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Chapter Text

The forge sat empty -- meaning Bren could not ask for more iron arrows. She huffed and rushed to Baldor’s hut.

“Come on, wake up! The sun’s out already!”

No response. Bren pressed her face up against the frosted window, using her warm breath to clear it up. Still, no response. There was no fire lit within the home either. The girl adjusted the beaded quiver over her fur and leather parka; it jangled a bit, joining in with the sounds of morning chores of the other Skaal in her village. Among them was her mother, Frea, come to join her daughter for the hunt.

“Leave a man be, little fairy.” she said with a knowing grin. “Lest you wish to miss our next meal?”

“No, Momma.” Bren sighed, facing her now. The older woman was sharpening a stahlrim knife on the grinding stone. “But I don’t have many arrows.”

“A proper huntress either makes her own, or hardly needs them at all.” Frea said as she eyed down the blade. Satisfied, she sheathed it by her hip. Bren was suddenly struck by how young she looked, as if she were initiated as a full-fledged hunter only yesterday, rather than 14 years prior.

As usual, however, Bren did not have time to dwell on thoughts about her mother or her ways. The duo gave Storn their good byes before heading off.

“Stay safe, Frea. And you, Brenna,” the grandfather said with a smile, “Should stay with your mother this time.”

Bren’s own eyes shone with a bright and bold, “Maybe.” Soon, she was off, and it did not take long for either of them to blend into the mountainside.

To not have that ability to meld into the wilderness would have been embarrassing otherwise, considering that Bren was the granddaughter of the village shaman. Her own mother was one as well, and brought up her only child to follow in her footsteps. Whatever her father happened to be was never brought up, and Bren never particularly cared. All she knew and longed for was the wild as All-Maker designed it -- for the whispering winds and the song of snow, of the cycles of animals and the woods they crept through. It was freedom and order all at once, wild without the savagery she heard about in stories about outsiders. To be wild and at one with All was an enticement that bled through Bren the most.

And now, she observed and learned from Frea as they tracked for a hunt, as she always had. Bren was stealthy, and known to spook others unintentionally by how quiet her footsteps were. But Frea? She was something else. Even in the most powdered snow, or the muddiest field, no trace was left of her presence. Bren looked downwards at her wrapped-leather boots, stuffed with dried grass, and frowned; as usual, she had yet to learn that trick -- she left behind countless footprints of her own.

“Focus, my fairy. What do you see?” Frea spoke, more quiet than a gentle breeze. Bren drew her eyes first to her mother, and then to the clearing just a few feet ahead of them.

There was a rabbit, fat and tired, poking it’s head out to find it’s midday meal. The wind blew towards the Skaal stalking it, and so it could not catch their scent. Frea nodded wordlessly, and Brea took the sign to draw her first arrow.

Aim for the chest. Drawn in with your breath.

Then -- release.

“I missed!” Bren shouted out, the rabbit long since running away. Frea laughed.

“You don’t have to warn the whole forest, my fairy!” she said, standing up now. “No matter, the deer will trail down here later today. I’d rather sack a buck anyway, it’ll last us longer.”

“Why can’t I just use my magic, Momma? Pacify them, and then shoot.”

Frea rose a brow. “Hunting with what the All-Maker gives us is it’s own magic, Brenna. It’s one worth learning, no?”

“Hmph.” Bren breathed out, straining her eyes to view the distance between them and the patch of woods beyond them. It was further up the mountain, and beyond the trees was likely another clearing.

“Can I scout instead?”

“I don’t see why not. Perhaps you can scare a herd my way.” Frea answered, taking out her own bow. Bren was wildly jealous of it -- unlike her simple wood and iron set, Frea’s had been handcrafted and blessed by her own hands, intricate Skaal carvings etched in the Stahlrim. Without another word, she turned from her mother and snuck off to the other side of the clearing.

At first Bren reached the other trees, but found them much thinner than before. Her eyes widened -- this was Skaal land, but the council said nothing of cutting down more woods the season before. Out of curiosity, she walked further, and found her answer.

There was a hunter’s cabin further up. Not surprising, as the Skaal and other travelers would use it from time to time to rest between hunts and harvests. But felled trees were piled up around it, and with outsiders managing them.

Bren’s gut clenched, and she crouched further down; her bow was tucked away to free her hands for her preferred illusion magics. The hunt was magic, true, but mortals were another matter. Both hands opened with turquoise light, ready to calm whatever foul-play could occur.

It did not occur to the girl that she should report to her mother -- it was hard not to think of such a thing, when all around her were elven guards. She had only seen an elf once before, when she was quite young -- a dark elf reever had stumbled in with grievous injuries, likely from a fight gone wrong, and the shamans healed him up without question. He was well the next day, and was given enough supplies to reach Raven Rock on his own. Even then, Bren and the other children were forbidden from speaking with him, or even sharing the same room. Glimpses of ashy skin and pointed ears were all she could make out.

But these elves were different. These ones were more like golden sunlight, and one even had freckles splashed on his face. Their eyes shined but with yellow and green tones. The elf in charge dressed like a mage, covered in dark robes and heavy boots. They meandered about, looking bored almost, so Bren snuck over to a pile of wood, ear straining to hear their chatter.

“-- backwoods savage given up yet?”

“Of course he hasn’t. They’re stubborn folk you know.”

“Just give me the word and I’ll make it quick.” another snickered. Bren furrowed her brows and dared to step closer. Were they threatening someone? And who?

“Oi! You there!”

Bren jumped around to her feet, magic blazing. Her first spell hit the target, and he stumbled before shaking his head and walking off. Not that his shout or her spell went unheard: the others quickly drew their weapons and surrounded the intruder.

“It’s just a kid.” an archer huffed, lowering his arrow a little with disappointment. The mage did not take her so lightly.

“State your business, child, you are interfering with Thalmor business!”

“This is Skaal land and you’ve felled our trees.” Bren said plainly. Her mouth felt thick now, unsure of how to take on all of these strange elves at once. Not that this fact made her any less defiant. “But we can speak with my elders, if --”

“Enough. You and your people have no business here. You have one chance to turn back and keep your mouth shut.”

Bren swallowed. A tense second later, she made a move to leave -- before shooting a high-powered illusion spell right in the mage’s face. He fell backwards, and the spell’s effects hit a few of the others as well. Immediately, Bren pushed through and ran inside, locking the door behind her. There was pounding, and a scratching noise as one attempted to break the window to get in.

They had to be hiding someone -- or something. And what was with these elves harming the trees? They weren’t even using it! Their spirits could never rest without their life cycle reaching their proper completion otherwise; only a Skaal shaman could placate them, prevent their anger from ruining their future hunts and harvests. It all frustrated Bren as she impatiently looked through the cabin’s barrels, seeking an answer to it all.

“Hello? Who’s there?” a voice called out.

Bren made a strange noise from shock. “Baldor?”

“...Brenna?!”

It came from downstairs. Bren jumped over several steps and slid across the wooden floor, finally finding Baldor. He was tied up and quite worn. Quickly she used a knife to cut him free.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Bren said, worried and even a bit scared now. The pounding grew louder, her spell having worn off on the others. Baldor shook his head and stumbled to a chest, chugging on a healing potion and tossing aside the glass.

“No time to explain, we leave now!” Baldor ordered, taking his ax from the same chest. “These elves ain’t here for fun and games, and they won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand? They will kill you. Don’t give them that chance.”

Bren could only nod, never having heard him be so serious before. In fact, she never found herself in any true danger, outside of the occasional animal attack. They rushed back upstairs, and hands out again, Bren prepared for battle.

The door kicked in, but they didn’t see a golden elf -- instead there was a very flustered, angry, and wild-looking Frea. Bleeding bodies laid behind her, arrows at their backs and heads. Bren’s eyes widened.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

The Skaal Village was not far, and the rush there was a blur. Bren felt her face heating up with the knowledge that she was in bigger trouble than she originally thought she would be in.

“Baldor, report to the Chief. She needs to know about these strangers intruding our forests.” Frea ordered. Though young enough to be his daughter, she was still a shaman, and one of their best warriors -- the blacksmith was in no position to deny her. He headed off to Greathall to speak with Fanari Strong-Voice. Bren wisely stepped back when Frea turned to face her.

“Go back to the hut. I’m speaking with your grandfather.”

“I’m not a child.” Bren tried to argue. “You can talk to me too, you know!”

“You’ve barely met your fourteenth winter, and disobeyed me as if you were an ignorant babe.” Frea said. “Go home.”

Bren clenched her fists and her teeth. After a brief staredown, she turned on her heel and did as she was told, loudly stomping the entire way. The door slammed behind her. Out of spite, the girl threw her quiver and bow haphazardly onto the weapon’s rack, and threw her parka and boots over the previously-pristine floor. Would her mother make her clean it up later? Yes. Did Bren care at the moment? Of course not.

The fire, low but surely burning, flickered in the home; Bren threw a hunk of salted horker meat onto the cooking rack above it, watching it sizzle and melt off it’s preserved fat as it heated up.

It wasn’t the first time that Bren felt babied by her own mother. She was forced to recite and learn all the rites and stories of the Skaal, and to even memorize the delicate ceremonies for the turn of the seasons. All of that, as well as learning how to hunt and read the lands for farming. As much as Bren loved the All-Maker, and contemplated what it would be to become the next shaman, it all felt trite -- no matter how much she learned, Frea would always speak over her daughter. When given an inch, Brenna Little-Foot ran off another mile for the freedom it gave her, and her mother saw it as dangerous insolence.

The horker meat was done. Bren lazily plopped it onto a plate and began to nibble. It wasn’t as invigorating as it usually was.

“That door was shut hard enough for Tel Mithryn to hear, I bet.” Storn said with a light chuckle; he carefully stepped over the mess his granddaughter made. Bren refused to answer, so she ate more of her meal instead.

“I’m sure it felt exciting, going after those elves, saving Baldor. You’re as bold as your mother, you know.”

“She never likes it when I get into an adventure.” Bren sighed. “You should have seen me! I enchanted them all, and I didn’t even get that tired!”

“I don’t doubt it, my fairy. You take your magical studies seriously.” Storn soothed, taking a few dead leaves out of her braids. “Your mother knows it too, even if she rarely sees it. She just worries for your safety.”

“I’m strong enough for the world, Grandpa. I’m not a babe.” she sighed, putting her plate down. Storn hummed.

“Of course you aren’t, but you are young yet. Frea only has so much time with you left before you are your own woman. Is it wrong of your mother to keep you close, to learn all you can from her?”

Bren blushed. “That’s not what I’m mad about...”

“I know it isn’t the reason why you’re upset, my fairy, but it’s why your mother can be hard on you.” Storn explained. “She isn’t seeking to destroy your vigor, she merely wishes for you to live long enough to use that vigor for something grander than stumbling into trouble.”

Bren slumped backwards on the bench until she rolled onto the floor, feet in the air. He laughed.

“I mean it. Even the most eager sparrow can not fly until his feathers are fully grown. You may know so many spells, but now is not your time.”

“...Doesn’t matter if mom still treats me like a babe.”

Storn smiled knowingly and playfully patted her shin. “Let her be a mother. Once you are older, she can never have this again. You won’t either.”

That was something to think about at the least. Bren was stubborn, but she was also thoughtful, and questioned everything told to her -- and it wasn’t as if she were completely blind to the truth of ever-changing time.

Later, Bren was told to clean up her silly mess, and for once she did so without a smart remark. Frea sighed, watching over her now as Aela bugged her to play tag outside. The sun would be gone soon, and another day would begin tomorrow for a better chance at hunting. She spoke of the matter to Storn that night, Fanari with them as she consulted their guidance on the matter of the high elves -- so they were called. Bren sat up, awake, though she lounged on her bed and listened while preparing for sleep behind the bookcase that hid her from view.

“You know I have felt a darkness growing for some time.” Frea urged her father. “Perhaps it’s these invaders.”

“I don’t know. They were after Baldor’s knowledge of Stahlrim forging, but they fled as soon as we came to check the cabin.” Fanari explained. “Yet the land...even I can feel it is wary.”

Storn held his hands over the fire. “It will make the hunt ever more difficult...I suppose the horker herds can handle a few more kills. But none more than that.”

“Something must be done then! I can scout ahead myself. All-Maker willing, I can root out the darkness for good.” Frea demanded. Bren wondered whether she could come along, only for Storn to show uncertainty.

“He favors you, but you are not immune to the dangers of the world. You should have at least one other warrior with you.”

Favored One -- that was what Frea was often called, when they thought Bren could not hear them. She laid down carefully in her bed, to imitate sleep, listening further as they made plans to search the rest of the lands for clues. Frea was favored, by the All-Maker Bren had always guessed, and it always played a role in her mother’s life one way or another. Perhaps it simply referred to her future as the head shaman?

“Are you awake, my fairy?”

Bren lifted her head a little in the dark. “I am now, Momma.”

“I leave in the morning with Nikulas, to search for other intruders.” Frea began, much softer in tone now. There was no rebuke on her lips or in her eyes. Bren sat up all the way, her long hair hanging a bit over the side of her bed.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Momma. I was just trying to help.”

Frea smiled. “And perhaps I was too harsh. But that is the past now. Tomorrow you can hunt with Wulf, he trusts your shot now.”

Normally such a compliment would have made Bren glow with pride, but not now, not when she saw a new world opened to her. Her temple was kissed, before Frea readied herself and laid at the other end of their bed.

They had always been together. Ever since she grew in her womb, they had never parted. Even on hunts, they went together. Storn always remembered those memories fondly, of Frea wrapping up her baby daughter and strapping the bundle to her back, refusing to leave the babe behind for even a hunt or pilgrimage to a local elemental stone. It was in this way that Bren learned all she knew, all that she loved, from her mother. The Favored One favored her only child immensely, and Bren never doubted it for a moment.

Bren did not doubt it now. But something was lit inside her little heart, and the talk of darkness only fueled it further.

First, Frea would leave for her adventure. And once Storn was not looking, Bren would leave for her own.

----

Frea and Nikalus went northwards, towards the icy coasts of Solsteim. Knowing this, Bren chose to go southeast -- in fact, after snatching a map from Thorstan’s cabin, she decided to head off towards Raven Rock first. The Nord from Skyrim was a meticulous academic, studying the Skaal and their ways from the shadows, and so no detail of the island was left out. Bren silently thanked the old man for his work and stuffed it into her parka. After packing up her usual hunting gear, she rushed off once Storn made his way towards the town center to look over their food supplies.

By All-Maker, the rush had felt wonderful! The sun shone brightly over the winter landscape, and bren used a simple flame spell to occasionally warm up her feet. her hands kept under her parka; despite years of training as a shamanic huntress, Bren could not help but be laidback for once, and enjoy the sights around her. The usual hunting and traveling trails were used to go more south, and soon the mountainous terrain grew more sandy than snowy.

Not that it grew any less cold, though the winds were less sharp at least. Bren slowed down by now and felt at odds with this alien landscape. After shuffling to hide in a dried out brush, she took out her map and laid it out on the ground.

It suddenly occurred to the girl, that she had never traveled so far before in her life -- and that the world was bigger than she vainly assumed.

There was a breath in, and then a breath out. Calming, soothing. A small prayer of protection offered up to the All-Maker, and another to ask the spirits of this new land their kindness.

“Let’s go off road a bit.” Bren muttered to herself, nibbling on some roasted leek as her lunch. The sun was high now, and any predators would be eating their prey and lounging in the warmth; it would be safe to go through the wilderness, if just to avoid strangers on the trails.

Plan in hand, and feeling her confidence rise again, Bren put away the map, finished her leek, and began to walk again. This time, her gloves on, she left her hands out, magic at the ready should something fearsome cross her way.

Almost immediately, she found a fearsome sight indeed: a Nordic looking Mead Hall, but surrounding by Riekling. A few boars were about, one in a pin, and two others being ridden by the small blue creatures.

The drawings of them back home did not do them much justice. Thorstan was a terrible artist, and he failed to capture their wild, beady eyes, their sharp fingers and teeth. Bren did her best to sneak around them, before a lone warrior sniffed the air and looked directly at her crouched form. He shrieked shrilly and pointed his spear at her, others looking at his display.

“goblin speak”

Bren squealed from the shock of it, using both hands to spew forth all the calming spells she knew.

None of them worked.

Magic used up in the moment, Bren whipped out her bow and whacked a few Reiklings that initially charged at her. But a charging boar and his rider rammed her from the side, and the weapon flung from her person.

No sound came out of Bren’s mouth, she could only gasp, vainly attempting to regain her breath. She fell from her hands and knees to avoid a spear, watching the head stick roughly into the frozen ground in front of her eyes. It was then, vision swimming, stomach flipping, that she heard distant shouts.

They were reminiscent of the Skaal war cries. Less wild, more bold and direct -- and accompanied by the clanking of crude spears hitting metal shields. Realizing that the Riekling left her, Bren steadied herself up again to her knees to look over at the battle forming.

They...resembled Skaal, but did not dress nor act like her people, at least not exactly. Bren stood still, shrinking into herself a bit and creeping back towards the shadows, yet still watching with wide blue eyes. These warriors, lead by a tall, powerful woman, slaughtered their enemy in near glee. It make her stomach turn just a little bit, though Bren found it hard to feel sorry for these bizarre creatures. They killed on sight, so they may as well die by that creed.

Soon the chaos came to an end, a few of the men and women whooping at their victory. Only then did any took note of her. Bren stood up and held up a shaky hand.

“Blessings.” she said, shyly. Most Skaal were taller than Bren, but these people -- Nords most likely, now that she got to calm down to think about it -- they were huge. Brenna Little-Foot indeed, she barely came up to their chests. The leader, a woman now smiling, walked over, sheathing her axe.

“Greetings little one. What brings a child here, to this damnable place?”

“I’m Bren. I’m traveling as a shaman. In training.” she explained, still feeling out of place. One man laughed.

“Shaman? A bit young for that, don’t you think Bujold?”

Bujold held her grin. “And lucky. Come, we can talk more inside, now that these bastards are finally dead.”

Bren did as she was told, eyeing the bloody armor and weapons on these Nords. They entered in, and despite the Reikling artifacts and huts left inside, it made for a cozy respite. She went up to the fire to warm up her ungloved hands. Other warriors fussed with barrels to find something to put up for a feast.

“Are you Nords?” Bren asked. “Why are you here on Solsteim?”

Bujold uncorked some mead and sipped. “Ah, don’t you know? Skaal aren’t the only ones on this island. Though some of us are from the mainland. Yes, we are Nords, and damn good ones at that.”

A man with a dreaded mohawk drew up next to Bujold, hugging her shoulder.

“Come! We’re feasting! What’s with these weary talks?”

“Kuvar, this is a child.”

“I’m on my fourteenth winter this season.” Bren said with an attempt to look serious.

“Alright little shaman, how about this? Drink and dine with us, then we talk!” Kuvar said with a friendly face. Her stomach now grumbling, Bren agreed and they sat about the central fire pit, the smells of hearty stews and meats and roasts filling the air. Bren did not speak much, instead listening to these people chatter and laugh, happy over their victory. It was from there that she realized that they had been ousted the year before by the Reiklings, and only now just retook it. No wonder Bujold called her lucky: had they not retaken their Hall that day, Bren may well be dead.

“Is this yours, little shaman?”

Bren looked over, a man with dark hair and a beard bearing steel armor. During the chatter, she caught on his name: Halborn Iron-Fur. His arms, wide and strong from smithing, stretched out to show her a simple hunter’s bow. Bren gasped.

“My bow! I almost forgot about it!”

“A good warrior treats her weapons as an extension of her own body.” Halborn shared gently. “But you will learn, no doubt. You have that resolution in your eyes. I’ve seen it in many warriors before you.”

Bren blinked. “Oh, thank you...I’m more of a huntress though. My mother is the warrior.”

“To be a warrior is more than glory on the battlefield. It is to hold fire in your heart and courage in your soul” Halborn shared with a nod. Bren laughed weakly, hands going over her childhood tool.

“I thought I was like that, until...until my magic didn’t work.” She admitted. “I coulda died.”

Halborn grunted knowingly. he took a bite of a beef roast. “Life is like that. You think you know how to do it all, until you find yourself unsure of what to do next. Then you learn. Those with the luck and wit to live are the ones who learn more for another day.”

Before their conversation continued, he was distracted by a discovery by another woman, Hilund. He quickly became sucked in, finding out more details about his beloved lost forge, and Bren was left to her own devices. She ate and drank until she was full, and then elected to sneak outside for some fresh air.

It was night by then. The sky was crisp and clear, bright with stars and one of the moons. A perfect time to pray and meditate.

The All-Maker, as always, answered her readily -- not in the way of mortal conversation, but in signs and images. Bren sat there with her feet tucked under, steady breathed, eyes focused upwards at the sky, her palms similarly placed. The sky would swirl a bit in her vision, and all the better; a shaman, even an apprentice, knew how to use the creation around them to see the spirit within.

I’m so scared, but I can’t go back. What do I do?

Halborn’s words filled her mind, albeit briefly. The stars almost look to brighten.

Keep going, All-Maker said. I’m here with you.

But I’m so scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want the land and my people to die. I should have stayed home...

Stars slowed their dance, but the breeze fell by her face. Bren breathed it in, traces of the pines and local lake filling her nose. Then, came the spirit walk. Her inner self ascended and flew through the sky, jettisoning towards the ocean. It was real yet not real, a clear path leading towards the coast.

Then the stars stopped. The sounds of merrymaking, though muffled, suddenly hit Bren’s ears. The cold seeped through. All-Maker gave His answer, and Bren could only accept it.

It was a good thing He did too, considering that she lost her map during the attack anyway. The warriors of Thirsk Mead Hall learned a few new Skaal swearwords that night.

----

A lone figure, dark and stiff, sat amidst a circle of dragons, ancient and trapped in this dangerous realm with him. Not by choice, but by his will.

His will was powerful. His will was dawning. And it was long past time for his due. The figure, face shrouded with sharp armor, stood up, and began his mantra, drawing strength from his dragon slaves. The image of the Stones, connected directly to the people of the island, filled him, and soon he filled them all...

Here in my shrine
That they have forgotten
Here do shall toil
That they might remember
By night they reclaim
What by day was stolen
Far from themselves
I grow ever near to them
Their eyes once were blinded
Now through me do they see
Their hands once were idle
Now through them do I speak
And when the world shall listen
And when the world shall see
And when the world remembers
That world shall cease to be

The mantra repeated itself, growing more and more potent, slowly seeping ever deeper and corrupting the Stones of All-Maker’s might. Spirits grew uneasy at this imbalance and slowly fled, one by one, as his own power replaced them. It was a slow process in the realm of mortals, but to this dark figure, the conquest took but a moment. The master of dragons nearly heaved as the spell continued to grow.

Yet the dragon master had his own Master, one who knew the tides even better than he. And he saw another figure, a little girl with wild eyes and a soft heart, who held within herself a power and prophecy he foresaw since he first laid eyes on his current puppet. A prophecy and plan four thousand years in the making.

His puppet was a fool, and he wanted to keep it that way. So he bided his time, watching as his fool extended his power outside to the mortal realm by his folly of a ritual.

Right where his next Dragonborn would be. She was not the first, but she would be the last. And she was going to be his.

And so the Master, a lone figure, deep and fluid, sat amidst the fumes and waters of his circle of slaves, primal and dominate in this dangerous realm with him.

Both by choice, and by his will, as is the way of the Dark Prince of Fate.

Chapter Text

Dirt should not feel so...lifeless. Even the earth was alive, yet it wasn’t so here. Not where it mattered.

Frea shook off the dust from her hands and looked over at Nikulas. The young man was eager for some thrills, and stood there, bored, at the usual sight of a calm wilderness.

If only he knew how to look the way a shaman could. Then he would see the deadness of the dirt, hear the creaking of sickly trees and weak stones. And it all grew louder, the closer they walked towards the mysterious temple in the distance. It was like a beacon, past Lake Fjalding, calling for all things to give everything to it -- even their very life force.

“Is something wrong?” Nikalus asked, now unnerved. Frea always had that look in her eyes, bright yet dark at once, when things begin to form in her mind. He swore that sometimes, they shined like gold.

“Yes, very wrong. And it seems our journey is not over yet.” She turned to him again. “But I fear what I may find. You can turn back, if you wish.”

The merchant’s son straightened up. “Never! I’m with you.”

Frea smiled. “Then let’s go. All-Maker can’t always give us the time, not when He has given us feet to use instead.”

----

The coast was wild, pushing and pulling waves this way and that as aquatic life crept here and there. In the distance, Bren heard the call of netches -- yet another creature she had yet to see with her own young eyes.

It sent her into an excited shiver. So much, so new, so different! Why had her kin tried so hard to hide this all from her? Why was she so terrified of this new world just the night before? It was wonderful!

Well, dangerous too, but Bren was not willing to admit that it terrified her. She was a huntress at heart, she could grow used to new dangers of the wild; all that mattered was that she practiced her sneaking, to avoid another mishap as had happened with the Reiklings.

She shivered out of fear from that memory. Why hadn’t her magic worked on them? It worked well enough on grown adults, even mages. Perhaps there were things Bren had yet to master after all.

Dwarven ruins sat in the short distance now. Bren perked -- perhaps a place to rest for a while? Her stomach grumbled; she had not eaten since she departed before sunrise. There was a bridge, leading towards a sunken building barely above the water. Bren relaxed more than she should have and meandered about towards the stout tower in the middle.

“Oi! Stop there!”

Bren jumped, looking over to her side. At a smaller tower to her left, there stood a Reaver, an arrow drawn back and aimed at her chest. Her hands glowed, this time with flames. There was no way she would be caught without a working spell again. He drew closer, lowering the bow a little when he recognized her as a Skaal.

“Ha! Go figure. A kid and a savage.”

Bren frowned. “Hey!”

The Reaver laughed and relaxed his hold. The bow and arrow were promptly returned to his back. “I mean no offense, kid. Your folk helped me out before. Never had a chance to repay any of you.”

Bren’s eyes widened. “Oh! That was you?”

“One and only.” A part of his fur armor was moved to the side, to show the scar of his previous injury on his abdomen. “That mage there was a real kicker, didn’t hold nothin’ back. But she got me right again. I can be grateful for that. You’re her daughter, right? You were little then. Come on, you can sit with us for the night if you like.”

A stiff nod shared her agreement, though Bren was unsure of the whole affair. This particular Reaver only received the better end of the Skaal’s sense of hospitality out of pity, and the mere fact that they kept out of their territory. That did not mean that Bren was left uneducated about their bandit ways.

Well, so long as they did not act like bandits to her, perhaps Bren could be open to another night spent with wanderers. Resting alone in the wild sounded less enticing, the further the sun set in the horizon.

“Devol! What in Oblivion is that?” an older woman called out, frowning. She tended to a pot of stew around a fire, furs set up around it as other Reavers lounged. They sat around for a well-earned rest and meal, while others scouted until their own turn for supper.

Devol clasped an arm around Bren’s shoulders and shook her a bit with a smile. “This here is a friend of mine! Why don’t you serve her up some grub, Deline?”

Deline -- who resembed Devol greatly -- grumbled about something or other while taking out a smaller, though still inviting, bowl. Bren was drawn into the circle of much taller dark elves, all of them taking a gander over at her odd looks. She timidly accepted the pillaged Dwemer bowl of hot stock. The design was rather jagged, reminding her of blocky lines made by aging mountains.

But as she looked over the unique plating, she realized that the Dunmer were still staring at her. They couldn’t help it -- too few dared to traverse where the Skaal hunted. Ergo, they were rarely seen. They took in her few blue facial tattoos, carved onto her face just a couple years prior when she officially began her spiritual training. It was her mark of growing maturity, and Bren couldn’t wait to get new ones to mark her ascent into adulthood, and later, shamanism -- but these Reavers knew none of that. Too few understood, let alone knew, of the Skaal way. They saw only a young girl covered in furs and etchings reminiscent of wildlings.

Bren cleared her throat and kept her chin up despite the staring. “I’m Bren. My mother healed him in the past.”

“Shoulda left him to bleed out, I think. The man’s an idiot.” Deline said with a roll of her eyes. She leaned back against the grand wall. “So, you’re not joining our ranks, are you?”

“No, just spending the night. If you don’t mind.” Bren added. Another Reaver chuckled.

“Aw, but she’s so polite.”

But Devol wasn’t bothered. He got his own bit of food and sat next to Bren. “I say we get a story out of her. Before she hits the road.”

“About what? Tree fairies?” another snorted. Bren felt her ears and neck flush red from embarrassment as the others laughed at her expense.

“Hey! She’s our guest! Besides, Skaal’s can--”

“Skaal this, Skaal that! It’s all you’ve ever talked about since they saved your sorry rumpus.” Deline said with a sip of stew. She turned to Bren. “You might want to leave before he keeps ya around for good, life here ain’t the limelight for a kid.”

“It’s okay, I like telling stories. I’m training to be a shaman like my mother. I had to learn them all growing up.” Bren put forward, if just to save her new friend from some embarrassment.

“Alright then, whaddya got?” One Reaver asked with a full mouth. Bren thought for a moment, sipping her stew, before thinking of a battle-filled story worth their attention.

“There’s one you might like. It’s The Traitor, and his deception by the demon Herma Mora.”

The others “ooh’d”, and perhaps not without some mockery. But Bren threw one of her braided pigtails behind her shoulder and sat up more properly. The bowl set down, she reached into her inner pockets, withdrawing a hand to reveal glittering powder from one of her many pouches. It was thrown into the fire, and instantly the flames changed into a sickening green and black, flickering with a hiss. Devol almost chocked on a piece of ash yam backing away from it.

“What the---?”

Bren scrunched up her face, her little nose and brow looking only a tad more serious under the glow of the magical fire. “Would you sell your soul for all the knowledge that is to be, only for it to be squandered in slavery?”

A few awkwardly shared glances, before looking back over to the story teller. Bren continued.

“Would all that knowledge be worth it, if just to have it for it’s own sake? Or would you see it worthless as your new power could only be used as a pawn to an Abyss of Wretchedness?”

The flames calmed, though they were still quite green.

And then the tales of treachery and dragons begun.

It was smoothly spun together, the way a spider weaved a web for her long-awaited prey. Simply, with ease, with eagerness. Soon the Dunmer found themselves drawn in, listening in to the tale of a champion, first of the dragons, who then betrayed them to offer allegiance to Herma Mora -- the Daedra of Fate and Forbidden Knowledge, the eternal enemy of the peace-loving Skaal. The champion was enticed with the most forbidden of all knowledge -- that which would enable him to command any dragon under his will.

But the champion turned Traitor had been found out. Despite his army of accumulated dragons, they failed to fight against all the other Dragon worshipers, among them the most powerful -- of Vahlok. Just as the Traitor was about to fall from his injuries, Herma Mora swooped in, stealing away His failed Champion into Apocrypha and away into Oblivion.

And there he remains, until one day, Herma Mora will use his Traitorous Champion, and rip away all the secrets of the Skaal for himself.

Devol gave a low whistle at the end of the story. The fire still held a green sheen, but was otherwise near normal in color again.

“See what I mean?” he egged his sister. Devine sighed.

“Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. I guess that was worth letting her shack up for the night.”

Bren grinned. “Thank you.”

It was a peaceful evening with an early time to rest -- but it would not stay that way.

----

As usual, his tea was late. Neloth impatiently tapped his fingers at his staff forge, watching a soul gem infuse into the wood, craving some canis root at the moment. Though with how long the wait had been, he would have settled for a concoction of grass pods.

“Ah, now you return.” Neloth shouted out, hearing the whoosh of his servant finally entering. Valeria was gently shot upwards by the magical sigal far below, gracefully landing on her feet at the welcoming balcony. Her footsteps, however, did not sound so steady as they should have. A throbbing ankle produced itself at the hem of her dress when the master wizard finally turned to face her.

Still no tea, but Valeria did share something far more enticing.

“Something’s wrong. I tried to pick up the shipment, but the merchant dropped the damned barrel on my foot and wondered off!”

“So? Where is the tea then?”

Valeria breathed in carefully, minding her temper. “Master, I followed him, fearing that he was in a daze. He did not stop until he reached the Tree Stone, by Skaal Village.”

“So?”

“Others were there too. Mostly Riekling. And they were chanting about someone named Miraak.”

Neloth pricked his ears. “Go on.”

A quick debrief later, and he packed his things into a little travel bag and rushed out. Tavras hurriedly hid a book he previously had open, stuffing it awkwardly into the front of his Conjurer’s robes. His master paid him no mind and pushed forward into the ashy lands before him. He frowned and called out.

“Er, sir, where are you--”

“Away from here! Mind your chores, boy, lest I come back and turn your nose into a new fungal spore!”

Tavras eyed the older elf carefully, taking out his book and returning to his work. “Yes, master.”

And soon, the wizard was gone, off to travel and find himself an adventure that was, hopefully, a challenge for once.

----

It was an uneasy dream, one that felt reminiscent of spirit walks, but Bren was too lost in the power of the call to fight it at first.

Here in my shrine.

“Here in your shrine...” Bren muttered, sitting up from her bed of nothingness.

Here in my temple.

“You’re...you’re temple...” she said now, with a frown. Her legs moved, but her mind began to nudge with obvious discomfort. Whose temple, whose shrine? She would be shamaness one day, after all: those details were important to know. Besides, who dared seep into her mind in the way only the All-Maker could? Yet her body had yet to catch up. The bizarre chant continued.

Here you will toil.

Bren did not repeat the words this time -- but an image filled her head nonetheless, of a local Stone, tall and proud.

And corrupted.

“I don’t...”

The voice grew louder.

That you might remember.

“Don’t...”

Her feet fumbled now. They grew sluggish under her mental power struggle. Bren began to panic.

This was wrong. Something was so very wrong. The Stones were all potent sources of spirit, meant to better help laymen convey the will of the All-Maker. The Stone this chanter tried to show her in mind visions -- the Sun Stone -- no longer gave the warming surety of strength, but an aura of tyrannical willpower. A sickening and selfish willpower. Of darkness. Much of the chant had continued before Bren heard it more clearly again.

Through you do I speak.

“No!” Bren let out more harshly now, stumbling and falling to her hand and knees. “No you don’t!”

The images blurred.

“Leave the stone alone! Go away!” Bren cried out desperately. She crawled and slipped until she felt herself falling into a sudden coldness. Perhaps she would die. Perhaps she would be stuck forever. It didn’t matter, no matter how freezing or suffocating she became, Bren refused to bow before anyone other than her All-Maker. So be it.

“Bren! Wake up!”

Blue eyes shot open, followed by a sudden inhale of breath. Bren’s arms flailed out of panic, but Devol was there to keep a hand on her chest.

“Easy, kid! You almost drowned!”

“Huh?”

Clearing vision and steadying breaths showed Bren a very wet Devol. He looked drenched -- his hair slicked back and his outer furs warming by the fire. Several of the Reavers were behind him. Bren sat up and shivered, realizing that she was drenched as well.

“You were having a night terror or something. Flung yourself into the ocean before we realized it.” Devol explained. Bren looked down at her hands. A small flames spell was murmured to help herself dry off. It gave a warmth that the Sun Stone in her vision no longer had.

It was so obvious now -- the feeling of darkness. And if her spirit walks were being intruded upon, then something powerful was at play. She had to find out who the chanter was.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I need to go now.”

“Now? Why not at--”

“I know where I need to be.” Bren said with realization, jumping up to grab her parka. She was drying up decently now, and was filled up with the stew. It could hold her over until she reached Raven Rock. “Sorry about leaving, but uh...”

Delvine held back her brother, watching the girl rush off in a fright. “Let her be. She’s on her own.”

Devol tried to argue and even go after her, but the others wouldn’t let him. Bren was not a Reaver, not of their family; they had no reason to rush off into the ashlands after dark, not even for her.

And Bren had no problem with that.

----

Storn did not realize Bren had disappeared until the evening of Frea’s departure. He was a hands off kind of man, only stepping in when asked or ordered; it was no different with youth, especially with someone as normally responsible as Bren.

But she never returned for the village feast.

Well, “feast” was a generous term for their dwindling supply, but it was a community gathering nonetheless. All came into the Greathall, sharing seats around the fire as they shared a meal and swapped news from their day. Bren preferred to arrive a little later than others, yet she never came even after the eating began. Storn grew worried.

Setting down his own plate, he stood and roamed the darkening outside of the village. A few Skaal sat by the outdoor fire, keeping watch, if barely so for how tired they looked. Not far from them he saw Aela, roughly five summers younger than his granddaughter, and stopped her.

“Aela, have you seen Brenna today? Did she go off for a hunt?”

“No, I thought she went with Frea.” she answered as she jumped in and out of her stone circle. Storn’s eyes widened.

“Frea went with Nikalus and no one else.”

“Bren left too though, I thought she was late or something.” Aela said plainly, then her stomach growled. The jumping ceased. “Can I go now please?”

Storn was about to shoo her off when he saw one of the Skaal guards stand up abruptly, if clumsily so. He walked towards them. Aela by then had scampered off for food.

“Is something off, brother?” Storn asked. He noted that the man’s eyes were open; they stared off, as if seeing something he could not. The others left at the fire had fallen asleep as well.

"Here in your shrine..."

Blood ran cold at the eerie, nonsensical reply. The man continued to walk off. Shuffling in the snow caught Storn’s attention. The man and woman left at the fire, now walking and eyes opened too, continued the chant in unison.

"That they have forgotten Here do shall toil That they might remember..."

Storn followed them. The night was clear here at least, the moons shining just enough to allow him sight on the terrain. The three continued to chant that chant, blasphemous as it was, up and up a steady hill on snow and frozen earth. Far from fire left Storn’s breath freezing like a cloud, dissipating to the stars. He hardly felt the cold anyway.

"By night they reclaim What by day was stolen..."

A deep, primal fear began to fill his senses, his shaman skills picking on a dark and ancient force: a force coming from where the Wind Stone should have been.

And there they were: Reavers, Skaal, even some Reikling, all of them slaving away on the Wind Stone in ways that made Storn finally snap.

“Enough of this madness! What are you doing? This is sacred land! How dare you!”

Storn shouted this as he tugged back on his fellow Skaal. They pulled back unphased, staring at the stone, and picked up some axes to work.

“You, back!” Storn ordered, pushing a Reikling aside with his leg; he was promptly ignored.

His efforts were in vain, as he quickly discovered. Creatures of all manners were around the Wind Stone now, working on it with picks and carving tools, repeating the chant together in a daze of dreamwalking. The stone itself was bitter, freezing -- not a sharp refreshment as it once was.

There was no need for further investigation. Storn rushed back to the village, where Chief Fanari waited for him. Around them a few sleepwalking Skaal meandered out of their homes, confused friends and relatives trying to stop them.

“What is this? What is going on?” She demanded to know. Storn breathed in, gesturing the other magic users to him. Something was coming, something he feared for a long time, and he would need all the help he could get. Storn locked eyes for a firm reply.

“An invasion.”

----

“Captain?”

Veleth eyed Dreyla, hunched over her small ash yam farm, and hard at work as usual. Her father busied himself with tanning beside her, at his market stall. He then turned to the Redoran guard who addressed him.

“What is it, soldier?”

“Er, there’s someone you need to see. At the gate.”

“Newcomer?”

“Yes sir, a Skaal child.”

That got his attention. Veleth followed him to the very front of the gate, where another two guards stood with her. Though, standing was putting it lightly -- the poor thing was woozy on her feet, almost leaning against one of his men. As they got closer, Veleth could see the exhaustion in her eyes, though they lit up a bit when she caught sight of him.

“I need to go in. You have a stone here.”

Veleth drew in a sharp breath. “Indeed we do, the Earth Stone. Are you a pilgrim, Skaal?”

“Something’s wrong. I can’t sleep, or he’ll take me.”

“Steady, love.” A guard said quietly, holding onto her shoulders as she swayed again. Veleth motioned for them to move her along, to take to the Retching Netch. His bonemold armor creaked against a growing ash wind. The girl was almost pushed over by it. They made it quickly inside, where the air was still.

“Here, take this.” Veleth said, ignoring the bizarre looks and whispering from the patrons of the club. A bit of stamina potion was poured out into a mug of mead and mixed. “It’ll wake you up quick.”

The girl sleepily took a sip. There was a pause, where she stared at the concoction, and then downed the whole mug in just a few seconds. She inhaled loudly at her last gulp, and immediately she looked much more awake.

“Whoa!” she shouted, earning her some laughter from the others. The guards sat her down before Veleth dismissed them back to their posts. He sat down at the table beside her, his back to the stairway that lead downstairs.

“Do you have a name, young one?”

Bren nodded, taking in her surroundings now. “Brenna Light-Foot, but I prefer Bren.”

“Alright, Bren. I suppose you have a reason for being here.”

She paled a little. Veleth leaned his elbows on the table.

“This is House Redoran territory, but we welcome all safe travelers. Especially vulnerable ones. If someone is after you, we can give you a safe haven here.”

“But it isn’t safe. The stones are corrupted.”

Again with the stones. His red eyes glanced around to see if anyone listened in.

“We know there is something going on with the stones. What would a girl your age want with them?”

Bren hesitated before asking her own question. “Do you know someone by the name of Miraak?”

“I can’t say that I have, yet...”

It was Veleth’s turn to hesitate. It was there, at the tip of his tongue, but all he could recall were murky memories of his sleepwalking, working and chanting with the others doomed to never resting. The moment anyone laid their head to rest, an hour later they were sure to get up, dazed, and wander over to the Earth Stone just by the shoreline. They would work for hours, until they would wake up again. Anyone who could work an alchemy table was busy making stamina potions -- the stronger the better.

“This is no time for a child to be caught up in this mess.” Veleth eventually answered. A hard look at her swirling chin tattoo, and he added, “I’ll have a guard dispatched with a courier, have one of your people come for you.”

“No!” Bren nearly shouted. “It’s uh, I was sent here. My grandfather is the shaman, and my mother is one too, and a warrior. They sent me here. To fix things.”

Her white ears flushed brightly, though the rest of her face was dead still. Not that it convinced the weathered captain any.

“You can stay here until one of your kin comes for you. I’m sure someone here can house you for the next few days.”

“But!--”

“Come along then, don’t waste my time.” Veleth said pointedly, standing up and gesturing at the door. Bren looked around, and found the patrons all staring at her. One was armored with chitin, his helmet also a mask. The only other non-dark elf in the club was an orc, and he glowered at the new intruder.

“...Okay.”

They returned outside, where a few new stragglers walked their way towards the Earth Stone in the distance. Bren’s heart lept.

“So, Skaal Village then...” Veleth muttered to himself, writing up something on spare paper and a quill, on a post by the blacksmith. He too was not an elf, and looked short and broad, with dark hair. Just as he took an ebony sword to the grindstone, the captain sighed.

“Using up the last of your ebony, Glover?”

“All I can do, with shipments coming in soon.” he explained, holding up the blade to his nose. “Shame that Crescius is still wasting his time in that dried up mine.”

Bren rose her brows. “There’s a mine here?”

“An ebony mine, just up there.” Glover said, back to grinding. “Been in that old Imperial’s family for a few generations, but it dried up a few years back. Convinced there’s still some loot in there.”

Bren then turned her eyes towards the Earth Stone again. Perhaps such bad luck had a source?

“Send that to Skaal Village immediately. Do not delay.” Veleth ordered to a Redoran guard and the courier. They left just as he turned back towards Bren and Glover. “Speaking of which, I bet Crescius and Aphia have some room. They could use the distraction.”

“Aye. They’ll be in the mine though. You know how he gets this time of day.”

By now, Bren figured the whole town was on edge. Potion-drenched exhaustion and creeping poverty littered the sea-side settlement. She saw it in the idle, drunken miners as they walked past the market square again and walked upwards a small hill. There stood a mining entrance, though Bren never saw such a thing before. She was used to the open-air mining of the Skaal, within wild caves and mountainsides. Wood held up the hallow inside, a door centering it all against the rock.

“It’s a house.” She stated rather dumbly. Veleth chuckled.

“It might as well be now. Come, the sooner we break up their bickering the better.”

Bickering was putting it mildly. Aphia, an otherwise gentle and kind elf woman, was practically nagging her aging husband about supposed dangers from within the mine. They stood off at the end of their “home,” which looked more like a run down mining headquarters.

“Last time you nearly broke your neck! I can’t believe you went in once the spiders nested there!”

Crescius glowered and crossed his arms. “I’m a man, aren’t I? I can handle a couple bugs.”

“An old man against a couple of dog-sized beasts -- oh I’m sure you’ll enjoy that end.” Aphia snapped. Her mouth tightened and drew into a thin line, turning her attention to their guests. “Captain Veleth, this is a rare treat.”

“I’ve come to ask a rare favor.” He answered. An arm was arround Bren’s shoulder’s as he presented her to the couple. Crescius’s thick eyebrows shot up.

“Divines Bless, is that an orphan?”

“I’ve got my mother.” Bren corrected bashfully. Veleth cleared his throat.

“She’s a straggler. We’ve only just sent the message to Skaal Village that she’s here.”

Aphia’s rough demeanor smoothed instantly. “I reckon they won’t be here right away. Even Skaal can’t travel that fast.”

“We wouldn’t mind keeping her awhile until they return.” Crescius agreed. Almost immediately, it looked as if they had not been insulting and arguing with one another just a moment ago. “She’s safe with us, Captain. You’ve got a name, young lady?”

“Bren. Just Bren.” she answered. Veleth withdrew his arm and turned to make his leave.

“You’ll know where to find me if you need me. I trust you two know what to do.”

“Of course! Stay safe.” Aphia answered, the door closing behind Veleth. She turned to Bren with a small grin. “I suppose I should let my husband off just this once. Crescius, come with us?”

Their actual home was much cozier than the mine. Their domed homes would take getting used to, yet it had the similar safe, enclosed comfort of Skaal huts. Inside, Crescius started up the fire in the hearth against the wall as Aphia left to ready her room. The old man gestured Bren down next to him, getting a few ash yams together with butter and some spices.

“Ever make roasted yams? You stuff them in the hot ashes, and once they’re done, you smother the bastards with butter--”

“Language, Crescius.” Aphia said dryly, walking in with a basket of things she planned to shelve elsewhere. “But yes, the yams will do I suppose.”

Bren looked over at their pantry as Aphia put a few things away -- there wasn’t much there besides some dried vegetables and tubules, a couple of spices and herbs getting low. Once again Bren was reminded of the darkness taking over. Her hostess left the room again to finish cleaning.

“What’s with the mine, anyway?” Bren asked, curious. Crescius’s eyes sparkled.

“There’s ebony there, I know it. I know the others told you it’s dry, but it isn’t. And I can’t just give it up, not after my great grandfather gave his life for it.”

Bren paused a little as she covered her ash yam by the coals. “He did?”

“Oh yes, and it haunted my great grandmother for years. He -- Gratian, that’s his name -- knew something was down there, something holding back the veins even then, but--” he angrily stoked the fire “--the Imperial Trading Company gave up on him and his partner Millius as soon as they disappeared in there. Never bothered to look into it, and blockaded the end of the mine. Rotten Bast--”

“Would you like to see your room, dear?” Aphia walked in again. “I suppose sleep around here is a bad idea, but we rarely have a guest.”

Bren accepted, enjoying the time alone to think and pray a little. There was too much opportunity in Raven Rock to pass off and bide her time. She had to do something before her family came for her. There was plenty of time, right?

After a simple prayer asking for an answer, Bren was called to dinner and ate their humble fare. She even took out some small pieces of jerky she had left over from her journey that Aphia and Crescius were grateful to indulge in.

Later that night, they rested together in their room upstairs, talking about what to do tomorrow, and even argued again about the mine. It quieted down, very quiet, and Bren couldn’t handle it anymore: sign or no, she had to go out and look into the mine.

She just hoped All-Maker could continue with her luck despite everything else she had seen so far.

----

Morrowind was fun, but Solsthiem called to him.

Now with all that was happening, Teldryn Sero had no idea why.

Perhaps whatever was calling for people in their sleep had called to him as well. He figured it was a yet another curse for the Dunmer, and simply bided his time until he saved enough money to run off to Skyrim. The Grey Quarters of Windhelm were hell but at least he could sleep well there.

That was, until the girl came in.

She had that look, of losing sleep and desperate to keep it that way. Her Nord looks killed the theory that the sleepwalking and toiling at the Earth Stone was a “Dunmer” problem. It made Teldryn wonder if this were occurring elsewhere, if it was worth working his ass off just to afford off the island.

The mercenary sat there staring at his drink, still at that same table in the Retching Netch, hoping for another paycjheck to bring him closer out of here.

“Excuse me, sir, someone told me you were for hire?”

He brought his head up, mask and goggles still on. It was that girl again.

“I have a feeling it’s past your curfew, little one.”

The Nord-looking girl humphed and threw a braided pig tail off her shoulder. “Actually, I’m Bren, the future shamaness of Skaal Village, trained to hunt and know the signs of All-Maker. Are you for hire?”

Ah, Skaal -- that explained her tattoos at such a young age. Not that it impressed Teldryn any. “Yes, which means I need to be paid.”

“I have just the thing.” Bren said with a smug grin, taking her bag to dump its contents onto his table. All two yams and a dried rabbit’s leg. Teldryn stared at it for a moment before facing her again.

“That wouldn’t even cover a training session with me. And I don’t teach. Go home, little one.”

The smugness left in an instant. “But it’s a full dinner!”

“Well, I’ve had dinner. I’m worth at least 500 gold.” Teldryn looked down at the paltry food again. “That’s not worth two.”

While Bren pushed the food back into her bag, she refused to admit defeat. “Could I pay you after? Adventuring makes a lot of money, right?”

Teldryn’s voice grew terse with impatience. “That’s the deal, I get 500 plus whatever I pillage on my own.”

“What if I gave you my cut?”

He paused, at least. “Perhaps if there were something to plunder, I would consider it. But--”

“What if it was the old mine? Filled with danger and beasts of all kinds?” Bren interjected, hands on the table. “And I’m not stupid, I know how to fight! I’m the only person in my village who can use illusion magic, and I’ve hunted every season since I was a babe.”

Bren’s face tensed a little, as if worried she would be rejected again. Teldryn had paused again to think before answering.

“Show me then, if you’re so good at it.”

A few surprised blinks later and Bren cleared her throat. “Ah, sure. Hold on...”

Bren took a step back to look about the top floor of the tavern; Fethis Alor had brought in a chicken from outside, likely attempting to cook it for dinner that night. A rare treat but a violent one too. It pecked at his hands as he cursed it.

“Pardon me, do you need some help?” Bren asked, walking to the farmer. Teldryn stood up to get a closer look.

Fethis snorted. “I’ve got it, might as well save your hands if not mine.”

“But I can save yours!” Bren insisted with a grin. “Watch--”

She took out her hands from her gloves, calming light illuminating from her palms. Before Fethis could stop her, Bren laid both hands over the chicken and shocked it into serenity. It bawked and shook its head, soon clucking contently half-way through an attempted bite. Fethis picked up the creature to stare at it in disbelief while Bren turned to face Teldryn, her smugness returning.

“See? I told you.”

Teldryn now looked at her weapons. A strong if simple bow at her back, worn from use but otherwise in good condition -- so she took good care of it. The parka and rest of her attire formed from good, strong leather, and his own experience with magic saw that the sigils sewn into the hem glimmered with protective spells. At the least, Bren was not inexperienced or unprepared.

And it was simply an old abandoned mine...

He sighed. “Alright. You want a deal?”

Bren’s eyes widened with a smile. “Yes!”

Teldryn picked up his sword and sheath, placing it on his belt, and walked out with her towards the mine. “First, you stay out of my way. And second...”

Bren nodded. “Yes?”

“I stay out of your way. Whatever I find is mine, and I take half of yours. So, deal?”

The smile remained. “Deal! Let’s go!”

Chapter Text

“You’re prepared for anything, aren’t you?” Teldryn noted dryly. Bren had produced the mine’s key from her parka and used it to open the door leading inwards. She carefully placed it back and smiled.

“I told you I know what I’m doing. And it’s not just for gold. Something’s wrong with the land, the stones — with everyone. And it’s hurting the farms and the mines, I just know it.”

He paused his entry into the place as they reach the bottom of the ladder. “You have your reasons for being here, but don’t forget mine. I’m here for the loot.”

“And I’m here to find out what’s wrong.” Bren repeated, before adding, “And also getting some ‘loot.’”

“So, spiders are nested here they said?” Teldryn noted, getting ready to sneak and keep his weapons at the ready. Bren nodded, also adjusting her position. Despite her starting to sneak, she did not reach for her weapons. Instead she had her hands ready with magic.

“That’s why I have my illusion spells. I can calm anything along the way, and kill whatever I can’t.”

“Solid plan.” Teldryn admitted with a grin in his voice. It made Bren smile too but they quickly refocused. They delved in without another word, deeper into the dark, earthen tunnels.

The air was dusty and stale with disuse. But Bren crept carefully, mainly on her feet and lightly touching the tips of her fingers on the ground as she crept. Teldryn crouched behind her, eyes scanning the shadows above and beyond his guide’s head. Suddenly she stopped and placed a firm palm on the dirt way. Beyond them were steep stairs and trails that went up and down. Ambience echoed silently among the levels.

And there were the remnants of cobwebs. Many, many cobwebs. Bren’s head quickly turned at the sound of scuttling just below them. She looked to Teldryn and he nodded: there were spiders alright. He fired up one hand with conjugation magic and the other held his sword while Bren made an attempt with a calming spell. She crawled further ahead, looked at the lower level, and made her magical shot. Without warning, though, she jumped onto the next level and shouted up.

“Come on down!”

“Would you keep it down, Skaal?” Teldryn hushed, though he followed after her with a jump of his own. “There may be others.”

A spider bumped into him by accident and chittered before moving on. Bren obliged to sneak again but she was smiling.

“There aren’t any more, I’m sure. I could feel it.”

“By what, sniffing the nonexistent wind?”

Bren rolled her eyes and continued. There was little time for her to explain the many secrets her mother taught her, not that she had the authority to share them anyway. They were secrets for a reason.

Though, Bren admitted that Teldryn was right to be cautious: not long after they left, the spiders from earlier were acting normally again. They hissed and bickered amongst themselves and hissed at a passing rat. So her spell worked, but not for as long as usual. She wondered if her lack of good sleep was a possible reason why.

They made it to an entry way blocked by wooden panels, strong iron nails imbedding them into frame and rock alike. Bren took out a knife, compared its size to the blockage, and sighed while sheathing it again

“I don’t have a sword or axe, and my fire magic is kinda weak. Think you can handle it?”

Teldryn responded wordlessly with an outstretched his hand, and conjured a fire atronach. She jumped back a mile with wide eyes.

“What the — what is THAT?”

“You’ve never seen one before?” Teldryn asked, amused. “And I thought shamans knew everything.”

Bren eyed the creature and stayed where she was. “Well, if it can break down that door…”

It did, and she was happy enough with the atronach now that they reached the next chamber.

The journey was fairly simple for a while. They reached the next locked door, once again using the key to open it, and quickly found a Nordic interior around them. Bren looked surprised.

“Since when did Nords build stuff here?” Bren asked, her hand running against the carven swirls and earthy shapes. It was familiar to the Skaal artistry she grew up with, though this was on a grander scale. Teldryn didn’t answer as he began to search the chamber for secrets. She noticed that there were some mummified remains, and quickly she did a vocal prayer of blessing to tame whatever dead spirits lingered. Teldryn ignored her again, more interested in other ventures. There was the sound of wood creaking — he found a chest.

“Why don’t you check the bodies for gold? They might have some gems if we’re lucky.”

Bren scoffed and walked to him by the chest. There was plenty of gold in there, as well as a black looking quiver of arrows. Perhaps it was ebony, and forged from the same ore mined there.

“I don’t steal from the dead!”

“Then you hired the wrong mercenary.” Teldryn dryly replied. He threw the quiver of arrows at her. “Make use of these. They’re much more powerful than the iron ones you’ve got. If I know my lore well enough, then we’ll be seeing more draugr.”

“A what?”

“A cursed undead Nord who wants to kill you.” Teldryn said plainly. He moved to the mummies, or perhaps inactive draugrs if he were correct, and took gold and more arrows. The arrows were tossed to Bren.

“These are steel, but still strong.”

Bren silently put them in her preferred beaded quiver along with the ebony ones, and dropped the extra quiver in the chest. She figured she could not stop the dark elf from grabbing what he wanted and hoped it would not come back to bite them. They walked quietly again.

They made it through more crypt walls, intricately designed. The most eventful situation was Teldryn grabbing Bren by her parka and roughly pulling her back, shushing her when she tried to complain. He pointed at a swirling tile on the ground that she had almost stepped on.

“Pressure plate. It’s a trap.”

Then he threw a sizable stone at it to show the trap at work: a large door of metal, covered in spikes, swung out and caused a ‘woosh’ of wind to pass by them. It then slowly retracted back.

“I thought we only had to worry about draugrs!” Bren whispered harshly in shock. Teldryn took in a deep breath, likely finding his waning patience with her.

“This had better pay well, little shaman.” He answered back. The two of them walked around the trap carefully. “Never assume you are safe. You may think you know danger, but only from the Skaal lands. The rest of Solstheim is not a forest that you can tame at will: it’s a death trap filled with more death traps.”

Bren turned around to argue, but his helmeted head and protective goggles shot a look at her as if she could see his eyes.

“You’re lucky I am here at all. One more trip up and I’m taking you back.”

That was a sizable threat, given his extensive experience and skill thus far. Bren shot him a look of her own but continued. She could not deny that this place was far different from her usual wild land adventures.

They found a throne room, where draugr sat on various grand seats of carved stone. Crypts sat behind them, and on the floor also. Teldryn readied his weapons.

“There are no calming these. I doubt you could manage that. Get your bow.”

Recalling how short lived her spell was from earlier, Bren believed him and deftly placed an ebony arrow to her bow, pulling back halfway in wait of firing.

But suddenly, while staring at a nearby draugr, she slipped, and fell, with a loud thud. Her vision, though starry and dizzy, saw one of the corpses shiver and creak into life.

——

Storn needed little sleep, and made sure to make plenty of his own stamina herbs to keep it that way. Each Stone he passed made his heart ache and his soul mourn the evil creeping into the land. The chanting from those under the dark spell also locked his innards tightly, knowing what they spoke of…

Here in my shrine...That they have forgotten...Here do shall toil...That they might remember...By night they reclaim...What by day was stolen...Far from themselves I grow ever near to them...Their eyes once were blinded...Now through me do they see...Their hands once were idle...Now through them do I speak...And when the world shall listen...And when the world shall see...And when the world remembers...That world shall cease to be...

So the Traitor was returning, and Herma Mora with him. It would have been less of a burden to bear, had Bren not run off when she did.

But quickly, and with some help from an oddly helpful Reaver, he was accompanied to the gate of Raven Rock. There he saw a Telvanni wizard arguing with the gate guards.

“…unless you enjoy losing sleep, of course. I’m not one to convince driviling idiots otherwise!”

“My greetings.” Storn said aloud, holding up a friendly hand. The other dark elves looked up. The guard in charge, a red cape flowing from his shoulders, frowned more deeply than before. He had a mustache and short, shining beard, even as the wind picked up some ash from the ground.

“You’re here for the girl, I take it.”

The shaman let out an anxious breath. “Yay high, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Stubborn as a netch.”

The guard leader sighed. “Sounds like her. We have her with a trusted citizen.”

“So do I have entry or not, Captain Veleth?” The wizard interjected. “Am I supposed to ask about little girls, too?”

“It’s because of the sleepwalking that we’re so weary.” Veleth replied shortly. Storn’s face grew grave.

“The Sun Stone! Are people walking in their sleep, speaking a chant about someone named Miraak?”

The guards and the wizard went silent, but not for long. The Telvanni turned back to Veleth and placed his hands on his hips.

“You’re letting me in with the shaman. Solsteim is run amok with something that even Councilor Morvayn can’t comprehend.”

Captain Veleth sighed and held out his hand, guiding them in. “I may as well. Please, Neloth, we can talk inside. You too, Storm. Maybe we can find a solution.”

“But what about the girl, Bren? She’s my granddaughter, Brenna Light-Foot.” Storn continued. They walked down a small hit through the gate before leveling out into the Main Street. The gate closed behind them. “She ran off days ago. She’s my and my daughter’s apprentice, she must have figured something was wrong and run off to help.”

“Bren sounds like a smart girl.” Neloth deadpanned. “You two figure things out. I’m going to check on this Sun Rock, confirm the shaman's suspicions."

Before either the captain or the elder shaman could argue with him, he swiftly joined the growing crowds of Raven Rock's day. His Telvanni red oddly blended into the general Dunmer fashion of the citizens there. Veleth sighed and led Storn to a small home not far from the Bulwar. It sat just a ways beyond their temple, the sight of it making Storn frown. He cared little what others believed or practiced; however, he knew the Dunmer to worship a dark being that differed greatly from the All-Maker. As spiritually sensitive as he was, he could sense her spirit reached out from her sacred place, as if curious to the newcomer.

"My apologies. As you can imagine, Raven Rock has been under great pressure as of late." Veleth said, interrupting his thoughts. He paused to knock and allow Storn to answer.

"Not at all. I'm humbled that you're helping an outsider, despite everything."

Opening the door was another dark elf, who greeted the captain and his odd companion with surprise.

"Oh! Is this the girl's family? That was quick." She led them in and shut the door behind them. "Pardon me, I should introduce myself. I'm Aphia Velothi. My husband is Crecious Caerellius. He's the one who took her in at our captain's request."

"Yes, Storn Crag-Strider. I'm her grandfather; her mother is journeying elsewhere. So Bren is well? I understand no one has slept properly. I'm afraid this problem is spreading across Solsteim." Storn said, one thing after another, if carefully so. Aphia sighed and kneeled down to the firepit where a breakfast was bubbling up.

"Just our luck that there's no escape! Praise Azura for stamina potions." She took out a ladle and a bowl. "Would either of you care for stew? I can go get Brenna from her room. Sweet girl, she is."

Storn grinned a little, kneeling down. "She is deep down, though she has yet to think before she acts."

Veleth was turning to make his leave. "I'll pass on the food. I have a feeling I need to keep an eye on that wizard. You're welcome to stay in Raven Rock as long as you need, Storn."

Before he could reply, the door flew open, and there stood Crecious: sweaty, dusty, and wide-eyed.

"Bren -- her room was empty, and my key went missing -- she's in the mines!"

----

"UP! And save your magic!" Teldryn Sero ordered as his atronach shot fireballs at numerous draugr. "Now's the time to test those arrows!"

Bren shook her head and stumbled up and back, her training helping her clumsily unsheathe her bow and notch an ebony arrow. Movement from her side caught her eye, and without hesitation, fired right into the body's mass. She caught a draugr mid swing of a greatsword, and it tumbled backwards. More blurs of movement in the grand, circular chamber moved her way, so Bren backed up quickly. Numerous arrows were taken at once and she fired one after another in quick succession. Each ebony tip met its mark, leaving the undead attacker either immobile or greatly weakened.

The rush of her attack did not slow, and still Bren fired more arrows, her senses sharper than ever. This was not a silent trek, stalking after a small rabbit that blended into the forest it knew better than any shaman. No, this was a full blown battle, even more wild than the tussle she had with the High Elves. The draugr were feral and violent with little remorse. So onwards the arrows were shot, weakening the crowd and allowing Teldryn the time he needed to use his own sword and fire magic to slay them entirely.

Bren had an arow notched now, breathing heavily and deeply, swinging her aim one side then the other. After a moment, she slowed and lowered her bow. All bodies were truly, finally dead now. It was done, and she could calm once more.

"Ah...I think I ran out of ebony." Bren swallowed thickly in surprise. Teldryn chuckled and sheathed his own sword.

"Not bad for a novice. You make a fine archer, little shaman."

"Thank you."

"But next time, try not to wake up the dead. It's a pain in my ass." He said, no longer smiling in tone. Bren meekly apologized and began searching through the bodies. She felt less guilty doing so, knowing they had tried to attack her just moments before. Still, she murmured her prayers of protection as she retrieved any salvageable arrows and bits of gold. By then she noticed that the ground was partly submerged in water. In her frenzy, Bren never realized how soaked her hide boots had become.

"Do you always do that?" Teldryn asked as they moved forward.

"Do what?"

"Pray and bless and all that." He said with a non-committal wave of his arm. He found an opening into a just as wet tunnel and she followed him. "I suppose you take this shaman business seriously."

"Why wouldn't I? I was chosen by the All-Maker to see his will and wisdom in all things." Bren said honestly. It had always felt straightforward to her, having been made a shaman apprentice. It came to her as naturally as leading had come to Fanari Strong-Voice, and blacksmithing to Baldor. She said just as much, making Teldryn chuckle again.

Bren frowned. "It's not funny. This is our way. It's how we've survived for generations, no matter the season or struggles we've faced."

"Ah, I was not laughing at you. I simply appreciate your simplicity." Teldryn said, pausing before the end of the earthen, leaking corridor. "It must be nice to know who you are, where you've come from, where you ought to go. I'm sure your parents are proud of you. If you manage to make it out of here, anyway."

"Well, just my mother." Bren said off-handedly. Teldryn paused and turned to face her.

"No father?"

"Nope. She never told me who he was. I can't say I care. I have my mom and my grandfather. That's enough."

"And there it is - that Skaal simplicity. I like it." Teldryn drawled and returned to the quest at hand. He found a water breathing potion laying about in a wall's decorative crevice, and stuffed it away. He stepped back and it was then that Bren saw the cause of the mild flooding.

It was a small waterfall, strangely quiet. Bren walked towards it and ungloved a hand to touch the water. She smiled and let the water tell her its story. All water had something to say, to sing, having lived and relived countless ages under the watchful eye of the All-Maker. It spoke excitedly, if cautiously so. The darkness of the stones, the eeriness of Miraak's chant...

"And what do you sense now, little shaman?"

Bren opened her eyes and withdrew her hand to dry it. "More danger, and it's like I thought. It's related to the sleepwalking going on."

Teldryn grunted and withdrew his sword as a precaution. "I suppose we have anything worse than draugr to worry about?"

"One way to find out." Bren relented, taking out her bow. They pushed through the waterfall together.

Chapter Text

The chasm was dark with black stone, but filled with a red subterranean glow. Looking down showed both Bren and Teldryn a way down: descending, hexagonal rock faces that gradually stepped downwards. With only a bit of effort they made it to the bottom. All the better, for their clatter downwards caused much of the “stairs” to collapse. Whatever was left at the bottom proved itself unstable. It was forward or nothing, now.

Though Bren had made an effort to be more aware of dangers in unusual places (at least, unusual to a girl used to the predictability of the wilds), but it turned out to be unnecessary. At the bottom, Teldryn did a perimeter sweep while she kept watch from a distance with her bow. He found corpses - just the two.

“A draugr.” Bren stated the obvious as she caught up with him to a stream where the beast now laid. “But who could’ve killed it? I thought no one was here for centuries.”

Teldryn knelt by the still-preserved body. The draugr, vaguely female with her simple hide armor, bore a wound that went through her spine and out the rib cage. A chitin armor gauntlet tapped its edges, long dry.

“Crusted. This was centuries ago.” Teldryn explained, then brought up his helmeted, goggled head to look behind Bren. “No doubt by that sorry fellow over there.”

Bren turned and saw the second corpse: a human skeleton on a bedroll. She rushed to the bones and ignored the cloud of dust that rolled up as she fell to her knees in excitement. Picking up a journal by its side, she grinned.

“It’s Gratian - Crescius was right! His great grandfather didn’t die from an accident. I bet all the draugr here came with a curse, and dried up the ebony mine.”

“And then the East Empire Company covered it up…” Teldryn sighed as he walked to her side. “That old codger was right after all. Just don’t tell him I admitted that.”

Bren lost her smile as she looked down at the skeleton once more. The skull held a prominent brow that reminded her of Crescius. She made a simple sign of blessing over the remains as guilt began to tighten her belly.

“I guess we can go back now.”

“How? The way back in is unreachable now. Nearly broke our knees just to get here.” Teldryn said with a crossing of his arms. Just then, a pulsing light of red briefly lit up the area around them, and they both looked up.

Just beyond them was a massive door, red power of some sort pulsing in and out. It felt eager, wanting. Bren almost stood up before looking down and catching another source of light.

“Hey, is that a sword?”

Teldryn did a double take and almost stepped back. “By Azura that’s a big bastard!”

It was. It was almost as long as Bren was tall, and as wide as a young tree in the summer. It was also a stark black with pulling lines of red magic emanating from the blade. Had it not been responsive to the door’s enchantment, its obsidian features would have blended into the ground. Bren stood up with the journal and opened it.

“Maybe Gratian was trying to use it.” She pointed out, flipping through the pages. Her eyes squinted as tried to pronounce the larger words. “Uh, something something company, draugr attack, someone died…Blood…bloodskal…”

“I didn’t know you could read, little shaman.”

“All Skaal can read!” Bren scoffed, though her ears blushed furiously. She dared not admit it, but her people only accepted the modern alphabet thanks to Thurstan’s persistence in teaching them. She’d have to thank the old Nord later. “Besides, Gratian was doing the same as us: trying to figure out what was happening with the mine, and discovering that sword. It’s called Bloodskal.”

“Any insight on that?”

“Huh?”

Teldryn gestured to the sword and then the journal. “Insight on the sword, on getting out of here. The Ancient Nords were fond of puzzles. I’ve had to solve my fair share of them on Solstheim and Skyrim both. I don’t doubt Bloodskal is connected, especially if a Nord curse caused this mess to begin with.”

Bren hummed, closed the journal, and placed it in her pack. It was heavy with gold and other trinkets now. At least the load would lighten once they were done with this mess. She perked up at the thought of giving her half to Crescius and Aphia, as a sort of thank you and “I’m sorry” gift before she went home. The renewed vigor set her mind to work.

“Gratian did mention something about that door over there.” Bren said with her thumb now pointed at the massive exit. The markings and cracks rippled with light again. “Maybe Bloodskal is a kind of key?”

“How original. Use the cursed weapon to escape the cursed burrow.” Teldryn drawled. He sheathed his mudcrab chitin shield to place it on his back, and then heaved up the massive broadsword with both hands. As if pleased, both door and sword glowed brightly. Bren walked up with him to the archway where the door sat.

“So do we just…find the keyhole?” Bren asked, to which Teldryn laughed.

“As if that were always so simple. No, we need to use our strength and wits to get that damned thing open. Give me a moment.”

She did so and stepped back. Teldryn walked from one end to the other, and then back again. At one point he repeated the process, grazing a hand over some of the magical cracks. Bren almost lost interest until he took a wide stance, brandished the sword, and struck the wall with a loud clang. It reverberated harshly in the wide cavern and it made Bren yelp.

“Hey, you’re breaking it!”

“That’s the point, little shaman!” Teldryn shouted back. Bren almost argued before she watched the glowering red arch mechanically turn the way that the wall has been struck. The red lights and markings shifted prominently, indicating that the first part of the puzzle was satiated.

“…Oh!”

“A shame this Gratian never figured it out. But I guess he was a better miner than he was a warrior.” Teldryn said with a strained voice, heaving it again. This time, he walked with Bloodskal to the other side. He took the same stance and struck it once more with great effort, in the opposite direction. Once again the archway shifted.

“Ha, knew it! Just one more…”

Bren looked up and frowned. The most prominent magical seal left was at the top and glimmered tauntingly. “Kinda high.”

“And you’re so tall, I’m sure.” Teldryn said dryly. Bren grumbled but once more let him finish the job. He did so, if with a coordinated jump and swing. In one fell swoop the archway was once again triggered to move and the door was finally opened. Bren felt her annoyance fall away and she whooped in support of her friend.

“How’s that for a Dunmer, eh?” Teldryn asked with a grin to his voice. Bloodskal was sheathed to his back under his shield, and they walked into the dank, but wide and tall hallway. Bren readjusted her parka’s hood and trotted alongside him.

“At least we didn’t have to fight anything else. We can just go out side, rush back to Raven Rock, and then….”

She paused, catching eye of a chamber up ahead. Teldryn had been frowning, and began to crouch. Bren followed suit.

“Something wrong?”

“If this was a curse that dried up a mine, then something woke it up to begin with.” He explained, soft as a breeze. Bren dared to quietly creep out to the door and stake the new chamber from the doorway, Teldryn readying his magic from behind. It was much smaller than the last one, and had a functioning set of stairs that went down to a platform. Around it was water - lots of it, and something…else.

At the far end of the chamber was a wall, written in a language that Bren did not know yet felt was familiar. She thought she had heard whispers, only to shake the supposed hallucination away. A curse was afoot and they needed their focus more than ever.

“So the person that woke up the draugr is in there? Who?”

“Best case scenario, a necromancer with a massive ego.” Teldryn explained, fire ready and waiting in his palms. “If Azura hates us, then it’s a dragon priest.”

Bren’a eyes focused on the distant wall with the strange writing, and recalled what it could be.

“Oh! It’s Words of Power.”

“A what word?”

Bren turned to face him. “A wall, with Words of Power on it. Long ago, our people were forced to serve the dragons, with priests who served them in their cult. We tell their stories to remind ourselves what we sacrificed to keep our faith in All-Maker alive.”

She stepped into the doorway, still low to the floor, and swore she heard the voices again.

“Maybe it is a dragon priest.”

Teldryn crept up to her side and poked her overstuffed pack. “If it is, I’m taking two thirds of your pickings instead. Now stay here.”

“What?” Bren said, feeling his hands grab her shoulder and pull her back. She had just been about to explore. “My sneak is nearly perfect!”

“Nearly perfect gets you killed less quickly with the likes of a dragon priest.” Teldryn snapped impatiently. “No illusion magics work on them. You can’t just heal yourself to run across the room either while they attack you. They lock those doors with their life and only loose them in death.”

Bren almost argued until his hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Look. I like my gold. I love my gold. But I need a life to enjoy it with. And you know what stops me from being able to enjoy gold in my life?”

“Ah…watching your friends die?”

“Having a hoard of angry Skaal chase you off the island for letting their child face an undead mage.”

Bren blinked, and felt that knot of guilt for up her innards again. If her mother ever found out…

She shook her head to steady her wits. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay behind. Then what?”

“You cast invisibility?” He asked her, and she nodded. “Good. Don’t use up any of your energy except for that. Understand? I’m going to conjure every type of creature I can think of to distract him once he’s awake; might even use the Bloodskal on him too. Then you cover yourself and wait by the exit. STAY THERE and wait for me to kill him.”

“What if…” Bren started, quietly, unable to finish her sentence. Teldryn squeezed her shoulder once more and stood up, half crouching but going straight to work. She followed him out from a distance, her heart thumping, and praying fervently for his safety.

Teldryn went to the edge of the platform, looked down, and then suddenly shot up. It was so quick that Bren smothered a squeak and covered herself with magic. However, her companion was not fighting: he was leaning over the railing, sounding confused. Confused laughter tinged with relief, but confusion all the same.

“Well, isn’t that odd…”

Bren swallowed and stood up more properly, feeling the invisibility spell wear off already. She leaned over the railing with him, and gasped.

Floating in the water, as decrepit and devoid of life as the draugr, floated the corpse of a robed, masked dragon priest.

——

The cultists were troublesome but delt with. The draugr were tougher things but predictable at least. With either enemy, stealth was on their side - as was the All-Maker. Their Skaal ways took them well and far into the dark temple that seemed to foul the land around it.

Nikalus learned quick that fire was the surest way to weaken those enemies, dead or alive, as well as to brandish his blade this way or that to best them more quickly than not. His years of swinging an axe to chop wood for his mother, of heaving packs of goods for traveling merchants, finally paid off. He was firing his magic and swinging his weapon with a fluidity that both shocked and pleased him.

Frea found herself proud of his growing skill in such a short time. Still, they now had the key from the now-dead Gatekeeper draugr, and they went through the gate that was at the heart of this temple.

“This looks…different.” Nikulas pointed out. He wasn’t wrong: it felt different too. A general evil filled the place, but now the artwork and architecture began to resemble something alien. What was once ancient Nordic designs morphed into an unsightly collection of bulbous amphibious heads and writhing tentacles.

“We’re close.” Frea told him. The sights reminded her of a certain demon though she dared not say his name. “Once we find what we’re looking for, we leave immediately. No mercy.”

“No need to tell me.” Nikulas confirmed with a fighting stance and a nod. Frea smiled a little, seeing that glint of a warrior in his eyes.

Once they reached that final chamber, it was…plain. So deceptively plain. Like rolling waves, however, Frea’s shamaness training told her that it was a trap. It was death. It was wrong.

And the center of it sat within an ugly black book, sitting and waiting to be opened. The demon’s name came and went in her mind as she stared at it.

“I think we’ve found the culprit.” Frea said, taking out her pack and carefully edging the massive book within it. Immediately she tied the pack shut and threw it over her shoulders.

“We return to the village immediately, and speak with my father. No heroics.”

Nikulas nodded and led the way out, eager to keep his new path sharp and ready for the next step of their journey.

——

“But…how? Gratian never made it this far!” Bren said, hiking her feet onto the lower railing. From there, she could push her head and shoulders out further. Even when she got a better look, it was no different: a dead dragon priest floated in the water beneath them.

Teldryn, still holding onto Bloodskal, jogged down the stairs to the side and waded in the water. He poked the corpse and it barely moved with the rippling waves. “Dead as stone. I can hardly believe it. I guess Azura doesn’t hate us after all.”

They shared a look, and Bren jumped down with a splash near him, whispering a spell of protection from becoming too drenched.

“Well, I guess that’s…it.” Bren said, hearing the whispers again. Teldryn said something as he sheathed the sword, but she barely listened. Instead, Bren turned again to the Wall, where a Word of Power was written in an ancient language sacred to the dragons of old. Teldryn was speaking and looting the body as she wandered away.

She walked up to it, a staircase bringing her out of the water and onto the stone floor that held the wall. It was strange to see a Skaal tale come to life like this. Someday she was due to finalize her training, prove herself a worthy successor to her mother and grandfather. What would it hurt to explore this aspect of her history, if just a little bit?

The whispers were louder, ringing in her ears. She touched the word carved into it with a flattened palm and a raddled mind.

As soon as she did, Bren realized that the whispers and voices were not nonsensical. This was no exhaustion-riddled hallucination. They repeated the same phrase over and over again within and without her. Suddenly, it blared in her ears, obvious and clear.

MUL QAH DIIV.

Bren blinked and breathed in heavily. She heard Teldryn say something, but couldn’t make it out. She heard only of a tongue older than her people's greatest secrets, perhaps older than the fires that heard those secrets spoken.

MUL. QAH. DIIV.

The wall shifted, growing in color and light. The foreign words spilled out in magic. Old magic. The type of magic that grew past the bones and touched one’s soul.

MUL.

QAH.

DIIV.

“BREN!”

She sharply breathed inwards and choked on the air. Bren hacked twice and stumbled back, trying to maintain her composure. As she did, the magical tethers completed their task and began to die down around her.

“That…” Bren tried to speak, feeling Teldryn help steady her. “I dunno what that was.”

She watched as stray ribbons of light coiled away into nothing. Looking down at her hands, Bren couldn't help but notice how they glowed ever so slightly before returning to a normal color. Teldryn shook her again before she could stare off and repeat the words she had learned.

“Words of power you said? Well stop toying with power! I’ve had enough of magical light shows on these damned walls. We should go. Now.” He ordered, tugging her along with a firm clasp on her shoulder. “I checked and the chamber is up ahead. We should be safe by then.”

Safe. It didn’t feel safe. Bren was not sure why, but the air was dead suddenly. Evil and dark. Whatever this new power was within her, it mingled with the gifts that the All-Maker gave her. Both were blaring warnings of danger.

This new smaller chamber was less threatening on the surface than any other place in the burrow. It was simple earth and stone, close to the outside world of Solstheim. Small breezes gave hope of the exit not far from where they stood. No where for a draugr or reaver to hide. Yet…

Bren stopped, Teldryn stopping with her, as they saw an innocuous podium holding a massive black book. It was thick, rotten but sturdy looking, with bizarre scratches and a tentacled symbol on the cover. Bren had seen other rotted books further in the mines and burrow, crumbling under the might of All-Makers cycle of life and death. This new book, however, was not just rotten. It was rotten and whole, entirely itself in its disgusted glory as it dared blasphemy the All-Maker's design.

The words of power echoed in her mind. It reacted to the dark magic coming from the book in ways both hostile yet eager. Eager and deadly curious.

“That’s what woke up the curse.” Bren said in sudden realization, cutting through the silence. Teldryn must have felt uneasy with the book as well, having stared at it longer than was usual for him. “Something in that book. It killed the priest.”

“That means it’ll kill us too. Now let’s go.”

“No! If we leave it here, then what? The mine is still dried up, and then Raven Rock won’t stand a chance!”

“Is that really the worst thing in the world?” Teldryn argued. “All of Solstheim is a wasteland, it always will be. We’ve got our gold, now let’s live long enough to spend it!”

Bren stepped toward it, hands outreached. Teldryn growled in frustration, reaching out to her, but the moment he did, a static shock slapped his touch away. Wisps of that light from the Wall came again.

“Solstheim is not a wasteland, not so long the All-Maker is with us.” Bren said as she stood over it now.

Teldryn, still nursing his smarted hand, spoke up. “Bren, are you stupid? Even you Skaal know not to mess with magics like this! What’s gotten into you?”

She felt her whole body warm with a wave of surety. It was as if this new power was saying, I am magic too.

Perhaps it was a trap. But Bren found herself welcoming it.

“I’ll give you ALL my treasure if you let me keep this book.”

Teldryn stared at her, as much as he could through his chitin mask. He shared a ragged breath before stepping back.

“Fine. Whatever it takes to pull you out of here. Just don’t touch it with your bare hands.”

Bren smiled, and made sure her gloves were on before she picked it up. She felt lighter now, and gave a nervous laugh. It prickled her lungs.

“What’re we afraid of anyway? It’s just a book.”

“A book that can awaken the undead.”

“Well, still. We won, and all the undead are dead again. What else can it do? It’s just us now.”

Bren laid her gloved hands over the book. She couldn’t possibly hold it with just one grip, so she had to heft it towards her chest. It was almost a deadweight, and unnaturally cold. With only a little trepidation, she turned to Teldryn.

“Okay, NOW we go. As fast as we can, of course, since you're so scared.”

Her companion didn’t have a chance to so much as think of a smart reply. Instead, the “just a book” jerked in her grip, and Bren gasped. Then it did it again, and again, more powerful each time until she was struggling.

“Hey!”

Teldryn jumped into action and grabbed at the tome as well. It quickly became a sort of tug o’ war, but an unseen third party was jerking the thing this way and that against the other two. At one point Teldryn was struck in the face of his mask. Suddenly, as soon as he let go, that invisible force picked him up and flung him hard. He rammed into and fell against the dirt wall, his head taking hits even his helmet could not buffer. Bren found herself being tugged along by the book instead, scared for Teldryn but terrified of what the book could do without her to control it.

“No, get back! By the All-Maker I’ll—!”

But the book answered to no deity. Finally, the unseen forces flipped Bren off her feet, and she landed hard onto her front and face. She looked up to see the cursed tome open in the air and reveal its true nature.

The last thing Bren remembered was the sensation of being pulled up in a cloud of putrid dust.

——

“In here, quickly!” Crescius said loudly. He had led a small band of Redoran Guard - Captain Veleth at the heart of them - as well as an impatient Neloth and stone-faced Storn. The Telvanni wizard made quick work of the spiders they initially came across, but soon found that the rescue mission had overestimated the dangers involved. The ebony mine was littered with dead: whether small animals or draugr - draugr! - but no Skaal girl in sight.

“Not bad work. I imagine Teldryn Sero was a part of this.” Veleth mentioned, finally sheathing his own sword. But the wizard was frowning now and walking past everyone, leading them into a chamber filled with water and many dead draugr.

“Based on the bodies covered in arrow wounds, we shouldn’t give him all the credit.”

Storn pulled out a broken ebony arrow with a grunt and stared at it. There was coagulated blood, rotten and sluggish, on it, as unmoving as the other bodies in the place. There was no spark of life, holy or profane.

“Whatever curse awoke this place is gone. But something else remains.” Storn said carefully. He felt it now, an evil staring at them from the corners, the shadows. He dared not say more than that, lest he share a bit too much of the secrets he was sworn to keep from the demon who lurked in those shadowy corners. “They can’t be far ahead.”

“I knew this place was cursed! Knew it!” Crescius said, slapping his pick axe with emphasis. “Even the Skaal can tell. But where next? Is this it?”

“Hardly. Ancient Nords never kept their labyrinths so simple as this.” Neloth explained, and casted a spell to show the way next. Soft, pulsing light shot down on the ground and zipped to an unseen corridor covered in water.

“This way, one at a time, and weapons drawn. Can’t go too easy yet.” Captain Veleth ordered his guards. Metal on bonemold rung out as they did so, and marched in single file in front of the others. Neloth rolled his eyes and and crossed his arms.

“Oh please, my magic is enough to blast our way out if need be.” He complained, then turned to Storn. “You and I both know a simple blade isn’t enough for magic like this.”

Storn looked away. Neloth was not a bad person per se, but quite full of himself and had a tendency to downplay the significance of such magics. Yet he was right on one thing: he knew magic could only be swayed by other magics. He just hoped the All-Maker would bless him with all he needed to get Bren back.

“Look!” A guard shouted out from ahead. The others crammed to the end of a corridor where a water fall sat, and they all slowly pushed their way through. Storn dried himself with fire magic and found that they all stood atop a rock face with no way down. Beyond them was a massive cavern, lit with red magic and a few dead bodies. However, the source of the red light - a wide arch way - was open.

“No way down, damn it.” Veleth cursed. Neloth shrugged.

“Do the Redoran forget our Dunmer prowess so easily? No wonder Telvanni has the greatest wizards of all the Houses! This is a simple matter - allow me.”

The captain stepped aside and allowed the wizard to cast yet another spell. A rune was placed at his feet, and then another far below on the ground. Impressed, Storn watched the wizard hop onto the first rune, and allow an air magic to safely and gently fly him away and down onto the second. He landed down below and beckoned them to follow.

“Well? Hurry up then! I didn’t make this permanent.”

The Redoran guard and their captain went next, followed by a bemused Crescius and then a slightly hesitant Storn. He stumbled a little on the landing but found his footing.

“May the All-Maker keep my feet to the ground ever more.” Storn said aloud, making some of the guards chuckle. Neloth sighed and pushed himself to the front.

“Yes yes, as you wish. Anyways, we’re close to the end. I don’t imagine we’ll find the culprit behind the curse after this.”

“Culprit?” Crescius asked. He had been by his great grandfather’s remains, offering a prayer to one of the many gods the Imperials worshipped. By then he returned and followed the others. “We already have the draugr dead! Thanks to that shaman girl of yours, Storn.”

“This is the home of a dragon priest, isn’t it?” Storn said aloud in the new corridor. The others paused in surprise, though Neloth walked forward into a new chamber that none dared not to enter. He returned promptly, looking disappointed.

“The Skaal is correct. The body of the resident priest is floating in his watery grave just inside. Shame. Was hoping to test my lightning chain against his. Heard their magic was second to none!”

Crescius looked between Storn and Veleth. “So, that’s it then? The curse is gone?”

Storn frowned and looked over the faces of Imperial and Dunmer alike. In all his years alive, he never interacted much with those outside of his village. He kept his people and their secrets safe by keeping to their lands, by offering prayers and ceremonies to the All-Maker. Travelers, if peaceful, came and went. All of the island was given to the Skaal, but like the animals of the forest and the creatures of the sea and sky, all sorts lived together in a great web that only the All-Maker could control. So he and the Skaal kept to their lands and let the others be.

Now it seemed, life was changing, just as seasons changed the year and years changed the life of a boy into a man. Now was the time to, perhaps, share a little of his secrets. But just a little, enough to find out what cursed the lands now and put Bren in danger.

“Something else awoken this curse. I feel it on the earth I walk on. I taste it in the air.” Storn warned. The Dunmer murmured their surprise as he continued. “Whatever is poisoning the Stones on Solstheim is also awakening curses across the land. We need to tread carefully. We need to keep Bren and the others away until it’s under control again. We may be able to eradicate this evil, but we won’t know how until we find out what it even is. I’m sure that’s what set Bren off in the first place.”

“Taste in the air? I got a whiff of something myself.” Neloth said with a sniff. “Dead bodies tend to foul up the place.”

“Regardless, I agree. On guard, men, and out that way.” Veleth ordered, pointing to the exit at the other end of the watery chamber. Storn prayed silently once more and dreaded every step towards the end.

Miraak. Dragon priests. Curses. His people enslaved and destroying their sacred stones. The land aching in pain at the evil coming.

And now a feeling of being watched by shadows not quite there, but following him in every place.

Herma Mora was a name he hoped to never think of in times like this.

“Up ahead! There's a man down!” A guard shouted from ahead. His voice was high pitched, warbled. The others ran with him, leaving the two older men behind. Storn felt his heart race as he pushed his way forward. There was a small commotion as men exclaimed curses of shock and horror.

“Out of my way!” Storn said in growing fear. “Bren! BREN!!”

“Hold him back!” Veleth ordered, his face belaying terror. “Don’t do anything stupid, shaman! DON’T!”

But Crescius, also worried, helped Storn push his way through. They both saw together what had made armored men cower in revulsion.

Bren, held up in the air by that same smell he felt, with only black tentacles writhing into her chest, was held before a great black book, open with terrible secrets, and within a world only she could see. Teldryn Sero, the mercenary warrior they had put confidence in, lay at her feet, hardly moving.

“Herma Mora.” Storn dared to speak out loud as Redoran guard held him back. The shadows around him seemed to grin.

——

Bren groaned and forced her eyelids open as far as they allowed. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought someone glued them shut with pine resin, they were so heavy and stubbornly closed. But soon, with a light head, her eyes opened, and her eyesight unblurred.

She began to wish she just kept them closed.

All around her the world bubbled and burned in ways that assaulted her senses. The seas of acid burned, yet bore cold drafts over the surface of the bizarre stone street she sat on. The air was almost nonexistent but carried whispers and tainted truths all the same, and with a sky as rumbling and uncertain as the otherworldly seas it spread over. Unseemly tentacles writhed here and there to touch things it need not have to caress, and Bren noticed the alien towers and halls above and beyond her.

By then, she also realized that she was not alone.

----

Miraak was a Champion, and loathed the submission such a title required. He was forced to kneel to another, to a being he knew he could soon escape, even if it meant he was worthy of the accolades of being his second.

But Miraak was never second. Not to another being, not to another power. After countless ages of accumulating energy and knowledge, he could now finally gain further strength from Solstheim itself. The one dissenter to his spell was a pause for concern; even more so were the Skaal and their meager protections. Yet, only for a pause. His Seekers and cultists had long found that they were no true threat in the face of their true master’s power. The Skaal would bow to him as much as every other being on the island.

Now if only he could taste the sea by the shores of Raven Rock, or smell the skies at the peak due north of his temple…that would surely be a greater pleasure than all the knowledge of Hermaeus Mora’s stinking, rancid Apocacrypha.

“Soon.” Miraak instructed the Seekers. They were remnants of Mer and Men who, unlike him, could not retain their own bodies once seduced by the promise of forbidden knowledge. They floated above the ground before him, boney arms curled up to wide chests with open mouths, their faces a tentacles monstrosity like that of their Daedric Prince. “Soon they will finish building my temple, and I can return home.”

One seeker trilled with approval, the others rapt with attention. Beneath his metal mask, a mimic of the Seeker’s face, Miraak smiled. “Now it is only a matter of—“

One Seeker hissed and floated to the side. Its palm flowed with acidic magic in warning. The others followed suit, confusing their now angered master.

“What?!” Miraak snapped turning around and readying his own hands with magic. His gauntlets and boots were made of the same metal and heavy fabric as his mask, his armor a mix of mage’s robes and a true warrior’s metal. He feared nothing even if he had but a pitiful robe to wear - he was the most powerful man to ever exist, after all.

But what he found was pitiful. His magic dimmed though his Seekers kept to their positions.

“Who are you to dare set foot here?” Miraak demanded with venom in his tone. Before him was a girl - on the shorter side, but strong and sturdy, of Nord make.

She answered with a quaking farce of courage. “I…I’m Bren. Brenna Little-Foot.”

Ah, he could remember now: a Skaal. She was short for her kind, but just as strong willed and stubborn. She looked only a few years away from coming of age, but already held the naive bravery of a fresh-faced adventurer.

Bren was no doubt hard-headed too: his pause in studying her was mistaken for hesitation. She rushed up and unsheathed her bow, but was knocked down again by a Seeker as soon as she reached for an arrow at her back. The bow slid across the grimey stone, away from her reach.

“You…” Miraak began, tilting his head. Bren looked up from where she was forced to kneel, a wild light in her blue eyes. “You were the one to resist my control, weren’t you? A valiant attempt for one your age.”

“You’re Miraak - the Traitor!” She spat suddenly, fear and anger both in her words. “I learned your story! You lost the first time - we can beat you again!”

“And yet…” Miraak paused, looking over her visage. Her tattooed chin beheld a swirling pattern of blue. It indicated her future status as shamaness, so no doubt some of the power he sensed in her was from her own master, the All-Maker. But it was not a mere gift bestowed upon a mortal that he saw. There was something deeper within, more ancient. It was a power that attempted to reach out to his own as an equal.

Now that was new. Miraak continued in genuine surprise.

“You are Dovahkiin. I can feel it, I can see it now.”

“I’m not your slave!” Bren snapped, ignorant of the name he gave her. He couldn’t help but laugh and walk closer to her. She was forced to sit up on her knees more straightly, growling as the Seekers pushed her around, but stopped when Miraak clenched her chin.

“There is no hiding your fate, not in Apocrypha. I see it in your eyes even now, a Word of Power desperate to release itself from your throat.”

“You don’t know anything.” Bren dared to say, more likely out of spite than surety.

“Mal qah diiv.” Miraak hummed deeply through his chest as he spoke it. Tendrils of light fluttered around him as he barely whispered it, and the girl’s eyes widened in surprise.

“And yet, you have no idea the true power you could wield. How convenient.” He continued, pushing her chin away roughly. “You may resist my rightful claim over Solstheim, but you’ll find it futile.”

“That’s what YOU think, Traitor!” She shouted, then yelped as she was thrown onto the floor. She grunted to lean up and continue her defiance. “All Skaal people know your story, we know you can be stopped! And I’ll be there to make sure you never come back!”

Miraak had been walking away, but paused just a few steps ahead of her. He turned his head back to her, took one step of his boot, and used it to crush her vulnerable bow. The sinew string popped off from the force of it, and the supple, flexible wood turned to splinters. The look of despair on her face made him smile again.

“She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel.” Miraak ordered and turned his back to her. He didn’t need to look back again. He could easily hear her screaming as the Seekers attacked her, forcing her - painfully - to return to Solstheim, and with a warning she’d be sure to share.

Miraak called for a great dragon to ride, his preferred steed: Sahrotaar. He was a sickly white in the sickening green of this world and a massive jaw and underbite to match his sharp teeth. No other dovah - dragon - was left alive in Tamriel, making their precense in Oblivion all the more useful for his ends.

They slowly gained altitude until Sahrotaar could fly off more quickly within the rolling, unnatural mimicry of a sky. The girl’s shrieks were drowned out the further they went. It was not anything close to Solstheim’s cold mountain air, but Miraak found himself invigorated all the same. After all, there were no other men who could tame, ride, and command dragons in Oblivion.

And soon, if the prophecies were correct, he could claim the same in Tamriel.

“It seems we have a new guest that may return, if she’s foolish enough to do so.” He said with growing confidence.

“Shall we kill her on sight, thuri?” The white dragon rumbled, turning to one side towards their next point.

“My army will already try.” Miraak rumbled with amusement. “And so will she.”