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 091 - Underwhelmed by Windhelm

22 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Whiterun

~~~

It had not occurred to me before I accepted the axe, but there was only one Khajiit at Helgen and it was possible that Ulfric  would recognize her, which is to say myself. I spent more time last night thinking of creative (mostly magical) ways of disguising myself before realizing that the answer lay within forty Septims or so.

My plan was very simple: store all my gear at Breezehome and purchase the cheapest, most worn equipment Belethor and Ulfberth had to offer at their respective shops. This meant waiting for Belethor to stagger into his shop apparently whenever he pleases.

I decided to wait in the plaza as the town awoke around me.  The smaller merchants have stalls in the plaza square, most selling sundries I had no use for. I listened in on a conversation between a townsperson and an elderly merchant named 'Fralia' who was selling a small quantity of weaponry from the Battle-Born family forge.

The customer asked if the family had ever considered selling their wares to the Khajiit caravans, but she haughtily replied that they had enough customers as it was and did not need the help of Khajiit. A more vengeful one than I would relieve the Battle-Born of their goods, but I have no time for petty thievery...nor the skill to succeed, probably.

Distracted, I did not notice the Dunmer striding into the square until she was just about in front of me, leaning against a post holding up the overhanging roof of Belethor's shop.

She was extravagantly equipped, fully dressed in steel armor adorned with meteoric glass shaped to deflect and absorb blows. The stuff is too heavy for my liking, though I do prefer a glass blade to steel.

Obviously a mercenary, she introduced herself in typical Dunmer style: as an artist of blood painting upon the canvas of life...or something like that. I do not believe such flowerly language is appreciated by the Nords, less by a potential customer. We talked for a few moments, but it was clear to her that I was not a potential customer. Belethor unlocked his shop a few moments later, so I wished her fortune and stepped inside the shop as she nodded at me. 

Belethor had a better selection than I had been hoping for. I was looking for a farmer's canvas shirt and pants, but the man had specialized in expectation of the coming war between the Imperials and  the Stormcloaks, so I settled for a poorly-made set of fur armor into which large iron studs were set. It made me look more a bandit than impoverished wanderer, but I had to settle for what I could find.

Ulfberth was more accommodating, stocking dozens of the steel daggers Nords use a hundred times for just as many reasons every day. With the axe strung tight against my back and the dagger into my ill-fitting fur armor I set out on the road once again.

With my crossbow, bolts, weapons, armor, flasks, and ingredient pouches at Breezehome I felt very light on my feet with just a dagger, axe, and soft fur armor. I was also defenseless at range save for my magicka, but I had decided that was a last resort just in case Ulfric has agents along the roads.

That wound up not being a concern, the road between Whiterun and Windhelm was empty, I encountered only a single Sabre Cat which I bypassed with the aid of a Calm spell.

Windhelm is aptly named, the city sits on the coast north enough of the springs to receive no help against the cold coming over the sea from the north. 

The location is a bit of a mystery. Windhelm's docks are built in the shallows of the river, unlike Solitude's deepwater docks on the sea. The navigation into the river is treacherous, one can even see an old wreck nosing into the river from the city's gatehouse.

I was allowed into the city without challenge, making me suspect that my identity and arrival were already known, but Windhelm is so chaotically built that I would have had no trouble dodging the guards if it came to a chase. The twisty alleys reminded me, poorly, of Markarth's channels and chambers.

Finding the palace was easy enough, all I had to do was head in a general direction for the largest building within the walls. Again I was let inside without a single question and this was to see the leader of the rebellion! I cannot help but wonder if I would have been allowed inside if I had been wearing my Imperial gear. Perhaps I would have for all the security I have seen in the place.

The outer door opened right into the throne room, another perplexing strategic decision. It was surprisingly blue, with blue banners along the wall and ceiling facing a rough, blue carpet which led to a throne draped with blue fabric of some kind. Probably needlessly expensive.

But Ulfric was not in attendance. His steward, who readily admitted he did almost nothing, pointed me to a side-room. The door was open and the voices of several men floated out of it.

This was a meeting of the Stormcloak war council, which apparently is open to the non-Nordic public. I did not know of this. Apparently neither does General Tullius. 

Ulfric was not a very active participant, seeming to prefer to listen than speak. He looked smaller than I remembered him being and far more tired. I felt the best way to handle this situation was to play it very proper, for it could easily turn into a hostile one.

So I bowed to "War Leader Ulfric", a title which brought a wry smile to his face, and announced that I had a gift from Jarl Balgruuf. He did not move, but everyone else in the room drew blades and axes. Ulfric waved them down and asked if the gift was the axe or the dagger. In response I handed him the axe, but he handed it back immediately, telling me to inform Balgruuf that he would be entertaining visitors shortly.

A Stormcloak invasion it is then...but with what troops and hardware, I cannot tell. I have not seen one war-engine in the entire province or anything to suggest either the Imperials or Stormcloaks are capable of even battering down a simple gate. Perhaps they simply all rely on ladders.

Ulfric excused himself from the council and went into the Hall, giving orders to his steward before he was seated.

No one paid any attention to me, so I left the palace. I thought at first to immediately continue back to Whiterun. I hurried out of the gates, again unchallenged, hit the Sabre Cat outside with another Calm spell and proceeded along the road for several hours.

Again I was undisturbed, reaching Whiterun as the night's guards began their patrols. It was too late to call upon the Jarl, so I have retired to my own home and will attend to Ulfric's business tomorrow morning.

Skyrim Day 090 - Demoted to Delivery

21 Sun's Dusk, 4E201
Dawnstar
~~~

I left Dawnstar before most of the town was awake, the Jagged Crown safely hidden in my pack. I anticipated an increase in Stormcloaks along the road to Solitude in hopes of recovering the artifact, but I encountered no Stormcloaks, only an Orsimer skooma-dealer who attacked me bare-handed.

Arriving at Solitude found the Imperials in an equal torpor. Had I been in command I would have certainly increased my local presence and increased road patrols, but nothing seems to have been done. I found General Tullius just inside the keep enjoying a late breakfast, though I suspect he is the type of man who enjoys nothing.

He seemed surprised to see me, perhaps assuming that the Crown would be returned by the Legate, and asked if we had any trouble. I told him of the Stormcloaks earlier arrival to the ruin and he admitted, ruefully, that the Legate had been right to advise that troops be sent out earlier. I handed him the crown and he barely gave it a glance.

Completing that task led to another: Imperial intelligence showed that the Stormcloaks were planning on storming Whiterun and I was to deliver this intelligence to Jarl Balgruuf in order to sway his opinion firmly into the Imperial camp.

I doubted this 'intelligence' right off. From what I have seen neither the Imperial Legion nor the Stormcloaks have the numbers required to storm any of Skyrim's cities, even as small and isolated as they all are. The fact that the intelligence is for the Jarl alone supports my suspicion. It very well may be an Imperial threat of its own.

On my way out of the city I passed an encamped Khajiit caravan busily arguing amongst themselves. I paused a moment to listen in and the matter was an economic one. One of the Khajiit, the youngest, I think, was trying to convince the others that they should sell arms. When asked to whom he replied to both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. The Khajiit he was arguing with looked as though she wanted to slap him, replying that it would only result in the eventual winner hunting them down for aiding their opponent. A good point, I thought, and one that he conceded to.

I had little to sell though and moved on without stopping to talk.

The road was unusually clear today, save for a docile Giant herding a painted beast before him, both I gave a wide berth. A trio of fire-flinging cultists assaulted me, but they are predictable in their incompetent strategies and hardly a trouble.

The moon was high when I arrived at Whiterun. I did not stop at my (more accurately, Lydia's) home, heading instead straight to Dragonsreach to hand over my 'intelligence'.  The Jarl was languishing on his throne, as usual, his Dunmer captain standing somewhat more attentively behind.

My message was evidently a common delivery at Dragonsreach. The Jarl sardonically asked if the General was asking, again, to garrison soldiers in his castle, but I just shrugged. The missive was sealed with wax, there was no way for me to have read it on the way without the Jarl (and the General) knowing I broke it.

When I informed him that there was a credible threat to Whiterun which the Imperial Legion was willing to offer aid against he waved a hand and told me to give the papers to his steward, Proventus Avenicci, effecting an air of nonchalance. But Irileth's eyes widened and I saw her give a quick motion of her hand to a guard standing nearby. He left without a word, no doubt collecting guards for additional patrols.

I replied that I was under orders to give the papers directly to the Jarl of Whiterun and he laughed, taking the packet from me and immediately handing it to his steward. I wonder now if the Jarl can read or perhaps can read only poorly. I should have thought of that earlier.

Whatever the case, Avenicci advised that the current wait-and-see policy be continued, but Irileth, spoiling for a fight, sneered that prey waits. The Jarl, whatever his literacy, had a slightly different idea than either one of his advisors.

His was to present his personal challenge to Ulfric: a challenge to face Balgruuf in single combat or declare his true intentions for Whiterun. The choice for Ulfric here was clear: either battle Balgruuf for control of the city or let it be known that the Stormcloaks would attempt to take it which would allow Balgruuf to accept Imperial reinforcements without looking like an Imperial pawn.

The decision rendered the steward temporarily speechless, but Irileth dryly pointed out that Ulfric had been rather straight-forward with Torygg. Having regained his voice Steward Avenicci suddenly changed direction, urging his Jarl to accept the Imperial garrison.

The discussion soon sank into politics I had not bothered to follow before all this Dragonborn business and they argued among themselves for a few minutes. When I resumed listening to them I found that the steward had, somehow, reversed his reversal and was favoring his original caution. But the Jarl had made up his mind to personally push the issue between himself and Ulfric.

To that end I was to continue east into Windhelm, delivering Jarl Balgruuf's personal weapon to Jarl Ulfric. If Ulfric sent me back to Whiterun with the axe then the two men were at war. If he kept the axe, they were at peace. A uniquely Nordic negotiation and not one I fully understand.

I was officially dismissed, as was the court for the night, but before I could leave a servant came bustling up with a simple steel battle-ax wrapped in linen. The Jarl's personal weapon...or one of them. As I left I heard the Jarl ask for ink and parchment for a letter to General Tullius, so perhaps the man is not illiterate, else he was requesting it for someone else.

I passed by the tree I had helped to replenish some time ago and it looked to be doing very well.

Having finally completed my business at Dragonsreach I retired to my private home that I barely visit. If Lydia was surprised she did not show it, though I suspect now that she knew of my arrival long before. It is not as if many Khajiit are seen inside any city of Skyrim's, after all.

So tomorrow I am off to Windhelm, the last city in Skyrim that I have not visited. I was hoping to avoid trouble by avoiding the rebellious city, but I am now firmly mired in it.

Skyrim Day 073 - Unable to Let Go

29 Frostfall, 4E201

Whiterun

~~~

While in Morthal some time ago I was given a "secret" letter by Jarl Idgrod's housecarl, Gorm. When I spoke with him previously in the Hall he was full of praise for the visionary Jarl, but once I ran into him at the local Inn he had only derision and doubt for Idgrod. He believes her visions are distracting her from her duties as a Jarl, but are also dangerous to her well-being. Claiming he feared for her health, he gave me a sealed letter to deliver to an Imperial Legion Captain in Solitude. I thought little of it until this morning.

The Imperial Legion is based at Solitude in 'Castle Dour'. The fort is appropriately named, the commander of the Legion, General Tullius, was no more animated while I was wandering around Dour as he was at my would-be execution. The man seems incapable of mustering enthusiasm for much of anything.

But my business was not with the General, but with Captain Aldis. A helpful maid pointed me towards the basement where I found the Captain already drinking, guarding empty prison cells. He accepted my letter with resignation, stating he would add it to his growing collection. Gorm has been pestering the Captain about Idgrod for some time now and Aldis has a dim view of ousting a Jarl with Imperial loyalties during a civil war. He thanked me for making the trip and paid me twenty Septims, about what the effort was worth.

Leaving Solitude with Serana in tow, I checked my journal to see if there was any business pending between one side of Skyrim and the other that I could take care of while I made my way back to Fort Dawnguard. Unsurprisingly, there was something, but I had only written "Chk ruin Arknthmz, SE Mrkrth". Very helpful. By that, I only knew to look south-east of Markarth for some sort of ruin, likely Dwemer judging by the abbreviation. Serana had no objections to looking for this ruin, other than being back underground, so off we went towards Markarth.

On our way we came upon a small hunting lodge that appeared to be lived in, but no one was around. Serana suggested we search the place for supplies, but I felt we did not need to and chose to walk by peacefully.

My concern that we would be wandering the hills surrounding Markarth proved to be unfounded, thanks to the adventure of two enterprising children whom met us on the road.

The sales-child, Sond, offered to sell Serana and I some Dwemer scrap he and his unnamed friend had collected near a Dwemer bridge he said was far to the west. He offered to mark its location on my map for a few coins, an offer I considered charity on my part to accept.

Sond's directions brought us to a large ruin built into the hillside. Inside looked about the same as all the other Dwemer ruins do, they were not an artistically-focused people. She was curious to examine the mechanisms and disregarded my warning that many of them were traps. She admitted I was right to warn her after a trapdoor she was poking at suddenly sprang open and disgorged a mechanical spider guardian. It attacked her immediately, but she had no trouble in putting it to rest. She did show more caution around the Dwemer mechanicals after that though.

The entryway opened to a massive cavern which seem to exist in such numbers underneath Skyrim that it is a wonder the whole province does not simply collapse. Evidently this part of Skyrim was trying to do that, for as we stood about gazing around the entire place shook, sending chunks of rock plummeting from the ceiling and pieces of Dwemer architecture to crack and splinter.

I was unwilling to test Dagoth Ur's blessing against thousands of tons of rock, but figured a few more moments would not mean instant death, so we continued to on for a bit before we heard a woman's voice warning us to turn back. Thinking this was someone ahead who was injured, we pressed on, only to encounter the talking, shimmering remains of the adventurer Katria.

She was taking her after-death pretty hard, sourly asking us why we were still in the ruin. I thought it rude to ask her why she was too and Katria assumed we were at the ruin for the "treasure". After I explained that I could not remember why I had made a note to come at all she told me about the slim novel 'The Aetherium Wars', penned by her apprentice-turned-competitor, Taron Dreth.

Taron's novel propelled him to the dubious honor of being the "expert" on Dwemer forging technology, despite all of it originating from Katria'a notes and work. Attempting to usurp his title, she descended into the ruin I found her in, confident that she would find clues pointing to the hidden 'Aetherium Forge' the Dwemer used to craft their most powerful artifacts.

But it was not to be. Katria fell into a crevice after one of the cavern-shakes, falling to her death on to a lower level of the ruin. Her indignation was enough for her spirit to cling to this Plane, even if her new non-corporal existence made her goal impossible to reach. I convinced her that Serana and I were up to the task of recovering her body and her research, but she was only interested in the latter. If Serana had any objections she did not voice them.

We found Katria's body after several skirmishes with the Falmer, underneath where we came in. She directed us towards her journal, helpfully providing the full name of this ruin, 'Arkngthamz' and detailing its part in the long-lost Dwemer network of city-states in Skyrim. The ruin was one of five locations built to manage the Aetherium ore, one of them being the ruin alongside the hot springs where I found the metallic blue crescent. The other three were scattered about the province.

The journal also had a sketch of something Katria described as a 'tonal lock', but she assured me that she would explain that if I survived long enough to reach it. Very encouraging.

We did not encounter much between Katria's body and her 'tonal lock'.

The bodies strewn before it was ample warning, but Katria explained how it worked: Each of the devices mounted above the gate had to be struck in the correct order, else traps would activate. Katria had made a mistake and triggered an earthquake which caused her to fall to her death. The bodies before the gate looked to have met violent ends, so earthquakes were not the only defense it had.

Katria had managed to narrow the guesswork from five devices to three, guessing wrong on the order of the remaining two. Serana eagerly took up the task of flinging spells at the strange mechanisms, of course guessing wrong herself and unleashing a horde of Dwemer spiders upon us. Once we dealt with that she assaulted the locks in the correct order, unlocking the gate.

The much-coveted Aetherium fragment was on a small pedestal flanked by two chests, each containing useless baubles. Katria was staring longingly at the bright blue metal, but could do nothing but wait for me to catch up and place it into my pack. She guessed that there were other fragments around and I brightened her afterlife by revealing that "her" fragment was the second of mine.

She disappeared after that, swearing that we would meet again at the next fragment, so now I am in something of a quandary. I am expected at Fort Dawnguard, yet I would feel quite guilty about leaving Katria's spirit forever waiting for someone to recover the remaining shards. Serana had not opinion one way or another, surprisingly, so I decided to take some time to look for the rest of the Aetherium.

When we finally left the ruin it was just about light...the three of us having spent the entire night underground and now greeting the new day. The closest city was Markarth and Serana was not tired, so I elected to push on to the nearest of the locations marked in Katria's journal, north of Markarth along the river.

The third shard was not nearly as difficult to retrieve. The worst was walking from Arkngthamz to the small (and unusual) Dwemer shrine sitting on the shores of the river. On it was a Dwemer helm and blade, the shard serenely sitting behind them on a small display pedestal. How the bright blue metal escaped the notice of bandits, adventurers, and the opportunistic is a mystery.

Once I touched it Katria popped into view before me, grumpy for my having somehow gotten there first. The last shard looked to be north of Ivarstead and once again I set out across the plain, planning on passing Whiterun for a late evening arrival at Ivarstead.

As usual, my plan did not meet with fruition.

Another Dragon attacked us while we walked the plain, but the Dragon was smaller than the ones I have been seeing recently and not as aggressive either. It is a strange thing to write, but I had no trouble or apprehension fighting it. Serana just seemed glad to be doing anything above ground and awake and after the Dragon's death-fire died down we continued on to Whiterun. I keep "absorbing" these souls, but am I supposed to be using them for something? Can I? I do not know.

We reached Whiterun as the sun was setting, most of the townspeople at home occupied with their dinner. One woman who I have not seen before remarked that rumors told of a Khajiit Dragonborn, then wondered if such a combination was even possible. I stopped at the General store, sold some trinkets, and spoke with a weary-looking Dunmer mercenary. She called herself 'Jenassa' and offered her services for five hundred Septims, but I already have a dour companion, so I declined.

Arriving at Breezehome my dour companion met my dour housecarl. Both presented to the other an air of complete indifference, but I was far more concerned about my bed than my retinue. Tomorrow Serana and I will continue on towards Fort Dawnguard with a detour near Ivarstead for Katria. How Lydia occupies her days at Whiterun is her own business, though I cannot imagine she is displeased to have the house all to herself.

Skyrim Day 056 - Time Travel & Real Estate

11 Frostfall, 4E201

Solitude

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skyrim Day 055 - In Memory of the Late King

10 Frostfall, 4E201

Whiterun

~~~

Waking up alone again was a great relief, a freedom from a burden I am not accustomed to carrying. What I am accustomed to carrying is a long list of tasks I have promised to resolve for people all over the province. One was the delivery of the late King's war horn to a shrine of Talos east of Whiterun, near the river.

While on my way out of Solitude I stopped at the local apothecary, bought some supplies, and added another task to my list: locate and return a ring said to posses an alchemy-enhancing enchantment. The alchemist, an old woman named Angeline, admitted she and her niece could use the ring's help with keeping their shop profitable. This surprised me, but I suppose having the East Empire Company housed in the city undercuts her business.

Angeline had already purchased the ring from a traveling mage of the College, the man having promised to send the ring to her after he returned to Windhelm. She received a letter a week later saying it would be on its way via a caravan, then...nothing. Her inquiries resulted in an apologetic letter clarifying that the road between Windhelm and Solitude was frequented by bandits, but he was not responsible for its loss. Her money, naturally, was not returned.

So I was to search a road spanning nearly the entire width of the province for bandits carrying a small enchanted ring. I agreed, it would give me something to do for the next few days, or so I thought.

I left Solitude and followed the unmistakable sound of hammer-strikes against an anvil and in this way "found" a not-so-hidden camp of Stormcloak rebels. They turned to me and I nearly fled right then, but one stood up and greeted me rather jovially, asking if I was from one of the caravans. I was not, but they still bought some gemstones from me and bade me return if I was in the area. Strange, for I expected hostility.

Stranger still was my encounter with an Imperial Legion patrol not more than two minutes later along the road, the sounds of the Stormcloaks' blacksmithing ringing clearly in our ears. The three Legionnaires were pointedly not hearing it and walked along the road, not more than a hundred yards from the rebels, without a concern. This "civil war" seems to have not yet started in full.

Dragon Bridge was fortunately free of live dragons and I made good time, passing Morthal before noon. Near Stonehills I ambushed a trio of dragon-mask cultists, announcing myself by slaying one of them outright. Their fire magicka was surprisingly weak and even what little resistance I had owing to my own experience with spells nullified much of their force. One of them had a note on his body that alluded to a cultist shrine somewhere in Labyrinthian, the ruin where I had been sent to retrieve the Staff of Magnus. Another thing to worry about now.

A Khajiit caravan came upon the remains of my little battle as I was rifling through the cultists' meager possessions and they politely pretended to not notice anything unusual as they marched by. Through with searching the bodies, I hailed their leader, Ri'saad, and asked about any rumors of bandits between Dawnstar and Winterhold, as I had not found any from Solitude onward.

Ri'saad told me of a group of bandits near the crossroads between Dawnstar and Windhelm who were occupying a cave near the road. The caravan had no issues passing by, but he had been warned of them before leaving Windhelm and they were known as a troublesome group. He felt certain that my ring would be found with them. In thanks I discounted my offers to him and we parted amicably. After I was a fair distance down the road I looked back to see them stripping the corpses of their clothing and mundanes. Anything for a Septim, I suppose.

Scouring the crossroad revealed a small cave on Windhelm's side, but inside were no bandits, just a dead vampire, a very live giant bear, and a Spriggan which managed to surprise me after successfully pretending to be a small tree. For whatever reason it only attacked after the bear was dead, so its ambush caused me no trouble. What I assume is Angeline's ring was in a half-frozen chest in the back of the cave, the only sign that the bandits had been there at all.

Coincidentally the shrine to Talos wound up being almost exactly due south of the former bandits' cave and I needed only walk along the road to Whiterun for an hour or so to reach it with nary a problem. Once I found the shrine I had only to kill two Thalmor agents sent to destroy it, take the horn out of my pack, and lay it reverently at the feet of Talos.

I returned to Whiterun, the  city I cannot seem to escape, and stopped at Warmaiden's to make use of their forge. My armor needed repair and I wanted to experiment (and probably ruin) with a steel sword I found to see if I could heat the blade enough to introduce silver into the metal, which is said to make weapons cut vampires and werewolves more effectively. After several attempts and a great deal of patience I think I managed it, but I shall see if Adrianne can examine it tomorrow, just to be sure.

After that the only thing left to do was aggravate Lydia with my presence at Breezehome, but while her facial expression did not change, her mood seemed to be a bit better. I wonder what occupies her here while I am away.

Labyrinthian is not terribly far from here, I think I will pay it another visit and see if I cannot figure out what the cultists are after.

Skyrim Day 049 - My Home, Breezehome

3 Frostfall, 4E201

Whiterun

~~~

Returning to Whiterun was not only appealing to me, but Lydia as well, moreso after I admitted my intention to leave her there. This, she said, was a wise decision: in my absence she would be able to manage my affairs and my household, a duty she assured me she was well-versed in exercising.

That I had an estate to speak of was news to me and Lydia was quite surprised to hear I had no holdings in or around Whiterun. She firmly insisted that I make the acquisition of such a priority once we reached the city, stating that a Thane should not be without roots in the city they were sworn to serve.

I suspect she is simply just as eager to be free of me as I am of her, but having a (somewhat) permanent home again was an appealing thought. Inns get old after awhile, especially given that they largely all look the same in Skyrim. Nords are not known for their architectural creativity.

It was quicker to leave Ivarstead via the north road and remain off the road, along the hills, rather than take the road which starts to lead to Whiterun only at the sulfur springs. Along the way we had to cross a ravine via a large tree that had been uprooted and placed as a primitive bridge. Predictably a opportunistic bandit was lounging in the middle of the tree, loudly demanding a toll for us, two obviously well-armed warriors, to cross.

The Bosmer was armed with a bow, but Lydia had her own bow and I my crossbow. Why the man thought it a good idea to make demands is beyond my thinking. He managed to get off one shot before Lydia's arrow thudded into his middle and my crossbow bolt crashed into his skull, certainly killing him. His body tumbled into the river below and disappeared over the waterfall before Lydia and I had finished crossing.

Just before the road to Whiterun we came upon a tomb built into the hillside. Lydia said nothing and I was happy enough to walk past it, but a man came running out after us, asking us to wait a moment. Lydia was prepared to skewer him right then and there, but I figured the man to be a foiled would-be robber of the dead rather than a bandit.

He introduced himself as 'Golldir' and asked if we might be able to help him. Golldir and his aunt had traveled to the tomb, which was his family's, only to find that the seal on the entrance had been broken. They entered the tomb and were ambushed by a necromancer intent on using Golldir's ancestors as undead soldiers. Golldir's aunt, Agna, fell during the ensuring battle and Golldir shamefully fled with the necromancer's laughter echoing around him.

Golldir had good reason to flee the place: according to him his father had locked him inside the tomb as a child for three days, leaving him with nothing to eat or drink but the moldering offers made to the dead. Having survived, he swore to never return unless it was in death.

I told him that Lydia and I would enter the tomb, but only alongside him. He paused a moment, then agreed.

Whatever fears the man had of the tomb were evidently dispelled due to our company, for he fought just as bravely as Lydia, the two of them practically negating any requirement for me to draw my weapons. Draugr fell before us and eventually we came upon Agna's body, mercifully not raised by the necromancer. There Golldir swore revenge or death and we continued on.

As we entered a large room Golldir whispered that it was the resting place of his family's founding members and I was not surprised to see the necromancer atop the platform where two conspicuous coffins rested. Golldir shouted something at the mage, but just then the coffins lying about the room burst open and soon we were swarmed by a dozen Draugr.

Golldir and Lydia became inescapably engaged with the horde, but I was able to shove my way through the line and charged at the necromancer. The undead would fall with his death and skilled though the were Lydia and Golldir could not battle long against twelve adversaries.

The Dunmer had been brazen enough to paint a crude skull on his robes, but as I prepared to bury my axe in his stomach he abruptly disappeared. An illusion. His arrogant laughter alerted me to his new position, but that also proved to be an illusion. Frustrated, I ran to and fro, hacking away at illusionary Dunmer as Golldir frantically urged me to kill him before all was lost.

Finally I cornered the actual body of the necromancer and suffered greatly from the magicka of his ice spells before I was close enough to strike him with my axe. He had not the staying power to withstand much injury and crumpled against the wall, leaving a bloody smear.

Lydia and Golldir were almost as bloodied as the dead mage, but their wounds were not grievous and a few vials of healing elixir were all they needed between them. Golldir's fear of the tomb had been vanquished with the vampire, choosing to stay in the tomb to set "things in order", as he said. I wished him well and my housecarl and I continued to Whiterun.

Again we saw no Dragons flying about and arrived at Whiterun some time after most of the city had their dinner. Lydia pointedly reminded me of the need to acquire property so we walked up to Dragonsreach. The Jarl was busy dealing with someone, but I gathered that his steward would be the one managing deeds and the like. I was correct and there was a deed available for a small house within the walls which the locals dubbed 'Breezehome'.

The key to the empty dwelling cost me five thousand Septims, paid in five ingots, plus an additional twelve hundred Septims for the furnishings inside.

Breezehome appeared unassuming on the outside but bore all the signs of being rapidly vacated by its former occupants, including a roaring fire with a cooking pot. Fish, garlic, and herbs hung over the fire and along the walls were cabinets stocked with bowls, pans, and utensils. Plates were set on the table, with food on them. Someone had been living in Breezehome until apparently five minutes prior to our arrival.

When I asked Lydia about this she simply shrugged and said it was a Thane's right. I was not aware I was forcing someone's family out of their home when I bought it, but that begs the question as to why it was for sale at all. No point in worrying about it now, I suppose.

The bedroom is in the loft, barely lit and displaying more armaments than I find to be tasteful. Lydia was pleased with it and pleased with her room, which I suspect belonged to a child. I asked her to stay at Breezehome while I was away and she readily agreed, promising to represent my interests...whatever those are.

Tomorrow I shall travel, alone, to see about the many tasks that have been asked of me. Vampires, ancient relics, bandits, there seems to always be something to do that everyone else around the task has ignored.