Tyranny of the Night

[Doozerpindan]

*      *      *

"I can see it in your eyes. You have seen the Land of the Gods, and returned. Does this mean... It is done? Is Alduin truly defeated?"

"Yes. I went to Sovngarde and killed Alduin there."

"At last. It is over. Perhaps it was all worth it, in the end. You've shown yourself mighty, both in Voice and deed. In order to defeat Alduin, you have gained mastery of dreadful weapons. Now it is up to you to decide what to do with your power and skill. Will you be a hero whose name is remembered in song throughout the ages? Or will your name be a curse to future generations? Or will you merely fade from history, unremembered?"

*      *      *

Castle Volkihar

17th Last Seed 4e211

Aeyalla of Clan Volkihar, leader of Clan Volkihar, Slayer of the World Eater, Destroyer of Prophecy, Butcher of the Dawnguard, Slayer of the First Dragonborn, and fabled Dragon Queen, sat lazily upon her throne, her beloved Serana by her side. Today marked ten years since she had arrived in Skyrim, ten years since she had discovered her destiny and claimed it with all the force she could muster. Since then, her new Clan had achieved greatness. The dwindling Volkihar clan, numbering less than a dozen, now had over a hundred loyal members, followers who had chosen everlasting life and limitless power in exchange for eternal servitude. Castle Volkihar, fully rebuilt and standing proud off the coast of Northern Skyrim, remained the seat of power for this ancient clan, and, to the people of Skyrim themselves, an ugly blemish on the land.

The vampires prepared celebrations, bringing out the homeless, the destitute, the unwanted. easy prey that would not be missed. Tonight the vampires would truly feast, tonight the Great Hall of Castle Volkihar would run red with the fresh blood of innocents.

Even Valerica, who spent most of her time either in her laboratory of her garden, was in attendance. She stood proudly by her daughters side, back straight and chin uplifted as she gazed out over the crowd, there was something tender, almost motherly in her gaze as she watched over the festivities. The ancient Vampiress rarely ever spoke, choosing to keep her own council, but tonight, she chatted happily with both her daughter and Aeyalla as they discussed the days festivities.

*      *      *

Solitude

High Queen Elisef sat proudly upon her throne, awaiting the days petitioners, he Councillors and advisers by her side, moving only to allow the occasional servant or attendant to pass by on their way to this or that room of the keep. Underneath her calm facade, she was a mix of emotions. The excitement for the nights celebrations mixed with the sorrow of what today represented.

Ten years ago to the day, Helgen had been utterly destroyed as Alduin himself returned, the feared World Eater and tyrannical leader of all Dragon-kind. While Alduin had eventually been slain, Skyrim itself still bore the scars of those terrible events. Alduin, not content to mere reduce Helgen to rubble and kill almost everybody in the town, had used dark and powerful magicks to return his kind to life, an attempt to return Skyrim back to the days of old, when Dragons had ruled and all Nord's had been but slaves to their savage whims and insatiable apetites. There wewre even reports that the ancient undead Dragon Priests had also risen, but none who had gone in search of them had ever returned.

Akatosh himself had sent a hero, however, the mighty Dragonborn, presumed last of her kind, and the woman who would eventually slay the foul beast and end his vile machinations once and for all.

It was not simply the time of Alduins return, however. other terrible events had taken place both during and after the war with the Dragons. The Emperor, leader of the Imperial army, had been slain aboard his boat by the Dark Brotherhood, an ancient organisation claimed to have been destroyed by the Emperors right-hand man, a man now believed to have been in league with the Brotherhood all along. None had survived the slaughter, the boat was filled with the bloody remains of its crew, and the trail of carnage painted a horrifying picture indeed. The Brotherhood was far, far from destroyed, and the fabled Night Mother had seemingly returned to lead her children once again.

The Thieves Guild was yet another problem, once relegated to the crime-filled city of Riften, their influence could be felt across the land once more. There were even reports that Riften's new Jarless, Maven Black-briar, supported and led the Thieves Guild in Riften, but no proof of these claims had ever been found.

And then, of course, there was the Civil War, led by the petulant upstart, Ulfric Stormcloak, the would-be revolutionary who had used old law to slay the High King in cold blood, when he challenged the younger and much less skilled man to a battle both knew he could not win. Elisef still mourned the death of her husband even now, and the eventual fall of Ulfric and his rebellious uprising had done nothing to lessen the bitter sting of loss she felt.

Curiously, after Ulfric's death, both his corpse and his most loyal followers had disappeared. None had heard from them since, but Elisef knew .they were planning something.

After Alduin's defeat, and the end of the Civil War, there had been a sudden rush of vampire attacks all across the land as the ancient and once-feared Volkihar plan attempted to bring about some bizarre prophecy, a plan to blot out the sun itself. The Dragonborn had ended Harkons schemes and presumably sent the vampires back into hiding, which was at least one thing to be happy for. Nobody wanted a return to the days after Alduins disappearance, when ther Volkihar clan had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to claim dominace over the still beleaguered people. His plans had failed them, as well, though none could say what had sent the vampires into hiding the first time.

And then there was Miraak, the first Dragonborn, servant of the daedra, and one of the most feared and revered names in Nordic history. Apparently, he had tried to return to the world of the living, oinly to clash with Aeyalla, the last of the Dragonborn. It is said that both warriors fell in a cataclysmioc final battle, for no bodies were found, and none has heard from them since.

There had been concerning reports lately, however, that a large amount of people had been going missing all over the land, and vampire attacks were seemingly once again on the rise. On top of that, there had been occasional reports that new Dragon Priests were rising, laying claims to ancient Nordic ruins and burial grounds, though for what purpose none could say.

In response to these alarming rumours and reports, she had seen about having flyers put around the great city of Solitude, and all the other towns and domains that fell under her purview. Not asking for news on the Dragonborn, for ten years had gone by since any confirmed sightings of her, but instead asking for new heroes, new champions, to step forth. The world was heading toward another major conflict, Elisef could feel it, the other Jarl's and Jarlessa's could also sense the change upon the wind. War was coming once more.

The land and its people had barely begun to recover from the wounds of old conflicts, and the threat of more battles to come caused the High Queen great concern. She hoped people would heed her call, she hoped that there would be people brave enough to defend this land and its people from whatever threats lay beyond the horizon. Because she feared that, if nobody came forward to defend the land, then Skyrim and all its people, perhaps all of Tamriel itself, was in grave danger.

[Former Fiend]

Harkanon let out a sigh that was followed by a growl as his sensitive ears were assaulted by the sound of the cawing of gulls. That perhaps could be ignored, but the ringing of bells and the bustling of sailors upon deck was another matter, entirely. Heavy foot falls moving bow & stern, port & starboard, creaking the planks and shouting orders & answers and cries of 'Land ho!' - that was another matter entirely.

It had been so much nicer a few hours ago when the only sound had been that of the waves slapping against the side of the ship to lull him to sleep. Sadly, all good things come to an end, and too often, sooner rather than later.

The large orsimer pushed himself up slowly so as not to aggravate the nascent headache that was lingering just at the edge of feeling. He was careful to climb out of the cramped bed; not cramped because of it's size, it would have been luxurious for a single person and still quite comfortable for two occupants. But the three that shared it had filled it to it's limits, and Harkanon found him carefully untangling himself from the limbs of his bedmates, a process that was pushing his patience to it's limits.

Finally he freed himself and stood up to his feet, careful to lift an arm above his head to catch the support beam before he stood straight up into it, a mistake he had made the first two nights he had spent in this cabin. Despite what various men & mer thought, orcs were no beasts & unlike khajiit, held no special capacity for seeing in the dark. And this particular cabin was pitch black, the shutters closed on it's windows and the lamps burnt out hours ago.

But sight or no sight, Harkanon had familiarized himself enough with this place over the last week that he could guide himself by the support beam on the ceiling, over to the wall at the cabin door where the oil lamp was. Even as the ship rocked on the water, he fumbled a bit in the dark, but managed to strike the alchemical stick against the wall & ignite a small flame, casting a faint, dancing light over his naked form.

That gentle orange light expanded to fill the cabin as he lit the oil lamp & the glow spread, his gaze moving to the bed and the dunmer couple shifted in their sleep, the woman instinctually moving closer to her husband for warmth, filling the empty space Harkanon had left when he got out of bed. His hand gripped at the support beam again as the ship rocked, shaking his head that the two were still sound asleep.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He didn't get to sleep deeply & soundly anymore. It took so precious little to wake him. Just the hustling & bustling of a crew & the cawing of birds that even these two elves likely couldn't hear.

Harkanon was torn from the bitter thought by a reminder of the pain his head was promising to succumb to, his hangover now throbbing. His strong arm still holding him steady by the frame of the ship, he took two over to the chair & desk in the corner of the small cabin and sat down, and then leaned down in his seat, reaching to the floor. He came up slowly with a mostly empty bottle of sujamma in hand, and leaned back to drink down a few mouth fulls. Hair of the dog, after all.

He cracked himself up sometimes.

Setting the bottle down, Harkanon wiped the trailing streams of the beverage from his face and beard and grabbed his trousers, sliding them onto his legs and pulling them up completely as he stood up. Now that his mind cleared a bit, he took note of how surprisingly warm it was in the cabin. Not warm, necessarily, but not cold. Not for him, at least, with his bulk.

He shouldn't have been surprised, he knew. He had heard the crew shout; 'land ho', they said. If the ship was in sight of land, that meant they were nearing Solitude. And the waters around Solitude were warm, as Haafingar was a temperate hold. Despite being the northern most city on the continent, the waters here still carried some remnant of the heat from the Al'Akir desert with them – especially in the heat of summer – and wouldn't become truly frigid until reaching Hjaalmarch & the Pale beyond.

The thought struck Harkanon, and that warmth called to him. The Al'Akir, Hammerfell, was his eventual destination. But he wasn't quite halfway there yet, and this was as far as this ship would take him.

Half an hour later, Harkanon gro'Hraag stepped out onto the deck of The Ashen Sail, dressed in his full suit of heavy stalhrim armor, a sword, axe, and dagger of the same hanging from his belt while a greatsword was strapped to his back. He had boarded this vessel a week ago in Raven Rock. In the time since departing from Solsteim he had hardly seen the sun, having spent most of his time below, and not only for the pleasure of the company, and not just because he was afraid that the captain would try and put him to labor if he caught him outside his cabin. He wasn't much of a swimmer, and even out of this armor didn't care for the thought of falling overboard.

But that was when they had been on the open ocean of the freezing waters of the Sea of Ghosts. Here, in the calm waters of the bay, in sight of the great arch of the city, he moved across the deck with a bit more comfort. Though perhaps still a little uneasy from too much sujamma. Still, hang-over or no, he wanted to take the time to admire the city built on a bridge of stone – no matter how many times he saw it, it never failed to amaze as the ship sailed beneath that arch and under the city itself on it's way to the docks.

Breath taking sights aside, Harkanon breathed a sigh of relief when the Ashen Sail finally docked and he stepped onto the pier. He'd breath even easier when he had solid stone beneath his feet. He knew he should ask around the other ships to see if any were bound for Hammerfell, but that could wait until later in the day. Perhaps even tomorrow. Solitude was, after all, the busiest port in Skyrim; ships to most places would be in and out frequently. Right now he needed something more than an assurance of passage; he needed food, preferably fresh from a farm instead of a ship's larder, that preferably hadn't been grown in ash, and a few hours with solid, dry land beneath his feet.

He walked along the docks of Solitude's harbor, his ice-armor shimmering in the morning sun, reflecting the light away from his eyes, for which he was grateful. Normally he'd be whistling a tune, if not singing aloud as he walked. Normally he wasn't so hung over. A hang over that wasn't being helped by the sounds and smells of the docks, so strong & vivid that they threatened to be overpowering.

Dozens if not hundreds of people were coming & going, hauling cargo onto or off of the dozens of ships, galleys, long boats, and smaller craft crammed into the bay. Clerks and inspectors, both in service to the Jarl & the East Empire Company, scurried about like rats, checking crates and questioning captains, levying fees & taxes & tariffs – both official & unofficial – to fill the coffers of Crown, Company, and their own coin purses.

More than a few of those coins ended up being extorted from Harkanon's own purse. Entrance & travel fees, they called them. Some might have even been telling the truth.

From those who saw him, Harkanon was given a wide berth. He was already a large, intimidating figure, even for an orc. For those who recognized stalhrim when they saw it, that he was wearing armor than many a nord would consider mythical, made him even more so. Not that all the looks he got were those of respect; for everyone who admired the sight of stalhrim armor, there were two more nords who's faces distorted in anger at the sight of an outsider – and a filthy orc, at that – wearing something sacred to the nordic people. Not that any of them were willing to say anything about it, though.

Of course, not everyone saw Harkanon coming, despite his size. Many, even most, were just too busy, caught up in their work & focused on whatever task they had been assigned. Further testing the orc's patience was his need to push & squeeze through the crowd, finding the flow of people's comings and goings, and dancing around obstacles he couldn't force his way through on these all too narrow docks, slick with water and spilled wine & fish flopping out of fishermen's nets. Never before had he so wished for the power of the Voice so that he could just send these dockworkers & money collectors & fishmongers flying out of his path.

Though that would probably make his headache worse. As it was, just hearing the shouting and heavy foot falls and the stench of fish and the tide were already playing his senses as a wardrummer played his instrument. Just here on this dock he was crowded around more people at one time than he had been in a year; as busy as Raven Rock had become since the mines began thriving again, it was still a small frontier settlement compared to Solitude's grandeur.

Eventually he made it passed the East Empire Company's warehouse and started on the steps that lead up the hill towards the city. As he ascended, foot traffic thinned, though was still considerable. Most people due for the docks had already made it there for the day, so most were going the same way he was; passengers heading to the city, or laborers hauling up cargo.

Upon reaching the top of the first flight of steps, he glanced down at the Ashen Sails one last time; it was only now that the pair of dunmer he had spent much of the voyage sharing a bed with. For all of that, he hadn't left them with any parting words, nor they to him. It had been a dalliance to pass the time on what would have otherwise been an incredibly dull voyage; the two likely wouldn't spare him a second look now that they were back in civilization and not on some far-flung island or hidden away from sight below a ship's deck.

Shaking his head of the thought, Harkanon continued his ascent. He smiled, for the first time that day, he was fairly sure, when one of his foot steps sounded not with the creaking of a wooden plank but the hard thud of worked stone, and he found himself on the paved path up to the city gates.

Once inside the city, Harkanon found the assault on his senses continued. Solitude was one of Skyrim's richest cities due to it's port and importance as the capital, but it was far from the largest, confined to the great stone arch as it was. But it was still densely populated, as many people as possible packed into such a narrow, confined space. He had been so long on the frontier & in the wilderness that it was more than a bit of a shock to the system to be so surrounded. Like going from the heat of Elswyr to jumping into a frozen lake.

Despite the sounds of the city filling his ears, one particular conversation caught his attention as he passed by a pair of guards wearing the red sash and carrying the wolf-faced shields of Solitude.

“I heard it all last night while out on patrol!” one guard exclaimed to his partner, “Howling! I'm telling you, those werewolf tales are true!”

“Ten years!” the second guard said, exasperated. “Ten years you've been going on about this! Vampire attacks plague the land & the only thing you go on about is werewolves every time you hear a dog howl in the night!”

“But I'm telling you-” the first guard started to say before being cut off.

“Have you even looked at what's on your shield?” His partner continued to rant. “A wolf! There's wolves in the forest, you idiot! That's all you heard, and that's all you've heard for ten damn years! I don't ever want to hear it again!”

“But I- Wait.” The first guard cut himself off this time. “You there! Stop!”

Harkanon heard the command and heard that it was being sent in his direction. His first instinct was to look around for it's target, be it a pick-pocket or some such, but he didn't see anyone obvious. Which lead to the annoying possibility that it could be directed at him. Something he hoped could be dismissed out of hand; he'd gotten this far without being harassed by the law just for being an armed orc, after all.

“You there, orc! I said stop!”

Harkanon stopped and let out a long, heavy sigh. He hadn't seen any other orcs on the street thus far; there weren't that many in this part of Skyrim. So that was definitely directed at him. He turned around to see the pair of guards approaching, their faces hidden behind those conical helms nordic guards loved so much. Trying to sound as calm and reasonable as he could muster given his frayed patience and throbbing skull, he asked, “Is there a problem?”

“Your armor; is it truly made of enchanted ice? Stalhrim?” The first guard, the one obsessed with lycanthropes, asked.

“It is, yes.” Harkanon answered. “As are my weapons.”

“Where did you obtain such treasures?” The second guard asked. “I've always heard Stalhrim can only be found on Solstiem.”

“That's where I found the materials, yes. Crafted it all myself.” Despite the pain he was in and the frustration he felt on being held up by these buffoons, Harkanon couldn't help his lips curling with pride at his work.

“I find your wolfish gr-” the first guard started to say something before being jabbed in the arm by his partner's elbow.

“Don't say it. Don't fucking say it.” The second guard said, and even through that helm, his annoyance was obvious before he turned back to Harkanon. “Sorry about that. He says that to everyone with a toothy smirk. Anyway, if you crafted this armor and these weapons yourself, you must be a great smith! Probably a great warrior, too.”

“Usually don't care for boasting but I can hold my own.” Harkanon answered, hoping this would end soon. “My father taught me well, as did the legion when I served with them.”

“Ah! A legionaire!” The first guard said, looking from Harkanon to his partner.

“A loyal servant of the Empire, no doubt.” The partner nodded.

Harkanon's grin faded a bit. “Look, if that's all the questions, I need to get going now.”

“Yes, you do.” The first guard said. “Going with us, right up to the Blue Palace.”

“The Blue Palace?” Harkanon asked, suddenly more concerned than annoyed, though definitely still annoyed. “What're you talking about?”

The second guard reached to his belt and pulled out a folded piece of paper, unfolded it to reveal a flier, which handed to Harkanon. “In case you can't read, orc, it says that the High Queen is calling for all great warriors and heroes and adventurers to come to the aid of Solitude and all Skyrim to deal with the rising vampire menace.”

“And we're sure a loyal citizen of the empire is eager to lend your skills as a smith and warrior to defend Skyrim and her people in this time of need.” The first guard said with a nod.

“Look,” Harkanon spoke up, now very displeased with the direction this was going. “I just got off the boat from Solstiem. I just want to find an inn, get something to eat. I'm starving.”

“Oh, you're hungry? The first guard asked. “Well, that's perfect! The cook at the Blue Palace is the finest in all Skyrim!”

“Of course,” The second guard spoke up, his tone shifting to one decidedly less friendly, “if you really just want to find a bed for the night we could take you to Castle Dour. Always a few open beds in the dungeon.”

“You can't do that!” Harkanon practically growled at the man. “I've committed no crime! I haven't been here long enough to commit a crime!”

“Graverobbing's a crime, and you're wearing sacred nordic relics plundered from the tombs of Solstiem.” The first guard said. “Of course, maybe you can prove otherwise, but if we lock you up, it'll be weeks before anyone hears your case, what with how busy the Queen & her Steward are, hearing about all these vampire attacks.”

“And confiscated items go missing so often. By the time you're released – if you're released – that shiny armor and those shiny weapons will probably disappear.” The second guard said. “I blame the Thieves Guild, myself. Raiding our evidence lockers.”

Harkanon stared very hard at the two men. He wasn't concerned anymore. He wasn't even annoyed. He was angry. And he was seriously contemplating his odds of escape if he killed them both here and made a run for the city gates. He couldn't see their eyes through the shadow of their helms, but he felt them flinch under his gaze, and could see their bodies tensing, hands moving a bit closer to the hilts of their swords.

“I've always wanted to meet a queen.” Harkanon said, finally. “Lead the way to the Blue Palace.”

“Smart man.” The first guard said, before pointing down the road. “Straight this way. You can't miss it, but we'll follow right behind you. Make sure you don't get lost. We know how confusing the streets of the city can be for visitors.”

Harkanon sighed; there was only one main road through town and it lead straight to the palace. But he didn't have much of a choice, and he turned and started on his way. Behind him he could hear the guards whispering to each other; something about how they hoped for a bonus for finding a 'volunteer' for the queen.

He spit on the ground as he walked, now convinced this headache wasn't going away any time today.

[Rex Apium]

She lined up the shot. It was perfect. Too good to be true, almost. The distance was too far, but she knew. She knew she would hit him. She knew her arrow would strike through... and strike through it did, lodging itself in the man's throat. Even as he gurgled on his own blood, she moved from one shadow to the next. There was more than just the bandit she'd killed, and with her first stike they'd be alerted to her presence.

That didn't matter, however. She was too fast for them, too quiet and even as the man that stood near the first went to draw his sword, she'd put an arrow in his head. Again she was moving. Again another fell. Their blood coated the floor of the fortress they'd taken over and with all of them dead, it was time for her to indulge. She walked over to the closest man and knelt in the pool of blood around him, pulling out her dagger to slice off the first bit of flesh and bring it to her lips.

The dream was so vivid that when Ivyeth awoke she could think of nothing more. Thoughts of kneeling in the blood and slicing off the flesh of a kill pervaded her every thought. Perhaps that's why she'd made the decision that she did. Perhaps that's why she'd found herself unceremoniously kicked out of The Winking Skeever.

Don't do it. It's a bad idea.

But honestly, who would stop me? You'll surely find someone willing...

That was certainly not the case as Ivyeth accosted the first person she'd come across. Poor girl worked at the inn and was just trying to do her duties. Perhaps cleaning or something terribly boring that Ivyeth had no interest in. The girl may have even been into the whole thing had Ivyeth not pulled her knife on her in the process of her proposition.

You knew this would happen.

Fortunately for the bosmer, the girl's screams were just met with idle threats and the absolute promise that the elven hunter would not be allowed back in the inn any time soon. It didn't matter much to her, as she had no intention of staying in Solitude any longer than that night as it was. She was a terribly busy woman with terribly important things to do.

Make haste. Get away from here before they alert the guards.

The innkeeper let her gather her things, which was equally fortunate. Mentioning that she would be back for them had certainly helped that prospect. If she was not to set foot in there again, they needed to not give her a reason to come back. She took her time getting dressed, despite her better judgment. Bosmer armor didn't take long to put on, as it was a lighter variant, but she was meticulous if nothing else.

Stop dawdling and get out before they alert the guard.

As she left she winked at the working girl, pulling her mask up over her face. The girl cowered. Ivyeth felt a combination of empowerment and disappointment in the girl's cower. Perhaps she wouldn't find someone willing afterall. Well, there were other things she could do to get herself out of the mood that dream had put her in. Like going on a hunt. That always helped her feel better.

Bosmer were rare in Skyrim, very rare. It's part of the reason she almost entirely covered up. The other part was that she wasn't terribly interested in talking to people. They seemed to be less chatty when you showed nothing more than your eyes and Ivyeth did just that. Sure her autumn gold skin and red eyes would give away what she was, but most strayed away from her. The bow on her back probably helped.

The woman had every intention of leaving Solitude that very second, but something caught her eye before she got the chance. A new posting put up by the queen. She moved closer to the board, inspecting the flier, reading it closely. She looked for heroes, for champions... Ivyeth was none of these things. However, there was mention of a vampire menace and Ivyeth was very interested in that.

Oh... potential payment for one of my favorite past times.

It was true as well. Ivyeth spent her free time, which was most of her time, hunting vampires. Even before Meridia had gifted Dawnbringer on her to help in her quest, Ivyeth had devoted her life to hunting vampires. It wasn't for any sense of greater good, she just really didn't like them and found them more challenging to hunt.

Her stomach growled as she stared at the flier. She hadn't the time to get something to eat before being forced out of the inn. It was unsurprising, considering her choice of actions upon waking. Perhaps the Blue Palace would offer their would be heroes something to eat for being such good people an volunteering to help Skyrim yadda yadda yadda.

Can you even be a hero?

It can't be that hard.

You kill people.

Vampires aren't people.

What about the non-vampires?

Already she was moving towards the Blue Palace. She certainly didn't look the part of a hero in her black and copper colored elven armor. Perhaps the bow helped. When Meridia had gifted Dawnbreaker to her champion – namely Ivyeth – it had attuned to her skills, shifting to a bow. The thing glowed, practically held a sun in it. Which, surprisingly, hadn't made it any more difficult for Ivyeth to sneak up on her targets.

Why is that, I wonder.

Daedra magicks, probably.

Arriving at the Blue Palace was much easier than she expected. They just... let her in. She didn't expect that in the slightest. They did, however, stop her in the lobby. She held up the flier she'd plucked from the bulletin outside and didn't even have to say anything before she was told to take a seat and wait. Fair enough, she'd wait. She was good at waiting. She waited a lot. Usually it was darker.

She lounged on the bench, crossing her legs and inspecting the leather on her hands. Hopefully this wouldn't take too long.

[purestmorganic]

Daro’Ahniki walked up to the gates of Solitude, she didn’t expect others to treat her nicely. For one, being a Khajiit made almost anyone suspicious of you, even if you are brought here upon the queen’s request. Then again most races that weren’t nords were still looked down upon and even from what Daro has heard, have had possessions taken away by the guards. She almost was going to go through the gate when a two guards stopped her.

“State your business.” The second guard said his face and expression covered by a thick helmet most solitude guards wear.

“Daro’Ahniki is here sent by Arkay, I’m to make sure the hall of the dead is fit to the conditions of his liking.” Daro responded, she didn’t fully expect guards to completely buy this but to her surprise they did, maybe because she adorned a priest’s robe with Arkay’s symbol on the front of the skirt part of the clothing. Although she didn’t appear as a priest because the skirt portion was shorter than most.

“We’ll let you through Khajiit, but don’t make any trouble or you’re going to be the one who’s sorry.” The first guard unlocked the gate but gave some sort of look to the second one, which he seemed to have nodded in return.

When Daro had entered she noted that the city was quite busy and noticed a flyer on a post, she read it and her brow furrowed. She had never heard of these strange vampire attacks and disliked the disease all together. In fact, people have come to her to cure this illness, as this is what her job was to do for Arkay, besides making sure the halls of the dead were fitting to him.

She continued reading the flyer and thought that ridding of vampires would make Arkay quite joyful so she decided to take up on the task. Although she was sent to inspect the hall of the dead, which could wait as vampires must be taken care of before Sanguinare Vampiris is throughout every hold, she headed up to the blue palace. When she got there she was stopped again and a guard asked her what she was doing there.

“Why are you here at the palace Khajiit?” the guard questioned.

“Daro’Ahniki was sent by Arkay to rid of vampires, as his divine does not tend to enjoy Vampirism.” Her look was still as she was trying to be as professional as could be, but her appearance did not help one bit. She was short and lanky with horrible posture and had ears that look taller than her head with hair sticking out of the tips of the ears and tons of piercings. She wore a priest’s robe that was short with Arkay’s symbol on it, leather pants, and had cloth around her hands and feet.

“You don’t appear to be a fighter” The guard gave a puzzled gesture.

Daro held up her hands and revealed very long and sharp nails, they looked as if she had daggers for fingernails. They weren’t very even, but they were indeed intimidating as the guard let her pass.

Daro finally entered the blue palace and waited in the lobby until she was questioned by another guard, as to which the same exact conversation with the last guard popped up again, and she was told to sit down. She looked across the room and noticed another person but hesitated to talk to them and just sat down on the complete other side of the room. She had brought a small bag with her for the journey and pulled out a book and read until she was told what to do next.

[Doozerpindan]

The two women in the waiting room were not waiting long, as an Altmer dressed in well-tailored robes invited them into the royal court, so they may address Elisef herself. As the women rose up the winding stars leading to the upper floor, they saw a large Orcish man dressed in shining Stahlrim armour, and carrying a variety of fine crafted Stahllrim weapons.

Two guards all but pushed past the women, not even apologising for almost knocking them back down the steps. The High Queen had a look of irritation upon her face as she regarded their retreating backs. The look faded as soon as she saw the two women, and greeted them warmly, inviting them to stand alongside the Orc, whom she introduced as Harkonen before asking their names.

Elisef rose from her throne once the introductions were complete, her eyes lingering upon the bow the Bosmer woman carried at her back.

"You carry the weapon of a Daedra, one dedicated to destroying undead in all its forms. I assume that weapon, and your presence here, means you are offering your help in dealing with the growing undead menace that has plagued us these last few months?"

The Bosmer woman tilts her head in response to Elisef. "Honestly I'm just here because I heard the food was to die for." She grinned beneath her mask, the smile reaching her eyes, "But no, really, I'm here to help with the vampires. I like killing them, you need them taken care of. It's mutually beneficial."

Elisef smiled at the woman's obvious attempt at humour.

"There are growing reports of vampires and dragon priests plaguing this land, and the Dawnguard has asked me to search for brave souls like yourselves to help combat this growing threat. Currently, the most immediate threat to Solitude is a large cave network known as the Broken Oar Grotto, a cavern north of Solitude, with the entrance along the shore. There are reports of bandits trying to set up a smuggling operation within those caves, but other reports have me worried that something more is taking place there. If you wish to help, you must be able to work together and rely on one another, so I would like this to be your test, before I send you to deal with even greater threats. Find the truth of what is happening in the Grotto, and end it if you can. At the very least, if you cannot prevent what is happening there, i would like your report, so please do not sacrifice yourselves if you can avoid it." The High Queen stood waiting for the groups response, her expression carefully neutral as she regarded these would-be champions.

[watchoutsamusishere]

Simon the Sorcerer sat scratching behind his ear with one hand, while drumming the nails of his other on the arm rest of his chair. He was agitated; fleas maybe, but probably some horrible disease handed out just for him. He hated this place. Correction: he hated all places, but this one more than most. Solitude. It'd seemed fancy when he first walked in, but how the locals grated on his nerves. If he had to hear one more time, in their monotonous drone, about taking an arrow in the knee, or wanting them to enchant their blades, he was probably going to die: literally, to physically expire and his soul to shrivel up. Good.

His irritation hadn't stopped him from taking advantage of their idiocy. Oh, he'd enchanted their swords all right; he'd spoken in a fancy language (one he'd made up for this exact reason) and waggled his fingers. He did the whole routine. And in the end he walked back to the inn jingling with coins and laughing to himself (well, he would have, if he found anything truly funny) about the glow-in-the-dark enchantment he'd just bestowed. His teachers at Winterhold would have been proud.

Magic was useless, which was unfortunate for Simon, who'd only discovered this afterwards. He'd specialised in destruction magic, which was more redudant than every other kind. Why spend fifteen minutes channelling lightning from your finger tips when you could just whack it with a sword three or four times and leave it probably humbled? There were a few exceptions to this rule, and one of them was the cozy relationship between vampires and fire. Which is why he was here. Most likely, Simon reasoned, he was about to embark on a foolhardy mission and die. But since he was, inevitably, to die and was doing nothing at all valuable except mindless fetch quests, why not? To keep his credibility? Unlikely; he was trained at Winterhold, so there wasn't any to keep.

He was wearing a pair of very durable sandals, a robe with a ridiclous painted skull on it, and a simple cord around his waist. He liked the skull. It suited his mood, and it had belonged to one of a number of upstart necromancer who'd waylaid him on his long walk from Winterhold to Solitude. Naturally, he'd given the little shits a proper smiting (he was a better trained useless sorcerer than they were) and taken the robe as a momento. He could have worn other things, magical things, to enhance his abilities. But he could do the mathematics: zero plus half of zero was still zero. He liked to go au naturel.

An Altmer (most definitely better at magic than he him) came down the stairs and invited the two others in the waiting foyeur to personally address the queen. "Oh, it's fine" he said to no one in particular, "I'll just wait here." He was not at all surprised to be overlooked. He found it odd that armed individuals were escored into the presence of the queen herself, but what did he know about anything? Nothing, that's what. So he just sat, and eavesdropped like the dirty little Khadjit he was.

[Former Fiend]

The thing that had surprised Harkanon the most about the Blue Palace was that no one tried to relieve him of his weapons once inside of it. Perhaps the guards who had waylaid him here were so eager to receive their self-imagined reward that they had forgotten to confiscate them. Perhaps they were concerned that he might put up a fight, given that they had threatened to rob him just to get him here. Perhaps it was a sign of trust & good will.

He doubted that last one.

If he had been in a better mood and in a better condition, he might have taken some time to take stock of his surroundings, to gauge the tactical value of the building, plan and plot for various contingencies; what if this was a trap? What if the Palace came under attack right at this moment? What if another thousand things happened that could lead to him needing to fight his way out or further in.

As it stood, he wasn't in a better mood or condition. He was hungry and hung over and in pain. He was tired even though he had only woken up a short while ago. Maybe a couple of hours. But then, he hadn't had a lot of sleep, and what sleep he had was anything but restful.

But more than the hunger, the pain, and the weariness he was feeling, there was the anger. Being targeted, being accosted, being threatened. Being insulted both for his race twice over – the implication that no one would believe that he could craft such exquisite armor and weapons as he carried because he was an orc had not been lost on him. The nerve! Orcs were the finest smiths in the world! Nords may have a few exceptional individuals, but they couldn't match the orcs for the sheer quantity of high quality smiths that his people produced. At the age Harkanon had begun to learn the forge, those cone-headed, milk-drinking nords hadn't learned to wipe their own asses yet!

But there would be time for anger and vengeance later. For now, he needed to wait. And he needed to sit down; he was starting to get dizzy. He wasn't sure what the usual punishment for vomiting on a palace floor was but he was also fairly sure he didn't want to know. For a moment he wished that the guards had taken his weapons; it could be a process to adjust them enough just so he could sit down. He even had to heft the strap keeping the sheath of his greatsword to his back off entirely, leaning the weapon next to him when he finally managed to take a seat on one of the benches, taking off his helmet and setting it beside him, just to get it's weight off of his skull.

“Thank the gods.” He muttered under his breath as he noticed the platter of food set out on the table in front of him. Cheeze, bread, carrots, some crème treat, but most appealing to him – apples. Large, red, juicy apples. He needed something on his stomach to settle it, but more than that, he needed something to drink. And as none of the servants seemed in a hurry to bring him a pitcher of water, a nice, juicy apple would have to do.

It truly was a blessing, as well. The kitchen was very near by; likely around the corner. Harkanon doubted that one needed a sense of smell as acute as his own to know that. And for all the horseshit that had spilled out of the mouths of the guards who had brought him here, one thing they said appeared to be true; the Blue Palace had an excellent chef, by the smell of it, at least. And as Harkanon bit into that apple, he was glad he didn't have to endure the torture of that scent without having anything to eat at all.

By the time came to fetch him, Harkanon had devoured all three of the apples on the plate, a bit of the juice trailing down his beard. He stood slowly, careful not to upset his stomach or his balance, before dawning his helmet again & slinging the strap of his greatsword sheath back over his shoulder. As he left he took note of another occupant of the waiting room; a khajiit man in black robes seated on the other side of the room. An ohmes-raht khajiit, at that. Harkanon blinked at the sight but gave the man a nod, regardless, before he was lead out of the entrance hall. He was glad for it; he head the door open behind him as someone else entered, and felt the sunlight on the back of his neck. He wouldn't have enjoyed that light in his face at the moment.

Of course, he spoke too soon. In the main hall he noticed that there was another beam of bright light streaming in from the ceiling; likely the high glass dome that was visible from outside, illuminating the area. He tried not to focus on it by turning his gaze to the kitchen, but all the same his headache flaired up under that bright light as he made his way to the stairs, ascending them as quickly as his body would allow.

Once he had reached the upper level, he bore witness to the throne of the High Queen of Skyrim, who sat upon it. Elisif the Fair, she was called, more so for her beauty than her rule. She had ascended to the throne when she was yet a young woman, inheriting the title of Jarl from her late husband – her murdered husband, she would insist – and being granted the title of High Queen by the assembly of Jarls known as the Moot. At the command of the Empire, of course.

Harkanon had never seen Elisif before, even during his previous visits to Solitude. He imagined that the title of 'the Fair' suited her better ten years ago before the stress of the loss of a huband, a civil war, and ruling a country had befallen her. Not that she was unattractive, but he was sure he could have come up with other titles for her before 'the Fair' came to mind. Though he supposed 'the Puppet' was too blatant.

Even before he had come to Skyrim, he had heard talk of how Elisif was nothing but a figurehead from among the nords he had served with in the Legion, and that talk didn't stop after his discharge and during his visits to this very city. Not that there was much discontent with her rule – at least not from people who lived behind the safety of stone walls – but people knew where the power was. Or at least people knew it wasn't her. The Empire, her steward, the thanes of her court – everyone had a different guess as to who pulled Elisif's strings. And they liked to talk about it in hushed breath, as if whispering common knowledge made them sound wise and insightful for knowing it.

But now, years after he had first heard her name, Harkanon gro'Hraag would look upon Elisif the Fair with his own eyes and judge for himself whether the rumors that had surrounded her for so long were true, or if they were hollow slander. And his first impression was the sight of her admonishing the two guards who had volunteered him for duty in this mission.

If it was because she saw through their attempts and was genuinely outraged at their behavior, he would be impressed. But he couldn't be sure that was in fact the reason as their tongue-lashing had begun even before he had reached the top of the steps. Perhaps she had been clued in by someone else, perhaps it hadn't been the act itself that had so offended her but the fact that they had blatantly asked for a reward for performing it. Or maybe this was all a show for his benefit. He wasn't sure and was even less sure that he cared; the truth was that he was focused on thinking about explanations so that he wouldn't actually have to listen, as his headache was still to much for him to bear paying attention to a scolding.

As it happened he needn't have paid too much attention; at no point was he asked for testimony or commentary or even so much as addressed directly. Eventually the guards were just dismissed and left in a huff. Harkanon watched them go, and watched as they nearly knocked over a pair of women – a khajiit and a bosmer – who were just reaching the top of the stairs as they made their way down. More would-be heroes. He wondered if they actually volunteered for this, or if they had been volunteered as he was.

He turned back to face the queen and noted how quickly the irritation had faded from her face at the sight of the other two. It was a useful skill for a royal to have, to mask one's true feelings. But when one could dismiss anger that quickly, one had to wonder if it had ever been genuine at all. The harsh tone she had taken with the guards was gone and replaced by friendly words as she greeted the two women and even introduced him to the pair; he could only assume that she had gotten his name from the servant who asked him for it when he first arrived, because it wasn't from him. If it had been, he would have made sure she pronounced it correctly.

After the introductions were made, Elisif made an astude observation; that the bosmer carried a daedric weapon. Harkanon leaned back a bit to look at the bow hanging from the woman's back and raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. He thought that was supposed to be a sword. The archer gave the queen a snarky response; Harkanon didn't get the joke but his stomach did growl at the mention of food.

He listened as best he could as the Queen laid out what she wanted the to do; go to a cave and fight bandits, and also there were reports of something worse than bandits that she was being annoyingly vague about, and try not to die. And with that, Harkanon's patience had reached it's end.

“Alright, look. Your Highness? Your Majesty? Sorry, I'm a little rusty on the forms of address for provincial royalty. But what I'm trying to say is this; I've been in this country for only a few hours. I've been crammed in the dark, dank bowels of a ship for the last week, with little sleep, no fresh food to eat, and nothing but sujamma to drink. And before that I'd spent a year on Solsteim, half in ash and soot and half in frozen wasteland that makes the Pale look hospitable. I'm dirty, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm hungover. I don't want to fight vampires. I don't want to fight dragon priests. I want a meal that hasn't been sitting in a ship's larder for a month and hasn't been grown in ash. I want a long, hot bath, a soft, warm bed, and a warmer bedmate to share it with.”

“And once I've had all that, I'm going to need to hear exactly what it is you think is happening in this Grotto based on those 'other' reports, and I am going to need to hear exactly what it is you expect us to do about it beyond 'find the truth and end it'. And most importantly, I am going to need to hear exactly what's in all of this for me. That flier your men showed me before forcing me in here was rather vague as to what reward was on offer.”

“After I hear all of that, your Highness, then I'll think about heading to this Broken Oar Grotto instead of booking passage on the next ship to Stros M'Kai.”

[purestmorganic]

Daro’Ahniki flinched at the Queens request. She thought that they were going after vampires not after every little evil thing in the world. This actually made Daro remember about when Grelod the kind was butchered infront of her very own eyes. She actually liked Grelod because she never sugar-coated the truth just because Daro was a child. As she looked around at the people beside her she could immediently tell which was which before the Queen introduced them. She honestly expected the two of them to laugh at the thought of a "priest" of Arkay was fighting for the Queen but she didn't adress Daro as a priest but a monk. Daro stood there quietly but felt a little intimidated by the others standing around her, they were all taller than her and possed actual weapons that had arrows and a blade. She noticed another Khajiit below them that appeared to be a mage of some sort. She really could only tell by their outfit. She also was sort of surprised that the Queen didn't adress her as "Khajiit" or "cat" like most other nords and guards do but her actual name.

Daro had tons of thoughts rushing through her head, like how does the queens posses my name or how does she know that I'm actually a monk and not a literal priest of Arkay. She didn't really think that these were most important at the moment because the Queen seemed to know alot about others. She was still confused though because her entire life growing up was in riften, she had been in the theives guild when she was little but lived in Honorhall orphange, even after Grelod the kind had her head chopped off. She didn't exactly have the nicest past as she ran from guards alot which gave her the nickname "Daro the sneak" in riften. When she got old enough to leave Honorhall she left riften all together and stayed in Markarth for three years until she was 21. Daro was still very young as she was only 24 and ran from hold to hold making sure that Arkay was content with each holds hall of the dead.

Daro looked at the man next to her who she thought was quite..greedy but she understood his situation so she didn't really say anything.
When the man finished Daro spoke, "If it's not much your Majesty, Daro’Ahniki would really enjoy if there was a proper temple for Arkay instead of halls of the dead with an altar in them. If the temple could be build like the one for Mara in Riften that would make Daro’Ahniki and the priests of Arkay including his divine quite joyful."
She tried to stay straight with her back instead of hunched over to appear more professional as she spoke. She wasn't really the type of person to talk much and tried to be as blunt as possible with conversations to get them over but this request for the temple of Arkay was very important to her as the priests as well as Daro really did want a temple to worship him in instead of a hut that was built around an altar.

She just stood there and waited for anyone else to say anything and for the Queen to respond to said requests. She didn't really want a nice place to stay as staying in a temple of Arkay near his divine was good enough for her. Daro wasn't really adjusted to luxury as she grew up in riften and wasn't really into it, She just slept in tents or in an inn on her journeys to other holds or cities. When she was near the altar she just slept in a bed on the ground or just on the ground. She didn't really care though because that's were she was happiest. No matter what the Queen offered to her she would only take a proper worshipping site for Arkay.

[Rex Apium]

Ivyeth stood staring at the Queen in front of her, immediately second guessing her decision to come. The queen introduced the bosmer and khajiit to an orc in very impressive, and as far as Ivyeth was concerned – impractical – armor. She eyed him for a long time while the Queen spoke. Something, something, introductions. Ivyeth didn't respond. In fact, she didn't say anything until the Queen pointed out the bow on her back. That warranted a somewhat confused tilt of her head, and the most obvious type of response to that sort of announcement she could muster – humor.

She didn't get the joke.

I didn't expect her to get the joke, it was for me, wasn't it?

As to be expected, the announcement of her daedric allegiance was met with reactions from those around her. The guards and whoever else these important looking people in the room were looked to one another, a nervousness running through the room. She even caught some of them whispering to each other about it, and others moving around the elven woman to get a better look at the bow slung across her back. Which did beg the question of how the Queen happened to see the weapon to make her announcement in the first place. Perhaps one of the servants had mentioned it.

The announcement also brought a reaction from her soon to possibly be party mates. The orc in the large and obnoxious armor she stood next to leaned over to get a better look at her rear. Or her bow. It was on her back, that's practically the same thing.

He like what he sees?

Don't say it out loud.

Ivyeth did actually open her mouth to say it out loud, but was interrupted by the Queen's mewling monkey talk again. She was sending them to fight bandits. Or something. She wasn't terribly forthcoming with her information, which considering her propensity for just stating everyone's life story, Ivyeth found that terribly interesting. A least for a solid two seconds. Regardless of that, it wasn't what Ivyeth signed up for.

But bandits, Ivyeth. You haven't killed anything that bled that wasn't an animal in ages.

Bandits are boring. They have the exact same tactic. Run blindly into my arrows.

The bosmer was fully prepared to announce her displeasure at this announcement, but everyone else beat her to it. Well, not the cat she stood next to. She went on about some temple or something that Ivyeth really didn't care about. The orc, though. He had some good points.

“I'm gonna agree with him,” she responded, jerking her thumb in the direction of Harkanon, “I haven't eaten yet, and while I don't really require a bed, I'm perfectly content with everything else he's looking for. Just not to the inn, I ain't welcome back there.” The grin was back, transferring to her voice as she spoke with a chuckle.

“Also, y'know... knowing what kind of reward we should be expecting for putting our lives at risk will really help seal this deal. Or at the very least give us a reason to even check this out. I'm sure fluffy over here isn't here for the kicks either.” She jerked her other thumb in the direction of Daro.

“Also on that topic, there's another cat down the stairs your elf didn't call for. Think he came here for the same reason, altmer must've missed the memo.”

That was awfully kind and thoughtful of you.

That's the last time this month.

“But first. I'm hungry.”

[Panzer]

Somewhere in the Rift, a cool breeze blew through the camp Sarkhan had made for the evening. The spirits had called him to this place, called the shaman to set them free from their prison of crystal. He could see the energy swirling around the bandit hold, somewhere deep within was a spirit trapped within an accursed black gem. Sarkhan released the spell he had been preparing, a simple conjuration spell, but one that would aid him this night. The air shimmered as archons of fire and lighting entered Mundus awaiting the shaman’s commands.

What seemed like an eternity had passed before the orc entered the bandit chief’s makeshift strong room, as instructed the archons left the man alive, if just barely. The Nord cowered in fear as the orc approached, drawing his war axe before swiftly bringing it down on the solid black gem on the table. A surge of energy burst from the gem as the spirit trapped within fled its crystalline prison and passed into whatever realm it was destined for. “The spirits are pleased with our work this evening” he muttered as he turned back to the archons and bandit “Go home honored ones, this one shall follow shortly.” With a wave of his hands he dismissed the archons and stood over the bloodied Nord, “The spirits demand retribution for your crime, may your next life fair better.” With all the strength he could muster the shaman brought his axe down, cleaving the man’s head from his body.

By the time he reached the camp he had created dawn’s first light had begun creeping over the mountains. Now was the time for him to rest, time for Sarkhan the Dreamer to sleep and dream. As he stripped of his hide armor movement caught his eye, out of his right eye, the eye everyone thought he was blind in. Sarkhan knew different, he was only blind to Mundus in that eye, to the realm of spirits he could see as clear as day, see the spirits doomed to wander the world as shades, the energy that emitted from black soul gems and on occasion glimpses of the past. The spirit appeared to be that of a Dumner female, not much older than himself, dressed in torn clothing, various cuts and claw marks covering her body. He knew these weren’t what had killed the woman, well killed wasn’t exactly the right word, she was very much alive, as alive as someone who had forcefully been turned into a vampire could be. He quickly redonned his armor and gathered up his pack “Command me spirit, lead me to the source of your trepidation.” The woman stretched her arm and pointed northwest and a single word left the spirits mouth “Solitude.”

It had been a long few weeks as the shaman crossed nearly the entirety of Skyrim, it hadn’t been the first time nor would it be his last. Solitude now loomed all around him, the mix of people milling about their daily business, the sound of sea birds from the bay and the miasma of trapped spirits lay thick. Ten years had passed since the fall of Ulfirc Stormcloak and his rebellion, but the spirits of the dead were immune to the ravages of time. Most he saw were soldiers, watching over their loved ones or vice versa, some he saw were lingering for no purpose beyond denial of death. These were where his concern lay, those trapped between the worlds of life and death tended to change if not holding onto something precious, twisted into wraiths of their former selves. The war had brought much death and destruction and as clear as day Sarkhan could see it, a soldier cut down in Markarth defending his Jarl, a small girl trapped in a burning house in Windhelm, and various other deaths, just as grizzly.

Two soldiers stood nearby talking about Queen Eliseff’s latest orders, it seemed the Queen had a vampire problem and was recruiting people to deal with it. Good perhaps he could return to his clan hold, Eliseff clearly was being very proactive about this threat. He turned to leave Solitude but movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him, the same dunmer as before, this time joined by other spirits, each beckoning him towards the Blue Palace. Sarkhan let out deep sigh and turned back towards the keep “As the spirits command so shall it be.”

Upon reaching the palace the guards simply let him in, obviously they didn’t care about the shape the help arrived in, they just wanted bodies to give the Queen as it were. As he approached the throne room he noticed a khajit sitting on a bench and could hear conversation from above. Bandits, she was sending them to investigate potential bandit activity, this wasn’t exactly what he was here for, but then again this could be some sort of test of mettle. Turning his attention from the conversation above he moved to the bench across from the khajit, he may have been dressed in hides he cured himself but he had the manners to wait until the conversation above ended, since he hadn’t exactly been invited to it. “So, you come here to deal with vampires as well?”

[Doozerpindan]

Elisef listened to the Orc speak, and then the Bosmer. The two women seemed surprised when she addressed them by name, and so she decided. He had said they would be trustworthy, and so she would trust them.

“You’re all dismissed. Leave us.” She said, turning to the others in attendance. She didn’t need them anymore anyway, mentioning the Daedric Bow had been more than enough for that part of the plan.

Nobody made too much of a fuss about leaving, mostly because her guards wouldn’t allow them to do so. And soon, she was alone with the newcomers, her steward, a few of her most trusted guards, and the Altmer who was just now leading up the mage from the lower floor, an apologetic expression on his face as he met the queens gaze. Interestingly, a second man dressed in hide armour and a seemingly sightless eye followed the two men up the steps.

Elisef motioned her steward over as the mage took his place among the others. She whispered something to Falk and he quickly rushed off, returning not long after with three other people. A priestess and two young people who could have easily been brother and sister.

Elisef introduced the Priestess as Sabella, a follower of Stendarr. The older woman immediately went over to the orc and looked into his eyes, a rueful smile playing across her lips as she recognised the obvious signs of a severe hangover. She muttered a few words and a soft light shone around both the priestess and the orc for a few moments, and then faded. Harkonan’s hangover was gone, though he would still need water and sleep if he wanted to be back to his full self. She told him as much before turning and leaving the courtroom without another word, only stopping to bow to the queen before finally departing.

With that out of the way, Elisef gestured to the two young siblings, introducing the woman as Idgrod the Younger, and the young man as Joric Ravencrone. She explained that Joric saw portents of things to come and had seen all of them fighting together against a common foe, though he knew not who or what that foe was.

“I have seen you all, the voices told me your names, they told me you all have a part to play, they said other may join you along the way, but your foe would remain the same.” Joric spoke with little hesitation, he was confident in his abilities and sure of what he had both seen and heard. That these people were here now only served to confirm his belief that the Divines guided him.

“You can go now, if you wish.” Elisef said, knowing how much Joric's powers drained him, and how often he preferred to be left alone to write down the many things he saw and heard. The siblings thanked the Queen, bowing before they also left.

“And, with that out of the way…” The High Queen clapped her hands and an older man rushed into the courtroom, sweat upon his brow. “Is the food prepared?” Elisef asked as the man wiped his face with a dry cloth.

“It is, your highness. A feast fit for champions, as you requested.”

“Good.” She turned to the assorted strangers “Rooms have also been prepared, and, if you would be so kind as to hand over your weapons and other items to our steward, he will have them secured for you until the morning. For now, a feast awaits, and good food should be eaten while comfortable.” Her eyes focused for a second upon the large Orc and his weapons and armour. “We can discuss the mission while we eat, General Tullius and Lord Isran will be joining us.

[watchoutsamusishere]

Simon the Sorcerer was confused as to the kind of champion Queen Elisef mistook him for, and also as to what the local lexophiles defined as 'feast'. The fare was lean. Tasty, but lean. And the conversation was to die for. Simon enjoyed the depthless, one-line responses to his enquiries that the locals festooned upon him. Banal this. Platitude that. Oh, aren't-you-the-shifty-little-cat-man-from-Elsewyr. The locals ate with gusto and relish; hardly, but with soulless, glazed eyes, and a significant lack of attention to detail. He was positive if he chose to jump over a table, kicking all of the platters, and bowls, nothing much would come of it.

About sixty-seven percent of all Winterhold lessons were elaborate fetch quests. Bring me one of those. Fetch me one of this. Bring me ten dozen squirrel eggs and a rasher of chicken bacon. Squirrels don't lay eggs, you say? A good wizard would manage. Simon had always believed his talents rested snuggly in the sphere of blowing shit up and causing environmental mayhem. Burning things, especially, as you can achieve a state of burning with fire, ice, and lightning. That was something to consider.

He approved of Elisef sending them (because it had the flavour of an order and not a request) to dispatch bandits because his talents did not (although some disagreed) extend to cardiovascular exercise and long-distance power walks. He was a cat. And cats, by their nature, liked power naps. Naps was not spelt at all like walks. They do both contain an 'a' and an 's'. Good job. You now qualify for the position of a Blue Palace guard.

Why a queen would specifically send outsiders to do a job that the entire empire garrison stationed down the street could probably handle didn't trouble him too much. He just assumed something horrible lurked in the grotto that no one was telling him about and that it would summarily tear him limb from limb. But in the mean time he would perform a public service to a hostile population and be rewarded with hard currency that even a hostile population would respect. Then he could wave it under their noses, or throw it at them from atop a very high building. Gold was heavy.

He was puzzled as to why the queen would bring a group of armed 'adventurers' into her presence, fully armed, then dismiss her guards. And then only after they failed to assassinate her would she have their weapons secured by her scholarly steward and not, like, some big guy used to carrying heavy objects. But this wasn't Winterhold, and he supposed being trained in a lair of mad scientists who performed distasteful experiments with no over sight might skew how he perceived the world.

Simon spotted the large orc with impressively blue armour and strolled over to it in the most non-maniacal way he knew how. Suppose it'd be just Simon's luck if the orc decided to chew on his femurs. Hopefully it was vegan.

"Well . . . " he hazarded, as a fisherman casts a net, "Seems we'll be working together. I'm Simon. Incidentally, this feels like a trap, and I'm sure we're all going to die down there."

[Rex Apium]

Ivyeth stood in a state of awe as everything happened around her. Had she not been wearing a mask over the lower portion of her face, her slack jaw would be visible. Luckily for her, she was wearing a mask, as there was nothing flattering about standing around with one's mouth hung open stupidly.

It started first with the Queen dismissing everyone else in the room. Ivyeth looked to the two people that flanked her, then to the two people that had been brought up from the waiting room where they'd been left behind. At least three fifths of the people standing here were heavily armed. The same three fifths were armored as well. The other two could easily be mages for all she knew. Magic wasn't something she knew, so generally she assumed that if someone didn't carry a visible weapon they were a mage. Or an idiot. Or both, both was always possible.

To be fair, the Queen had left some of her guards behind, but it seemed this was more to keep the rabble out of the room than to possibly... guard... the Queen. Confusion had crossed her face, long before the awe had set in. It was compounded upon when the Queen sent for more people to enter the room. One was a priestess. Apparently one who specialized in hangovers. Ivyeth made certain to remember the woman's name for longer than a second. She would more than likely require her services in the near future.

The awe came shortly after the priestess left. The Queen introduced the two people that had come in with the priestess. Some sort of seer and some bitch that was just there for emotional support, Ivyeth surmised. The male spoke of how he'd seen them all in his visions, that the visions told him their names and something, something, she zoned out a bit. Her thoughts got stuck on the visions calling them by name.

“I mean... is he SURE he has the right people?”

“I've looked at us, we aren't anywhere close to heroes... well, except maybe fluffy. She looks hero-y.”

“Is hero-y a word?”

A new voice broke her out of her thoughts and she focused on the man that had rushed into the room. Probably the chef, considering the stains on his clothing and the scent that followed him. She didn't have any sort of heightened sense of smell or anything, but the man smelled like sweat and flour. It wasn't a good combination.

Elisef spoke again and Ivyeth just stared at her. Feast. For br-lun... what time of the day WAS it? Who the hell makes a feast for lunch?

“I don't think I woke up. I've got to still be dreaming. All of this is absurd.”

Ivyeth was actually taken aback when the Queen decided that food time was the appropriate time to hand over their weapons... and that they were to just hand them over to the scrawny man in front of them. The orc's weapons have to weigh at least the weight of a horse. Those things are not light. On top of that, Ivyeth was the opposite of comfortable just handing over the unique weapon she carried. Provided that was even possible.

“How pissed do you think Meridia would be if someone swiped Dawnbreaker?”

“I would love hunting them down, though...”

Ivyeth rubbed the space between her eyes, “Okay, so... I'm not sure if I either misheard you, or I drank something last night that was NOT what I thought I was drinking but what is actually happening here? Are we all sitting down chummy with General Tul... whatever and whoever the other person you named is? We're seriously going to have br-lunch.... brunch... yes, we're going to have brunch with you and some probably important people to discuss hunting down bandits in a cave?”

She raised a hand and waved it in front of her face, “Yea, I'd rather not. I'm gonna hang onto my weapons, armor and other assorted personal items too while I'm at it. You can just send the food up to whatever room you have prepared for me, unless you require me to hand my shit over before I go up there. If that's the case, I'll go sleep outside... not that it's anywhere even remotely close to bed time and I only woke up like... an hour ago, if I even woke up. Jury's still out on that one. You guys can find me in the woods. Or what's more likely, you won't and I'll find you.”

[Panzer]

Posturing that is what these people were doing, the race of man loved to strut around like a cock on a walk. The Queen was even doing it much better then some men but she was still posturing none he less and to Sarkhan that irritated him to no ends. Had he been back home in the clan hold, if something needed done he would have thumped the chief or the appropriate person upside the head until they got the orichaculum out of their boots and off their asses. That was the way of his particular sub race of mer, discuss and politic it later, do what needs to be done first. The only time that was ever not true was when the holds joined together under war-truce to deal with a common threat, but such things were rare anymore.

Several very important questions had been asked, but as was standard fashion by anyone in power they were promptly ignored in favor of a mid-morning snack.  The shaman resisted the urge to just send someone to the spirit world with a note to the spirits saying he quit and wasn't dealing with this lunacy anymore. Queen Eliseff had mentioned two more men would be joining them at the table, General Tulius, a possibly even bigger puppet of the Thalmor overlords then the Queen herself, and that pompous son of a bitch commander of the Dawnguard....Isran. Sarkhan could stand the two Thalmor toadies but Isran, that was another story entirely. The shaman had met the man twice before and both times he hated the man much more then before. The first was prior to Isran trying to recruit for his precious Dawnguard back when he was a vigilant of Stendarr, then he hadn't been as bad still a little narrow minded but not as bad as he was upon their second meeting. Their second meeting Isran was only concerned with dealing with the vampire menace rather then anything else and well Sarkhan could see how well that had went.

The strange one with a bow seemed to share some of his thoughts, though she was more vocal about it then he. Sarkhan had left his axe behind at his camp hidden under a rock overhang a small distance from the city, so he went and sat at the table. The orsimer sat and ate whatever happened to be close to him, at this point it was free food before he either just plain left or actually sat through whatever suicidal proposal the Queen threw at them. He severely doubted that it would be a agreement, more like a order and Eliseff would expect them to obey like good loyal subjects. If that was indeed the case and they were going to be press ganged into service, the minute they were left alone he would be out of there and quite possibly sending a few people to the spirit world. But he would be patient for awhile and see where things lead them but not before getting some answers first. 

With all the courtesy he could muster her turned to the Queen and looked her dead in the eye "As much as I appreciate the free food, I would like answers sooner rather than later, actually while we are at it how bout we start with answers to the questions she asked first" he jerked his thumb at Ivyeth. "What are we dealing with? How are we being compensated? And most importantly and this is just for clarification purposes why are you just now dealing with it?"

[Former Fiend]

When Harkanon had declared his desire for food and other comforts, he hadn't expected the queen to provide them. Rather he had expected leave to go out and find them on his own, as he had been on his way to do before being coerced into coming to the palace by the queen's overly ambitious guard. There were a lot of things happening right now that raised concern.

The queen had brought out some whelp who claimed visions from the gods. Harkanon had seen enough in this world to know that wasn't necessarily impossible, but to also know that it was more likely he had some affliction of madness. The young man claimed that he had foreseen this assembly of desperate individuals – a priest, a mage(Harkanon was assuming the khajiit man was a mage), a savage, a daedric champion, and whatever Harkanon himself qualified as. That they may yet be joined by others, but that they would fight together against some vague and undefined enemy.

That was the single most insane thing Harkanon had ever heard in his life.

On the one hand, Elisif had known their names. But Harkanon could think of a few explanations for that beyond divine prophecy. She had ordered a feast prepared for this time, as if she had known when the group would arrive. But she was a queen, and could afford to have more than one feast prepared in a day for whenever a group of rubes showed up to answer the fliers she had put out.

She had put out fliers. She hadn't sent messengers out to summon the prophesied heroes directly. She had trusted that they would all be in Solitude on this day and that they would answer the summons of her fliers. Which Harkanon absolutely would not have done if he had been left to his own devices. Had she sent those guards after him after all, knowing that he wouldn't have come of his own accord? Or was their action the will of the gods? Or was it all a coincidence.

Harkanon's stomach ached with hunger, tearing him from that circular line of thought. He knew that he could go on like that for hours, but the conclusion would be the same. Either the queen was trying to pass this errand off as prophecy to convince or trick them into agreeing to go along with it, to make clearing out bandits from a cave sound more grandiose than it was, or she actually believed that this was fate and this collection of misfits was doomed to adventure together and defeat some great evil, or she was right and the boy's prophesy was genuine and this was all the will of the gods.

The orc wasn't entirely sure which of those options he disliked the most. He was either being propositioned to sign on for a scam artist or a madwoman, or else was the puppet of the gods. Some would call such a fate a great honor, a divine blessing. He would call them idiot fools.

Also of concern was who would be in attendance at this midday feast. Harkanon had no idea who this 'Lord Isran' was; the name didn't sound nordic but he wasn't sure why they'd be involving foreign nobles in this. Perhaps it was coincidental that some diplomatic meal was already taking place that had nothing to do with them, and they were being invited as an impromptu decision. If the queen was truly mad, that could make sense, he supposed.

But Harkanon did know who General Tullius was, at least by reputation. He had served in a different legion, himself; not Tullius' Fifth Legion that had been primarily stationed here in Skyrim ever since the Stormcloak Rebellion; the Empire was never quick to remove the boot heel from the throat of a rebellious province. But Tullius' reputation as a problem solver had spread far beyond the ranks of the men directly under his command.

A table that Tullius was sitting at wasn't a table Harkanon had any interest in sharing. Tullius could reinstate his commission into the Legion and press him into service. It would be a gross abuse of his authority but Legion generals were never above that. Few people in power were above abusing that power. And being wanted for desertion would make his journey to Hammerfell much more harrowing than he had hoped it would be.

Harkanon was pulled from his thoughts again, this time by the cat-wizard rather than the pangs of hunger. The small beast man apparently seemed resigned to the fact that this was happening, that they would be working together on this mission. He also seemed assured that it was likely a trap and a suicide mission, both of which seemed possible. He couldn't guess at motive but motive was irrelevant to the mad, and this palace had a history of mad rulers. Why the cat felt the need to approach Harkanon specifically to share this opinion, he couldn't even begin to hazard a guess, but he did have a reply.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” he said to Simon. “I haven't committed to anything yet.” His gaze shifted to the steward who the queen had indicated would take their equipment. “All I'm sure of right now is that I will not be surrendering my weapons or armor, comfort be damned, and that I will not be feasting with General Tullius or this Lord Isran, whoever that is. I'm going to wait for the queen to answer what has been asked; what she has to say will determine whether I take my share of this feast in the room prepared here, or whether I make for the inn.” He looked back to the cat. “After all, no sense in walking into a trap that'll kill us all without knowing what we'll be dying for, is there?”