Skyrim Day 099 - A Game of Khajiit & Dragon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So battle it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim Day 097 - Another Worthless Promotion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim Day 095 - Regaining the Rift

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So again I was off to Riften!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am going to have a nap first.

Skyrim Day 094 - The Long Report

25 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim Day 093 - Taking Fort Dunstad

25 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim Day 092 - The Battle for Whiterun

23 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Whiterun
~~~

I had allowed myself a rare moment of tardiness in convincing myself that my arrival at Whiterun last night was too late to call upon the Jarl. I knew my news of Ulfric's reply to Balgruuf would gain me entrance at any time of the night, but I told myself this morning would not be too late.

It was.

I awoke to the sounds of horns and shouting men beyond the city's walls and realized that Ulfric made good on his word much quicker than I anticipated. I thought he would need to rally his soldiers, gather supplies and equipment, then march on Whiterun.

Instead the Stormcloaks must have nearly marched on my heels last night, for they were arrayed around the city, catapults somehow constructed overnight, and were beginning to surround the city as I rushed to Dragonsreach.

I found the Jarl in an upstairs chamber planning the city's defense with an Imperial Legate I had not seen before. No one gave me a second glance as I ascended the staircase, so I stood to the side and listened to the Jarl and the Legate bicker. The Jarl arrogantly declared that he was not concerned with his guards, only the "Imperial milk drinkers". The Legate tartly replied that he and his men could sit the battle out if it would help...though I doubt that would have been truly possible. Whatever the case, the Jarl apologized. Stress was high.

An Imperial messenger arrived out of breath, shouting that he had arrived just as the Stormcloaks closed off the approaches into the city. The Legate ordered his advisors to see to the Legion's deployment, leaving the Jarl, the Legate, and Irileth peering at a map of the city, the latter whom excused herself a few moments later to see to the city guards.

I announced myself then, startling the two men, but the coincidental return of his axe made the Jarl chuckle, replying that he had a feeling Ulfric would provide such a reply. Anticipating it, he had sent for the Imperial Legion as I left Whiterun, making my journey necessary only to goad the Stormcloak leader into rash action. Balgruuf suggested I resume my duties as a Legionnaire and asked the Legate if he had any business for me. He curtly replied that all Legionnaires were expected to be already at the walls, so I bowed and left Dragonsreach.

Balls of fire were raining down on the city as I rushed down the stairs, but they seemed unable to damage the buildings, even with a direct impact. The villagers were in far more danger, but other than an orphan who quickly scampered into a house I saw no one on the streets who was not armed and heading for the gate.

Unfortunately I was still dressed as a commoner! I dashed into Breezehome, just about turned over the bedroom chest, and quickly armed and adorned myself with my familiar equipment. Lydia asked if I wanted her at the walls or in the house, obviously desiring the former, so I suggested she equip a bow and join the defense. Suitably equipped a minute or so later I followed her out and towards the sounds of battle outside the walls.

The first wave of Stormcloaks were laying before the rushed barricade jammed underneath the decrepit outer gate, the bodies peppered with arrows and bolts.

The Legionnaire at the crumbling battlement over the outer gate shouted that a second group was charging and everyone leapt to what remained of the walls to pick up bows left there in an effort to thin the Stormcloaks' ranks. I had forgotten the bolts for my crossbow and waited, axe in hand, to slow down any rebels that might make it past the barricade. I saw several Stormcloaks fall, one with an arrow in his side from Lydia atop the larger and stronger city wall flanking the outer gate.

More Stormcloaks came pouring down the road towards the gate and the soldiers at the walls had fewer arrows than the rebels had bodies. The took up positions behind me, swords and hammers in hand as the Stormcloaks rolled the barricade away from the gate. I would look stupid suddenly running behind the others, so I stayed in front, a Khajiit bearing the first melee for a city which did not normally let her kind enter.

What happened next is quite a blur. Many of the Stormcloaks simply ran past me to engage the Legionnaires and guards, perhaps thinking I was a member of a caravan caught in-between. So it came to be that out of thirty or so rebels I fought only two at the small stream which the city uses to dispose of its waste.

It was a terribly uncoordinated attack that fed in soldiers in threes and fours, many of them getting shot down by archers on the city wall before they passed the outer gate. Those that survived that (and ran past me) fought Legionnaires and guards standing shield-to-shield with further support from archers on the watchtowers behind them. The Stormcloaks had no chance.

Ulfric, or any Stormcloak of note, was not in the battle. Of course.

The bodies of both sides were collected for the funeral pyre and a speech given by the victorious Jarl with the ever dour Irileth standing alongside. I did not see either of them in the battle either.

The speech was as expected: praise for the bravery of the survivors of Whiterun and Sovngarde for those that did not. A nod to the Imperials was also provided in the form of the obvious prediction that Ulfric would soon attack the other cities and that we would all need to band together to finally end Skyrim's civil war.

With that everyone walked back inside the city to tend to the wounded, but a Legionnaire stopped me as I turned to enter.

It was Hadvar, equipped as a front-line "heavy" Legionnaire. He laughed when I turned to face him and joked that he had expected to find me face-down in the dirt somewhere in Skyrim. A bit insulting, perhaps, but he seemed sincerely happy to see me again. Having already run out of things to say he clapped me on the shoulder and jogged down to the outer gate to make sure no corpses had been missed.

The town was smoldering, but the fires seemed under control and I had to report back to Solitude with news of the Imperial victory.

So it was on the road once again for me.

I had just passed the ruined watchtower which Skyrim's first awakened Dragon had nearly destroyed when one of the sentries shouted "Dragon!". I had just enough time to duck as a giant gold-colored Dragon swooped low over the road, attacking someone further ahead of me.

The "someone" was a mounted Imperial detachment returning to Castle Dour and they rushed back to the tower as the Dragon swept around for another pass at them. They reached the tower just in time to save themselves, but their horses were not so lucky. The Legionnaires joined the guards in loosing arrows at the beast from atop the tower as I drew my axe. I am sure it looked stupid, such a short weapon against the Dragon, but I have suspected that they know of the Dragonborn and anticipated that they would start targeting me. In this I appear, at least, to have been correct.

Once the Dragon noticed the Khajiit standing alone on the road it ignored the watchtower and landed right next to me with a bone-shaking thud. This provided my allies an easier target, but their cheap iron-headed arrows mostly glanced off the Dragon's hard scales. As usual it was down to my hand weapon to fell such a great creature.

The strategy I have found to be effective is to concentrate on the wings first to limit its mobility, then the head. Plodding along the ground seems to wear them down very quickly.

With a grateful wave to the cheering soldiers on the tower I resumed my journey to Solitude...

..and encountered absolutely nothing else along the way, reaching the city before the gates locked for the night. I chose to not repeat the mistake I made last night and immediately reported to Castle Dour with news of the Imperial victory. As expected I found the General and the Legate still at the map table.

General Tullius congratulated me on "my" victory and promoted me to Quaestor, which I gather has no practical benefit to me. He stated that my unique skills would be wasted on the line and felt I would be more useful as a "flexible agent", which I agree with. To that end I am to report to The Pale, an L-shaped region containing Dawnstar and little else. The Legate will be on her way there tomorrow in order to take command of a raid there, one I anticipate I shall be taking part in.

Best to rest up and travel with the dawn. The sooner the Empire regains its hold on Skyrim the sooner the menace of the Dragons can be countered.

Skyrim Day 088 - Re-Enlisting

19 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Solitude

~~~

I discovered this morning that I had indeed forgotten something: to take a curative or two after the battle at Volkihar Keep. I was already starting to show signs of the disease this morning, the symptoms having started quite early, or so I thought.

Angeline's Aromatics was well-stocked with restoratives and curatives, making my ironic descent into vampirism a very short story. I asked the date after drinking two of the required elixirs and was told it was 19 Sun's Dusk, three days after the Volkihar Clan's final stand. The Cairn took three days from me for a walk, though minorly waylaid, that felt only a matter of hours.

It fell upon me then to decide upon my next course of action. Delphine's was pressing, but if it was critical I expect she would have sent a courier. I still have the very strange device Septimus Signus gave me, now full of the blood of various bandits he claims to need to unlock his Dwemer cube. He, however, is north of Winterhold and I do not expect to return there for some time.

Reviewing my notes I saw that Delphine thought that the Thalmor were resurrecting the Dragons, no doubt to assist them with further conquests. If that were the case, would it not be preferable to see Skyrim's civil war ended to the advantage of one of the non-Thalmor factions?

My choices were the Imperial Legion or the Stormcloaks. These options made for no choice at all, for I doubt the Stormcloaks would have accepted a Khajiit to begin with. Besides, I felt it would be interesting to serve within the Legion once again, even if my previous rank was not to be granted a few hundred years later.

The enlistment point for the Imperial Legion in Skyrim happens to be a block or so away from Proudspire Manor in a small fortress built into the city walls. The fortress, named 'Castle Dour', overlooks the coast and is the most fortified position in the city, even more than Skyrim's current seat of power in the Blue Palace.

During my short jaunt I overheard two guards talking about hearing howling at night near the walls, one trying to convince the other that the howling was from werewolves. I do not understand why the guard would think the howls to be from werewolves, which are very rare, instead of wolves, which are not. I myself have not fought werewolves since my time on Solstheim, but the memories of so long ago a time are hazy and only getting hazier.

The soldiers standing watch at the Imperial garrison entrance proved surprisingly unconcerned regarding an unknown Khajiit walking past them and into the headquarters of their general. The argument inside was enough to drown out the sound of my entrance, one voice had the clipped tones of a Cyrodiil nobleman, the other was a woman's, obviously Nordic.

The nobleman was none other than General Tullius himself, an acquaintance from my near-execution at Helgen. Seeing me enter he wryly remarked that his guards seemed to be allowing anyone free reign of the castle.

I introduced myself as having been at Helgen and he nodded, remembering me as one of the prisoners. I replied that I had helped Hadvar (fortunately remembering his name!) escape and that he suggested I enlist with the Legion.

However Hadvar, after eighty-eight days or so, had still not reported back to Castle Dour. He likely reported to one of the local garrisons closer to his home, for I do not remember him as being the sort to be intimidated out of duty, even by a Dragon. The General was willing to wait for Hadvar to show and suggested I speak to his second, Legate Rikke, about opportunities for individuals as 'resourceful' as myself. He ended our conversation by stating that he was sure my imprisonment was all just a misunderstanding...which it actually was, but I did not press the point.

I do not remember seeing Legate Rikke at Helgen and she gave me no time to inquire. The Legate looked me over and brusquely declared that she had a "good feeling" about me, a rarity. Rather than go through enlistment, a process she did not explain, Legate Rikke instead gave me a "special mission".

The mission was as follows: Travel to a ruin once known as Fort Hraggstad located on the coast halfway between Solitude and the dock built for Volkihar Keep. Once there I was to eliminate the group of bandits that had taken up residence. Rikke judged the risk of losing even one soldier to the paltry band not worth the dubious reward and had been sitting on the assignment until I walked in.

Seemed simple enough.

It began to storm as I left Solitude, but the thunder was not enough to drown out the roaring of a Dragon that flew overhead as I ascended into the hills along the coast.

But once again this Dragon only circled about, made some noise, then flew off. Perhaps it did not notice me or particularly care. It has been awhile since I have been attacked by a Dragon, save for Durnehviir in the Soul Cairn. It may be that Delphine is correct in guessing that the Thalmor are controlling the Dragons and have had them stand off after their early losses against myself and the guardsmen of whatever towns they have assaulted.

I reached the remains of the fortress without incident and found it much like any other fortress in Skyrim: weather-beaten, ill-maintained, and occupied by bandits.

Most of the bandits were in the courtyard, two walking along the ramparts. I felled one with a bolt, bringing the other four charging out at me through the gate. I felled another at range as they closed in and dispatched the other three with barely any effort, their fur armor no defense against my ebony blade.

The leader was inside the keep guarding an empty set of  prison cells. I caught him muttering to himself as I sneaked in and silently ended his concerns with a blade across the throat. I left the bodies for Rikke's soldiers to throw into the sea.

Rikke and General Tullius were talking about a cultural artifact called the 'Jagged Crown' when I returned to Castle Dour. The exasperated Legate was trying, unsuccessfully, to explain to the General why the Jagged Crown was important to the Nords. For his part, the General kept insisting that the Moot was more important, regardless if Legate Rikke kept insisting the holder of the Crown would win the Moot.

The General glanced over at me while in the midst of their conversation and suggested that the 'Auxiliary' be sent to retrieve it. It took me a moment to realize he was referring to me. I have not gone by that title in hundreds of years and have been getting used to 'Dragonborn', to be honest. But Auxiliary I am once again.

The conversation broke for the moment and Rikke administered the Imperial oath, officiating my enlistment. Once that was done she ordered me to report to the local blacksmith, Beirand, to receive the official raiment, after which I was to proceed to Korvanjund, a Nordic ruin somewhat northeast of Whiterun, probably near Aftland. 

The Legate and her soldiers will also be traveling to the ruin, but naturally I am to travel ahead by myself, as a scout of sorts I suppose. It is funny to be hailed as the Dragonborn while at the same time occupy the very lowest rank of the Legion in which I have served alongside for so many years.

But she and her squad will not be leaving until late tomorrow, so I will set out early tomorrow. I may as well enjoy the comforts of my home in the limited time I am able. 

Skyrim Day 087 - Family Disunion

Unknown Date, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

Sleeping in the former castle of the Volkihar family was easier than I had anticipated. Once I found an actual bedroom I pushed several bookcases behind the door and fell upon the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

No one attacked me in my sleep, though I did wake with a terrible thirst. Some minor illness, I  hope.

Finding my way back to Valerica's laboratory proved more difficult a task than I anticipated, largely due to my somehow forgetting how to get there! I am not sure how long it took me to find my way back, but it must have been at least an hour of pointless wandering among the rubble of Castle Volkihar. When I arrived the portal to the Soul Cairn was still spinning energetically, sending purple light and shadows dancing about the room.

The Cairn had not changed much in my absence. The confused souls were still lounging around and the soul fragments were still flitting about, chased by blackened skeletons inexplicably wielding swords and bows. For as much as I know about the place it is possible a thousand years passed from my last visit, or a few seconds.

Walking back to the ruined castle Valerica was using as her field camp was just as disorientating as it was originally. At times I felt I was walking without covering any discernable distance, others I was sprinting across the land making great progress. In the end I doubt I approached the place at any pace greater than a careful walk, whatever my confused senses were telling me.

Valerica was still busy at her makeshift alchemy lab and seemed irritated at having her research interrupted. If she wondered why Serana was not with me she hid it well. She took the news of her estranged husband's death with no joy, only commenting that she would move her work back to her old study. She thanked me, but I am just glad to be done with the whole mess, gratitude or not.

I wasted an more time trying to walk back to the portal than I did from it. I kept getting turned around, ending up in sharp-edged ruins and crumbling tombs, assaulted by skeletons and magicka-flinging spirits despite being very sure I was heading in straight line back to whence I came. The skeletons were not a great concern, but I could not help but feel increasingly panicked at the thought of never finding my way back to Tamriel.

This was foolishness, of course, perhaps some side-effect due to the oppressiveness of the place. I eventually found myself at the wall that divided Valerica's portion of the Cairn in two, then followed it until I was able to pass through its gatehouse to the side hosting the portal.

I had barely time enough to ascend the staircase back inside her laboratory before Valerica appeared at the portal, more proof that time and distance in the Soul Cairn is not quite as measurable as it seems.

The vampire matriarch nodded at me as she passed by me on the balcony, declaring that it was time for her to resume her work as an alchemist...an odd desire considering nearly all of her family had been slain and her only daughter, who evidently forgot to retrieve her, was joined with a band of vampire hunters. Alchemy was more important, I suppose.

I asked about the continuing existence of the Cairn portal, desiring privately that it be destroyed, but she offhandedly declared it useful for her research as if there was no reason to not want it to remain open. She must have thought I felt the same way, for she assured me I would be able to come and go through the portal as I please now that my soul has become "attuned" to the place. Great news.

I retraced my steps back out to the jetty and re-entered the castle through the bloodied entrance, where I will be spending my last night in this accursed place. I am not sure what day it actually is due to the capricious nature of the Soul Cairn, but I shall enquire to that tomorrow. 

Tonight I rest victorious, but uneasy. I cannot shake the feeling that I am forgetting something important.

Skyrim Day 083 - A Long, Boring Walk

12 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Winterhold

~~~

Spending a night at my Solitude estate is a rare blessing, even if it is much too large for one person, or even two, as the case was yesterday.

I woke with Serana patiently waiting in my bedroom, which was a bit disconcerting. She must have guessed as much for she assured me that she spent most of the night in the basement, working on enchantments and alchemy.

Ahead of us was the task to travel to Fort Dawnguard, rally the Dawnguard, and assault her family's castle. The worst part of that, I am sure, is all the walking. I have almost certainly seen more of Skyrim than many of her residents, even if most of it is either forest or barren snow.

As if on cue we were attacked, in full daylight, by a trio of vampires just out of sight of Solitude's ramparts. They nullified what little advantage greater numbers gave them by beginning their attack while nearly fifty yards away. Between Serana's spells and my crossbow two were eliminated before they entered melee range and the other crumpled quickly.

Serana and I continued east without interruption, passing Dawnstar before noon. Just after the town we encountered a rider on the road who, much to our surprise, shouted that she was on urgent business with the Dawnguard and needed us to step aside. She sounded too young to be on any sort of business, but we were both surprised to see any evidence that things were happening without us.

And that was pretty much the day. We both agreed that stopping in Winterhold was preferable to trudging into Fort Dawnguard after midnight, so Serana is back again at the alchemy table and I am again preparing to rest in comfort, this time in the quarters of the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.

Tomorrow we shall be speaking with Isran and readying the Dawnguard for the assault...meaning another trip across the province for the two of us. For all the preparation Isran has been busying himself with why could he not have purchased some carriages?

Skyrim Day 082 - The Curse of Immortality

11 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

Serana and I left Falkreath later than we had planned, leaving what passes for a gatehouse after the townspeople had started their day. Fortunately for Serana the weather was overcast and we made good time to the fields of Whiterun, at which point the clouds abruptly cleared, much to her dismay.

The plain has the advantage of being relatively flat, robbing animals and bandits of the advantage of surprise. The downside is that it is relatively flat, robbing us of the advantage of our own surprise. With Whiterun just in the distance we suddenly heard a roaring from the sky. Another Dragon, though we have not been seeing many as of late, Soul Cairn aside.

The Dragon flew directly over us, but despite being stuck on the plain it failed to see us, or was uninterested. It roared some more before flapping its way behind the hills to wherever it had settled down. I was not eager to waste time tracking it and Serana simply wanted to find some shade, so we continued on.

We passed through Dragon Bridge and backtracked along the river until we reached where I guessed the Elder Scroll had been marking. After some searching we uncovered a cave (of course!) entrance overgrown with vegetation. A few moments with my dagger saw a serviceable entrance made of it and in we went.

The cavern was wet and mossy, but seemingly empty until we came upon the remains of a Breton and his small camp. The damp had done nothing advantageous to his body, but his rucksack had protected a piece of parchment he had scribbled a warning to his sister on.

Why the man thought trolls could be good neighbors is a mystery, but I appreciated his warning of what lay ahead. Situated inside of a large cavern with several pools of water, the family of trolls numbered almost a dozen, but my crossbow made silent work of most of them.

Once that business was concluded Serana expressed her doubts that this was the correct location. I agreed, nothing of the place suggested it was hiding a powerful artifact, but I pointed out that would make this an ideal place to hide such a thing. She laughed, a rarity, and agreed to continue inwards a bit more.

A good thing we did, for ahead we found a man tending to an underground shrine. He had not seen us yet and we did not know who he was, so we crept behind a small rise in the cavern floor and observed him. Serana whispered that she was fairly sure the shrine he was fussing over was to Auri-El, the first indication we had that we were in the right cave.

Assuming she was correct I rose and greeted the man, startling him greatly. He invited us closer though and it was not until we drew closer than I realized there was something off about the man's appearance. I had taken him for an Altmer, but he introduced himself as 'Knight-Paladin Gelebor', the last of the Snow Elves.

I confess to not knowing much of the Snow Elves other than that they were somehow corrupted into the Falmer. The Knight-Paladin was not one for stories however, assuming (correctly) that we were there seeking Auriel's Bow, for as he acidly put it: why would we be there otherwise?

He and a few others had escaped the corruption by virtue of being away when it happened, but the relationship soured over the many years. Before Gelebor would assist us with finding the Bow we had to agree to kill his brother, the self-styled Arch-Curate Vyrthur, who lay under the sway of the Falmer...somehow.

I admit to confusion on this part. The Falmer are barely above animals and posses no language I have ever heard of. How could they be responsible for the corruption of an un-corrupted Snow Elf? I felt there was more to the story and in this I proved to be quite correct.

Killing Vyrthur would require Serana and I to travel through each of the 'Wayshrines' of Auri-El, the first of which Gelebor was guarding and refused to leave. Once we agreed (given no choice), he cast a spell on the stone effigy of Auri-El, revealing a small gatehouse beneath it. Serana was impressed, but the Dwemer left devices that do the very same thing all over the place.

Initiates to Auri-El had to travel to each wayshrine with an empty jug, collecting water from the basins of each wayshrine as they went. Once they had completed their visitations the jug would be filled and brought to the temple nearby. Simple, but they had no Falmer to contend with. We filled our jug with water from Gelebor's wayshrine and stepped through the shimmering portal that appeared along its brickwork.

In a flash we were in front of a different wayshrine in a very damp, warm cave. The plants were all luminescent, some retracting fearfully as we passed by. Evidence of the Falmer was easy to find, but no Falmer themselves.

After quite a bit of walking we found the second wayshrine, retracted as the first had been. A spectral apparition was faithfully waiting next to it and greeted the two of us as initiates.

We spoke to it, affirming our faith and it opened the wayshrine much as Gelebor had done. Inside was another basin of water and a second portal shimmering along the walls.

This wayshrine deposited us in a wet vale with fog that limited our vision to maybe a dozen paces.

A type of Sabre Cat I have not seen before prowled the valley, seeming to take pleasure in springing out of the fog from above us. They were nothing we could not handle, of course, and the Falmer had yet to be encountered.

The vale's wayshrine sent us to a frozen canyon, complete with a massive nearly-frozen waterfall cascading over the ice. I was dismayed by the sudden change of climate, but Serana was enamored by the sight, claiming it made all the difficulties up until now worth it. I disagreed, but kept silent.

Onward we went, finding the fourth wayshrine (of Learning) along the bank. This one sent us back underground to the realm of the glowing plants, but the path was different. It was here that we came upon the only indication that we were not the first to suffer this strange path, though Gelebor had not mentioned others before us.

The skeleton nearly crumbled to dust as I retrieved its rotten journal from underneath it and I could only make out the last entry the adventurer wrote, noting that there were traps ahead and that he planned to use them to his advantage...against what, he did not say, nor could I determine how he had died.

There were no Falmer ahead of the skeleton and soon the cavern exited outside the valley, on a path opposite where we had originally entered it. The path wound up the side of the valley wall, the final wayshrine (of Resolution) being along it as it continued upwards towards the main temple.

We stopped, filled the water pitcher, and continued on.

And that is when we finally found the Falmer.

Accustomed to the villages the creatures build in caves and Dwemer ruins, I was unprepared for the large Falmer city (if such a thing can be said to exist) that filled up the valley between us and the temple. Where the paths were too narrow to erect a hut they threw a bridge across to the other side. If a hut could be built atop another, it was. The effect was a very crowded mass of chitinous buildings and bridges, with Falmer above, below, in front, and behind.

I had brought a full sheaf of crossbow bolts into the valley, but exhausted them halfway through their icy metropolis. Serana's spells proved the deciding factor, as I am sure I would not have been able to fight off multiple Falmer from different directions and elevations all by myself, especially hand-to-hand!

At the end of the valley lay the final wayshrine, this one of Radiance.

Its portal sent us to our final destination: the Snow Elves' temple to Auri-El.

It was quiet, with no evidence of Falmer having made the place their home. Serana noted that the statue in the courtyard was of Auriel, but using symbols ancient to us. Given that she had been trapped underground so long this would mark the place as very ancient indeed.

Pouring the water we had laboriously collected into an empty basin at the entrance unlocked the door somehow and we cautiously stepped through to an eerily chilling sight.

Falmer and Chaurus stood frozen, encased in ice, around a shrine to their Auri-El. Several of the Falmer were wearing robes and holding staves above their head, suggesting an intelligence that is not quite present today. Perhaps they were seeking a cure for the horrid transformation? I will never know.

The remainder of the temple was more Dwemer in construction, large stone furniture geometrically shaped and littered with bones and skeletons.

And at the rear of the Temple waited the Arch-Curate Vyrthur, seated on a throne and surrounded by more frozen Falmer and Chaurus.

Watching us approach, he languidly congratulated me, saying that I had done exactly as he had hoped, bringing my "fetching companion" to me. Serana gasped and whispered if he was asking about her, which of course he was, for there was no one else with me.

With that the frozen "corpses" of the Falmer and Chaurus burst free and attacked us. Being encased in ice for however long left them weak and the two of us dispatched two dozen of them in only a few minutes. Once the last of his hapless pawns had fallen Vyrthur screamed and unleashed magicka into the ceiling of the temple, shattering it.

We ran for cover as he laughed and disappeared, but we fortunately escaped harm and continued after him.

Serana, probably spooked by discovering she was the center of Vyrthur's attention, ran ahead of me and caught up with the mad Snow Elf on a balcony overlooking the valley. As I caught up with them I heard him demand that she look into his eyes and tell him what she saw.

The Arch-Curate of Auri-El was a vampire.

Infected by one of his initiates, Vyrthur was (or felt) abandoned by his God and grew embittered. Cursed with immortality he had more than enough time to plan his revenge. So he created the prophecy Serana's father is so enamored with for the sole purpose of drawing a pure-blooded vampiress, a Daughter of Coldharbour, to harvest the blood he required.

The entire prophecy is a sham. The long sleep Serana took out of safety, unnecessary, save for the insanity of her father. With a snarl Serana hurled him from the balcony and the fight was on.

It lasted longer than I thought it would. The ancient armor Vyrthur and Gelebor wore provided some protection against Serana's spells, but my blade was another matter. Chasing the crazed man down was a different issue altogether, but eventually we cornered him and pummeled him with spell and blade until he was dead. So ends the prophecy, so far as the truth of it is concerned.

A few moments later a hidden wayshrine rose up in the courtyard and Gelebor stepped out, any help he could have provided no long being required. I walked over to him as Serana started to angrily strip the his brother's corpse, but Gelebor seemed not to mind.

The man's heart was colder than the surroundings. He expressed joy only in that the Falmer were not to blame for Vyrthur's madness, stating that there was still hope that they could be turned back to the guiding light of Auri-El. Sadness for his brother, previously half of Cyrodiil's Snow Elf population, was conspicuously missing.

He proclaimed Serana and I the rightful inheritors of Auriel's bow, despite neither of us being able to shoot it very well, if at all in Serana's case.

I was ready to take on Lord Harkon immediately, but Serana demurred. She felt that we would be overwhelmed by her father's loyal minions and advised a return to Isran on the entire opposite side of the province. 

This is maddening. And frustrating. I want this business over almost as much as Serana does, if only to save me from walking so much!

We used the temple's wayshrine to teleport back to the first one and backtracked through the cavern into the welcome light of the morning.

Serana and I were both surprised to discover it had only taken a day to travel to the cavern, fight to the first wayshrine, blunder about underground, fight through a Falmer city, open the ancient Temple, confront half of the remaining Snow Elves, kill him, claim Auriel's Bow, and return outside.

It was only when we arrived at Solitude for a much-deserved rest that we discovered it is now 11 Sun's Dusk, three days after we set off from Falkreath.

I should have stuck to chopping wood and escorting merchants. I may be immortal, in a way, but there are days like this when I simply feel very old.