I am Lena Wolf, Lena's life as it happens Options

[Lena Wolf]

Page 6, Post 109She's speaking with Seridur! Does this mean she'll be doing Order of Virtuous Blood? I hope so. I'd like to see her take on this series of events. [...] I was wrong about the Order, darn! Not saying she should join, I'm just saying it'd be an interesting take if she did.

In my first playthrough so many years ago, when Lena became a vampire by honest accident at level 1 (me not understanding how things worked yet), she went through the whole Main Quest as a vampire, which took a mighty long time. During this time she also stumbled upon the Order of Virtuous Blood quest, was invited in, completed it, was made Sister, etc., etc., all while being at full vampirism most of the time. No one objected. So these vampire hunters are either daft or completely incompetent. This put me off them for good, hence all the sarcasm in this second playthrough.

In the next post, is the quest she's doing (to kill Thieves Guild members) an actual Beth quest? I've never completed Dark Brotherhood, not sure if I ever will, so just curious.

No, this is my fiction. Both Lena Wolf and I really despise thieves, and Lena would never steal, except to eat.

However, parts of it exist as quests in my game already within a completely reworked Dark Brotherhood quest line. I too disagree with the linear progression and zero choice there. One day Lena will write her memoirs about those dreadful events during the Purification Crisis, and then she'll play through my modified quest line. But even so, I don't know if I shall ever release this mod.

[Lena Wolf]

28 Evening Star, 4E202 - The Valkyrie

When Geralt entered Windhelm, celebrations were in full swing.

"Who's the poor sod that's been strung up?" Geralt asked at the bar.

"Oh, just one of the Valkyrie bandits," the barman brushed it off passing Geralt his mead. "The City Guard raid the Valkyrie Towers every so often. Of course most bandits get slaughtered then and there, but the Jarl insists on proper process and so the Guards have to arrest at least one. Just so he could be hung at the gallows, proper like."

"We do things proper here in Windhelm," a large Nord sitting next to Geralt joined the conversation. "These are all proper Nords, too," he looked over the crowd. "The Greyskins don't come in here." He spat with disgust and looked straight at Geralt. "And who would you be?"

"Geralt's the name."

"Yer ain't a Nord."

Geralt didn't answer. He drank his mead, making sure not to waste any, for once a brawl breaks out, bottles and mugs go flying. "Wait for it..." he started a mental countdown. "Five, four, three..."

"Answer me, m'wa!" The large Nord swore in Dunmeris, and Geralt smirked.

"I'm as Nord as they come," he answered calmly, taking care of the remaining mead.

"Then prove it!" The heavy punch was thrown even before the verbal challenge. Geralt dodged, and the Nord's fist hit the bar. Everyone went quiet, then two more men stepped forward, fists at the ready.

"If I was kneeling with my hands tied behind my back and a sack over my head, then may be I'd be your equal," Geralt spoke slowly into the silence, measuring up his opponents. "No, not even then." He shook his head, jumping off his stool in an elegant pirouette, making use of the extra height. Legs are far stronger than arms, and the two standing challengers got the full swing of Geralt's back kick, which sent them flying before they could even comprehend what happened. With them out of the way, Geralt landed facing the large Nord still sitting at the bar.

The Nord was faster than he looked. His enormous fist grazed very close to Geralt's jaw, too close for comfort. A punch like that was likely to remove the jaw, not just knock out some teeth. The Nord grinned, seeing worry in Geralt's eyes.

Geralt did not play fair. A kick in the groin with a punch under the ribs, and the Nord couldn't help bending over, ready for Geralt's pincers - a hit over the back of the Nord's neck forcing it down, right onto a sharply set and fast moving right hand, impaling the Nord's jaw from below. One twist, and Geralt could have broken his neck.

The Nord fell with a thump. He wasn't dead, for Geralt didn't do the final twist.

"That Nord enough for yer, m'wa?" Geralt looked into the faces staring at the large Nord slowly getting up, rubbing his neck. The barman put another mug of mead before Geralt.

"Never seen swords like that," he jerked his head at Geralt's swords propped up against the bar. "Not Dwarven, not Elven, not Imperial. Where be ye from, Geralt?"

"From here," Geralt shot a glance at the barman, swinging the swords onto his back. "Skyrim. I am the White Wolf."

"He's a Nord, there can be no doubt!" The large Nord finally got up and found his stool. "New in Windhelm though. Or... wait... scrawny... white hair... orange eyes... muttered somm'aht about being bound with a sack over his head..." The Nord's nose suddenly stopped bleeding and colour drained from his face. "White Wolf?" He swallowed hard. "I never said anything against an Asgarsen!"

...

The Candelhearth Hall was hot and loud. After the brawl, everyone seemed to recall another such brawl some months previously, when again Geralt had to prove he was a Nord. Cheer and song followed, and mead was flowing freely again, which went some way of explaining the collective loss of memory afterwards.

"Back in Windhelm, are yer?" A tall fellow in full armour sat next to Geralt. "Last time you had your sister with you, and my... err... her friend." The fellow blushed somewhat. "I remember the same brawl then."

"They never learn, do they?" Geralt smiled at him. "Stenvar, is it?" He squinted. "Still fishing for work here?"

"Ai," Stenvar grinned. "You remember." He blushed again. "It's my spot, I do get work often enough," he said a bit defensively. "But you... here on business?"

"No, actually," Geralt shook his head. "The truth is that that large Nord probably knows more about my father than I do," he smirked. "I am here to find my roots."

"Well..." Stenvar whistled. "That's a tall order... Most Nords here don't know their roots beyond their grandparents... What are you going to do?"

"What any adventurer does - poke my nose into every crypt and ruin, just like my sister," he winked and slapped Stenvar on the shoulder, laughing. "And you know what she's like!"

"But then..." Stenvar suddenly brightened up. "I wouldn't tell her that, that's crazy, but you... Do you know the legend of the Valkyrie Bridge?"

"The one with the tower that the City Guard keep raiding so as to have someone to string up with due process?" Geralt squinted.

"The same," Stenvar nodded. "The mighty bridge over the White River not far from the Dunmereth Pass. There's a mystery there, and a curse, and from what I've seen, that legend is no legend but the truth!"

...

The Valkyrie used to escort the Nords to Sovngarde, protect them from the dangers of the Void. No Nord was foolish enough to refuse this protection. No Nord except Skjor the Unbending.

Skjor died in battle as befits a Nord, and the Valkyrie were ready to escort him on, but Skjor wasn't called the Unbending without a reason. Skjor refused. He had a battle to finish, and he wasn't going to let his opponent win.

"There is no way back to the living," the Valkyrie tried to reason with him. "You are dead now. Let us escort your soul to Sovngarde."

"And what songs will I sing in Sovngarde?" Skjor was adamant. "Those of my defeat? No! That I will not! Out of my way, fishwives!"

And with that he attacked the Valkyrie.

Skjor was not only unbending, he was also foolish. Of course he stood no chance against the Angels of Death, and as his body was already dead, it was his spirit that perished then. Alas, the insult he dealt to the Valkyrie, wasn't that easily forgotten, and they turned away from the Nords. From then on, every Nord had to cross the Void on his own, and many perished before reaching Sovngarde.

The Valkyrie Bridge is where it happened. It is said that the four insulted Valkyrie still haunt the tall towers of the bridge, each of them holding something of Skjor. A piece of his armour or his weapon perhaps. But they don't have it all, the rest is scattered in the Valkyrie tombs under the towers.

The insult brought on a curse, too. In their rage, the Valkyrie turned against the crew of a passing ship, slaughtering them all, and as those were soldiers, they became draugr, still wearing their armour and wielding their weapons. No ship is safe passing under the Valkyrie Bridge, having to survive the attacks of the dead. And if that wasn't enough... Misfortune attracts misfortune, and the waters under the bridge are filled with Sirens distracting the sailors before devouring them alive...

...

"That's as good a legend as any I've heard," Geralt nodded approvingly, calling for more mead. "I did hear some strange noises as I crossed the bridge."

"Ay, trouble is never far away from that place," the large Nord joined in the conversation. "Which is why the Jarl is not keen on having bandits skulking there as well, even though no matter how many of them he strings up, they keep coming back..."

"That's the way of bandits, ain't it," someone else put in. "That being right by the Dunmereth Pass and all. It's a shame about that curse on the passing ships though."

"Isn't there a way to lift that curse?" Geralt looked into the faces of the people around him. Many shook their heads, all sombered.

"Lift it?" The large Nord looked at Geralt with amusement. "Yer being a witchhunter or somm'aht? No mortal man can lift the curse of the Valkyrie."

"Well... There's been speak of a way..." A voice sounded from the back of the room, but Geralt couldn't quite make out who said it. "You ought to tell him, you know. He beat you fair and square."

"Ai... Arright!" The large Nord nodded, turning to the voice but not seeing the speaker either. "There is a way... But no mere mortal can do it!"

...

After the spirit of Skjor was ripped to shreds by the enraged Valkyrie, a new dark presence emerged in its place. Skjor reincarnate, if you will. Some say that the Dread Father himself created this soulless spirit, or may be it was the way of the Void all along. The spirit dwells in one of the tombs under the Valkyrie Bridge. Defeat it, and the curse will be lifted.

But it isn't as simple as that. The spirit of Skjor is immortal, invulnerable to any and all attacks, as numerous adventurers and daredevils have found out. Skjor wears his old armour, wields his old sword... Or rather, the spirit that is Skjor, is clad in spirit armour and wields a spirit sword, the same as those of Skjor of flesh and blood. Only one wearing the real Skjor's armour and wielding Skjor's sword has a glimpse of hope to defeat the spirit. Skjor must face his twin.

...

"That's a tall order, that," Geralt nodded. "A job for a witcher."



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

The Valkyrie Bridge is a part of the upcoming release of TWMP Skyrim Alive. The legend comes alive there, and now you know what to do. Can you face Skjor the Unbending?

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Jul 4 2022, 09:52 AM

[Lena Wolf]

3 Morning Star, 4E203 - The Jarl of Hjaalmarch

The new year 203 of the Forth Era found Geralt riding through the forests of the Pale, delving into the many Dwemer ruins there, and finally concluding that as entertaining as it was, it didn't help him to find his roots. His father wasn't a Dwarf, so why was he searching in the Dwemer ruins? Perhaps because they were too much fun to pass up...

Finally however Geralt arrived in Morthal. The town was hiding on the moors among the tall pine trees and the mist hanging over the water. The inn had food and rooms, and that's all that Geralt wanted after days upon days sleeping in caves.

"You should go see the Jarl when you feel up to it," the inn keeper told him. "He likes to know who's staying in Morthal."

Sensing that there was more to the request than just satisfying the Jarl's curiosity, Geralt decided to oblige. The Jarl's longhouse must have been the one building with a roof fully intact, rather than patched up like all the others.

"I am the Jarl of Hjaalmarch, Sigfrid the Fair," the man on the throne told him. Geralt noticed the Jarl's bed behind the throne and the housecarl's bed in the corner, and besides a few benches and cupboards, the house didn't have anything else - there was no room.

"I thought the Jarl of Hjaalmarch sat in Snowhawk," Geralt smiled and bowed.

"What? Oh, you know..." Sigfrid grimaced. "The Jarl sits in Snowhawk, ai, and pays us no mind. Might not even know we exist! But Morthal has been ruling over the moors since the Second Era, and while I may not be the actual Jarl of Hjaalmarch, I am the Jarl of these parts!" He looked at Geralt with a challenge, and Geralt nodded.

"Have it your way, Sigfrid, I don't meddle in politics," Geralt replied soothingly. "I hear you wanted to see me, and here I am."

"Ai, that I did," Sigfrid nodded, smiling. "I've heard of you, White Wolf. Heard you came to Skyrim in search of your roots. Asgarsens have lived here for centuries. In one of these crypts you'll find what you are searching for."

"And..?"

"And... You'll stay in Skyrim. Nay, you are staying already," Sigfrid chuckled. "But have you got a house to live in? A house that is truly your own?" He gave Geralt a sharp look.

"Err... no," Geralt shook his head. "But you happen to have one for sale, am I right?"

"Windstad Manor," Sigfrid nodded. "A splendid house out on the moors."

"I'll take a stroll out there and have a look," Geralt smiled. "What filth should I be watching out for? There's a problem with it, of course."

"It's right what people say of you then," Sigfrid grinned. "Straight to the matter. Ai, there's a problem. The kind of problem we'd need a witcher for. Go out there, here's the key. Be watchful at night, mostly, for then besides the filth, you'll also face danger. It's been like this for a while, and none can venture onto the moors any more. But you can help us, and then the house is yours for a mere thousand septims."

"So, you'd have me solve your problem, and then still pay for the house?" Geralt raised an eyebrow and almost turned to leave.

"Yes," Sigfrid's tone was sharp. "The house is worth far more than that, and we need the money to support an orphanage."

"An orphanage? I saw no children in the village," Geralt objected.

"And yet there is an orphanage on the moors," Sigfrid's brow furrowed. "But that's a story for another time. Go, look around, you might even stumble upon it, it ain't a lie."

Geralt pocketed the key to Windstad Manor, picked up his swords and went to look around on the moors.


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

This doesn't sound like Skyrim or ESO! - I hear you say. No, this is TWMP Skyrim in Oblivion. Morthal, the moors and the troubles there are coming in the next release of TWMP Skyrim Alive. Snowhawk already exists, and it is a grand city indeed, built well before my time.

[Acadian]

Nice job bringing Morthal to life. Looks like Geralt's intended rest is to be cut short out on the moors.

[Lena Wolf]

3 Morning Star, 4E203 - Windstad Manor

Something in the appearance of the Jarl of Hjaalmarch in Morthal made Geralt want to fulfil the Jarl's request - go and look around the Windstad Manor. A path going into the moors was a good start, and Geralt took it.

Geralt loved the moors since the first time he set foot in the area a few months earlier. He'd had no time to look around then, and so he took the opportunity now. He came off the path and simply wandered through the shallow water with its low hanging mist and dry patches in between. Pine trees were standing tall around him, save for the clearings here and there, where the trees had been cut for one reason or another, but young pines were already taking hold. Like last time, the air was cold but not freezing, and the salty smell of the sea indicated the way to the shore. To a Northener like Geralt, this landscape looked idyllic...

"What now, you filth?!" Geralt spun around unsheathing his silver sword in one motion. Not a spider, not a chaurus, what was approaching him from behind, was a zombie. "You shouldn't be here!" He bellowed, cutting the zombie's head off and realising that it had no effect on the zombie's advance. In fact, it seemed to have only made it angry.

The zombie hastened its step and took a swipe at Geralt. Geralt dodged. The zombie swiped again, still advancing. Geralt kept dodging, but walking backwards isn't easy for someone who needs to see where he's going. He tripped and fell onto something soft. A giant hairy spider.

Compared to the zombie, the spider was a blessing. Not that aggressive to start with, spiders would normally prefer to run off, but having a grown man land on its back, made it decide that the line had been crossed there. It reared, throwing Geralt off, then turned and spit. Geralt's vision went blurry and he staggered, which was quite a feat, considering that he was sitting in a puddle on the moor. The poison wasn't that strong, but it was very disorienting. The spider poised for another spit and a pounce, but stench and groan right behind it made it reconsider. It turned around...

"Take this, you filth!" Geralt was back on his feet lunging at the zombie with his silver sword while the zombie was attacking the spider... With Geralt and the spider momentarily united against a common threat, the zombie was finally defeated, but not before it lost all of its limbs to Geralt's sword. Was the torso still alive? It was hard to tell, but it was disarmed, quite literally... "Ironic," Geralt smirked to himself. Unfortunately, in the heat of the battle the spider took quite a few hits from the zombie and now succumbed to its wounds, its green blood oozing from the abdomen. "Thank you for joining the fight," Geralt honoured the spider, for it was only an animal, not a monster. "Now, where did this filth come from?" He turned his attention to the mort flesh scattered around. He wanted to take a closer look, perhaps to identify the type of the zombie, get some clues, but the stench was so strong, that he had to reconsider. "That's a dread zombie, it must be," Geralt concluded. "They carry diseases and will infect you even when they are dead," he thought, backing off. "Well, deader than what they were before." It was getting very confusing. How do you kill a zombie? Isn't it already dead?

This incident reminded Geralt that there was a reason the Jarl asked him to look around the moors, and it wasn't sightseeing. He heard groaning further ahead and realised that zombies must have been a part of the problem - he knew better than to hope there would be nothing else. "At night you will also face danger," he recalled Jarl's words. So, there was something worse than zombies, but it only came out at night. Yeah, he thought he knew what that could be...

But since it was still morning, he had time before then, and Geralt decided to head to the Windstad Manor and see what he could discover. There should be clues inside.

...

Geralt liked the house as soon as he saw it. Windstad Manor was set on a high shore looking out onto the sea. The moors surrounded it from the other three sides. There was the a fairly large house built of whole logs, solid and spacious, with stone foundations going into the ground. "Another storey underground," Geralt thought. A turret at the front was large enough to serve as an annex, yet not overbearing as a castle tower would have been. "Yen would like that," Geralt's mind wandered. "She would put her megascope on the top floor, those windows should let in enough light..." But Yennefer wasn't in Skyrim yet, and Geralt shook off the memories and the longing. Next to the main house there was a smaller one, with a well by the door. "A bath house?" Geralt smiled to himself. A large stable on the other side was perfect for Roach, and large enough for several visitors' horses too - Roach disliked overcrowding. "The Jarl knew what to offer me," Geralt smirked. There was more to the man than just his title, a symbolic title too, for the real Jarl of Hjaalmarch sat in Snowhawk and paid no mind to the affairs of the moors.

But before Geralt could settle down in Windstad Manor, he had to clear it of the filth. Expecting zombies inside, he drew his sword and entered the house.

...

"Don't you touch me!!" Geralt's enraged bellows must have been heard all over the moors. Indeed, the house was swarming with zombies, and Geralt aimed to put them down without getting infected with those horrid diseases that they were carrying. Most zombies weren't that hard to put down - they weren't dread zombies like the one on the moor, and they would normally quickly succumb to fire, but Geralt was reluctant to use fire in what would soon be his own house. Filth and mort flesh he could scrub off, but replacing burned timbers would be a much bigger job. So his sword was his only weapon in that fight.

It was a little harder than usual, but still, after a while all the zombies in the house were reduced to bits of mort flesh strewn over the floor. With the house and the turret finally quiet, Geralt set out looking for clues as to what happened.

The first clue was obvious: a body of a mage on the floor in the bedroom. No blood. The man had been sucked dry. "Just as I thought," Geralt nodded to himself. "Vampires." Which didn't explain the zombies.

Assuming that the dead mage was the previous owner of the house, he must have been quite a scholar. There were books and scrolls in tall bookcases everywhere, and the turret contained an impressive library. Geralt went through the books - besides the usual scholarly texts and popular literature, he found a number of rare books on necromancy and several more on vampirism. It seemed the mage had studied both. Was he a necromancer who got vampirism? The two factions didn't get on, but necromancers were just people, and therefore susceptible to Porphyric Hemophilia. So what if they got infected? Which faction would they be with?

However, the dead mage hadn't been a vampire, Geralt noted upon investigation. But he must have been a necromancer - a handbook on making zombies and a laboratory in the cellar seemed to point to that. So were the zombies his, created for protection from vampires, perhaps? A necromancer's private army?

The house yielded no further clues, and neither did the bath house, and Geralt decided against staying on the moors for the night - he was in no rush to meet the vampires. He wanted more information first, so decided to return to Morthal and ask around. Someone must be able to tell him what happened there.

...

"You have been out on the moors," a middle aged but still attractive Redguard woman approached Geralt as he was walking in Morthal. "I am Alima - the healer. You need my services."

"Do I?" Geralt smiled at her. "I was careful not to touch any of those things. But of course there's no harm in cleansing anyway." He allowed Alima to cast a cure disease spell over him. "It's nice to see a shrine out here," he added, looking at a statue of Dibella.

"It's from our ship, I insisted we retrieve it," Alima smiled. "I am a Priestess of Dibella, although now-a-days I just stick to healing services," she winked. "This place is too small for Dibella's Temple, and with the two younger women around... Well... You know. Youth has its perks," she concluded.

"As does experience," Geralt smiled, looking into her eyes. "I'd take experience any day." But then thinking that Morthal was perhaps indeed too small for it, he looked away and changed the topic. "You mentioned a ship - your ship. What happened?"

"We are from Hammerfell, Karim and I," Alima shot Geralt a grateful glance. Morthal was indeed too small for frivolities. "Karim is my husband. We used to sail the seas on a large merchant vessel, and the sailors would have no other shrine on board than that of Dibella. There were several of us, from the Temple... But the ship capsized not far from here, some people drowned, some were lured by the Sirens, and some - like us - made it ashore. We stayed here, in Morthal. We brought a few things from the sunken ship, and there are still some trinkets on the bottom of the sea. Karim spends most days by the shore, fishing. Well, reminiscing... diving, sometimes. There's something he's still searching for..." Alima's eyes glazed over, and Geralt thought she was seeing the sands of Hammerfell floating over the moors. "But anyhow," she returned to reality. "We brought the shrine from the ship, and now Morthal has a proper altar," she concluded, clearing some dirt off the stonework.

"Tell me about the people here," Geralt asked. "Like you say, it's a small place."

"Well, there's the self-appointed 'Jarl'," Alima smiled. "You've met him. Sigfrid the Fair. He does right by the people on the moors though, so everyone calls him 'Jarl' without the sarcasm. Then there's Felion the mage, he does all sorts of studies, in particular the ones you're better off doing in the woods away from civilization..." She smirked. "But he's a good sort, really. Then the two sisters - the younger women I mentioned. They pick mushrooms and plants in the woods, sell most of it to Felion, but they'll trade with anyone. Just walk around town, you'll meet everyone. The guard house is largely empty as we don't have guards, but it is there so that Legionnaires have somewhere to stay - we call on the Legion when things get dire on the moors."

Geralt thanked Alima for all her help and wondered whom he should ask about what happened at the Windstad Manor. "The innkeeper", he decided, especially since it was time to have something to eat.

...

"Windstad Manor?" The innkeeper was taking roast off the spit. "Yeah, that's bad business. The previous owner was a mage, a scholar. He built that house so he could live out his life quietly among his books. That didn't work out though," he sighed.

"Yeah, I found his body in the house," Geralt nodded. "Vampires."

"Vampires have been living around these parts for centuries," the innkeeper confirmed. "But they've been always keeping to themselves. No nightly attacks and no kidnapping of people. It's said they have thralls, so don't need other folk for feeding, like. May be. It doesn't matter. They were quiet neighbours and never did us any harm." He paused and focussed on roast potatoes.

"But that changed," Geralt prompted him.

"Ai," the barman looked up. "One of those ruined forts in the mountains got new tenants - necromancers. Dibella preserve us from that filth!" He spit and kicked a rat back into its hole. "Before we knew it, skeletons started roaming the moors - the necromancers took to digging up old graves."

"Skeletons?" Geralt sounded dubious. "I came across..."

"Zombies?" The barman interrupted him and gave the rat another kick. "Yeah, it started with skeletons. The Jarl would have none of it though, a few of us went to that fort, but the necromancers were too strong, so he called in the Legion. By the time the Legionnaires arrived, things went out of hand." He paused again, busy with the vegetables.

"The vampires didn't like their new neighbours, right?" Geralt guessed.

"They didn't!" The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "It's true what they say that necromancers and vampires don't get along. I am not entirely sure what happened... But suddenly there were zombies out on the moors, and no one was safe! And the vampires started coming out at night, attacking everyone... And they've never done so before!" He looked up, still perplexed by it.

"So the Legion..?" Geralt suspected that the Legion hadn't handled it in the most tactful manner, or else that they got the wrong culprit.

"Yeah... well... Necromancy is legal in Skyrim, regardless of what the mages in Cyrodiil say... Yeah, we've heard of that. Vampirism however is not legal. So what could the Legion do? They took the side of the necromancers and tried to exterminate the vampires... A futile attempt, if you ask me," he shook his head.

"Did it not occur to them that vampires don't make zombies?" It was Geralt's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"It did," the innkeeper nodded. "But the law is the law, and the Legion has to uphold it, whether it makes sense or not." He sighed, setting a full plate of roast meat, potatoes and vegetables before Geralt. "They perished, all of them," he added with sadness. "The very necromancers whose side they took, slaughtered the Legionnaires and used their bodies to make more zombies..." He sighed again. "Bad business, that."

"And now?" Geralt's focus was shifting from the conversation to his dinner.

"Now you are here," the innkeeper suddenly brightened up. "A witcher. A man who can find the clues and solve a mystery. The White Wolf. You'll defeat whoever needs defeating, you'll rid the moors of the zombies and send the vampires back to their lairs. Then you will settle in the Windstad Manor and will come here for my roast for years to come," he concluded with a smile. "That's the plan, at least."

"Right," Geralt grinned. Finally someone was making sense.

[Renee]

Yikes, so she became a vampire during your first playthrough. Were you on PS3 at the time? Even if you wanted to cure this, chances are it's not possible on PS3 (Game of the Year version, anyway).


I'm up the part when she is dealing with Roland and Seridur. Yes indeed, this is a compelling quest. Is Seridur really what they say he is? And now that I know she was a vampire the original time you did OVB, I can see how silly she must feel, since they can't even detect they're trying to use her to do their bids.

Whoa, Lena's mother was supposed to kill Lena's father? Did I get that right?

There's a ghost Lucien, and a physical Lucien. 🥶

Up to Page 7 now, yuah. All the pictures are great, as always!

[Acadian]

Fortunate aid from that spider out on the moors. I didn't realize that necrodudes and vampires didn't get along. Were it not tragic, it would be funny how badly the Legion gooned up their intervention in the necro-vamp war.

[Lena Wolf]

Yikes, so she became a vampire during your first playthrough. Were you on PS3 at the time? Even if you wanted to cure this, chances are it's not possible on PS3 (Game of the Year version, anyway).

I was on Xbox 360 and got the cure with the original quest, but it only comes on much later in the game, when she had done a few Mages Guild quests at the Arcane University. I wonder what if you never join the Mages Guild or never enter the University? Does the quest even come up then? But yeah, that's why she had to do the whole MQ as a vampire.

Whoa, Lena's mother was supposed to kill Lena's father? Did I get that right?

Yes. Which is why she broke the rules. But it is all rather vague at this point, Lucien mostly just knew it from rumours. Perhaps things will clear up later.

Fortunate aid from that spider out on the moors. I didn't realize that necrodudes and vampires didn't get along. Were it not tragic, it would be funny how badly the Legion gooned up their intervention in the necro-vamp war.

Vampires are undead while necromancers are mortal, so I guess they are fair game for vampires to feed on, and so necros object (just as everyone else). And then once they defeat a vampire, can they even use that undead body to make zombies? Do you need fresh bodies for that? Not sure... Plus, vampires rise again after a time, unless you manage to get them to disintegrate into ash completely somehow. Necromancers are jealous because the only way for them to rise again is to transform into a lich, which they all aspire to of course, but only very few accomplish - too difficult. Which probably explains why liches are the only undead to hate vampires.

You don't often see vampires and necromancers face each other in the base game, but it happens on a few occasions (by design or accident, not sure), and then they sure do fight.

Zombies don't normally attack other undead (including vampires) unless they are doing the bidding of their masters, as they do here. So then all gloves are off!

[Renee]

I wonder what if you never join the Mages Guild or never enter the University? Does the quest even come up then? But yeah, that's why she had to do the whole MQ as a vampire.

Pretty sure a cure quest comes up in our journal. My second character (whose name has been forgotten by me) visited Fort Carmala after delivering the Amulet to Jauffre. Back then I was literally new to the game. Did not know about UESP, did not know Bethesda had its own forums, none of that! Yet I remember learning there was a way to cure her vampirism. She'd gone the entire 3 days, with me being clueless about this. Became a vamp, and it was too stressful for me at the time. Literally, I'd only been playing a few hours!

It was actually one of my first bits of spontaneous roleplay actually. I couldn't handle dealing with no daylight at the time, biting necks and so on, so that character wound up committing suicide-by-guard, attacking an Impie right in the middle of the Temple District. .... and it's a good thing I chose this route, too. I was on PS3, with the GOTY version. I had no idea the cure quest is broken with that version.


This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 18 2022, 01:24 PM

[Lena Wolf]

7 Morning Star, 4E203 - The lich

"Three days!" Geralt woke up on a dirty bedroll in yet another fort ruin. "Three days I've been chasing around necromancer forts, dodging zombies, fighting invisible enemies, shattering walking bones! I'm getting too old for this." It was another morning after a hard day's battle. Or rather he assumed it was morning - there was no daylight in the fort. At least now, after he reduced zombies and necromancers to piles of body parts, the fort was quiet for a while - until the undead rise again. That wouldn't be for a while yet though, and Geralt took the time to attend to his injuries.

Getting scratched, bitten, cut up and impaled was nothing new for any seasoned witcher, and Geralt had the scars to show for it. But fighting zombies was different - the wounds would always fester, and even a witcher's superior regeneration wasn't able to stop it. Fortunately the fort had a lot of healing potions and salves, because believe it or not, necromancers suffered the same festering wounds if things went wrong with zombie making. So, after a hearty breakfast on the necromancers' provisions, he dipped into their medicine chests, not trying to ration any of it. Even though he had cleared that fort, as well as two other forts, he still didn't find anything revealing the identity of the necromancers' leader, although he was certain there was one somewhere nearby. He felt that until he found the leader and dealt with him, fresh necromancers would move in and the problem would remain...

And whose body did he find in Windstad Manor? That could not have been the leader, Geralt was quite certain now. Questions just kept piling up.

Thinking these thoughts, Geralt decided to make another sweep through the fort. Without the distraction of unfriendly occupiers, he could focus on searching every chest and box, every nook and cranny in that fort, as well as in the other two. This was going to be a long day...

...

"Ah-ha!" In fort number two he suddenly noticed a gaping hole in a wall in a dark corner. "That's what I missed!" Geralt brightened up, quickly scrambling towards the hole, yet trying not to touch any of the zombie parts covering the floor. The hole led into a cave tunnel which ended with a sturdy wooden door. "Locked!!" He swore, getting out his lockpicks and setting to work.

After a good half an hour of swearing, and having broken half of his picks, he had to admit defeat.

"This lock is too advanced, I'll need to find the key," he sighed. "There must be one, surely."

That meant going back to searching through everything and anything in the fort.

...

"Now, look at that!" A rusty key fell out of some items he was shaking. Back at the locked door, Geralt was in for a disappointment however - the key didn't fit. He tossed it into a corner with a flowery swear, spent another hour or two searching the fort, was just about to go to fort number three... But a little thought at the back of his head told him that perhaps he'd been a bit premature throwing away that key, perhaps it would unlock something... With a sigh, he retraced his steps, only to spot the key under a pile of zombie parts. "That figures," he grunted. Wrapping his hand in some necromancer  robes, he carefully moved away mort flesh, trying to avoid touching it at all costs. Grabbed the key, wiped it off, stashed it away. Fort number three would be next.

...

"That's just another dead end!" Geralt had been searching through forts all day, he was tired and hungry, and still he didn't find anything of importance, or anything that his rusty key would unlock. He slumped into a chair, picking up a bottle of mead from the table, started drinking, raising the bottle higher and higher and tilting his head...

And then he saw it - an upper gallery. He gulped, nearly getting the mead up his nose. It had to be it - that gallery had to contain something, as that was the only space in that fort that he hadn't searched yet.

But how to get there? There was no staircase, no ladder and no stepping stone nearby, yet from the opposite end of the room Geralt could see that the gallery had a corridor going into the depth. Did he have to enter it from the other side? But how to know what it was - which fort, cave or tunnel? That seemed like a puzzle he could not solve. No, there must be a way. If that gallery was important to the necromancers, they would have a way up there... Wait... necromancers were mages, and mages loved portals.

...

"Ugh!" Geralt shuddered, emerging on the gallery. "I hate teleporting!" He promptly decided he'd jump back to the lower level rather than go through the teleport again.

The gallery indeed had a corridor going into the depth, which had a door that was locked.

"Naturally," Geralt smirked. The day was continuing the way it had started. But then, remembering the rusty key, he decided to try it before wasting the rest of his lockpicks on the lock. It fitted. Readying his sword, Geralt pushed the heavy door, expecting more zombies.

Nothing. The short corridor was empty, except for another door.

Not ready to stop just yet, Geralt pushed the second door, which wasn't locked. It opened onto another section of the fort, filled with fresh and willing necromancers...

...

"That's enough!" After several more hours of hacking and slashing bodies in various degrees of decomposition, Geralt had had enough. "I've had it with this filth!" Somehow the necromancers in that section were stronger, and their zombies deadlier. Was he going in the right direction?

But anyhow, the fort was now quiet, and Geralt settled for another night on a dirty bedroll. He only hoped it was a necromancer that used to sleep on it before, not a zombie...

Tired and nearly falling asleep, he spotted a book by the bedroll, a book that didn't look like a manual on corpse preparation. Opening it, he found it to be Jorgen Rammstein's book on the dungeons of Skyrim. "Just what I need - a bit of light reading," Geralt smiled to himself, finally relaxing.

"Know that the musty air of old caves is infused with spores that make you confuse one dungeon with another. The further in you go, the more likely it is that you are getting confused," Geralt read. There was also something about the dungeons getting harder and harder with each subsequent level. Or was it just because the adventurer was getting more and more tired?

"Those damned spores!" Geralt was running out of fresh swears. "Why did I go through that door? Why did I not look around first?"

Cursing himself, he returned to the short corridor with nothing but two doors. Nothing? Was he sure? No, because he hadn't even looked!

A little box under a pile of stones held another key. That key looked significantly more impressive than the rusty key he'd found earlier. It could have been Ayleid or Dwemer, something very ornate and clearly belonging to an advanced lock. "Like the one in fort number two," Geralt smiled to himself. Finally, progress.

...

It was well past midnight, and may be even past the following dawn when Geralt got to the locked door in fort number two. The ornate key fitted, the lock clicked. He pushed the door, then hesitated. Did he really want to go through there? He'd been up for at least thirty six hours, he hadn't eaten anything,  he was tired and his reflexes were slowed... But he also felt that he was nearing the climax of his necromancer hunt, and there was no question of rest. He just couldn't.

Pushing the door more decisively and drawing his sword, he entered the cave.

...

The stench of zombies was everywhere. Nearly every cavern had an altar or two with freshly cut decomposing corpses on it. "Are they required to wait until the body starts decomposing?" He wondered. The bodies on the altars were not moving however, and his attention quickly switched to the ones that were.

Past the zombies he found their masters. These necromancers were older, more seasoned and better skilled than the ones in the other sections. "I'm getting close," Geralt thought. The undead diversified - it wasn't just zombies and skeletons, wraiths made their appearance too. And then finally - a lich.

The lich was half-walking half-floating in the best part of the cave that had a smooth stone floor and was furnished with luxurious furnishings. Evidently, liches too preferred quality beds. Did liches even sleep? Geralt started to ponder that, but a sudden drain of his strength reminded him it wasn't the time. The lich had summoned a skeleton - a high level skeleton, Geralt noted - and was shooting curses from his staff as well as from his wrist. He had a sword on his belt as well. "Not your common lich!" - was all that Geralt could think when he got bashed over the head with something heavy. Apparently, not all necromancers had been cleared.

...

"This one isn't a human or an elf!" Geralt heard voices in a fog. "I've never seen anything like it! Argonian eyes! Is he a hybrid?"

"He could be, just watch his reflexes," another voice agreed, and Geralt felt a sharp pain under his knee causing his leg to jerk.

"And still he isn't out," the first voice sounded worried. "I'm running out of embalming fluid!"

"Amazing," the second voice agreed. "Still bleeding." Sharp pain of a fresh cut finally woke Geralt up. He opened his eyes slightly to see what was going on. He was lying on an altar and two necromancers were fussing over him, jars and bottles everywhere, mostly empty.

"What in Oblivion did they pump into me?" Geralt thought, mentally shaking off the slumber, but trying not to move so as not to alert them prematurely.

"He is a witcher," the third voice approached. It sounded hoarse and strained. "A mutant. He is a human, or was a human once." Geralt saw the red robe of the lich. "They don't succumb to the usual treatment." Red burning eyes stared into Geralt's as the lich lifted Geralt's eyelid with a bony hand. "He's still awake!"

The alarm in the lich's voice was Geralt's cue - a heavy axe was already falling onto his neck, as the necromancers quickly decided to go for a headless zombie with Geralt.

Roll! The altar didn't have restraints - no need. There was a sword on the floor, no matter which, Geralt grabbed it, stabbed whatever was approaching, not being able to see properly, as the blows were now coming thick and fast, sword, axe, mace, hammer - the necromancers had it all. Geralt rolled, dodged and stabbed wildly.

After a while the stream of blows thinned, and Geralt quickly finished off the remaining necromancers. The lich wasn't there, but also it wasn't the cavern with the luxurious bed. Looking around properly, Geralt found his swords, swallowed some potions and prepared for the real battle.

...

Once again the lich was half-walking half-hovering over the smooth stone floor in his "chamber". A skeleton stood at the ready with his weapon drawn. The lich raised his staff...

But this wasn't Windstad Manor, there was no need to hold back fire. Geralt's fireball knocked the skeleton off its feet and it vanished, another fireball hit the lich squarely in the chest, and although it interrupted its casting of a new skeleton, it didn't seem to harm him otherwise.

"Yes, a witcher," the lich croaked. "Knows some rudimentary magic - Witcher Signs, they call them. That was quite a good one though," he seemed to be talking to himself, making mental notes, while sending a few fireballs towards Geralt, which Geralt dodged. "Wonder what other Signs he knows?"

"He is toying with me!" Geralt was getting angry. He wasn't a mage, it was true what the lich had noted - Witcher Signs were only rudimentary from a mage's point of view. A fireball, a shock trap, a force shield, force push and a command spell - that was all. And this lich seemed to be immune to all of them. Of course Geralt also had a witcher's silver sword.

A dance ensued. A cut here, a stab there, and the lich seemed to jerk every time Geralt landed a blow. The lich switched to his sword as well - a claymore that he wielded single-handed, just like Geralt wielded his... The similarity was chilling.

A lich half-floating over the ground, gently turning away from his opponent's sword. A man pirouetting all around the lich, dodging and attacking, twisting, turning, rolling away, coming back and landing blow after blow, all aimed at preventing the lich from casting. A high level skeleton would tip the scales to the wrong side.

Silver was precious. Far more precious than its cost, and that meteorite dust mixed into it that had Geralt fight a dozen monsters for, it was so worth it. With every blow, with every little cut the lich weakened.

...

An ancient lich in a red robe lay on a smooth stone floor covered in Geralt's blood. The lich's red burning eyes were extinguished. This wasn't just a lich - this was a Revenant, the real owner of the Windstad Manor.

Picking up his journal to study later, Geralt finally stepped out of the ruined fort into the crisp morning air - whichever day it was. He walked through the moors towards Morthal, noticing a spider here, a chaurus there, all the usual moor creatures. The air was sweet, devoid of the stench of decomposing flesh. The zombies had gone.

...

"You look dreadful!" Alima clasped her hands seeing Geralt walk into town. "Quick - we have a spare bed in the house, you need healing!"

"Dibella be praised," Geralt smiled at her, accepting the care and attention. Everything else could wait.

[Lena Wolf]

10 Morning Star, 4E203 - Cheydinhal house extension - Governess - Mephala - Engorm

"This is now one of the better houses in the city," Garrus was congratulating Lena and Lucien on the completion of the extension to the Wolf Sanctuary. "And with the other building works complete, it is your own house now, rather than an extension of your office." He looked at them and smiled. "Are you planning to have more children?"

"We..." Lena blushed.

"Yes," Lucien said at the same time. "I hope," he looked at her. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves - the first one has not been born yet."

Indeed, it wasn't time yet, but they were glad to have the works completed well before the extension was actually needed. Besides, they still had to find a suitable governess - Lena refused to stay at home longer than necessary.

"If you are looking for a wet nurse or a governess," Garrus seemed to have read their minds - "Tivela Lythandas' 'cousin' Nilara Rothalen just came to live with them, arriving from Morrowind. I don't know all the details, but Tivela is not thrilled with having a younger woman under her roof, but apparently she could not refuse."

"Nilara Rothalen, you say..." Lucien was trying to remember something. "I've heard this name before."

"Crimson red hair, violet eyes... quite young, for an elf," Garrus prompted him. "Might have crossed paths with your organisation."

"Oh, you are well informed!" Lucien laughed. "Now I know who she is. Thank you - she might be suitable, but we'll need to talk to her first."

"Of course," Garrus smiled.

...

"Nilara Rothalen is an assassin," Lucien said to Lena later, when they were alone. "Tivela, her 'cousin', was briefly with the Dark Brotherhood in Morrowind before she married Rythe - and this was the reason why they came here. She was only an initiate, and the Brotherhood let her go on the condition that she would provide shelter to a Brother or Sister in need of it. Nilara was careless with one of her contracts and killed a member of Morag Tong who was sent for the same target, so she is now hiding from them, and the Brotherhood sent her here."

"But would she not bring the danger right into our house?" Lena objected.

"The danger of Morag Tong? It is already in our house, with Rayenna now being among them. At least Nilara is skilled and knows what to look for. I shall request her formal transferal to our Sanctuary - even if we do not employ her as our governess."

"Are you sure about Rayenna?" Lena looked worried. "You didn't say anything when we were in Anvil last."

"That was a few months ago," smiled Lucien. "She hasn't been seen at the Sanctuary since, and the lighthouse cellar has been locked up, with no one coming or going. We asked Ulfgar for the key, he was reluctant at first, but then his curiosity got the better of him. No one had been there for months."

"That does not prove anything," Lena objected. "I was gone for two hundred years, remember? What's a few months?"

"True," Lucien had to agree. "But we have to assume the worst."

Lena agreed with Lucien's arguments, but at the same time, if Rayenna did not in fact join Morag Tong, Nilara would indeed be bringing new danger into the house... It was impossible to decide without knowing all the facts. Which assumptions should she believe?

...

Lena approached the shrine of Mephala with an offering of a nightshade.

"What do you want of me, mortal?" Mephala's disdainful voice sounded from the statue.

"I have a message from Sanguine for you," answered Lena, hoping that Mephala would hear her out. "Regarding one of his followers."

"Go on."

Phew... She wasn't being sent away, yet. "Sanguine believes that he would be better suited for your service than his."

"Why is that? Does that follower harbour plots of murder?"

"No, but he secures sexual favours through deceit and coercion. And then takes more than what is offered."

"Ahhh..." Mephala fell silent, and Lena started to worry her offer wasn't enough. But after a while Mephala continued. "Bring him to me and we'll see."

The worshipers at the shrine were watching Lena with interest.

"My Lord means bring that follower here," one of them clarified. "Then we'll summon My Lord again."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," Lena smiled. "I didn't think the Lady meant Spiral Skein."

A round of laughter followed that comment as Lena rebuffed that novice's trap - not only did she know that Mephala chose to appear female, but she was also aware of Mephala's Realm. Lena shrugged her shoulders, giving the followers one of her looks - this isn't my first Daedric Prince, you know.

...

"Engorm - good to see you!" Lena approached the shrine of Sanguine, greeting the very Bosmer who crossed her last time she was there.

"You again!" He bared his teeth. "Looking for another audience with My Lord?"

"Oh, I don't need to come here see him," Lena brushed it off, Engorm scowled, the other worshipers listened intently, keeping their distance. "I am here for you."

"Ah, I knew you would fall for my charms sooner or later," Engorm smiled broadly, the other worshipers giggled. "Well, what are you still doing with those clothes on?" He winked.

"You misunderstand," Lena smiled pleasantly. "I want a private audience," she tugged at her belt tentatively.

"Well..." Engorm's smile looked a bit forced, perhaps he sensed that something was off. "If you insist... There is a cave nearby that we use for such things," he pointed at a mound behind him. "Shall we?"

"Shouldn't we prepare first?" Lena got Cyrodilic Brandy out of her pack. "Get in the mood and all that?"

The sight of the bottle caused the others to throw caution to the wind and rush to get to the drink, but Engorm didn't move.

"Got another one? We won't get anything out of that." Lena produced another bottle, offering Engorm a filled goblet. He drank, with some hesitation - odd for a follower of Sanguine, and Lena saw that her plan wasn't working as well as she had hoped. Still, there was no other way but forward.

"Let's go," she put her arm around his waist and led him into the cave.

...

The first cavern was lavishly decorated with rugs and tapestries, and had a large bed in the middle. Lena unclipped her weapon belt and removed her boots under Engorm's watchful eye - he was more interested in seeing to the removal of the weapons than in discovering what was under them, she noticed, slightly hurt. "But no, he prefers men," she reminded herself. "Don't take it personally." She poured more brandy and this time Engorm drank without hesitation.

"I can offer you exactly what you want," she said in a languid voice.

"Oh yes, or so you would think," Engorm's speech started to slur, but he was still watchful. "I've seen it all, girl, there's nothing under that robe that would surprise me, is there?" He looked bored.

Lena tried her best, but Engorm was just not focusing on her, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. The brandy wasn't having as much of an effect on him as Lena had hoped it would - clearly practice reduced his sensitivity. He was making her work for it. "Perhaps I should be more direct," she thought, looking around. One side of the cave looked odd, like it could have a hidden door in it, so Lena cast around for a switch.

"Let us skip straight to the interesting part," she dropped her robe and pulled the switch in one motion, then leapt to Engorm and sliced the belt of his own robe with her hidden blade. She wasn't naked, but he was, he gasped at her tight black negligee firmly securing her pregnant belly - her assassin's gauntlet wasn't the only thing she was wearing. "Come," she said, pulling him into the secret chamber.

She didn't know exactly what was in there, but if the rumours were true, she knew what to expect. The smell of blood and other bodily fluids was strong but not unbearable, and Lena noticed that Engorm found it exhilarating and - finally - intoxicating. She quickly strapped him to one of the devices - she had no time to figure out what was what. A whip lay on the table, she took it.

"Or do you prefer the blade?" She looked into his bewildered face. "Didn't I say I could offer you exactly what you wanted? I didn't lie."

"But normally I'm the one with the whip!" He exclaimed, still looking confused.

"What would Sanguine say to this, I wonder?" Lena looked around, playing with the whip. "Oh, you've even got an Iron Maiden! Complete with the elixirs," she gave him a look of appreciation. "I think we'll start with that. Ah - an aphrodisiac." She lightly nicked his skin with her blade and dropped the elixir into the wound. "Feeling better, I see," she looked him over with satisfaction. Now she was getting somewhere.

Engorm was normally the one administering these treatments, it was his own private paradise, it was his game. He did not kill his victims - oh no - but if some of them suffered from ruptured hearts, it was only because their pleasure was too intense to bear... and so was his, at that point.

"But we make love!" He protested, following Lena's whip with his eyes. "Or at least... I make love to them!"

"I am not sure if they see it that way, especially once the elixirs wear off," Lena said thoughtfully. "But you will be able to decide for yourself later today, I have no doubt." She nicked his skin a little more forcefully, dropping another elixir. "Euphoria. You will enjoy anything I do. Anything." Engorm moaned, his hands cuffed and unable to reach where he wanted. Lena sat on a chair in front of him looking bored, and started reading a book.

...

Engorm's body was covered in small nicks where Lena was dropping various elixirs for him to experience. She made sure to keep his heart from overloading - a rupture was not in her plans. It has been several hours since they went into that cave when the other worshippers decided to look in on them.

"What on Nirn is this?" They stopped at the threshold of the secret cavern, not daring to enter.

"Oh, haven't you seen this room before?" Lena turned to them, smiling amicably. "It's Engorm's private audience chamber. We are just having an audience."

The worshippers ran off, gagging and downing more Cyrodilic Brandy. Lena sighed. "I suppose I should inform Sanguine," she said to herself, summoning Dessos.

"What..?" He started, unsheathing his blade, the smell of blood making him think it was a battle.

"No, no - nothing of the sort," Lena rushed to stop him hitting Engorm. "I am sorry to call you to this, but Sanguine needs to see it. We are at his shrine, and this is Engorm's idea of a good time. I've been just helping him to appreciate it more fully," she turned to Engorm who was still moaning ecstatically in his bonds.

"This isn't Sanguine's way," Dessos looked around with disapproval. "Wait here."

A few minutes later Sanguine walked in, followed by the other worshippers who saw him appear near the statue.

"What in Oblivion is this?" He turned to Engorm who only moaned. "What have you done to him?" He turned to Lena instead, looking rather angry. An angry dremora was bad enough, an angry Daedric Prince was best avoided, even if he was a little drunk. Lena swallowed.

"I am sorry for not telling you before I started, but I had to be sure," she stammered a bit. "I didn't know what I would find here, exactly. I gave him some of his elixirs, I've done nothing else! He is not dying," she added hastily.

"I can see that," Sanguine softened a bit, having examined Engorm closely. "This... room... should not be at my shrine! You two," he turned to the other worshipers who cowered before him - "see that this is removed." They nodded vigorously. "And you..." He turned to Lena with a sigh, but still angry. "Now Mephala's remarks make sense! You should have told me. What are you going to do with him? But I think I already know." He shook his head, his anger vanishing. "Get out of here," he turned to the other worshippers who quickly ran off, then taking the whip out of Lena's hands and dropping it into the corner with contempt, he led her into the front cavern and closed the secret door. "That smell is getting to me," he said, sitting down and gesturing Lena to do the same. "Why are you doing it in this way?" His eyes were hard on her, even without anger.

"I need a favour from Mephala," Lena looked into his eyes and tried not to divert hers too quickly. "So I needed to impress her. I heard rumours of Engorm's exploits, and I didn't like him last time we met, so I made him my victim. This is only half of it... The other half is the favour itself. It will require... some nerve on my part."

"And a lot of luck to stay alive, but the sound of things," Sanguine shook his head again. "All right, I see. Don't tell me, keeping me in the dark is clearly a part of it." Lena nodded. "Just promise me to call Dessos when things turn dire - it's not worth dying for."

"Thank you," Lena whispered, a weight off her shoulders. "Dying would be indeed completely counter-productive." She smiled, stroking her belly.

[Renee]

I am up to the part when L and L are planning to rid Riften of its Thieves Guild. But they're sparing Maven Black-Briar because she supports the Empire. Just curious why. Not that they should or shouldn't, that's all part of the story/roleplay. But I'm just curious why, from Lena's point of view (and maybe Lucien's as well).

I like the way you use hyphens during dialog. To separate what is being said from who is saying it. Helps break up the text a bit, which makes reading a little easier on the eyes. Like a little pause, there.

Lena using bandages to heal Lucien is something we also had during my long-ago table-gaming days. It wasn't all just magic; eventually we (my gaming buddies & I) decided to add a "Medicine" skill to our game. This way, healers would not be 100% reliant on magic.

Oh yes, Skyrim's in-game "terrain" map can be pretty frustrating! Whoa...she got Brynjolf.

Up to page 7 / 128.

[Lena Wolf]

@Renee - We're sparing Maven in Riften because if she's removed, the new Jarl will support the Stormcloaks. Although that does not determine the outcome of the Civil War, it is still a feather in Ulfrik's cap, and at least for a time Imperials will have a hard time in Riften. Since Lena and Lucien are both from Cyrodiil, and since Hauk is with the Legion, they don't like Riften to fall to Stormcloaks even for a time. Maven is of course corrupt as they come, but the other candidate is not any better. Given the choice between two corrupt politicians, they choose one that is closer to their side of the Civil War. Besides, she isn't with the Thieves Guild herself, and so is not a direct target for the task of removing the Thieves Guild. It is not possible to eliminate every thief on Nirn - there would be no one left.

Regarding bandages, to me this is a continuation of the Alchemy skill. I play with a Battle Fatigue and Injuries mod that makes you and all NPCs sustain damage to attributes that can only be cleared with sufficient sleep, although casting Restoration spells can ease it for a time. So when Lucien appears from the tunnels casting Restoration spells, he is temporarily healing his wounds, but ultimately he'll need alchemy and sleep to really recover. And of course for someone to suck the poison out of the wound, or else that would keep eating at him. I think poisons should be much longer lasting than what they are, just like the real thing - a sharp poisoning to begin with, and then an ever festering wound chipping away at your health for a long time, unless you take an antidote (cure poison).

Brynjolf - he had it coming. We hated him from the moment he came up to Lena claiming that she hadn't done a day of honest work in her life. Pffft. Look who's talking. Lena is no thief (stealing sweetrolls doesn't count ).

[Renee]

Cool. So it's like they spared Maven to go for the greater outcome, I get it.

I like the sound of that injuries mod. What's it called?

[Lena Wolf]

I like the sound of that injuries mod. What's it called?

Like I said: Battle Fatigue and Injuries. It is highly configurable, and I did make changes to the defaults, but I didn't modify the mod itself.

[Renee]

Awesome, thanks. I use a realism mod which makes lack of food/water/sleep cause attribute losses so adding Battle Injuries will really make my game edgy!

[Lena Wolf]

20 Morning Star, 4E203 - A favour from Mephala

"Well, mortal, you are still alive, it seems," Mephala looked Lena over. "Some bleeding here and there, but that's to be expected. Your child is still alive, too, do not worry - I wasn't trying to kill it. I promised, didn't I?" Lena could only moan in response - she was still gagged. "All right, I let you rest a bit. I'll come back later."

Mephala left the room. Lena was bound to a large bed, she was cuffed and gagged. Her bonds were loosened slightly now so that she could lie more comfortably. She wasn't wearing anything besides the bonds. A xivilai approached, bringing her wine and cleaning her wounds. Nothing serious, it seemed.

...

"I wish to summon Mephala," Lena stood at Mephala's shrine a day earlier. "I brought the worshipper that we talked about." Engorm, previously a worshipper of Sanguine, was standing behind her. His hands were bound and his feet were tied only allowing him small steps - he didn't come willingly.

"Ah, mortal, you return!" Mephala spoke through the statue. "And you brought me the other worshipper!"

There was a flash of light and Lena and Engorm found themselves in The Spiral Skein. The cavern was dark, and glowing mushrooms stood out all the better in the gloom.

"What is this?" Engorm looked around, frightened. "Mephala's Realm?"

"Indeed, mortal, previously a worshipper of Sanguine," Mephala approached them and spat at the mention of Sanguine's name. "I have plans for you. This is your new home." She snapped her fingers, and a Xivilai stepped forward from the darkness and led Engorm away. "As for you..." She walked around Lena, looking her over. "What is it you want? You need something from me, I can sense it."

"I offer you this worshipper and hope that you would hear me out," Lena said cautiously. "I do have a favour to ask of you. And only you." She looked into Mephala's eyes and tried not to blink too much. The Prince's eyes were deep blue, with moving swirls of lighter blue in them, like whirlpools in a bottomless ocean. They seemed to pull Lena in... She blinked and steadied herself, waiting for Mephala's answer.

"You have some nerve, mortal," Mephala said approvingly. "But are you prepared to pay the price for my favour? It will not be granted freely."

"Anything but my life," answered Lena. "For the favour concerns it. Or rather, the life of my unborn child."

"I see," Mephala nodded. "You wish me to protect your child - and you by extension - from Morag Tong, no doubt?" Mephala smiled, feeling sure that she guessed right.

"Yes," Lena nodded. "There is a Redguard woman - Rayenna - who will likely turn to Morag Tong with the purpose of killing my child, and possibly me. While I can stand up to her for my own life, my child is too young to do the same. Rayenna must be prevented from murdering it."

"I should ask you how you know all this, but I won't waste time on such pleasantries. You have clearly given it some thought," Mephala looked at Lena with approval. "I can delay Rayenna's actions for a time, but I will not stand in the way of her plans forever. Do you accept my offer?"

"How long is 'for a time'?"

"A month to start with. And if I am pleased with your first payment, you may come back to prolong my protection," Mephala smiled contentedly.

"So, you know of Rayenna. Is she with Morag Tong already?" Lena asked, trying to sound neutral, but her anger was coming through.

"That is another favour!" Laughed Mephala. "But all right, I'll give you that information freely: yes, Rayenna is mine, even if your Brotherhood does not know it yet."

"I see," Lena swallowed. "In this case, I accept your offer, provided my child remains unharmed while you are taking the payment."

"Promised," Mephala smiled and snapped her fingers. Another Xivilai came forward from the dark. "Take her to the chamber, get her ready. Do not harm her or her child - be careful with that, mortals are fragile," she said to the Xivilai. "I shall be there shortly."

...

After three sessions with Mephala, Lena was still bound to the large bed, still gagged, and bleeding rather more. Her skin was bruised and cut in places. None of the wounds were life-threatening, but all of them were painful.

Mephala got off the bed, looking satisfied.

"It will do for today," she said and snapped her fingers. A Xivilai stepped forward from the darkness. "Untie her," she turned to him. "Let her wash and give her her clothes back. No, you can't have her - I promised she should live," she answered a question in Xivilai's eyes. "She would die under you. You can have another." Mephala stretched, letting the Xivilai rub her body. "Then send her back to the shrine in Mundus." She kissed him with a long, passionate kiss, delightful yet familiar - they've known each other for an eternity already.

Lena was hurting in so many places, it felt like pain all over. But she was alive, and not knocked out, she heard Mephala's words and sighed a sigh of relief. Mephala turned to look at her.

"Ah, you did not pass out," she smiled. "Well done, mortal, you pleased me. Come back in a month - I shall be waiting."

Mephala left the room while the Xivilai started to untie Lena's bonds. A little later she reappeared at the shrine, to eager glances from the worshippers. But she wasn't going to tell them of her deal with their Prince.

Roach was grazing on the meagre grass of the Valus Mountains, and Lena felt that she should at least take Roach into the valley. She mounted, even though riding a horse was particularly painful just then...

At the first sight of green grass, she dismounted, patting Roach on the back. "Cheydinhal is that way - straight through the forest, you'll manage, won't you?" She looked into Roach's eyes, and the horse nodded and took off. Lena summoned Dessos. He appeared, ready for a fight as usual, but one look at Lena told him all he needed to know.

"Take my arm," he said, and when she did, he opened a portal and stepped through it.

...

"You are a mess," Sanguine smiled at Lena offering her another sweetroll. "Mephala doesn't joke. At least you are alive. Both of you."

"That was the deal," Lena winced at the pain, as Dylan was rubbing oil into her bruises. "Protection for my child."

"That explains why you are bleeding where you are bleeding," Dylan looked up, shaking his head. He too knew her body intimately. "And I have no oils for that."

"It will pass," Sanguine nodded. "Of course, as long as you are pregnant, Mephala won't touch you there, if that's the deal. But what are you going to do once the child is born? I assume it isn't a one time payment but a subscription?"

"Subscription," Lena smiled at the phrase. "Yeah, monthly. I don't know, I'll just have to bear it, I guess."

"Going to the Wellspring that often isn't advisable," Dylan shook his head again. "And what Mephala likes to do... well... it can easily prevent you from ever having a second child."

Lena looked worried, then shook her head.

"Let's not talk about it right now. My son is not due for another three months."

"Your son?" Sanguine looked at her with suspicion. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Mephala told me," Lena sighed. "Well, she's very thorough... She didn't exactly stay away..."

"She!" Sanguine got furious. "Have your seen what 'she' actually has on her body? She! Indeed!" He got up, clenching his fists and pacing around angrily.

"Yeah, I know full well what 'she' has on her body..." Lena could not resist the humour of the situation. "You could say, I've just had a hands-on experience!" She laughed. "Except that my hands were tied, of course."

"Well, at least your spirit is not bruised," Dessos joined in, helping Dylan with the oils. "You mortals are so fragile, I always say. Especially females. How is it that you are still alive?"

His hands were careful, he was touching her lightly. It felt more like a caress than a massage. Perhaps it was a caress.

"We are strong in a different way," Lena smiled. "Truth is, I don't know. We just make do with it."

The four of them were lounging by a lake on a carpet of soft grass. It was early evening. Two Dremoras and a Mazken were tending to the cuts and bruises on the body of one Breton woman after her encounter with the Daedric Prince of Sex and Secret Murder, for where else would she go after such a painful event but to the Daedric Prince of Pleasure... Sanguine went by many names, and he wasn't always kind to every mortal. He wasn't a "nice guy" - but hey, he was a Dremora. To Lena however he represented all that was good, as ironic as it might sound. He was good to her, period. He was good to all of his lovers. Sanguine did not believe in celibacy. But that evening none of the three men around Lena made any advances beyond a caress, and she was completely at ease with them.

[Lena Wolf]

25 Morning Star, 4E203 - The quiet life

After her ordeal with Mephala, Lena needed a bit of rest. She returned to Cheydinhal and was spending her days lazying about the house, catching up on sleep, taking long baths and slow strolls, and generally allowing her body to recover. Lucien noticed the change but didn't say anything, acting as if Lena's demeanour was common to her, which of course it wasn't.

"You seem to be taking a break from everything," Garrus commented one morning, meeting Lena slowly strolling through Cheydinhal gardens. "Haven't seen you relaxing like this for a while... well, never actually. You know the chapel has pretty good healers, in case you're feeling the strain." He lunged to steady Lena who stumbled on something and nearly twisted her ankle. "Here's a bench, why don't we sit down for a moment," he added, smiling.

"I... thanks, Garrus," Lena smiled uneasily, accepting Garrus' assistance. "I guess I am feeling the strain." She held a hand to her side, supporting her belly. "I prefer fighting monsters," she smirked. "Although I am still not absolved from it."

Garrus turned, giving Lena a long look.

"Not the goblin kind, though," he said thoughtfully. "Well, if there's anything that the City Guard can do to improve your safety... You know."

Lena nodded - Garrus seemed to have figured out what she was going through, even though she was sure he didn't know the exact details. She hoped no mortal did.

"I am not ill," she smiled. "I'm just..."

...

That evening the dinner at the Wolf Residence was subdued. Both Lena and Lucien seemed preoccupied, there was something each needed to say, yet dreaded saying it. Eventually Lucien took the lead.

"You seem a bit under the weather these few days," he started cautiously, shooting Lena a sideways look. "Some say the last three months of a pregnancy can be the hardest."

"Yeah, it is getting a bit harder now, but..." Lena took a deep breath and decided to say her piece then and there. "I want to go home, Lucien. Home to Bravil and the Shivering Isles. The Shivering Isles, mostly. I am not doing very well."

"Then you must go," Lucien sounded relieved, although not completely. "If you want me with you, say it." Lena shook her head. "I thought so," Lucien nodded.

They ate quietly for a while, then Lena became restless again.

"But it doesn't mean that I..." She started speaking anxiously, looking at Lucien with worry.

"I know," he interrupted her firmly. "In a way, I've known you longer than you've known me," he smiled, taking her hand. "Although much of it was admittedly in your absence. You will be back, this time the same as before. And while you are gone, I shall be away too."

"You..?" Lena looked up in surprise.

"There is something I need to take care of," Lucien said somewhat evasively. "In Morrowind." He paused, taking a sip of his wine. "The time is pressing somewhat, it needs to be done before the child is born, but I felt uneasy about leaving you here. So if you go to Bravil and the Shivering Isles, so for the better."

"Rayenna?" Lena thought that Lucien would be planning something.

"It concerns her, yes," Lucien smiled. "But there are other things, too. We need to make sure that the Brotherhood in Morrowind does not take her move to Morag Tong as a provocation. We need to avoid another war of assassins."

"Yes..." Lena sounded hollow, having suddenly realised why Hauk went to Morrowind too. "But assassinating her won't be easy."

"And I don't expect to get to her, not now that she's under Mephala's protection," Lucien said, watching Lena's face closely. "So, you knew this," he noted. "I see. I thought as much." Lena nodded slowly, and Lucien continued. "No, Rayenna is out of our reach for the moment. Which is why Hauk is talking to Eno Hlaalu and I need to go to Mournhold." He paused again, watching Lena. "You will be safe from all of this in the Shivering Isles," he added, smiling softly.

[macole]

I've been catching up; Mephala is definitely not a very nice playmate. Are we going to see a bit of Mournhold now?

[Lena Wolf]

I've been catching up; Mephala is definitely not a very nice playmate. Are we going to see a bit of Mournhold now?

We are. I am so engrossed in making the Skyrim mod, that I haven't been playing at all, so it might take a couple of weeks. But I'll be returning to Morrowind - Hauk has a job to do finding Rayenna, and Lucien is going to Mournhold to speak to the Morrowind Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. This part is not actually in game, they have only very limited line on Dark Brotherhood there. However, I have Mournhold, and I am excited to explore it because it is both in Morroblivion and in Tamriel Rebuilt. I do hope they don't collide. And if they do, I'll have to make a patch or find an explanation... It's all Mephala's fault, obviously.

I gave Mephala a darker and more hands-on role than what you see in Oblivion and Skyrim Daedric quests, or even in Morrowind. Mephala is not just the Prince of Secret Murder, but also the Prince of Sex, and I am sure it isn't the nice variety. It is all based on the lore pages, so should be reasonably conflict-free... just may be a bit more explicit than what you normally read.