Skyrim Day 099 - A Game of Khajiit & Dragon

29 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Imperial Camp
~~~

My orders have me once again walking all of Skyrim. I cannot see a reason why the Legion could not simply courier my orders to Whiterun where I would at least be a fairly equal distance from everything else. Instead I walk all the walk to Solitude in the corner of the province only to be told to walk to the opposite corner.

To be fair it may be that the General is assuming I have a horse or hire transport, but I detest riding and would not want to put a wagon driver's life in danger by drawing Dragons, cultists, and assassins to him or her.

But I had yet to receive my orders, having stopped last night at Dawnstar. I left early as to arrive at Solitude as the sun rose and reported in to Castle Dour, ever an appropriate name.

Much like the Legate I have yet to find the General doing something other than staring at a map. The flags change every time I report back, so I assume he has a hidden supply of them just as how he learns of my successes before I arrive. Why can this mysterious courier not also provide me orders while reporting on ones already given?

The map was nearly all Imperial red save for two flags: One over Windhelm and a smaller one along a road, no doubt a dilapidated fortress of critical importance. My orders were simple: report to the Legate at the Imperial camp in Eastmarch along the mountain range which separates Skyrim from Morrowind.

The walk across the province was about as eventful as usual: one Dark Brotherhood assassin and a brief skirmish with a Sabre Cat who was assaulting a Khajiit trade caravan near Windhelm. Fortunately I had arrived in time to prevent any fatalities.

In thanks the caravan's leader, Ahkari, gave me better than usual prices, or so she said, on the gemstones I had rattling around the bottom of my pack. In return I purchased some magicka restoratives, a choice that would prove fortunate over the next hour or so.

I turned south at the crossroad before Windhelm's gatehouse and thought to cut through the foul-smelling hot springs rather than take additional time on the winding road.

I have been wondering where the Dragons, formerly a constant nuisance, have disappeared to as of late. The arrival of the Dragon over Fort Kastav yesterday was certainly unexpected, but one would expect to see a Dragon here and there, even if scarce.

But today there was a second Dragon circling the hill in the middle of the springs. The hill had one of the word walls more common to the ancient Nordic tombs and as I watched the Dragon circling and roaring it paused a few times to perch on the word wall, probably atop the Dragon head statue, before resuming his flight.

Unfortunately there was no way to avoid walking past the hill unless I went all the way back to Windhelm and came down the other side of the springs through Ivarstead and that would not be a guarantee that I could pass by unnoticed, for the Imperial camp was almost directly east of the hill.

So battle it was.

The area around the Dragon's hill was lacking all cover and had a giant's campsite on the side closest to the road. The Dragon and the Giant were ignoring one another and I had no desire to tangle with two over-sized opponents, so a direct assault was out of the question.

Near the hill was a copse with a shack rotting in the middle of it. The trees were elevated somewhat on a shelf of land maybe six feet or so high and a plan soon formed in my mind.

I sneaked as close as I could to the Dragon's hill and waited for it to rest atop its wall. After a few anxious minutes the beast hovered over the wall and dropped on it heavily just as I loosed a bolt from my crossbow. At the distance the bolt lacked any power against its scales, but I only need to get the Dragon's attention.

I was running as soon as the bolt left my weapon, figuring either the bolt or my retreat would serve the same purpose. One of them worked, the Dragon roaring a challenge as it alighted to face its comparatively diminutive foe.

I had only to dodge one blast of fire before reaching the trees, only to find an angry Breton, the inhabitant of the shack I thought empty, firing ice magicka at me. She only managed to redirect the Dragon's attention to her and met a quick, fiery end.

What followed must have been quite frustrating for the Dragon. It could hover over the trees, but its fire splashed against them before reaching me. It could land either at the outskirts of the copse or near the shack in the middle, but then either could not reach me from outside or could not move once in.

Had I been the Dragon I simply would have given up and flown back to my hill, but this one was determined to make a smoldering scorch mark of me any way it could. What followed was a game any Khajiit knows well: wait for an opening, dash in and strike, then fall back before the riposte. It was a much longer battle than perhaps it should have been, but this Dragon was more resilient to my blows than others I have fought.

I had to use all my elixirs and then resort to the only Restoration magicka I know how to use, which was quite weak. I may make an effort to expand my repertoire next time I am at the College.

Interestingly, this Dragon did not burst into flames upon death and I absorbed no soul that I could discern, a small mercy for the process is still nauseating. I wretched a few small scales off the corpse and left it near the trees. I wonder what scavengers will make a meal of a Dragon.

I arrived at the Imperial camp close to midnight, the Legate once again there ahead of me and staring at a map. She looked at me and told me to get some rest first, a surprising gesture and one I will be taking advantage of shortly. Tomorrow we will likely march on the Stormcloaks' last fort, opening our way to the taking of Windhelm and Ulfric and the closure of this persistently low-key conflict.

Skyrim Day 098 - An Unexpected Ally

28 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Solitude
~~~

I awoke in my own manor no better rested than when I woke yesterday morning atop a mattress of cold hay. What will it take for me to have a decent night's rest?

That I woke three hours before sunrise may explain that, I am getting into the habit of starting my days quite early. This has been useful for the past week or so, for the Legion has no inhibition against ordering me from one side of the province to the other. Perhaps they believe I own a horse and can ride one, neither of which is true.

Whatever the reason my latest assignment was to report to Legate Rikke at her Winterhold camp between Dawnstar and Winterhold, but much nearer to Dawnstar. From Solitude it is a shorter, but much colder, journey, but I will take shorter any day.

One advantage of sleeping poorly is being awake before most others. I managed to walk from Solitude to the ruin of Mzinchaleft without being accosted by Dragon-worshiping zealots, Dark Brotherhood assassins, skooma dealers, or irate Orsimer. I decided to cut through the pass as the road turned north towards Dawnstar and passed Mzinchaleft.

Unsurprisingly a new band of bandits have already taken up residence, one just sitting at the front gate nursing a potato over a small fire. The hungry guard never noticed me and I saw no reason to change that. Perhaps some Hero will come to Mzinchaleft one day seeking glory and be offered a baked potato.

At the Nightcrawler Temple next to Dawnstar I managed to avoid the notice of three Trolls that were meandering about the entrance. I am not sure what they felt was appealing to the place and I imagine some enterprising individual in Dawnstar will be along to eliminate them soon enough. I would have taken the matter on myself were I not short of bolts thanks to Beirand selling the entirety of his stock to the Legion yesterday. He had offered his workshop to me this morning so that I could make my own, but they would just about fly off my weapon sideways if I tried.

After the events of today it seems a better, if more frustrating, armament would be to go back to the more common bow and arrows, lousy shot or not.

The Imperial camp was along the opposite hillside of the Nightcrawler Temple, but no one appeared much concerned about the possibility of the trolls lumbering in for a quick meal.

Legate Rikke was hunched over one of her maps, mystifying me as to what she believes staring at it accomplishes. She addressed me as I approached, not even turning her head from the all-important map. My objective was to meet with a squad of Legionnaires outside of Fort Kastav and assist them with freeing Legionnaires imprisoned beneath the fort. The fort would then be taken between the squad outside the fortress and the vengeful armed prisoners within it.

Fort Kastav sits on the only road leading to what remains of Winterhold, though I know from experience there are several ways of reaching the ruined town from Dawnstar or Windhelm without passing through Fort Kastav, but none of them easy. Fortunately, the walk from Dawnstar to the fort was without incident today.

Hadvar has been moving up in the Legion and not honorarily as I have been. Technically I outrank him in some vague way, but he had five soldiers with him and I have none.

Despite this the capture of Fort Kastav once again depended on me. This time I was to sneak up to the walls, find the hidden sally port, and use it to enter the fortress unnoticed. Once inside I had to find the prison, kill the guards, and free the prisoners. Having done that I would join (not lead, of course!) them in assaulting the courtyard which would signal Hadvar and his men to join us, hopefully overpowering the defenders and adding another Imperial flag to Legate Rikke's map.

So simple.

Hadvar recommended I wait until nightfall to make my approach, but I had several vials of Invisibility elixirs, making that entirely unnecessary.

The sally port was not exactly hidden and nothing about the walls suggested there had been anything around to hide it. The trapdoor was unlocked, so I simply opened it and climbed down the ladder, thereby gaining an unannounced entrance to an enemy fort. How has this farcical war lasted as long as it has?

There were only two Stormcloaks in the underground passages of the fortress, one of whom was the jailer. They both died soundlessly. I expected the imprisoned soldiers to be suspicious of a murderous Khajiit sneaking about, but they all readily accepted my explanation of being an Imperial agent. Once freed they armed themselves with Stormcloak weaponry and charged upwards, leaving me behind.

The battle for the courtyard was about the same as all the others: charge out, get peppered with poorly-made homemade arrows, and close to melee. But this battle did not remain ordinary.

The sudden wash of intense heat singing my fur and immolating two rebels heralded the silent arrival of a third party displeased with all the noise.

A Dragon, for reasons that are its own, had flown over the fort just as I emerged from it and incinerated two Stormcloaks firing arrows from a small watchtower inside the courtyard. Only then did it roar, driving the Imperial prisoners back inside and I imagine Hadvar and his men back to their hiding place.

But the Dragon was satisfied with the minor carnage it had wrought and flew away south over the mountains, leaving me with five bewildered Stormcloaks. The bewilderment died off about the same time as their burnt comrades did and I found myself battling all five at once.

Fortunately the prisoners re-emerged and engaged the rebels and I suppose Hadvar and his men did the same. Sadly, they came too late to reinforce the prisoners and while we were victorious it was at the cost of all the imprisoned men. Hadvar assured me their names would go down in the official record of the battle, whatever they were.

He and his men remained at the fort to clean up and garrison the place, though I cannot see how six men constitute a garrison for an entire fort, even one as small as Fort Kastav. His orders, not mine.

As for me, I walked back to Dawnstar, a bit more nervous for having confirmed that the Dragons are truly still about even if they do not seem to be interested in the Dragonborn for the moment. Tomorrow I will report back to the General and see what awaits me in the Legion. I cannot help but hope this war is over soon, for I am getting quite tired of all this foolishness.

Skyrim Day 097 - Another Worthless Promotion

28 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Solitude
~~~

My rest at the quarters of Fort Greenwall's missing captain was the first decent sleep I have had in three days. Nonetheless, the exertions of the previous day were not enough to cause me to sleep in and I woke before sunrise.

Some of the Legionnaires were still dragging bodies away while others erected new barricades at the gates as I emerged. My role at these battles seemed to be that of a siege-breaker rather than an occupier, so I simply walked out of the fort's south gate back on the road to Riften and Whiterun.

While on the road I was assaulted by a hungry vampire, a Skooma-crazed Orsimer, and one of the limitless assassin's of the Dark Brotherhood. I do hope the roads become safer once the Stormcloaks are finally eradicated, for this is growing quite tiresome.

I reached Whiterun late into the morning, but continued onward without stopping, another cross-province journey just to deliver a bit of news, and reached Solitude some time late in the afternoon.

The General was, as always, discussing strategy with whomever was in the same room with him. This time it was a Legate whose name I have not yet been given. Apparently my name has been given to the Legate, for they both stopped talking once I entered the room and turned to me in expectation of a report.

I noticed that the location of Fort Greenwall was already marked with a red Imperial flag, so news of my success somehow preceded me, making my trip entirely pointless. But protocol dictated that I ignore this enraging fact and formally report my success.

General Tullius congratulated me on another success, stating, to my surprise, that he did not believe the progress being made by the Legion could have been made without my involvement. My surprise stems from my involvement being, so far, a finder of lost heirlooms and an extra sword-arm. For my findings and armings I have been promoted to the ceremonial rank of Tribune, granting me absolutely nothing.

My next assignment with the Legion is in Winterhold, so at least I can claim the benefit of my College quarters instead of the bedrolls of slain men.

I spent the remainder of the evening on my personal hobby, turning my hand to the making of jewelry, a craft I have gained some skill in over the long years. While it has been some time since my last practice I did manage to hammer out a simple silver necklace with a small sapphire inlaid into it, which I will probably be able to sell to one of the caravans for a decent sum.

Tomorrow it is off to the half-destroyed town of Winterhold and one more battle closer to the surrender of Ulfric Stormcloak. Then perhaps I can turn my attention to the bewildering question of where all the Dragons seemed to have disappeared to all of a sudden.

Skyrim Day 096 - The Final Refuge of Redwater Den (also The Battle of Fort Greenwall)

27 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Solitude
~~~

The nap was too short as naps often are.

My latest orders are to report to Fort Greenwall on the road between Riften and Windhelm and assist the Imperial Legion in the taking of the fort. After having spent a considerable amount of time in the Rift between the Imperial Legion and the Dawnguard I cannot help but wonder if it would have been easier to simply send me a rider with a message and an Imperial flag so that I could have claimed the fort myself when it was still occupied by bandits.

Hoping to save some time I decided to not take the road to Riften, instead crossing the river at a bridge near a fort along the shore. That way I would be walking directly towards Fort Greenwall instead of wasting time going to Riften.

This plan went awry as soon as I came to what appeared to be a ruined farmhouse. Closer investigation revealed it to, in fact, be a ruined farmhouse, but smoke was rising from the chimney and I could hear someone talking to themselves inside.

The talkative woman inside was a Redguard who deigned to introduce herself, instead telling me to go down the trapdoor behind her for "a fix". When I asked what the fix was she simply laughed and told me to see for myself. This did not come off as friendly as she perhaps thought it did. Forewarned, I opened the trapdoor and skipped the ladder, jumping down to ambush the ambush I was sure awaited me.

No ambush awaited me, only a bemused Nord in scaled armor who warned me that entering the "Den" required that I keep all weapons sheathed. I agreed and was allowed to pass inside.

The first thing to assail my nose was the sweet smell of boiling moon sugar. The second was the purple cloud wafting from a collection of rooms in front of a gated counter. I asked the woman behind the counter what the place was and she was genuinely surprised, exclaiming that the farmhouse's suspiciously extensive basement was the "Redwater Den", home to the best Skooma outside of Balmora.

I do not remember Balmora having a lot of Skooma, but then I do not remember much of it at all anymore. I may simply have not noticed or forgotten. For my first time I was gifted a red flask of what she called "Redwater Skooma", which she claimed was a more potent Skooma unique to the Den. I thanked her and pocketed it intending to deliver it to an alchemist, but that wound up not happening due to events that followed.

There were six rooms, each occupied by an occupant either unconscious or on his way towards that. An "attendant" patrolled the small hallway, but to what purpose I do not know, for he only told me to pick a room and be quiet. I paused at one room in which a man in Imperial Legion armor sat miserably. I entered the room and asked if he needed assistance, but to my surprise he recognized me from Helgen. 

He had barely escaped, badly injuring his back and legs after he leaped from a battlement to avoid being set ablaze. He managed to crawl to Riverwood some days after I left, but the damage to his back could not be fixed. Skooma took the pain away, at least for awhile, but each dose was less effective than the last, an unfortunately common story among addicts. The Redwater variety helped more, but it could only be found in the Den and he was loathe to leave. He asked me to leave him be, so I left and continued down the hallway where the purple haze was wafting from.

I suspected that the attendant would not be happy for a customer to explore further into the Den, but the Dunmer's wits were addled by the free Skooma he must have been receiving and I was able to creep behind him and unlock the iron gate he was guarding.

The haze was rising from giant metal vats of boiling moon sugar being reduced into Skooma. I saw no one at the vats, but after a minute someone walked in from a room beyond and dumped buckets of red liquid into the vats before stirring each one with what looked like a comically large wooden spoon.

Then he looked up at me in the shadows and mostly behind a crate, which should have rendered me nearly invisible to most folk. He yelled his alarm and grabbed a bow from some place behind the vats, inexpertly loosing an arrow in my general direction.

He and I engaged in a brief ranged duel, his bow versus my crossbow, as I pondered his unexpected perception. Neither of us won, for I had no desire to run out of bolts. Instead I dashed out of cover to cover ever closer to him until I was close enough to charge at him with my axe. Shouting and footsteps from further inside the cavern heralded the arrival of his comrades, but the thud of my blade into the side of his neck solved the mystery of his awareness as his body started to dissolve into black dust. 

Vampires again, perhaps a splinter group unaffiliated with the Serana's father's mad plot, but vampires nonetheless. The man had likely sensed my blood rather than seen me, not that it made a difference.

His friends had come too late, but they would not have made a difference either. No doubt they were prepared to strike down a manic Skooma addict, but they had no chance at all against an experienced fighter.

Deeper into the cave I noticed the wall carvings and fixtures were starting to becoming more frequent and familiar for they were ancient Nordic, just as in any barrow mound littered about the province.

While creeping about I came upon a slim journal, the first entry dated a year and a day ago. The anonymous author had stolen a book of short stories, for some reason, and read the tale of a "Bloodspring of Lengeir's Feast", an ancient source of power for vampires. According to the thief's storybook, the Bloodspring was buried by an earthquake some time in the Second Era, well before my time.

The second entry were of this year some months back while I was still in Cyrodiil. The author traveled from Summerset to Skyrim by ship and chanced upon a fellow vampire in a Solitude inn. His unnamed comrade thought his journey a fool's errand, but suggested that elements in the story (which the thief left out) pointed to a location in The Rift.

The subsequent entries detail the man's incredible luck in finding the Bloodspring by way of overhearing a visiting hermit in Riften mention finding red water bubbling out of the ground. He turned several locals into thralls to enlarge the basement of a nearby home and join it to the underground spring. The Bloodspring, however, provided vampires with no sustenance and only disease and addiction to mortals. The latter problem solved the former, such as in the case of the unfortunate Imperial soldier I encountered.

Redwater Den must have been a small enterprise, I encountered no one after the vats until I was just about at the Bloodspring itself. The vampires there had set up a lot of traps in a small passage lined with burial alcoves, but I was able to avoid them all, shoot one thrall with a bolt, then retreat back down the passage. I can only imagine their shock when their own traps incinerated, crushed, and impaled them all. Blood-hungry fools, the whole lot.

I found a journal in a pile of black dust when I returned, this one with the same handwriting as the earlier one detailing the history of the place. The Bloodspring had once been a normal spring of water dedicated to Arkay during the First Era, but a priest went mad after his lover was turned into a vampire. 

After accepting the infection from her the two went on a rampage, killing all the other priests. A number of them took to the sacred spring to beg Arkay's protection, but were killed there, turning the water forever bloody via the use of an artifact called the 'Bloodstone Chalice'. 

I have never heard of this chalice, but the idea that the water really is blood is interesting, that it is due to the corruption of an ancient God even more so. I thought it would simply be a spring of water passing through an underground vein of iron ore.

This made the actual Bloodspring very disgusting, of course. The skeletal remains of the vampires' previous meals did not help either.

I found nothing and no one beyond the Spring, only a spiral staircase back to the surface some distance away from the ruined house. I returned with the intention to bring the addicts in the basement back to the surface, but alas, the attendant, also a vampire, had already killed the poor souls. I dispatched the surface lookout, the doorman, the dealer, and the "attendant" before leaving, but it did little to assuage my guilt over the injured soldier's demise.

And after all of that I had still to travel to Fort Greenwall for the attack! Fortunately my assault upon Redwater Den took not as much time as could be expected and I reached the fort before evening.

There is a great deal less to say about Fort Greenwall. I met the Legionnaires outside the fort where they were waiting, in broad daylight, out of cover, with not a care in the world. We charged the fort, slew the few Stormcloaks manning the walls, then methodically overwhelmed the rest as they emerged from inside in ones and twos.

The only indication any of the rebels were capable of strategic thought was the sole Stormcloak who ran out of the fort along the road to Windhelm, pursued by two Legionnaires. This is a very strange civil war.

Of course this means I must once again trek the width of the province to report my success to General Tullius in Solitude. As per tradition I will be spending the night in the captain's quarters, the body of whom we were not able to find. Perhaps he was the one that fled.

Skyrim Day 095 - Regaining the Rift

27 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Solitude
~~~

After having been given the toothless title of 'Praefect' in the Imperial Legion I was told to walk nearly the length of Skyrim to an Imperial camp south of Ivarstead from Solitude. There was no possible way for me to walk from Solitude to Ivarstead in less than a day, so I simply walked out of Castle Dour and proceeded to Ivarstead without pause or rest as the sun began to sink.

The inquisitive fauna of Skyrim become a great deal more inquisitive after the sun sets, forcing me to slay four bears, two sabre-cats, two giant spiders, and half a dozen wolves while on the road. The Dragons once again proved more elusive. Fortunately the constant threats to my life kept me awake and alert throughout the night and the sun rose to greet me as I arrived at Ivarstead early on 26 Sun's Dusk.

I walked through, needing nothing from the sleepy little town, and left the road for the forest at the crossroads leading to Whiterun and Riften. The Imperial camp lay directly south of the town, close to a Dwemer ruin of little note. I found the Legate poring over her maps, as usual, no doubt contemplating how to single-handedly end the war herself...which it feels I am doing anyway.

My orders were brief: Go to Riften, my second-least favorite city in Skyrim. Once in Riften I was to seek out the Jarl's steward, Anuriel, whose "arrangement" with the local Thieves Guild has been made known to the Legion. I was to find evidence of this arrangement and use it to blackmail the steward in advantage to the Legion.

To be fair, this was the first task I have received from the Legion that almost seems suited for my skills. I cannot see the average Legionnaire employing something akin subterfuge, least of all successfully.

So as the camp settled into breakfast I left to rejoin the cobblestone road to Riften after walking all the way from Solitude very much aware that I would be walking from Riften to the camp at some point and eventually from the camp back to Solitude. Little wonder this civil war has been dragging on for so long.

My jaunt to Riften occupied much of the morning so I encountered less in the way of hostile creatures, though I was accosted by a self-proclaimed "Fire Grandmaster" who fell quickly to a dagger in the kidney. Less anyone who ever might read this think me a highwayman myself, the mage had a desiccated heart in his pack that certainly belonged to no animal.

Late morning saw the road shrouded in the cold fog of Skyrim I have grown to detest, but considering my destination and purpose I suppose it is only fitting.

I spoke with the young son of the Jarl, a man named Saerlund, who groused to a Khajiit he had never met before that he was a prisoner of his own family. According to him he is the only one in his family with pro-Imperial views to the point that his mother, Jarl Laila Law-Giver, believes him to be magically cursed. Much of the court mage's time has been spent either trying to find the curse or pretending to be working on it, or so Saerlund says. What a confusing mess.

But my purpose at Riften was not to heal family ties. No one seemed to notice or care that a Khajiit had wandered into the palace, so I slipped behind a pillar, swallowed an Invisibility draught, and walked into the Jarl's family's quarters where I suspected the steward's would also be.

On a hunch I guessed the steward would be on the ground floor, the family above, and I was correct. To my amusement the evidence I needed was hiding in plain sight: a letter written in Black-Briar Meadery's letterhead thanked Anuriel for her value in their "operation" and hoped the garment which accompanied the letter met to the steward's satisfaction.

As I said: it is foolish to expect subtlety in this land. A Khajiit would have used a competitor's paper, not their own!

I sneaked back into the hall and quietly approached Anuriel. She was oblivious to my presence until I slipped the note into her hand and suggested we talk about her business arrangements. She was not quite as stupid as her co-conspirators and whispered that I should follow her before turning around and starting back to her room.

On my way I overhead one of the guards tell another guard that a Dragon had claimed another town, the village of Kynesgrove, but I could not stay long enough to learn when. I will have to make time to visit the area.

Anuriel closed the door behind me as I entered, then turned around hissing that an attempt at extortion would only lead me to an executioner's block. I placated her, saying that I came not in my own interests, but a larger power. She understood what I meant and professed no love for the Stormcloaks nor the Empire, pointing out that her arrangements with the local guild brought benefit to the Jarl and to Riften, though this could never be admitted.

She suggested a token of goodwill on her part in the form of a shipment of coins and arms the Stormcloaks were scheduled to move to Windhelm in the next day or so. I felt this was a reasonable offer and agreed to leave her in peace in exchange for the shipment. I expected to be told where to find it, but she provided written orders acquired from a Stormcloak showing the route and inventory of the wagon. Reasonable indeed.

With the orders in my pack my work in Riften was mercifully complete in a short amount of time. The weather, alas, had not changed.

My repeated trips along Lake Honrich seems to have thinned the wildlife a bit for the only delay I encountered en-route to the Imperial camp was a foolish Argonian bandit who thought my leather armor signified me as an easy mark and a bloodthirsty Nord in glass armor wielding a poorly maintained two-handed battle-ax.

I made good time back to the camp, arriving just as the soldiers were having their dinner. The Legate was not eating, as this would require she pause from the constant contemplation of her map.

She was pleased to hear of the shipment, having posted soldiers along the roads and known paths to Windhelm from beyond the province in suspicion of this thing. However, her command was broader than it was deep and she had too few soldiers to assault a guarded caravan without recalling the soldiers posted along other routes. There was no time for this, so I was ordered to proceed to the road between Riften and Windhelm in the hope that I would meet up with the scouts at Shor's Watchtower, just north of the village of Shor's Stone.

So again I was off to Riften!

This time though I skipped entering the town and instead walked around the walls to the northern road. I thought to pass through Fort Greenwall, but when I arrived in the evening I encountered a large patrol of Stormcloaks entering the fort they evidently claimed since I had last visited. Approaching the gates resulted in drawn weapons and threats, so rather than pointlessly slay them I elected to take a smaller foot-trail around the road, making the garrison a bit useless.

The scouts posted between Riften and Windhelm were led by my comrade-in-flames, Hadvar. Upon spying me coming down the road greeted me by asking if it was my mother or father who was the Dragon, a joke I am sure will never get old.

He was pleased to see me, admitting that he was a bit nervous as this was his first command following a promotion after the battle at Whiterun. I was surprised, for his "command" was three other men, unless he was also coordinating scouts along other roads.

Apparently news of my coming had not preceded me and he asked what brought me to him. He laughed when I told him I was tracking a wagon of Stormcloak supplies, for he had been doing the same with a wagon guarded by several rebel soldiers. Hadvar was pleased to hear the wagon contained valuables, the capture of which would do very well for his career.

Fortunately for Hadvar and his career the wagon had broken a wheel earlier in the day and Hadvar had been preparing to ambush it before I arrived. This was now still the plan, but with the addition of myself. The plan was simple: I was to take out the posted sentry, Hadvar and his men would creep up a small bluff overlooking the wagon, then I was to attack along the road, distracting the Stormcloaks from the Imperial arrows that would rain down upon them.

The plan went well. I eliminated the sentry with my dagger and charged into the camp, killing one surprised Stormcloak with my ax before the rest could rally against me. A few moments later arrows sped from the former sentry's position, thudding into armor and bodies.

Hadvar was extremely pleased at this bloodless (for his side) victory and asked that I return to the Legate with news of the successful capture. He and his men would stay with the supplies until reinforcements could be brought up with a new wagon.

By then it was close to midnight, another night of no sleep at all for me. I suffered the walk back to the Legate, again, and was ambushed by a Dark Brotherhood assassin, again. I met the Legate in her tent and reported Hadvar's success at which point she ordered me to meet more soldiers near Fort Greenwall where I had just been, twice, to take part in an Imperial assault.

I am going to have a nap first.

Skyrim Day 094 - The Long Report

25 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

The rest in the former Stormcloak's quarters was a brief one. When I woke the Imperial soldiers were still busy removing the corpses of the fort's former owners and preparing their own for burial. I spoke briefly with the Imperial Captain, he had sent for reinforcements from the Dawnstar Imperial camp and did not feel that I was needed any longer.

That was welcome news, for I had a long walk back to Solitude before I could report news of the successful attempt on the fort.

Fortunately the walk was uneventful and I chose to save time by traversing the bay underneath the plateau of the Blue Palace. There's nearly always a boatman willing to accept a few Septims to ferry a passenger.

On our way over I asked the man I met on the Morthal shore about a new ship that was docked on the sea-side of the Blue Palace. The man, old and of few words, simply shrugged. This was obviously a challenge I was loathe to pass by.

The ship was quiet as I walked up to the shore plank leading on to the ship, but as I approached an arrow whistled past my head and men jumped up from hiding behind crates on the deck to jeer and threaten me.

I could have retreated back down the plank, risking an arrow in the back, but something about the men made me pause. Each one of them were poorly armored and somewhat better armed, not a common practice amongst the seamen who ply the coasts, pirate-infested though they might be. The arms and armor, even poorly-made, are beyond the reach of the average sailor.

In the space of that moment I also noticed the hurriedly-washed blood staining the deck. With a snarl I leaped on to the ship and drew my axe, hacking the head off the man nearest to me. Startled, the remaining men on the deck paused for a second before drawing large scimitars and charging at me as one howling mob.

Uncoordinated they fell quickly. I expected the rest of them to come charging on to the deck from below, but I heard only silence beyond the door. Whatever notice our little conflict provided was not enough to arouse the suspicion of anyone below. Perhaps they thought it merely the regular scrapping of the folks they stuck on the cold, windy deck or were too drunk to pay much attention.

I found ample examples of the latter on the decks below. One Orsimer was singing so loudly that I could have shot him with my eyes closed. Rather than do that I used an Illusion spell to further irritate his neighbors, causing them to rise against him. To his credit the drunk Orsimer killed one of his former comrades before falling.

This was repeated again on the deck below, more drunks, more fighting, all feeling increasingly pointless. At the end of my little adventure was a sober Orsimer who had only his sobriety and well-laid table to distinguish him from his fellows.

I left the ship with its dead on the shore. The city guards might investigate it at some point or maybe the mercenaries hired by the East Empire Trading Company to guard their ships and wharves. It matters not to me. My curiosity brought me no real danger, but resulted, by their own actions, in the deaths of a dozen.

The afternoon remained much as the morning had: grey, cold, and dismal. I found the General at his usual spot at Castle Dour's strategy table, conversing with an Imperial I had not met before. The General dismissed the man after my name was announced by the door guard and General Tullius sat down with a sigh, the strategy session apparently over.

He was pleased, of course, to hear of the Legion's success in the Pale. The garrisoning of Fort Dunstad netted the Legion a second port on the north coast and placed them closer to Windhelm. He stated that battles are won by disciplined soldiers, but wars by exceptional individuals, of which I gather I may be in his eyes. 

He declared that I was to be promoted to Praefect immediately and gifted me with an Orsimer one-handed blade...which I have no use for, just like the promotion itself. Normally a soldier gets promoted to Praefect and given a small command, but I am receiving the title minus a command, making it honorary at best. No large matter, I guess, for what Legionnaire would follow a Khajiit anyway?

My next orders were just as the ones I had completed, this time in the Rift rather than the Pale. It appears the Legion wishes to execute a two-front attack against Windhelm, which is certainly sensible, but I wonder at the possibility of a Dragon interrupting either of the two forces.

So it is off to the Imperials' south-eastern camp tomorrow to see what exceptional tasks I can complete for a civil war that seems more civil than war.

Skyrim Day 093 - Taking Fort Dunstad

25 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

I knew the Imperial Legion's garrison for the Pale lay directly west of Dawnstar, having stumbled upon it earlier, which meant I was either in for a very long walk along the roads or a long walk across the swamp of Morthal and the snow of the Pale. I chose the latter.

A bandit tried to waylay me as I stepped out of Mortha's freezing sludge. He came at me with a standard-issue Legion blade and appeared to be cloaked in furs. I met him with my ebony battle-ax, expecting a quick end to the confrontation.

But my first blow to his midsection cut through the furs, then glanced off something underneath. My surprise must have been evident, for he laughed and pressed his attack. Clumsy as it was, it forced me back a few steps, giving him the illusion of an advantage. I got in a few more strikes against his chest, all with the same result. So I finally hefted my weapon in two hands, one just underneath the head, spun it around, and drove the spiked counter-weight into the side of his neck. Brutal, but efficient.

The cause for the ax's lack of expected performance proved startling. Underneath the man's cheap furs was a pristine ebony breastplate inlaid with silver. It would have purchased a sizable home in any of Skyrim's cities or a large farm outside of it, I am sure. How he came upon such valuable armor and why he continued his banditry afterwards? I will never know.

I reached the Imperial camp at the Pale without any other perplexing incidents and found, as expected, that the Legate had arrived before me once again. She must have let the Legionnaires know to expect me for I was waved through the perimeter with barely a glance. 

She was poring over one of the identical province maps anyone with a rank in Skyrim possessed, each city and fortress marked with a blue or red flag to denote ownership. Hearing me approach she turned, tapping a flag near the camp.

But her orders had little to do with the fortress pinned to the map. Instead I was to travel along the road to Windhelm to intercept and eliminate a Stormcloak courier and bring the orders back to the Legate. She would forge new orders more advantageous to the Legion, after which an attack on the half-ruined Fort Dunstad would be made. More devious than I expected, to be honest.

A courier running between Windhelm and the fort or Dawnstar would pass Nightgate Inn several times a day. Surely anyone would succumb to the temptation to stop in for a mug or bite to eat. Having encountered no one on the road between the Imperial camp and the Inn, I stopped in myself to have a word with the innkeeper.

He was unwilling, at first, to answer my questions, but coinage makes for a persuasive argument. Four hundred Septims temporarily swayed him to the Imperial cause and I was told the courier had left the inn maybe ten minutes prior in the direction of Windhelm. I thanked him and left immediately.

Stealing the orders was rather anti-climatic. I shot the courier in the chest from far enough down the road that I suspect he never saw who killed him. The orders were sealed with wax and I suspected the Legate would want to open them herself, so I pocketed them and began the walk back to the camp.

The sun set as I walked back to the camp, but the Legate was pleased by the timing. She took the sealed scroll, carefully broke the seal, and scratched out some of the words. Having modified the orders to her satisfaction she warmed the wax seal and pressed it back onto the scroll. It was handed back to me with orders to carry it to the Stormcloak commander in Dawnstar.

If the Legion knew where the region's commander was, why not simply eliminate the man? I appreciate the subterfuge of the modified orders, but a dagger can be equally subtle. But all I could do was take the false orders and proceed across the icy hills into Dawnstar.

Stormcloaks do not think much of security, it seems. I was able to walk right up to Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebellion, without an introduction or a blade at my back and the Dawnstar Stormcloaks showed no reluctance to give me accurate directions to their commander. It all felt very strange.

The commander, whose name I do not remember, hardly made an impression. He was dull-eyed and dull-witted, throwing me five coins for my "work". He never asked why a Khajiit was couriering Stormcloak troop movements and no one else in the room seemed bothered by that either. 

He did ask why I was not wearing my Stormcloak uniform, a question so stupid it took me a moment come up with the excuse that ditching it made it easier to travel the roads. The Legate had said the courier made multiple trips between Dawnstar and Windhelm per day, yet he fails to show and no one asks why. Also, how many Khajiit are with the Stormcloaks? I am willing to bet my Solitude manor that the answer is "zero". What a stupid man.

So again I returned to the Legate and again received further orders: join a group of Imperials along the road to Fort Dunstad and assault the Stormcloak garrison occupying it. The group wound up being five soldiers, none of them Nords. We had to keep to the road due to their inexperience, but the night hid our approach until one of the Imperials, unbidden, drew his bow and shot a Stormcloak lookout.

The battle went just as unplanned as the approach. Alerted, the Stormcloaks rallied to the walls, but the Imperials' heavy armor deflected the homemade arrows. The gatehouse had no gate, so we charged into the courtyard, the Legionnaires staying together and eliminating the Stormcloaks closing in with axes and hammers, I springing up on to the parapet to take out the archers.

As usual the Stormcloaks attacked by ones and twos and were quickly overwhelmed by five blades working together or one Khajiit wielding spell and battle-ax. At some point the Imperials fought and defeated the Stormcloak commander, the rest of the survivors either surrendering or fleeing down the road towards Windhelm.

The fortress is under Imperial control now, but "now" is about one in the morning by the moon. I could walk back to Dawnstar or the camp, but I happened to find the key to the former commander's quarters and will be spending the morning here before reporting back to the Legate and the General.