A Sword for the Nine: A Skyrim AAR

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I know I haven't been around for a while, but it's great to come back to writing like this. These are great updates, TheKnightofDay!

[TheKnightofDay]

Chapter Five: Blood and Silver
20th Last Seed, 4E201

It was a misty morning in the Reach that day. Unlike in Falkreath, however, this mist filled me with anxiety rather than vigor. As I finished my breakfast, a crispy cooked salmon and steamed carrots with plenty of mead to be had, and took my leave from my host, the miner, I mentally set myself to the task of reaching Markarth today. I am not ignorant of its reputation: the Silver-Bloods, with the Jarl under their thumb and the silver mines at their back, control everything the Karth River touches, and they do so with a ruthless gravity. They often strong arm minor land owners into surrendering their enterprises to the Silver-Bloods: mills, farms, and mines in particular. The whole affair was an affront to my sensibilities and unbearably odious, and yet I'm separated from the city by at least a dozen miles of craggy terrain, imagine how it would all feel when I finally set foot behind the walls.



The terrain wasn't very difficult once I found the main roads. From there it was a simple walk to the city, which only took me three hours to do so. When I finally caught sight of the city, I was blown away. The Imperial City is a mighty sight indeed, with its stone white as snow, its walls stretching from shore to shore across the City Isle in Lake Rumare, but Markarth was nonetheless a gem in its own right. Built by the dwarves, its grey granite complimented by flares of bronze here and there was a thing of beauty that I could find few comparisons too. The granite itself was also well ornamented, with many reliefs and patterns worked into the stone that were simple yet had a subtle aesthetic to them. Some of the pillars even had images of dwarven faces carved into them, but with square, geometric contours, much unlike Imperial statuary which emphasized natural curves. Perhaps that was simply a testament to the strength of Dwarven craftsmanship: its starkness would last even the most punishing of abuse from both man and nature, whereas the art of other races, like us Imperials or the Altmer, is much more fragile and easily lost to the ages without proper stewardship. Markarth has stood on Nirn longer than Men have been in Tamriel, and it will likely remain long after we are gone.

I walked up to the large bronze gates of the city and, with a friendly nod, the guards allowed me passage inside. When I walked in, I was greeted by a small plaza, filled with booths next to other store fronts that got higher and higher on the cliffs as it progressed to the back of the town. It all seemed business as usual in this market place, as the vendors there chanted their pitches to passers-by. I caught a glance over to a stand where a young Nord woman was talking with the owner, a jeweler. They were chatting amiably, when a shifty looking character started approaching her menacingly. I turned to face him, my hand reaching for my sword when he suddenly broke into a bolt, drawing a dagger from his fist. Before I could do anything, he grasped the woman forcibly by the throat, yelling: "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" before plunging his dagger into her back. I darted towards him, my own blade drawn, and, catching him unawares, was able to run him through before he could catch anybody else off guard. He collapsed to the ground, and as I retrieved my sword from his side, he mumbled in a pained breath: "I die for my people..." The guards had arrived, swords drawn, at this time, and as I turned to the woman, I found that she too had breathed her last. "By the Gods," somebody said behind me, "How can anyone do this to poor Margaret?" Another person had said: "Is it true, the Forsworn are in the city!?" The guards then pushed their way to the center of the plaza. "Alright everyone, clear out of here, there are no Forsworn in the city! Go back to your business!" they commanded, as two of them seized the body of the assassin and hauled it to a cart to be taken away.



I was about to leave the plaza to find a general store to buy provisions when fate had thrown something my way. A Breton man, his face covered in native tattoos, approached me. "By the Eight, are you alright sir? Did you see what happened?" he asked me sincerely. I replied that I had, to which he said: "I'm sorry. I hope the Eight gives you more peace in the future." He didn't know the half of it. Then, he pulled a note out of a satchel out of his side, and said: "Oh, bye the way, I believe you had dropped this." A quick glance at it confirmed that it wasn't mine at all, but when I conveyed the fact to him, he was dismissive: "Oh, but I saw you drop it. Here, just keep it, there's no harm in it anyways." He then left about his business. Puzzled, I continued my walk through the streets. I opened the note and peaked inside, and written were the words: "Meet me at the Shrine of Talos." I folded it and put it into my knapsack, and continued on my way to finding a general store. At last, I had found one, Arnleif and Sons, and walked inside. The owner, a widow of the original heir to the enterprise, was cordial, if not a bit tired. When she had heard news that there was an attack in the marketplace, she was distressed, remarking that trade throughout the hold was slowed to a trickle because of Forsworn attacks. After her lament, I was able to pawn some of my excess gear in return for a pretty amount of coin and ample provisions, then remembering the note, I leaned over and asked the patroness softly: "Say someone in the city wanted to find a place to worship Talos, where might that person go?" I showed her an Amulet of Talos that I kept in a deep pocket in my trousers. She looked at the amulet, and in turn leaned over to me and whispered: "Below the Temple of Dibella, there is a door carved into the rock arch at the center of the city. You'll find what you're looking for there." I thanked her, and after a quick lunch of tea and fresh bread headed towards the location of the Shrine. There, like the merchant said, was a small, humble door burrowed into the rock beneath the arch. I walked inside: the shrine was a low, narrow chamber dimly lit by the candlelight. There in the middle of the shrine, underneath a pavilion carved into the granite, was a statue of Talos, arrayed in Nordic armor, slaying a dragon at his feet. I took a knee, and bowed my head in prayer.

Unlike many of my Imperial brethren, I had not abandoned my religious reverence for Talos simply because it was illegal. Though I am a patriot at heart and a supporter of the Mede Dynasty, I am still loyal to the Ninth Divine, both as an emperor of my people, Tiber Septim, and as the God of Law and Order, the patron of the Empire itself and its ideals. Even under our treaties with the Dominion, Imperials still respect his human aspect, but I like the rest of his faithful in Cyrodiil long for the day that the Empire finds the strength to overthrow the shackles of the White-Gold Concordat and unites to free ourselves from the Thalmor menace, an ambition that less foresighted people here in Skyrim seem to have ignored. He brought our land out of the chaos of the Interregnum and propelled our race to glory, uniting the peoples of Tamriel in one mighty Empire committed to the ideals of unity, piety, justice, and friendship among races, like Reman in times past. He is a symbol of what we can do to better our world, and what we can become as Men of Cyrodiil if we remain faithful to the Covenant Akatosh signed with our people. He is as much our God as he is the Nords'.



I had just finished my prayers when the man from the marketplace rounded the corner, and propped himself against one of the pillars. "So, you have decided to come," he said, "or are you here on more personal business?" I picked myself up. "Both" I replied, as I turned around to face him, "but before you ask anything of me, you must answer some of my questions." He replied immediately: "You want answers? Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess. If you want your questions answered, we have to work together, stranger." I shrugged my shoulders, and relented. "Alright, together it is then." I said, and I extended my hand in greeting. "Tertius Valerius Colovians, my blade is yours." He gave me a firm handshake in reply: "Eltrys. Listen, this thing has been going on for years, and all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I'll need your help uncovering the truth. You need to find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay for any information you give me." I nodded in agreement: "First, I need to know about the woman that was murdered, Margaret, and this Weylin character." Eltrys looked around cautiously, and answered: "I don't know much about the woman. Everything about her just screamed 'outsider'. Folks like her tend to stick to the Silver Blood Inn. As for Weylin, he works at the smelter. I used to have a job there myself, but I never got to know the man well. He lived in the Warrens beneath town, like all of the other workers." I smiled. "Great, I'll follow those leads from here. If I've found anything, I'll return here with the news." Eltrys nodded in agreement.

I began my search at the warrens. It was across from the mine and the smelter, on the other side of the stream that flows through Markarth. It was a low, squalid place: poorly lit, with cobwebs everywhere, and the stench of human waste and sulfur was strong in the air. As I entered the atrium of the complex, a red-headed Breton man was standing idly by. Noticing my presence, he asked me coldly: "The Warrens isn't a place for your type. What do you want?" I responded that I was looking for the place where Weylin slept. "Weylin" he replied. "I knew him. I know everybody who sleeps in the Warrens. Garvey's the name, I'm kind of the one that passes the keys around. I guess someone someday will claim Weylin's room. I guess I don't see any harm in giving you the key now." I took it, and, noticing the misery of the place, asked him: "Do people really live down here?" He nodded. "It's where you go when you can't afford a room anywhere else. About the time they opened the mines, someone had the idea to throw beds in here. Laborers, the sick, the lame, we're all here." I looked back into the Warrens: I could hear low, miserable moaning and see the hunched over silhouettes of its inhabitants shuffling slowly across the halls. I felt intense pangs of pity shoot through my heart. "Stendarr preserve them." I mumbled to myself. I walked over to Weylin's room, near the far end of the Warrens. I unlocked the humble door, and stepped inside, and was immediately struck by its barrenness. A single candle stood on a stool in the middle of the room, with a piece of stale bread and a moldy egg on a plate right next to it. A pile of hay with a cowhide stood near the far left hand corner of the room, with a pickax and a note sitting right by it. I went over to the scrap of paper, and picked it up. It read: "Weylin, You've been selected to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do." It was signed by an "N", and nothing more. "Perhaps Eltrys might know more about this." I thought to myself, and I left the Warrens with haste. As I emerged outside, a brusque of a Breton brute was waiting outside, clad in leather armor not unlike the bandits I've seen roaming hte countryside. He walked up to me, and got up close to my face, the stench of ale and tobacco permeating his every breath. "You've been digging around where you don't belong. I think its time you learned your lesson." I shoved him away from me. "Who do you work for!?" I shouted at him, planting myself into a fighting stance. "Someone who doesn't like you asking questions." he replied, threateningly. "Really?" I asked, "How about I ask him to come down here and kiss my ass?" The man snorted, and lunged at me, fist ready for the blow. I caught it with my own arm, and answered with my own fist in turn, hitting him square in the jaw. He stumbled back, grasping at his chin in pain. "Hmmph, lucky hit," he said dismissively. We traded punches for a couple of minutes, trying to wear each other down without over committing in a tackle or a fatal lunge. Finally, after dodging a haymaker to my right, I hit him hard with a blow to the gut. He stood there dazed, the wind knocked out of him, and, taking advantage of the situation, I grasped his right shoulder in a death vice, and with my free hand struck at his face. One...two...three punches, and he finally went down, falling flat on his back. He lay there knocked out for a good minute and then, coughing a little blood, wiped his mouth and went to his knees. "Enough, enough!" he begged, raising his hands in the air, "I was sent by Nepos the Nose. The old man just hands out the orders, and he wanted me to keep you out of the way. That's all I know!" I spat at his feet. "Get going then." He picked himself up, stumbled a little, and ran off into the streets. Nepos the Nose, looks like this investigation was going my way after all.

To shore up my next lead, I went over to the Silver Blood Inn. It was late in the afternoon, so I ordered myself an ale and waited around. When the publican of the inn walked by, I beckoned him to me, asking him about Margaret. "Oh yes, what a shame. A pretty young Nord lass visiting her homeland from Cyrodiil. Such a tragic tale, why must the good die young..." I mirrored his sentiments, then asked him if I could obtain her room key, saying that I was a friend of hers. At this, the barkeep tensed up. "Margaret doesn't have very many friends here, she only arrived a couple of weeks ago. I'm afraid I can't give you the key to her chambers." I tried persuading him, "Listen, I'm trying to bring her justice, give her soul some peace. I can't do that if I don't know what's her business here." The barkeep still remained hostile, "Oblivion take you! I know types like you. You think you can pawn off a single woman's belongings while her grave is still fresh and get away with it. Get lost, or I'll have the guards kick you out." Frustrated, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Listen here you old coot! I am no liar. I am no thief. I am here to avenge her death, and I will get that key, whether you end up with a two-tooth grin or not afterwards is up to you, old man." I let go of his collar. He stood there stunned and shivering for a good while, then in a forced smile said: "My apologies, here is her room key. Do take care not to mix up her effects with inn property. And give my regards to her next of kin." I took the key, starred straight into the barkeep's eyes for a good while, then walked down the hall to the left, to Margaret's room. I could hear his sigh of relief from across the inn. Margaret's room was well furnished: I could tell she was well-off, much more so than I can say for my more recent acquaintances. "What would a merchant's daughter like you be doing alone here in Markarth?" I wondered aloud as I inspected the room. On a shelf above her bed, I saw a leather bound journal sitting there. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. Indeed, some of my earlier suspicions were correct. She wasn't some homesick Nord 'lass', but an Imperial agent under orders from General Tullius, military governor of Skyrim. Reading through her entries, I uncovered that her mission was to investigate the Treasury House here in Markarth, owned by one Thonar Silver-Blood, who had suspected ties with the Stormcloaks. "Interesting", I thought to myself, "but what does this Thonar have to do with Nepos and the Forsworn?" I took the journal, and made my way back to the Shrine of Talos.

I discussed my findings with Eltrys back at the shrine, and he seemed equally puzzled. "Thonar and Nepos are both well known and respected men here in Markarth. Thonar obviously is a banker here in Markarth, and handles the vast financial network of his clan, while Nepos is a native and a voice for their rights here in the hold. I'm not sure what these two may have in common, but I'd try talking to Nepos first. He'd certainly be much more accessible than Thonar." I thanked him for the leads, and decided to pay a visit to the Nose. He lived in a very stately apartment near the top level of the city, the atrium of his house was well lit and furnished with tapestries and oak side tables. A servant woman, sweeping the rug there, noticed me walk inside, and asked me what my business was. I asked if I could see Nepos the Nose, to which she answered. "Sorry, but Nepos is unable to be receiving anybody today, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." As I turned and was about to leave, a voice from inside beckoned her to let me in. I walked inside, and next to a table set for supper, there was a decrepit old man in fine clothes, thumbing though a book before the fireplace.

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper, she can be a little over-protective of me at times. Now, what is it that I can do for you?" he asked politely, a frail smile across his face. "I was wondering what you have to do with a thug from the Warrens, and a man named Weylin. Perhaps you can enlighten me on that." Nepos' expression changed to a more dour one. "Ah yes, the bloodhound. You've sniffed me out. I've been playing this game for twenty years now, sending the young to their deaths in the name of the Forsworn. Now, I'm just tired of it all, so tired." I asked him what made him do such a thing, to which he replied, with a hint of regret and conviction. "Because my king, Madanach, told me too. When the Nords recaptured the city, they put to the sword everyone that hadn't fled the city, except for me, King Madanach, and a handful of others. Jarl Ulfric's lieutenant, Thongvor Silver-Blood, and his brother, that rat Thonar, they found my lord to be more useful in life than in death, and threw him into Cidhna Mines to rot. Well, I receive his missions, and I disseminate his orders to my associates without question." I chuckled. "Well, I didn't have to do much to get that out of you." Nepos broke into a hearty laugh. "My dear boy, do you really think you're leaving here alive. That maid that you saw at the door, she's an armed Forsworn agent, as are all of my servants. You're not the first to get this far, and you certainly won't be the last." Hearing this, I tensed up, and looked behind me to see his three servants all drawing weapons and advancing towards me. I quickly drew my sword, and positioned myself at the far side of the room, keeping the table between me and the majority of my foes. I retrieved my shield from my sling in time when one of the servants tried bringing an iron mace down upon my head. I caught the blow with my shield, the power of the stroke bringing me to my knees. Quickly, I took my sword and slashed it against the open legs of my assailant, and he went down with a crash, groaning as he went. That bought me some time. The others, the old man included, tried flanking me: one servant advancing on my right, and the old man and the other servant on my left. Noticing this, I leaped up on the table and charged to the right. Noticing that my opponent was armed only with a short sword, I raised my shield, jumped off the table, and used the shield to crash into the enemy, using gravity to force him on the ground. Dazed and in a sprawl, I grabbed my dagger at my side, and plunged it into his throat. Hoping that will finish the deal, I had to turn around and focus on my remaining two assailants: the old man and his maid. The old man cupped a ball of flame into his palm, then began casting a spell towards me. Panicked, I looked around and, by the grace of the Gods, I caught a glance of an oil lamp sitting on a side table nearby. Darting my glance back to my opponents, then back to the table, I grasped the lamp and hurled it at their feet. Fortune favored me, and the oil caught fire as it spilled all over the two. They started writhing from the flames, gasping and screaming, and for a moment, I almost pitied them. As they lay on the floor in throws of pain, I went over to where the injured servant was. There was just a pool of blood, and a trail leading away from the room and out towards the door. He fled: I hope for his sake I don't see him again. I grabbed hold of a tapestry off the wall, went over to the bodies, which had stopped moving, and started beating the flames down until they died. I tossed the ruined cloth aside, and went over to the old man's quarters. There I found a journal, which confirmed that Nepos was indeed working for Madanach behind the scenes, but it also mentioned that Nepos also worked for Thonar as an administrator for Cidhna Mine. It was his turn to pay a visit to.

I reached the Treasury House right around suppertime. The staff were ready to leave for home when I walked into the door. I walked over to the receptionist, and asked to see Thonar. The woman behind the desk, a very tan Breton, said: "I'm sorry, but unless you have an appointment, he's unavailable." I put on a little Imperial charm, then said: "Oh, don't worry, he's expecting me." She apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry, go right ahead, I really need to get going anyways." I gave her a smile, and proceeded through to Thonar's study. There, I found him, in the middle of reading a letter. He glanced at my direction, looked back down at his paper, then realizing who I was looked back at me with an astonished look. "Ysmir! Who in Oblivion let this man in here!" he shouted out, looking past me at the door. "No more games, Silver-Blood," I said grimly, "its way past overdue that you tell me what you and the Forsworn are up to." He scoffed loudly: "I don't know what you're talking about, you Imperial ponce! Now, I'll ask you once to leave this establishment before I have you forcibly removed." I was about to offer my retort in steel, when a scream filled the air. "Lady Betrid!" somebody shouted inside. "By the Gods!" Thonar blurted as he stood up from his chair and drew his sword. We both darted back into the atrium to find a Nord woman dead at the feet of two elderly Bretons. "Betrid...Betrid, no! We had a deal you Forsworn bastards." He raised his sword and pointed at the Bretons. "Traitors, traitors all of you!" He lunged after the male, and the female, noticing me behind Thonar, went after me. We met blades in a lock, but with my youthful strength I knocked her back. As she stumbled backwards, I brought my sword to my left hip then upwards in a slash across her front. She spun back, devastated from the blow. I then noticed Thonar was finished with his foe, as he came up to the body of his late wife. Moaning low, he cried out as if to the heavens: "Why? We had a deal Madanach. A deal!" I strode up to him, gave a moment of silence in respect for his loss, then turned to Thonar. "Ready to tell the truth now?" I asked. He sheathed his sword, took a deep breath, then said: "Fine. You want to know what the Forsworn really are? They're my puppets. I have their 'king' rotting in Cidhna Mine. He was supposed to keep them under control. When the Forsworn uprising was put down, I had Madanach brought to me. A wild-animal, but a useful one. I promised to stay his execution if I could use his influence to take care of any flies in the ointment that came my way. I let him run his little rebellion from within his mine, but now he's gone out of control." He turned back to resume his grieving. "I can take care of Madanach," I said to him. At this he stood back up, furious, and yelled: "You've gotten what you wanted. This is all your fault! You and Madanach, you animals! I'll see you both rot to death in Cidhna Mine for what you've done. Now, leave my house!" I snorted back, sheathed my blade, and took my leave.

I returned to the Shrine of Talos to relay the information to Eltrys, but when I got there I saw three city guard, and Eltrys' body at the foot of the statue of Talos. One of the guards approached me, and applauded me mockingly. "Well well well, our bloodhound has returned. We warned you not to cause any trouble, but now we've got to pin these murders on you, silence witnesses, so much tiresome work..." I had half a mind to draw my sword on them, but knowing I'd have the entire Hold crashing down upon me if I resisted, I stayed my hand. "You corrupt bastards! Gods flay you all alive for your crimes!" The guard pointed an incriminating finger towards my direction. "We have a nice arrangement in this city, and we're not letting you get into the way. You have a problem with that? Take it up with Madanach, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with the King in Rags. Now you're coming with us, it's a life sentence for you in Cidhna Mine." I starred at the guard intensely for a moment, then dropped my weapons to the floor and allowed myself to be bound. "You'll never see the sun again, you hear," one of the guards told me. "Nobody escapes Cidhna Mine. Nobody..."

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Ah, Markarth. Very beautiful, and very corrupt.

I'm intrigued to see what you do next...

[Alwyn]

Investigating the Forsworn involves walking a twisted and dangerous path, it seems. I hope that the guard is wrong about Cidhna Mine.

[TheKnightofDay]

Authors Note: Sorry for the delay. I was enjoying my holiday with my family, and I hope you all have been as well. Now that everything's going back to its normal pace and the new year begins, I can continue with regular updates and give you more suspense and adventure. I hope you all have a wonderful 2017, I'm sure there are a few out there that are going to need it.

The Darkness of Cidhna
25th of Last Seed, 4E201

Five days. Five days I've been in Cidhna Mine, the infamous prison of the Silver-Blood family since their lackeys killed Eltrys, my employer, and pinned the recent killings in the city on me. Being an Imperial of course simplified matters for them, as the Nords and Reachmen of Markarth could justify this imprisonment on the fact that I was more than likely a fugitive from Cyrodiil, or a deserter from the Legion, the second one being half true, I suppose. I was a foreign degenerate who would have no qualms killing innocents in their eyes, and was an obvious danger to the 'honest' citizens of the city that had to be chained up and locked away. How hollow that word sounds now.

On my first day in Cidhna, I was stripped of all my possessions, my armor and weapons, forced to wear sackcloth, and thrown inside with a pickax by a burly she-Orc. She chuckled with sadistic glee as she threw me into the dank, shadowy pits of the silver mines. “You’ll be smashing ore until you start throwing up silver bars,” she yelled out after me, “and after that, you’ll be throwing up silver bars until you’re dead. Imperial bones will freshen up the décor down there, I reckon. It never had the…privilege of it until now.” She chuckled a lot louder after that last line, and faded away from the mine’s entrance. I started feeling around for the wall in the dark and, catching hold of it, guided myself towards it, and laid my back against it, and slid to the floor. The stone was smooth yet cold, very much like the city of Markarth itself. It felt luxuriously glossy, and if someone were to quarry it, it would make for a beautiful building stone, but for all of its beauty, it cannot wash away the fact that many a man and mer found their tomb surrounded by it. As I sat there, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light, I focused my mind on the task at hand. I would have to find this ‘King in Rags,’ Madanach. A man of his caliber couldn’t stand to have his rage, his bloodlust, contained any longer by captivity, he must have a way out, and if the Nine are merciful, I can convince him to include me in his designs.

After a few more moments of meditation, I finally mustered the courage and confidence to continue, and so I picked myself up, and made my descent into the mine. A narrow, spiraling lamp of rock led into the mine proper, and as I continued down it, I noticed a meek fire in the middle, with a figure sitting next to it. He was sitting there, head drooping down, warming himself by the fire. Soon enough, he heard me shuffling down the shaft, and turned his gaze towards me. “Hmm, new blood. It’s been a little while since one of you came through here, then again time is hard to keep down here. What’s your name, Imperial?” I walked over to the fire, and sat down opposite him. “Tertius of Anvil.” I said, expecting that my full name would give the impression of a posh Imperial nobleman. The man held a hand to his chest and said: “Uraccen, just one of many of the Reach’s sons and daughters kept here. What are you in for, new blood?” We locked eyes for a while, speechless, and then I said “Trying to do the right thing.” Uraccen started laughing, then went into a fit of coughing. He recovered, and said “Not an uncommon thing around here to say, but by the look of it, you might not be talking out of your ass like the rest of them.” I smiled, then changed the subject, “I need to find Madanach, do you know where I can find him?” His expression suddenly went dour, and in a sympathetic tone, said: “You must be the new lifer here. Tough luck, friend. Those guards sold you out but good. No one talks to Madanach, I’m afraid. Not without getting past Borkul the Beast…and you don’t want to talk to Borkul the Beast.” He pointed his head towards a shaft to his left, and looking down it, I could see the biggest damn Orc I ever laid eyes on, arms as big as logs folded across his broad chest, standing next to an iron door. I swear to Shezzar, I actually gulped upon laying eyes on him. I sighed and said: “Either a fever takes me years from now, or I get torn to shreds today. Either way, I die, might as well try.” Uraccen replied with a grunt, and laid back against the cave wall, eyes closed in sleep. It took me four days of getting used to the routine down there, getting to know some of the prisoners, before I tried my luck with Borkul. I couldn't stay another day in Cidhna anyways.



Clearing my head of doubt, I picked myself up and walked over to the Orc. “The Divines are on my side,” I told myself, “the Legion didn’t teach me to weave baskets, anyways.” I walked up to him, making sure that I was at a reasonable distance, and hardened my posture. He turned to face me, his face painted white with warpaint. He gritted his fangs in a smile, and laughed. “How was it, your first kill, meat?” I smirked.

I remembered it well. I was still a trainee at my military boarding school in the Imperial City, 15 years of age. I snuck out late at night once, to see a girl that I had met at the Waterfront once. She was a Dunmer, a daughter of a moderately wealthy shoemaker from Blacklight who moved to the City to try his luck with the fashionable Imperial Court. She her hair in a braid, black as a raven and soft as silk, and wine-red eyes, deeper than any ruby or garnet I ever saw to that day. We were fussing around atop one of the warehouses in the Waterfront, drinking a bottle of Skingrad wine, watching the ships in the harbor, as well as the sailors and drunks swagger through the streets. When we finished the bottle, we climbed down, and found a hay pile in a courtyard behind a few houses near the Waterfront Bulwark. We were embracing when a hooded man up from behind me and yanked me off of her. I was able to take a glance at him before he knocked me down: underneath his cloak he had leather armor on, darker than the night, and wore a red cloth over his face underneath his hood, and while I couldn't see his eyes because of some kind of eye-wear, I could see by his grey pointed ears that he too was a Dark Elf. I was looking into the face of a Morag Tong assassin. He flung me hard at the cobblestones, all the while my companion was screaming. "Sera..." he said coldly, mocking her with the formal address, "your father should have paid his debts before he left Morrowind, for now he pays in blood." I knew he was going to kill her, so, in a dazed, frantic search I found a loose cobblestone near me that wrapped around my hand perfectly. I wrenched it loose, crept up to the assassin before he could land his killing blow on her, and struck him hard, harder than I ever had before. He fell to the ground, grunting in pain. "Dirty...n'wah" he managed to spit out before he found me on top of him, striking him in the face continuously with the cobblestone. I must have been going at it for a long while; before long, my companion wrenched me off of him, and laid her head on my chest, sobbing softly. The man's face was a bloody pulp, and my hands and forearms were stained dark red. I realized then that I had really killed him, and part of me was searching for any feelings of remorse, empathy for the man, but to my surprise I could not find any. Here was a man hired to kill a young girl in the flower of her youth, a man whose life was nothing more than a series of jobs, each as heartless and cruel as this, and at that moment I realized that I had no pity for such men, who make their livelihood off of the misery of others. In fact, part of me wished there were more of him in that alley, so that the world could find itself rid of just a few more of those bastards. Even after that experience, the Dunmer girl and I were very close, and we visited each other as often as we could. We had to say our goodbyes when I received my orders for High Rock, and I even wrote her a few times before my forced disappearance. She remains in the Imperial City, and is learning to become a bookkeeper for the East Empire Company, however her father finally made her concede to be married to another Dunmer, and they were wed a year after I left. She wrote that she still misses me, but that she is happy and looking forward to the future. I miss her too, from time to time, but that thirst for righteousness, for justice, stayed with me all those years and served me well in all the battles that led me here.

The orc didn't any words when he saw the look on my face. He let out a bellowing laugh, and said: "I knew you were a killer, can't say the same for most of your kind, Cyrodiil. What do you want, exactly?" I crossed my arms, "I need to see Madanach, perhaps we can work something out." The orc smiled, brandishing his fangs. "Everyone pays a toll. Find me a shiv, and I'll let you pass. Unless of course you think you can beat me for the key." I did my best to contain my dread at the prospect of fighting the giant with my bare hands. "Very well, who makes them." The orc gritted his teeth and nodded his head back out the way I came. "That dung-heap Grisvar's got a few." I nodded, then walked back towards the fire. "And do hurry, meat. I don't like waiting," he called out behind me. I asked around the mine for Grisvar, and after a while, I had finally found him in a corner of the mine, chipping away at a silver vein. He was an old, decrepit Nord, whose grey hair ran long in thin, greasy strands. "Any longer in here, and I might look like that," I told myself. I cleared my throat to grab his attention, and said: "I hear you're the one to go to grab a shiv." Grisvar turned, and chuckled a smile, his mouth missing several teeth, with those that are left so yellow and black you could swear they were bees. "Yesth, I hafth some. Get some ssskooma, and I'll trade you," he said softly, "ttthe Breton, Duach, hassth some." He turned around, and went right back to his work. Sure enough, after we finished our conversation, a Breton walked up to me, asking if someone called his name. "Duach?" I asked in reply. "Aye, that's me," he answered. Before either of us said another word, I had an idea. I started twitching my left eye frantically, and started scratching my left ear against my shoulder. "I hear you've got...some skooma...friend," I said, trying to sound as out of breath as possible. Somehow, I was able to sell it, and he said, with a pang of pity: "Getting the shakes, huh? Alright, take it. Old gods keep you." I took the small bottle, and nodded my head up and down quickly, then he walked away. As soon as I saw he was out of earshot, I went back to Grisvar and made the trade. "Eight blessth ye, ssir," he said as we parted ways.



Needless to say, I gave the shiv to Borkul, and he let me pass through the iron doors into Madanach's chambers. "Watch yourself," he said as he let me in, "Madanach's smarter than you think." As I walked in, I noticed that his chambers were rather well prepared in comparison to the rest of the mine. He had an actual bed, a cupboard, and a table, at which he was sitting at when I was let in, writing something in a leather-bound book laid before him. He was old, and although he had grey hair it was decently groomed, and he had a neatly trimmed moustache on his lip. Other than that, his rags looked like anyone else's, a King to be sure. He looked up at me and set aside his quill. "Well, well, look at you," he said with a condescending grin on his face, "The Nords have turned you into an animal. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?" Revenge sounded sweet to me, but I needed Madanach alive, and I knew I couldn't fight off Borkul without my weapons. I clenched my fists,"You have a lot to answer for," I said through gritted teeth. "Hah," he replied "Do I? What about you? What right did you have to meddle in my affairs? Kill my people? Was it worth it? Your truth?" I narrowed my eyes, "The truth is worth any price I have to pay." Madanach starred at me for a while, and gave a soft smirk before turning back to his writing. "It's been a while since I've seen someone down here that wasn't a complete cutthroat," he said as his quill scratched his paper, "or a shred of honor, albeit deluded. You're one of us now, a slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I might be able to help you." I scoffed, "What is there to understand, Reachman? You're nothing more than a King of Brigands." "Hmmpf, many have said that before," he replied. He set aside his quill, and shouted out: "Borkul! Find Braig and bring him here!" Borkul grunted from beyond the door, and left. He came back with a man as old as Madanach, with a balding head and a grey moustache, but messier than his. He had black war paint streaking across his face, as is custom for many of his people. "Milord," Braig said softly, bowing his head. "Braig, tell this Imperial why you are here, why the Nords have treated you so." Madanach commanded in a stately fashion. Braig looked at me, with pain and anger in his eyes, though not towards me, but the Nords, no doubt. "Before I came here," he said, choking back some tears, "I had a daughter once. She'd be 23 this year. Married to some hot-headed silver worker or perhaps on her own working the herb-trade. When the Nords took back Markarth, they didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Uprising. I had spoken to my king once, only once, but that was enough for them." Tears were visibly rolling down his cheeks as he spoke. "But my little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded with the jarl to take her instead. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyways, to dig up their silver." My mouth was agape. I couldn't say anything. I had heard of how the Uprising was put down harshly by Jarl Ulfric, before the Civil War, but I had never imagined there could be such cruelty in the hearts of men. "You may leave us, both of you," Madanach said, and Borkul took Braig with him and led him outside. I turned back to him, and I saw that he was looking at the ground, rubbing his forehead with sorrow. "Imagine having to hear a story like that over and over. Each time a different family, each time a different injustice. My arrangement with Thonar was only temporary: he would stay my execution and smuggle in what I needed and in turn, I would use my men to kill his enemies. And now, the time has come to take my leave of him. Now is the time for fighting. Perhaps now, you understand." I sighed. He had a point, and though I still didn't agree with the kind of war he was fighting, he certainly wasn't a petty bandit.

"I don't condone how you fight, but I can see the why of it. I'm at your service, what do we need to do to escape?" Madanach stood up from his chair, and said: "I already have plans to use a tunnel my men digged. It leads into some Dwemer ruins beneath us that lead us back into the city, but before that can happen, there's some business that must be concluded here. That's where you come in." He picked up a shiv off of his desk and placed it in my hands. "I need a show of loyalty. You know Grisvar the Unlucky? Aptly named man, a thief and an addict, but more importantly, a snitch. Kill him, and I'll get everyone out of here by nightfall. I paused for a moment, put the shiv in the rope belt at my waist, and left the room.

I went by the fire near the entrance of the mine, and sat there, soaking everything in. I would have to kill an innocent man to be able to leave Cidhna Mine. A furious debate rumbled about in my head. "What did Grisvar ever do to you, Tertius?" the specter of my mother begged of me in my head, "What would the gods think of you, my son?" A hoarser voice said: "What would the gods think if you deserted your duty again?" The voice belonged to the specter of my adoptive father, Herannus. "You have already done it once, Tertius, but found a new purpose in collecting your ancestor's relics, to take up his mantle as Champion of the Nine. Will you abandon that too?" My voice rang out clear in reply inside my head. "This man is innocent, like my mother said. If I kill him, I will forever be stained. Better to die with the grace of the Gods, and join my parents in Aetherius." Herannus' voice replied with disgust: "Think not of yourself! Think of all the people in the world suffering because you will not help them. You will not dirty your hands now even to further the greater good. What's your conscience compared to the salvation of hundreds, thousands?" My mother's voice cut in: "Without the Nine at his side, how will he ever defeat their enemies? How could they ever allow a sinner to fight in their name?" The two voices, my mother's and Herannus', bickered back and forth, and I was in pain, until a voice came out and calmed them. "Tertius, my child, steel yourself." "Who are you," I asked to the new voice, "I do not know your voice." "How could you know," it replied, "I have been gone from the realm of mortals for two centuries. You seek my relics, do you not?" My eyebrows furrowed with surprise. "You're...you're Aulus? My ancestor?" I asked. "Indeed, though I have been given many names: the Champion of Cyrodiil, the Hero of Kvatch, the Divine Crusader, the Son of Colovia, and so many others. Know that I too had sinned. I was not blameless when the Emperor's men arrested me in the Great Forest. I had stolen and lied to survive, poached in those holy woods, even murdered to avoid capture. Yet the mercy of Stendarr and the Nine know no bounds. I was allowed to redeem myself, and in doing so saved Tamriel. I repented, and flung myself to the mercy of the Gods, and did great things in their name. You can follow the same path. Kill this man and escape, and then repent, find the Sunken Chapel north of Solitude once you have found my weapons, visit the shrines of Skyrim, like I had visited those of Cyrodiil long ago. They will grant you reprieve, and show you the path to the rest of my relics. Then, you will fulfill the destiny they have planned for you." Then, all the voices went quiet, and I was alone in my head once again. "I must do this," I told myself, "I must."

Grisvar was still chipping away at the vein I first found him at. Once the other prisoners in the chamber saw me, they left quietly, knowing what was to happen. "Grisvar" I said, loudly. He spun around, and immediately his eyes went towards the shiv I had at my side. I drew it and said: "Madanach gives his regards." "Nooooo..." he begged, "noooo...ppplllease..." He fumbled for his pickax, hoping to defend himself, but I was on him before he could do any thing, and the blade sunk into his throat. He clutched at the knive shoved in his throat and started gurgling, bloodily. Finally, he collapsed, labored immensely to try and catch another breath, and then his breast went still, and he stopped struggling. I stood there, and looked at his corpse with pity. As I left the room, I looked back over my shoulders and whispered under my breath: "Forgive me..."

I gave the news to Madanach, which he took well, and for once I could see joy in his eyes. He was finally going to escape the Hell he spent almost thirty years in. "You're one of us now, then?" I looked at him sternly, and said: "Until I leave Markarth." He smiled. "Very well, come with me, I think its time I announce my plans to your new brothers." We walked out back to the fire, Borkul had already assembled a handful of the prisoners, all Reachmen besides him and I. Uraccen was the first to speak. "What's going on, Madanach? You wouldn't have old Grisvar killed unless you weren't planning on needing him." Madanach replied with a booming voice: "My brothers, we have been here long enough. Its time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through the gate to my quarters is a tunnel. A tunnel leading into the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well, what do you say, my brothers?" Everyone cheered, and trust their picks in the air. Madanach turned to me, and said: "I say you've earned an early pardon." Everyone rushed towards Madanach's cell. Sure enough, in a corner bending around his bed, was a shaft leading down to a bronze door, decorated in Dwarven fashion. "The Dwemer made this," Madanach said to me, "who knew they'd be helping our cause."

Our group continued snaking through a subterranean shaft and into the ruins. The architecture inside was much like that of Markarth outside: grey stone with bronze flourishes, all in sharp, geometric patterns. Although it was mostly dark, and I couldn't see much of anything, its subtle beauty still impressed me. "If only one could spend their sentence in a place like this," I thought to myself. Finally, we reached a tall gate with double doors much like the one at the city gates. The braziers there were lit, and a Bretoness in native armor was standing at the entrance, with a couple of chests beside her. "Madanach," she said, "we've brought what you've asked for." Madanach gave a wide grin. "Good work, get ready while I have a word with our favorite outsider." The men in our party tore open into the chests to reveal more armor as well as weapons. Madanach walked over to another one, and opened it to reveal all my belongings. "I had Kaie recover all of the things that the Nords stole from you, now I suggest you wait here for a good hour. Its time me and my brothers see the sky and make it rain red." I was genuinely surprised at his generosity. "Thank you, but, what of my name? Will I not be hunted still by the Jarl's men?" Madanach scoffed. "I will announce myself to all Markarth, do not worry about yourself. They will know who to fear, and you'll be a free man. I will reorganize the Forsworn, and we will fight until we have our kingdom back, then we shall have peace. But until that day, let me offer you a warning. Beware the Forsworn. No place in the Reach is safe from us now." I picked up my sword as he was turning away, and then said "Your majesty, let me also offer you a warning." He looked at me, ears perked, and said: "I'm listening." "I wish you all the luck in the world in your war, but if you should ever plunder without need, murder without provocation, destroy the sanctuaries of my gods, as the Nords have done to yours, you would do right to fear the name of Tertius Valerius Colovians, Knight of the Nine, for death surely awaits you." Madanach put on his helm and armed himself with an ax. "We will just have to see later who fears who." With that, him and his warband left the chamber, and I could hear fighting outside. An hour passed, as I put my armor back on and strapped my provisions back into my knapsack, I took a sip of some of the wine I had left, savoring the taste that I had long missed, and left.

Outside, the carnage was visible. Bodies of guards littered the bridge leading from the door and out into the city. Among the dead was Thonar Silver-Blood himself, a blade left in his chest, piercing his heart. I walked over to the body, and spat on it five times. "For each day I was in that hellhole, worm." I said to him, and left. People were panicking in the streets, asking each other if the Forsworn were gone. They rushed around, seeing if their friends were still alive, and that their possessions had not been stolen. Guards were investigating the dead and trying to keep what was left of the peace. I was the only one walking with any sense of security. I made my way to the Silver Blood Inn, and walked inside. The same bartender was there, and said as soon as he noticed me: "My friend, I haven't seen you in a while, I hope you hadn't found other places to drink?" I shook my head. "I don't believe I found the time to do it." There was a scream outside. "Damn Forsworn, I can't believe they broke out of Cidhna! Can you believe it, this has been one long day, huh?" I picked up the flagon of ale that I ordered, took a sip, and said "You don't know the half of it."

[Alwyn]

Great chapter! Cidhna sounds like a hellhole, indeed. I like the backstory about the night on the Waterfront in Imperial City with Sera. It sounds like the story of Aethra had a strong effect on your protagonist.

The Writers' Study Yearly Awards 2016 are now open for nominations. Everyone is invited to submit nominations here.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Nice Cidhna Mine chapter, theKnightofDay!

Like Alwyn, I particularly like the stories you're adding on to the game events - the voices of the ancestors were a nice touch. And that one of those ancestors was the Hero of Kvatch (etc) makes me wonder whether that might have implications for young Tertius's future. I'll look forward to finding out.

[TheKnightofDay]

Chapter Seven: Free at Last
26th of Last Seed, 4E201

It was a welcome morning indeed. I still had a crick in my neck from sleeping on the hard earth of Cidhna Mine, but the warmth and comfort of a real bed helped lift my spirits. I had thought long and hard over what my ancestor, Aulus, had said to me during my meditations in the Mine. My hands were stained with the blood of Grisvar, an innocent man, it is true, and if there were any other way for me to escape with my life, I would have taken it, but there was no other way. I could have stayed and rotted there for the rest of my life, but then I would be of no use to the world. My destiny should be to serve the Nine and the people of Tamriel, one that I couldn't fulfill locked up in that pit, so Grisvar's death, however lamentable it may be, was necessary for the greater good. But like Aulus had said to me, I must cleanse myself, if I am to wield all his relics in full, therefore my next priority after visiting the Temple at Solitude should be finding this Sunken Chapel to the north of the city. I came to this conclusion as I finished a loaf of bread and a tall pot of tea, and, after paying for the meal and for some extra provisions, I left Silver Blood Inn and the streets of Markarth to continue my journey.




The air was clear and the temperature mild, so it was as good a day as any to strike back out onto the road. I payed a visit to the stables before I left town and purchased an old yet strong mare with some septims that I had earned from pawning some gems and other trinkets I had found in my travels, and was eager to get out of the city. The mare was a tame one, quiet and pensive with all of her years, yet she strode with the energy of a horse half her age, and seemed glad to have someone test her with the rigors of the road. I named her Julia, in honor of my late mother, hoping the name will give her ghost comfort, knowing that I still hold her in my heart. I was about to cross the bridge over the Karth and take the road north to Solitude, when I turned around, and looked at the city once more. "Hmmphh" I said to it, jokingly, "I guess this makes me a 'Nobody' after all!"

With Julia, I was making good time. I made it over the many bends of the Karth in little time at all, and was very near the border of the Reach. As I was crossing over another bridge near a solitary hut, suddenly an arrow flew near my head. I took the reins hard to where the shot came from, and I saw three Bretons charging me, clad in the same armor as the ones that had helped Madanach escape. "Forsworn", I said under my breath, as I whipped Julia into a gallop, then a charge. Strangely enough, for a horse that was not bred for it, she seemed comfortable enough in the heat of battle. I took out the archer of the group first, a low, quick slash with my sword from the saddle did the job, and I gradually slowed down Julia and turned her around for another strafe. The remaining two Forsworn warriors stood their ground and waited for me to come to them. I charged at them again, one of them readied an axe to strike Julia at her neck as she came close, but I turned her in such a way that her flank hit him hard, and he was knocked back before he could land his blow. His comrade attempted a thrust at me with his blade, but I parried the attack with my own and struck him quickly in the face with my boot, breaking his nose. As he staggered back I recovered my sword and brought it down on his head, burying it effortlessly into his skull, piercing his fur cap. I turned myself in the saddle to face any attack coming from his friend, but I could see him running across the bridge, his axe left behind where he was knocked over. I sneered at him as I sheathed my blade. "So much for a truce, Madanach..." I said to myself, "be thankful that I have other errands to attend to than a visit with you."





A few miles away from the Reach's border, I reached Karthwasten, a small mining village that has stood in the hold for many years. It was a humble affair: a handful of thatched huts built in the typical Nord fashion gathered around a well, with the largest one no doubt being the town inn. I had a hankering for some ale, and I hadn't the sense to buy it before I left Markarth, so I came in hoping I could get a quick pint before I continued on the road. As I came into town, a middle aged Breton with a well-kept beard, flanked by two miners covered in the debris of their profession, was arguing with a group of unscrupulous characters, clad in leather and iron armor. "I want you sellswords out of my mine!" the Breton shouted, with subdued rage pulsating through every syllable. "Watch your tongue, native." the leader of the sellswords replied snidely, "We'll leave once we're sure there's no Forsworn here. The Breton scoffed: "Oh, and when might that be, I wonder? When I sell my lands to the Silver Bloods!?" The sellsword grinned and shook his head emphatically. "The Silver Bloods have made you a very generous offer for this pile of dirt. I suggest you take it." The old Breton, waved them off, and marched away, as the sellswords left for the opposite end of town, towards the opening of a cavern. He saw me and approached me, releasing the tension he had built up in his hands and shoulders.

"Hmmm, a traveler. Don't see many of you in my village, not a whole lot to see here I'm afraid, but we'll accompany you as best we can. I'm Ainethach, and I'm the owner of Karthwasten." I crossed my right arm across my chest, rested my hand on my left shoulder, and bowed, as is customary for Imperials such as me in formal greetings. "Tertius, at your service sir." I replied. "Perhaps you can tell me what all that business was about earlier?" Ainethach grimaced. "If the Forsworn aren't attacking my town, the Nords are trying to force me off of it. Those men you saw, they're 'protection' sent by the kind-hearted Silver-Bloods in response to a Forsworn attack that never even happened. What they're really trying to make me do is sell the town and the silver mine. But with my miners not being allowed to work in the mines, I'm running out of options." I grinned. "Silver-Bloods? I've had my fair share of run-ins with them. I suppose you'd be happy to know that Thonar died in a Forsworn break out from Cidhna. Saw the body myself." Ainethach laughed with no small amount of joy. "Hardly the entire clan, but any victory's enough!" I laughed as well. I certainly didn't miss the man either. "Perhaps I can get rid of them for you?" I asked. Ainethach hushed up and gave me a good look over. "I suppose you look like you could handle yourself. Give it a try, but be warned, Atar, their leader, he's got a half-dozen fighters in there, I'm not sure bloodshed's the way to go." I just smiled, and said warmly, "Not the worst odds I've ever came up against."

The mine was chilly, but well lit. Braziers and sconces gave the stone walls a warm glow, and there were sturdy planks and beams of fresh wood through out the mine. A couple of mercenaries were lounging against the walls near the entrance. One of them, a Redguard, noticed me and drew his sword. "Mine's closed, what's your business here!" he blurted. I raised my hand calmly, "I've got a proposition for your leader, Atar. I'm sure he'll want to hear me out." The Redguard gave a smile from ear to ear, and sheathed his sword. "Ol' Ainethach's finally selling then, alright, you'll find Atar in through the passage to my right, your left. Don't keep him waiting." I nodded, and proceeded down the passage he pointed out, my hand firmly clasped on the pommel of my sword as I passed. Atar was located in a large gallery in the center of the mine, about three stories high, with wide scaffolding covering most of the walls. He was standing on a raised platform, hands crossed as I entered the chamber. One of his men brushed me aside, and left the room. Atar was a Nord in his thirties, clad in iron armor, his hair was cut short but he sported a full beard befitting a member of his race. He chuckled as I approached him.

"So, Ainethach must have sent you, huh? Probably a Legion deserter out on his luck, looking for work. Must have paid you a pittance to come here and finally sell the place for him." I starred into his eyes coldly. "Watch your words, Nord, deserter or no this lad from Cyrodiil's got enough courage for all your boys...and change." Atar burst out laughing. "I like tough talk, but I like gold even more, so why don't we cut to the chase. How much does Ainethach want?" "There'll be no sale" I replied, "I've got a different deal in mind." Atar stroked his beard as I said this. "Oh, I'm sure this one will put me on my ass." "The townspeople don't want your men here, I suggest you leave, before things turn hairy. It'd be bad for business if you're dead, I'd reckon." Atar gave a hostile snort. "Is that so. I've killed men bigger than you, boy, and my men are twice the warriors these pathetic miners are, I'm not going anywhere." He then started rubbing his fingers together. "Unless, of course, you were to make a sizable donation to our travel expenses." I drew my sword. "Only if you'll choke on it." He drew his sword in reply. "And I thought today was going to be boring."

He went for a lunge, but I swept his blade away with mine, recovered, and swung my blade at his flank. He parried my attack and attempted one of his own, which I managed to catch on my shield. "He's no fool, I'll give him that" I thought to myself as I reverted to a defensive stance. Realizing that he had no shield of his own, I wheeled my blade around to come down on him with a high chop, which he met with his above his head, leaving his torso exposed. I forced my body into my shield and pushed hard into him, knocking him back a little. This got on his nerves. He stomped his foot furiously, and raised his sword for a brash charge right at me, just like I wanted him too. I swung my blade low to his right, prompting him to redirect his blade mid-swing for a parry, catching him off balance. I did a swift prod with my shield at his exposed left side, which sent him spinning back, and as he attempted to face me again, he exposed his right side. I had recovered my sword in enough time, so I stepped forward and thrust my blade into the exposed armhole of his breastplate. It bit into him well, and he yelled in pain. He was forced to his knees, wavering, and as I pulled my blade out of him, he slumped over and fell to the floor.

His men certainly heard this, as two of them, a Redguard and an Imperial, bolted into the room, one with a battle-axe and the other with a mace. "Oh, we've got you now, milk-drinker!" the Redguard shouted. They both charged in, the ax-wielding Redguard first. He readied a mighty chop, but I stepped to my left and let it fall and get wedged into the floor. I quickly slashed his exposed hamstring, propped him up with the other side of my shield arm, and buried my sword into his chest. He let out a deep piteous moan, then went limp. His Imperial comrade hesitated as I recovered. "Oh, I've seemed to have forgotten about you, Countryman," I said sarcastically. He gritted his teeth. "Colovian inbred!" he snarled at me. Great, a Nibenay boy. He let out a boyish cry and swung his mace at my head with both hands. I did the exact same side step that his friend fell prey to as I brought the fist clutching my sword up at his face and gave him a good punch. He at once spun around and fell to the floor, and began snoring loudly. I shook my head as I passed his unconscious body. "That'll teach you not to speak ill of the better half of our country, brother."

An Orc and the other charming Redguard charged in the room shortly after. I smiled at them: "Looks like negotiations have failed, my friends!" I shouted out to them. The Redguard, buckling his knees, dropped his sword and fled the room. The Orc cursed him as he left, "Come back and die like a man, yellow Hammerfell swine!" He brought his hand axe and shield high, and advanced at me at an aggressive, but controlled pace. He gave a swift chop towards my head, which bit deep into my shield and lodged itself in it. With a great heave I came up underneath him, picked him up, and bore him on my shield. What a heavy bastard he was! I let him fall right be hind me back first, then brought my sword down upon him in his gut. His eyes bulged in response, then rolled back into his head. I gave a great sigh of fatigue as the adrenaline of combat receded, and cleaned my sword before heading out into the town again. Ainethach and the townsfolk were gathered outside as I left the mine. Ainethach stepped up to me and said "I just saw a Redguard bolt out of town probably faster than he ever will for the rest of his life. I reckon that crook Atar is dealt with?" I nodded in reply. He clasped his hands jubilantly. "Oh, thank the Gods, our troubles are over for now, please, my friend, how can we repay you?" I shrugged and said: "A few bottles of ale to go wouldn't hurt." Everyone laughed. "That's all? Oh, bless your kind soul! We'll pack you a bundle right away!"

And so they did, three bottles corked up and ready to go as I packed up my things on Julia and rode out of town. It was midday, and I knew I could reach Solitude by the days end if I kept Julia at a brisk pace. The ale certainly helped with any discomfort from the swaying of the saddle as I rode on, though it wasn't as good as the ale back in Falkreath. Then again, that bar-maid Narri probably made it more sweeter. The old Bravil saying goes: "A good brew is made half with hops, and the other half a fine lass." I had crossed the Dragonbridge into Eastmarch, and as the sun began to get low I had finally come face to face with the solemn black walls of Solitude, the Wolf Banners floating in the calm evening breeze.

[Alwyn]

Great chapter! I like the way that you use details such as the thinking behind naming the mare 'Julia' and the reason why the ale tasted better in Falkreath. The encounter with Atar is particularly good and your images are well-chosen. I wonder what adventures await behind the dark walls of Solitude.

[TheKnightofDay]

Chapter Eight: Solitude
26th of Last Seed, 4E201

Believe it or not, I've been to Solitude before. It was years ago, when I was thirteen. I was travelling with my entire class from my military boarding school on a field trip to the city to study its fortifications. We were chaperoned by our Professor of Military Engineering, Anarion, an aging, half-senile Altmer. His classes, I remember, were merely opportunities for me to catch up on the sleep that I'd loose whenever I had to do fireguard shifts the night before. His style of teaching was so slow and dry, that I couldn't help but doze off at my lectern as he lectured on for hours about the history of some second rate outpost off in Hammerfell or what not. Fortunately he was so absorbed into his own thinking that he hardly noticed me and his other students napping, heads down on our lecterns. Unlike those lectures, that trip was a moment of great excitement for me. I had never left Cyrodiil up until that point, nor ever seen another city other than the Imperial City. It took us three weeks to reach Solitude by boat, but once we got there it was all worth it. When I saw the Arch of Solitude, I was awestruck: I had never known natural rocks could be formed like that. It was gigantic, grey, and utterly stunning. I remember as we were passing underneath the arch and into Solitude Harbor, my entire class got out onto the deck of our ship and started shouting, hoping to hear echoes bouncing off from it, but it was so high we couldn't hear any. In the city, we got to visit the actual walls of the city as well as the Castle Dour, and learn from the local guards about some of the city's sieges. We even met the High King in person; of course, all it really was was him shaking our hands and watching us as our decurion had us perform an impromptu drill session. What I remember most, though, was a Nord girl, about my age, selling mead out in the market. She had flowing auburn hair, braided in the style of shield maidens, clad in a simple linen dress. She didn't look like she was selling very many bottles, and I wanted to try mead for the first time, so I decided why not buy some. She was quite pleased that someone actually visited her stall: her employer made sub-standard mead, she said, and his competitors always strangled him of his customers. Her daily routine consists of her standing at that stall for hours, without any one so much as speaking to her. So she made me a deal: if I could keep her company for about an hour, she'll let me drink as much mead as I could then for free. Noticing that Anarion was beginning another one of his long lectures about a particularly obscure part of the city walls, I naturally obliged, and she took me to a small garden off of the main streets, with a basket of bottled mead to split between us. It was enjoyable; we talked on and on about what our lives were like at our different parts of the Empire, and about the possibilities of the future: she wanted to become a bard at the College in town. She could sing pretty well too, but one skill of hers I couldn't ignore: drinking. She put me to shame, it was an absolute rout for me. She remarked: "Hmmph, Imperials, poor fighters and poor drinkers, who would have guessed. Thank the Gods you're all handsomer than Nord men." I replied, slightly slurring my words from how tipsy I was: "That maybe true of a Nibenaen, but a Colovian like me would at least compensate failure on the battlefield with success in the tavern, when brandy's being served." She found it funny enough, though that was probably because of the mead too. Suddenly I realized that I had been away from the group for too long, and I had to excuse myself. Disappointed, but nonetheless understanding, the Nord girl gave me a kiss for the road, and sent me off. Unfortunately, while Anarion wasn't aware of my absence, our decurion was. So I had to haul buckets of water up and down the stairs of Castle Dour for the rest of the day, all the while screaming in my ear the entire time. The memory was worth it in the end, I have long since concluded, so I laugh when I remembered it.



When I entered Solitude's Gates, however, it became less of a laughing matter. I noticed that off to my right, as I got in, a mob of people had gathered near a platform, hurling insults and curses, and making a great ruckus. I stood at the very rear of the mob, and looking at the platform I saw a bound prisoner, in rags, flanked by armed guards, and a man with a particularly large ax standing near by: an execution. I listened in. The accused, Roggvir, was a former gate guard who, when Ulfric Stormcloak slew the High King of Skyrim, Torygg, let him flee the city, beginning the Stormcloak Rebellion. As his sentence was read aloud, the insults grew louder, as did the demands for his head. Finally, the prisoner had an opportunity to speak, so he stepped forward, and delivered his last words. "There was no murder! Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat." Cries of 'liar' began erupting throughout the crowd. "Such as our ways! Such as the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!" He stepped back, and slowly crumpled his way to the chopping block, willingly presenting his neck for the headsman. As the executioner began to wind his ax for the blow, he said: "On this day, I go to Sovngarde." The ax fell. Roggvir was no more. The crowd began to disperse in silence, not another word was spoken, save for a solitary voice crying out "Some gate guard you were!" I stood there in the abandoned square and contemplated my own crimes that led me to this point: my desertion from the Legion, to save my own life, came to mind, and while that could be excused, the death of Grisvar the Unlucky back in Cidhna took root, and I couldn't shake off the guilt that was building in my heart. Part of me wanted to stay in that mine, to have died there, instead of staining my hand with the blood of an innocent. But my mind was set. I was on a divine quest, one that couldn't be delayed. So, shaking off my self loathing spree, I continued on my way.

Solitude didn't look at all different from the time I was last there. All the same buildings were there, and the nooks and crannies of the streets were all the same as well, but I could notice somethings were awry. The people were more solemn now then they were when I visited it before, and the color of the streets, with flowers and banners afloat in the streets all taken down, and nothing but the grey stone buildings and the Solitude red remained. This was the reality of a country at war, a war not with a foreign invader, but one with itself. It was a joyless affair all around, and that couldn't be ignored in the very heart of Skyrim. People were silent as they passed me in the streets, concerned only with their own business, some even to the point of being rude; more than one 'milk drinker' was thrown at me whenever I found myself accidently in the path of one person or another. At the corner of a street, a crouched man in sackcloth was begging, getting the cold shoulder from all the passersby. "Spare a Septim for an old war veteran?" he said meekly, hands outstretched. I was moved with pity, so I walked up to him and put a pair of coins in his hand. He gave a wide smile, albeit with a tooth or two missing, saying "Divines bless your kind heart sir." Curiously, I asked him if he served in the Great War. He said yes. "I was once one of the best scouts in the Legion. Was part of a light skirmishing unit, serving in the Colovian Highlands, before I got wounded at Anvil. After that, me and the Legion weren't on good terms, so I retired, a crippled man. And now this damn rebellion's stopped my pension, and I have to start begging for a living." I was moved. "Ever heard of a Secundus Valerius Colovians?" I asked him, wondering if he knew of my father. The veteran stopped and a light lit up in his eyes. "Aye, I knew of Centurion Secundus. Our Nordic unit was attached to his cohort, so we served in the same battles. Never met the man, but everyone seemed to think of him as a capable leader. I heard he and his men set up an ambush for the Aldmeri in some ruined priory near Skingrad or what not. 'Priory of the Nine' I think it was called, he seemed to know the place well, some how. Managed to capture the son of some Elf noble or what not, huge ransom got paid for him, earned the government loads of coin. Too bad none of that's reaching me, or him for that matter. I heard the old Centurion fell on hard times, got killed because of some financial problems. Why do you ask?" I gave a slight grin as I picked myself up and started to walk away. "I read something about him once."



I continued on my way, and soon I was face to face with my destination: The Temple of the Divines. It was a humble affair compared to the great cathedrals of Cyrodiil, but it still had charm. Its masonry was sharp and ornate, much like the rest of Solitude, and graced with stained glass reminiscent of chapels back home. I walked in and found the place to be richly furnished. Potted saplings and antique end tables decorated the antechamber of the Temple, with rugs covering the stone floors. A woman in priest's clothes greeted me, a fellow Imperial. "Blessings of the Divines, brother, welcome to our temple. I am Sister Silana. How can I be of assistance?" I smiled, glad to finally nearing the end of the first leg of my journey. "I am here to see the Sword and Mace of the Crusader, I heard the temple keeps these relics." She seemed surprised. "Yes, we do have them, but how did you know to find them here? Such knowledge is privy to but a few." Reaching into my knapsack, I drew out a handful of scrolls and presented them to her. "Because they are my birthright. I am Tertius, son of Secundus, son of Primus, son of Tacitan, son of Aulus, Champion of Cyrodiil and the Divine Crusader." She thumbed through the documents, incredulously at first, but then, slowly, she began to realize that they were genuine. "I...I don't know how this is possible. I thought your house was extinct, that you died without an heir and no siblings. Surely, these must be forgeries." I shook my head. "Not many counterfeiters would have a baron's pedigree from the Imperial Genealogical Commission stamped by the Emperor's seal, don't you think?" She was still a little troubled by the news, and ran to get the high priest, an older Nord man. He scratched his beard as he read the documents, and soon enough it began to dawn on him as well. "By the Divines, they are real! A descendant of the Crusader, in our midst! An honor greater than even these relics. Come with me my son, I shall show you to them." He took me past the antechamber and into the nave of the Temple. The pews were arranged in their rows, and at the choir in the back of the temple was a semi circle with the individual shrines of the Divines arrayed there. Sunlight came streaming in from the high windows, with a juniper tree blooming in the midst of the pews at the back of the nave. The old priest turned a corner and took me down into the cellar, and sure enough in a small room was a ornate iron chest, with a lock of dwemer metal. He unlocked it and lifted the lid of the great trunk open. Suddenly, a divine presence could be felt in the room, and I was struck silent with reverence. I walked slowly over to the chest and at long last laid my eyes upon the relics. They were far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined: the steel glinted like the moon itself, its jewels glittering even in the torchlight of the room. They were truly works of the gods, both lovely, if one were admiring them in peace, and terrible, if one found themselves on their wrong end, to behold. I stooped down to pick up the Sword of Arkay, trembling as I touched it, worried some lighting bolt would strike me dead for not being worthy. I grasped the wooden handle, which felt more like smooth ivory than it did wood, suddenly a fiery surge glew in the blade, which found its way into my arm and ignited my very soul. The old priest was struck with awe. "It is indeed yours, by right. The gods have shown it thus. I am sorry for ever doubting you in the first place. Please take it my son. I also have this for you." He reached in to the folds of his robes and found a piece of parchment. "When the Keeper of the Relics entrusted me with these relics, he also gave me this map. It shows the location of a lost chapel, somewhere to the north of the city. If you find it, the Gods might grant you a vision as to how you can find the other relics, for I do not know where they lie now." I thanked him reverently as I picked up the Sword of Arkay and the Mace of Zenithar. Both felt light as a feather in my hand, immaculately balanced, and a swing with either of them flew forth with the speed and fury of a tempest. I bowed to him as I placed the Relics among my things, and to Silana as I left the Temple. At last, I had found my first relics.

As I exited the Temple however, two legionaries were standing outside with their swords drawn, the sash of the Frumentarii, the Legion's military police, on their shoulders. One came up to me and said "Decurion Tertius Valerius. By the order of the Legion, you are requested to desist and stand trial by military tribunal for the crime of desertion. Failure to comply with this request will be met with summary execution. What say you?" Part of me instinctually wanted to draw my sword and cut my way out of this situation, but these were my former comrades, and above all else, innocent men. I had a responsibility to stay my hand now. "I shall comply" I said as I raised my empty hands in a gesture of capitulation, and the legionaries began to lead me to the Castle Dour. It was a fortress quite unlike most in Skyrim: the High Kings of Skyrim brought in masons and engineers from High Rock to do the work, where castles and fortresses dot the landscape as often as windmills or bridges. So, the Castle looked like something you would find in Wayrest or Camlorn instead of the rest of Skyrim. It used to be the sole property of the High King and the City Guard, but since his death at the hands of Ulfric, the Legion now houses its headquarters there, with Military Governor Tullius directing the Imperial war effort from its walls. And now, it would be my prison, just when I had already gotten out of another I sighed to myself.

I was brought into an atrium where some guards and a couple of benches stood. The Imperial Dragon was hung on the walls, and if it were a different occasion than it was now, the sight of them would have been a comfort. A frumentarius told me to sit down and another went through a door in the center of the room, presumably to report to some officer or other. I was sitting there, hands in my lap, trying to conceal my anxiety as best I could as the guards in the room gave me cold, judging stares. Part of me felt that I was disgracing the Imperial armor that I had kept on me, and wanted to tear it off right there to express my guilt. Then again, I had no choice but to abandon my post, or else I would have been killed by that villain, Tribune Blackheart. Moments later, the other frumentarius came back into the room and nodded to his colleague, who had me stand up and escorted me through the door. The next room had a table with a map of Skyrim laid out, with small metal figurines and banners scattered across it. Hovering over it was a male Imperial, clad in an officer’s armor, wearing the helm of a Legate. He noticed us come in, and had the frumentarii dismissed. I was left alone in the room with him. He took off his helmet, and suddenly I was met with a familiar face. "Well well well, you're an awful long way from your post, Decurion Tertius, or should I say Troll-Bait." It was none other than Adventus Caesennius, an old classmate of mine from childhood. He was using my nickname back in the day. I laughed. "Caesey, I had heard that you had hit it lucky after we graduated, but I had no idea you made Legate." He turned himself around to face me, his arms crossed in a stern matter. "It's good to see you too, but that doesn't detract from the fact of why you are here in the first place. And it would behoove you to retain your military bearing before an officer of the Legion." I groaned on the inside. "Yes sir." Adventus uncrossed his arms. "Now, I'm told that you're being charged for desertion by the Frumentarii, and the fact that you're here instead of in High Rock at your garrison doesn't help your case. However, I've also been told that there was a threat on your life, and that your superior officer, Centurion Ernard, had you listed as missing in battle, presumed dead to escape it. Now, I can help you, if you'll help me. I'll have the records in High Rock continue to say that you're dead, while the records here in Skyrim will have you listed as honorably discharged from the Legion, but I expect you to do something for me in turn." Relief shot through me like magefire. "Of course, sir. Anything for the Legion." Adventus smiled. "Good. We've been getting strange reports from our garrison at Helgen. Sightings of..." He paused, seemingly trying to find the right words for the rest of his thoughts. "Of dragons." I nearly burst out laughing. "Dragons? Really sir? Are you sure it wasn't a couple of sentries on moonsugar pissing themselves because of flying squirrels?" Adventus sighed. "I'm afraid not, these reports come from Pentius Oculatus patrols in the region. They had intelligence suggesting that Ulfric Stormcloak and a regiment of his soldiers were marching through there on their way back from a raid in Falkreath Hold. While on the lookout, they spotted these...shadows, and unearthly roars. They thought it could only mean one thing. I need you to do this because General Tullius has a trap set for Ulfric in those mountains, and if there's a dragon roaming around, he could be in danger. I know you have some other business to conduct, but on your travels, I need you to keep your eyes and ears open, and investigate Helgen if you get the chance. See if the rumors are true." I smiled, walked up to Adventus, and put a hand to his shoulder. "Caesey, sir, I'd do it for free if I had to." He grinned back and returned the gesture. "Glad to hear it Troll Bait. Take these. Your official discharge papers." He handed me a scroll, stamped with the seal of a general: my free pass. I gave him a salute, and went on my way.

My next task: to find that hidden chapel.

[Alwyn]

Ah, Tertius Valerius now owes a significant debt to Aventus Caessennius, it sounds like repaying that debt will take Troll Bait (good nickname!) into danger as he investigates those rumours. Good update! (I enjoyed the story about the Professor of Military Engineering, the mead-seller and the decurion - and, in a very different tone, what happens to Roggvir.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

It sounds as if school trips in Tamriel are more interesting than mine ever were!

I wonder if Tertius will ever feel he's properly paid for his desertion and Grisvar's death.

[TheKnightofDay]

Chapter Nine: Penitents and Pilgrims
27th of Last Seed, 4E201

I woke up after a night at the Winking Skeever Inn. I would have to leave at the crack of dawn if I were to reach this hidden chapel before nightfall, so I restrained myself from drinking too much last night. I quickly made a little breakfast; just an apple, some honey, and bread, and filled a flagon of cold tea for the journey. The city was quiet this early in the morning, much unlike the Imperial City, where the bustle of town business rarely ever stopped. It was a relaxing peace that seemed odd in a city like Solitude, and certainly during these trying times of Civil War in Skyrim, but a wholesome reminder of the how valuable such a commodity is for any place in time. It reminded me of the Colovian Highlands, my ancestral homelands where my family called home for centuries, even before it rose out of obscurity at the end of the Third Era, at least that's what the genealogical records say at the Palace Library. There it is a place of serene quiet, over looking the Great Forest, and in the distance one could see the White Gold Tower. It is doted by pine groves and filled with numerous gorges and rock formations, as well as the ruins of crumbling forts from the times of the Interregnum. It, along with the ruins of Sancre Tor, is the spiritual heart of Colovia, and a natural symbol that is reflective of Colovians in general. People outside of Cyrodiil tend to lump all the natives of the province into the category of "Imperials", but in truth there are three cultural subdivisions within the race with unique ancestral branching, with as much significance as the difference between Crowns and Forebears for Redguards. These are, from the East of Cyrodiil to the West, Nibenaeans, Heartlanders, and Colovians. Nibenaeans are ceremonial, philosophical, and courteous people who had been ruled for centuries by an aristocracy of battlemages, some of whom are on par with their Breton or Altmer counterparts, but the majority of Nibenaeans focus on trade and seamanship. The waterways of Niben River and its many tributaries was a valuable highway for shipping goods from across Tamriel, and as such the majority of Nibenese culture revolves around the cycles of life on the Niben itself. Heartlanders are a mix between Colovians and Nibenaeans; they inherit the silver tongue of Nibenay and the strategic mind of Colovia, and instead of trade or war focus these talents on diplomacy. They are diplomats, governors, and lawmakers, and call the Imperial City and its environs home. They are urbane and kind, at least outwardly, for beneath the surface lies great cunning and ambition in all Heartlanders. Colovians, like myself, are a more austere and disciplined people, frontiersmen who inherited from our Nord cousins a healthy respect for self-sufficiency and the martial arts. Colovians do one of three things, they either till the land as farmers and vintners, live off the land as hunters in the Imperial Reserve, or they enlist in the Legion, making up the bulk of the Imperial Armies, both in the time of the Septims and the Medes. The average Colovian as a warrior isn't nearly as dexterous as the swordsmen of Hammerfell, as strong as the berserkers of Orsinium, or as fearless as the thanes of Skyrim, but the strength of Colovia lies in discipline and teamwork. While Nords like to boast that their shield walls are impervious to any attack, it is the Colovian phalanx that truly wins the day, and was the foundation for the Imperial armies that conquered Tamriel. A proper one moves with the swiftness and grace of a stag, stays compact like a tortoise, and stings like a viper with the short swords and spears of the formation, safe behind its shields. Once together, only death or victory can part a Colovian legionnaire from his comrades. As such, the Highlands reflect the strength, vigor, and the simple beauty of the Colovian people, and aside from the Imperial City it is the one place I always recommend to a traveler from other lands visiting Cyrodiil. I always kept a small painting of a Colovian landscape in my personal effects for whenever I became homesick on the road:


(Author's Note: I guarantee you you noticed the Skyblivion watermark at the bottom of this pic. That is no mistake, check it out, it's an upcoming mod rendering Tertius' home province, Cyrodiil, in the awe and splendor of Skyrim's engine [at least for 2011 standards :O], complete with all your old adventures from Oblivion. Hope you appreciate the shout out.

I busied myself with these fond thoughts of home as I traveled the roads of Haafingar atop Julia. It was getting colder the further I went north, and soon whisps of snow began to fall about. The winds off of the Sea of Ghosts chilled me to the bone, as I drank some of the tea I brought with me in a tankard that I warmed with a fire spell. I would have to do this more often, I thought, if I'm to continue living up here in Skyrim. I just hoped that the Divine Crusader's Armor had some kind of cold-proof enchantment or something of the sort, if such a thing even exists. I would imagine that the Gods wouldn't want their Champion to catch a shiver while on crusade. Snow foxes darted beneath bushes and around trees, chasing hares, and the songs of birds in the trees gradually gave way to the moans of the winds scraping the rocks and trees. I also began noticing more wolves and spiders on the roads as I approached the north with greater frequency. These lands seem beautiful, but they seem to hide a sort of corruption that I couldn't put my finger on. I put it to the back of my mind, however, as I began nearing my destination. By now there was snow on the ground up to my ankles, dry and powdery, my armored boots sinking deep in the snow as I lowered myself off of Julia. I followed the remainder of the clues given to me to find this hidden chapel, and as I came to the end of the trail, I was at first met with nothing but a tall boulder and some trees. I looked around, puzzled. Where could it be? I sat around for about an hour, sipping some more tea and sharpening my blade, when suddenly I recalled something written in the notes the priests in Solitude gave me. I opened up the parchment and followed the words with my finger. "One must grovel in the earth before they can earn a place in the heavens." I pondered this for a minute, then realizing what it meant, started to sweep and shovel the snow away. After five minutes of shifting snow, I finally came upon a dark wooden trapdoor, a rusted metal ring attached to the front. I pulled the trapdoor with great might; it was a heavy old thing, but soon it gave way and I could see a ladder going down into the ground.



The place was dank, dark, and damp. I had a hard time trying to light my torch in there, but as soon as I did, it revealed the entrances to two rooms, one in front, the other to the right. I ducked into the one on the right. There was a few unburnt logs on top of a pile of cinders near the middle. I ignited them with my torch, and the room became gradually revealed. Suddenly, to my right, I noticed a Breton man in a bedroll, eyes closed, face pale and gaunt. I went to check his pulse. Dead, and recently: he wasn't too cold. I found a journal written in charcoal by his side. I thumbed through the pages: a lot of the writings were faded and esoteric, the clearest entry I could find was his first and last one: apparently, he discovered this shrine built by Imperial monks in the Third Era to channel the energy of the Divines in Skyrim into one spot to magnify their blessings on any pilgrim who prayed there. However, these would require prayers most of which have been lost to time. It seemed like my friend here went out looking for some, caught some kind of nasty disease on his travels, and died in his sleep only a few days ago. Many of the man's things were still strewn about in this room: a table stood at the left side of the room, and a humble bookshelf stood at the back wall, but its shelves were empty. A few loaves of stale bread and slightly brown cabbage lay in a basket, while a few scrolls of paper with illegible scribbles lay on top of the table. I sighed. "I should give him a proper burial," I said to myself, as soon as I figure out what I'm to do from here. I crossed into the other room, which was lit by a faint skylight falling down upon a lectern with an open book laid atop it. Surrounding it on the far walls were the shrines to the Nine nestled within alcoves cut into the stone walls in a simple yet ornamental way. I found a few candles around the shrines, which I proceeded to light. I took a step back and surveyed the scene. It wasn't anything grand, that's for sure, but I realized that was probably the point. It was still, quiet, undisturbed, pure. A minute, divine presence could still be felt in the room, and it inspired reverence and introspection. I found that some of my more earthly, less pure thoughts were crowded out by more theological, inquisitive ones. Have I really treated the Divines the way I should have? Have I ignored one Divine for another? Have my actions even before my current quest been pure or sinful in the eyes of the gods?

These questions and more began to dart around in my head faster than I could attempt to answer them, so I attempted to drown them out by going back to the book on the lectern. It was indeed old: it was some kind of treated parchment which was rough and coarse in my hands, and I could tell the script and ornamentation of the pages were certainly Third Era Imperial. However, many of the words inside were faded and skewed with age, and I could not make heads nor tails of what it said. I remembered some of the scribbles from the dead man's journals. He said the scriptures containing the verses of these prayers were scattered across Skyrim, and they would have to be collected piece by piece to form the blessings. Not only that, but the numerous shrines to the divines that dot the landscape would have to be found first in order to activate the shrine, so in any case, a fair amount of walking would be required to bring this shrine into working order. Once these shrines are found, a vision of the relics will be bestowed upon me, and I should be able to find them. All easier said than done.

I took a look outside and noticed that dusk was beginning to fall. I would have to spend the night here. I took some of the salt pork that I had in my provisions and chopped it up with the cabbage that was left in the chamber and made a stew out of it. It was a humble fare, but one that gave me a precious jolt of warmth that was much needed in this dreary climate. I returned to the shrine, and sat down to meditate. I went over my mantras in my head, and began to drift off into the darkness of night. Soon I was met with a blinding light, and then I found myself in a forest. It was unlike those of Skyrim, it was mostly oaks and poplars instead of pines, and the land was flat and gentle. To me, it looked like the West Weald, the borderlands between Cyrodiil and Valenwood. For some reason, I felt an urge to walk in a specific direction, and knowing not why I followed it. There was no wind and no sounds to be heard, the forest was completely silent. "This must be a dream," I told myself, but I could not bring myself to do anything else except continue walking. Soon, I began to come up to a two story half timbered house with an archway on its left side. I walked underneath it, and looking to my right saw a small chapel in Imperial style next to the entrance of the house, with a garden to the left of the chapel, full with rows of lavender. There, sitting in a chair next to it, a man was sitting in white clothes, his back facing me, playing a lute. I could recognize the song, it was something I could faintly remember from my childhood, something my parents used to play to me before I went to sleep. "The night is dark, the ground is deep, its warmth can keep you still..." I approached the man slowly, I wanted to call out to him but I couldn't form my words. I came within a few paces of the man when he began to stop playing. I stood there, dead in my tracks, as he stood up from the chair and turned around. He was an older man, with auburn hair and beard speckled with flecks of grey. His face was familiar, yet one I did not recognize. "Well..." he said gently, "It took you long enough, son. I see Herannus didn't teach you much in the way of punctuality." I blinked. "Father?" I asked softly. The man smiled and nodded. I looked around bewildered. "Am I dead?" I asked. My father chuckled. "No, not quite yet. The Gods still have use for you, it seems. But it's not me they want you to be chatting with." He nodded his head off towards the distance, over my shoulder, so I turned. A knight clad in shimmering armor was walking towards me, a red diamond emblazoned on his surcoat. He stood before me, a full head taller, and took off his helm, crested on either side by ornamental wings. The knight had a young, clean shaven face and well kept hair, auburn like my fathers, but with the brightness of youth. I did not know him either, but his face too was familiar somehow. "Tertius, had I known the path you were destined for in life, even I would have been choked up with envy. Me. The Champion of Cyrodiil. The Gods truly are mysterious." I recognized the voice. "You're Aulus, my ancestor?" I asked with meek humility, despite the praise I had been shown. "I am indeed, at least a fraction of me. I have been a card traded by many hands in the life before, according to the winds of fate, and so too I am traded for in the life after. That is why we must speak." He drew his sword, the Sword of Arkay, like the one I held in Solitude, and thrust it into the ground before my feet. "A sword like this, my son, is valuable, but the one who worthily wields such a sword is priceless. This is an axiom understood by all, men and mer, Aedra and Daedra, and they will all make an effort to buy the wielder. I was no exception to this, and time will show that neither will you be. Many forces, both of this world and others, will sway you to do their bidding, and I, even as a holy man later in life, allowed myself to be bought. Little did I know that not only was I offering my sword, but also my soul, so that when the time came for mine to be claimed, it was not only to myself that it was indebted. My soul was split between the Lords of Oblivion, the Nine, even the Ideal Masters laid claim to a piece of my spirit, and so too my memory and, more importantly, the labor or my deeds was divided among many parties of the living. Many of these deeds I did in the name of these buyers were for the greater good, others were merely for their benefit, and others I saw no rhyme nor reason to, and each had differing consequences, some of which rendered the others null."

I scratched the back of my head as he finished this last sentence. "I see you don't find much sense in these words. In hindsight, neither did I, yet I was drawn anyways in life. Destiny is not linear, as the priests of Akatosh may have preached to you, but it branches off like a river. Each decision you make leads you down a different path, and nothing can exempt you from the consequences it renders, not even wandering along a new path. I found myself seduced by many of these, by the ability to willingly choose as many paths as I wished to take, without realizing where some of those paths lead, and like a creditor you have wronged, all the debts you incurred on these paths will be collected in the end. So, in the end, I found myself torn, to be shared like a plaything of children, with those that hired me each having their turn with the different parts of my soul. So, I beseech you thus: I know what praise you have for my memory, for the example I set that the history books may have taught you, but you must learn from me, do not allow yourself to be seduced like I have by so many others. You will be presented with many paths, like I, but if you are to keep your soul pure and your memory unsullied, you must tread them seeking one destination, for if you walk as if you were looking for more, you will end up reaping what you sow." I blinked profusely, attempting to absorb the knowledge that Aulus had given to me. He his helm back on. "Now the question is," his voice booming from behind his armored visage, "will that path be for the greater good, and the glory of the Nine." Without hesitation I said yes. "The Gods trust you rightly, yet these," he said, pointing back to the Sword of Arkay ,"they are a responsibility as well as a gift. The Gods want to be sure that you will fulfill such obligations, and so they give you a taste, bestowing the Sword of Arkay, and the Mace of Zenithar, but to earn all my relics you must take a pilgrimage, as I have done, and as I have told you in your prison. Pray to the Nine Shrines, and return here to meditate, and the way to the Divine Relics will be shown to you. When you awake, you will find that your map will show you the way, but I will part you with this warning." He retrieved his sword from the ground, sheathed it, and began to walk away. He then spoke over his shoulder: "It is no dead end that your friend Caesennius sends you to." Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared in the sky, and an ear-piercing roar echoed through the land.

Suddenly, I jolt awake. I find myself laying on the floor beside the lectern, daylight pouring through the skylight, but all the candles burnt out. My head is throbbing as I pick myself up, and my throat is parched. "How long have I been asleep," I asked myself, as I searched for a skin of water. I found it, and as I slaked my thirst, I cast a glance towards my map, and nearly took a spit take as I noticed nine diamonds in red ink had been marked all across Skyrim. "I'll be damned..." I told myself. I thrust my map back into my rucksack and prepared to get going on the road. As I exited the cave, with the corpse of the Breton over my shoulder, I heard Julia galloping towards me. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot about you, dear. I hope this will make up for it." I gave her a ruby red apple, and immediately set to work digging a grave for my corpse. After an hour's work, I made a sizable hole, and so I lowered the man's body in, buried him, and stuck my old blade in the ground as a headstone. I gave him a few parting prayers on his behalf, and set off on my way. "A pilgrim's life is never easy," I said to myself, remembering the old priestly saying.

[theSilentKiller]

Finally managed to get through the last chapter which I hadn't read! Great chapters and great AAR! And especially the last chapter makes me want to replay the 'Knight of the Nine' DLC for Oblivion! And kudos for using the Skyblivion picture. I'm waiting for this mod for a long time now.

I like the description of the shrines and the symbols of the nine (or eight and the one). Looking forward to reading more of this!

[Scottish King]

Great AAR you have here. I want to play Skyrim again

[Alwyn]

I enjoyed reading this chapter, the introduction to the Colovians goes well with the Skyblivion picture (that mod sounds impressive). I like the way that Tertius has to work out the solution to the puzzle before he can find the hidden chapel - and his experience when he meditates there.

[TheKnightofDay]

Author's Update:

Hello to those of you who have miraculously made it this far into the AAR. What started out as a simple experiment has tuned into a humble yet gratifying experience for me. Though I'm not nearly as successful as some of the AAR veterans here in twcenter, I am nonetheless grateful for the attention I've gotten so far, and for the kind words of encouragement some of you have sent me each time I submit an entry. I know I'm awfully slow at pushing these out (I'm a bit of a procrastinator ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), but I appreciate the patience that some of you have had for this series. I do have some bad news though. For the next month, I'm being sent on military maneuvers overseas, and so Chapter Ten will have to be delayed another month. I apologize, but sometimes the creative momentum just isn't there. Hopefully, at the end of this, I will have ample time and energy to push Chapter Ten out, and to make it up to you guys, I'll make sure this one is twice as long, getting us closer to the climax of Tertius' first quest, and the start of those to come. And another plus, by the time I return, in mid-July, the first edition of the Beyond Skyrim mod will be released; Bruma, the gateway to Cyrodiil in its Fourth Era state, all in Bethesda-like quality. Perhaps in the chapters to come, Tertius will be drawn by the winds of fate back into his homeland, in the midst of all its splendor, as well as its intrigue.

Thank you all so much for making this project worthwhile,
TheKnightofDay

[TheKnightofDay]

Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience. After my maneuvers, I was visiting family, so it took a little longer to get this posted than I had expected. Expect this chapter to be broken up onto two or three parts, and soon see Tertius complete his first major quest and start to tackle the forces at work in Tamriel himself.

Chapter 10: A Holy Road, Part One
29-30th of Last Seed, 4E201

The road back through the Reach seemed gloomier than when I rode it up to Solitude. Passersby seemed to be going at a more frantic pace, away from the south. Much of the sky was overcast, blocking the rays of the autumn sun, and what was left from the minute joy to be had in that province of Skyrim. But, it was much more than the weather that brought the people's spirits down, or even the Civil War for that matter. It felt like there was a darker menace at work, one unconcerned by the petty politics of men or mer, and it kept looming ever to the south. To Helgen. "I mustn't take my mind off the task ahead," I told myself, "I have to carry on." During my early days at my military boarding school, in sparring class, I was punished by my Decurion greatly. As an adolescent, I was very careless and too enthusiastic when it came to my swordplay, and often times I found myself making fatal errors with my moves, which were too reckless, to say the least. "You fight like a mudcrab, too stupid and too stubborn, and if you don't adapt you'll damn well die as easily as one," he remarked constantly. He was an Orc veteran of the Great War, a mass of scar and muscle, and each day I would have to go through extra sparring lessons throughout the night until he found me ready. Every night, I swore I became so black and blue, the Dunmer students kept teasing me that I looked more like them than an Imperial. "You're drawn to danger like a moth to flame," he said, and even though I grew out of that phase and became a better fighter, it seemed like a part of me never grew out of it. I've always had an internal compass for danger, and more often than not, I find myself drawn to it, willing or no. Caesennius' errand kept coming to mind, about a dragon of all things. There's no way it could be true, I kept thinking, but still I can feel the winds of doom. It might be dragons or it might not be, but there's something amiss in those lands.



By the time I was finished with this reflection, I found myself at my destination: near the Shrine of Zenithar. It was across on the other bank of the Karth River, to the east high on some bluffs, so I found a ford to take Julia through, and settled her at the base of the bluff. It was evening by then, and the sun was sinking in the horizon. I found a deer trail snaking up the right side of the Shrine's heights, and made my way up to the plateau. On the top, I could see a Nord ruin not far to my left on the edge of the bluff, right where the Shrine would be. An ancient tollway, no doubt, and I thought the roads through the Reach were bad enough today. At the entrance of the small structure, there was a depression, so that a sort of bowl was formed in the earth from where I stood towards the ruin. Instinct told me that there must be bandits holed up in there, so I approached the ruin silently. Sure enough, there was three there: a female Argonian archer, a tall Nord man with a battleaxe, and a Khajiit, all settled by the edge of a cooking fire. I would have to catch the archer by surprise and dispatch her first if I stood a chance at handling her comrades. I sneaked up within an arm’s length of the fire, when the Argonian archer noticed me, clutched a hand axe, and swung at me. Wielding the Sword of Arkay, I parried her attack straight on the axe's wooden handle, and loped off the axe head effortlessly. I recovered my stance, then immediately brought my sword right on the archer's shoulder, decapitating her with ease as her body ignited in enchanted flame. Her two comrades sat there, staring mouth agape at the spectacle. I looked back at my sword. "Huh, I could get used to this," I said to myself. After this, the Nord picked up his battleaxe and charged straight for me. "By Ysmir, you won't leave here alive!" he bellowed, crashing into my shield. I staggered back, much to the Nord bandit’s relish. He wound up for another blow, but I took the opportunity to bash at his face with my shield, dazing him. I thrust at his hip with my sword, piercing through the hinges on his iron breastplate like parchment and going deep in his side. He too burst into flames, and screamed in pain for a moment as he was engulfed, then fell limp. The Khajiit was mid blow when he saw his second comrade crumple into a burned corpse before his eyes, and without as much as a word dropped his sword and ran for the hills as fast as he could. I scoffed at the sight, then promptly sheathed my sword.



I looked around the ruins. It was a humble structure, no bigger than a rural cottage typical of Skyrim, only it was built in the old stone of the ancient Nords. In the middle was a pit for a fire, where the bandits had a skewered skeever roasting on a rotisserie, with a hole in the roof to let out the smoke. Opposite the entrance to the building was another door that led to a stone perch overlooking the Karth and the road that ran alongside it. There, I found the Shrine of Zenithar: the anvil icon standing reverently still in the middle of the perch. Such a shame that a holy place would become the resting place of thieves these days, I thought. Just one of many reasons why my quest needed to be taken up. I approached the icon and knelt. I laid my shield and the Sword of Arkay to the side, placed the Mace of Zenithar between me and the Shrine, and removed my helmet. I began to recite the Command of Zenithar softly: “Work hard, and you will be rewarded. Spend wisely, and you will be comfortable. Never steal, or you will be punished.” I kept praying my mantra fervently, and soon the outside world began to fade away. Slowly a white light began to spread across my vision, until I was surrounded by white. I stood there, surrounded by nothingness for what seemed like hours, when a stern voice spoke out. “I am the Exemplar of Zenithar. You have been an honest man much of your life, but still you must learn the power of diligence and perseverance. Behold, the Lesson of Zenithar.”

As these words faded away, my vision began to fade into the inside of a house. It was a small, dark hovel, with a woman in simple linen clothing sitting before a tin basin of water, washing clothes. I did not recognize her, but I felt a subconscious familiarity. After a moment, a door creaked open. “Secundus, have you returned from the Chorrol markets?” the woman asked. “Yes, Julia, my dearest, but I did not make much.” My father walked into view, dressed just as plain, sat next to the woman, and embraced her.” “My…parents?” I asked meekly. “Yes,” the Exemplar said, “and you as well.” Off in a corner, a baby started to cry. My father got up and walked over to a humble wooden crib. “Easy, Tertius, there, there.” My mother stopped her work and walked over to the two of us. “He’s hungry, again,” she said, “he’s growing up pretty fast, isn’t he?” She took hold of me and began to nurse me, as my father began pacing back and forth, shaking his head. “Julia, our last haul of herbs only brought us thirty septims, that’s fifty less than last month. The large estate nurseries in the West Weald keep lowering their prices, and it’s becoming harder for us to keep up. We’re just barely breaking even right now.” My mother frowned. “Our creditors are expecting another payment this week, and we’ve only got a hare and two barrels of grain left for food. What are we going to do?” My father sat down on a stool and put his face into his hands. “Gods, I don’t know…”After sating my younger self’s hunger, she laid him back into the crib, laced up her blouse again, and sat beside my father. “What about Herannus? Can he not help us?” she asked. My father, face still in his hands, replied: “No, he doesn’t even know about our debt, and I’m not going to involve him, he could be killed. These aren’t the type of people who want to be known, Julia.” My mother frowned again, and the two sat there silent for several minutes. Finally, my mother spoke up: “There’s only one thing you can do, my love. You should join the marauders at the Hammerfell border.” At this my father leapt up, visibly irritated. “No, I cannot, I will not do that. Those men are murderers.” My mother stood up too. “You said it yourself, we’re barely breaking even. Those men maybe monsters, but they pay well. They might kill for the thrill of it, but you will have us.” My father bowed his head. “Even so, the ends never justify the means. I will not have our son inherit a legacy of blood.” My mother began to weep. My father hugged her, and tried to console her. “That’s it then,” she said, “we’re to wait here for our deaths, whether it be at the edge of an enforcer’s sword, or starvation.” My father continued to comfort her, and when she had finally calmed, he said: “It may be too late for us, dear, but Tertius has a full life ahead of him. I will not have Herannus accept our debt, but perhaps our son instead. If I join the marauders, his life and yours will be forfeit to the law just as easily as mine, but if we remain honest, at least he will outlive us with honor, and flower into the man we know he’ll become.” My mother pondered this for a moment, then she meekly agreed, and the vision faded away back to white. The Exemplar spoke again. “Your parents might not have been true nobles, but they were noble, much more so than any Count or Duke alive today. Their commitment to keep honest for you continued for many more months, diligently working to keep you fed and healthy at their own expense until they passed, and you moved on to your father’s friend, Herannus. Learn from your parent’s example, and you shall serve Zenithar and all peoples well in your endeavors.” Finally, as the Exemplar’s voice boomed away, my vision regained, and I returned to Nirn. It was dusk, so I helped myself to the roasted skeever still on the skewer, then led Julia, who was still patiently waiting in the hiding place I set her in, up to the bluff for the night, then settled in. In the morning, I breakfasted on some bread, an apple, and some Akaviri tea that I still had left, then fed Julia again before setting out on the road again.

Next was the Shrine of Kynareth, on the road to Morthal. As I headed north, again the weather became colder and bitterer. Swampland began to replace the hills and bluffs of the Reach, indicating where it ended and Hjaalmarch Hold began. The very land was sour, and if it weren’t for the sterility of the snow, would probably stink of rot and decay. The only things alive were the dark green firs and clumps of fungal pods laying at the edges of pools in the swamplands. The shoots of grass that poked through the snow were dead brown. I caught a glimpse of a couple of stags in the trees, but most of the animals I found were more frostbite spiders, which I annoyingly had to dispatch as they charged me and Julia on sight. How is the Shrine of Kynareth in such a detestable land like this? I began to turn into some mountains as I followed the marks of my map. I got out of the swampland and began to cross into a rocky meadow. A humble stream flowed in the middle, between one mountainous ridge and another. Right before me, a humble shack was placed above the stream on a small rock arch. I approached the shack, a humble Nord man in sackcloth pants and a rawhide vest was sitting on a wooden porch, picking apart a crab. I dismounted Julia and approached the man. I greeted him, but he only looked at me with a guarded expression. I realized he was studying my Legion armor. I would have to get this stuff replaced soon. “Don’t worry, I’m not a legionnaire, only a pilgrim. I’m looking for the Shrine of Kynareth.” He eased up a bit. “Oh, it’s about another hour’s hike from here, on the bluffs of the ridge to the left.” I thanked him for this, and continued on my way. Bees lazily floated from patches of clovers and wild flowers. “This is more fitting, I suppose,” I thought to myself. I continued along the meadow, listening to the wind whistling through the rocky crags. Unlike the swamplands from earlier, peace radiated throughout this land. It could be felt by the gentle rhythms of the land, and tasted on the cool mountain air. There was no snow in that particular part of the highlands, but one could see the northern taigas from a high. It was untouched by man, save for the few dots of civilization, like the crabber from before. Soon, I was coming to the end of the path, and I could see a set of ancient stone stairs climbing up to a platform flanked by two stone pillars. “The Shrine of Kynareth,” I said to myself, as I nudged Julia to a gallop. As I climbed up the winding path, I began to make a turn into a thick clump of conifers. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by half a dozen or so wolves. They began to snarl and bark at me, and expecting a fight I drew the Sword of Arkay. Suddenly, the wolves became docile, and began to disperse. Perhaps Kynareth had them respect the sight of another divine relic. I continued on the path, and in a minute found myself at the edge of a small pool next to the stairs leading up to the shrine. Looking around, I found shoots of wild sage and lavender, so I cut a thick bundle and placed it before Kynareth’s icon as an offering. Again I set aside my arms and helmet and began reciting, this time I prayed with the Command of Kynareth: “Use Nature's gifts wisely. Respect her power, and fear her fury.” I began to fade again into the words, much like I had yesterday at Zenithar’s shrine, and soon I found myself in the white space I was before. A gentle but proud feminine voice spoke to me: “I am the Exemplar of Kynareth. Though you note the beauty of the gifts of Nature like one who is truly awe-struck, your reverence for her I yet find lacking. Behold the Lesson of Kynareth.”



My vision again began to fade into a new scene, this time I could see a wooded grove with a stream flowing through it, the noise of playing children could be heard off in the distance. I recognized the spot, it was one of the spots I used to play around when I was a kid in County Bruma, near Herannus’ old stud farm. Two young boys started to come in view: it was my younger self, at about the ripe age of nine, and Appius, Herannus’ son and my childhood friend. My younger self was chasing after Appius with a wooden sword and shield, laughing all the way as we went. Appius halted on a tuft of earth a head above my younger self and held his sword above his head. “I am your emperor, Uriel III, bow to me!” The young Tertius thumped his sword against his shield. “Never! Victory to the true emperor, Cephorus!” The two boys launched back into fighting. I laughed to myself. “The days of playing ‘War of the Red Diamond’ with Appius seem so far away.” The Exemplar agreed, “True, but the consequences of some actions can stick with us for longer than we expect.” I was puzzled at this but continued to see the vision play out. Soon, the two boys came up to a decent sized oak tree standing alongside the stream, with a stump right next to it. A woodsman’s axe was buried deep within the stump. The two boys dropped their toy weapons and gathered around the axe. “Whoa!” Appius said, “who left this here?” The younger me shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t see anyone anywhere.” Appius had a sinister grin come across his face. “I bet you can’t chop down this tree with this axe, you’re not strong enough.” Young Tertius scoffed. “Neither can you, Appius, and I bet I could.” Appius took the axe out of the stump and handed it to me. “Prove it,” he said, as his grin widened. My younger self took it with a bit of hesitation. Doubts visibly raced across his face, but then he hardened his expression, and gulping the air, swung the axe into the tree. It left a sizeable divot in the trunk, but nothing to get excited over. “Giving up already?” Appius said teasingly. “No!” I replied, irritated, and continued swinging away. An hour went by, and tiredly Young Tertius kept hacking at the tree. Appius was propped up against the tree stump snoozing away. I was about two thirds of the way through the trunk when the tree began to sway; fortunately for my younger self towards the other bank of the stream. Appius awoke as soon as he heard the creaking of the falling tree, and saw it as it crashed straight into the stream with a big splash. “By Mara…” Appius said, mouth agape, “you actually did it Tertius.” My younger self stood at the new stump, panting. He let go of the axe, his hands were covered with blisters. Suddenly a faint cry rose off in the distance: “Tertius, Appius? Where are you boys?” The two young boys looked at each other: “Father,” Appius said with dread. The two boys picked up their toys and began to run off to the direction of the shouts. I focused on the fallen tree in the stream. The stream was beginning to slow to a trickle, as the rest of the water slowly accumulated near the banks. The Exemplar spoke: “You were young, you did not understand the complexities of Nature, but look upon the damage your younger ignorance had wrought. Suddenly, it seemed as if time began to flow quicker, as if months became minutes. The stream flooded onto the banks, while it ran dry on the other side of the stream. My vision began to fly past the pastures near the dry river bed to a grove nearby. Green grass and tall trees slowly began to wither and die, and the noise of frogs and birds began to die out. A small doe could be seen limping by the dry river bed, then laying down, death creeping over it. My vision continued onto the path until it came across a pair of tents in the now dry wilderness. A family of Khajiits sat around a fire, visibly gaunt from starvation, as what seemed to be the father cooked a small hare on a spit, not nearly enough for such a family. Sorrow began to flood my emotions. “Nature is not a series of pillars standing strong against the waves,” the Exemplar told me, “It is a slender ribbon, connecting everything within its embrace. But with this connectedness comes vulnerability, and even with a slight change in the otherwise vast domain of Kynareth like a fallen tree damming a stream can ripple to affect so many, like you have seen here. The Gods have intended that balance be kept for the needs of all Nirn’s creatures, and this balance must be preserved if all creation is to be able to live. Know this and dedicate yourself to the defense of Nature’s grace and harmony, and Kynareth will continue to bestow her bounty to you and in turn to the people of Tamriel.” With this thought, I began to fade back into Nirn, and again I found myself in the evening, my belly beginning to rumble. “I should head for Morthal soon.” I told myself, so I recovered my gear and set Julia back on the trail again.

After a quick bite in the saddle, I arrived in town around nightfall. It was a small village whose only claim to prosperity seemed to be the lumber mill that ran on the north side of town. It was situated on a small creek that flowed into the marshlands, which were nearby. Snow fell gently on the ground. As I approached the town, I noticed that there was a crowd of people holding torches near a house next to the Jarl’s Hall. It was burnt to cinders, and the people were murmuring softly. I went up to the crowd and dismounted. I went up to one of the villagers, a Nord lumberjack, and asked him what the commotion was all about. “A traveler, huh?” he asked, “well, Imperial, news is spreading all over town. About a few nights ago, Hroggar’s house was burnt down. His wife and daughter were caught in the blaze.” I expressed my condolences: “I hope this Hroggar is coping well then.” At this the lumberjack spit on the ground. “Bah, leave that for his dead family. The man moved in with that young temptress Alva the morning after. I’d say that’s proof enough he burnt his own house, but the Jarl doesn’t seem to think so. The place is haunted now, many people swear they’ve seen Hroggar’s little girl, Helgi, standing in the ruins.” I paused and scratched my head. “I should attend to this.” I headed into the Jarl’s longhouse and presented myself. The steward lazily approached me and asked what my business was. “I am Tertius Valerius Colovians, ex-Decurion of the Legion and heir to the Barony of Sutch-Colovia. I am here to seek an audience with the Jarl of Hjaalmarch.” The steward looked at me with a faint incredulousness. “You know,” he said, “you don’t need to announce a pedigree just to talk to a Jarl, Imperial. This ain’t Cyrodiil, you know.” I laughed nervously. “Oh, right…” The steward sighed and gestured to the dais in the middle of the hall, where an old, wrinkled Nord woman was sitting on a wooden throne. As I approached the dais, I bowed my head and folded my arm to my chest in a salute. “Your excellency,” I said, using the honorific expected for Counts back in Cyrodiil. She laughed a hoarse chuckle. “Your formality is touching, stranger, but this is Skyrim, honor is shown by deeds, not titles. The Gods have sent you here for a purpose, but I do not what it is. Well, tell me.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve come here to investigate the circumstances surrounding the burning of Hroggar’s home. The citizens believe it to be foul play, and I for one have similar suspicions.” The elderly Jarl stroked her chin ponderously. “I have seen no visions supporting such a claim, but then again my attentions have ever been diverted elsewhere. If you wish to investigate, I will allow it. Everyone else is too afraid to sift through the ashes anyways, for fear that it is cursed. So be it.” With a wave of her hand she dismissed me and I went out into the chill night air.

[Alwyn]

Good update, your writing is rich in description (I particularly like the description of the road to Morthal, where Hjaalmarch Hold begins), dialogue (I like the steward's response when Tertius Valerius Colovians introduces himself) and events (I wonder who or what is behind these mysterious fires. Perhaps this is an in-game quest and experienced Skyrim players would know - I have played a bit of Skyrim but am not very experienced).

I suggest considering putting each line of dialogue (by a different speaker on a new line). I'll put an example in a spoiler:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

For example, this section of text:-

As these words faded away, my vision began to fade into the inside of a house. It was a small, dark hovel, with a woman in simple linen clothing sitting before a tin basin of water, washing clothes. I did not recognize her, but I felt a subconscious familiarity. After a moment, a door creaked open. “Secundus, have you returned from the Chorrol markets?” the woman asked. “Yes, Julia, my dearest, but I did not make much.” My father walked into view, dressed just as plain, sat next to the woman, and embraced her.” “My…parents?” I asked meekly. “Yes,” the Exemplar said, “and you as well.” Off in a corner, a baby started to cry. My father got up and walked over to a humble wooden crib. “Easy, Tertius, there, there.” My mother stopped her work and walked over to the two of us. “He’s hungry, again,” she said, “he’s growing up pretty fast, isn’t he?”

... could become ...

As these words faded away, my vision began to fade into the inside of a house. It was a small, dark hovel, with a woman in simple linen clothing sitting before a tin basin of water, washing clothes. I did not recognize her, but I felt a subconscious familiarity. After a moment, a door creaked open.

“Secundus, have you returned from the Chorrol markets?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Julia, my dearest, but I did not make much.” My father walked into view, dressed just as plain, sat next to the woman, and embraced her.

“My…parents?” I asked meekly.

“Yes,” the Exemplar said, “and you as well.”

Off in a corner, a baby started to cry. My father got up and walked over to a humble wooden crib. “Easy, Tertius, there, there.”

My mother stopped her work and walked over to the two of us. “He’s hungry, again,” she said, “he’s growing up pretty fast, isn’t he?”
--

As I see it, this has two advantages. It provides readers with more variety on the screen page (alternating between large paragraphs and lines of speech), which makes the text easier to read. It also makes it easier to follow who is speaking.

I am enjoying your story and looking forward to more!

[TheKnightofDay]

Author's Note: Wow, it's been almost a year since my last post on this thread. The past eleven months have been real face paced, and quite the humbling experience. I finished my third year in college in May, when I was living with six other guys all in one house, and, as you can imagine, was as much of a curse as it was a blessing. I made some great memories there, done somethings I'm not proud of, and heard about things that I don't remember, which is probably for the best. I can try and justify my laziness in not continuing my updates for this AAR by saying I was busy with my schoolwork, but that is really only half the story. I felt a little self-conscious about what I was doing here, and I was worried about how much flak I would get from my roommates if they ever found me writing for this thread. I don't think I ever would have heard the end of it if they ever did find out. However, I never forgot about the fun I had honing my writing skills here, and part of me wanted to go back to this and continue my work, and so here I am again. I sincerely ask those of you who had anticipated my next update to forgive me for dropping off the face of the earth, so to speak, and I hope that you enjoy this next chapter in Tertius' ever-evolving story. Though I will be busy the rest of July, I promise to post regular updates once again starting in August. Thanks!

Chapter 11: A Knife in the Dark
30th-31st Last Seed, 4E201

I walked past the Great Hall of Morthal to the charred remains of Hroggar's old house. I could see the nothing stirring in the ruins, save for a few flurries of snow drifting by on the wind. I could see no sign of spirits or the like. "Perhaps I should wait here through the night," I said to myself. I had furs and blankets enough to keep me warm as I waited. So I drew myself up to where the hearth of the house once stood, and arrayed myself comfortably there, wrapping myself in furs to keep out the night air. I breathed a deep sigh, and clearing my mind began to meditate. The Sword of Arkay was kept in its sheathe, and the Mace of Zenithar laid in my lap. I nearly slumped over and fell asleep, I was meditating for what seemed to be an hour, when on the wind I could hear a faint laugh. My eyes opened, and darted around the ruins. Then, I could see the ghostly visage of a young girl approaching me. My heart nearly skipped a beat as I stood to my feet, but the girl only laughed.

"I'm lonely, will you play with me?" she asked smiling.

I gathered what I could of my composure. "You're Helgi, right? Hroggar's daughter?"

She shook her head innocently.

"What happened here?" I asked her instinctively.

She stood there silently, her faced looking dour.

I sighed. "If I were to play with you, would you tell me what happened to your house."

The girl shot into a smile again. "Yes yes! And it is good that we're playing in nighttime. The other one is playing too, she can't come out in the sunlight. We'll do hide and seek!"

"Who is the other one, then?" I asked her, innocently enough.

At this, she looked more worried. "I can't say that, she might be listening to us, I'll tell you when you find me."

"Great, this is like playing ghosts in the graveyard with a real ghost," I thought to myself.

I said okay, covered my eyes with my hands and began counting. Helgi giggled a little bit and then her noise disappeared all together. At one hundred I opened my eyes and looked around. No trace of Helgi could be seen. "Okay, where to next?" I looked around the house, and I could see a thin trail in the snow leading off into the hills behind the house. After a ten minute hike through Helgi's back yard, I saw a circle of stone cairns. "This must be something," I said to myself. In the middle of the circle, I could see a black wooden box sitting on top of a pile of dug up earth: a coffin, no doubt. I approached the stone circles when I noticed a black shape moving near one of the stone pillars. The shape hissed and drew to attack me as I readied my shield and the Mace of Zenithar. I could see that it was a female Breton in a black hood and ghastly pale: a vampire. She hacked at me with a dagger, but her blows glanced harmlessly off my shield. In her free hand, she attempted to ready a spell, but with a feint from my shield I caught her unawares and struck her with my mace, sending her off her feet and engulfing her in flames. She let out a shrill cry and struggled on the ground as the flames immolated her, then she stopped, and the flames were put out. She was heavily burned, but her face was left unaffected. Off in the distance I could hear a pair of voices coming up along the trail, and a torch off in the trees. Then two Nord men emerged, and witnessing the scene, the man holding the torch ran up to the body of the vampire.




“Laelette! She’s dead. By Ysmir’s beard! She’s…she’s a vampire!”

I left the man kneeling over the vampire’s corpse, weeping, and walked over to the coffin.

Helgi’s voice spoke out from inside the box: “You found me! Laelette was trying to find me too, but I'm glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn mommy and me, but she didn't want to. She wanted to play with me forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold that the fire didn't even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can't. I'm all burned up.” I sighed, and placed my hand on the wooden lid of the coffin. “You rest now, little one.”

I picked myself up and walked back over to the man who was weeping.
“You knew her?” I asked him.
He wiped his nose with his sleeve and got up to speak. “Aye, she was my wife. I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks. Ah! My poor Laelette!"
I frowned, and locating a skin were I kept some wine I gave it to him to drink. He took a great swig out of it.
“Thonnir”, he introduced himself. “Tertius”, I replied. I paused to think.
“So she left town recently? Did she act strange just before she departed?” I asked as he recomposed himself.
"She began to spend a lot of time with Alva,” he said. “Yet just a week before, she despised her. In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up. I never got to tell her good bye."
I shook my head. “I’m beginning to think that the two met after all.”
Thonnir looked up at me mouth agape. “You think Alva...but that means... Ye gods! You think Alva is a vampire?"
I nodded. “It’s a strong possibility.”
Thonnir violently shook his head. “No! You're wrong. You must be wrong. Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh. I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this. There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Not at the moment, but I have half a mind to pay her hearth a visit.” I gave Thonnir my wine skin. “You can keep this. Token of consolation if you will.” With that I departed down the trail towards town. I made my way to the town tavern, Moorside Inn, to bed for the night. I walked inside, and saw that it was a sparse scene. There was a Redguard woman standing behind the bar, she appeared to be in her fifties, streaks of grey were in her hair. Of in the corner an orc was playing a lute so far off key, one could swear that all he was doing was flicking the strings, with no thought of a melody. And sitting at a table in the corner of the tavern was the Jarl’s huscarl, eating. He just finished and walked out as I took a seat at the bar. I asked for a tankard of ale and a bowl of beef stew that was simmering over the cooking fire. I was calmly eating and drinking when in came a raven-haired Nord woman in low cut clothing, something quite unsuitable for such a cold night, I thought to myself. She drew herself up near the other side of the bar.
“Why, good evening Jonna,” she said in a soft, velvety voice.
“What can I get you, Alva” the barkeep asked. I could barely contain my shock when I heard her name.
Alva smiled. “Hmm, what can’t you get me, sweetie?” No doubt everybody in the room felt as uncomfortable as I had.
“Um, did you want something to eat?” The Redguard asked.
“Eat? No, I don’t think I’m…hungry. Not now, at least.”
“Right…okay…well, tell me if you change your mind.”



Alva turned around and walked to another corner of the tavern. As I was looking she gave a glance at my direction, and I had the misfortune of making eye contact with her. As we locked eyes, she gave me a wry, seductive smile. A shiver went down my spine, and I returned to my supper. I finished in just a few moments, and asked for a bed to spend the night. The barkeep Jonna showed me to a room to the right of the bar, and so I closed the door and set down my belongings. I unfastened my armor and slipped into some clothes and rough leather boots. I snuffed out the flame inside the room and fastened the Mace of Zenithar to my belt. I waited about an hour, saying prayers to Stendarr, before I peeked my head out through the door. I saw that Alva wasn’t there anymore. With that I walked through the common room of the inn and out the door. It was still dark outside, and using some information that I plied from Jonna, I managed to find the hut that Alva was staying in in the north end of town.

Sneaking through the causeways of the town I came to the house and set to work trying to get in. It required some lockpicking, a skill which I’ve never really cultivated, considering I’ve been trained to break down doors instead of breaking in to them. The darkness wasn’t helping either, but I couldn’t risk lighting a torch or candle, for fear that I would be caught and accused of burglary by the guards. I fumbled around and broke my first pick. “Gods damn you” I mumbled to myself as I fished out another pick. I didn’t fare much better this time, and eventually I broke that one too. “Emperor’s beard!” I swore. Then I noticed a guard with a torch walking through the streets. I ducked behind a barrel and looked out. The guard continued on his patrol and then disappeared behind a building. With that I resumed my picking, and fortunately the third time was the charm and I was in.

As I shut the door, I could hear a man’s voice call out from a corner in the room: “Master, you’ve returned early.” A Nord man turned the corner and noticed me near the door. “Oh now, an intruder,” he said, drawing an axe that he kept at his belt. He grunted as he swung a blow intended to strike my head. I dodged it, and the axehead found itself lodged in a timber in the wall. I elbowed the man in the gut and stepped back to wind up a strike from my mace. He was left defenseless when my mace struck him on the side of his head, and it caved in from my blow, and he fell to the floor dead. “Well, I guess that makes our acquaintance, Hroggar,” I jested to myself. I took a quick glance around the room and noticed a set of stairs leading down into a cellar. I quickly took that route and found myself in a room with a stone dais, and in the middle was a wooden coffin with the lid taken off. There in the box was a leather bound journal. I picked it up and read through it, and found that my suspicions were correct. Alva was indeed a vampire. She was sent to Morthal by her master, a vampire named Movarth to enthrall the town as cattle for their coven. I was shocked. I put the journal in my clothes and ran off towards the Jarl’s hall in haste.

I was let in with no trouble, and immediately requested that the Jarl be roused for a quick audience. Grumbling, a servant walked off and moments later, returned with Jarl Idgrod, who too was grumbling, dressed in a night gown. She was wiping some of the sleep in her eyes when she spoke.
“Aye, if it isn’t our travelling Baron. What do you need at this hour,” she asked sourly.
I handed over the journal to her. “Here’s proof that Alva is a vampire, and that she ensnared Laelette and Hroggar, both of whom I’ve slain but she still remains at large. It says that she serves another vampire named Movarth, and that he’s holed up in a cave with the rest of his coven north of town.”
The Jarl looked through the journal, now with peaked interest. “So it is true, that traitorous !” she spoke up after a moment of analyzing the book’s contents. “Morthal owes you a debt.”
She nodded to one of her servants, and he went off to fetch a coin purse. “Here you are, two hundred septims”, the servant said as he placed the purse in my hands.
Jarl Idgrod called for her huscarl, whispered in his ear, and sent him off. “I’ll gather together some able bodied warriors to clean out Movarth’s lair. They’ll be mustering outside, waiting for you to lead them. Consider it your…baronial retinue.” I actually laughed a little at that jest. Soon I departed the hall and went to Moorside in to gather my belongings and don my armor again.

As I walked outside, I noticed that there was half a dozen Nord men assembled before the Hall. Some of them had armor, others just plain clothes, and they were armed with an assortment of swords and axes. I did recognize one of them: it was Thonnir. He was armed with a steel hand axe and was holding a torch in his hands. He had no armor one, but his countenance was fiercer than the other warriors there, who appeared to be more confused to be there more than anything. I stood before them, lengthening my pose, and spoke in a commanding voice, like the one I would use during my Legion days.
“You men ready to kill some bloodsuckers?”
They raised their weapons and let out a cry. Thonnir stepped forward from the crowd and addressed me.
“I want vengeance for my wife! Vengeance for Laelette! We’re marching on Movarth’s lair, whether you come with us or not!”
I nodded to him and clasped him on the shoulder. “By the Divines, you’ll have it friend.” I stepped back and drew the Mace of Zenithar, and held it aloft for all to see. “We’ll descend upon that den of demons and cast their souls back into the abyss they crawled from!”
“Then let’s to it!” a Nord wielding a battleax cried, and our troop marched off into the marshes.
The night was fast approaching the dawn, and the march had us all on edge. The other warriors in the group were spooked at every noise that we heard, and we would often halt in silence when one of them swore he heard footfalls in the marshes. Eventually we got to the gaping maw of a cave, the appearance of which matched that of the description of Movarth’s Lair in Alva’s journal. As we approached the entrance, the rest of the men in the troop began to murmur and drag their heels. I turned around to them and pointed towards the entrance of the cave with my mace.
“It’s now or never, lads, we’re going in,” I said to them.
The rest of them looked at each other, then looked at me and started to back away and make for town.
“Such is the courage of ‘true Nords’” I muttered under my breath.
Thonnir however remained, and his face was harder than ever before.
He spat on the ground at the heels of the departing townspeople. “They maybe cowards, but I’m not. I’ll go with you.”
I gave a good look at him. His heart was in the right place, but he did not have the skill or the strength of a warrior. I shook my head.
“I know you want to do this, but I know you have a child, and death is likely not far around the corner. If things go rough, I don’t want to be making orphans out of anyone. You should wait out here, and make sure I’m the only thing that comes out.”
Thonnir looked a little depressed, but as he mulled over my words he saw some sense in it and placed his axe back in his belt.
“I suppose you’re right, I’m not a fighting man. Go and avenge my Laelette for me!”
I thumped my mace on my shield. “You can count on it.” Then I turned and walked through the threshold and into the cave.



As I walked through the entrance, I saw that there was a wooden walkway on a ledge descending into the cave floor, and a number of braziers were lit illuminating the outer chamber. My intuition told me that the cave was being prospected in the hopes of setting up some kind of mine there, before Movarth and his coven seized it. As I reached the bottom, I noticed there was a Nord in plain farmer’s garb with an iron sword at his waist, sitting at a table with a lantern. He noticed me and proceeded to attack. His blow struck my shield harmlessly as I returned a blow from my mace, which knocked the sword from his hand, leaving me free to recover and give a finishing blow across his head. It seems that the vampires had attracted more thralls than I anticipated. I noticed at the western end of the chamber there was a cart stained with blood. As I investigated it I noticed that there was a pile of corpses stripped of their clothing, and by the looks of it recently killed. “Looks like they’re starting to escalate things,” I thought to myself, “it probably wouldn’t have been long before Morthal was attacked.”

As I entered deeper into the cave, I was met by handfuls of Frostbite Spiders, which I dispatched with ease. The vampires likely entranced them to provide an outer layer of defense to scare away the odd farmer or curious explorer. Soon however, I stumbled on a pair of vampires in their characteristic dark robes. They were stunned to see me approach, and when they saw me wielding the Mace of Zenithar, they were repulsed by its presence. They put up a decent fight, but the element of surprise was on my side, and I managed to silence them without bringing more attention to me. I continued snaking through the passages and found a couple of chambers, perhaps used as quarters for the cave’s inhabitants. Many of them contained large piles of armor and clothing, which I assumed was looted off the bodies of the vampires’ victims. It was enough to begin equipping their own small army, which I thought was probably their intention. As I ventured further I was then met with a huge rectangular chamber, in which a large banquet table was built and several chairs were positioned. At the far end of the table was a stone throne, seated upon it was a Nord man in a black robe with crimson trim, being attended to by another vampire in their usual uniform. At my approach the Nord swatted away the food set before him and readied spells in his hands. I instinctively readied my shield, and not a moment too soon as a bolt of ice was deflected off its metal boss and into the wall behind me.

The servant was charging at me, sword in one hand, and a spell in the other. As she cast it towards my direction I was engulfed by a red mist, which I noticed slowly made me get weaker and weaker. I charged forward, shield raised, in order to interrupt her spell, and I managed to pick her up and shove her towards the table. Dazed, she swung her sword in my direction, which I luckily parried with the shaft of my mace. I recovered and readied a downward chop. The servant managed to catch most of it, but the force of the blow, and perhaps its divine incantation, forced her to her knees. I kicked her while she was down to stun her further, which I readied another blow and struck her squarely across her back, setting her ablaze as she was forced to the ground. Not a moment sooner, however, I felt a cold sharp sting strike me in my left shoulder. I grunted in pain as the sensation in my left arm grew duller. A bolt of ice had pierced a section of my armor and lodged itself into the shoulder just above the rim of my shield. I ducked below the banquet table as a couple of other bolts flew through over my head.

With the brief respite that I had, I reached into a haversack that I had at my waist and pulled out a vial of healing solution. I poured its metallic contents down my throat, which eliminated the pain and brought some strength to my shield arm, but I still felt a little sluggish from the chill that the bolt put into me. I put a prayer of Arkay on my lips and shield raised marched forward. As the bolts dinged of my shield my chanting grew louder and louder, which instilled a little vigor into my spirit and started to irritate the vampire who was left, who I can only assume was Movarth himself. As I approached him, he drew a sword and charged into me.
“You’ve come to your death, cattle!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Strengthen my arm for war, O Arkay, for the circle of the undead is already broken, and mine holds true.” I responded, the words of which cut into Movarth’s being as much as a sword blow.
We traded blows back and forward. Movarth struck with unnatural speed and ferocity, all the while trying to slowly sap my strength with bursts from his drain life spell. Half of the swings I had from the Mace of Zenithar didn’t even connect, and those that did were parried, which managed to knock Movarth off balance a little, but due to his speed he recovered before I could deliver a coup de grace. The fight was swinging in Movarth’s favor slowly but surely. I was running out of strategies to counter Movarth’s. Suddenly, a thought went through my mind.
“You simpleton, you have a divine relic, use it will you!”
Then an idea shot through my head. Next to me was the stone wall of the cave, and I noticed it was sedimentary. A blow from the mace could kick up some fragments from the wall and blind Movarth. With a great grunt I wound the mace and struck it across the edge of the wall. It went through it like a sledgehammer through mud, and a large cloud of dust and rock fragments shot out and overwhelmed Movarth. He cried in pain as he instinctively brought his hands to his eyes. With no time to loose, I swung my mace towards him. He attempted to dodge it, but a glance from the mace’s edge caught him at his sword arm, crippling it and causing him to drop the blade to the floor. A pang of fear shot through his face. He cast his drain life spell at me in a feeble attempt to stop me, but it was too late, and in an instant Movarth, the terror of Morthal, was no more. I walked through the hallways of the cave, battered, bloody, yet victorious. I readied a healing spell in my hand as I put my mace into my belt and soothed most of my wounds, as I was sure that none of the vampires, if any remained, would dare face me now that their master lay dead. As I reached the wooden platform that lead out of the cave, I could hear a whisper behind me. I turned around, and I saw the spirit of Helgi floating there, smiling.
“Mother’s calling me, it’s time for me to sleep now, I’m so tired, thank you for making her feel better!”
I smiled and waved as she began to fade away. “Of course, little one, rest in Arkay’s embrace.” A warm feeling began to grow in my heart. Was this what a hero felt like, I wondered. Was it this feeling that kept my ancestor Aulus going through the wastes of Oblivion two hundred years ago. All I knew was that once I had a good night’s rest, I would want to find myself another peril to conquer.

I left the mouth of the cave, and the sunrise was just around the corner. It was twilight out, and I could hear the songs of birds in the trees. Thonnir was dozing off on a rock nearby, but when he saw me he shot up in excitement and kept his hand on his axe.
“Is it…” he asked meekly.
I nodded my head, “Movarth is dead.”
Tears welled up in his eyes. “I am forever in your debt, stranger, you’ve avenged me a hundred times over.”
I chuckled. “Buy me breakfast when we return to town, and I’ll consider your debt payed.”
His face lightened up a bit at the jest, and we turned around and set out for Morthal. When we returned, the people of the town were still asleep, and nobody greeted the two of us as we walked through the streets. As we approached the Jarl’s hall, her huscarl was already there waiting for us.
“By the Gods,” he sputtered, “you’ve actually returned, I’ll go inform the Jarl at once! Come inside.”
I nodded and taking leave from Thonnir, I entered the hall. Waiting before the fire for a couple of moments, soon Jarl Idgrod Ravencrowe walked in with fine clothes and seated herself on her throne. She chuckled.
“By the Eight, I didn’t think you could do it!” A servant set a kettle on the fire and began boiling tea for the Jarl. The Jarl took a sip from a skin of water, and clearing her throat addressed me.
“Morthal is in your debt. As such, we have assembled a gift from our coffers for your service to our hold.”
Another servant brought a purse full of coin, this time larger than before.
“Take this as a token of our gratitude. Perhaps you truly do have the blood of a noble flowing through your veins.”
I took a slight bow. “My thanks, Jarl Idgrod.”
With a casual wave of her hand, she dismissed me and beckoned a servant to bring her some tea. A bit impolite, but she had other things to attend to, I reckoned, and I hadn’t slept a wink since getting to Morthal, so with that I left the hall. Thonnir was waiting outside with a loaf of bread and a wheel of goat’s cheese waiting for me.
“Your payment, as promised,” he said smiling.
I took the food into my arms, and with the blessings of the Divines on my lips bade him farewell. With that, I returned to the Moorside Inn, which by the goodness of the Nine was absent of the Orc bard, and paying the barkeep Jonna another night’s fee, I went back into my room, finished the food Thonnir had given me, and collapsed into a deep sleep.