Of Eagles and Dragons, The Children of Kyne, Vol. IV Options

[Kane]

You always seem to pick up on my breadcrumbs with things like her hair! If only the celebrations didn't have to end, though.
Anyhoo, here we go, right back into the cold!

{================}

Chapter XXVI – Darkfall’s Embrace

The mountain winds cascaded over a broad river delta and drove an icy draft directly into the campsite of Linneá Windborne and Gwyndala Louvain. Snow fell lightly in the darkness outside of their tent, but inside the air stayed warm and dry courtesy of a magickal flame floating just above the linen floor, directly between their sleeping bags.

Perimeter alarms were set. Noise dampening spells were cast. And the two dogged adventurers snored obnoxiously for most of the night.

When the sun arrived once more in a vain attempt to pierce the veil of winter snow, Linneá roused herself and set out a plate of dried venison and two apples for a light breakfast. Despite her rustling around for the last few minutes, the tousled hair of Gwyn poking out the top of her sleeping bag remained inert. That is until a gentle prod to the shoulder brought an end to a captivating dream.

“Leave me alone, Linn. I was just getting to the good part.”

“We need to get moving, sis. Mum says a wicked storm is blowing in from Morrowind later today. I want to get beyond this valley before visibility is gone, and we have to hunker down to wait out the snow.”

“Can’t you just Shout it away?”

“She doesn’t like when we mess with the natural order of things like that.”

“’Course she doesn’t.”

Gwyn finally rolled onto her back and sat up with a loud yawn and a craning stretch. She grabbed a hairbrush from her bag and attempted to tame the mess on her head while Linneá began rolling up her own sleeping bag and doing light stretches of her own to limber up for a double-time march and then started on breakfast.

Deciding a hood would be less of a struggle, Gwyn tossed the brush aside and took a swig of water.

“How much further until the cave?”

“I was hoping only another four days, but the weather could double that if we get several more inches of fresh snow.”

“[censored]. We should have rode the damn horses.”

“The mares common in Solitude don’t like it up here in the Reach. The ground is so rocky that they have trouble retaining balance. And if you don’t know exactly there the paths go, you can easily ride right over a cliff.” Linneá picked up her strip of salted meat and chewed thoughtfully on it. A notion occurred to her that could help speed things along, though she wasn’t sure if Gwyn would go for it. “What if were to summon a mount that might be indifferent to the landscape?”

Linneá had received a lot of intense glares in her time, but nobody she’d ever met levied them as practically and effectively as Gwyn managed to. The Breton perfected it into an art form that could render anyone she faced to reconsider whatever ill-timed idea or too late thought was about to come her way. Most annoyingly to Gwyn, however, her soon-to-be sister-in-law found it to be quite humorous and took great pride in riling her up.

“You better have an iron-clad reason for not having [censored] summoned it already, Linn.”

“Does the prospect of clinging to my waist while jostling about on the bony spine of a skeletal horse from the Soul Cairn sound like an acceptable alternative to walking?”

Gwyn actually winced at the idea of it. She didn’t exactly have a lot of meat on her bones and wondered how bruised and battered her groin would be by the time they reached their destination. She certainly wouldn’t be having any fun with her fiancé for a few days.

“Sounds awful, if I’m being honest,” said Gwyn. “Maybe I can sit on a spare cloak. I’d rather not be bow-legged for a week.”

“Well, give it some thought while we pack up and start walking.”

Outside the tent it was cold. So cold, in fact, that Gwyn wanted to crawl right back inside and hibernate for the winter. Instead, she sighed dramatically and cast her warmth spell while donning a cloak and hood over her already several layers deep wardrobe. They packed up the camp and headed due west along the riverbank until a marker stone bearing a clumsily inscribed signpost pointed towards the faintest traces of a dirt path veering slightly north. By mid-morning, the impending storm promised by Kyne nipped at their heels, the sky grey skies filling with turbulent clouds.

“It’s now or never, Gwynnie,” said Linneá, coming to a halt. “I can summon Arvak or we pitch the tent again and hunker down until tomorrow.”
More delays were not enticing to Gwyn. Neither was the prospect of riding a saddle-less undead horse at breakneck speed to outrun the storm for the next three days. But it would be at least a week on foot, plus the lost time today, if they stayed the current course.

“Ugh. I hate this. I just want to go home.”

The pain and fatigue would be easy enough to deal with after a long day of riding, and they had plenty of alchemy ingredients on hand if a healing spell didn’t quite cut it. She couldn’t think of a downside to being uncomfortable if it meant reaching their destination sooner. However, there also happened to be another matter she’d been putting off in fear of further disappointment.

Gwyn admired the emerald ring on her finger, and then, with a deep sigh, placed the hand on her belly and focused inward.

Anything? Cain whispered silently to her from across the province.

No. She drew the hand away and brushed off tears of frustration. Least I don’t have to worry about jostling a baby around.

It’ll happen, promised Cain. It’s not supposed to be easy.

That doesn’t help.

“Call up your mount, Linn. Let’s get the hell away from that storm.”

Linneá gritted her teeth in concentration, brought a hand high above her head, and then cast it down towards the frozen earth. A blinding flash of purple so dark it neared black called forth a magickal vortex and the silent invocation conjured Arvak, the skeletal horse of the Soul Cairn that she had once ridden across that terrifying and desolate realm with Serana at her back.

“Oh!” exclaimed Gwyn. “Linn, he’s not at all what I expected!”

“I know what you mean,” said Linneá, resting a hand on Arvak’s bony haunch. “He has a sort of ethereal charm that is hard to quantify.” She gripped his side and swung a leg over his back with a leap and then offered a hand to Gwyn, who promptly batted it away.

“Hell no. I’m not making some undignified attempt that ends up with me flat on my ass.” Gwyn flicked her wrist and cast a short levitation spell that floated her neatly up onto the horse’s back, right behind Linneá. “Just don’t tell anyone I did that.”

“I didn’t you know could do that, sis,” said an impressed Linneá. “What other tricks do you have hidden up those petite sleeves?”

“Plenty. I taught myself a lot of alternatives to destruction magick. Now can we get a move on?”

Linneá patted Arvak encouragingly on the head and he took off at a blistering gallop.

-----

The entrance to Darkfall Cave loomed into view as a shadowy smudge pressed into the side of a sheer cliff face. Three days had lapsed since summoning Arvak and riding off into the cold. Three days of painful nights in a tent brewing restorative potions in Linneá’s alembic. Three days of Gwyn massaging her tender legs and aching groin. But they’d made great time and finally arrived a full five days sooner than anticipated.

“What’s inside?” inquired Gwyn while casting a healing spell to keep herself from falling to her knees in pain.

“Dunno. Ana and I tussled with some spiders and the odd troll last time. Hopefully Gelebor will still be waiting at the first Wayshrine.”

“The Snow Elf you spoke of?”

“Mhm.” Linneá cast another conjuration spell and their tent solidified on a flat spot ten feet away from the cave mouth. “In you go, Gwynnie.”
“What? Why? It’s only noon. Let’s just do what we came here to do.”

“Because you can barely walk, sis. We’ll rest up for a few hours, maybe have a nap. In you go. No discussions.”

Gwyn thought about responding in a hostile manner over being ordered around by someone younger than her, but she didn’t have it in her. Instead, she limped over to the tent, opened the flap, and threw herself on the ground inside of it.

Rough day? thought Cain.

[censored] off.

Nothing more could be said, for Gwyn passed out for the next two hours while Linneá brewed another strong potion for her struggling companion.

-----

By late afternoon, Gwyn felt much better. They’d broken into their high-quality rations to fix up a hot meal for the occasion and even brewed some lavender infused tea to sip at before Gwyn quaffed down her final healing potion and took a few gingerly steps outside in the snow.

“I should be alright, Linn. Thanks, by the way. You make one hell of draught.”

“Learned from the best,” she shrugged.

“Serana?”

“That goes without saying.”

The tent dispelled with another wave of Linneá’s hand, and together they stepped into Darkfall Cave with candlelight spells illuminating the way forward.

Tangled roots encrusted with ice descended from the ceiling. A few inches of half-melted snow had blown in on strung gusts from increasingly prevalent winter storms causing their initial incursion to be a treacherous ordeal. But soon enough the influences of precipitation began to cease until only a partially frozen scree of rock and dirt remained underfoot. Down rocky slopes and around damp, cold bends they crept for the next several hours. Eventually they reached an open pit and Linneá led them down a twisting ledge that spun further into the depths of the mountain.

Soon they came to a natural bridge carved from stone that spanned an underground river Gwyn could hear rushing by far below in a torrent. She tried not to imagine how far a fall that would be, and kept her eyes fixed firmly forward while crossing to the other side.

“Ana and I fell into that river last time,” said Linneá. “We had to go a different way and foolishly trusted a decrepit rope bridge.”

“It broke while you were on it? I’d have pissed myself.”

“I almost did when we finally washed up at the bottom of a waterfall. I saw her prone form on the shoreline and started panicking, but she was okay. Just had the wind knocked out of her.”

“That was a while ago, right? How old were you two?”

“Um, let me think… it would have been late two twenty-four, so we were only twenty-two at the time.”

Gwyn reached the other side and turned to face her. “[censored], Linn. You were practically still kids.”

“Yeah, well, we both had to grow up fast to survive in this world.” Linneá pointed towards another passageway leading deeper into the mountain. “We’re almost there. C’mon.”

“Hey, wait a sec,” said Gwyn. She grabbed Linneá’s hand and held her in place. “Look, if everything goes as planned, and Cain succeeds your father… you, Serana, and Salihn don’t have to stick around the palace for our benefit. The three of you need each other and if that means moving back to Elysium or buying some other home out in the country then don’t ever hesitate to tell us so. From what I’ve come to know about you, you two’ve earned it ten times over.”

Linneá didn’t know what to say, so she settled for hugging Gwyn tightly. The notion of being out of the public eye wasn’t something she ever thought possible, despite how much they longed for it after the initial novelty of Kirin ascending to the throne wore off. The prospect of being given and out enticed her greatly.

We’ll discuss it when you return home, love, Serana thought to her. I admit it is tempting.

It’s going to be on my mind all the time now.

She released Gwyn from her embrace and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have our eternal thanks if you can pull that one off, my queen.”

“Oh, knock it off with that queen [censored],” laughed Gwyn, playfully smacking Linneá’s shoulder. She gestured ahead: “lead on!”

Through the passage they went and moments later Linneá and Gwyn were trekking across an open cavern with low ceilings held aloft by pillars of stone interspersed with stale pools of runoff water. A fire crackled merrily within a small ring some distance ahead, and the figure of a tall humanoid could just be made out standing beside the flickering flames. Beyond the humble living area stood an ancient Wayshrine carved from white marble, the symbols of Auri-El borne into the apex.

And Knight-Paladin Gelebor watched their approach carefully.

[Acadian]

Gwyn is not really cut out for this Nordic adventuring – especially in the winter! Linneá does a good job of trying to ease the way for the heavily bundled up little Breton. Gwyn knows a levitation spell! Too bad she doesn’t seem to know a ‘summon saddle’ or even a ‘summon pillow’ spell to help preclude sore netherbits. Arvak certain did speed up the duo’s trek though.

Quite the crawl down into Darkfall Cave. No sign of falmer yet, but hopefully Knight-Paladin Gelebor will be able to shed some helpful light on the mystery. And share the warmth of his fire.

[Grits]

That was an excellent engagement party.

As a fellow curly-haired person I can relate to Gwyn trading her brush for a hood!

Gwyn’s journey went from freezing to freezing on a bone horse. Knight-Paladin Gelebor’s fire must be a welcome sight. I’m curious what he will have to say.

[Kane]

Gwyn is not really cut out for this Nordic adventuring - especially in the winter! Linneá does a good job of trying to ease the way for the heavily bundled up little Breton. Gwyn knows a levitation spell! Too bad she doesn’t seem to know a ‘summon saddle’ or even a ‘summon pillow’ spell to help preclude sore netherbits. Arvak certain did speed up the duo’s trek though.

Quite the crawl down into Darkfall Cave. No sign of falmer yet, but hopefully Knight-Paladin Gelebor will be able to shed some helpful light on the mystery. And share the warmth of his fire.

Skyrim will make a Nord out of Gwyn yet! Well, that or she'll just reassert her Breton notions on the populace. Yes, that is probably more likely.

That was an excellent engagement party.
As a fellow curly-haired person I can relate to Gwyn trading her brush for a hood!

Gwyn’s journey went from freezing to freezing on a bone horse. Knight-Paladin Gelebor’s fire must be a welcome sight. I’m curious what he will have to say.

Little point in brushing for an adventure anyway! Gwyn probably looks forward to a bath more than anything right now. Well, almost anything.

0++[=======>

Act III

Interlude

“I am not interested in your excuses, nor do I wish to hear any more sniveling drivel. If you cannot conceive of a way to facilitate transportation of the Heart, then I will have you put to death. Is that what you would prefer? Is there another beneath your station who can do as your queen has ordered? Consider that before you return tomorrow. Get out of my sight!”

The attendant scuttled shamefully out of the room and Queen Penolore slammed shut the door to her chambers. She stalked moodily over to her window and gazed down at the now empty dig site surrounding what remained of Crystal-Like-Law. Victory lay so tantalizing close and yet every day brought further delays. It was maddening.

And now those frustratingly intuitive pretenders in the northlands were sniffing around the edges of their Skyrim operation, with the Dragonborn King already transitioning to the Ruby Throne. A throne that must be cast down if the Dominion were ever to achieve their ultimate victory.

“Perhaps Lisotel can achieve us a victory where these incompetent fools cannot,” she said to no one in particular.

With a sudden turn that billowed the hem of her royal robes, the queen swept away from the window to locate more of her attendants.

Lisotel must be encouraged to begin. We shall take this one step at a time. She froze in thought, a golden hand resting on the stained-glass door leading to the common room. I cannot believe I’ve come to rely so heavily on that oaf after everything else he bungled.

Queen Penolore continued on through the impressively delicate door and immediately became swarmed by the attendants she sought, with an aide bearing the robes of the Ministry of Transportation at the forefront, politely clamoring for her attention.

“Milady! We’ve done it! We know how to move the Heart into position!”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man’s eager claim. She’d never seen this mer before in her life, yet he would presume to address her directly? Were it not for an overwhelming desire to cast down her enemies, this minister would be hauled off to the deepest dungeons.

“Speak quickly or you shall not speak again,” she ordered.

The aide untied a bit of silver filigree from a scroll and presented it to her. Queen Penolore digested the scrawled message with increasing pleasure, her lips curling into a triumphant smirk and she dismissed all but the lone aide.

“See to this at once and you shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

-----

Snow fell lightly outside the window of High Chancellor Anilay Cato’s study atop the White-Gold Tower. Winter encroached steadily, each day bringing colder winds, and cloudy grey skies. Yet for the first time since Titus Mede II had been deposed, he breathed a sigh of relief. The Elder Council had chosen a date. Now, all that remained were preparations for an event not witnessed in nearly three hundred years, since the magickal day that Uriel Septim VII assumed the Ruby Throne.

The Fifteenth Day of Last Seed, in the Four-Hundred Thirtieth Year of the Fourth Era.

Coronation Day.

-----

“Throw her in there with the others.”

Rough hands forcefully gripped the old woman’s arms and tossed her bodily inside a ramshackle iron cage tucked away in the shadowy gloom of a decrepit Dwemer structure. She hit the ground and grunted painfully, years of training keeping her from crying out for the benefit of her captors. The guards moved away, leaving only a single tall being in dark robes and a hood to leer through the bars.

“I cannot hardly believe that after so many long years, it is I who will finally eliminate such a thorn in the Thalmor’s side,” Magistrate Lisotel grinned wickedly. “Penolore will be delighted to hear of your demise when I feed you to the Heart along with these other mindless beasts.”

The old woman said nothing as she sat up and leaned against the side of the cage. A gloating elf had not gotten the best of her in over fifty years, and this one would not be any different. She simply stared hostilely at him while her mind digested her new predicament and began to seek a way out of it.

“Nothing to say, you Breton whore? That’s just as well. I’ve enough headaches without listening to the self-righteous droning of a Blades agent. I’ll have the men bring you some water later. Or maybe I won’t. Your fate is sealed either way.”

Lisotel left to oversee more important aspects of his operation leaving the prisoner to her own devices. The near-total darkness of her cell offered little for the eye to see, so she cast a faint light spell and recoiled slightly at the sight of a prone form in the corner. Layers of thick grime made it hard to guess an age, but she reasoned the Nord had to be at least fifty due solely to the streaks of grey in his long blonde beard.

His chest rose and fell slowly. And then he awoke.

“Who ‘re you?” he rasped. “When did they throw you in ‘ere?”

“Just now,” said the woman. “My name is Delphine.”

“Retnarr.”

“Any idea what’s in store for us, Retnarr?”

“Aye. And ya aren’t gonn’ like it. May’s well pray to the Nine now, oldun. Pretty soon youse and I will be up and vanished like the rest ‘o the beasts they drag through ‘ere.”

Delphine was about to ask him what he meant by that when clink of rattling chains and the dull thud of innumerable footsteps slowly resonated more and more loudly off the walls surrounding their cage. She extinguished her light lest the approaching guards take exception to it, and she peered anxiously through the bars.

Thalmor soldiers in their ornate golden armor emblazoned with the regalia of eagles led a line of stunted figures through the gloom. Delphine couldn’t make out what they were yet, but she did pick out the pointed ears against the light of torches held by the guards. Closer and closer they came until the long line of captives passed by the cell, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth in shock.

Goblins, Reiklings, and, most prominently, Falmer were all chained together in a line stretching off into the black. Shackles bound their feet and hands, and those creatures that were not already blind had their eyes covered with crude burlap hoods that were scarcely breathable.

“By the Eight!” breathed Delphine.

Her mind reeled at the implications of what she witnessed. She had to get word out somehow. But out of where? She’d been rendered unconscious from a blow to the back of her neck while exploring Duskglow Crevice with her detachment of guards and had little idea where here was. And where had they gone?

All dead, likely, she thought to herself. Maybe the Nord knows where we are…

“Alright, listen up, Retnarr. We need to do something about this. Tell me everything you know about where we are and how we got here.”

The disgruntled man snorted at first, but then he saw the commanding light in her eye and felt a sliver of hope for the first time in many long months.

He told her what he knew. And Delphine felt the icy grip of despair clinging to her heart.

[Acadian]

Scene One. Another peek into Penolore’s plans. Though well-familiar with the Second Era unsuccessful attack on the Crystal Tower, I had to look up the details of its Third Era demise. How odd to look down upon it now as an archeologic dig site. More tantalizing tidbits about a plan to somehow use the Heart of Transparent Law to bring down the Empire.

Scene Two. Here we pop in on Anilay and learn that Kirin’s coronation date has been set!

Scene Three. Obviously, Delphine’s visit to Duskglow Crevice did not go well for her. That said, we learned that the Thalmor definitely have a presence in/under Skyrim and why falmer have become so scarce. Clearly, ‘feeding’ them to the Heart of Transparent law seems central to whatever the Aldmeri Dominion’s dastardly plans for Skyrim and the Empire are.

[Grits]

Uh oh, good news for Queen Penolore seems like bad news is coming.

Coronation Day is on the calendar, whoop!

I like Delphine’s composure despite her dire situation. It suits her. The mystery of what they’re doing with the missing Falmer must be awful indeed to make her despair. Yikes!

[Kane]

We're getting into the thick of it now for sure! Definitely going to be seeing more of Penolore and her plans in act 3.


-----------------------


Chapter XXVII – Missing in Action

The City of Kings was much too cold for the future king. Cain drew his heavy cloak in tightly to ward off the cold winds of the drafty stone city as he climbed the steps to the Palace of the Kings. Guardsmen and guardswomen bowed their heads respectfully while he passed through in the company of the Blue Palace guards that had escorted him to Eastmarch all the way from Whiterun. It had been a bumpy carriage ride, but the driver knew the land and safely brought them to the snowy city in only a few days’ time.

Cain noted the weatherworn plaques on the high stone walls and marveled at some of the names they bore. The legacy of this city could not be argued, even if it was slightly tarnished in more recent years. At the end of a long entry courtyard stood two impressively tall doors of timber inlaid with intricate wrought iron designs. A guard knocked twice upon the left-hand leaf, and it swung open effortlessly, a testament to the value of excellent craftsmanship and continued maintenance. The Jarl’s hall stretched out before Cain and his escorts, with a long dining table spanning the center that ended right near a raised plinth.

On the plinth sat a throne. And on the throne sat a rare sight: someone other than a Nord in charge of a capital city. Duren Gililo hailed from the Gray Quarter of Windhelm, and in the years since the Stormcloak rebellion failed, he’d risen from a bartender at the cornerclub to the Jarl of Windhelm.

“Greetings, Cain Windborne,” Duren called across the hall. “Come join us for supper. I’m sure it has been a long and cold journey to our humble city.”

Duren’s steward, whose name Cain did not yet catch, gestured towards an empty seat near the top of the table. He thanked the man and sat down directly across from the Jarl while the cadre of escort guards took up posts alongside the palace guards and kept keen eyes trained on the hall’s ingress points.

“Thank you, Jarl Duren. It has indeed been a cold journey, but nothing that warm clothes and a touch of magick can’t handle.”

“Ah, you have a penchant for the ‘clever craft’ as so many Nords tend to call it,” said Duren. “It’ll be a welcome change were the High King more open to the arcane arts...”

“I practice a touch of Restoration and Alteration,” acknowledged Cain. “From my time in the Fighter’s Guild of Anvil. Many warriors rely too strongly on potions. However, they did eventually come to see the wisdom of having a field medic, which meant I usually got to pick and choose which jobs I took.”

“But then you do not fear magick, like so many of the citizens of Skyrim?”

“Not at all. In fact, my fiancé is an accomplished mage, as are my sisters.”

They broke bread and filled their mead glasses from copper ewers while Duren digested this unforeseen kernel of information. With the College of Winterhold regaining prominence, and new Jarl’s such as himself finally making contributions to Skyrim at large, perhaps the old prejudices could start to wither. And the High Queen herself possibly being magickally inclined? It was almost too good to be true.

“I had not heard you were expected to marry once again,” said Duren. “We all of course heard about the loss of Anska of Stonehills last year. It is pleasing to know that her demise did not temper your existence. Losing those we love is never easy.”

“It’s a recent development, Duren. The news is only a few days old, in fact. But rest assured that my Gwyndala will make sure the entire province knows her name. She already has some strong notions about the educational systems in this land. Or lack thereof.”

“How interesting. I’d love to speak further about such subjects, but we unfortunately must discuss the minutia of bureaucracy while I have you in these halls, Mr. Windborne. I’ll ask my steward to bring out some more mead for these discussions. Or perhaps some sujamma, if you are so inclined?”

Cain agreed to the Jarl’s initial terms, and they were soon poring over various documents on Eastmarch’s financial holdings and operational guidelines.

-----

Candlehearth Hall offered little in the ways of entertainment, which suited Cain just fine. He was more than happy to order supper and catch up on his reading while his escort milled about keeping close tabs on the few patrons who felt up to leaving the comfort of their warm homes for camaraderie at the local tavern.

Besides, he was never truly alone.

My ass hurts so much. Gwyn’s voice trickled into his mind just as Cain turned a page. He replaced his bookmark and set the book down. This was a stupid idea.

Are you almost there?

Yeah. And let me guess… you’re sitting comfortably by a warm fire?

I can go stand out in the snow if it would make you feel better.

Don’t be an ass.

Love you, too.

The door to the inn swung open on the floor below and despite being up a flight of stairs in the open loft, Cain still felt the influx of cold air from beyond. He had just picked up his book again when hurried footsteps clambered up the stairs, and a courier bearing the Windborne family crest on his tunic darted over to Cain’s table.

“My lord,” bowed the courier. “I have a message from Solitude for you.” He handed Cain a sealed scroll, saluted hastily, and left to order a drink.
Curious as to that this could be, Cain unfurled the note and read it by candlelight.


Cain,
Riften can wait. Take your escort across the western road out of Windhelm and turn north near the Weynon Stones. Delphine and her guards have not reported back, and my scouts are unable to locate their whereabouts. Search for them in Duskglow Crevice and return to the palace with any information you can glean. And be careful.
Kirin


Frowning over the implications, he barely registered the tavern maid stopping by the table to refill his tankard. Nor did he notice her very unsubtle attempts at flirting.

Did that bitch just touch your arm? Do I need to come over there and explain who the [censored] I am?

Shaking free of his reverie, Cain smiled to himself. Not necessary, Gwyn. I wasn’t paying attention to her anyway. Just got a note from dad: something may have happened to Delphine. I’m off to follow her tracks in the morning.

There was a pause; and then: I don’t like that. Please be careful.

Always.

-----

The carriage driver refused to take them along the necessary road due to what he claimed were ‘unsafe moorings’ for the bridge across the River Yorgrim, so Cain exercised some of his authority and had the local garrison outfit he and his men with horses. He rode atop a gorgeous cream-colored Palamino with a well-tempered disposition and chatted with his Captain while they started the journey west.

“What do you make of it, Lorn?”

“My gut isn’t happy, if’n that’s what your askin’ milord,” replied Captain Lorn.

A stout Nord, Lorn had been a part of his escort since the first time Cain reasoned with his dad to have them dismissed, citing that he and Gwyn were more than capable of defending themselves. But he thought it wise to cave on the matter this time when they went their separate ways. Cain found that the captain had a good mind for tactics, and they often debated the merits of strategy and the history of warfare while they traveled. He knew Lorn would be someone he relied upon in the near future.

“I feel the same,” said Cain. “Something stinks, and I don’t think it will be chaurus scat.”

“Have you ever faced a chaurus?”

“Aye, once. There was a stray in the swamps of Hjaalmarch that attacked us. This was back when I first came to Skyrim, mind you, on our way up to High Gate.”

“Good. Then I won’t have ta warn you about the acid they spit!”

The sun rose higher and higher as the group trotted along the cobblestone road at a decent clip. Cain hoped to reach the cave Delphine had marked on his map in Dawnstar within a handful of days. They were making good time so far, but by late afternoon a fierce snow squall impeded their progress, and they had to hunker down for the night at the small hamlet nestled around Anga’s Mill. The lack of an inn meant pitching the tents, which the weather made all the more difficult.

Finally nestled inside his own modest tent Cain concluded that there was little to do other than continue reading from his book on Skyrim’s High Kings. He flipped through the rather dry pages on historical figures that his dad gave him, only pausing to read in-depth about the more prominent names that he knew. Eventually, his eyes began to droop, and he gave into the fatigue of a long day riding through the cold.

-----

A rocky path departed the road north into the heart of The Pale and led up a craggy snow-covered hillside. The entrance to Duskglow Crevice sat nestled into the side of a cliff and was barely discernible from its surroundings due to the overgrown brush and trees obscuring the little known Falmer den. Two escort guards armed with longswords led the way, hewing a path through the growth.

When they reached the cave mouth, Cain knelt down in the hard-packed snow but was unable to pick out any footprints or tracks. If something had happened, the evidence had been wiped clean.

“Weapons at the ready men.”

“I’ll lead, sir,” said Lorn. “Please step back.”

“No, I need all of you behind me,” instructed Cain. “Otherwise, our main advantage will be useless. And trust me when I say you do not want to be in front of me if I use the Thu’um.”

Captain Lorn deferred to Cain’s command of the situation and ordered the other men to draw their weapons and stay close behind their charge. Unfortunately, like all of the other Falmer dens that were visited over the last couple months, Duskglow Crevice turned out to be more of the same.

Empty.

“None of this makes any sense,” said Cain. “We know Delphine came here in a company at least matching our strength. How can they all have disappeared without a trace?”

“Doesn’t help that it’s so fetchin’ dark in ‘ere,” said Lorn. Torches and magick only help so much.”

Wishing he’d bothered to learn a Night Eye spell, or even pack a potion, his frustration nearly boiled over until Cain laughed suddenly, and clapped Lorn heartily on the back. “You’re a genius, cap. Go outside and fetch our rearguard. Sakiir can probably see anything and everything in these damn caves!”

Lorn saluted smartly, grabbed a replacement for Sakiir, and double-timed it back to the cave system’s entrance.

You only just thought of that? Gwyn asked, smugly. How long has the cat been with you now? Some leader you’re shaping up to be…

Shut up.

You know I love you.

This post has been edited by Kane: Oct 3 2025, 01:54 PM

[Acadian]

Cain seems to get on well enough with the Jarl of Windhelm with similar views on the utility of magic.

Well, Duskglow Crevice is a good start on trying to track the missing Delphine. I liked the scene where Cain insisted on leading the party. Rather than failing to recognize that Captain Lorn is replaceable but Prince Cain is not, or falling guilty to more guts than brains, he quickly explained the undebatable wisdom of his tactical choice that kept him free to use the Thu’um if necessary.

You continue to do a great job bringing the thoughts of Gwyn and Cain together in a wonderfully believable manner. I don’t believe Cain will ever finish reading his book though.

Good idea to bring up a Khajiit to help enlighten the party in this dark cave.

[Kane]

Writing Cain and Gwyn's inner conversations have become my favorite parts. Or Gwyn with Linneá. I'm sensing a pattern there. Anyhoo... let's get into the heart of the matter:

0==={----------------->

Chapter XXVIII – The Underdark

The level of darkness Delphine found herself in took some time to get used to. The depths of black made it hard to see even her own hand hovering inches from her face, and her cellmate, Retnarr, may as well have been in a different cell altogether. Thankfully, the despondent Nord seemed content to remain on his own side of the roughly eight-by-eight enclosure. After months of imprisonment, he didn’t exactly smell like roses.

Only the occasional torch of a passing guard offered any kind of light to dispel the darkness. They also took exception to her candlelight spell the first time Delphine made the mistake of not snuffing it out for a passing patrol. The thuggish guard butted the hilt of his sword right into her chest as recompense. That left quite the bruise on her sternum.

All in all, it had been quite the day since she was unceremoniously tossed into this dark pit.

“Retnarr, are you sure you don’t know where they’ve stuck us?”

“This again?” he rasped. “I told ya all I know, woman. The goldskins knocked me out cold afore the sun came up. Last I knew, we was near Loreius Farm.”

“Hm. How often do the guards come by? Have you been watching their schedule? So far, it seems pretty regular as far as feeding us goes.”

“Every thirty-three minutes.”

Delphine blinked pointlessly a few times; despite knowing he could not see her surprised reaction at this extremely pertinent piece of information. She did not expect such a detailed pattern recognition by a man who by all rights appeared to have given up any hope of escaping his fate.

“Retnarr, that… wait, were you in the Legion?”

“Aye. Served under Tullius himself when we put down Ulfric’s lot. Got me honorable discharge seven years ago.”

“That explains your attention to detail.”

Knowing how often the guard’s rounds were without having to observe it for herself certainly sped things up in Delphine’s mind, and she began to drum up a reconnaissance plan. The lack of light in their general area meant that she could easily slip out of the cell and explore nearby. To test the merits of this endeavor, she crept over to the heavy cell door and groped her hand around the bars to gauge their composition. A soft rap confirmed her suspicion: they were iron.

“What ‘re ya up to, Delph?”

“I plan on taking a stroll after the guard passes by again.”

“Oh yeah? And jus’ how do ya plan on doin’ that?”

“Like this.” Delphine felt her way down to where the latch was affixed to the bars and placed a hand on the back of the lock mechanism. She cast a powerful Latch Crack spell on it and the soft click made her grin. She quickly relocked it and shimmied back over to her corner. “It’s not a very complicated lock, Retnarr. I can slip out and take a look around with the elves being none the wiser.”

“Magick?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Doesn’t have ta be if’in you keep it to yerself.”

Delphine rolled her eyes. “Why are so many of you Nords obtuse about the use of magick? I’ve just shown you that we could possibly escape from this place and all you can say is ‘keep it away from me’? I’m not going to light your trousers on fire, Retnarr.”

“Why are you Bretons so full of yerselves?”

There didn’t seem to be a point in arguing with the man, so Delphine settled in to wait for the guard to pass their cell again. An anxious feeling of getting underway began to take root but years of experience in subterfuge tamped that down in a hurry and she decided to count at least three cycles of the patrol route for her own devices.

True to Retnarr’s word, the Thalmor guard strutted past their cell regularly between thirty-two and thirty-three minutes. Eager to discover where exactly they were being held, Delphine waited an additional five minutes before unlocking the cell door, casting a chameleon spell, and slinking off into the dark hallway in the same direction the guard went. She felt her way forward with one hand on the wall until that same hand felt the rough stone of a rock wall abruptly transition to a splintered wooden door. Pressing an ear to the door, she held her breath and listened intently for voices or the shuffle of boots in the dirt.

All remained quiet. Delphine slowly pushed the door open, knowing it would not squeak else she would have heard it from her cell. An empty larder waited for her on the other side, but it wasn’t the upturned sacks or bare shelves devoid of supplies that caught her eye: it was the drastic change in architecture. The natural walls of the corridor containing their cell turned out to be the unfinished backside of the carefully carved and finished walls of a Dwemer ruin.

Another door stood across from her and the difference from the ramshackle wooden door could not be understated. The eternal sheen of dwarven metal twinkled under the soft glow of a Dwemer chandelier dangling over the room’s center. Delphine tried the handle and found it unlocked. She took a deep breath and cracked it open just far enough to peer into what lay beyond.

“Gods above,” she muttered.

Deciding that was enough for a single trip, she gently closed the door and scampered back to her cell where Retnarr snored away in the corner. She locked the cell door and popped back into the visible spectrum, pacing back and forth.

A low grumble emanated from the shadows, followed by a rustling of linen on stone. “Can ya stop wit yer stompin’ ‘round?” said Retnarr.

“Sorry. It helps me think.”

“Aye. Me captain used ta do the same thing. Didja find out anything of use?”

“I suppose so,” said Delphine. “At least I know where we are being held now, though I don’t think anyone will find us anytime soon.”

“It’s somethin’, I guess,” replied Retnarr. “Don’ be bashful-like, go’on and spit it out.”

“We’re in Blackreach.”

-----

The field office of Magister Lisotel stood near the elevator that descended from the heart of the Dwemer ruins of Alftand in southern Winterhold. It was a modest building of dwarven make that featured a fireplace, bed, a few storage shelves, and an excellent alchemy lab. All it took to make it livable during his stint in Skyrim was to have a few grunts clean up the cobwebs and toss a dusty pile of bones around the back.

His desk overflowed with maps of Skyrim, troop reports, and letters from Alinor. Lisotel pored over a new map delivered that very morning with a growing ire at the lack of relevant information pertaining to his needs.

“Imiril!” he shouted towards the door. “Get in here!”

An armored guard bearing the Thalmor crest double-timed it through the door and stood at the ready. “Sire?”

"Is this really the best your men can do? This offers nothing of use!” Lisotel crumpled up the parchment map and threw it angrily into the roaring fire.

“The scout reports have been unchanged for the last several weeks, sire. If there are still Falmer out there we do not know where they have gone. It’s possible they have a retreat that not even the Nords are aware of – even our contacts in the cities.”

“What about the king’s brats who were spotted in Dragon Bridge? Do we know where they went?”

“We do not.”

“Then you are dismissed.”

Lieutenant Imiril wasted no time in retreating to the safer if albeit dark and hostile expanse of Blackreach, the massive underground cavern spanning much of central Skyrim.

Lisotel moodily kicked at a mouse that had the misfortune of seeking warmth in his domicile and the poor creature struck the wall under his desk and fell to the floor inert. Deciding a spot inspection on the proceedings would help to clear his mind, he put on his emblazoned cloak and headed outside, bound for the Silent City. Everlasting torches lit the road leading towards the center of Blackreach that sat beneath the massive artificial sun: an unparalleled achievement of Dwemer technology that went otherwise ignored by the Thalmor occupiers in the city.

And just underneath that immense glowing orb beat the heart of their operations in Skyrim. The heart of all their plans to defeat a foe and his family they were unable to contend with by mortal means. Scores of Thalmor troops donned in an array of golden armors or dark black robes slowly ushered forth the creatures they considered lesser to elves to a grim fate. A dwindling supply of Falmer, goblins, and Rieklings were fed one-by-one into the ever-growing and increasingly erratic Dark Heart of Namira, an artifact of untold power. Long forgotten to the annals of time, the Heart floated menacingly in the city center. Utterly black, the spherical shard of the primal Void pulsed a blue-green aura and crackled with magicka that threatened to swallow the land whole the more unstable it grew.

This post has been edited by Kane: Yesterday, 06:23 PM