Skyrim Day 089 - The Jagged Crown

20 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Dawnstar

~~~

I had been told after receiving my orders that the Legate and her squad would not be leaving until late the next day, but when I woke this morning I found them to have left several hours before. As no one had taken any trouble to track me down (hardly an effort, I own a mansion!) or wake me, I guessed my participation was a "want" and not a "need".

The Nords' 'Jagged Crown' heirloom was at a ruin called 'Korvanjund' neat the crossroads between Winterhold, Dawnstar, and Whiterun, a relatively easy journey almost entirely by road. While on my way out of town I was stopped by a hassled-looking man who introduced himself as Xander, former captain of the vessel 'Argent Raptor' which he lost to an iceberg north of Windhelm. I am not sure why he wasted both our time telling me this.

The walk was cold, but without event. I caught the distinctive tones of Legate Rikke over the wind as I approached the crossroad.

I joined the group and was almost immediately greeted by a boisterous Legionnaire who took my hand and shook it, laughing. I thought the man mad until I looked at him more closely and, to my surprise, recognized Hadvar, the Imperial who led me out of Helgen. He admitted to being relieved to hear that I both had joined the Legion and that I was standing with him today, for he was uneasy around the ruins. I was surprised to hear that, but kept it to myself. Having been in an innumerable amount of ruined fortresses, tombs, and temples I cannot say the prospect of yet another Nordic burial hall provides much dread.

The Legate cleared her throat and another speech began. The virtues of courage and dedication were lauded alongside the update that the Stormcloaks had gotten inside the ruin first. That was met with a few grumbles, but the Legate was quick to eye those with an opinion. Finishing her speech she drew her blade and advanced towards the ruins, her men and I following.

However, she soon stopped and signaled for our company to hide behind some nearby rocks. Peering from around the largest she swore and cursed her luck. The Stormcloaks had beaten the Legion to Korvanjund, even after Rikke's early-morning march. I did not see the problem with this, but the other Legionnaires looked more uncertain than when they anticipated mere bandits. Only then did it occur to me that, with the exception of Rikke and Hadvar, the other soldiers were completely "green", as we used to say.

Fortunately the Battle of Korvanjund was a short one. The Stormcloaks had done us a favor in removing the bandits, but suffered losses of their own in doing so. The few that were patrolling outside were quickly overwhelmed or shot down.

There were more Stormcloaks inside than there were outside, but they committed the folly of grouping together against foes armed with bows and crossbows. Five Stormcloaks lost their lives on the stairs of a large chamber just past the entranceway, four to arrows or bolts, for one of the Legionnaires had with him his family's crossbow. Why the uptight Legate allowed this is a mystery, but a welcome one.

Beyond the large chamber was a narrow two-story chamber with stairways and hallways dotted along its sides. Scaffolding split the chamber into a second story, a perfect spot for archers to ambush us had any Stormcloak thought of it.

The Legate did not like the many avenues of approach and declared it the perfect site for an ambush, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. She mused on the strategy of sending someone ahead to scout for the remaining Stormcloaks, then looked dubiously at her little band. She had left two soldiers at the entrance to guard against the possibility of reinforcements, leaving Hadvar, myself, and two uneasy soldiers with her.

Naturally the "auxiliary" was chosen for the thankless task, but I was glad to hear it. Serana aside I have spent most of my adventuring alone, save for the odd merchant I may have escorted back in the day.

Besides, I had a much greater chance of surviving.

I crept ahead and picked off two Stormcloaks with my crossbow...an odd thing to say given that it takes nearly half a minute to reload it, but the second rebel stood her ground the whole time, shouting and brandishing her shield. I am not sure what she meant to accomplish.

Moving through the ruin we passed the corpses of several Stormcloaks with the unanimated bodies of draugr lying near them. The Stormcloaks must have killed or driven off the bandits, but the bandits had not entered the ruin. Once the Stormcloaks did they must have disturbed the dutiful guardians and gotten caught in an ambush. To our advantage, of course, but one of the Legionnaires stopped and wondered at it, evidently having never encountered draugr before. The Legate snapped at him to stop gawking at 'bonewalkers' and move on, but it confirmed my suspicion that many of our band were untried.

The Legate knew a thing or two about Korvanjund, naming a portion of hallway the 'Hall of Stories' as we entered it. The green soldier spoke up, probably wanting to make himself look useful, and explained that the carvings on the walls were supposed to be stories of the ancient civilization that built the place. I had assumed all (or at least, most) of the ruins were ancient Nordic, but it sounds as if this may not be the case.

Whatever their origin the mechanism for entry was familiar: at the end of the hall sat a huge door with three discs of stone set inside it. At the foot of the door lay two dead Stormcloaks, next to which an ornamental black Dragon's claw of stone lay.

How the Stormcloaks got it wrong, I do not know, for the match was set into medallions at the back of the claw, as usual. This one was Fox-Dragonfly-Dragon and the door opened smoothly once I inserted the claw into it. Had I not I am sure more darts from hidden pipes would have peppered me as it did the two curious unfortunates. The relatively warm air of the ruin rushed past us through the door as it opened and a whirl of stale, frigid air greeted us.

Behind the door was a high chamber poorly-lit in stark contrast to the rest of the ruin. Given that the claw-door does not seem to close again it was likely we were the first to enter in a very long time. This was to the Legate's satisfaction and the unease of everyone else. I whispered to Hadvar that we were likely to encounter strong foes and he nodded, jogging to join the skittish Legionnaires and calm them.

There was no obvious way to continue forwards, so we spread out, the Legate remaining in the center of the chamber, Hadvar and the others on one side, myself on the other. I quickly spied a section of wall with telltale irregular lines and a bit of searching rewarded me with a plug-style switch nearby. Pulling it slid the section of wall aside, revealing a staircase leading further down. I called to the others and we proceeded further inside.

This led to the largest chamber in the ruin, dominated by a platform upon which a hunched corpse sat upon a throne. Having a strong suspicion of what was about to happen I started to circle behind the platform, but Hadvar stepped on to it and examined the corpse closely, yelling that it had a crown and asking if it was the one we were looking for. Foolish.

I had enough time to shout a warning and he leaped back just in time to avoid the sudden lunge of the draugr lord's ancient two-handed sword. Two stone pillars, one on each side of the throne, dislodged their lids as two more draugr emerged, both armored.

The two green Legionnaires panicked, but to their credit they panicked forwards instead of backwards, recklessly engaging the draugr that had emerged from the pillars. Hadvar and the Legate pressed the draugr lord, but the draugr were armed with ebony weapons versus their cheap Imperial blades. Hadvar and the Legate were holding their ground by virtue of skill alone and one of the Legionnaires had already fallen.

As for my part I still have my Dawnguard war axe and the draugr were occupied with my companions. A quick strike to the unarmored back of the one pressing the foolish soldier felled it and I expected the man to run for the exit, but he turned to engage the draugr lord, falling almost immediately as it turned and cleaved his blade in half, continuing into his head. Death was mercifully instant.

I finished off the second draugr guard without much trouble and turned to assist Hadvar and the Legate. Hadvar had retreated a ways back and was on one knee, looking for something in his satchel. I tossed him a restorative and attacked the draugr alongside Legate Rikke.

My hand-axe was not the proper weapon to face a two-handed sword with, so I dropped it and drew my ebony dagger instead. A quick drink of an invisibility draught allowed me to circle behind the ancient lord and bury my dagger in the back of his rotting skull.

The battle for the Jagged Crown was over and at cost: two of the four Legionnaires that entered Korvanjund were not leaving it and all the Legate had to show for it was a dull iron helmet set about with horns. Neither she nor Hadvar seemed interested in acquiring any goods, so I claimed an ebony-faced war-hammer I found leaning against a chest at the rear of the throne. It is not to my style of combat, but it will look nice on the wall at Proudspire.

The Legate tossed the crown (crown helmet?) to me, ordering that I return to Solitude with it. She and her soldiers were going to comb the ruin for anything useful, which a war-hammer, in her eyes, was not. Odd.

I found the two soldiers stationed at the entrance cowering behind a pillar, swords drawn against a foe that did not exist. I laughed, startling them so badly that one dropped his blade. Red-faced, they both started with excuses but I shook my head and suggested they report to the Legate.

The moon had risen while we were fighting and the sky shimmered with a beautiful green ribbon of light that I have never seen before. It is nice to know that there are still mysteries to discover after so many years.

I have stopped at the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar for the night and will continue tomorrow to Solitude to return this crowned helmet the Nords hold in such esteem. I am curious as to what use the Imperials plan on putting it towards.

Skyrim Day 063 - Battling Nostalgia

19 Frostfall, 4E201

Dawnstar

~~~

I had only to deliver the pieces of Mehrune's Razor to Silus for my task to be complete. I thought about dumping the remains of the artifact around the province before realizing that doing so would mean I just spent days at nothing at all. Had I wanted the pieces scattered about I needed to do nothing at all before now. Much as I was loathe to admit it as I carved my way through beast and bandit, I wanted the Razor. I wanted to hold one of Mehrune Dagon's artifacts in my hand...just before tossing it into the sea.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself the past few days. As it was, the rather cliche story of an adventurer being overcome by greed and desire wound up not happening, simply because I am not a murderer. But I get ahead of myself.

Walking from Markarth to Dawnstar meant traveling through either Solitude or Whiterun, but I always seem to be distracted by something at Whiterun so I chose instead to head north to Solitude. I was stopped along the road by a Stormcloak rebel, but she only advised me to tell all the "true sons and daughters of Skyrim" to join up with Ulfric Stormcloak and retake Skyrim for the Nords.

Why she felt a Khajiit would concern herself with this, I do not know.

Dragon Bridge was free of Dragons today and I reached Solitude by mid-morning, having left Markarth as soon as I possibly could. I spent some time at my home, but could not find much purpose in being there. It is an empty place and one that served only to lighten my purse, apparently nothing more.

Hoping to save time I paid a few Septims for a ferry from the warehouse docks to the swamps of Morthal across from it. I planned to trudge through the muck of the swamp and over the snowy hills between Morthal and Dawnstar rather than take the easier, though much longer, road.

I encountered nothing save for a Khajiit standing near the road within sight of Dawnstar. He appeared surprised to see me, covering his lack of attention with an offer to sell me some skooma or moon sugar. I declined his offer, he was probably a smuggler waiting for his goods via one way or another.

It was pleasing to see one of the caravans camped outside of the city. I stopped briefly to unload my gemstones and jewelry in exchange for vials of healing and restorative elixirs. Kharjo was there as well, expressing his delight at seeing me healthy and whole once again. I wished him the same and headed into town, somewhat ashamed that I could do so while the Khajiit behind me could not.

Silus was overjoyed to receive all the pieces of the Razor. Once he judged them all safely in his possession, he admitted that the plan had been to return them to Mehrune Dagon's nearby shrine so that the Lord of Change would repair the deadly artifact. This did not come as a surprise to me and I cautioned him about dealing with the Daedric Princes, especially Mehrune Dagon. Nothing they give ever comes without a price.

But he was not to be dissuaded. With a shout over his shoulder for me to follow, he ran out of his museum and into the cold. He was in an over-excited hurry, but I easily kept up with him, mage that he is.

In all the years since the Oblivion Crisis I have never once felt the urge to revisit my old foe in any way, but it was somewhat gratifying to know time has not altered his appearance for the better. The giant statue in front of his shrine leered down with a grimace, giving the impression the viewer was something unpleasant he had just stepped on.

Silus took no notice of the statue and rushed to the bare altar before it. Laying the pieces atop it, he raised his voice, rather too dramatically I think, and beseeched the Prince to repair the Razor in His Great Name. After a minute or so of this he stopped and looked at me, dejected.

"The Daedric Prince wishes to speak with you", he said sadly, his life's ambition brutally crushed.

That set off numerous warning bells in my head. Perhaps I was remembered and a trap set? I loosened my blade as I walked towards the altar, conscious of the sudden drop to the icy ground just behind me. When I was standing before it a voice boomed inside of my head. I caught Silus wincing out of the corner of my eye, so I immediately knew he was hearing something as well.

Mehrunes Dagon claimed to have watched my little quest to retrieve the pieces with amusement, stating that I had proven myself a worthy mortal to speak with. It sounded as if he did not realize I was the same Khajiit that foiled his plans during the Crisis, but it may be that he also did not much care.

The Prince's price tonight was predictable: a life taken for a life-taker. If I killed Silus Mehrune Dagon would restore the Razor to its murderous glory. If I chose not to do this, I was promised consequences.

When I turned to speak with Silus his eyes went wide and he begged me not to kill him, evidently hearing a message of his own. He spoke quickly, obviously afraid, promising that he and I could return to Dawnstar with just the pieces, which he would put in a harmless display case for the rest of its days. I felt that was just asking for a burglary and a slit throat, but it would not be me doing the cutting, so I agreed.

Mehrune Dagon was not pleased, but the "consequence" was laughable: two Dremora, of whom hundreds were banished back to Oblivion by my hand so many years ago. One of them popped into existence right next to Silus, who took off for Dawnstar with a yelp.

The battle was practically a delight. I have spent over two months in Skyrim as an adventurer again and all I have fought are wild animals, bandits, and Draugr. Occasionally a Dragon, but few and far in-between. Fighting the two Dremora was a pleasant change and I was pleased to realize how much of my experience with them came back to me as we fought. They were well-armed and armored, but they went the way of so many of their brethren. Foiled, Mehrunes Dagon was silent, but there was a key on one of the Dremora that I suspected would unlock the door at the base of the statue.

There was nothing else nearby it could have possibly unlocked, so my being correct in this was not a great accomplishment. The door opened to a tunnel hewn from solid ice, the statue evidently having been built into the hillside itself. The tunnel was short and easily transmitted the sounds of more than one person ahead of me. I was expecting cultists, but found two more Dremora, one in nothing but a robe, the other in full armor.

The robed one fell silently to my dagger, the armored one fell rather more loudly to the same. The ebony blade slipped right through the Daedra's armor, wavy blade and all. It crashed to the ground with a rattling gasp and I was free to explore the inside of the shrine at my leisure.

Mehrune Dagon's shrine had known prosperous times. I pocketed handfuls of gemstones and several ingots of gold alongside several powerfully enchanted items. The greatest find, however, was a full-size ebony blade, a perfect complement to my new favorite weapon, though far more heavier and less graceful.

By the time I returned to Dawnstar it was just past midnight and I did not want to bother Silus until he had calmed down, a process which may take more than a few days after his brush with the Dremora. Joke aside, I will visit him tomorrow before some enterprising thief takes it upon herself to claim the Razor and end the pool fool.

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 053 - Dream Me Another Dream

8 Frostfall, 4E201

Morthal

~~~

With an impatient Serana trailing after me, we left the Windpeak Inn well before the sun even started to rise. It was the only thing she did not complain about all day.

This includes the attack on Dawnstar that swept in from the sea with a challenging roar. Hoping perhaps to catch the city asleep, a Dragon flew over the town as we were making our way to Nightcaller Temple.

If it hoped to cause a panic then it failed miserably. The Dragon War was a long time ago though and today's inhabitants of Skyrim are less willing to bend a knee to their supposed betters. The unfortunate Dragon died in a hail of arrow and fireballs that seemed to erupt from every corner of Dawnstar. As luck would have it, the beast's corpse smashed into the earth just behind the Inn, allowing everyone around me to witness the spectacle of a Dragonborn absorbing a soul, much to her surprise.

A small crowd gathered behind the Inn to gawk at the Dragon's skeletal corpse, one man going so far as to stand underneath the rib cage to better marvel at the creature's size. What they wound up doing with the bones is none of my concern.

After waiting ten minutes or so for Erandur's curiosity to be satiated we three continued our walk to the decrepit Nightcaller Temple.

Erandur stopped outside the door to warn me of the dangers we would find within. The Temple had been attacked by a tribe of Orsimer who were being plagued by nightmares just as Dawnstar was today. Desperately fighting back, the priests inside were slowly overpowered and released a gas throughout the Temple. This gas was normally used in their rituals to bring about a state of sleep said to allow communion with the Daedric Prince Vaermina.

Once the gas was released priest and raider alike fell asleep, protected from the natural ravages of time, but unable to wake. Erandur's warning was that both sides would likely be hostile to us once we turned off the gas, but I felt I could handle some priests and bandits. Serana thought otherwise and elected to "guard" the door while Erandur and I ventured inside to thwart the machinations of a Daedric Prince.

The cause of Dawnstar's trouble was a staff Erandur called the 'Skull of Corruption'. We could see it on a lower level of the Temple, but could not reach it at the time. The Temple itself was a large cylinder that spiraled downwards to laboratories and living quarters, each level one step closer to the Skull.

An archway further ahead was blocked by a purple barrier of magicka, but Erandur thought that the remains of the Temple's library would house a method to dispel it. He knew a lot about the temple for someone who had never been in it before and when I questioned his knowledge he admitted that he was a former disciple of Vaermina.

During the attack on the Temple Erandur fled, saving his own life at the expense of many of his brethren with the survivors being put into a sleep they would possibly never wake from. Overcome by guilt, he turned to Mara to seek comfort, waiting for a chance to redeem himself. When rumors of Dawnstar's nightmares reached him, he realized his redemption was at hand...if he could find someone to assist him.

The assistance was needed, for as we walked to the library the sleeping gas noticeably dissipated and the combatants of both sides started to wake up. The Orsimer probably cared not for who Erandur or I were, attacking us immediately. We were treated no better by the waking priests, I suppose to their perception no time had passed between the attack and today, making us a part of the raiding party. For all his guilt Erandur showed no hesitation in striking down his former brothers and sisters.

Once in the library we split up to search for an alchemy manual titled "The Dreamstride". Despite thousands of ruined pages fluttering about us Erandur was confident I would find the book we needed without much trouble. I did, the manual having escaped destruction due to being on a pedestal, away from everything else.

Inside the manual was a recipe for "Vaermina's Torpor", a concoction used by the Daedric Prince's devout to induce hallucinations mixed with plane-walking to traverse Tamriel via memories and dreams. A powerful ability, but one Erandur warned me was extremely dangerous. Some acolytes went mad after a single draught, others continued to make multiple dream-walks, only to finally come out of one without a shred of sanity.

Erandur's plan was to mix this Torpor and use it to "walk" back to when the Temple was still under attack. The barrier blocking our way would not be there and when he woke from the dream-walk he would be on the other side of it in our time, allowing him to dispel it...or so I assumed.

I guess I should not have thought a former Priest of Vaermina would be drink the ritualistic drink dedicated to Vaermina so that he could briefly traverse Vaermina's crazed plane of nightmares. No, he was a priest of Mara now, so the Torpor would not work for him any longer. But someone unaffiliated to any Princes would be allowed the honor of possibly descending into eternal, nightmarish insanity.

Me, for example.

After reading the manual Erandur was forced to admit that he would not be able to mix a vial of the Torpor for us. Instead, we descended further into the gas-filled Temple, waking and slaying Orsimer and priest as we went. Not quite the behavior I expected from a follower of Mara, but who am I to judge?

In a small laboratory we found an unbroken vial of the Torpor, Erandur urging me to drink it at once. I was a bit put off by his eagerness, but I had no choice but to trust him in this matter. Down went the sour mixture, then everything blurred and went black.

I remember being able to see, somehow, memories of the Temple's previous inhabitants floating about, like globes with little worlds inside of them. I reached for one, then felt myself falling...only to awake to a blurriness around the edges of my vision and two priests arguing in front of the Skull.

The older of the two priests referred to me as 'Brother Casimir', ordering me to proceed to the front of the Temple, through the battle, to activate the 'Miasma', the sleeping gas Erandur and I let out of the Temple as we entered.

It felt as though I was there, in the Temple, fighting the battle, yet at the same time it all seemed an illusion. I "knew" as I ran through the several skirmishes that I would not, could not, be harmed. The raiders did not have the advantage, as I expected, but it was clear that their numbers would overwhelm the defenders soon enough.

The person whose memory I was inhabiting knew that he had to venture to a pull-chain near the entrance to the Temple to release the gas and after "I" did so the dream ended and I was on the other side of the formerly-blocked doorway, Erandur waiting where he could.

He immediately started pestering me with questions about how the "Dreamstride" was, but I could only offer the explanation that it was like being there, only not. He expressed his disappointment at not being able to undergo a Dreamstride himself, then on we went.

The two priests I whose argument I witnessed were, surprisingly, waiting for us at the foot of the Skull's altar. They were angry at Erandur, an anger I initially assumed was for trespassing, but as it turned out they personally knew Erandur...who was formerly known as Casimir, the man whose memory I walked. I guess that explains why his memories were the strongest in the Temple.

Naturally, a battle was inevitable and both priests attacked at once, their long sleep hindering them not in the slightest. But they were priests, not warriors.

Our path to the Skull of Corruption was finally clear. Before arriving at Dawnstar Erandur had a ritual granted to him by Mara to send the accursed staff back to where ever it came from, prompting the guilt-ridden man to make the journey to begin with. Now free to proceed, he bounded up the stairs, no doubt eager to free Dawnstar and clear his conscience.

Moments after he began a woman's voice coyly slid into my head, enticing me to slay Erandur while he remained enthralled in his ritual and take the Skull for my own. But I have had long before now had enough to do with Daedric Princes and ignored Vaermina's prodding.

The Skull of Corruption disappeared in a flash, the workings of Mara through Erandur, formerly known as Casimir. He appeared to be quite spent after he came out of his trance, but refused my offer of an escort back to town. Instead, he planned to construct a small shrine to Mara within the Temple and tend to the grounds, perhaps to one day convert it to Mara's worship, perhaps not. Erandur also offered his companionship should I need it on my adventures. I have found I work better alone, more often than not.

Speaking of being alone, Serana was still waiting for me outside the Temple, irritated and sullen about having been stuck outside the whole time with nothing to do. She said nothing on the walk from Dawnstar to Morthal.

I decided to stop at Morthal because one of the pieces of Mehrune's Razor was said to be here. A few questions led me to a modest farmhouse. The man inside, Jorgen, knew what he was in possession of, but cared little for it anyway. Three hundred Septims bought me the hilt to the dagger, the other two pieces will likely be harder to acquire.

Another day, another problem of someone else's solved. Serana is closer yet to her family's estate, should they still be there, but what we will find once we arrive is a mystery I have some trepidation about solving.

Skyrim Day 052 - The Sleeping Vampire and a Plague of Dreams

7 Frostfall, 4E201

Dawnstar

~~~

My meager accommodation did not lend itself towards a good night's sleep. Rather it merely allowed a quick nap, a limitation I was to heavily regret by the end of my exertions.

The inside of the tomb was a war-zone, rogue wizards and highwaymen against Draugr. I was able to observe several skirmishes unseen, the wizards were able to overpower the tomb's guardians, but I watched a Draugr take down two common bandits bereft of magical assistance with seemingly little trouble.

As for me, any surviving bandits or Draugr succumbed to a combination of dagger and stealth, a skill I seem to have finally acquired after a few hundred years.

The place had been described to me as a tomb, but the cramped corpse-lined burials vaults gave way to large, well-adorned caverns with extensive woodwork and traps. Ustengrav was no simple tomb, except for the unfortunate bandits, but it was only after I descended further into the ground that its purpose became clear.

I smelled outside air as soon as I stepped through the door and was surprised to find that, further underground, there was an opening in the roof of the cavern, allowing the morning's waning moon to shine down, bathing the area in damp, blue light.

But to reach the open area I had to proceed through a series of passages circling around it, the passages opening to eating halls whose tables were still stocked with food, the origin of which I can only assume were the bandits the Draugr and I dispatched. Perhaps the Draugr had not yet been awakened when they first arrived and counted themselves lucky at finding such an extensive, secretive hideaway. What few Draugr patrolled the eating areas I easily put to rest with my crossbow.

Reaching the open cavern I was amazed at the true size of it. It boasted several rivers, a lake, and even a copse of Skyrim pine. One of the ancient Dragon Walls was situated next to a small waterfall and I approached it confidently, learning 'Zii', Spirit.

Other curiosities awaited me there. A small passage hidden behind the waterfall led to a Draugr and a chest, neither yielding anything valuable. At the other side of the cavern sat a skeleton eternally pondering something until I came too close, waking it from its slumber.

Other than startling me it did no harm.

The highlight of my visit was the three stones someone set in front of a triple portcullis. Their method of operation was clear: when I drew close to one, it began to glow and one of the gates would open. Walking away dimmed the stone's light and the gate would close. It was impossible for a single adventurer to trigger all three stones at once and even if that were possible the gates were too far to pass through before they would close.

I must have spent an hour there just puzzling out how to keep the gates open. I tried throwing stones to prop them up, spent some time attempting to move the large glowing stones closer to the gates, I attacked them with my sword and dagger, cast spells at them, all to no avail.

The only thing I had not yet tried then was using one of my unpleasant Shouts. I did...and nothing happened. But then I remembered the second Shout spell I had learned from the Greybeards, the one that would push me through the air. My only chance was to trigger the three gates quickly, then use the Shout to throw myself through the gates before they closed on me. Simple.

Of course it was not that simple. I wound up throwing myself against the iron gates a dozen times, fortunately not hurting myself too badly, before I managed just the right timing to make it through the gates just as they closed behind me. Any apprehension about being trapped was quickly dispelled: each gate had a pull-chain on the opposite side to let people out...or in, I suppose. I am just glad it worked, the alternative was giving up completely, maybe hiring a mercenary to stand at the stones while I went through the gates.

Beyond were just some spiders, somehow surviving behind the gates, and a large chamber filled with water. Four statues, each a Dragon's head, rose from the water on either side of the small bridge, at the end of which was Jurgen Windcaller's horn.

After that I was free to leave.

The cave which the Dawnguard leader requested I investigate was on the other side of the road from Ustengrav, said to be little more than a crevice from the outside. I was sure I would have trouble finding it and I was correct. I would come to regret this decision some time later.

The cave was atop a hill, but from the road I could not see a way up. So I simply followed the hill around, figuring to find a path upwards at some point. After a few minutes I began to smell smoke and soon came upon a destroyed hall, the bodies of the vampires' black hounds scattered outside, the remains of vampires and Vigilantss of Stendarr within. The Vigilant at Dawnguard was correct in his assumption, for I found nothing that hinted at anyone having surviving the attack.

The Vigilants of Stendarr may not have been completely exterminated, but the vampires had successfully dealt the Order a severe blow. Only the Vigilants patrolling the roads likely remain and they have no place to call home now. The Dawnguard are now fated to face the vampires alone in a massive, understaffed fortress.

Being told where the cave was provided little help in actually finding it. When I came upon stairs carved into the hillside I thought they would lead me to my destination, but they unfortunately ended at a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon that I had no interest in at all. Descending the stairs, I saw a small ruin a ways away near a broken Oblivion Gate and crept towards it only to find three sleeping bandits. I had no reason to kill them, so on I went.

Eventually my wandering about the hill brought me to a small stairway of four steps which led into a unfinished cave. This proved to be my desired destination, a confirmation of which I received quite quickly.

Once inside I heard, very clearly, a woman bragging about how stupid the Vigilants were, one of them having entered the cavern alone and been overpowered by the vampires at the entrance. The vampires continued to chat as I crept forward and laughed over the fact that two of their number were killed by the Vigilant before he succumbed. They scorned the dead, laughing that that the dead vampires acted above their station anyway. No honor among vampires, it seems.

They were perhaps the most talkative pair of vampires I have ever met, continuing to chat as I circled around them, waiting to pick one off as soon as they separated. The female vampire complained that someone named 'Lokil' was taking much too long with whatever he was doing deep inside the ruin and she contemplated returning to the vampires' castle to tell 'Harkon' of Lokil's presumed failure.

The two argued over this point for a few minutes, the man being more loyal to Lokil than his counterpart and once the argument died down they returned to their respective posts: the man to an empty cart at the cavern wall opposite the ruin's gate, the woman across from him, at the gate. In between the two was a black hound, sniffing around indifferently. The bunch gave off an air of not caring about whatever was happening deeper inside and their attention was lax because of it.

Once the two chatty vampires and their dog were taken care of, I crept through the gate, entering a fairly standard-looking Nordic burial site. I turned one corner just in time to watch a vampire lose her head to a Draugr axe, a satisfying sight.

Further on was a natural cavern whose permanent leaking from the ceiling created an artificial rain, complete with a small pond in the corner. A vampire was sitting beyond the pond, meditating or something of that nature, but when I tried to sneak up the path to bury my dagger in his back I was surprised by skeletons who clawed up from underneath the water in twos and threes...after which they stood there, doing nothing, as I was not yet spotted. Such was the dismal enchantment binding them together that I was able to simply walk up to each of them, smack them in the head with my sword, and dispel their magicka.

The vampire was barely more aware, allowing me to approach him unseen. Vampires have a reputation as being "creatures of the night", yet I have been able to gain the advantage in stealth every time I have encountered them. Perhaps it is their arrogance which blinds them to the threat of a sneaky Khajiit.

Onward I crept, the architecture of the place giving way from what I assume is a "traditional" burial ruin to something almost Dwemer: blocky and overly massive, only with stone gargoyles placed here and there as opposed to Dwemer constructs. These gargoyles were harmless carvings, but quite fierce looking.

I found the "treasure" of Dimhollow in a large, ornate chamber at the deepest part of the crypt. When I entered, I was greeted by two gargoyle statues and the sounds of an argument further below. One Vigilant was still alive, bravely refusing to divulge his now-fallen Order's secrets to the vampire 'Lokil', evidently the leader of the dwindling group of vampires.

The Vigilant died out of my sight, I being busy trying to keep in the shadows as I descended the balcony I found myself on. The balcony's stairs led to a small bridge connecting it to a ritualistic-looking arena of archways and columns build on an island of stone where the remaining vampires were occupied. I watched them for a few moments, one patrolled the perimeter of the structure while the others pushed, pulled, and poked at several braziers scattered inside the columns.

When the patrolling vampire drew close to the bridge a Khajiit, hanging perilously underneath it, grabbed his ankle and pulled him to his doom, the cavern's lake being too far down to see. His scream alerted the others, but as I had hoped they thought him clumsy, not ambushed.

While they made their jokes I climbed into the arena on the other side of the bridge and knifed one of them in the back. The remaining vampire put up a fight, but it was over quickly. I could not tell which one of them was Lokil, but that wound up not being important anyway.

A book on one of the vampires was written by the late Vigilant Adalvald detailing an earlier, less fatal exploration of Dimhollow Crypt. His thoughts mirrored my own: this part of the crypt was not built by Nords or Dwemer, but he went one step further: he thought that the different architecture originated from an ancient clan of vampires.

It was hard to argue given what had already transpired.

The braziers that the vampires had been fussing over were set into channels carved into the floor and set upon rollers, allowing them to be slid along the channels in different configurations. It was an obvious puzzle, one the vampires did not complete. The channels circled around a pedestal in the center, but I could see no obvious way to determine how to proceed.

Experimenting, I pushed the brazier on the outside channel around and was surprised when one location caused a harmless purple flame to ignite in the brazier, quickly spreading along the channel. The flame stopped where the channel met another radiating from the center pedestal, but I understood then what was required.

The remaining braziers needed to be pushed into the end of the flame, causing the braziers to ignite and push the fire deeper within the circular channels. Once all the braziers were in place the flames were encircling the pedestal and as I suspected that was the key to unlocking Dimhollow Crypt's so-called treasure.

The pedestal rose from the ground, a panel slid open, revealing...a sleeping woman. She was ornately dressed and woke quickly, stepping out of the pedestal as if what was happening was simply the most normal thing in Skyrim.

She immediately started firing questions at me, seeming not the least bit anxious or confused at either being awoken or inside of the pedestal. She demanded to know if I was a vampire and appeared a bit confused to find that was not so.

Continuing with her aloofness, she demanded to be escorted to her family home west of Solitude, only introducing herself as 'Serana' after that. Then it was my turn to ask questions.

First, I wanted to know how long she had been sleeping. She claimed to not know who the High King of Skyrim currently was and remarked sourly that a war of succession was just perfect, showing that nothing got boring while she had been sleeping. When I explained that the Empire supported one candidate and the rebel Stormcloaks another, she became genuinely confused, asking me what Empire I was talking about. Reminding her that the Empire came from Cyrodiil caused a great deal of alarm, her haughtiness giving way to uncertainty as she asked once again to be taken to her family's home as soon as possible. She suspected that her sleep had gone on for far longer than planned and did not know what else to do other than see if her vampire family still lived.

Serana not remembering the Empire makes me wonder how long she has truly been asleep. There has always been an Empire of some sort out of Cyrodiil since the First Era four thousand years ago. That is quite a nap, though I do not think Serana has been sleeping that long. It seems rather improbable to sleep for four thousand years, awake, then expect your family is still where you left them.

While on our way out two gargoyle statues suddenly sprang at us, but Serana blew them apart with her magicka before I could do much of anything. I did not appreciate that, actually.

Even less appreciated was her raising a gargoyle's corpse so that I had to contend with a shifty, confused vampiress and a eight-foot hulking undead stone-skin monster...walking behind me the whole time. It was not a good start to our relationship.

Because I had not yet suffered enough, we still had to fight through a group of powerful Draugr, then through an ancient arena still thronging with Draugr spectators and nobility, all of whom tried to kill us.

One side of the Arena housed a Word Wall which taught me 'Gaan', Stamina. If Serana thought the learning process odd she did not make mention of it.

By then it felt as though I had been underground for a week, but the double door on the far side of the arena's cavern opened to a rough-hewn passage that smelled encouragingly of fresh, cold air, which Serana complained of almost immediately. I do not seem to get along with people any longer.

Once we were outside she also complained of the sunlight, but I ignored her. The exit from Dimhollow placed us on the opposite side of the hill, I found a rough path that led to the road to Dawnstar, but I had to fight through the partially ruined Fort Dunstad to get there. Serana had disappeared somewhere between the crypt and the fort, but I had no problems killing a few bandits on my own.

One had a unique-looking weapon, a single-edged sword with intricate carvings along the cleaver-like blade. I have never seen its like before, probably a family heirloom of the late, unnamed bandit. I decided to give it a try myself and will be using it through the next few days.

Continuing to Dawnstar I passed another fort on my right and a giant's camp on my left, neither causing me any trouble. Serana decided to join me again just as we both arrived at Dawnstar.

As the last city I had to visit in Skyrim, Dawnstar was a bit of a disappointment. The best that could be said about it was that it was a well-ordered fishing village, somewhat large for the type, but the docks had little traffic, most of it likely passing Dawnstar in favor of Solitude.

A courtesy visit to Jarl Skald found him in bad humor, everyone in Dawnstar was sleeping terribly, plagued by nightmares. A priest of Mara was staying in Dawnstar, attempting to rectify this situation. It was suggested I speak to him if I had any interest in allowing the town its sleep. The Jarl mentioned that the town has seen a few Dragons flying over as of late, but blamed the sightings on the Empire's abandonment of Talos. Once the Stormcloaks have driven out the Empire, in his words, the Dragons will go away too. I could not think of a response to that.

Serana excused herself and went to find the Inn, the sun-lit snow too bright for her unaccustomed eyes.

I had not forgotten Silus Vesuius or his Mythic Dawn museum. Finding it was easy: I had only to follow the sound of a heated argument taking place in front of a house adorned with ragged banners bearing the Mythic Dawn's rising sun.

The argument was between a man on the porch, shabbily dressed in an imitation of Mythic Dawn robes, and a woman, mage by her outfit, at the foot of the steps. The discussion was over by the time I reached the house and the woman introduced herself as Madena, Court Wizard of Dawnstar. She begged me not to step inside the museum, that things such as the Mythic Dawn are best left forgotten. I could not agree more, but I said nothing. She excused herself and I went inside, the man, presumably Silus Vesuius having gone inside as I spoke with Madena.

Silus was surprised to see a visitor, but welcomed me enthusiastically. His "museum" was not terribly impressive: a faded banner, a hood and cloak, the single page of the Mysterium...something, and a set of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries, written by the deluded Altmer, Mankar, may he still suffer to this day.

The last display case had a scabbard marked with an Oblivion rune. When I asked Silus about it he excitedly exclaimed that it belonged to Mehrune's Razor and announced that he had a job for me.

Unknown to me groups of vigilantes formed after the Oblivion Crisis for the sole purpose of eliminating the remnants the Mythic Dawn cult. Mehrunes' Razor was acquired by one of these groups and, true to their cause, broke the blade into three pieces rather than use an artifact of Mehrune Dagon

Silus said that the blade was broken over one hundred years ago, the pieces being passed down to the group's descendants, all of whom were, coincidentally, now living in Skyrim. Silus had a list of the three individuals and their locations, two of whom fell to banditry, one to an unknown profession in Morthal.

I told him I might look into the matter, though I did not promise anything. Inside 'Windpeak' Inn I spoke with the priest of Mara, a Dunmer named 'Erandur'. He explained that the nightmares were merely a symptom of the real problem: the Daedric Prince Vaermina. Erandur had tracked the source of the Prince's manifestation to the ruins of the nearby "Nightcaller Temple", but was too inexperienced in combat to venture in himself. I agreed to help, as it will no doubt be useful to have a reputation as a problem-solver with the Jarl, should he and I have any future business.

But Serana had disappeared to a room of her own hours ago and I unintentionally passed the night of 6 Frostfall in Dimhollow Crypt, so I desperately needed the rest. I got the directions to the temple from Erandur and promised to meet him there tomorrow. I am sure Serana can wait one more day.