
"You're very gracious, Laura. Now to answer your initial question. I'm not a dedicated mage like Phoebe, but magic is heavily involved in my line of work. You could say I'm a magical troubleshooter of sorts, most commonly in the form of dealing with curses and breaking them. All Witchers are also very skilled alchemists, adept at brewing all manners of potions. But our primary area of expertise, our bread, and butter if you will, is monster hunting. Which is where my blades come into play."
He drew the silver blade, holding it out for Laura to inspect. "The monsters I commonly hunt all have their own unique weaknesses, which every Witcher, of every school, learns from an early age. But what they all have in common is a strong aversion to silver, hence why we all carry this second, very special sword. But it's not just monsters of a magical nature I hunt. I also hunt more mundane monsters, wild animals, and yes, even people, because monsters can take a myriad of different shapes."
Laura nodded, "A sad, but unfortunate truth. My blade has tasted the blood of a few bandits, so I understand completely." Sebastian eyed her weapon, a massive claymore. The Arseid heiress was reading the Witcher's mind. "Perhaps you'd like to see what I can do with this blade. Perhaps a quick sparring match is in order?"
"Lead the way." After letting the guards know they were going to have a sparring match, lest they think it was something more serious. The trio headed up the hills overlooking Whiterun, and the expanse was gorgeous. It reminded Sebastian of Kaer Morhen just a little bit. He and Laura stood a few feet apart from each other. Their swords catching the light of the mid-morning sun.
"It's customary for the duelists to introduce themselves and what school they represent. I shall go first." Laura pointed her weapon at her opponent. "I am Laura S. Arseid, daughter of Viscount Victor S. Arseid, representing the Arseid school of swordsmanship. May our battle be a fair and honorable one!" The massive sword seemed so light in her hands.
The young monster hunter mirrored her gesture. "Sebastian Connor, student of Mark Lamperouge, the Crimson Fox, representing the Wolf School of the Witchers. May our battle be a fair and honorable one." He brought his blade up to a ready stance. They both looked to Phoebe, who raised her arm in the air, bringing it down in a single motion. The two combatants rushed each other, meeting in a clanging of steel.
Laura jumped up, going for an overhead strike, Sebastian dodge rolled out of the way. The ground shook and split open from the force of the young woman's blow. He tried for a diagonal slash aimed up to the left, only for it to be parried, sliding along the edge of the claymore. Sebastian flipped back, dodging under the strike. He threw up his blade, only for Laura to gracefully spin out of the way, his sword slicing off a few hairs from her ponytail.
"That was close, but not good enough." She remarked. The steel longsword and blue and gold claymore locked up against each other. Sebastian and Laura put some distance between each other, swords at the ready. Both of them smiled, this duel was turning out to be rather fun. They were both about even. "I must say you're quite skilled with that blade. Your master has taught you well."
Sebastian nodded. "You're damn right he did. Mark is one of the greatest swordsmen I've ever known." He shot a knowing glance over to Phoebe. "Earlier, I was telling your cousin he could give your father a run for his money."
"That is quite the grand claim to make. The only other person who could make such a claim was Matteus Vander, and he guards the Emperor himself." Laura said. "Now that we're done warming up, how about we get to the real battle now? I know you're not using your full strength. I will show you more of the Arseid school's techniques if you show me what a Witcher can really do."
"If that's what you want, Laura. Then you'll get it." Sebastian decided he wouldn't use Axii on Laura, but the other four signs were fair game. Not to mention he would able to call on other aspects of his repertoire, things he usually didn't get a chance to use due to the disproval of certain parties. He raised his free hand, making a slight wave of his hand before sending out the telltale burst of an Aard.
Laura was prepared for it, planting her feet in the ground and using her sword to reduce the effect. She came back by stabbing her sword into the ground, causing a forest of light blades to erupt from the ground, popping the Quen shield Sebastian had set up. A stream of fire was his response, and the daughter of the Radiant Blademaster launched a chilling gust of icy wind to cancel it out.
Sebastian's footwork was fluid, rhythm not breaking once as he weaved around Laura's devastating power swings. He decided now was the time. He crouched low, bringing up his sword parallel to the ground, a faint green glow emanating from his weapon. The Witcher lunged forward, glowing blade arcing in the air. Laura didn't think she wanted to be cut by that. She just barely avoided it. She tried one last strike, only for it to be deftly evaded.
Phoebe watched the match with awe and a little bit of concern. She knew both of them were strong, having seen Laura train plenty whenever she visited the Arseid training hall in Legram, and remembering all Sebastian did during the battle at Fort Greymoor. It was clear from the deadly dance unfolding before her just how evenly matched they both were. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but then she heard loud applause and cheering.
"Bravo! Bravo!" A feminine voice brought the proceedings to a halt. Sebastian and Laura both turned to see a young woman their age sitting on a nearby rock. She continued clapping. "A true display of swordsmanship! A magnificent show truly worthy of song!" What surprised the Witcher the most was the irritated glare Phoebe gave the new arrival. He sized her up, noting her brilliant red hair, making him think of his adopted mother. The girl's tunic, the same red, clung to an hourglass torso, and a pair of white shorts defined her finely shaped hips, and very long pale creamy legs, capped off with light brown ankle-high boots.
She made a sweeping bow. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Fianna Redblaze, a humble bard at your service. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?" Both Sebastian and Laura found themselves uneasy at the hungry gaze in those brilliant green eyes, or the predatory smile hiding behind that delicate pair of pink lips. Not to mention the way Phoebe was clenching her hands and quietly grinding her teeth.
"Laura S. Arseid, I'm Phoebe's cousin, visiting from Cyrodil for the next few weeks." The blue-haired swordsman said tentatively, hand tightening on her weapon slightly..
Fianna clapped her hands. "Ah, so you're the famed daughter of the Radiant Blademaster I've heard Phoebe talk about so much! Wow, she said you were skilled, she never mentioned your striking good looks too!" She licked her lips, only for the mage to utter an angry growl. Sebastian then found himself under her gaze. "And you found a man on top of it? I'm jealous." She walked up to the Witcher, hands on her hips. "So spill, what's your story?"
"Sebastian Connor, I'm a Witcher of the Wolf School, a monster hunter." was all he could get out before Fianna slid her arm into his, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Oh, how interesting! You can tell me all about your exploits over dinner! Of course you two are more than welcome to join us!" The two of them walked off, leaving Laura and Phoebe to walk behind them.
"Do you know her, cousin?" Laura asked, noting the way Phoebe's gaze was boring into the back of Fianna's skull.
"Unfortunately." Phoebe bit out, her eyes narrowing at how Fianna was hanging all over Sebastian. The redhead looked over her shoulder, giving a smug smile before sticking her tongue out. Lightning crackled across Phoebe's fingertips, tempted to send a bolt to zap Fianna in her perfect little ass.
(Later That Night)
Dinner at the Bannered Mare was a livelier affair than normal, given the large crowd of brightly colored individuals occupying the room. This motley collection of singers and dancers were the Scattered Feathers, Fianna's performance troupe. And they were entertaining the bar's patrons.
"Aren't they impressive?" Fianna said to Sebastian from their place at the bar. "We've traveled all over Tamriel, entertained thousands of people, even Emperor Titus Mede himself." She knocked back her ale, offering a playful wave to Laura and Phoebe, the latter of who just glared at her.
"So what's the story between you and Phoebe?" Sebastian asked. "Judging she wasn't too happy with how you crashed our little sparring match earlier."
Fianna let out a mock sigh, cupping her chin in her hand. "What can I say? She's always been a little on the uptight side. Phoebe needs to lighten up some, but every time I've tried to help her out, she just gets more and more stubborn." Fianna tittered lightly. "Of course, it just makes it that much more fun to play around with her. But enough about me." She leaned in, batting her eyelashes. "What about you, Mr. Monster Hunter?"
"The technical term is Witcher. I'm a visitor to Tamriel, and a very long way from home." Sebastian still wondered just how far he really was. "The people here have been good to me, so I can't really complain. It's a nice change from how I'm treated in my native land."
"Oh?" Fianna tilted her head. "Aren't you respected in your homeland?"
"Not to most people. My homeland really kind of sucks." Sebastian grunted, knocking back his drink. "The life of a Witcher is a very hard one, we usually live contract to contract, barely earn enough coin to maintain our equipment and have food and water to stay alive."
"Then isn't a wonderful thing you met me?" Fianna smiled, running her fingers along Sebastian's cheek, ignoring the murderous glare from Phoebe across the room. "For one night, your life got a little brighter." The Witcher rolled his eyes, finally having enough. He laid a couple of septims on the table, getting up from his seat. "Aw, leaving so soon?" She pouted.
"Sorry Miss Redblaze. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think you were quite attractive, but I know my type." He looked to Phoebe, who softened when they locked eyes. "It's a Witcher thing. Although if the Scattered Feathers ever do find their way to my neck of the woods. I'll be sure to introduce you to my fellow Witcher, Ezra of Vengerberg. You two would be perfect for each other." She just took another tankard of ale and offered a salute.
Sebastian made his way to Laura and Phoebe's table, sitting down. "Evening to you, ladies." He then took Phoebe's hand, kissing it, causing her to gasp and blush, feeling that tingling sensation again. "I owe you an apology, Phoebe. I have to imagine you were more than a little irritated with how Fianna was glued to me. She's not bad, but I think I'd much prefer your company, after all, you were the one who kept me from the brink of death."
"Aw, that's so sweet!" Laura said. "You have a real keeper, Phoebe. I wouldn't let him go." She winked at Sebastian who just gave a slight nod.
The mage just became more and more flustered, she wanted to leave but Sebastian was still holding her hand. "Breath, Phoebe." He said, side eying over to the bar. "You don't want to give Fianna any new ammo to use against you now, do you?"
All it took was a single glance at the redhead to get her to calm down. "You really like me over Fianna?" She asked tentatively, her whole body felt light as the tingles traveled up and down her spine, not to mention the feel of his hands was comforting. Sebastian's palms were worn, a stark contrast to the smooth velvet feel of Phoebe's own hands.
"Oh yeah, I'll let you in on a little joke from my world. Witchers inevitably pair up with Sorceresses. At least it's true in the Wolf School. One of my fellow Witchers, a guy named Lambert, was always bitter about ending up at Kaer Morhen." He snorted. "At least until he met a fiery blonde named Keira Metz. The two of them start bantering like an old married couple. Always made my day. Geralt's romance with Yennefer of Vengerberg is legendary to the point whole songs were written about it, and Mark's wife, Triss Merigold is the closest thing I have to a mother."
"Why do Sorceresses gravitate to Witchers?" Phoebe asked.
"You're feeling it right now. That tingle all throughout your body, only happens when a Witcher and Sorceress make physical contact with each other. No one can really explain it, but it drives the ladies wild, and they can't get enough of it after the fact." Phoebe gave her own disappointed pout when Sebastian finally let go. "You're a sweet girl, Phoebe. I know Mark and Triss would approve of you."
Phoebe's smile was back, her cheeks redder than ever. "I'm glad you think that and now." She reached her hand out. "Hold on to me for a little bit longer?" No further words were required as the two enjoyed the performance the Scattered Feathers put on. It was shaping out to be a fairly good night. But it wasn't to last.
Every chord of muscle, every bundle of nerve tensed in Sebastian's body, as his medallion began madly vibrating. Phoebe's pained shriek, and her chair crashing to the ground brought the whole performance to a screeching halt. She was curled up into a ball on the floor, hugging her chest as her body wracked with sobs. Laura got on her knees, trying to help her cousin. "Phoebe, what's wrong?" Sebastian bolted for the door, hand going for his silver sword. "Where are you going?" She called out.
"I'm going to stop them!" The Wolf ran outside, blade in hand ready to combat whatever threat was waiting, but there was nothing there. Just a cloudless sky with countless stars in the sky. He began looking around, but the city of Whiterun was tranquil. "What in the hell was that? It couldn't be them." Sebastian trailed off, remembering the words spoken to him by his master. He looked around, for any signs of spectral riders or imminent snowfall, checking the trees for growing frost, but saw nothing.
"Maybe I was just seeing things." He muttered before he was hit in the face by a titanic gust of wind. The sky darkened further as clouds seemed to materialize out of nothing, massive lightning bolts flashed overhead and a tremendous crack of thunder rumbled across the sky, followed by a beastly roar. The lightning continued to flash, illuminating a massive shape in the sky, a draconic shape, with scales black as night and eyes glowing red.
Flanking the dragon on either side were eight spectral figures in tattered robes, and behind them, a procession of souls numbering in the thousands. As the racket continued, it was clear to Sebastian this wasn't thunder. It was the pained wails of the damned on the air. The dragon roared, sending a jet of flame across the sky, before flying back into the clouds, and then all was quiet again.
It took the Witcher a couple moments for him to process all he saw. "Okay, that wasn't what I thought it was, but it's definitely nothing good!"
"Sebastian, did you see what just happened?" He looked to Iskar, running up with a pair of guards flanking him.
"If you mean did I see what looked like a really nasty Dragon leading a parade of the dead across the sky, then yeah. I saw the whole thing." Sebastian sheathed his blade. "It wasn't just me either. Phoebe just went crazy, started screaming in terror. Her cousin's tending to her right now. You might want to take her back to the palace."
Iskar let out a low growl, a clawed hand going to the sheathed dagger at his left side. "It brought Master Farengar to his knees, not to mention the clerics at the temple all passed out. It seems every magic user in the city was affected by this event."
"I have to imagine it's not just Whiterun." Sebastian looked across the night sky, the shadows of Skyrim's mountains visible in the starlight. "It would be likely all of the province felt this."
(Skyrim/Cyrodil Border, Falkreath Hold, the same time)
The night was quiet, and the air was still. Perfect for a raid, For Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Eastmarch Hold, he was looking to deliver his most devastating blow to the battered husk that had been the Third Empire yet. He was the one who knew what was best for Skyrim, not the buffoon of an Emperor hundreds of miles away in a land he never set foot in.
Not everyone agreed with his decision to challenge High King Torygg to a duel. It wasn't his fault the puppet king had never been in an actual fight to save his life, much less encountered the might of the Thu'um. That was always how the Nords handled things. The Empire's influence degraded the Nordic way of life. Couldn't his critics see he wasn't destroying Skyrim, he was saving it, Divines help him!
Putting his thoughts on Skyrim's current political state aside, Ulfric looked to his housecarl and long-time friend, Galmar Stone-Fist. "It's going to be a good night, old friend." He drew his faithful one-handed, iron war axe.
"I heard that!" Galmar smirked, pounding his fist into his palm. "I'm ready to crack some Imperial skulls, the boys are ready too." He indicated to their raiding party, twenty-five strong were some of the best the Stormcloak Rebellion could muster. All of them capable warriors who had been with the cause since the beginning.
Ulfric nodded slightly, beginning a quick briefing. "Gentlemen, the target for the night is a small border outpost being set up here on the border between our precious Skyrim and the desolate wasteland the Imperials call home. I take offense to this, so we're going to do something about it."
"Are we taking any prisoners?" One of the soldiers asked.
"No, I intend to send all their heads back to Imperial City." Ulfric's smirk looked chilling, illuminated by the light of Nirn's twin moons. "Let the Emperor know just how serious we really are." The men said nothing, simply readying their weapons for what was to come. The Stormcloaks soon reached their objective, a half-built stockade with a paltry few soldiers standing guard. Easy pickings.
Galmar and some of his men nocked their bows, looking to Ulfric. The Jarl raised his axe, before bringing it down. The arrows flew silently through the night sky, finding their targets. "For the glory of Skyrim!" Ulfric bellowed, and the rebel troops rushed out of the trees ready to lay the enemy at their feet if the air wasn't sundered by a deafening roar and flashes of lighting. The dark shade swooped overhead. The Stormcloaks took one look at that and broke ranks, fleeing in terror.
Ulfric didn't even bother telling them to come back, he was too entranced by the monstrous form as it flew over the mountains. Before he was brought back to his senses by the presence of his deputy commander. "What was that, My Jarl?" Galmar asked his master, fear and trepidation coloring his voice.
"We need to get back to Windhelm right now!" The urgency in Ulfric's voice making the housecarl very uneasy. "I need to check something in my personal library. Something I remembered learning from my days training with the Greybeards. If that is what I think it is, then the Empire is the least of our worries."
"Then let's go!" Galmar said, trusting in his Jarl to find the answers needed.
"Halt!" Only for about a dozen Imperial soldiers to come out of the half finished outpost. It was more heavily manned than initially thought. The Captain's eyes lit up. "Well well well, Ulfric Stormcloak himself! I think General Tullius will be quite pleased with this!"
(College of Winterhold, The Winterhold)
Arch-Mage Savos Aren had been going over some reports in his office when he felt an intense wave of magic sweep through. It had been overwhelming to say the least. The Dark Elf made his way to the roof of the main tower of the college. He had witnessed the draconic form sweep across the sky, roaring and spouting fire. The wails of the pained dead following in his wake.
Once it was over he had gone straight to the Arcanaeum, the College library, and had a mountain of books in front of him. "You going to pull every book from the shelf, boss?" Urag gro-Shub, the Orc in charge of the Arcanaeum, growled out.
"Come now Urag, you know better than anyone I would never leave a single page out of place," Savos replied, knowing how protective the Orc was of his books. "But if what I saw is true. Then dark times lay ahead for us." Mirabelle Ervine, the College's Master Wizard, and Savos's right hand came in. "Ah, how is everyone doing?"
"Most of the other teachers are still shaken up, but they're trying to keep it together. The apprentices are another story. All of them are curled up their beds, scared out of their minds. Have you learned anything about that horrific sight?"
"I'm still working on it," Savos said, putting another book aside before picking up another one. "I know most of Skyrim doesn't trust us, but we have a duty to investigate whatever this threat is. The Nords wonder why we're here. Today we give them the answer."
(Dragonsreach, Whiterun Hold, fifteen minutes after the event)
Sebastian stood on the great porch of Dragonsreach, looking on the sweeping plains of Whiterun, and all the way up to mountains. He had brought Phoebe straight to the palace, Laura and Fianna in tow. Leaving the mage in the care of her master, he had stepped outside for some quiet time to think about the insane display from earlier.
"That was definitely not Eredin's ilk unless he got himself a dragon recently." He sat down at the long table. "But if it's not the Red Riders, what was it?" That was the main question plaguing the Witcher at that exact moment. He let out a resigned groan, it was apparent he wasn't going to get any answers tonight.
"Hey there, Master Witcher!" Iskar came outside. "I thought you'd want to know about Miss Spring-Rain. Master Farengar's looked her over. He thinks she's going to be okay. The child's shaken, but there doesn't seem to be any lasting damage, physically or emotionally."
"That's good to hear. An episode like this would leave anybody traumatized." It was a great relief off Sebastian's shoulders, but he knew it wasn't the end. In fact this was only the beginning of a new challenge. "I don't suppose anyone knows just what in the hell happened?"
The big Argonian grunted, his scales catching the light of the lit torches. "I was about to ask you the same thing. Lady Arseid mentioned you ran outside the Mare, saying something about going to stop them. Who exactly is them, and does it have anything to do with that display in the sky?"
Sebastian shook his head. "No it does not, but at the time I thought it was. In my world there exists a great threat. A horde of spectral riders who coast across the sky, bringing nothing but destruction with them." He folded his arms, looking up to Nirn's dual moons. "They're often called the Red Riders due to the scarlet capes they wear, but they have another name that inspires dread in all. The Wild Hunt."
"The Wild Hunt? Are they related to Hircine in some way?" Iskar spoke of the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, but again the Witcher shook his head.
"Again, no. They ride across the countryside of my world, raiding villages, abducting people to add to their ranks, and vanish just as quickly as they arrive. Most folk dismiss them as mere legends. Use them to scare naughty children by saying the Wild Hunt will take them away forever if they misbehave. But they are real, and extremely dangerous. I've never encountered them myself, but Mark has. It ended badly for him."
"Do tell," Iskar said.
"It was about forty years ago. The Wild Hunt raided a village in a kingdom named Kovir, among the people taken was the village elder's son. He contracted a Witcher to retrieve him." Sebastian shifted in his seat. "It took Mark scouring half the continent and a whole month before he finally caught up to the Hunt." His eyes flickered, turning gold for a second. "They knew he was coming, jumped him. Mark is a great warrior, one of the best swordsmen I know of, but the Wild Hunt's soldiers were fierce and numerous. He barely escaped with his life."
"I imagine it sticks with him even now?" Iskar asked.
"Absolutely. He told me there were few things that made him genuinely nervous. The Wild Hunt is one of them. Mark said they were one of the few enemies he hoped I would never encounter myself." He stood up, going back to the stone rail. "But my Master is also practical enough to know it could happen. He also made sure to teach me what signs to watch for should the Wild Hunt ever come calling, that way I could always be prepared. Which sometimes makes all the difference."
Iskar could agree with that. Sebastian continued. "Wherever the Wild Hunt goes, it brings with it a huge spike in supernatural activity. Wild beasts go mad in the forests. Spirits appear in our realm, Monster attacks skyrocket. People begin having nightmares that leave them in a cold sweat, and a general sense of uneasiness permeates the air. But the most visible sign that the Red Riders are about to attack is that everything freezes up. Snow begins falling from a cloudless sky, a layer of ice covers everything. When that happens, your sword better be in hand, because you may only have a few seconds before the Wild Hunt is in your face."
"Sound like a dangerous group, but they aren't what caused tonight's episode?" Iskar asked.
Sebastian's laugh was humorless. "Not unless they recently added a dragon leading the souls of the damned to their ranks. Even if not, that thing's appearance was definitely in the same vein as the Wild Hunt. The harbinger of a very bad omen. You might want to inform Lord Balgruuf to increase patrols and have the guards watch the skies over the next few days."
"I'll inform my own people to be vigilant as well. Be mindful of anything abnormal." Iskar's tongue flicked out again, resolving to have his spy network start scouring the back streets and shadier side of the world. Certainly someone would have seen something. "I will also tell the Jarl to send word to the other Hold capitals as well. As for you, go and see Phoebe. I think she'll be relieved to see you."
Sebastian made his way to Farengar's chambers, where Laura and Fianna were sitting. The elder mage came out of the bedroom. "She's awake, but I wouldn't ask too many questions of her. I must confer with the Jarl." He headed out to the throne room, Sebastian took a breath and entered the bedroom. Phoebe was sitting up, her eyes were puffy but looked no worse for wear. She smiled at the sight of him. He took a chair and sat beside her. "You okay now?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'm sorry if scared everybody. But it all just happened so suddenly. I felt this presence just rush in at me from all sides. It was just made of pure, concentrated wrongness." Phoebe shuddered, about to cry again, only for Sebastian to hold her hand, the tingling sensation calming her down. "It was so overwhelming. I never want to feel that way again!"
"I don't blame you, but we don't have that kind of luxury." He looked over his shoulder to the door. "You girls can come in. It's probably better if you hear this as well." Laura and Fianna both slid in. "I can't say for sure what I saw, but it's clearly a bad omen. We need to collect some more information, and maybe then we can get a handle on this."
"I can speak to my father. If he hears anything he can pass it onto us." Laura said.
"Fianna, you said the Scattered Feathers have traveled all around Tamriel, which means you probably have a few contacts here and there. Think they can dig up anything?"
"You just leave it to me, Sebby!" The redhead got up, throwing a wink to Sebastian before departing.
"I'll leave the two of you alone." Laura offered a slight bow before quietly closing the door behind her. Phoebe rolled on her side, her grip on Sebastian's hand tightening.
"You'll stay here with me, right? You won't leave me alone until I go to sleep?" She pleaded. The Witcher leaned in to kiss the Sorceress, gently stroking her hair. "Thank you." Phoebe sniffled, feeling a few tears escape her eyes. Sebastian leaned forward, putting his forehead to hers. The mage felt comforted by the Witcher's presence. "Tell me more about Simon Dooku, you mentioned he was revered by the Witchers. His feats must have been mighty to be held in such regards."
Sebastian ran his hand along Phoebe's cheek. "That he was. Simon Dooku was one of the very first Witchers, period. The gold standard all Witchers strive for. He had many exploits to his name, but the two he's most known for are the ones that are associated with his dual blades, Cortana the steel sword, and Caliburn the silver sword. Every Witcher trainee has heard these stories, and seek to emulate his greatness."
"It was just after the Conjunction of the Spheres, monsters plagued the land, and someone had to put them in check. At that time he was just another Witcher on the path, living his life and earning his coin along the way. But sometimes greatness finds a home in the most unlikely of places."
He paused a minute, remembering the old stories told to him by his master. "The Kingdom of Kovir was plagued by a ruthless warlord from the east named The Lord of Cinder. If his name wasn't a dead giveaway, the man had a thing for setting ablaze whatever caught his eye. Simon Dooku was in the village that the Lord of Cinder targeted for destruction, and he wasn't about to let him have his way. So he drew his steel sword, Cortana, and faced the Lord of Cinder in single combat and drove him off."
"This would be the start of a brutal rivalry between Simon and the Lord of Cinder. They would clash many more times, before their final confrontation at the Lord of Cinder's keep of Anor Londo. But that day, the warlord met his end when the tip of Cortana found its mark in his gut. Simon Dooku became renowned for stopping the would be dictator. He brought the Wolf School to prominence with that feat, made people actually respect Witchers, if not like them."
Sebastian found himself entranced by Phoebe's gentle blue eyes, she was in turn hanging on his every word. "But that was just the opening act. You see, not long after that. A new threat reared its ugly head." Sebastian stifled a laugh. "It's actually kind of ironic, given what happened last night. But he actually slayed a dragon." This caught Phoebe's attention as she sat up in bed.
"Oh yeah, a real dragon, wings, scales, flames, the whole package. The Black Dragon, Kalameet, also called the Nightfury, due to its pitch black scales, and the black fire it spewed on wherever its single red eye gazed. Borders meant nothing to Kalameet. He would fly from one end of the continent to the next, looking for its next target. Every person, regardless of nationality, gender, or creed was victim to the beast's whims. All burned equally under this monster's might."
Sebastian could feel Phoebe hold onto him a little tighter, clearly afraid of the mental image. She was trembling slightly, recalling the dragon in the sky looked very similar. "Kalameet was such a menace, the rulers of the major Northern Kingdoms, the Kings of Temeria, Redania, Kovir, Aedirn, Cintra, and Cidaris, not to mention the Emperor of Nilfgaard, their chief rival and sworn enemy to the south, were all united in that it had to be defeated."
"I can't imagine how terrifying it must have been for all the people living in that time, wondering if they were going to be turned to ashes in that moment." Phoebe said, silently praying to Julianos she never found herself on the other side of a dragon attack. Oh how she would rue those words in due time!
"Well, The King of Kovir knew just the man for the job. He called on Simon to step up and bring the beast down. The five hundred thousand crown reward was real good incentive. But Master Dooku was not so foolish to think he could achieve this on his own. He put together a hanse, a team to combat Kalameet, calling on two of his fellow Witchers, a elven archer, and two mages."
"They tracked the Nightfury to his lair deep in the mountains, for a day and a half they did battle with the dragon. Just like the Lord of Cinder, Simon delivered the final blow, plunging his silver sword, Caliburn into Kalameet's lone red eye. The creature died, and Simon Dooku forever secured his place in history that day. He became the Grandmaster of the Wolf School and helped set up the model we follow to this very day."
Phoebe kissed him on the cheek. "That was quite the story. I see why you would hold him in such reverence. So what happened to him after that?"
"He served as Grandmaster for about two hundred years before dying on a contract. His body was entombed at Kaer Morhen, and Caliburn and Cortana were enshrined in a place of reverence for all Witchers to see." He snorted. "At least until they were stolen when the fortress was attacked by stupid people, but that's a story for another day."
The mage nodded, closing her eyes. "I think I feel better now. I'm going back to sleep, but Sebastian." Her voice pleaded. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"Whatever you ask of me." He said, gladly sticking by the bedside for the rest of the night.
(Throat of the World, Summit)
The largest mountain in all of Tamriel, the Throat of the World was Skyrim's most well-known landmark. At the very peak of the mountain sat a battered stone wall. Atop it sat a massive creature believed to be extinct by both man and Mer alike. Long wings the color of old ash expanded outwards as a small puff of fire escaped from weathered, reptilian lips.
Paarthurnax, master of the Order of the Greybeards, had felt the overwhelming display more intently than anyone else. For he knew exactly who it was leading those souls, and what it entailed. "So it has at last come to this." A deep voice rumbled on the frigid Skyrim air. "He who was cast along the river of time has finally found his way out of it."
The wizened dragon sat up straighter. "And if he has returned, then it means the prophecy is nigh. The one who would bring about the downfall of Akatosh's firstborn will soon emerge as well." He flared his tattered wings and felt a slight twitch in his tail. "Not to mention the one who will stand at his side."
The master of the Greybeards snorted as he took to the skies. "The mortal bearing the soul of a dragon, and the one who bears the mark of the wolf, I wonder how you'll fare against them, my dear brother."
(The Next Day, Dragonsreach)
Sebastian strode up the steps to the Jarl's palace with purpose. He gave a respectful nod to the guards stationed at the doors, before entering the main hall. Balgruuf was not at his throne, rather in Farengar's workshop off to the right. "Ah, welcome Master Witcher." The Jarl of Whiterun spoke in his deep, accented voice. "Thank you for being so prompt."
He bowed slightly. "Not a problem, sire. I understand you have a job for me. Does this have to do with what we saw last night?"
"Not quite. I'll let Thane Raging Winter explain it." The large lizard-man stalked up, tail lashing back and forth. He gave a slight bow to his Jarl, before turning to the Witcher.
"I'll cut right to the chase, remember those documents we retrieved from Greymoor? The bandit leader's journal made mention of a powerful magical artifact located in an old Nordic ruin located in the hold known as the Pale, due north from here. A place called High Gate Ruins. Master Farengar would like us to retrieve it for study. You up for a dungeon crawl?"
The Witcher smirked. "A chance for a treasure hunt? Say no more. Who exactly will be going?"
"The two of us and Phoebe. Lacrima will join us along the way. We'll have to travel due north to get to the Pale. It should take a couple days to get over there, so make sure you have your all your gear ready, and stock up on extra provisions."
"Done." Sebastian thought for a minute. "If we're going on this journey, perhaps we can invite Lady Arseid as well? I sparred with her when she first arrived, and she can handle a claymore like few others."
"I have no objections to that," Iskar said, always grateful for extra muscle. "But I can't help but worry about what's to come, and if anything more will happen?"
"You and about a thousand other people." Sebastian said.
(Southern Skyrim, near the village of Helgen, A few days later)
The young man walking down the dusty path that lead from Cyrodil into Skyrim, looked unassuming enough, clad in basic steel armor, a steel greatsword hanging off his back. He took a moment to look up at the sky, the wind blowing through his brown hair, streaked with blonde highlights.
"Ah, home again." The young man's greenish-blue eyes sparkled for a second. "I can't believe it's been six years since I last set foot in Skyrim. Cyrodil wasn't bad, and the money was certainly good, but this is where I belong." He continued walking. "I should make it back to Windhelm by tomorrow morning."
The traveler stopped dead in his tracks when he heard sounds of yelling from down the road. "Stop horse thief!" His eyes widened when he saw a horse come over the rise in the hill, on his tail were a pair of Imperial soldiers also on horseback, weapons drawn. He quickly leapt out of the way, seconds before he was trampled.
"That son of a bitch!" The traveler yelled, pulling out his bow, quickly nocking an arrow. Taking careful aim the steel-tipped projectile whistled through the sky, catching the horse in its rump. It let out a pained whinny, rearing up on its hind legs. That was enough to send the rider flying off, and the horse took off.
The rider staggered to his feet. He looked around frantically for his mount. Then caught sight of who had unhorsed him, marching up to the traveler. "What in the planes of Oblivion are you doing?" He yelled. Only for the first man to cock back a punch, catching him square in the jaw and sprawled out on the ground. "What was that for, you dumb Horker!"
"That was for nearly running me over you asshole!" The traveler grabbed him by the collar. "I'm going to give you a pounding you won't soon forget!" He threw another punch. The rider had the foresight to dodge this time, avoiding it while throwing a punch of his own.
Both men were about to go for their swords, only for the soldiers to ride up. "Halt, both of you!" They reluctantly stopped. Damn Imperials with their law and order, can't a couple of self-respecting Nords just settle their differences by beating each other to death with their bare hands? "Drop your weapons!" The swords were discarded on the ground. "Both of you are under arrest!" One soldier got up in the face of the traveler. "State your name."
"Erik, Erik Stormfire." He rolled his eyes as his hands were wrenched behind his back and tied up. "Wow, not even back home for a full day and I'm already in trouble. Just my luck!"
Author's Notes: Well, that escalated quickly! One minute you're flirting with a cute girl, next you see the imminent signs of the apocalypse. Although for a Witcher, that's Wednesday. The great World Eater has emerged into the Fourth Era. Alduin's arrival has not gone unnoticed, and what part does Erik Stormfire play? Only one way to find out!