Skyrim Day 062 - A Bloody Business, Done

17 Frostfall, 4E201

Markarth

~~~

This morning I had only to find the pommel stone of Mehrune's Razor before having all the pieces necessary for Silus's museum. He had said that the stone was somewhere south-west of Markarth. The ale-sodden innkeeper, Kleppr, told me that there was a Forsworn camp known as 'Dead Crone Rock' in that area, said to be the home of Hagravens well as Forsworn. He said there was not enough coin in Tamriel to tempt him to that place, but I felt confident that there would be nothing there that I already have not faced.

Walking there was actually quite pleasant, the weather was cooperative and nothing attacked me until I drew close to the mountainside. A small group of Forsworn were loitering near a small bridge, so I ducked out of sight, readied my Illusion spells, and threw my rage-inducing magicka into their midst. I gulped down an Invisibility flask just to be sure before scampering out from behind my rock and skirting my way around the heated melee.

Forsworn are not a subtle people. Their "camp" occupied the base of the mountainside, and terraces built halfway up it.

Dead Crone Rock might have been a stronghold in an era long gone by, but most of the entrances into the mountain were collapsed or used as a garbage dump by the Forsworn. I fought my way along the terraces, dodging arrows made of branches and maces made from rocks. How the Forsworn intend to take back their territory is a mystery to me.

The only functioning doorway in the whole camp was for a tower partially built into the hill.  On the other side was a Briarheart and the Hagraven that probably created the unfortunate creature. The Hagraven must have smelled me, for she and her Briarheart came charging down the tower's stairs at me as soon as I came through the door.

A dagger into the Briarheart's exposed chest ended it quickly, but the Hagraven proved a bit craftier. She was adept at ice magicka and kept her distance from me as she flung it around, trying to slow me with its effects. After a lot of dodging (and a few restoratives) I managed to corner her against the altar she evidently used and drove my silvered blade clean through her body. Her shriek is still ringing in my ears. The Razor's pommel stone was on the hagraven's necklace, crudely glued into a nest of what might have been finger bones to form a grisly brooch. I took the stone, I left the necklace.

The Dragon Wall that the former stronghold might have been built to guard greeted me with the usual headache, teaching me 'Ru', the Nordic word for 'Run'. The Greybeards assured me that I would be able to string together these ancient words to create Shouts of great power, but my blade and bolts seem just as effective as yelling in an ancient tongue.

A nearby chest revealed an incredible find: Ebony-infused gauntlets enchanted to help the wearer strike truer. The gauntlets themselves are useless weight to me, but I may be able to draw the enchantment out of them so that I impart it upon my trusty leather gloves.

I heard someone muttering in-between a rhythm of knocking noises as I descended the mountain and found that one of the Forsworn had, somehow, missed out on the disastrous battle his brethren engaged in earlier. Sensing that he would not be appreciative to learn this I sneaked into his hut and knifed in the back, once for each lung.

This was a fortunate choice for as he collapsed, gasping fruitlessly, I saw an Ebony-infused blade tucked into his belt. First gauntlets, now a dagger. One useless, one very useful. Whomever crafted the deadly blade had a sense of humor or poor eyes: the blade was wavy, the advantage of such an arrangement being unknown to me. Perhaps it was used for a ritual or some kind of ornamentation. I will try it as a weapon and see how it performs.

I thought to explore the road to Markarth a bit to see if I could find Gauldur's resting place and returned to the city in front of a small farm near the river. My many years of experience have taught me that farmers, miners, those that survive on the land, live and die based on their knowledge. It may not be the academic knowledge of Winterhold, but if Gauldur was laid to rest near Markarth it would likely be a farmer who knew, courtesy of family legends, history, or errant exploration as a young Nord prior to settling down.

My hope here was well-founded. Rogatus Salvius, though old and bitter, did recall hearing the tale of Gauldur from his grandmother, but could only remember that it was supposed to be by a waterfall overlooking a small stone bridge along the main road. That narrowed down Gauldur's grave to two locations in my mind, but I wound up choosing the correct location first.

However, I had an interesting encounter before I found Gauldur. I chose to hike over the small hills dotting the area instead of taking the road and was quite surprised to reach the crest of one only to find a Dragon flying right at me.

It roared and I readied myself for a precarious battle on the hilltop, but it did not seem to notice me. Instead it simply flew over my head in circles, roaring at nothing apparent, before simply flying away. A very interesting encounter indeed and another sign that the Dragons are not flying on someone's orders, if they ever were.

With that over I continued up and over the hills until I came to 'Reachwater Rock', the waterfall cavern dug for Gauldur so long ago. As befitting the Nordic love of pointless puzzles, I needed two Dragon Claw keys to get inside. One I found on a pedestal beside a dead Nord, the other was an ivory-inlaid claw I had with me from Mikrul's tomb near Solitude.

The tomb was oddly absent of Draugr, only a few traps awaited me, which I easily avoided. At the end of the cavern was an altar with three plaques set into it, obviously for the three pieces of the amulet Gauldur's sons were willing to murder for.

Placing a fragment of the amulet on a plaque caused the plaque to start glowing, but also prevented me from removing the fragment. I seemed to have no choice but to surrender the two remaining fragments. As I started to place the third fragment I felt a particular tickling on the back of my neck which usually indicated immediate danger. There was no one in the cavern but myself, so I knew the third fragment would do something bad. I slapped the fragment on to the metal plaque and hurried to a dark corner to see what would happen next.

With a flash of blue light the spirits of the three brothers materialized in front of their fragments, One, I could not tell who, sent himself to the far end of the chamber where I had entered as Draugr spirits, armed with bow and axe, popped into existence. They did not know I was there, but I figured that they had far more patience than I did, so when one of the shimmering Draugr walked in front of me I cut it down, alerting the others.

The brothers were considerate enough to attack me one-by-one and while I was winded by the end of my battle, I was victorious. After the defeat of the third brother they all remained in front of the altar in positions of either submission or defeat. I was unsure what to do next, but that was answered for me.

The coffin behind them erupted in flames, engulfing the brothers and banishing them back to wherever their spirits reside. Once the smoke cleared a bit I could see a fourth spirit standing alone before the altar: Gauldur himself, making an appearance of his own while scolding his sons. He stared down at the amulet that they so coveted and then disappeared in a flash of blinding light. When my vision returned I saw that the amulet was whole again.

Putting it on proved a disappointment. I felt a little more awake and refreshed, but not much other than that. I could see that it had a Restoration enchantment on it, but the nature of it was unclear and after all I have gone through for it, the amulet does not appear to have been worth it. Perhaps I will donate it to the College or display it somewhere in Breezehome.

Somewhat depressed, I walked back to Markarth and parted with another ten Septims for a slab of rock. Gauldur's amulet, the "Lost Legend", should have stayed lost, but I have only my own curiosity to blame for the amount of time I have wasted. At least the pieces of Mehrune's Razor are in my possession, tomorrow I will visit the misguided museum guide and see what he expects from them.

Skyrim Day 061 - Bits and Pieces

17 Frostfall, 4E201

Markarth

~~~

My notes placed the blade and pommel of Mehrune's Razor in the western half of Skyrim, the blade near Falkreath and the pommel, Markarth. The two cities, which barely deserve to be called such, proved dismal enough as of late that I promised myself I would not visit them again unless absolutely necessary, though I suppose retrieving the Razor to ensure no one else ever gets a hold of it is a moral necessity of some sort.

Fortunately a copy of 'Lost Legends' I found on a dead adventurer inside of the cave underneath Lake Geir had scrawls pointing to a cave along a waterfall just east of Markarth. There the Archmage Gauldur was said to be waiting for his treasonous sons...or so the dramatic adventurer wrote. It is all I have to go on so far, but it is also on the way to retrieving the Razor's pommel.

I left the inn just in time to witness the end to a battle between a vampire and his thralls versus three guardsmen. The guards appeared to be nonchalant about their morning skirmish, but I heard one questioning why there were so many more vampires about, especially at dawn when they normally went into hiding. I was reminded of Serana's family and my long-overdue promise to Isran but I think securing Mehrune Dagon's artifact is far more important.

Along the road I came upon a shack with a little garden attached to it. The place appeared to be vacant, but a journal (there's always a journal!) looked to have been recently penned with great excitement about how great the location was for the owner's alchemical research. Not wanting to cause the optimistic alchemist any harm, I placed the journal back on the table and left without disturbing anything else.

Once again I had to pass through the ruin of Helgen and again a group of bandits had taken up residence since my last visit. I tried to sneak around, but an Orsimer patrolling the wall spotted me. Instead of alerting his comrades he gave a roar and leaped from the wall to charge at me. His battle-cry did have the effect of alarming the rest of the bandits and soon I found myself in the middle of a rapidly closing circle of angry warriors.

Most of what I have been teaching myself is to help with my most common enemy: the draugr. Illusion spells do nothing against them, but my continual efforts at becoming stealthy has paid off many times over. However, I have not been neglecting my magicka skills either and as the bandits closed in I flung an Illusion spell designed to drive anything alive into a berserk-like fury, attacking friend and foe alike.

A strong mind can resist, of course, but I felt certain that none of the bandits had the mental fortitude to do that. I flung the spell at three bandits that had come charging out of the gate and ran. The sounds of a furious battle erupted behind me, I can only assume my spell worked. I could have killed them all, that I am sure of, but it proved to be a valuable lesson, both in overconfidence in my stealth and the utility of my Illusion spells.

As if they had not been enough to deal with, an Orsimer in full heavy, but mismatched, armor barred the road beyond Helgen. He tried to provoke a fight, insulting me as a "milk drinker". I had no reason to take such from the likes of him and the battle was on.

It was over quickly. Perhaps he was proud of his armor, but the Dwemer chestplate did not have a Dwemer helm above it to match, leaving his throat completely exposed.

Recovering the blade of Mehrune's Razor was only marginally more interesting. Rumors had it that the prior guardians of the artifact had used an ancient keep known now to the locals as 'Cracked Tusk Keep' as a hiding place, but as the name suggested the ruins had been long since taken over by a tribe of Orsimer. Today an Orsimer bandit, an Orsimer highwayman, and a tribe of Orsimer.

The Keep was not much different than Helgen, actually. Just a ruin with bandits trying to scrape whatever life they could from the area before someone killed them or they moved on.

The Razor's blade was broken, but it likely had been dismissed as junk by the bandits and appeared to have been left alone. I carefully brushed the pieces into a satchel and left the Keep with its Orsimer corpses.

Dusk started to creep in as I walked the road between Falkreath and Markarth. I had no desire to set foot in Markarth again, but I knew there was a small mining town north of Markarth named 'Karthwasten' that would probably have a small inn.

Unfortunately I was wrong. The town was there, it was 'Karthwasten', but it had no inn, just a blacksmith, a barracks for miners, and the mine overseer's home. I had no choice but to turn around and walk back to Markarth in the dark.

The drunk innkeeper, Kleppr, was surprised to see me, then laughed and said he was sure the guards did not mean to throw me in jail. I did not know how to respond to that.

So here I am, back in Markarth, lying on the cruel joke this city calls a bed. Tomorrow I will retrieve the final piece of Mehrune's Razor, then ensure it is lost forever. It may be a blow to Silus's museum, but it is for the best of everyone else.

Skyrim Day 060 - My Dragonborn Initiation

15 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

Waking at Ivarstead meant one was either on her way elsewhere or preparing for a walk up to High Hrothgar. For myself it was the latter, but as I reviewed my list of tasks, I realized that the final fragment of Gauldur's amulet was right next to Ivarstead on a small island sitting amid the lake. Expecting nothing but Draugr, I thought retrieving the fragment would not take much time and chose to do that first.

I was not the only one interested in completing the amulet. Inside the tomb lay the mostly-eaten corpse of a Nord, next to which a family of Skeevers had set up a den. After disposing of the vermin I noticed a copy of 'Lost Legends' in the nest of refuse, the book that likely drove the hopeful man to the cave in the first place.

Unfortunately the only exit from the room that I could find that was not leading back to Ivarstead was a pit next to the dead man which ended at a very cold. small lake some twenty feet below. It was deep enough to prevent injury and faced a door common to the Nordic tombs scattered around Skyrim.

The tomb itself was not very interesting. As I thought, I faced Draugr and some spiders, though a puzzle gave me pause for some time. The walls along a staircase leading to a burial room were lined with four animal motifs and I knew to look for the rotating pillars in the room to match them to. But the motifs were in two pairs, one on each side of the wall. It took time to guess what order the motifs needed to be arranged in and took more time and effort than the Draugr lord I encoutnered further inside.

Before him though I came upon the dessicated corpse of 'Lord Gerimund', the court mage of Windhelm at the time of the three brothers' rebellion. According to the book, Lord Gerimund and a host of warriors was tasked with tracking each of the brothers down  and this he did successfully, slaying each one. The death of the third brother, Sigdis, also resulted in the death of Gerimund, after which he was evidently buried with Sigdis as a sort of guardianship.

I expected the former mage to rise and attack me as I passed his bier, but his corpse was merely a corpse and I left him to his rest.

Sigdis himself lay in state in a watery chamber with two pedestals. As expected, he burst out of his coffin dramatically, flinging the stone lid against the cavern wall with a very solid-sounding crunch.

He had a little trick, teleporting himself around the chamber as he summoned two identical Draugr to lob arrows at me. But I had a trick of my own: Vokun's staff of fireballs which I had derided as useless. The burial chamber's small size meant that one blast from the staff nearly always hit Sigdis and his minions, making the battle very short-lived. I claimed the third fragment of his father's amulet, though I do not recall what I am supposed to do with the three pieces. It can wait.

Having finished with Gauldur's traitorous sons, I had only to walk back up to High Hrothgar, suffering blinding snow and stinging ice while under attack by bears and trolls. For such an important place there seems to be no interest in any sort of patrolling to keep the path safe for travelers.

No one answered my knocks, so I let myself into the Hall where a Greybeard was silently meditating, oblivious to my arrival.

After tracking down Arngeir, the only Greybeard who actually speaks, we all congregated in the Hall, the solemn monks surrounding me as Arngeir warned me that they would speak the required ritual in the Dragon tongue. My surviving this would prove I was the true Dragonborn.

What followed was one of the most painful experiences I can remembering suffering. Their words sounded to me as utter nonsensical moaning, but each syllable felt like someone had hit me in the head with a hammer.

When they finished I could not tell if twenty seconds had passed or twenty minutes. My head was pounding, my ears ringing, and my fur was refusing to relax. I must have been quite a sight. As a consolation I was taught 'Dah', the ancient word for 'push'. With that I can use my "voice" as a bludgeon against my enemies, but having suffered that already I believe a knife in the gut is a more merciful choice.

With nothing else to do there and no place to sleep I had to descend the mountain at night, slipping on ice and nearly falling over the side several times. Eventually I made it back to Ivarstead in one piece and handed over another ten Septims for the inn's bed. Tomorrow I think I shall try to find the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor so that I can bury it somewhere, then do what research I can about Gauldur's amulet.

Skyrim Day 059 - Where Be Dragons?

14 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

I delivered the Razor's hilt to the misguided Silus and he just about caressed it, marveling at how it seemed to mold itself to his hand. Having never wielded Mehrune's Razor I cannot say if it actually does that, but the man appeared to be enamored by it. I shall have to be careful in returning the remaining pieces to him, if I do at all. I suspect no one who voluntarily seeks the Razor comes to a good end.

On my way out of Dawnstar I was accosted by a highwayman who demanded all of my valuables, else he would "gut me like a fish". I paid him no mind and continued walking by. Evidently surprised, he chased after me, yelling his demand for my goods. When he was close enough I spun around, smacked the dagger out of his hand, and held my own to his throat. Perhaps he shall return to gutting fish.

I was walking towards Whiterun for what felt like the hundredth time, intending to take the crossroads towards Ivarstead, thinking about the return of the Dragons. How did the Stormcloaks control them? Did they control all of them, or just the one at Ulfric's would-be execution? Whatever the case, why was the civil war at a standstill? Were the Dragons under anyone's control? If not, why did one intervene to save Ulfric Stormcloak? Mulling such thoughts over my head, I was completely surprised by sudden roaring and the rush of wind following a low-flying Dragon overhead.

When the Dragon attacked I was just outside of Whiterun, a few minutes walk from the crossroads leading to Ivarstead. It seemed to have shown up just for me, stopping on the side of the road to stare at me for a few moments, but the arrival of six Whiterun guards distracted proved more interesting. As I hurried to load my crossbow the beast landed in front of the nearest farmstead and killed two of the guards right away.

Concerned about hitting the surviving guardsmen, I left my crossbow on the side of the road and hurried across the stream to join them. The guards were too preoccupied with the Dragon to comment on the oddity of a Khajiit rushing to fight alongside them, but I imagine my presence raised a few proud Nordic eyebrows.

With myself and three guards fighting against it, the Dragon evidently felt hard-pressed and took to the air, quickly diving upon a lone guard standing in a nearby field who was prudently keeping his distance with his bow and arrows. The man looked to have been instantly crushed beneath the Dragon's claws as it landed on him and the beast dismissively picked the man's corpse up in its mouth and flung it in our direction, taking flight once again.

Rather than do what I would have done and rained fire on us from the sky. the Dragon landed and started to clumsily crawl towards us. It was an odd sight. But against four foes it fell quickly and my accursed "gift" claimed another Dragon's soul, much to the amazement of the surviving guardsmen. I left before they collected their wits and dragged me back to Whiterun, an episode that would have been an embarrassment for everyone.

I discovered a Stormcloak camp between Whiterun and Ivarstead and was invited in the same as at the other campsites, apparently mistaken for a merchant. The leader of the camp, Hjornskar Head-Smasher, growled that the next Imperial he saw was a dead man. I bit back the retort that his blade would have been better served against the Dragon which attacked Whiterun not more than four hundred yards from his camp.

Near the crossroad leading to Ivarstead I was surprised to find a decapitated head impaled on a stake along the path through the mountains. Deciding to investigate, I crept past the unfortunate head and came upon three charred, impaled bodies displayed around a cave.

The gruesome display marked the cavern's occupants as vampires, but once inside I realized they were mere bandits. The only thing of note was that the bandits had taken the trouble to capture and hold several of Skyrim's most dangerous creatures inside of cages. The cages all opened to a pit in which the rotting, mauled bodies of those unfortunate enough to be captured lay.

Thinking I was going to be eliminating a nest of vampires, I entered the cave only to find cruelty and depravity common to the lawless and desperate. The cave is clear now, but within a week or so I am certain others will move in anyway. Such a waste of time.

I arrived at Ivarstead after nightfall and just in time to help the guards chase out a bear that decided on a late dinner in one of the farmers' fields.

Tomorrow morning I will visit the Greybeards and return their horn. Then I may return to Riften to close some business agreements there, then return to collecting the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor. Such is my plan, but I am sure something will occur to make everything utterly impossible once again.

Skyrim Day 058 - Vokun, Dragon Priest

13 Frostfall, 4E201

Dawnstar

~~~

With Potema safely banished to some other plane and Tamriel safe for another day, I was free this morning to attempt an exit from Solitude. I slept later than I intended to, but I think I have earned a little extra rest. The land north of Morthal's swamp was still unknown to me, so I chose to avoid the road to Dawnstar and travel along the coast instead.

Despite its reputation the swamp of Morthal is not a very dangerous place, though I was surprised to find myself under assault from a Chaurus this morning, with no idea as to how the sole creature found its way above ground. I skirted around a Stormcloak camp and caught the scent of smoke on the air. Their cooking fires were downwind, so I followed my nose and found a burned-out home and the charred remains of a woman laying in front of a broken cart.

A few small fires still flickered, so the disaster could not have been too long ago. Was it a Dragon? The Stormcloaks? An accident with the cooking fat? Only the dead woman knows.

Continuing along the shore I avoided the brutish Horkers and found one of the hundreds of ruins that occupy Skyrim. This was was a rather large, ornate construction and I felt the twinge of curiosity prodding me inward. Unusually there were several dead Draugr outside of the ruin, making me wary about entering. Whatever killed the Draugr, or enticed them outside into an ambush, was likely inside as well. But that also simply made me even more curious, so of course I had to enter the ruin.

The inside was littered with dead Draugr, some of them showing damage from ice magicka. I found the source of their damage pacing back and forth in a small chamber, muttering to herself. I thought her a bandit or necromancer at first, but took a moment to listen to what she was saying. From what I heard, she was trying to figure out a way to descend deeper inside without meeting a grisly death. I rapped my dagger against the wall to get her attention, greatly startling her.

Her name was Anska and she asked if I was here to help her. Not knowing who Anska was or why she was expecting any help at all, I replied that I happened upon the ruin and thought to investigate it for valuables. Her response was unexpectedly enthusiastic: this was not just an ruin, according to her, but the final resting place of Vokun, an ancient priest who was said to have been buried with a scroll that Anska thought would help prove her family's connection to Ysgramor's bloodline. 

When she said "priest" I could almost feel the dour wooden mask in my pack start to shift. Anska admitted that Vokun was likely to be more powerful a mage than she was and asked if I could assist her with retrieving the scroll. I asked only that I be allowed to claim the priest's mask if he had one, but she only shrugged and said I could take whatever I wanted aside from the scroll.

Anska was a more competent mage than I assumed her to be. Together we fought through at least a dozen powerful and well-armed Draugr, her with lightning and ice magicka, me with my blade and light shield.

Vokun was waiting for us in his large burial room, dramatically erupting from his coffin after we opened the doors.

Vokun was not nearly the mage Morokei was, falling quickly to Anska's spells and my silvered blade.

His staff flung fireballs on command, useful, but not for me. I took it to sell off later and scavenged Vokun's mask from the pile of rags and ashes that remained. Anska's scroll was in a room behind the former priest's resting place, in front of a Dragon-head wall of runes that taught me 'Strun', the ancient word for "storm". If Anska noticed anything unusual about magicka streaming from the stone into the Khajiit's body, she said nothing. The fact that she said nothing makes me suspect I may be the only one to witness the learning of the words. Perhaps the Greybeards can as well. Whatever the case, I usually adventure alone, so it is not a pressing concern.

Anska rewarded my assistance with a tome she said would teach me how to summon a weak fire atronach. I thanked her and will be selling it alongside Vokun's staff.

Once back outside I continued along the coast, passing more horkers and a beached ship which I steered clear of, wary of wasting time fighting a bunch of desperate, frozen bandits.

I arrived at Dawnstar as the night was setting in and fortunately made it to the 'Mortar and Pestle' before Frida closed for the evening. My payment was an hour of instruction from the aged alchemist and I learned quite a bit.

Tomorrow I will continue east towards the Greybeards so that I can return their horn, then perhaps I shall stop at Morthal, detestable place that it is, to take care of some business agreements, or I may turn back west and see about retrieving the final piece of Mehrune's Razor. A part of me recalls my more mundane days wistfully, but I should have known they would not last.

Skyrim Day 057 - Howling Mad

12 Frostfall, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

My return to east Skyrim began in earnest and ended with no progress having been made aside from thwarting the plan of an undead heir to the Septim line.

I woke early in the cold, empty manor I now call home and walked outside to find something aflame to warm myself next to. Though it was still early there was a terrific racket coming from the Bard's College next door. Curious, I tested the front door and found it to be unlocked. Inside an Altmer introduced himself as Viarmo and asked if I wished to become a bard. I did not and informed him of my recent purchase of the adjacent manor. He wished me well and invited me to explore his College at my leisure, a freedom Khajiit are rarely given.

But I was not there to swipe the plates. Instead, I followed the sound of terrible singing and walked in on a class led by an old woman whose lute-playing accompanied her singing. One of the classroom's hopefuls whispered to me that she was known as 'Inge Six Fingers', a name meant to invoke skill rather than mutilation.

I observed the lesson for a few minutes, retreating once one of the students was called up to demonstrate his singing prowess. I would sooner face a Dragon than be sit through that man's warbling.

Mentally tracing the route I would be taking to Dawnstar, I walked right by a courier trying to hail me. The man ran back in front of me, pointedly brandishing a scroll in my face to catch my attention. I was a bit taken aback by his attitude, but the message was from Falk Firebeard and I was apparently the courier's first mark of the day, so he was in a hurry.

The scroll was short on details, Falk only willing to explain that there were rumors surrounding my activity at Wolfskull Cave a month ago. He had sent me there to investigate a gathering of mages that had moved in, only for me to stumble into a summoning of the ancient Queen Potema, the "Wolf Queen" of Solitude.

From what I remember she led a rebellion to ensure her son, who would become Uriel Septim III, sat on the throne, only for him to die ignominiously some years later at the hands and torches of a mob. Perhaps Potema had something to do with that as well. Whatever the case, the necromancers had been trying to bind her spirit into...one of themselves, I suppose, so that she could lead Skyrim into a new golden age.

All this is just a guess, I do not know why they really wanted Potema back, but I had thought interrupting the summoning had spelled an end to her meddling. Unfortunately it merely released her spirit into Skyrim and though without a body she has been able to personally direct her tiny cult, causing many problems for the city of Solitude.

A local priest named 'Styrr', follower of Arkay, had been granted the ability to sense Potema's spirit, alerting Falk to her existence. Fearing the Jarl's exuberance in resolving matters, he instead sent for me, a Khajiit much too old to remember what exuberance felt like.

I found Styrr in his Temple musing and muttering at the fire and it took several minutes of trying to politely attract his attention before I gave him and smacked my shield against the stone wall. Awakened out of his mental fog, he introduced himself, asking if I was the mercenary Falk had recommended to him. I cannot say I consider myself a mercenary, but the man seemed to be easily confused, so I told him I was.

Without prompting he started to give me the entire history on the former Queen, musing that if she did return to "life" she would have a legitimate claim to the Imperial throne, an outcome which he described as being the worst possible fate to befall Tamriel. Arkay's gift to his faithful allowed Styrr to sense Potema's spirit, though not to do anything about her. According to him she had fled from Wolfskull Cave to the catacomb underneath Solitude's temple. One of Potema's followers broke into the temple a few days ago and managed to knock door a portion of the temple's wall that had been blocking up a forgotten passage into the catacombs below. My task was to enter the catacombs, retrieve Potema's physical remains, and bring them back to Styrr so that Arkay could divinely cleanse them of their spiritual taint.

Despite the Temple's damage it was still open to the faithful, the breach in the wall visible to anyone wishing to pray at the Eight Divines' altars.

The catacomb was nothing special, typical brickwork and arches surrounding forgotten crates and rotting sacks. A glance inside some of the containers suggested that the catacomb of the Temple may have been a storehouse for Solitude long ago, but today no one could spare the effort required to clean up any of it.

Reaching a metal gate I was startled, but not much surprised, by a woman's voice echoing from somewhere deeper inside. That was no longer a new trick by me, nor was Potema's bragging that my death would net her an excellent slave. Having encountered no one else up to that point, I thought myself alone with the chatty spirit, but I eventually intruded upon her cult, mostly vampires and some Draugr. Nothing very difficult.

Past a small pond (underneath the Temple?) I came upon a set of three portcullises controlled by three levers in front of them. Pulling one lever would close or open a gate, while performing the opposite action against the other two. It did not take long to devise the correct combination of positions to open all three gates.

They led to a chamber with a Draugr positioned on a throne, but I had seen this trick before. As soon as I walked past it the Draugr would "wake" and attack me. On a hunch, I took a vial of weak, useless poison and threw it into the room. The crash alerted the Draugr, who slowly rose from his throne while looking around for something to kill, as well as a young Breton who rushed in from the other door, yelling bravely that such tricks were not enough to save my life. A crossbow bolt put an end to his. The Draugr was strong, but clumsy as all his kind are.

The rash Breton had a key on him which unlocked an ornate stone door which he had been guarding, beyond which lay a grisly collection of Draugr all heaped together in front of an engraving of the Wolf Queen, clad in wolf-skins and holding what were either small trees or dead wolves in each hand.

As I was trying to decided which the objects were, Potema's voice echoed through the catacomb, goading me to continue on towards her, so that I might serve her eternally in death. With that, four of the piled-up Draugr became reanimated, but I lopped off two of their heads before they were on their feet and the other two were very weak and poorly armed.

Potema herself made what appearance she could in the next room. her interrupted summoning limiting her to a glowing, vaguely woman-shaped, collection of energy floating about the ceiling. Tendrils of magicka licked the walls and coffins of the room and I steeled myself for a great battle.

Her voice mocked me, claiming she would enjoy watching me fall at the hands of her trusted advisors, whom I assume were the Draugr she called forth from the coffins. There were many of them, three waves in fact, but Potema made the mistake of not summoning them all at once. Rather she was content to watch five or six at a time die singly at the doorway, as I was not fool enough to enter and risk be surrounded.

After all the Draugr had been defeated, Potema's spirit shrieked and flew through the closed door at the end of the chamber. I followed, finding a more distinguishable Potema waiting for me upon a throne.

Jumping up, she charged down the stairway, but her magicka was weak and spirits hold much less strength than they seem to believe they do. Once she had been banished, again, I approached the throne expecting a skeleton, but found only a skull with a circlet, I  threw that into my pack and looked for the back-exit that the Nords liked to build in their ruins.

The exit must have been a secret sally port long ago, for it led me well outside the city, on a cliff-side overlooking the bay. They must have relied on ropes or ladders to get down, but having neither, I could only slide down the icy mountainside and hope for the best. Fortunately I managed to avoid injuring myself.

Styrr was pleased at my quick return and took eagerly took Potema's skull to be purified. He advised that I returned to Falk Firebeard to let him know of our success while he prepared the rituals required to put the ancient would-be Queen to her final rest.

Falk ruefully admitted that he should have paid more attention to the the warnings that came from Dragon Bridge before all this started and declared me the "Protector of Solitude", a title that came with fifteen hundred Septims and a painted wooden shield from the city's armory.

Having averted yet another grisly disaster upon Tamriel, I retired to my new home and very welcoming bed. Tomorrow I shall yet again try to make it to Dawnguard.

Skyrim Day 056 - Time Travel & Real Estate

11 Frostfall, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

When Savos and his fellow students explored Labyrinthian they uncovered more than they had hoped for. One by one, the inexperienced students fell to traps or creatures, until just Savos and two others were left. In Labyrinthian's final chamber they encountered the Dragon Priest Morokei, a creature which I suspect is tied to the Dragon cult that keeps assaulting me, though how exactly I cannot yet say.

The only thing that remained of Morokei after its defeat was a stern-looking metal mask that served as the thing's face. It matched a wooden mask I found in a small dome above Labyrinthian, but I recall not paying the masks much attention then.

The place was still infested with trolls, but my new silvered blade, due to Adrianne's attention this morning, cut through them effortlessly. She was eager to accept the carved blade I had found a week or so ago in exchange for a little work in finishing my weapon, which suited me just fine.

The dome where I had found the wooden mask (which stays warm in any weather) was still there, of course and just as run-down as the first time I had seen it.

The headless skeleton was still there, as well as the scraps of parchment the man's mercenaries had been using for their journal. A particular passage, which I either failed to notice the first time or have simply forgotten, caught my eye: their employer had a wooden mask, the one I found next to the corpse, and upon placing it on his face while inside the dome, he vanished instantly. Judging by the decapitated skeleton at my feet he eventually came back, so I guessed it was safe to try it myself so long as I left no irate mercenaries behind.

I pressed the mask to my face and everything went white for a moment. When my vision cleared, I was still in the same place, but apparently at a very different time.

I may have been in a more prosperous time for Labyrinthian, but it was not a busier time. The ruin was still abandoned and utterly silent. The restored altar had eight small statues of a hooded figure, the robe just large enough to fit the wooden mask. I tried fitting it on each of the statues. but could discover no way to make it stay. On a hunch I pulled out the metal mask I had taken off of Morokei's remains and tried the same thing. The mask snapped on to one of the statues with such force that it almost took my fingers off.

That left seven statues unadorned with no clue as to where their masks were. At least I know where to go if I find any more. Placing the wooden mask back on to my face sent me to the frozen ruin I was more familiar with and I left Labyrinthian for Solitude so that I could tell Elisif that her husband's horn was safely at the feet of Talos.

I decided to pass through Morthal and its swamp to shorten my walk to Solitude. While sloshing through the marsh I came upon an empty campsite nestled alongside a large Nordic ruin I had ignored while I was in the marsh collecting Deathbells. The requisite left-behind journal briefly chronicled the efforts of one Daynas Valen to acquire an amulet that was said to be inside. Interestingly, the Daynas admitted to murdering a merchant in Bravil in order to steal the Dragon Claw key (Ivory, this time) required to breach the lowest level of the ruin. I never thought about the possibility that some of these Claws would find their way out of Skyrim.

Enroute from Cyrodiil, he recruited two adventurers to assist with the expected Draugr and mechanical traps, then burned all his possessions (except his journal!) before he led his small band inside.

There is not much to say about what I found inside. Two dead adventurers, of course, and a bunch of Draugr. Daynas had not made it much further than his companions and still had the cumbersome Dragon Claw key on his body. Next to his corpse was a second journal, this one explaining what the amulet he sought was, something called the Gauldur Amulet. He had gone through the trouble to write down the entire history of an ancient family of mages whose elder fathered three sons. The sons murdered the father, Gauldur, so that they would have the amulet, then ravaged the surrounding countryside for no discernible reason.

A local noble dispatched warriors and mages to track down the sons and end them, each being isolated and followed to remote corners of Skyrim. The eldest, Jyrick, was the ancient Draugr Tolfdir and I had fought in front of the Eye of Magnus and the youngest son, Mikrul, was entombed in the ruin Daynas had hopefully invaded. The middle son, Sigdis, fell near Ivarstead.

Each of the sons had a fragment of their father's amulet, the three together would produce what I can only assume would be an item potent enough to be worth all the trouble they went through.

After a few more Draugr I almost had the opportunity to ask Mikrul himself about his amulet, but he burst from his coffin in a decidedly hostile manner which led to me to believe stabbing him in the back, much as he did to his father, was a healthier decision.

Gauldur's youngest proved to be a perceptive, if weak, opponent. Undead though he was, my attempt to sneak up on him was foiled, only for him to fall rather effortlessly to my blade. His cohorts were simple Draugr armed with bows so old that I could probably have caught their arrows if I wanted to waste my time. On Mikrul's body was a scroll with a similar condemnation as his brother's had and his fragment of the amulet, which his condemners had not saw fit to separate him from.

Past Mikrul's resting place was a portcullis opened with the Claw with a wall of ancient words behind it. Standing before it allowed me to learn the word for 'cold': krah, a very useful thing to know here in Skyrim. The expected secret exit was quite clever this time, using an empty Draugr coffin leaning against the door to disguise it.

My curiosity satiated for the moment, I left the ruin and completed my trip back to Solitude. I needed to deliver the Ring of Pure Mixtures to the old alchemist and inform Jarl Elisif of the completion of her task.

However, I had made a mistake. I had thought the name of the alchemist in Solitude to be Frida, but she was Angeline of 'Angeline's Aromatics'. Bemused, Angeline politely informed me that Frida was a bit younger and far to the east, in Dawnstar. I thanked her and left feeling a bit foolish.

But Jarl Elisif was certainly in Solitude, no mistake there. Though the day was crawling into the evening the Blue Palace was still seeing visitors and as I entered the court I heard the Jarl discussing an idea with her steward to have the Legion parade around the town to bolster the peoples' morale. The steward gently replied that a parade would be seen as inciting the Stormcloaks and Elisif agreed, sounding disappointed.

Her reaction to my return was...unexpected. After I told her that Torygg's horn was safely at the feet of Talos, she clapped her hands (once) and announced that such a deed was worthy of a Thane...but she hoped I would settle on being able to purchase a home in Solitude at discount, instead. She then called her steward over to tell him that I would be buying 'Proudspire Manor' at the reduced price of twenty-five thousand Septims.

It was an embarrassing situation for myself and the Steward, Falk Firebeard. He pulled me aside as Elisif became distracted with someone new entering the room and told me that I was under no actual obligation to buy anything if I did not wish to, or could not.

But I thought the idea was a good one. I have been traveling between Whiterun, where I have a home, and Solitude, where I do not, regularly as of late. The price was steep, even if it was reduced, but my various adventures over the past two months have brought great, and largely useless, wealth. What is the point of money if it cannot be spent? There are just over forty-thousand Septims hidden about Breezehome in five-hundred Septim ingots, a ploy made possible by living next door to a smelter.

So why not buy Proudspire? I gave Falk the one thousand Septims I was carrying with me and signed a document as Thane of Whiterun promising payment of the remainder. Rank occasionally has its privileges. An additional six thousand Septims purchased living accommodations for several rooms, much in the same way as Breezehome.

With key in pocket, I thanked the Jarl and her Steward and left to examine my new home. Arriving in front of it, I was just in time to witness a guardsman run a vampire through with his blade, right on my doorstep. A lovely welcoming, but also a sign of the growing vampire problem I am supposed to be helping fight against.

The manor is squeezed in-between a school for bards and another house, but has more rooms than Whiterun has buildings. I am not sure what to do with the place, but it is nice to be sleeping in a bed free of louses. I should start to make my way back to the Dawnguard's fortress and stop at Dawnstar to see Frida about her ring. I have also to find the last piece of Mehrune's accursed dagger, but I do not feel that is a high priority.

I will start on my journey back to the east tomorrow, perhaps even chance a visit to Windhelm.