A Stranger in Skyrim 16

Chapter Sixteen: The Dragonstone

In which things get heavy.

The staircase led up, into another cave-like area. Stone pillars held up an uneven stone ceiling, and as she passed through, the flutter of wings alerted her to look up. Bats flapped away into the main chamber, before disappearing from her line of sight. She didn't mind bats, as long as they weren't flying around inside her house, anyway.

A bridge led over a small chasm. She had to test her weight on it first; it was thin, and it didn't look particularly sturdy.

But it held, and she crossed, and did not get dumped into the water below. So that was good.

Another short staircase led up to a half-circle of stone that was inscribed with strange writing. It was foreign to her eyes; she couldn't begin to read it. One word stood out among the rest. She recognized it immediately, understood it without knowing how. Walking up to the stony wall, she ran her fingertips over the indents in the stone. “Fus,” she murmured quietly. Force.

The dragon had spoken Force, and the headsman had gone flying. She remembered.

Behind her, she heard stone grinding against stone. It crashed to the ground with a noise that echoed throughout the chamber.

She turned slowly, and came face-to-face with a much more intimidating zombie. It seemed … slightly bigger, than the others, and it wielded a greatsword that she would swear bore some kind of enchantment. It brought the weapon down, the tip grazing her cheek as she scrambled out of the way. The wound felt … cold. She would swear her blood froze as it oozed from the cut.

So, a frost enchantment. Otherwise useful for keeping mugs of beer cold, she was sure.

She dropped the torch, holding both hands out before her. Flames burst from her hands, engulfing the zombie. It caught fire, but that didn't even slow it down, not even a little bit.

“Fus … Ro Dah!” The zombie apparently spoke the dragon's tongue. He spoke Force, and she braced herself for the impact. It still knocked her to her knees. He brought his sword down again, and she barely scrambled out of the way. The robe developed a slit up the front where his weapon tore the cloth.

Another desperate burst of flames, and he staggered. A third, a fourth. He fell to his knees, then flat on his face, his dry flesh burning like so much kindling.

Mummies were supposed to be weak to fire, since they were just dried-out people.

Apparently that was true facts.

Good to know.

She traded the zombie's greatsword for her own, fastening it into place on her back.

That done, she looked around. There was a chest. Presumably, she'd find the Dragonstone in there. If not, she wasn't sure where she'd find it; this felt like the main chamber.

Hesitantly, she cracked open the lid.

Gold filled the bottom of the chest. On top of the gold rested an old, cracked stone that resembled nothing so much as the home plate in a baseball field. She was pretty sure it was even the same size. It bore an odd sigil toward the bottom point, and a large map with various points marked on it. This would be the Dragonstone, then, and those points would be dragon burial sites. It looked heavy. No one had bothered to inform her that she'd need a bigger backpack to become an adventurer … apparently she was supposed to have figured that one out on her own. Ah, well.

She lifted the heavy stone out of the box, setting it aside for a moment. Then, she looted the chest of all it was worth. The gold alone had started to weigh her down. That, she assumed, was how she'd know she had enough. Well … she probably didn't actually have enough for anything great, but she had, for certain, more than a single night's stay at the Bannered Mare.

After she'd finished looting, she picked up the stone again. It required both hands, because it was large and rather awkward. What would she do if something attacked her while she was carrying the damn thing? Oh right. Beat its head in with the massive rock. Duh.

That done, she looked around. The obvious exit was back through the entire temple. That didn't really appeal to her, however. She didn't want to face the pile of corpses she'd left behind, and not only because they'd probably started to reek. Not only that, but she was sure the vermin she'd scared off had begun to feast on them, and that was something she really didn't want to look at.

There was also a staircase that led up, though. She figured it was worth a shot, so she hefted the Dragonstone and began her ascent.

She came to a dead end quickly enough. Focusing on the idea of fire, she conjured flamelets around her body to light the area around her. That done, she spotted an odd sort of podium, with a circular device on top. Setting the Dragonstone down at its base, she lifted the handle inside the circular device. It seemed to twist, so she twisted it, then let go. It spun back to its starting position. The sound of stone grinding against stone greeted her, and the wall to the left sank into the ground.

Cool, a secret exit. She picked the Dragonstone back up and began feeling her way along a narrow tunnel. She made it quite a ways before the ground fell out from under her. She yelped as, for a moment, she hung in midair.

She landed poorly, and she was fairly certain she'd sprained an ankle or twisted something wrong. Her legs hurt. Fortunately, she knew healing magic, so after a moment or two of lying on the ground in pain, she conjured the minty green light to soothe away her aches, and she was good as new. That trick was becoming seriously useful. She sat up with a slight groan, inspecting the tablet. Nope, still good as … well, she couldn't say new, because it was still weathered and cracked, but good as when she found it, anyway.

The tunnel led outside, to a crisp, clear morning.

The tunnel also led to a sheer cliff face. She found herself falling again, skidding down the rocks awkwardly. Landing in a heap on a pile of bones, she once again had to summon the healing light because she'd acquired a bad case of road rash.

What fun this whole damn trip was turning out to be.

At least she was still alive. That had to say something for her.

She looked around, but she didn't really recognize where she was, not even in a general sense. She saw a large lake in front of her, and a forest beyond that. Some trees lined this side of the lake, but not enough to qualify as a forest.

She was lost. She was really, truly, lost.

She did the only thing she could do. Water generally meant people; she made her way down to the shore, carefully picking her way across the field of large boulders and smaller rocks. When she finally made it to the shore, she picked a direction. She chose left, and began walking that way.

Eventually, she spotted a campsite across the lake, and the Guardian Stones beyond that. She was so relieved she could have cried. She'd picked the right direction; she was practically back at Riverwood.

There was only one problem. She'd have to cross a large body of water to get there.

Well, whatever. She was sure she could find the bridge again.

She continued on. She was faced with the choice of climbing a hill or letting herself be swept away by the river; she climbed the hill.

Making her way back down the hill, she spotted Riverwood directly across the river.

A man's voice called out behind her. “All right, hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish.”

What.

“Where did you come from?” She looked back at him, confused. Her confusion only increased as she realized he was not human, elven, or khajiit, but some kind of lizard person. “And … what are you?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. She was getting that a lot. “I'm the man who's about to kill you,” he explained, keeping his voice slow and even. “I've been following you for a while now.” Well, that explained where he came from anyway – how had she missed that she was being followed? Gah. Stupid.

“No, really,” she said, keeping it conversational. “I've never seen anyone like you. Where are you from?” She sat the Dragonstone on the ground, brushing her hands off.

She hadn't come this far, nor had she killed all those zombies and bandits, just to die five minutes from her goal, thank you very much.

“Does it really matter? I'm the man with the knife.”

She sighed loudly. “Look, you don't want to do this. I guarantee you won't like the outcome.”

“Stranger, I'm about to kill you and take your things. You're the one who won't like where this is going.” He wasn't really expressive, but then, lizards didn't seem to have a wide range of expressions. His voice sounded a bit exasperated, though.

“Your choice,” she said, smiling softly. “Either you walk away right now or …” She shrugged slightly.

He just looked at her. “Okay, I'll bite. What happens if I don't walk away.”

“This.”

Lightning arced from her right hand. The lizard apparently had a nervous system just as fragile as any human's. When she found the exact right strength, he began twitching uncontrollably, unable to move past the first step he'd tried to take.

When she was sure he wasn't getting up – being a human Taser was awesome! – she collected the Dragonstone and ran for the bridge.

He was too busy lying on the ground and flopping like a fish to follow.

A Stranger in Skyrim 15

Chapter Fifteen: Flammable

In which I don't want to set the world on fire.

She backed slowly out of the room.

The spider advanced slowly on her.

She tripped on a root, landing flat on her ass. The torch rolled off to the side. She grabbed the scroll in both hands, reading it aloud. The words were foreign even to her ears, the meaning incomprehensible.

There was a twisting to the air around her. Fire engulfed the scroll, then shot forward, exploding on the spider's face. It screeched, a high, awful, terrible noise. It lunged at the doorway, its forelegs clawing the air where she'd just been as she scrambled just outside of its reach. The thing hissed at her, spittle flying from its mandibles and sizzling where it hit the ground.

If she managed to kill it? Totally bottling that venom. She was sure she'd find a use for something that seemed to be melting stone.

She held her hands out in front of her, eyes closed. She felt the heat build in her palms. Giving the magic just a tiny push, she felt it roar to life like a dragon in her hands. Flame spewed forth from her hands, a continuous stream of it engulfing the spider. It screamed its agony, an inhuman sound that chilled her to the bone.

She peeked at it. It was wobbling from side to side, its legs not quite moving together. She shot another quick blast of flame at it, the fizzy reservoir of power she recognized as magic almost running dry. Another shot of flame, and another.

The spider fell, crisped, to land on its belly.

She thought it was dead. She was pretty sure it was dead. She shifted her backpack around, fishing in it until she found a vial of blue liquid. She popped the cork on it, downing it in one gulp. It felt fizzy against her tongue, and she knew she had a winner. Magic, in liquid form. Delicious. Or at least, she assumed it was delicious; she didn't really taste it so much as feel it buzzing down her throat.

That done, she hesitantly inched forward on hands and knees, towards the spider. She put the vial to one of its massive teeth, and black venom dripped down into it.

Fun. Definitely not a potion she'd be drinking.

That done, she cautiously stood up. Walking back out of the room, she collected the torch, which had burnt out. She lit it again with a small burst of flame.

All right, so …

She kept her distance from the probably-dead, still-burning spider, edging into the room. Several unidentifiable, web-wrapped corpses lay around the spider's lair, culminating in a webbed-up exit on the far side of the room. A man's mummified corpse hung from the sticky webbing, something shiny glinting at his feet. She approached him, hesitantly, and there it was: the golden claw.

Well, that was easy. She picked it up, looking it over. It bore markings not unlike the carvings she'd seen earlier. A bear, a dragonfly, and an owl. Hnh.

She shrugged, then stuffed it into her backpack. One objective completed, one to go. Hopefully the Dragonstone wasn't too big. Between the books, the potions, and the claw, her backpack was already getting heavy.

She cut the man's corpse down with her sword, then proceeded quickly on into the next room. More golden urns lined some kind of a circular stone table. The only thing of any interest to her was another purplish-blue soul gem lying between two of the urns. She collected it, and pressed on.

She entered a mausoleum of some kind. It was eerie, the light of her torch barely illuminating desiccated corpses.

Much to her surprise, one of the corpses started to get up and move.

Okay. Zombies she could handle. In their idle moments, she and her mom would discuss how they'd totally survive the upcoming zombie apocalypse. Obviously, killing zombies was a huge part of that.

The zombie approached her. It was a lot faster than she had imagined zombies being.

She blasted it with fire magic.

The zombie was then on fire.

It continued to advance towards her.

This was not turning out as she'd anticipated.

She continued to blast it with short bursts of fire, backing up all the while, and it eventually fell to the ground in a pool of molten flesh and charred bone.

That was easy.

A line of pain rolled down her right arm as another zombie caught her with an axe. She bashed it in the face with a torch, recoiling in pain. She could still use the arm, but it hurt, clouding her mind. She beat the zombie with the torch until it fell to the ground.

She focused on healing magic, conjuring the minty green light and picturing her flesh knitting up.

Zombie number two continued to burn for a few moments.

A third zombie courteously waited for her to finish killing its compatriots before it tried its luck with her. She pointed, and lightning engulfed it. The lightning was not super-effective. In fact, the zombie seemed largely unphased.

“Fire it is,” she announced to zombie number three. She proceeded to roast his undead ass. By this time she was halfway up the ramp that led down into the mausoleum proper, and the corpse rolled downhill.

Whew. That had been closer than she wanted to think about. Also, her nice fur armor and the robe were both sporting a new blood-soaked cut. Damn zombies.

At least she knew healing magic.

She continued on, further into the tomb. She bypassed an utterly obvious – but no doubt quite deadly – spiked wall and its ornamented stone pressure plate trigger.

Well, if that was all the more devious the traps in this place were going to be, she was going to have a grand time of it.

She made a point of incinerating every corpse she came across, many of which decided that they should get up and move again. She didn't have much trouble with the zombies, especially since they seemed fairly vulnerable to being set on fire, and they had to crawl out of their little shelves before they could attack.

She did, however, run into a slight problem in the next hallway.

The traps had become more devious.

Swinging blade traps, the kind she recognized from all sorts of video games. Eternal Darkness had them, at least. These swinging blades were set as a particularly deadly pendulum.

Oh, hello. It was actually pretty simple. Long wooden shafts swung from the ceiling. The blade was suspended with rope. So, she set fire to the ropes. The blade hung at an angle, and it ground to a halt, the careful calibrations that let it swing back and forth completely ruined when its balance failed. She grabbed the pole leading down to the blade. It was still valiantly trying to swing back and forth. Grabbing the blade with her other hand, she spun it sideways. The whole thing screwed together, so she unscrewed it. The blade fell to the floor with a loud clang, the flat side of it landing on her foot. Ow.

She repeated the process with the next two blades, painstakingly dismantling the trap.

That was actually rather fun!

She continued down the winding hallway, incinerating every corpse she came across.

Finally, she came to a room with a small stream and a bridge. A large black coffin stood on the other side, the front of which fell off as its occupant pushed against the inside. This corpse, too, got roasted. That done, she looked around. At first, there were no obvious exits. A chest sat next to the coffin, and she looted it as was becoming her custom.

The stream started from the left side of the room – since she was facing the other way, now it was the right – on the ceiling, and continued down towards a grate with a pull chain beside it.

Well, there was her answer. She pulled the chain, and the grate lifted into the ceiling.

Onward, now with slightly wetter boots.

The nice, orderly tomb gave way to a more natural cave. It was lit by glowing mushrooms which, she was pretty sure, were poisonous. Bright colors meant poison, after all, right?

Right.

She spotted something unusual in the river, and she knelt to pick it up. It turned out to be a skull, though not of any beast she could identify. For one thing, it had three eyes.

Whatever. If she had a home to decorate, she'd definitely take it there. Since she didn't, there was no point in taking the skull with her; she dropped it and it fractured.

Another chest – why were there boxes just lying everywhere? – and then an open-aired section with a waterfall. Pretty, but cold. She pressed on after a moment of admiration for the scenery and to push a zombie off the cliff into the water below.

Fun.

The cave eventually intersected with a tomb again, complete with a big set of double-doors, and another zombie flambé.

She pushed the doors open. The tomb continued on until she reached another swinging axe trap. She carefully picked her way past the first two axes, dismantling them just for the fun of it. With the right timing, the things were utterly trivial; she just didn't have a great sense of timing. Destroying the traps forever was safer.

Then, a zombie climbed out of the nearby coffin.

It took a swinging axe to the face. The axe embedded itself into the zombie's belly, so now, not only was the axe swinging from left to right, but it also had a zombie flopping from one end.

She edged past the zombie, and into the room proper.

It was lit by two jugs filled with some kind of substance that happened to be on fire. Two zombies – Draugr! That was what Hadvar had called them! – made their way down a wooden staircase towards her. The ground seemed to be covered in some kind of oil. She considered her options, then set fire to the rope holding up one of the jugs of flaming goop.

The Draugr-zombie immediately under it burst into flames and died instantly.

Its friend was somewhat smarter; not only was it using a bow, but it waited to approach until the flaming oil had evaporated. In the meantime, she had to narrowly dodge an arrow to the face. When Draugr-zombie the second was right under the other jug, she burned the second rope. The second jug fell on his head, and he, too, burned to death.

Somehow, killing zombies didn't pack the same punch as killing people did. Possibly because they really didn't look human anymore. That was probably a big part of it – dehumanization.

She climbed the staircase, then felt her way along to the next big set of double-doors. Pushing them open, she entered a room that felt … eerie. It was a long stretch of hallway with an arching ceiling, leading up to a massive door. She thought she saw carvings on the walls, but she couldn't really make them out in the dim light offered by her guttering torch.

At least, she thought it was a door. It looked like it was supposed to open, but it didn't have a door handle or any kind of keyhole – no, wait, there was a series of three indents in the center of the door. Around the middle circle of stone, three stone rings formed a bull's-eye. In each ring, she saw a carving. She was unsurprised to discover the carving matched those on the golden claw. In fact, she'd been kind of expecting it.

She inspected the claw, then inspected the door. Then back to the claw. Okay, she knew what she had to do. Bear, butterfly, bird. Setting the torch on the ground, she reached up with both hands to pull the first stone circle into position. It was old, and not particularly cooperative, but it eventually turned so that the bear was on the top. Next, the dragonfly, then the owl.

She frowned slightly.

Okay, everything was in place. Now what?

She considered the claw, then the three holes in the center circle. Pushing the claw against the 'keyhole,' she found that its talons fit perfectly.

There was a loud grinding as the wall sank into the floor.

Puzzle solved. Now for the main chamber.

A Stranger in Skyrim 14

Chapter Fourteen: Cobwebs

In which she discovers loot.

She threw her headphones off, yanked the earbuds out.

The scent of burning flesh permeated her senses, and she tasted metal in her mouth.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time. Her breakfast – and all subsequent meals – came up at the same time. When she was finally done, she fell back against the bathroom wall, staring up at the ceiling. Oh gods.

Oh gods, oh gods.

She'd killed people, yes, and that was also not as new as it should have been. All she could see in her mind was the sight of the woman's face melting under her hand, the scent/taste of charred meat.

She'd had to do it, of course.

What, was she supposed to let them kill her first?

Oh gods, she'd fallen asleep. She had to have fallen asleep, or she wouldn't be in her house.

What was going to happen to her over there? She tried pinching her arm to see if that would wake her up. All it did was raise a red spot on her arm and hurt a little. She tried willing herself back, tried everything she could think of to just wake up.

None of it worked.

Oh gods.

Eventually, she heard the loud brrrriiiiing of the tea timer she set to remind her to head to work.

How the hell was she supposed to make it through the day?

She had a long, tense drive to work. Any second, she expected to wake up over there.

She wasn't able to focus on her job; several times she found herself asking the customers to repeat themselves because her mind had been on the other world.

She could barely eat anything all day, and the scent of meat just reminded her of what she'd done.

It was a relief when she finally blinked awake, curled up by a fire that had burned down to nothing. Sitting up, she groaned. She felt stiff and sore. Buh. She pictured the soothing, green light, and the aches and pains subsided. That was a useful trick. Very useful. She wondered if it would work in the real world, as she let her eyes adjust to the utter absence of light.

Sleepily, she raised her hand, calling harmless flames to her palm. It shone like a torch, flickering light bathing the area.

The woman's corpse lay across a chest, a crossbow bolt piercing her skull through one eye. Her blood had oozed out of the wound, causing her face to kind of stick to the chest.

Mariah shuddered slightly. No different from mousetraps. She could handle dead mice with their skulls caved in and their blood everywhere; she could handle a formaldehyde-smelling cadaver in the lab that one time, she could handle the horrific mix of the two concepts: a dead woman with part of her skull caved in and her blood going everywhere.

Easy.

She shoved the woman's corpse off of the box, reminding herself that she desperately needed to eat and someplace safe to stay at night; whatever was in the box would undoubtedly be valuable.

And then the box was locked. She scowled at it, producing the set of thin, metal picks that Hadvar had given her, and set to work.

She had to steady herself before she began. Couldn't be shaking if she wanted to do this. The fire in her hand died, leaving her blind, but then, this was more about how it felt, and how it sounded, than how it looked, wasn't it? She began with the picks, listening carefully to the lock. It was slow, careful going, and she didn't really expect to succeed. When she heard something click inside the lock, she used the thin knife that had come with the set of picks, using it to gently turn the lock.

To her great surprise, she succeeded.

Hooray.

Opening the chest with one hand, she lit flame in the other to inspect her bounty.

A double-handful of gold coins, and a green-colored potion greeted her, the rewards for her triumph.

She'd certainly take that!

The entryway to the Barrow was eerie and quiet, save for the soft 'whoosh' of air that blew over the holes in the ceiling. Looking around, her right hand held high, she spotted a staircase leading down. As there was only really the one option if she wanted to claim her reward, she headed down the staircase, deeper into the Barrow.

Cobwebs were strung throughout; she burned them, and they melted away. Odd how they weren't really flammable, but then, she'd read something about that once.

She had to use the flames to light her way; there had been no one here before her, as near as she could tell. Certainly, no one had bothered to light the coals in the brazier she passed until she did it. The flickering light revealed a series of gold-ish urns. She left these undisturbed, continuing past. She nearly tripped on the ground ahead. Feeling the stone with her feet, she ran into the roots of some kind of plant. She had to carefully pick her way across the root system, or risk falling flat on her face.

Fortunately, it only lasted for a little way, before the roots apparently gave up on finding sustenance in the Barrow. She found another brazier, lighting this, too, with her conjured flames.

Her feet accidentally kicked something small and furry – looking down, she saw it was some kind of massive rat. It looked as though it had been killed by someone with a sword; several slashes had taken bloody chunks out of its fur. She grimaced, then continued onward.

She came across another patch of roots, picking her way carefully across them. She almost missed it, when several bursts of air were followed by the ping of metal on stone.

She did not, however, miss the sight of the man lying face-down on the ground, his form contorted around some kind of lever he'd fallen on. A torch lay nearby, lighting some of the surroundings with its flames. Well. This would be the first trap, then, and someone had already fallen victim to it. She walked up to the man, kicking him off of the lever. Obviously, the lever was what triggered the darts, but there had to be some kind of logical way to pass this. She saw a stone tablet that looked cracked and worn. Picking up the torch, she inspected it. It bore a carving of a snake.

Hm.

She looked up and around, to see if any more such carvings existed. Those would be the clues, she was sure. A staircase led up, so she went up. The torch lit a carving of a fish, a place where a carving had once hung, and another carving of a snake. From left to right, it read: “Snake, Snake, Fish.

Something in the room had to correspond to those carvings; that was the only thing that made sense.

She walked back down the stairs, and across the way she had her answer. Three stone pillars stood on circular stone slabs. The pillars read “Bird, Fish, Bird.” She suspected that was why the man got killed; he hadn't bothered to try figuring out the riddle. Walking up to one of the pillars, she shoved at it, experimentally. It seemed mobile, so she set the torch down, shifting it with both hands until it read “Snake.” She smiled to herself, then proceeded to line the rest of the stones up. Snake, Snake, Fish.

Easy.

That done, she crept towards the lever, careful not to step on any of the darts. She pulled it, then ran toward the gate. Nothing happened at first, and she felt silly. Then, there came the sound of metal scraping on stone, and the gate lifted up behind her.

She collected the torch and continued on.

Straight ahead, she saw a pair of stone tables. On one, she saw a book. She picked the book up, stuffed it inside her backpack. She wanted to know as much as she could about the world, and the only way to learn would be to read about it. She'd read the book some other time, however; right now she had a job to do.

She spotted a couple more golden urns, a small soul gem, and a chest.

The chest had another double-handful of gold, as well as another greenish potion. This, as well as the soul gem, she stored in her backpack. To the left, she spotted a wooden staircase that she wasn't quite sure she was prepared to trust her life to. But, if she wanted to progress, she had to try it, at least. She kept close to the wall, putting her weight on the sides of the boards where there was more support.

The staircase, miraculously, held.

When she managed to make it to the bottom of the staircase, she found herself face-to-face with more giant rats. She waved the torch at them, and they backed off, running scared. Like most animals, they were afraid of fire. Smart little bastards; she didn't want to have to cook them alive.

She came to a room that was completely covered in cobwebs. At the center of the room, she spied a table, and several things adorned it. There was a rolled-up piece of parchment, as well as a vial of some unnamed black liquid and two unlit candles.

She collected the rolled up parchment, holding one corner awkwardly with her left hand, unrolling the scroll with her right. She could read the words on the paper, surprisingly enough,

She rolled it back up, holding it in her left hand, along with the torch. It looked useful. If she was reading it right, it would allow her to cast a fiery explosion. It didn't have all the details of the spell, but she could probably get some use out of it.

She came to a doorway that had been completely covered in cobwebs. In fact, although she'd been refusing to think about it, the whole area had been covered in cobwebs. She'd just been burning the ones that got in her way, as she did the thick webbing on the entryway.

It melted into so much blackened, charred goop.

She entered the room, shuddering slightly. It, too, was completely covered in webbing. Massive eggsacs clung to the walls. This part of the ruin clearly belonged to spiders. She began burning the eggsacs; she did not want hungry spiderlings coming after her later on. The idea was horrifying.

Something chittered overhead. She slowly, cautiously looked up.

A massive – truly, massive – spider hung clung to the ceiling. It put the ones she'd faced in Helgen to shame. Venom dripped from its mandibles, and the ground sizzled where it landed.

She froze, eyes wide, as it crawled down the wall towards her.

A Stranger in Skyrim 13

Chapter Thirteen: Lucky

In which people die horribly.

She gave the potion a moment or two to work. Slowly, she noticed an odd tingling penetrate the numbness in her left shoulder. She turned, slowly. The woman was struggling to sit up, glaring at her as the twitching slowly subsided.

She pointed at the woman with her sword, and another burst of sparks coalesced at the tip. “I don't want to kill you,” she announced tiredly. “Just … go.”

Lightning crawled towards the woman, who flinched away.

“I mean it. Get. The fuck. Away from me.”

The woman scrambled backwards, then ran like a bitch.

Okay. So.

She was still injured. That was still a thing.

She poked the man's corpse in the side with her toe glaring down at him. He was wearing heavy fur clothing, with a heavy fur cloak. He'd also bled all over the front of it. Bastard.

So yeah, injured.

She reached up with her right hand. Now that the black spots had cleared from her vision, she could think clearly, if slowly. She focused on the idea of warmth and life, of green energy suffusing the wound with light. Slowly, feeling returned to the fingertips on her left hand.

Good. Great. That was fantastic. She shook her hand out to get rid of the worst of the tingles.

Meanwhile, she was pretty sure she was freezing to death. She dragged the man's corpse, one-handed, into the tower. That done, she began the process of carefully peeling his clothing from his body, because the warm fur would do her more good in the cold than the thin robe. Actually …

She looked down, thoughtfully.

Yeah, that would work.

Dropping most of her gear, she pulled the robe up over her head, dancing from foot to foot because gods all damn but it was cold. That done, she pulled the fur clothing on, one pant leg at a time, then the nice warm shirt, then the nice warm vest, then the nice warm gauntlets that still managed to leave her fingers free. That done, she tugged the robe on over the top of the whole ensemble. Much better. The hood went back up, and she was actually pretty warm now. Finally, she fastened the heavy, fur cloak around her shoulders. It was stylish, and she knew firsthand that something like that would most likely help keep the cold out.

She reclaimed the rest of the gear, of course. There was, however, one last thing left to do. She'd ditched the longbow and arrows at Alvor's place, not figuring she was a good enough shot to make it worthwhile. A crossbow, however? Point and click? She was pretty sure she could handle that. She slung the quiver of crossbow bolts over her shoulder, then collected the weapon from the man's cold, dead hands.

She looked at the staircase leading up the tower, then decided to see what all the damn fuss was about. She swiped a coinpurse from a table just inside the doorway, then trudged up the long flight of stairs.

She found a chest at the very frigid top of the tower. Lying on top of it, she found a short-handled axe. Inside, she found a handful of gold.

She could have skipped this whole misguided endeavor and been happy.

Good to know.

She trudged back down the long flight of stairs, then corrected her route. If this wasn't an old Nord tomb, then she'd taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Or somewhere in that general vicinity, anyway. She found a side path that led left, right up the hill to her ultimate destination, which had always been the series of stone archways that marked Bleak Falls Barrow.

She didn't like the looks of it. Nor did she like the idea of killing more men, but, well, she could justify it. They would happily murder her, or worse, if she let them, just for the little coin in her backpack. They had stolen, and would steal again.

Murderers and thieves. She could make herself kill murderers and thieves.

It took her a moment or two to work the crossbow, but once she figured out how it loaded, it seemed easy enough. She held it at the ready, heading up the long staircase that led up the hill.

A man greeted her with a mace and not much else. He was within a couple of feet when she shot him in the stomach. He staggered, she punched him in the face with the crossbow, he fell to the ground, clutching his face and moaning. Easy.

A bolt whizzed past her head, she whirled around to find the archer. Another bolt caught her directly in the windpipe. She fell to her knees, clutching the wound. She heard an odd, gurgling noise emerge from her throat, and she tasted blood. The world went gray around the edges. An arrow pierced her chest from behind knocking her off her feet. She cracked her head forehead on the ground, and the world went completely dark.

She held her crossbow at the ready, heading up the stairway towards Bleak Falls Barrow. Something tickled the edges of her awareness, but she ignored it. The bandits would be tough to kill. What in the name of all the Gods had possessed her to think she could handle this alone?

A man charged down the stairs at her, mace in hand. She shot him in the stomach, and he tumbled down past her – she'd worry about him later. She walked the rest of the way up the stairs. A woman with a bow stood on her right, a man with a crossbow stood on her left. The woman fired, and she barely scampered out of the way. She dropped her own crossbow and ran as fast as she could towards the woman. The woman was drawing her bow. She ducked to the side, getting up close, too close for the bow to do any good. She put her hand to the woman's face and prayed to no one in particular.

Flesh melted as she burned the screaming woman alive.

Yep. She was going to have all kinds of nightmares if she managed to survive.

Crossbow had graduated from the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy, and the bolt sunk home into Longbow's belly. If the woman hadn't already been dead – wait, no, Longbow doubled over, sobbing. Right, she'd worry about Longbow in a moment. Right now – she whirled on Crossbow. Lightning arced between them. She didn't let the spell go until she was certain he wasn't getting back up – then she walked back towards him. Just to be totally sure, she set him on fire with her mind.

Good times. Still going to have nightmares.

She collected her crossbow from where it had fallen, shaking her head softly. These bandits must have been amateurs, if even she could handle them that easily.

That done, she looked around to ensure she was really alone, before heading up the stairs into the tomb itself, closing the door behind her as quietly as humanly possible. She'd made the practice of stealth a habit, even inside her own home; she could manage quiet.

Two people were talking ahead, a man and a woman.

She raised the crossbow to her eye, lining it up with the woman, then aiming ever so slightly up. She fired – the bolt sailed true, catching the woman off-guard. The recoil of the weapon kicked it back into her nose. Ow. That hurt. The man came to investigate. Hanging the crossbow awkwardly from her belt, she shot lightning at him from both hands until he, too, lay unmoving. He didn't seem to be breathing, but she had to make sure. There was no sense in letting her enemies live.

She set him on fire, too.

Hooray.

They had a fire (with wood for fuel, not people) ready for her. How thoughtful. She collapsed on the heavy fur-lined bedroll someone had kindly set up next to it –

– and fell backwards out of her chair, cursing loudly as she crashed to the ground.

A Stranger in Skyrim 12

Chapter Twelve: Bandits

In which she finally ditches the Nirnroot.

Walking outside, she realized the reason she hadn't seen anyone on her way out of the inn was that it was still the early hours of the morning.

Also? It was raining again.

She grumbled a little bit, then pulled the hood up over her head again.

She made her way down the massive hill that Whiterun had been built upon, noting absently that her legs ached from all the walking she'd done the day before. She sent a wave of soothing, mint-green energy down through her body, and was rewarded with a cessation of pain.

Good times.

She passed the housecarl and three guards talking in quiet tones. The men seemed to be arguing a bit – they didn't want to face off against a dragon alone, but then, no one sane would – while the housecarl assured them that they wouldn't have to. After all, their job was mostly to keep the townsfolk safe. No one expected them to take out a dragon on their own.

Why there hadn't been guards posted in Riverwood before was a mystery for the ages, she was sure.

She headed out the massive gates as the rain abated. Heat lightning still hung overhead, thunder following, and thick clouds obscured the sun as it began to peek up over the misty mountains.

The trip back to Riverwood was largely uneventful. She passed a black man who was burdened by supplies. He told her that he was on his way to Windhelm to join up with the Stormcloaks. She shook her head as she passed him. She didn't know which side to support in the war – she simply did not have enough information to make a decision – but from what she could tell, the Stormcloaks were the instigators, here. She wasn't sure she wanted to pick the side that started the fight.

The stupid plant was still making noise in her backpack, though the noise had grown faint enough she was sure she was the only one who could hear it. She decided she'd have to get rid of it – maybe it was valuable to someone?

So, passing a couple of children who were playing tag, she headed towards the building that proclaimed itself to be the “Riverwood Trader.” Its sign was a set of scales.

“Well, one of us has to do something!” A woman's voice announced as she pushed open the door.

The man behind the counter placed both hands on it, leaning forward. “I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!”

“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!” The woman sounded upset.

“We are done talking about this.” His gaze slid towards Mariah. “Oh – ahem – a customer. Sorry you had to hear that ...”

She smiled. “It's all right. What were you two arguing about, if I may?” She walked up to the counter.

“Oh, we had a bit of a – ah – a break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing.” He sighed. “It was an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw.”

She considered. “If I help you get that claw back, would there be money in it for me?” Sure, she had a mission to complete, but she had also discovered a powerful need to eat, drink, and sleep. Strange how those things became a priority when they were no longer a sure bet.

“I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment,” he said. “It's yours if you bring my claw back.”

She nodded. “All right, I'm in.”

“Now if you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town.” Oh, wasn't that convenient.  

The woman folded her arms, sounding unimpressed. “So this is your plan, Lucan?”

“Yes,” he said smugly. “So now you don't have to go, do you?”

She looked Mariah over, appraisingly. “Well, I think your new helper here needs a guide.”

“Wh – no I – oh, by the Eight, fine, but only to the edge of town!”

The woman sighed, heading for the door.

“Only to the edge of town, you hear me?”

The woman turned back, one hand on her hip, the other on the doorknob. “I heard you.”

“Good.”

Mariah decided she should probably speak up about the plant now, or forever hold her peace. “Before I go – I did want to do a little business. You see, I found this plant ….”

“A plant, hm? Do you know what kind?”

She shook her head. “I was actually kind of hoping you could tell me.” She shifted her backpack around, setting it on the counter. She produced the slightly-crushed plant from the bag. It still glowed, ever so faintly, and the chiming was somewhat louder outside of her backpack.

“That's a Nirnroot,” he said. “Yes – I could part with a few gold for that.” He counted out a small handful of gold pieces, pushed them towards her. She took them, handing over the plant. “Tell you what, you find any other interesting herbs, bring them to me. I'll give you a fair price.”

She smiled brightly. “Thanks. I'm new to Skyrim, and I don't really have a lot of money.”

“Ah, well. You seem like a good kid, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Now shoo, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you.”

Nodding at him, she headed out of the shop. She decided not to mention that she was already headed that way for her own reasons. Why ruin a good thing? As far as he was concerned, she was delving into a dangerous ruin to fight off bandits – why had Farengar not mentioned the bandits? – just for his claw.

She wouldn't spoil that for him.

“We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow. You can see it from here, though – it's the mountain just over the buildings.” She began walking towards the bridge. “Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else!” Trolls? Well, all trolls are different. Maybe they'd be friendly, with Jamaican accents and blue-green skin? She could only hope for such luck.

The woman sounded thoughtful as she continued speaking, heedless of Mariah's odd train of thought. “I wonder why they only stole my brother's golden claw. I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop worth just as much coin.”

“Where did he get the claw from, anyway?”

She looked back at Mariah. “Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it. He's a tricky one.”

Good times.

“This is the bridge out of town,” she said, gesturing across it. “The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child ….”

Mariah smiled at her. “Your brother loves you, it sounds like.”

“Oh, sure, but it gets to be so tiresome.” She shook her head. “Do you have any siblings?”

Mariah looked off into the distance, towards her goal. “You know, I've always wanted a brother or a sister. Never got my wish though. Mom hasn't exactly had any luck in the romance department, not that she's been looking overly hard.”

“Oh – what happened to your father?”

She scowled slightly, shaking her head. “The bastard left her before I was born. Said she was sleeping around, when she wasn't, wouldn't ever. See, he claimed he was sterile, only he wasn't.”

“That's so sad!”

Mariah looked over at the woman. “Eh, it is what it is. Anyway, Mom's always been good enough for me. I don't need a man in my life, and so far I haven't met a single man who was good enough for her.”

“Oh … I see. Well, I should be getting back.” Apparently, she didn't really have a response for that.

Well, whatever. She waved slightly, then headed across the bridge.

The path to the left wasn't exactly well-maintained, not like the cobbled street was. She found herself climbing an almost vertical slope. She was quite tempted to climb up on hands and knees, but that wouldn't exactly be the best way to introduce herself to a bandit. “Hi, can you wait for me to get back up on my feet before you shoot me? Thanks.” She laughed quietly at herself – but she decided to draw her sword anyway, just in case.

So far, she hadn't reached the part that could actually be called a mountain, just a tall hill. As she ascended it, she noticed snow on the ground, and realized her hands, at least, were getting cold. She flexed her fingers, summoning flame in them.

That warmed them up nicely. She spotted a tower on the left. That didn't look bleak, falls, or barrow, but she figured it couldn't hurt to check it out. Why not?

So she did, only the tower was occupied.

A sentry stood by a tall, snowy tree. The woman drew a weapon and a large shield as she approached.

She held her hands up. “What is this place?” She asked, conversationally.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend.” The woman replied. “Turn around, and maybe we'll let you live.”

She looked around. “We?”

An arrow punched through her shoulder, answering that question. She looked down at it, shock numbing the pain.

The woman smiled, only it wasn't a good smile. She lunged forward, bringing her club down where Mariah was, only Mariah had decided that was a good moment to stumble backwards.

She'd been shot.

That was … that was new.

Someone was trying to kill her.

That wasn't as new as it should have been.

She shifted, turning so the woman was between her and the tower. The archer wouldn't be able to get a clear shot at her, she hoped. She tried to move her left arm, but it was useless. The arm hung like so much dead weight. Magic surged through her veins, and lightning shot up the sword, engulfing the woman. The bandit woman shuddered, finding herself unable to move for the electricity coursing through her. She fell to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

Mariah stepped over her, looking for the person who'd shot her. The wound throbbed with her heartbeat, her vision was going gray around the edges.

She spotted the man, stalking towards him. He was wielding a crossbow, not a normal bow. It took him a moment to load the next bolt, and during that time, she managed to make it up to him. She brought her sword up, right as he shot again. This one went a little wide, grazing her left arm. Too bad for him.

She pointed at him, her sword at his throat. Lightning poured from the tip of the weapon, and he, too, fell down in a twitching mass of flesh. She carved his throat open, the movements mechanical.

She was cold. The bandits had dressed warmly enough; she had not.

She was cold, and her blood was oozing from her wounds – she reached up, yanking at the bolt. She gasped as a fresh wave of pain rolled through her. It didn't come out easily. She groaned, closing her eyes as she tugged at it again. A third yank that drove her to her knees finally ripped the bolt free. Blood spurted all over the snow.

She couldn't focus clearly enough to picture the green light of healing, but then, she realized she didn't have to. She slid the backpack off her shoulders again, wincing as it slid down her left arm.

She fumbled, one-handed, at the strap that held the pack closed, black spots forming over her eyes. She found a vial filled with reddish liquid. Red was good, right?

Well, if it wasn't, she'd just keep trying until she found one that worked, or she died horribly.

One or the other.

She pulled the cork out with her teeth, spat it out onto the ground, and downed the contents in one swallow.

And nothing happened.

A Stranger in Skyrim 11

Chapter Eleven: Workhorse

In which she doesn't get to quit her day job.

“Come on in,” a woman called, as Lucia led her into the Bannered Mare.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, as Lucia walked ahead. The girl disappeared into a side room, humming quietly to herself.

The place was cozy, lit and warmed by a large, open firepit in the middle. Patrons sat around the fire, or at barstools by the bar, or at the various tables. She walked up to the bar. “How much does it cost to rent a room?”

“A room? Well, I have one available. One hundred Septims for a night.”

She balked a little. Okay, she had guessed a hundred gold wouldn't equal much, but still … “And how much for a meal?”

“Well, I've put some stew on. It'll be about forty Septims for a bowl.”

That … that was her entire budget. She winced slightly, sighed. Reluctantly, she shrugged her backpack off, producing the coinpurse. She handed over the entire thing, minus a whopping nine gold pieces.

Ouch.

“I'll show you to your room. Right this way.” The woman walked away from the counter, headed toward the back of the building, and she found herself facing her first moral dilemma. The counter was completely unguarded, no one was looking, she could easily take whatever she wanted, provided she could pocket it fast enough.

But no. She wasn't any kind of criminal, really. She turned to follow Hulda.

They passed through the kitchen and up a narrow stairway, to a small room that was decorated with various wall hangings. It was lit with a small plateful of candles; they provided just enough light to see by. The woman gestured for her to enter the room. “I'll bring the soup up when it's ready, then … ?”

“That'll be great.” She smiled at the innkeeper, feeling exhausted.

Despite how tired she was, she still stayed up an hour or two, devouring the book about fire magic as quickly as she'd studied the book on lightning. Somewhere in there, Hulda brought up the soup, and sometime after that, she ate the soup, but she honestly couldn't have commented on its flavor; she was completely enthralled with her reading.

When she was sure she'd be able to work the spell, even going so far as to conjure tiny flamelets in the palm of her hand, she set the book aside and blew out the candles.

Her head hit the pillow …

… and she felt her mind grind to a halt. She was staring at her computer screen, her mouth open. She had been in the middle of a sentence, she knew she had, but she didn't know what she was saying. Frantically, she clicked through the customer's account, trying to figure out what exactly they'd been doing. She usually took her notes after the call, and that habit did not help her now.

She stumbled awkwardly through the rest of the call, then went to break half an hour early. She hid in the bathroom, holding her head in her hands.

This, she decided, was all kinds of not fair.

Bad enough she'd been dropped into another world, with another language, foreign customs, strange people, and magic, but no, she still got to keep her day job, too.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Her short breakdown done, she returned to her desk sitting heavily. She stared at the ceiling for a little bit, then glanced down at the phone's clock.

Back to work.

She answered a handful of calls, doing her best to help her customers. She was good at what she did, and what she did was talk to angry people about their money. It was easy for her; talking to people always had been. It was actually almost a relief to be able to do something so utterly normal. She got to talk about the weather, how their kids were doing, how their lives were going, and she could just completely ignore her own slipping sanity.

Most importantly, she decided, nobody really expected her to go die for them.

That was certainly a plus.

She made it through the day, making small talk with her coworkers between calls. When lunchtime came around, she got up again, headed over to her mom's desk, and gave her a hug. She didn't do that enough, she decided. It was comforting to be able to do so.

Then, she ate her lunch, then, she returned to her desk.

For medical reasons, she had been limited to six hour days for a while now, and although she had been so sure she was getting better, she wasn't sure she was ready to return to a forty-hour work week yet, especially not now that she was finally losing her sanity completely. In practical terms, her reduced hours meant that she got out of work a couple of hours after lunch, with no final break.

This was fine with her.

She kept waiting for the return trip, and that put her on edge for the rest of the night. She sat down to play more Vampire, and nothing happened. She finished up the creepy-ass haunted hotel quest, and nothing happened. She laid down to sleep, and nothing happened.

Her hand drove the sword up and into the man's back, and oh, gods, his blood was all over her arms. She dropped her weapon, and he flopped to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. She smelled blood and worse. As she froze, another man cut her in half.

But she felt no pain.

A pair of wolves backed her into the cliff face, and she froze.

One wolf pinned her to the ground, ripping her throat out, while the other tore her robe open, its teeth ripping into her stomach. She didn't feel a thing. Staring glassy eyed off into the distance, all she could hear was the cheerful burbling of the nearby river.

The headsman's axe went up; the headsman's axe came down. Her head fell free of her body, and the world spun around as she landed on the ground beside the box. All around, she saw flames and carnage, but she could do nothing about it, because her body was over there.

She fell from the tower, and her legs snapped like little twigs when she landed on the hard ground below. She could see bone poking from her thigh, her shin. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She tried to scream for help, but all that escaped her was a low moan of pain. Eventually, she succumbed, dying in a pool of her own blood as the whole world went dark.

The dragon was terrifying. It's face alone took up her entire field of view; she could see nothing but black scales, black horns, and the malevolent red eyes that stared her down.

Found you.

She shot awake, tumbling awkwardly out of the bed. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Everything was dark, though, and the floor was a woven rug over hardwood flooring. That suggested not her room.

Dammit.

She heard voices downstairs, but she couldn't make out what any of them were saying, nor did she care to. She curled up on the floor.

What the hell kind of dream was that, even?

Generally, she dreamed of grand adventures and saving the world. Her worst nightmares generally involved being naked in awkward places, and that was only uncomfortable, not … not whatever the hell that had been.

A warning.

That was what it was. What would happen if she did nothing, what would happen if she failed.

Cheery.

The last face though … the dragon.

That? That was her enemy.

She shook her head, almost laughing at herself. Like she was going to save the world from a dragon. Like there was any way in hell she could even begin to fight a dragon!

Ha.

She'd leave that to the guards and soldiers. All she had to do was go fetch a tablet from a tomb. She'd keep her eyes open, avoid any traps, and get rewarded handsomely for her troubles.

Hopefully, “handsomely” would cover more than a single night's stay at the inn!

She got up, smoothing out the oddly wrinkle-proof robe. She pulled her shoes back on, wriggling her toes in them. Then, she headed downstairs.

Her stomach growled at her, but she couldn't do much about that. She headed downstairs to the inn proper, streeeetching and yawning sleepily. She noted that she back room was largely unguarded. She suspected no one would even notice if she stole pretty much anything for … quite a while. Looking around guiltily, she swiped some kind of sweet roll with icing on top.

It wasn't like anyone would miss it, she was sure. And after she'd gotten gouged by the innkeeper for basically her entire budget, she didn't feel guilty in the slightest.

Well, maybe she felt a little guilty.

The roll probably wouldn't do her diet any good.

A Stranger in Skyrim 10

Chapter Ten: Jarl Balgruuf

In which an adventuring career is started by accident.

The man was blond. He wore a circlet that, taken together with his rich, yet practical clothing, served as a reminder of his power. He sat in a rather plain chair, carved with simple decorations; if she hadn't known he was the Jarl, and if it had occupied any other space than the raised dais it rested upon, she might not have guessed it to be a small throne.

The dark-skinned elf spoke a handful of words to the Jarl. He sat up straighter, his eyes fixing on Mariah. Once again, she felt small.

His voice, she imagined, would carry throughout his throne room. She knew he was addressing her directly, although she herself had lost the ability to look up at him. “So,” he began, “you were at Helgen? You saw this ... dragon … with your own eyes?”

“The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak for his treason,” she said cautiously, peeking up at him. A part of her wished suddenly that she had bangs to hide her face. She left out the part where she had actually been next for the block; he didn't need to know that, and it wouldn't help her standing. “Then, the dragon attacked. It destroyed the whole town in minutes, at most.”

He shook his head. “Hnh. I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this.” He turned his attention to the man on his right, then. “What do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?” Having seen the walls herself, Mariah knew that she wouldn't trust in their protection.

“My lord,” the 'housecarl' (whatever that was) began, “we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains ….”

The fancy-robed man on the Balgruuf's right protested this course of action in a rather whiny tone. “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not – ”

“Enough!” the Jarl snapped. “I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” He turned his attention to the elf. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

She put her hand to her chest in an odd sort of salute. “Yes, my Jarl.” The elf walked off, then, presumably to attend to that detail.

“If you'll excuse me,” Proventus said with some resignation, “I'll return to my duties.”

The Jarl returned his attention to the man. “That would be best.” Proventus, too, went on his way.

“Well done,” the Jarl said, and she felt his eyes on her again. She glanced up, to see him smiling at her. The smile made him look surprisingly handsome. “You sought me out, on your own initiative.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to protest that she was only following directions. He waved his hand. “You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it.” He beckoned a servant over, murmuring a couple of words to the man, who trotted off promptly. “There must be something suitable for a wizard in my armory; I've instructed him to find something for you. A gift, for your service.”

The Jarl seemed to be considering something, then. She waited; whatever it was, he'd get to it, or not, in his own time. “There is another thing you could do for me,” he said, finally. “I believe it will be … suitable … for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” He stood, then. “Come.” He began walking, so she followed. “Let us find my court wizard, Farengar. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and rumors of dragons.”

He led her to a room just off the side of the throne room. It smelled a bit of lavender, and something else she couldn't identify. Inside, a hooded, robed man was laboring over a circular table with various glass beakers and vials that bubbled with greenish goop.

“Farengar,” the Jarl began. “I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details.”

“Of course, Jarl Balgruuf,” the man replied. “She looks … capable, at least.”

The Jarl turned his attention to her once more. “Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.” Well hell. So now she was some kind of adventurer, apparently. At least, as far as the Jarl of Whiterun was concerned; who was she to argue? Especially since, while she stood there in confusion, he began to walk off, no doubt headed back to his own duties.

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” Farengar asked, dragging her attention back to him. “Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.” He tapped his chin, thoughtfully, as he looked her over. “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may, or may not, actually be there.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Okay, I'll bite. What does this tablet have to do with dragons?”

“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?” He smiled warmly at her, then continued. “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities.” He shook his head, disgusted. “One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside of his experience as impossible. I began to search for information about dragons. Where had they gone, all those years ago? And, where were they coming from now?”

“And this tablet has something to do with the dragons?”

He nodded. “Right. I learned of this stone tablet, a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. It's supposed to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. So, what I need for you to do, is to go to Bleak Falls Barrow. Once there, I want you to find the Dragonstone, no doubt interred in the main chamber, and bring it back to me. Simplicity itself.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Bleak Falls Barrow?” Since it was supposed to be a dangerous ruin, she thought it would be best to be forewarned.

Another nod. “It's an old tomb, built by the ancient nords. They were master craftsmen. Apparently, many of the traps that protect their burial sites remain functional to this day. Did you need directions?”

“I'm sure someone in Riverwood can point me in the right direction.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I'm curious, though. How do you know this stone tablet is in Bleak Falls Barrow?”

He looked slightly guilty, muttering. “Well, must preserve some professional secrets, mustn't we? I have my sources. Reliable sources.”

She looked him over. He was supposed to be the court wizard, right? He'd know the answer to her biggest question, she was sure. “Where can I learn more about magic?”

“A prospective student, are you?” He took in the robe she wore, apparently seeing it for the first time. “Well, I'm afraid I'm not much good at teaching. You should try your luck at the college of Winterhold.”

“Okay … Where is Winterhold, from here?”

He pointed to the map that took up a large chunk of his study. “It's far to the northeast. If you're headed up that way, pack some warm clothing. The cold has been known to kill people.”

“Do you have any old spellbooks, maybe? I just want to learn.”

He looked at her, thoughtfully. “Well, I have a bit of a library. I'd be willing to part with some choice spellbooks, if you have the coin to cover their cost.”

She bit her lip. “I don't think … I've only got a hundred or so gold pieces.”

“Ah. Well … I do have one book you could have. I'm not going to get any more use out of it, you might as well take it. It's pretty basic; just a cantrip to call fire, really.” She looked up at him, hopefully. “Yes, I could part with that for no charge.”

She smiled brightly up at him, and he ducked his head, looking rather embarrassed. He shuffled off into a side room, returning with a dog-eared book with a picture of a flaming hand on the front.

“Here you go.”

She took it in both hands, looking down at it in wonder. Hugging it to her chest, she looked up at him again. “Thank you.”

“Now, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you. The Jarl is not a patient man.”

She headed out of Dragonsreach then, noting absently that the downhill was significantly easier than the uphill. Humming to herself, she opened one of the big doors, and walked out into the cool night air.

She all but skipped down the hill, finding herself at the big tree again. The girl was there, waiting. “You came!” She smiled brightly. “I didn't think you would, but you came back!”

“Well, I promised, didn't I?” She smiled, in return. “So, what's your name, anyway?”

“Lucia, ma'am.”

She grinned softly. “Lucia Ma'am, hm? That's an odd last name you've got there.”

The girl giggled, in return.

“No, but seriously, don't call me 'ma'am.' It makes me feel old.” She continued to smile.

Lucia tilted her head to the side. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-two. I'll be twenty-three in August.” Assuming, of course, that she lived until August, anyway. She sighed softly.

The girl blinked, looking at her oddly. “August?”

“... Right. Just … sometime in the summer.” She shook her head. Even the months were different? Really? And whatever power let her talk Skyrim-ish, didn't conveniently translate her meaning? Bah.

Lucia nodded. “Okay. So … what's your name?”

“Mariah.”

She smiled again. “That's a pretty name.”

“People seem to think so, yes. They call the wind Mariah, did you know that?” Technically, that was a 'fact' made up by a songwriter, as near as she could tell, but really, who was going to tell a little girl from Skyrim that an American songwriter lied to make his song pretty?

The girl sat back down on the bench, kicking her feet a little. “Really? Who calls it that?”

“People do. Back where I'm from, I mean.”

She tilted her head to the other side. “Where are you from?”

“It's called America,” she explained. “You won't have heard of it.

The girl looked thoughtful. “Okay.”

She found herself yawning – it had been an eventful day! – and looked down at the girl. “Do you know where I can sleep for the night?”

“That's easy. There's a big inn called the Bannered Mare down a ways from here. Miss Hulda lets me sleep by the fire, sometimes. She's really nice.”

Another yawn, she covered her mouth with her free hand. “Show me?”

The girl stood, taking her hand, and together, they walked to the inn.