Skyrim: The Voice Of The Bard

The Wheel turns upon The Last Dragonborn - no warrior, thief, or mage, but a bard, whose only weapon is his voice. Is it chance or design that the power of Akatosh and Kyne were gifted to a person whose talent lies not in war, but in discourse? Only Time will tell, but the fate of Skyrim, and that of all Nirn, now rests upon one Voice.

[katnissinanotheruniverse-deacti]

Writing a fic is so hard purely because I need that validation that I'm doing good. I need the validation that people like it. I need people to interact to be motivated. I want people to leave comments of nonsense and AHDHWSHVRFEDS and paragraphs and weird sentences that kinda look like a six year old wrote it. I want thumbs up and hearts and just a single "this is nice" and the most awkward interaction you can get.

[thevoiceofthebard]

Uthgerd VII: The Way of The Voice

Morndas 28th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Evening

Uthgerd

"Why, exactly, am I holding the supplies again?"

I'm going to kill him. "Because you're the one who agreed to help that fisher. And because that ice wraith almost bit my ear off when I was fumbling for my sword. And because I'm much larger than you."

"Exactly! You'd be able to carry it much more easily."

I am going to kill him. "Do you want to hold the big sword and fight off the wolves?"

A pause. "I suppose not."

"Then shut it, and let's keep moving."

I feel a bit guilty for being so curt with him, but the thin air is getting to my head. Thinking alone is difficult, let alone fighting. Thankfully, the road has been blessedly empty for the most part, only a few wolves roaming about. Any sane creature had already taken shelter; only the wraiths caught me off guard about halfway up the Steps. The cold was bitter, and the winds could gust terribly. And the snows were beginning to pile up. Wonderful. As if the path wasn't difficult enough to find and follow. Gods forbid if we don't make it to the top before the skies darken; the sun's nearly at the horizon.

Suddenly, the winds abate. We've entered some sort of small valley, rocky walls shielding us from the elements. Blessed relief. Neither of us have the strength to spare, even with the break in conditions, so we spend the next few minutes in silence, making our way through the gorge.

"Can we...? We need... to rest... please... Uthgerd."

I almost snap at him; I can see the end of the valley ahead. But when I look at him, propped against a wall, already sliding to the ground, I can't bring myself to berate him. He wasn't built for this kind of journey in a single day. "Five minutes?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Thank Y'ffre."

That name again. He'd sworn by it more than once in my presence, but I'd never asked before. "Who is that?"

"Y'ffre? He is the Storyteller, patron of bards. Or at least, most bards."

I frown, sitting beside Talao. "Never heard that name before."

"Not terribly surprising, as a Nord. He's not present in your creation tales. Nor does he have a parallel like Akatosh has in the Altmer's Auri-El."

"Stories. You bards with your stories and tales."

He nods vigorously. "Yes, tales! Y'ffre spun tales to bring order to the inconstancy of the world the Aedra created. He... but pardon, you didn't accompany me to hear orthodoxy."

He looked so wretched; as though he was used to people shutting him down about his beliefs. "No, no, it's fine. It just seems odd for a god of 'order' to also be the creative type."

"Well... it isn't order of the kind the Daedra Jygallag might desire, imposition of order to the detriment of individuality. Rather, it means he gave things meaning and substance. His works are his 'tales,' and his first tale was creating the forests and life of Valenwood. His second was to create the Bosmer, back when the life of the world was a shifting, ever-changing mass of chaos. Nothing had any stable form, a spirit would be a bird one moment, a walrus the next, then a flower, all things constantly in flux - an Ooze, the Bosmer say. Y'ffre took it all and ensured that what was always would be the same."

"And this makes him 'The Storyteller'?" I found myself more interested by the story. If his god existed, it had certainly blessed Talao with a gift.

"Well, consider: Stories and poems are order as well, whether by meter, or rhyme, or style. Without that order, it would be no different than regular speech. Speech itself for that matter. But more importantly, a story ensure that what happened will always be."

"What do you mean?"

"Hmm... Let's take Helgen. It was destroyed by a dragon, right? Right. But say no one had lived to witness the destruction firsthand, and someone came to trade the next day, and found the town wiped from the map."

He paused, expecting an answer, I suppose. "Well, he would be confused, to say the least."

"Aye. With none to tell what had occurred, he could only speculate. Maybe a group of giants had gone on a rampage. Or vengeful mages with a hatred for the Empire. Perhaps even the wrath of Shor himself razed the town from existence."

"He'd still be wrong."

"Would he?"

He gave me a knowing look. "Ah. I think I see your point. If not for the actual knowledge of what happened, the history could be anything at all."

"A historical Ooze, if I may. It is that 'tale' which informs the truth and order of the events of that day. The trader still remembers all his friends that lived there, and so they still exist in some way. His receipts, a story shared over a mug of ale. Words have such power to shape history, and to influence the hearts of man, mer, and beast. And not always for good. Y'ffre was said to have taught the birds to sing, the waves to lap and crash. He gave names to everything in the newly created world. His song was so beautiful, the very stars in Aetherius danced and swayed in that first night sky, and even to this day do they continue to blink from the memory of that time. That is the power I strive to channel with mine own tales. I would consider my life well-spent if I could embody even the smallest bit of the gift with which he imbued this world."

As though he didn't already. "Perhaps I need to spend more time around you and less with that spoony bard Mikael. He has not half the talent you do."

He smiles, a hint of shyness. "You flatter me."

"No, I don't." He doesn't answer for moment, searching my face for... something. I do hope he took my words sincerely. Then he turns his gaze out of the passage. "What if your tale is different from the one you envisioned, though? If you truly are Dragonborn, then Akatosh himself is influencing the world."

"That's still a large if."

"Don't patronize me, Talao, we both know better," I scoff. "I may not be as well-read or knowing as you, but I know that Dragonborn change the world around them. Things are going to happen. Have happened. And Akatosh looked down at us mortals, saw something important was going to happen soon, and decided that you would be the instrument of his will. Why yo-"

Pain suddenly, blinding pain. I'm flying through the air past Talao and my back is on fire, rolling across stone and snow. Talao yells my name, even as something else yells even louder over him. I can barely think, fumbling for my sword, knowing only that we're under attack, my vision swimming. Through the stars, I can see it. A troll. A godsdamned frost troll. Slow, but powerful, claws larger and sharper than daggers, standing twice my size. And it got the drop on us somehow. Just standing is painful, must have broken some ribs. Shit. No time to think, it's coming right for me.

I dodge a swipe of its claws, only to almost lose my footing. Every movement is agony, as though the claws had raked me anyway. I slice the troll's side quickly, distracting and infuriating it. It thrashes, missing me only by sheer luck. A fireball staggers it, knocking it off balance, and I see Talao holding out his staff, the head steaming from snowflakes touching the still hot wood. Thank Kyne for that old miser Farengar. We might have a chance after all. But then the troll turs to Talao, bellowing at him as a new threat. Its charge is slowed by a few more fireballs, but it is unstoppable, upon Talao in seconds. He raises the staff to defend himself, but the troll breaks it in half with a single blow.

Thankfully, it buys me enough time to reach them both. I deflect another gigantic arm from disemboweling Talao and cut across the troll's head, mangling its sensitive third eye. It screeches terribly, the other two eyes glaring at me with as much hate as the simple beast could possess. I manage to keep it at bay for a few more blows, but I can't damage it faster than it heals; already its eye is regrowing, and there's no sign of the first wound I made except for a tinge of blood on its fur. I'll need to kill it outright, or else -

I try to block another swipe, but too late. Pain, indescribable pain blooms from my right arm and side. But I can't stop now. I let my battle fever blot out the pain and swing to behead the beast. But I only meet empty air. What?

The troll grabs me in its sinewy hands, lifts me over its head, throws me. I almost careen straight off the cliff, as the troll beats its chest in victory. A bit early to celebrate, I think. I can't feel my sword in my hand. Where is it? There, by the troll. But it's in someone else's hand. Wait, no, that is my hand. What?

I look down.

What?

My arm is gone.

What?

No.

I can't think.

I can't

I...

The troll. Focus on the troll. It's stalking toward me. I try to get up, but I put my weight on an arm that isn't there anymore. More pain.

Is this... the end?

I hear more noise. Talao shouting. "Run," I say. But I can barely hear myself.

He's shouting "No! Uthgerd! Damnit, get away! Get away! FUS MUT DO MU!"

I feel something. More pain. Some energy. The troll flies past me. Into open air.

It falls.

...

Then it's quiet but for the winds.

Talao is there suddenly. "Uthgerd. By the Gods, Uthgerd." He frets, tearing off cloth, trying to stop the bleeding. "Gods, there's so much... Uthgerd, what do I do? Mara preserve, please."

"Talao." My vision is fading. I can see tears on his cheeks though. "Don't you... it's alright."

"To Oblivion with that! Here, I have potions, you have to-"

"Stop. You have to... go on. As do I." An old phrase my father told me comes to mind, for some reason. "A true Nord never fears death. It's the how and why of it that matters."

"Uthgerd..."

"Sovngarde awaits me, Talao." The pain is less now. I can't see, and I feel the cold for the first time. "Talao... I believe... in you... Dragonborn."

All is darkness... I...

...

...

...

Hu zran nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod.

Aahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein.

Chapter 21 - Klimmek I: The Way of The Voice x Chapter 23 - Arngeir I: The Way of The Voice

[maive-the-sheep]

Imagine a game where the different species/races have different bonuses or abilities.

They can have different pre amounts of levels in skills, but all can be raised to 100, easily. And aren't that different starting out (like 5-10 points difference)

Now imagine there is 1 species that for once a day has super rapid health regen to the point of practically unkillable for equivelant of 20 minutes but based on max health so increasing max health is ideal for it where can become super tanky raid boss.

And imagine the prior game in the series has lore where where they are from was the only one that easily took down worldwide demon invasion and outright often went inside the demon portals to fight to the point the demons closed the portals and left

You'ld think marketed as like warrior. Tanks. Battle mages.

And they market them as a thief that avoids combat...

You got yourself argonians from elder scrolls 5, skyrim

[theeelfinnstolemypeanits]

[evildoer420]

someone should make an alarm clock that plays the nirnroot sound because it would wake me up in a cold sweat without fail

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 21 - Klimmek I: The Way of the Voice

Sundas, 25th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Klimmek

"You wanna run that by me again?"

The cold snap had come early this year. We usually have another month in Ivarstead before the frosts come, but the season had already been cold. Could barely keep my hands on the fishing pole all weekend without feeling frozen to it. Knee acting up. Doesn't help that I'm getting on in years either., So I'd finally given up, and warmed myself at the inn for a few hours. Pilgrims had been few the past months on account of the war, but Wilhelm always keeps plenty wood stocked for the fire. And plenty of rumours to keep conversation interesting.

But this?

"You're telling me," I say to Wilhelm, "That mage from a few months back didn't actually die, he was the one haunting us. And that the old Hall of Stories wasn't a dead end, but a lock keeping an entire Barrow of Draugr from swarming our town?"

"Kyne's word, Klimmek."

I pause, take a swig of ale. "Orkey's balls, you're as terrible a storyteller as you are a liar. I saw that bloody ghost myself a dozen times. Saw right through him. Ain't no man alive can do that, less there's a damn hole in him. And ain't no way in Sovngarde you've the guts to take on a single Draugr, let alone a cave full."

"Never said I did, did I?" He says, polishing an already clean glass. Always needs something to do with his hands, he says. "Was those two in the corner there, names Uthgerd and Talao. Don't believe me, ask them, sure as Oblivion convinced me."

"Aye," I say, glaring, "think I will at that." Thankfully, the hours in front of the fire eased the ache in my bones enough to make my way over to the.. unlikely pair. A hulking Nord woman, and a willowy man, Breton by the look of him. Maybe Imperial. Were they a couple of late pilgrims to see the Greybeards? They're chatting comfortably, chowing down on some of Wilhelm's fare. If he's having me on and I'm interrupting them for nothing, I'll bury him up to his neck in cow dung while he sleeps.

"Pardon. Wilhelm tells me you've an interesting tale to tell of our Barrow. That true?"

Instantly, the man beams, as though Sanguine himself had just offered him every pleasure in the world. But the woman groans, though I can see mirth in her eyes. "Gods above, man, I've had to listen to Talao tell that story a half-dozen times already. Not sure I can take another fanciful retelling of our trek through those ruins."

"Hush, Uthgerd. The man wants a tale, and I'm always delighted to entertain an audience." He turns to face me, though the woman continues with her meal. After introducing himself - "Talao, Bard Extraordinaire" - he launched into his tale. "We arrived in town in the early afternoon, too late to make the climb to High Hrothgar, but not nearly early enough to end our day. So we made our way here to the inn, to exchange stories and rumour. That is when we heard tell of your town's haunted Barrow. Our curiosity piqued, we set off for Shroud Hearth Barrow, cold and forbidding even in the afternoon sun. Down a flight of stairs and behind a portcullis, we saw it. A spectre. A ghost, shining blue as the sky and insubstantial as a cloud. 'Turn back,' quoth he. 'Turn back!' Undeterred, we opened the gate and crept forth, finding its lair, where it lay, sleeping."

"Sleeping?" I repeated. "A sleeping ghost."

"Aye, with a snore that could wake the dead. No pun intended."

"Yes it was."

"Quiet, Uthgerd."

I cross my arms, unsatisfied. "Never heard of spirits needing sleep before."

"Nor I, good Klimmek. Nor needing a blazing fire in their hearth, nor an alchemical lab, nor quill and ink and parchment! But we saw all this and more in that room. Including a wine bottle that my companion happened to stumble upon rather noisily." This was said with a meaningful glance toward his companion, who merely responded with a rude gesture, though without malice. I like her. Talao laughed as well, continuing, "Needless to say, the 'spirit' was roused from its slumber, picking up a very solid dagger from its side, and staggered toward us, screaming and threatening us. Very creatively, I might add. Unfortunately for him, Uthgerd prefers to strike first and ask questions later, if ever."

"Someone had to, with you cowering behind me," she said through a mouthful of mutton.

"I did no such thing. I just didn't want to be in the path of that giant cleaver you call a sword. As that poor sod's head learned as it was cleft from its body. At which point, it lost its aetherial glow. Well, both parts... you get the idea." He pulls out a vial from his tunic, blue and shining. "We recovered this beauty from his table. A complex little potion that made him pale and transparent as a ghost to scare of the locals while he searched for a treasure within the Barrow. His journal, which I gave to your barkeep friend, seems to suggest that he lost his mind along the way, and convinced himself he actually was a guardian of the tomb. Damn sight spookier than an actual ghost story, should you ask me."

Gods above. What a story. But... "Prove it. Listen, I've been round the mountain a good many times, heard my fair share of tales. Anyone could fake a journal and a glowy potion."

His grin widened further. "I was hoping you'd say that. Try not to scream like Fastred and Bassianus did last time."

I scoff, but he pops the cork on the bottle, drips a single drop into his open mouth, and then swallows. I barely keep my seat as his frame shimmers and disappears. Behind him - through him, rather - I can see Uthgerd draining a mug of ale, grimacing. "This is the fifth time in the past hour he's pulled this stunt. I'm hoping it damages his brain like it clearly did that damn fool in the Barrow."

"Hence why I'm drinking so little, Uthgerd," Talao says as he shimmers back to... being solid. "That and the need to keep enough to try and reverse alchemize the stuff, and make it better. Void salts, most likely, but who knows what else."

"Well," I say. But that doesn't seem like enough. "Kyne's tits, I'm convinced. Unless you're the best damn juggler I've met."

"Oh, friend, you've not heard the half of it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And then what?"

"We entered the main crypt, a long path lined with sarcophagi, and two raised plinths. One step, and the lids burst open, and fifty Draugr poured forth."

"It was hardly a dozen, Talao, and they came out staggered." That was Uthgerd again. Every so often, she chimed in to comment on something Talao would say. Truth be told, it was downright hilarious, especially with how frustrated it made the bard.

"Damnit, woman, have you no grasp of the concept of hyperbole?"

"Never even heard the word before."

Talao made some odd kind of choking noise as Uthgerd ordered another drink - another thing, the woman could hold her alcohol. "Fine. A dozen Draugr - the killing of which is still no small feat! - rose from the tombs, and were summarily slaughtered by Uthgerd. Then, through one last gate, we attained our final goal. A spacious room, dominated by an enormous stone monument, a single ray of light illuminating a chest, filled with glorious treasures. Pieces of gold older than Septims existed, jewelry, even a fancy sword for Uthgerd."

"Needs a bit of tempering," she says, unsheathing said sword, "but the enchantment on it is strong." For a thousand-year old blade, it seems in damn good shape, and it has a whitish-blue sheen to it that was obviously unnatural.

"I didn't even know she could recognize enchantments, let alone work enchanted metals," Talao said to me in an exaggerated whisper.

"I have a sword in my hand, Talao. Maybe not the safest time for quips."

"Ah, but your life would be so dull without those quips. You know this to be true." Turning back to me, he continued "To wit, we found a shortcut to the entrance and made our way back here in triumph. Tonight, we revel. And tomorrow, we climb to High Hrothgar." With that declaration, he drains his mug with satisfaction.

"By Talos," I mutter. "That was quite an adventure indeed. To think such plots could happen even in a town like Ivarstead. I must thank you for taking care of that scoundrel for us as well. Wilhelm!"

"Klimmek!"

"Grab another round for these two, on me."

"Told you."

"Shut yer yap." He laughs, reaching for the ale. "You said you're pilgrims, aye?"

The two look at each other a moment. "Of a sort, I suppose," Talao says. "We are obviously heading to meet the Greybeards, if that's what you're asking."

"Well I don't suppose you could do me a favor of a sort as well?" Wilhelm drops the round of drinks at the table, and I stretch my leg out, uncomfortable. Guess I'd been so wrapped up in the story I hadn't noticed the stiffness. "Y'see, I usually take some supplies to the Greybeards every few weeks as... I guess as a bit of a tribute. They have their own food and such, but things like cloth and fish, they can't get up there. But my knee isn't what it used to be. You two can clearly take care of yourselves; could you take the supplies with you tomorrow? In return, I'll pack you a few trout from my stores for a meal. Far better fare than this place, or what you'll find on the slopes, I assure you."

"Seems reasonable enough to me. What say you, Uthgerd?"

"Anything's better than that wolf meat we tried to eat yesternight. So gamey I could barely chew."

"Sounds like a yes to me! Shake on it?"

He grasps my hand with both of his. He has the most interesting calluses I've ever felt, the tips of his fingers only. "Great. We'll meet at dawn at the south bridge. You should reach High Hrothgar before dusk, even if you take a few breaks on the walk. And trust me, you'll need to."

With another smile and a wave, the two retreat to their room. I pay my tab and, reluctantly, head back outside. The cold hits me like a punch to the gut, and my knee begins aching again instantly. Gods, it's as if we skipped Autumn altogether and hit Winter without so much as a greeting. Plants aren't near ready for harvest, but they'll wither in the ground if this keeps up. Never enough time it seems. Always feels like there's less of it to go around every day that passes.

Out in the far distance, I hear some beast scream, and another answers.

Chapter 20 - Uthgerd VI: The Way of the Voice x Chapter 22 - Uthgerd VII: The Way of the Voice

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 20 - Uthgerd VI: The Way of the Voice

Loredas 24th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Morning

Uthgerd

"It's too risky."

I glance at Talao casually, as we continue our steady pace toward the obvious highwayman. "How? It's one bandit. She doesn't even have proper armor."

"And what will you do about the rest of her friends in the tower? And across the bridge? White River Watch used to be a guard outpost, they must have decent numbers to supply and hold it. They'd be here in seconds, if they aren't already watching us."

At second glance, I can see what he already had. A dozen or so windows on the tower, just wide enough for a bow and arrow. "Still, if we could get right up against the door, and break it down. And of course, you have your -"

"No!" The force behind Talao's voice surprised me, his face hard as stone. "Too many tales end in tragedy from the foolish actions of man using power of which he knows naught. We seek the Greybeards for just this reason."

"Well, maybe you don't mind tossing away our hard-earned coin," I begin hotly, "but not all of us -"

"Hush, they'll hear us." I almost ignore him and explode at his blunt - no, just rude! - interruption, but we are right on top of the Watch now. The highwayman steps in front of us, looking intimidating. Or trying to, at least. She's garbed in hides that barely protect anything; her entire midsection is exposed, for Shor's sake! Even her axes looked rusted. I'd be more frightened by a rabbit.

"Hold, travelers. This here's a toll road. Gotta pay up if you wanna get by." I muzzle my sudden urge to cleave her smug face from the rest of her body.

Thankfully, Talao speaks up. "Indeed? May I ask what the toll is for?"

"Well, me and my mates maintain the road, y'see. Fill holes, keep bandits from in-jur-in' folk such as yourself."

"Bandits? Would hate to run into any of those!" I can't tell if the bandit is playing along with Talao, or missed the sarcasm entirely. "And how much does this generous service cost?"

"Well, seeing how understanding you've been, you wouldn't mind parting with all your coin, would you?"

"Now, now, let's be reasonable," Talao says, a slight frown marring his face. "Surely you'd leave us something for our journey?"

At this, the bandit spits to her side, casually dropping her hand to one of her axes, and I lightly grasp my sword as well. Talao might be treating this lightly, but I'll certainly not be caught off guard should things go south. "Enough of this chatter. You're either trying to play me or you are too dumb to realize this is a hold-up. Either way, you're an idiot. Now, your life or your coin, 'fore I accident'ly signal to my friends in the tower to take the choice from you."

I nearly draw then and there, but Talao nudges me with his foot. Wait, he seems to say. "And how confident are you that they could take us out before my friend here buries her blade in your gut?"

The bandit glares at me, notices my sword already slightly drawn, and pales considerably. It'd almost be worth it, to give in to the battle fever here, but we'd be sure to die if there were as many arms as Talao thought. And I know they wouldn't think twice to shoot the highwayman along with us, so we could hardly use her as a shield. She scowls, likely realizing the same thing, if she has even a walnut in between her ears. "Fine. Don't look like you've much money to bother that much over anyway. Thirty septims."

"How about a discount, considering there's two of us travelling together. Say twenty?"

"Talao," I mutter, "Don't push it, you damn fool."

Chewing her lip, the bandit replies, "Twenty-five. Don't insult me."

He raises his hands, as if in defeat. "Fair enough."

Under the highwayman's watchful eye, he counts out twenty-five septims into a bag, and tosses it the short distance to the bandit, who pockets it. "Now get out of my sight. 'Fore I change my mind."

She steps aside, clearing the path. My hearts calms a touch, but my body remains tense; I wouldn't put it past them to change their mind soon as we move away from the bandit on the road. As we pass, Talao trips, falling heavily into the bandit, who pushes him off toward me with a shout. "Sorry, so sorry, bum leg," Talao exclaims.

We shake off her muttered insults, and I all but drag him off down the path. I don't relax until the tower is out of sight. I breathe. Then I turn to Talao and punch him in the arm. "Idiot! After all that, you go and trip? I half expected them to draw on us right then."

He irritably rubs his bruised arm. "Sweet Mara, that hurts. They wouldn't have fired, we were too close to their comrade to get a clean shot. Besides, it was well worth the risk."

I swear my vision turned red for a second. "Risk? You told me you didn't want to take any risks! What risk?!" Before I can punch him again, he tosses something at me, and I catch it with a jingle. Jingle?

"Surprised me how much was on her. Should know better than to keep all her ill-gotten coin in one pocket."

"You cut her purse?"

"Naturally. Much easier than cutting through a bandit camp and leaving a swathe of bodies in our wake."

My eyes narrow in suspicion. "You were planning this the moment we saw that highwayman, weren't you?"

"Certainly not the first time I've done it. It's amazing what a little misdirection will do." It certainly wasn't hard to believe. I'd heard stories of bards who did more than merely play music and sing for courts. When you entertain people, it's easy to keep their minds off of other things, like wandering hands. Whether those hands were lusty or thieving made little difference as far as a lot of players I'd seen. Broken quite a few of both myself.

"And what about Bleak Falls Barrow?" The smile slid from his face. "Did you misdirect that man into killing himself?"

"...Not purposely. I'd only meant to give him a chance. A warning, even. He chose... poorly."

"And you didn't think I deserved to know your plans? The chance to help? I'm not a fool, Talao. Perhaps I don't have your quick wit, but I'm far from a dullard. I understand strategy." A moment of silence. "I don't appreciate being manipulated."

"Innumerable pardons, Uthgerd. I suppose I am so terribly used to dullards that I forgot I'm no longer travelling with one."

He honestly looks severely put out. Well, he should, but gods forfend if I have to travel alongside such a mopey companion. "Shor's bones, don't act as though I just killed your favorite hunting dog. Just keep me in the know, so I can save your ass if you mouth off to the wrong person."

Thankfully, my forgiveness perks him up a lot. "Aye, you've the right of it, friend. Come now, we've many leagues yet to travel, and I'd like to put quite a few behind us before the robbers realize they've been robbed in turn."

Chapter 19 - Uthgerd V: The Way of the Voice x Chapter 21 - Klimmek I: The Way of the Voice

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 19 - Uthgerd V: The Way of the Voice

Fredas 22rd of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

Uthgerd the Unbroken

I'd never seen The Bannered Mare as wild as now. At least not in my time, that I can remember. So many people packed in tighter than a skeever den, shouting and cheering. Hulda and Saadia were busier than ever, but even still, they joined the celebrations as much as the rest, somehow. Whiterun had slain a dragon. Every man and woman had been recognized, even myself. I thought the parade of well-wishers - the same that had only last week openly despised me - would never end.

Of course, it hadn't lasted.

Because as more people heard the full story, their gazes moved toward one man in particular, and they excused themselves to go speak to someone more interesting than the woman who'd climbed atop a dragon, killed it, and lived to tell the tale. And that's how I wound up nursing a drink alone at my usual table while the crowd bustled around Talao, the Dragonborn.

Dragonborn. Pfah. Even now, hours later, the thought seems absurd. Every Nord knows the stories of the Ancient Dragonborn, even before Talos had been called to the Throat of the World. They were all that we aspired to be; proud warriors of great strength, fighting insurmountable battles and overcoming the odds to stand atop the corpses of their enemies.

And I'm to expect this... Waif of a man is the inheritor of the legacy of my people? The man who prefers a lute to a blade, who lives his life in robes rather than armor? That he who raised no hand in battle against a dragon now possesses the soul of that beast?

Ridiculous.

And as if that weren't enough, the bastard had all but stolen the glory of the day for himself. I had seen it, seen the dragon tense, seconds from taking flight, and how everyone had cowered before it. Only my courage had kept it from running to lick its wounds and continue its reign of terror elsewhere. I charged forth and crippled the beast and struck it low. And then Talao had walked forward, stealing its soul and the credit. Balgruuf had barely spared me a single glance when we'd returned, his focus solely on the legend in his midst, the call of the Greybeards of far more concern than the savior of the entire city, his reward to me a seeming afterthought, whatever his words might have been. Gods above did it anger me

Saadia walks by, pouring me another drink without asking. Good. Didn't feel like asking, but I needed another.

At least the Companions had had the grace to give me my due. A messenger had brought me before Joorvaskr, where Kodlak and his compatriots had congratulated me on my deed. I had performed a feat worthy of Ysgramor himself, they said, and invited me to join their ranks, apologizing for the ordeal they had put me through before. Invited me, not as a novice, but as a fully-fledged member, mere steps from the Inner Circle itself. A tremendous honor; one which I accepted immediately.

But...

And their faces had fallen, and I had basked in their dismay of thinking perhaps the first dragonslayer of the Fourth Era might not join their famed company - which would do as much for their reputation as mine - and I said that I must first accompany Talao to the doors of High Hrothgar as repayment for his help in elevating me to my position. Because...

I look over at Talao, surrounded by admirers, men and women, strumming on a lute and singing a tale he named "The Break of Dawn," The story of a man and a Daedric Prince, and an artifact of great power.

"Midst the prizes, a pearly orb,

Gleaming and glimm'ring 'spite the gloom.

Radiance ablaze in Celann's eyes,

His hand descends to claim his haul."

Because, as much as I despise the face that a Breton bard of no martial prowess of any kind might have inherited a title of legend and power that most could only dream of, that Talao himself was not to blame. He had not forced Akatosh to bless him, had not conspired with the gods to be at the destruction of Helgen, nor known that joining us at the watchtower would draw the attention of every man and mer in the province.

"Guide my lucence through the temple

Lay open the central sanctum."

Eager, Celann accepts this charge,

Promise of power and glory lured."

No. He was merely a man who had been caught up by fate, who dove willingly into danger, saving my life many times, and the lives of all those in this city, despite not being able to truly protect himself. Whatever destiny had been set before him, one could not force a man to be so selfless and inspiring as Talao.

"Fatigue forgot, Celann steps forth,

and claims the blinding daedric blade.

Light engulfs the shrine once again,

The shroud of darkness now lifted."

And so I told Kodlak and the Companions that I must needs delay their honor until I properly thanked the man who had unknowingly helped me to deserve it. And Kodlak smiled, said he understood and that I had proved further that I deserved a place among them. That they would expect me before the next week's end and that they would celebrate with the proper ceremony, and a feast that would put the Jarl himself to shame.

"Before the statue, once again,

Celann stood in awe, triumphant.

Dawnbreaker in hand, purpose clear,

To purge all undead from this land."

Applause as Talao finishes and bows. I do not join in, because despite knowing he is not at fault, the day's events still annoy me. But mead... Ahhh, mead has never betrayed me.

"Not drinking too much, I hope."

I raise my brow at Talao, who's somehow managed to shake his admirers. "Hmph. You know perfectly well I could drink you under the table without a second thought."

"You could at that. So long as you aren't drowning your sorrows as last time."

"Maybe I am. You're certainly having enough fun for us both." Which was true enough, if the color in his cheeks was any sign.

He chuckles, falling heavily into the chair beside me. "Aye. They certainly enjoyed my tale enough."

"You have talent, I'll admit. Far more than that two-septim Mikael. Care he doesn't take offense to you stealing his admirers away. Especially Carlotta."

"Ah... I think Heimskr would have more chance of that than Mikael." We both laugh at that. Hulda walks by, refilling our drinks, a rare smile on her face. "Though tonight I find myself desiring a bit of solitude."

"Is that so? I assumed you'd be... In your element, enjoying your fame and success." Well, that came out a bit harsher than I'd thought. So perhaps I'm still a bit bitter.

To this, he merely shrugs. "What exactly did I do? Get lucky, be in the right place at the right time?"

"Are you less deserving of honor because of that?" I retort. "The hero in your story was given opportunity by chance, even thought it was at a Daedra's hand. You have been blessed by Akatosh himself."

"Aye, but he had the skills to take advantage of his fortune. He earned his reward; it did not drop out of the sky 'ere he completed his task. I? I have done nothing.

"Nothing?" I ask, amazed. "Leading half of Helgen to safety? Helping the guards of Whiterun with your knowledge, keeping them from death? Do you not think these deeds worthy of reward? Or, perhaps your gift is the opportunity, and your reward is further away."

"Nonsense. I follow heroes, and sing lays of their exploits not... Participate in them myself! I'm a bard, not an adventurer."

"Whatever you say. I say the gods gave you this gift for some unknown reason, and you ignore at your own peril. Oooohh..."

Talao glares, as I wiggle my fingers at him threateningly. "You certainly didn't act this way last time you were drunk."

"I'm not nearly as drunk as I was that time either. Now go," I shove him lightly, "enjoy the night while you can. I doubt your time with the Greybeards will be nearly as fun."

"I suppose you have a point there. May as well get in my fair share before spending weeks away from civilization."

"That's more like it." I watch him go off, happily. And, perhaps with enough ale, I can convince myself that pang of jealousy doesn't exist. "Hulda!

Chapter 18 - Balgruuf II: Dragon Rising x Chapter 20 - Uthgerd VI: The Way of the Voice

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 18 - Balgruuf II: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Balgruuf the Greater

"You heard the summons. What else could it mean?"

I never thought I would willingly wish for a return to the tedium of daily life. Of taxes and tariffs and petty farmer disputes. By Talos, I'd even prefer the veiled threats I've gotten from Ulfric these past few months. Politics, I can handle. I've years of experience dealing with diplomats, insults, and compromises. But this week of dragons and barrows and... It's all so overwhelming. I thought I might have had a reprieve when a scout returned with news of the dragon's demise, and the survival of Irileth, and of Uthgerd and Talao. I'd dismissed the rest of his report as a flight of fancy, or a hallucination, until...

"The Greybeards..."

I could still feel their call reverberating in some deep part of my being. The Voice is a blessing ingrained in all Nords, though it is something that takes years and longer to manifest. A gift from Kynareth herself. Or so the stories say. I made the pilgrimage of the Seven Thousand Steps once in my youth, but I had already too many commitments to consider studying under their tutelage. Nor do I believe I would have had the temperament for such training. I'm too overfond of speaking when it suits me.

"We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

And now, the moment of truth. Hrongar sends Talao and Uthgerd to me. I'm eager to hear my suspicions confirmed. Strangely, the two do not seem as though they'd just slain a dragon. Or perhaps not so strange, considering. To be sure, they are both covered in grime and ash, exhausted and triumphant, but it's an undertone to a sense of... bewilderment. Confusion and perhaps a bit of fear. The Breton in particular looks to be in distress, as though he can't focus on any one thing in particular.

I decide to feign ignorance, keen to hear a firsthand account. "So... What happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?"

"The tower was destroyed," Uthgerd says, "but we killed the dragon. I damn near cut its head off."

I'd think her bragging if my scout hadn't said the same. "I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that." An awkward pause. Neither seem willing to talk about it for some reason. "Did something... strange happen when the dragon died?"

"...Aye. When the dragon died... I absorbed some kind of power from it." To my eternal surprise, it was not Uthgerd who spoke, but Talao. Everyone in the room is stunned. Everyone here knows what it means.

"So it's true. The Greybeards were summoning you. You're... Dragonborn."

I can count on one hand the number of times my hall has been completely silent but for the crackling of the hearth fire. It always seems louder than the usual chatter somehow. It never lasts for long. Everyone explodes into chatter at once, cries of confusion, anger, "Impossible!"

"Pardon me, Jarl," Talao manages to make himself heard over the commotion "But how is that possible?"

"Well, tell me what you know of the legend of the Dragonborn, Talao. You are the storyteller here."

"I... Well... Dragonborn is a term used to describe the Septim dynasty of the Empire. A blessing from Akatosh, that those whose veins flowed with the blood of dragons remained in covenant with the god, beginning with St. Alessia's founding of the First Empire, and ending with the death of Martin Septim at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon at the end of the Third Era. Those are the documented 'Dragonborn Emperors.'"

"True, but spare us the history lesson." He puzzles me. He's become increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation goes on. "Why are you skirting the issue, Talao?"

"I'm not! I just... The Dragonborn also refers to a warrior, or rather, warriors of ancient Nordic legend who could... Absorb the souls of dragons slain in battle, gaining their knowledge and power. But I recall no pact-making, nor am I descended from the Septim bloodline! I'm not even..."

"What, not a warrior?" I ask heatedly.

"...a Nord," he finishes lamely.

I lean back, looking at Talao over steepled fingers. Why he continued to deny the obvious baffles me; what else could explain the spectacle earlier, or the call? "The Greybeards are masters of 'The Way of the Voice.' They live in seclusion, high on the slopes of the Throat of the World. The Dragonborn," I raise my hand to stifle any objections, "is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. IF you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use that gift."

My brother, ever excitable, interjects. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the Voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar. This hasn't happened in... Centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned, when he was still Talos of Atmora."

"Calm yourself, Hrongar. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as he may be, I don't see any signs of him being this, what, Dragonborn." Shor's bones, does Proventus never keep counsel to himself?

"Nord nonsense? Why, you puffed up, ignorant..." Hrongar looks angry enough to tear Avenicci's head clean from his shoulders. And I must say, I mirror the sentiment. "These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

While seeing Proventus cower before the rage of my brother is entertaining, it would be poor form to allow his anger to get the better of him. Especially with guests present. "Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci."

For once, Proventus wisely backs down. "I meant no disrespect, of course." Liar. "It's just... What do these Greybeards want with him?"

"That's the Greybeards' business. Not ours." Everyone was looking at Talao now. He still seems unsure, but far less uncomfortable than before. I suppose, as a bard, he is more than used to being the center of attention. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they, of all people, think you are Dragonborn, who are we to argue?"

"I suppose, one way or another, they'll have answers I need to hear. I hope. It's as though..." Talao shakes his head. "Forgive me, I'd prefer not to speak of this now."

"I understand. One last thing, Talao. The dragon; was it the same one you saw at Helgen?"

He shakes his head. "Nay. Mirm... This dragon was a sort of bronze color. The one at Helgen was pitch-black, with glowing red eyes."

So it is as we feared then. One dragon could be coincidence, but two different dragons? "My thanks. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. But, before you do..." I stand, and descend the steps. "You've done a great service for me and my city. Both of you. By my right as Jarl, I name you both Thanes of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant." Uthgerd seems astonished, and Talao nods, as though perhaps he expected something. "I regret that the matters of your housecarls and badges of office may take a few days to settle, but your actions are deserving of all I can give you; it would not feel right to delay a reward for any reason. You both have gone above and beyond what was required of you, and I speak for all of Whiterun when I say that we are honored to have you as Thanes of our city."

"I... I know not what to say my Jarl," Uthgerd stutters. "Thank you."

Talao inclines his head respectfully. "Passing gracious, my Jarl, I humbly accept."

A wide smile crosses my face. "Now come! Enough of this heavy talk. We have this day slain a dragon, and must celebrate properly! Let's to the Bannered Mare, before Irileth returns and tries to keep me away from the festivities. All hail Uthgerd and Talao, slayers of dragons!"

For such a small group, the cheer is strong and vigorous. Even Farengar joins us as we walk down the steps to leave the hall. Uthgerd seems proud enough, but underneath Talao's cheerful face, I can see the undercurrent of uncertainty lingers. For good reason. A Dragonborn, in this day and age. I'm sure this is what I sensed in him our first meeting, this destiny of his. But the question lingers; why bestow such a gift upon a mortal now, of all times? To slay one dragon? No. Something far greater lurks over the horizon. Talao knows it, and I know it.

Ah, well. Heavy thoughts for another day. Tonight, I plan to drink as much as I can before Irileth spoils my fun. I see little enough of my people these days. If my hangover is as strong as Vignar Gray-Mane's, I'll consider the night a success. And, hopefully, distract myself for at least one night.

A/N: Last "canon" chapter for a while. Slight hints to the nature of Dragon Souls in this fic are being dropped, but any true explanation will be quite far off still. Jarl Balgruuf adheres to the Imperial pantheon of the Eight Divines, though it is known that he also secretly worships Talos. But as a good politician, he must put up a front for the Aldmeri. Uthgerd was glanced over for reason. Namely, that reason being that Balgruuf was way more interested in Talao at this point in time. For those who question why Balgruuf entrusted Talao with his task... well, why does he trust any protagonist with it? Doesn't matter what kind of character you roll, or how you appear, you'll be sent on a mission for merely having survived Helgen. So, there must be another factor at play. Just instincts.

Chapter 17 - Whiterun I: Dragon Rising x Chapter 19 - Uthgerd V: The Way Of The Voice

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 17 - Whiterun I: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 6:30PM

Whiterun

"DOOOVAAAHKIIIN!"

Chapter 16 - Menrig I: Dragon Rising x Chapter 18 - Balgruuf II: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 16 - Menrig I: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Menrig

Unlike many of my fellows, I had grown up wanting to be a town guard.

For sure, the stories of heroes and adventurers enthralled me, but the thought of such danger all the time filled me with dread. Becoming a merchant sounded far too dull, and farming even more so. Despite my friends' jokes about "taking an arrow to the knee" and settling down at their spouse's behest, guard duty seemed to me a safe, but interesting job to maintain.

So how in the name of Talos is it that we have this day fought a dragon?

We'd all heard the rumors, of course, but it still all seemed like mere fantasy, far away from our actual lives. But those thoughts vanished when we reached the Western Watchtower. Not even the local giants could have done such damage, nor caused the stones themselves to catch fire. If anyone had doubts still, they flew when a scout called out a dragon approaching from the southern mountains. We all desperately moved to defensible positions, drawing bows, as the dragon descended upon us at impossible speed. I called upon Akatosh to protect me from his child, and Talos to grant me valor in battle, and to the old warriors of legend, the Dragonborn. And then it was upon us.

"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor."

It was... Madness. I have no other word to describe what happened this day. It was unlike any fight one could possibly imagine. As our foe was airborne, our first attack was a volley of arrows thrown on the Housecarl's mark. A few hit their mark, but they hardly seemed effective, beyond the beast somehow avoiding most of them. Irileth had said something about forcing it to land, but such thoughts have a way of being forgotten in the heat of battle.

There were no ranks to close, no manner of file that would work against an enemy that could fly over your head to flank you. So when the voice of that Breton screamed out to 'ware the dragon's fire, you found cover where you could. The few archers stationed on the remains of the watchtower were lucky to merely hide behind the arrow slits, but those of us on the ground scrambled to find rubble large enough, raise our shields, and pray to not be cooked alive. The heat was still unbearable, and the stone turned cherry red at our backs, but all of us stood still after that first pass.

The next few minutes passed the same; Let fly an arrow, the move 'round cover before the dragon returned the favor a hundredfold. Once, it lit upon the tower, and with one sweep of its tail, leveled the entire top floor, but its brief pause gave us the chance to loose several dozen arrows directly into its back, forcing it to take flight once more. Soon after, the beast landed, whether from injury or frustration at its lack of success in the air. We abandoned our bows, drew our blades, and now we were able to move together. We might not have been soldiers, but our bonds of kinship as Nords were instinctual.

"Krif krin. Pruzah! I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

If fighting a flying dragon was madness, then fighting it on the ground felt like being in Oblivion itself. The beast was even larger up close; its maw could have easily fit a man's torso within it. I know this for certain, as it snapped its neck forward, pouncing upon a man too slow with his shield. The sight of a man being tossed about like a rabbit, the sound of cracking bones; it will haunt me forever, I'm sure. It tossed the corpse aside like a rat, and backed away from our line, as we attempted to flank and encircle it. Despite a warning from Talao, its tail knocked a few of us over several times, one of the fallen men roasted alive when we were a moment too late to recover, but we soon felt the flow of its attacks. Half our number would block a fang or claw, and then they other half dart forward and score as many cuts as possible while the dragon is vulnerable.

The dragon screeched at us after one particular foray, and our line staggered back at the sheer force behind it. It tensed up, and I could tell it was about to regain the air. To flee, or to take advantage of our open position, either one would be devastating to us, but we seemed powerless to stop it. Until Uthgerd broke rank and charged forward with a battle-cry that put the dragon's to shame. With her tremendous greatsword, she clove directly through one of the beast's wings.

The sound that issued forth from the dragon... I have never heard, nor ever shall hear, a sound so visceral, so terrifying, so piteous, as the sound of pain that came from that dragon's throat. It reared back from Uthgerd, but the damage was done; its wing fell uselessly by its side, blood gushing from the wound, as it screamed, "Dii viing! Hi sunvaar, zu'u fen krii hi! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" It staggered around on its three remaining limbs, madness and fury in its eyes. A living avatar of the unbridled force of Nirn itself.

And that insane woman looked at the thrashing, screaming dragon, smiled, and charged forward again.

I half expected to be cleaning her corpse off the ground later, but she skillfully evaded the dragon's desperate flailing, and leapt atop its back, plunging her blade deep into its flesh, again and again. With every thrust, the dragon's screams became softer, and its thrashing slowly eased. She dropped off the dragon's back, then held up its massive head, a dagger in hand. The gleam in its eyes is dim, searching past us, when they widen and I hear it say "Dovahkiin? Nid!" It tensed up once more, as if to deny its fate, and then the woman shoved her dagger into the base of its skull. The light died, and it went limp.

Now, the dragon's vanquisher gives another great cry, a feeling of victory rather than challenge, and the guards all follow suit, realizing we had done it. We had done the impossible, the stuff of legends; we had slain a dragon!

The housecarl's quick tally of our troops was somber, though not terribly depressing. Of the dozen guards that had made our group, only two had died. Kjeld was the poor soul who'd been nearly eaten alive, and Sorarke the one who had fallen to flames. One of the archers in the tower, Ingmorn, had his legs crushed, but would live. The two guards who'd originally been stationed at the tower, Hroki and Tor, had not made it either. The rest of us all had minor burns and other wounds, but nothing serious. Our ordeal was finally over.

Or so I thought.

It happened when Irileth had stepped forward to inspect the corpse. Even in death, the dragon was magnificent, despite its wounds. Its teeth a blinding ivory, majestic horns upon its skull, its bronze scales still gleaming. And smoking. Smoking?

We all back away, murmuring, as the dragon's flesh seems to fade and burn. Was it coming back to life? I hear a death rattle from its chest, as if exhaling for the last time again, and a queer wind blows from it, something more than air, and flowing toward a surprised looking Uthgerd. No, not to her, through her. Past her.

I hear another scream. And I see him, the Breton who had inspired us not an hour ago, who had warned us of the dragon's actions in the heat of battle, had descended from the ramparts. And now the wind was burrowing itself in his chest, as he screamed, no loudly, not in pain, but an odd mix of fear and surprise. Before my eyes, the dragon corpse has suddenly decayed by weeks. As if all the life had been drained from it, or its vitality.

Or its soul.

Something clicks in my mind; an old story I'd heard, but as though I'd forgotten until this moment. As Uthgerd helps Talao up, panting and sweating, eyes wild with emotion, one word is at the front of my mind. "It can't be. You're..."

After today, perhaps I'll take up farming after all.

Translations: Balaan hokoron - Worthy enemies Krif krin. Pruzah! - Fight courageously. Good! Dii viing! Hi sunvaar, zu'u fen krii hi! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde! - My wing! You monsters, I'll kill you! My overlord will devour your souls in Sovngarde!

Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising x Chapter 17 - Whiterun I: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last See 4E201 Early Evening

Irileth

"One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with here."

Balgruuf's last words to me echo within my mind. It isn't the first time he had said them to me. I doubt it shall be the last either. And my response was also the same as ever. "Don't worry, my Jarl. I am the very soul of caution." An exchange as old as our partnership in the Imperial Army.

And yet... The very nature of my mission causes me to wonder if this might indeed be the last time this exchange passes between us. This eve, I fight no man, no mer, but an ancient beast older than civilization itself, one not fought since the First Era, when myths and legend roamed Nirn freely. Is it possible for mere mortals to fell such a creature?

Well, there is a skull in Dragonsreach that claimed such was indeed possible. And, more importantly, it is my job to convince the dozen guardsmen arrayed in front of me that we are not all marching to an early grave. Perhaps easier said than done. While none would call the Nordic peoples faint of heart, the men and women before me are guards, not soldiers, I doubt many have seen more action than the occasional bandit raid.

The guards are on-edge already; no doubt they're aware of the situation at least somewhat. "Here's the situation, men. A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." Exclamations of shock rippled through their ranks. "You heard right! I said a dragon!" I raise my voice to grab their attention and restore what little order they possess. "I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"But housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?"

"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, let alone expected to face one in battle. But! We are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes... Our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

"We are so dead."

I had hoped to inspire them all with my impassioned words, but for every glimmer of defiance I saw, I also noticed as many with fear in their eyes, the kind that led to deserters in the midst of battle; far more dangerous than any tangible foe.

"Housecarl?" Behind me is Talao, along with the woman he had returned with. "If I may?"

"Why are you here?" I ask him in an undertone.

"Well, Uthgerd and I are following you to the watchtower, so that..."

"No. I mean, why are you here?" I reply bitingly. "We are about to possibly engage in battle with an ancient beast of destruction. I need no liabilities on the field of battle, lest your weakness cause another's death."

Uthgerd scowls, but rather than cowing the Breton with my words, his eyes harden and he whispers back, "I may be no warrior, nor a soldier of your experience, but I am far from helpless on the battlefield, I assure you. I am also the only civilian in this city to have seen a dragon in action, and can give you information during a fight with such a foe, unless you would prefer to lose your guards while you learn how to best fight it. But, more importantly, right this moment, your speech has hardly inspired your guards, and that is definitely something I have a gift for."

Well. I certainly prefer this Breton to the silver-tongued fop I met a few days past. I should almost question if he were the same man, did I not remember him so clearly. And he was right. To lead the guards with such a mindset would be dangerous. I nodded to Talao and stood aside, leaving him to address the men.

"Guards of Whiterun! You don't know me, but my name is Talao. I'm a Breton and a bard. But more importantly, I'm one of the few survivors from when the town of Helgen was razed to the ground by a dragon. And I will tell you that I have never been as afraid as I had been then. A beast from eras past, the size of twenty men, raining fire upon an unsuspecting town, destroying walls with a flick of its mighty tail. I was helpless, a prisoner with hands bound, running to survive. I watched that town crumble.

"And unless we are successful today, someone else will tell the same story about Whiterun."

The muttering among the guards grows heated as he pauses briefly, ad I almost stop Talao before he scares them all the the hills. But I hold out hope that he will turn the tides yet.

"I tell you this not to frighten you, but to ensure you do not underestimate what may await us out there, thought I doubt you would regardless. And also because of what else I saw that day; men and women fighting for their lives. Saving one another, and driving the dragon back! I could stand here and try to convince you that you could become the next Olaf One-Eye, slaying dragons like the heroes of eld. But what truly drives us to greatness is not glory for glory's sake. It is to fight for those who cannot, to save those you care for! Helgen was taken by surprise, unarmed but for a regiment of soldiers who had no recourse but to save those they could and retreat to safety. We are forewarned and forearmed, ready to fight.

"You ask how you shall fight a dragon? The same way you fight a bandit or a bear. You fight with fire in your hearts and pride in your home. You fight for your spouses, your children, your friends, and your Jarl. You fight so that no person shall e'er feel an ounce more loss than they must! And every one of them shall remember your name, no matter the outcome!"

The change in the mood of the crowd is astounding, as though lightning coursed through every man's veins. Myself included. I jump atop a low wall nearby and shout, "Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" The roar of assent was deafening as we charged through the gates. I find Talao's eyes and give him a brief salute before we are all swept away. I only hope the triumph in his eyes lasts the day.

Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising x Chapter 16 - Menrig I: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Farengar

It grates on my nerves, sometimes, how often I have to interact with simpletons during the course of my research. If I could, I'd simply sit in my study, and have a runner retrieve books for me until my voice disappeared from disuse. Luckily, with most of the people, using small words and stroking their ego is enough to get what I need, and I need never speak with them again once our business is concluded.. The ones I can't stand are the brutes with just enough brains to be knowledgeable in one thing they desire, but care for naught else.

Such as Delphine.

"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts." The text in question - The Holding of Jarl Gjalund - wasn't... completely useless. It was certainly valuable thanks to its age, but the only insight it gave was a loose translation of old places that could help decipher other texts. Useful only in conjunction with other texts, but no real intrinsic value to speak of.

But, of course, none of this matter to Delphine. She requires direct answers, careless of such subtext, unless it informs exactly what she wants to hear. "Good. I'm glad to see you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

Ah, yes. Delphine's mysterious 'employers.' People with an odd number of old, supposedly lost, manuscripts and information. Would I could meet them in person rather than work through this willfully ignorant intermediary, but she insists that they insist that secrecy is imperative for their survival. Imagine how much progress I'd actually make then. Ah well, I suppose not every scholar can count on a Jarl to guarantee their safety. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research." No more inventing cantrips to keep skeevers out of the food stores. Thank Julianos.

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back." I frown. Another thing I don't like about Delphine; while her employers might have a wealth of knowledge, she herself is more than abrasive and ignorant. I can tell she has no interest in the actual research itself. No interest in knowledge for understanding's sake. So why pursue it? Doubtless for destructive purposes, like so many of her kind. I worry what she personally might do with that information. Not until I myself understand more.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..." A few loud voices from the hall distract me, but only for a moment. "Now, let me show you something else I found... Very intriguing." I duck beneath my desk, looking for that scroll with the Dragon Cult information. I could have sworn I left it here... "I think your employers may be interested as well."

"Farengar," Delphine says suddenly. "You have visitors."

"Hmm?" By the Eight, can't I have a single meeting uninterrupted? The price of my research finally being important, I suppose. "Who is it?"

"Cheers, Farengar!"

That voice. I bang my head against the desk standing up, but sure enough, standing in the doorway is... Blast, I knew I'd forget his name. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

"Never felt more alive, Farengar. Thought the same can't be said for that necromancer we found in Brittleshin Pass, eh Uthgerd?"

The woman standing beside him, who I vaguely remember from the inn a few weeks back, scoffs, "Please, the man was dead inside long before we stumbled upon him. Didn't stop you from screaming like a child when you saw those skeletons."

"They startled me! And of course you wouldn't mention those ice runes I saved your hide from."

"You're just upset that I let him spark your ass once because you wouldn't stop trying to tell me how to fight."

They both laugh, and I notice Delphine seems amused by their banter. However, more important things are at play here. "Did you retrieve what I sent you for?"

Still chuckling, the woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a tablet. One look confirms it, if Delphine's suddenly hungry look hadn't. Old artefacts always have a certain gravitas about them. "Aaahhh, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

She places the tablet on my desk, as I pull out a roll of parchment and charcoal. Tracings are more useful for casual investigation; no need to lug the tablet to and fro to see this or that detail. And I'm sure Delphine's employers would love a copy as well.

"What about our reward?"

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that," I say, eyes not leaving my half-finished tracing. "Perhaps his steward, Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately. My... associate here," I use the term for Delphine for lack of a better one, "will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me." Delphine, naturally, pointedly ignores my glare as I continue. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friends here to thank for recovering it for us."

For her part, Delphine looks appreciatively at the pair, though she seems more focused on Uthgerd than... The bard. Tedo? No, that's not it. "So you went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work."

She starts to speak again, but out of nowhere Irileth suddenly runs into my study, shouting my name. We all stop, and I notice a commotion in the throne room, guards scurrying everywhere. What in Tamriel could have sent the ants into such a flurry? "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." The last part is said to the adventurers, as if an afterthought, but I hardly care. My pulse quickens. A dragon!

"A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

Irileth, ever the stick in the mud, replies, "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." Always the pessimist. There's a skull staring at us right this moment that shows us it's possible. Rather than respond, I follow Irileth up a set of stairs to the Jarl's map room. The crowd is short of overwhelming, a dozen people all vying for attention at once, but I simply must find out more.

The Jarl finally manages to quieten the room, and addresses a guard sitting near the table, guzzling a skein of water. His face was pale as snow, as though he'd seen a ghost. Or, I suppose, a dragon. Much more intimidating and accurate. The guard's conversation with the Jarl was short and informative; a dragon sighted near the Western Watchtower, circling it, but not attacking it. Though, if that behaviour is aught to go by, that might easily have changed since then. I could better tell if I had been there, or had the information been more detailed. But still. A live dragon. That's all I need to hear.

When the Jarl finishes informing his housecarl to rally the guards, I approach him with purpose. "My Jarl, I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon myself."

"No." His response is instantaneous and sharp. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against this dragon."

I almost retort a number of rebuttals; my need to know better firsthand the capabilities of dragons, the inaccuracy of secondary accounts, the usefulness of my own knowledge to help the guards. But his words to Irileth, about coming back alive and not becoming a martyr, give me pause. Delphine mentioned before that my research is no longer merely academic. A dragon, full of fire, sharp fangs and claws, and possibly rage, is just outside the Hold's borders. Perhaps my observations would be done best from a safer distance. I nod to the Jarl, to show my agreement with him, and head out. I had best find a suitable vantage point from the ramparts to oversee the events unfolding. And, with any luck, perhaps I'll have more than mere bones to examine once all this is over.

Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

Uthgerd

"I still can't believe how... Messy that trap was."

Talao, head still in the journal we lifted from the... Remains of the bandit, looked queasy still. "Can't say I disagree with you on that one." The sight of a man pinned against a wall, impaled by wooden spikes was... Gristly, to say the least.

He sighed, turning a page. "Shame. I did try to warn him there could be more traps, albeit subtly. I suppose I'll have to be more direct in the future."

"You did?"

"When I mentioned the puzzle trap from earlier."

"Ah." Frankly, the coward was asking for it, barreling through a ruin the way he did. Who wouldn't expect something to happen? He might've been able to outrun Draugr, but one dead end and he would have been helpless. Not to mention his obvious attempt at escaping. Served him right. Talao grunted, distracted again by the book in front of him. For some reason, I found myself comparing the two of them, what little I knew at least. They were both small and skinny, obviously, with no talent for fighting, but that was it. The dark elf had run at the first sign of danger, where Talao had stayed, despite his weakness. No to mention how he saved me at the entrance earlier. And the bandit was fool enough to run into a trap despite being warned, whereas Talao...

Hang on. Talao was smart enough to realize there would be traps, and to warn the bandit about them. Was he naive enough to just tell a possible enemy that, and expect him to not take the selfish route of taking the treasure for himself? Or did he do it to give the elf a choice to stay with us, safe, or run off and die? It seemed at odds with the peaceful presence he usually put forth. Seems there's more to this man than first I thought.

"We're here."

My thoughts cut short, I look up at an imposing wall. Nordic designs cover it, and there are large circular plates with pictures on them, as well as an odd dish in the center, with three holes set in it. But most importantly, it was a dead end. "So where's the door? You sure this is it?"

"Yes. The 'Hall of Stories.'" Rather than the wall ahead of us, Talao stares at some of the murals on the side walls. "Fascinating bas-relief sculptures. Very early Nordic, nearly Nedic. I suppose it is a Hall of Stories, after all. I wonder what this one tells of."

"Which one?" I look. "Seems to be about a local Dragon Priest."

"Really? How can you tell?"

Something the 'bard' doesn't know. What a novel experience. "Well, see this figure here is the Dragon Priest. They all were depicted as having some special mask, which supposedly held great power within them, and were part of the source of their own powers. The first panel shows him performing some feat of magic, and the Nords below are cowering in fear. This second one shows them worshiping the Priest, and tithing gifts to him. And this last one," a picture full of the screaming and dying, "shows those same people being destroyed by their supposed deity."

"Huh. I'm impressed."

"Really?" Is he making fun of me?

"Well, the Dragon Cult isn't the most widespread of stories. Few have heard tell of it, or its adherents."

"Maybe not in High Rock, but all of Skyrim was once under their rule," I say, gesturing to the wall. "You bards sometimes seem to forget that all stories have some person's history wrapped up in it."

"I would never..." he stops.

Did I just render him speechless? That'd be a first, and I feel quite a bit of pride for it. For all Talao's bluster, he's human too. "Come on, let's get this door open. Does the journal say anything about it?"

"Um... Ah yes. The bandit, Arvel, writes about 'the power of the ancient Nordic heroes,' as well as the man he stole it from - a Lucan Valerius? Let's see," he ruffles the pages again, as if searching for a specific spot. "Key, Bleak Falls Barrow, Hall of Stories, legend... A test to 'keep the unworthy away." I'd desperately like to know where he heard all this. Ah, here. 'When you hold the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.'"

I wait a moment, until it's clear no further information is coming from Talao. "Well that's frustratingly vague." And therefore probably accurate. No one would call the Nords a subtle race, but we're as fond of our wordplay as any other. I hold out the claw, talons pointed away from me, inspecting it against the wall. Three nails, three holes. Clearly where the "key" goes, so I try placing it within, and twist it as if it were an actual key. No response. It doesn't budge at all. However, I notice that the gold of the claw isn't completely smooth. "There's a bunch of odd runes on it. Nothing I can understand."

"Let me see. Hm, it seems to be late Nedic. All traits they valued, I suppose. This one says 'pride,' and this is 'valor.' Nothing about a door."

"What about those carvings on the door itself? What do those mean?"

"Odd... These aren't runes at all, but pictographs. Just animal murals with no deeper meaning."

I'm stumped, and so is Talao, if the strange look on his face is anything to go by. What did that bandit know that we don't? "'The solution is in the palm of your hands,'" I mutter.

"The palm... Wait. What if it's meant literally?" Talao exclaims. "We keep holding it like this, with the talons pointed away so we don't stab ourselves. What if the solution is in the palm of the claw, where our own palms have been?"

He turns it over, and we both look. While Talao is translating more of the runes, I notice something out of place. "Look there, in the middle. Three of those pictographs, hidden in the runes."

"By Y'ffre, you're right. The empty space makes out the animals. Good eye, Uthgerd. I see... From top to bottom a bear, a... Butterfly? Maybe a moth? Then an owl."

I look at the wall again. "The pictures up here are out of order, though."

"They probably move or rotate." He's right; the large circular segments run along some kind of rail, grinding smoothly, despite their age. "So... Bear, then moth, then owl." Each one clicks into place. "Now, try the claw."

Again I insert the claw into the central disk, pushing it in. I feel something catch, and it twists to the right. I expect some kind of door, but instead the entire wall begins to slowly descend into the floor. "Amazing."

"Magnificent." It's quite exciting. But, oddly, every inch the wall falls, I feel more... Fearful. As though I'd forgotten something. Something... dangerous.

"Uthgerd." Talao says. "You don't suppose... Might there be a Dragon Priest interred here?"

Now that was a frightening thought.. "The mural."

"Aye. It suddenly occurred to me how simple getting here was. The traps were definitely to deter intruders, but this wall... It seems built more to keep something in rather than out.

"And maybe the 'ancient power' buried here is not some artifact, but a being of power instead."

CLUNK

We both jump, as the wall hits the floor. Beyond is a cavernous chamber, muted moonlight flowing in from holes in the ceiling, illuminating a large, stony structure in the back. The awe-inspiring sight is spoiled by the sudden tension in the air. After a moment's hesitation, I draw my blade, and Talao holds his staff in front of him. We move slowly into the cavern. An underground brook gurgles by. A colony of bats screeches by after we startle them. The structure, a semi-circular wall, stands upon a worn podium. Along with an ornate treasure chest. A table.

And a coffin.

My heart jumps. Something is here. I can feel it. Nothing happens as we mount the stairs. The coffin remains still. Don't plan to let it out of my sight, though.

"Did you hear that? Talao says.

The wind. The stream. A falling rock. "...hear what?"

"I can hear... It's like it's both within and without me at once. Bum... Bum bum. Like drums."

Bum... Bum bum

Faintly, I hear it. Or... Feel it. Everywhere at once like Talao said. I could feel it in my bones, in my lungs.

Bum... Bum bum

Where is it coming from? Every step I take, it builds, louder and louder.

Bum... Bum bum

"The wall," I say. "Look at it." The moonlight falls directly on it, standing like a monolith. But it seems to glow brighter than it should. Magic?

Bum... Bum bum

"These markings..."

They don't look like the ones on the claw," I say. We move closer to the wall, the drums pounding through my body. "Just... Scratches."

BUM... BUM BUM

"No. This isn't a human language at all. Or mer, or beast. It's much older." He looks at me, eyes wide with wonder.

BUM... BUM BUM

"It's dragon."

...

"The drums have stopped." Talao ignores me, set on the wall in front of him, even more than with the journal. We're close enough to touch it, but it feels... Irreverent to do so, somehow. "Dragon, you said?"

"Aye," he responds. His eyes move back and forth in short bursts. "The oldest language recorded. Except for perhaps the Elder Scrolls themselves."

"Can you read it, then?"

"Words here and there. I've never actually seen the language written properly, only glossaries or dictionaries. Dragons never wrote on parchment, after all."

"Why?"

"Why?! He scoffs incredulously. "Do those markings look to be written in ink? No. They were carved into the stone by claw. This... This is a living testament to the existence of dragons. One stood, once, right where we stand now. And it left this. For us."

By Ysmir. I can hardly wrap my mind around the idea. "So... What does it say? Is this the 'Dragonstone'?"

"It'd be rather difficult to return to Farengar if 'twere. But no. I don't see any... Directions or anything related to burials. Except maybe this line. 'Het nok faal vahlok.' Here lies the... Something, but it's not 'dragon.' 'Deinmaar' is keeper, or holder. 'Dovahgolz,' dragon... something. Maybe stone? Yes, it must be 'Dragonstone.' 'Unslaad' I know means 'unending' or 'innumerable.' Rahgol ahrk vulom'... Anger and black? Dark?"

"Well, that's not foreboding at all." Sounds like our treasure is here. But where? And what is "keeping" it? Oh please, please, please don't be a Dragon Priest.

"Hang on, there's another word here... It's like my eyes slipped over it before. Hmm. FUS."

It happens quickly. The gentle breeze becomes a whirlwind, screaming through the cave, blowing me off balance. I see Talao, standing tall within the wind, as though it were focused around him. And then I see the wind, full of energy and colours somehow, stream into his nose and mouth, as he breathes in so much, I fear he may burst from the volume of it all.

And then it ends. The air falls silent once more, and Talao falls to his hands and knees with a mighty gasp. But only air.

"What in the..."

He breathes in.

A loud crash echoes behind me, and I turn to see the lid of the coffin fall aside. A hand reaches out, pulling with it a large Draugr, blue eyes glowing beneath an ornate helm. Well, at least it's not a Dragon Priest, thank Kyne. Small victories.

I can hear Talao breathing raggedly behind me as I size up the enemy. The good thing about Draugr, to me and anyone else, is that they're slow. All I have to do is dodge its swings, and strike while it recovers. They might fight on without legs, but so long as...

"FUS!"

I stumble backwards, barely avoiding catching myself on the wall. Did that thing just... shout at me? And force me back? It staggers toward me much quicker than I anticipated, but its attack is so widely telegraphed, I avoid it with ease. A shower of sparks flies from where his blade meets stone, and I regain my bearing, carving into its left arm. The wound does nothing. It doesn't bleed, or feel pain. Nothing short of cutting body parts off will do anything to stop it.

So, that's what I do. I close distance, keeping it from using its strange magic upon me again, and keep hacking away. Its left arm is first to go, dropping to the floor. Then I sever its legs. I few more swipes and I disarm it as well, then behead it with one fell swoop. The blue glow flickers and dies. Anti-climactic, maybe. But I think I've had enough thrills for the day.

I turn back to Talao. He sits, back against the wall, staff lying by his side. Staring into the distance, and quieter than I'd ever seen him. His breath has gone back to normal. "Talao? Are you alright?"

He looks at me, and I nearly flinch away. I feel... Utterly intimidated. There is a power behind his gaze that wasn't before. "I am. Alright, that is. At least, I think so."

"What happened? I mean... What... happened to you?"

"I'm not sure. I read that last word and then... It was like I was being filled with... I don't know. Like potential... Fus." He stared back into the darkness, his eyes unfocused. I wonder if he's in shock.

"Fus... The Draugr yelled that at me as well. Wonder what it means."

"Force. It means force."

I looks at him oddly. "How do you know?"

"I don't know. I just... Know. Or maybe I always knew, and I remembered it just now."

"Well, is that all you 'remember?'"

He rubs his face, then covers all but his mouth and recites:

Here lies the guardian, Keeper of the Dragonstone. A FORCE of unending Rage and darkness.

"The writing on the wall?" I ask.

"Yes. It's like it's imprinted in my brain. The knowledge. Maybe FUS was like a key that unlocked it."

I stand, running my hand along the word that Talao had touched. It wasn't only because I was feeling uncomfortable keeping eye contact. Fus... It resonates in my toes, sends a shiver down my spine. "Why didn't it happen to me as well, then?" Not that I was terrible interested or jealous in the same thing happening to me.

"Who know? Maybe only the first person who touches it is granted the knowledge. Someone who already knows some of it. Or some other criteria unbeknownst to us. This is beyond my stories."

A moment of silence. Talao stands up and moves to the now empty coffin stepping over the re-deceased corpse "I'll wager our treasure was interred with our dead friend here. A-ha. A bit bigger than I'd imagined." With a heave, he lifts a large five-sided stone tablet from within the coffin, and places it on what I suppose is (or was) an embalming table. "Yes, it's an actual physical map of Skyrim," he says as I lean in beside him. "Not to scale, clearly, but you can see the relation between the burial sites and nearby landmarks. Probably not exact in order to keep it somewhat secret, were it to fall into the wrong hands. Such as ours, most likely."

"Fascinating, I'm sure." It wasn't much to look at. But valuable enough to Farengar; he can have it. I open the chest I'd noticed earlier - I'd killed the guardian of the ruins, so by right of trial by combat, its treasures were now mine - but it was disappointingly sparse of any valuables. A handful of old Nordic gold and silver coins. Not Septims, but they might fetch a decent price from the right person. An old axe, corroded beyond repair, and at the bottom, a horned helm, similar to the one worm by the Draugr. A trophy fit for my victory, if nothing else. Talao had better have been truthful about the Jarl's reward.

"We'd best be going, Uthgerd." Talao scans the back wall. "These ruins usually have a secret exit that leads to the entrance or out the back. With luck, we can make it back to Whiterun, and our reward, within two sundowns."

Well. That sort of zeal is new. But welcome, compared to his usual sober pace. I shoulder my pack, heavier one Dragonstone, and catch him up near the back wall. All in all, our trek seems to have been a resounding success, and I'll be glad to return to Whiterun to tell everyone of the tale.

But...

I glance at Talao again, his eyes shining with confidence. Things have changed by our being here. I wonder if it will be for good or ill. I suppose only time will tell in the long run.

Even considering the accepted idea that the Dragon Claw keys were only meant to keep the Draugr IN their tombs, I always found the puzzles overly simplistic; I sincerely doubt the Dragon Cult or their imprisoners wanted the Lords/Priests released by any Joe Schmoe. So I made them slightly more interesting, at least in my mind. Putting the solution within the negative space created by the runes gives the Claws a bit more substance as a ritualistic or decorative piece, and makes it actually quite easy to overlook. I will hold off on any commentary regarding the Word Wall for now, but hope you enjoyed the scene; it was one I was very much looking forward to and, as Uthgerd unconsciously notices, marks a significant turning point in Talao's development. Suffice to say, "game mechanics" will be very much different in my fic.

Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

My frickin dashboard must be broken because I haven't seen anything past chapter 2! SO HAPPY to finally read more!

Enjoy the sudden glut of chapters then!

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Arvel Swiftpinch

I wasn't always a bandit, you know. I used to be a merchant on Solstheim. Successful. Respectable.

Boring.

So I ran off to Skyrim, hoping to find something interesting to do. Nothing too adventurous, but anything beat counting Septims behind a counter, I thought. But all I found in Windhelm were a bunch of racists with anger issues. At best, I was ignored. At worst... Well, let's just say I joined this group of bandits mostly so I could get back at every Nord I could find.

If I'd known I was going to end up as a spider's diner, maybe I'd have stayed in Solstheim. It was my own damned fault, I suppose. A Draugr popped out of nowhere, and I panicked before Harknir or Bjorn could even react. I'm no bloody fighter; just a gossipmonger with a talent for picking up valuables, which is how I got this damned key in the first place. Its terrifying, rattling breath and strange language unsettled me enough without them jumping off the damn walls, and when I looked over my shoulder to see if it was following me, I ran straight into the largest web I'd seen in my life. The more I struggled, the worse it covered me, so I resigned myself to waiting for my compatriots. So I waited.

And waited

...And waited.

Did the Draugr kill them? I'd never been inside a Nordic ruin before, but surely no undead was sturdy or strong enough to kill two Nords. Every moment that passes is another closer to a pair of pincers in my neck. Was the spider still alive? The web seems recent enough. But why hasn't it come to check on the movement? And where are those bloody Nords?!... What if there was another path? They might have completely missed me. My heart starts beating furiously. I could die down here. No! I will not let Dagon have me! I will survive.

As if by providence, I suddenly hear footsteps from the hall, and voices - live ones. "Is... Is someone coming? Harknir, Bjorn, is that you?" The voices dim, but I can hear them moving about, more hesitant than before. "Look, I know I ran ahead, but the Draugr... I need help!"

Finally, two people appear in the doorway. But neither of them are Harknir or Bjorn. One is a skinny man in robes, and the other is... The biggest bloody Nord woman I've ever seen. Shit. Dagon is truly testing me this day. "Who are you? Oh, never mind. Cut me down before that thing comes back for us!"

"Us?" the Nord scoffs. "The only one I see in trouble here is you, bandit."

I shove aside the numerous curses running through my head; this could all turn to ash if I can't take control of the situation. "What happened to those idiots I left behind? I don't suppose you've killed them." The Nord continued to sneer at me, but the other one acted more neutrally. Whatever they were here for, he was my ticket to living... Or at least to keep the woman from running me through. "I won't lie and say they forced me to help them or anything, but I never hurt anyone! I was just an ear. The worst I ever did was palm a few items from a villager or two."

"Really? Such as a certain golden claw?"

For the love of... Can I not catch a single break? "Yes, yes, the claw. I know how it works, the claw, the markings, the door. I know how they all fit together. Just help me down, and I'll show you."

"Why don't you just tell us now, ash-face?"

Ash-face. How unoriginal. "Because I don't fancy you leaving me to die here while you run off. And the claw is in my pocket anyway."

"He has a point."

"Talao..."

The man - Talao, I suppose - pulls a dagger from his belt and approaches me. "He's one mer, Uthgerd. And covered in webbing. I doubt he'll be any trouble even if he wanted to be." Smug little n'wah. The Nord joins him after a moment, but the webs are absurdly thick, taking much longer to cut than I would have thought. "So," the... Talao says, "I'm a bit curious how you made it through that puzzle trap earlier. It was locked when we came through."

Puzzle? "I've no clue what you're on about. There was no gate or anything when I came through." Although I do remember a loud crash soon after I took off. I'd assumed it was the Draugr knocking over a pot or something.

"Hm. Perhaps it was rigged to close behind the first person to come through. I'm sorry to say it actually killed one of your fellows. Perhaps the last one of them, unless any escaped that Draugr. Nasty buggers, aren't they?" he asks me.

"Uh... Yeah. I was running from one, like I mentioned. Got me stuck here. Frightened the life out of me."

"Is that so? Well, you seem plenty alive to me. Stick with us, and we'll keep you that way," he says, grinning. Charming fellow. I feel calmer already. Another moment passes, and I feel the last rope release me. Finally.

Now, to figure out how best to ditch these fools.

Click-click.

Azura be praised.

I don't even need to fake the fear as a monstrous spider descends from the ceiling, finally drawn to the struggling of its trap. I scream "oh gods, don't let it get me! Kill it!" They both turn to face it, the woman drawing her weapon. When she charges forward, I accidentally trip Talao as I run further into the ruin, screaming loudly. Perfect. I keep my eyes firmly ahead, searching for any more webs I might run into. Now all that's left is to get to the wall, open it, and find out how to lock it behind me. Then I'll have all the time in the world to...

Snap

What was tha

Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Uthgerd

"Any ideas?"

Talao ducks back behind our overlook of the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow, where four bandits stand on guard. If their associates from the outpost down the mountain were anything to go by, they wouldn't be much trouble, but for their superior numbers.

"A few," he says. "Surprise will be to our advantage here. So try not to go yelling at them first this time."

I grimace, despite his neutral tone. The bandits at the outpost hadn't attacked us, but when one had called me a mud-crab lover as we left... Well, I suppose I was lucky there had been only one unseen bandit. I can still feel the sting in my side from the mace blow, despite my steel plate armour. "Of course. They're likely on alert in the first place, and we won't be able to approach too closely.

"Can we wait for nightfall?"

"Not possible. There's a storm on the way, within the next hour." In truth, probably sooner. The air is already more bitterly cold than it was just an hour ago. The sky is completely covered by dark, flat clouds, and the wind is picking up. "We need to be inside that barrow before it hits."

Talao crosses his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "We can't go 'round the other side, thanks to that cliff, and they've two guards watching the path. Do you think the brush will cover us long enough to get within bow range?"

Another peek over the ridge. "If they aren't focused on it, yes. If I can make it to that tree, I'll have enough cover to draw.

Talao nods. "Likely our best choice. The guard overlooking the valley is isolated, and if you're lucky, his death won't alert the other three."

"Aye, if I'm lucky. I'd prefer another bow-hand rather than relying on luck." Blast, my mouth got away from me again. I don't really blame him, but it's frustrating enough.

"The only strings I've plucked are instruments', as I've told you before," he responds crossly. "My hands create art, not violence."

I notice snowflakes drifting into my vision. Damn. "No time. We can figure out how you've not died yet later, but it's now or never. Wait here; I don't need you getting in the way." And before he can reply, I slip over the ridge and slide into the sparse brush along the path. The coming winter has killed most of the foliage, but these shrubs stubbornly hang on to their leaves. No movement from the path guards, thankfully. They seem to be looking out on the plains, to the oncoming storm. My armour blends in a bit with the rocks as well, which helps.

The tree, when I reach it, is near a hundred yards from the guard, at my estimate. Not terribly far, but nothing to scoff at. I stand, nocking a steel arrow on my Orcish bow. Cost me quite a few Septims, but worth every one. I keep a second arrow held between my fingers as well, for quicker access. Two is all the time I'll get. The wind hasn't picked up yet, but there's a small steady breeze coming from the plains. I adjust my aim. The bandits are all wearing fur, so I go for a safe body shot.

Inhale. Pull.

Hold. Steady.

Exhale. Release.

The arrow is thrown through the air, and my second is nocked even before the first reaches its target. It lands true, punching deep into the bandit's chest, and he collapses without a sound. I quickly set up my second shot for the closest guard, before any of them notice. Just as I let it fly, I feel a slight gust, and curse as the arrow moves from its path, striking the guard in his left arm.

His screams of pain are clear over the wind, and I duck behind the tree once again. Is it worth drawing another arrow, or do I charge now? They're sure to know my general position now, but three on one odds are not easy to go against, however unskilled they might be. The longer I stall, the more organized they'll be, so I decide to drop the bow and charge the guards before they can rally.

I've always wondered what goes through the minds of bandits when they see a Nord woman as tall as they, sprinting at them in full plate armour, greatsword waving above. The first always seems surprised more than anything. This one is no different. The yards disappear and I finish the job my arrow started, driving my blade into the injured guard's gut before he can draw his weapon. He falls to the ground, silenced, and I move on.

Two left.

The last have finally drawn their weapons, though too late to save their fellow. They're also smart enough to approach me spread out so that I can't move them into each others' paths. No matter. Before they can attack, I shout a battle-cry, swinging at the guard on my right. Despite their shock and fear, he manages to deflect the cut with his own sword, though the force drives him to a knee. I send him sprawling back with a kick to the chest, turning just in time to parry a cut from the other guard's axe. I take the momentum into a downward cut, hoping to cleave off his arm, which he blocks with his shield. Surprisingly, both he and the shield hold steady, and he scores a solid hit to my already injured side. I lose my breath, pain shooting through my side, but I can tell the armor has held strong. I feint to his side, then flip my sword around his guard and thrust the tip through his neck.

The second always dies with fire in their eyes, cocky in the face of danger.

A shout from behind draws my attention back to the other guard I'd been fighting. I manage to dodge a wild thrust from his blade, but he tackles me, and I lose hold on my blade as he forces me to the ground. Still unrecovered from my last injury, losing my breath again so quickly after the last, I struggle to take in any breath at all, stars dancing in my vision. The bandit rips off my helmet somehow, or maybe it fell off from the impact on the stone ground, and he punches me in the face once, twice, sword seemingly forgotten, and I can see the terror in his eyes as I grab his forearm to stop him, even though I can't gain any leverage against him. Suddenly his free hand is on my throat and I still can't breathe, my vision is going black from the edge, and my ears sound filled with cotton, so I can faintly hear a shout, as the bandit looks up and then a dagger is sticking out of his eye

All at once I can hear and see and feel pain again. I yank the dagger out of his eye, and plunge it under his arm where I know his heart lies, and then the world is blessedly silent again but for the ragged gasps of my own breathing.

The last one always dies in fear, a coward to the end.

"Uthgerd! Uthgerd! Are you alright?!" Gods, that bloody bard will be the death of me, I can tell.

"I'll... I'll live," I gasp. He appears in my vision, offering an arm up. I wave it off and sit up, a wave of curses rolling off my tongue that would've had me over my mother's knee for the rest of my life. Okay, pain. Where? Side, obviously. That needs some attention right away. Throat, sore, will bruise terribly, but not life-threatening. Face, couple of knocks. Some blood from my mouth. I spit. Shit, there goes another tooth. That makes... Three now? Well, I've had worse scraps.

Talao is kneeling over the dead bandit by my side, and the details of the fight click in my head. "Did you throw that dagger?"

He starts, as though I'd interrupted some deep thought. "I... Yes, I did." He acts even more surprised than I feel, as if he doesn't believe it himself.

"Well... Damned fine aim there, I guess. Suppose you aren't useless in a fight after all." Slightly less useless, at least.

"But... No, I didn't mean to... I was only trying to distract him, not... It was an accident."

"Accident or not... You saved my life, Talao. For that, I'm grateful."

He perks up at this. "Yes, you're right. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill us both." A pause, the wind echoing around us, slightly muted by the towering entrance of the barrow. "Do you suppose they're here for the same reason as us? The artifact?"

I struggle to remember what Talao had told me about the treasure - bit difficult to think at the moment - the "Dragonstone." "A map of ancient dragon burial grounds? Highly doubtful, I should think. They aren't after something with no clear value like that. I imagine only the Jarl's wizard knows anything about it, let alone have any interest in it. They'd be after burial tributes. Gold and valuable buried with the deceased."

"Then why post so many guards? It's like they expected people to follow them... Perhaps there's some other treasure down there?"

Hmm. It's an interesting idea. But the light is quickly dying as the storm picks up. "We can discuss this further inside if we need to. Right now we need to take shelter."

"Right," Talao replies. "I'll grab the packs and your bow, and meet you at the door." I stand, grunting, as he heads back toward the ridge. I look out toward the plains of Whiterun Hold. On any other day, the sight would have been beautiful, but the oncoming storm robbed the vision of anything but dread. I've never really thought of the weather as anything great than that, or the influence of Kyne upon Nirn, but I can't help but feel as if this is a terrible sign - of terrible things to come. A herald of truly dark times.

Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow