#words of sheoth

[sirsheoth]

I kiss you with tongue and as that happens I slide an ibuprofen in your mouth since you have a headache

[wispstalk]

[this one warrants a little prelude: of all the bad writing in the shivering isles dlc, the quest in the village of split annoyed me the most. i guess it feels emblematic of the core problems. i'm only giving the place a passing mention in my longfic because if i pick apart the clumsy "split personality" conceit of the isles too much it'll end up being like 500k words and i ain't doin all that.

but i couldn't leave it alone, so here is my reimagining of how Split works, involving the Grove of Reflection from the main quest. i don't know how to CW this but will tag if asked. go in expecting emotional intensity, and a dose of darkness minus the hostility of the original game, ig?]

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The glazier sits in the wreckage and sobs. Two hundred hollow glass trumpet flowers, and three hundred more to go. How that chandelier might’ve dazzled in her sunny kitchen, if she hadn’t gotten fed up and smashed it. It would’ve been the envy of Split.

Outside her window she can see a commotion in the vineyard. Two of the fieldhands abandon their work and run for her workshop. The same gait, the same silhouette. She swallows; her throat is raw from screaming, and shame floods her.

“Are you hurt?” says her husband. “What a mess,” says the one who is not her husband. “Where do you keep your broom?”

She’s not fond of the double, who is married to another fieldhand. He is brusque, headstrong, and they often clash when he comes for dinner. And secretly, she wonders if her own husband yearns for a woman other than her, one with stronger arms and skin freckled by the sun. More like the fieldhand wife.

He was only himself when she married him, but his time came like all the others in the village. His rite was so long ago now that their mannerisms have cleaved and drifted apart like ice floes; she can tell them apart by their laughter, their taste in shirts. A stab of possessiveness seizes her: who gets to keep her favorite summer skirt, the one of soft green linen that swishes just so around her ankles? Who gets to keep him?

“Everyone in the village has their time,” says the one who isn’t her husband. “Yours has come. No sense in fighting it.”

“Just think,” says her husband, “how Split will sparkle, with two master glaziers.”

She laughs bitterly. She’s been falling behind in her work orders. Bottles for the vintners and the village alchemists, lanterns and lenses and decanters to be sold in New Sheoth. The occasional window, when a spat breaks out and turns ugly. And they do more often here than elsewhere, but there is always reconciliation. That is one of the rules. And the windows are always replaced.

The workshop’s largest window was the first thing she made, back when she was still optimistic about bringing her craft to Split. She hauled the sand up in buckets from the lakeshore herself, made the border of stained glass flowers in every hue to put her talents on display. Outside it all the village bustles in pairs, thriving with two sets of hands at every trade, while she labors alone at lamp chimneys and wine bottles.

She has come to resent the window. If she comes back from Milchar alone, she will smash it and it will stay smashed.

By Lord Sheogorath’s grace all the residents here can perform the holy rite of division, but the mind is made of many glittering facets. A prism and a prison. There’s no way to know which two selves will emerge from the Grove of Reflection, no choosing where the fault line cracks. Sometimes, only one returns— to say their farewells, and pack off to find their peace in Mania or Dementia. The other’s body is given to the pool, where it will feed the roots of the Tree of Shades. It doesn’t happen often, but some conflicts cannot be resolved.

She is certain that she will leap upon her double and strangle it, or perhaps the other way around, if that makes any difference. She does not want to leave her husband, or her workshop, or their beautiful little house, or her window, but every one who lives in Split must eventually become two.

“It will be well. Take heart,” says her husband. “Pack two knives, not one,” quips the one who is not.

She wears sturdy walking boots and her green summer skirt. The village wizards give her the necessary scrolls and incense, and the vintners give her the offering wine. The alchemists pull her aside and wordlessly press two bottles in her hands: a tincture to calm, and one to paralyze. Her neighbors see her off with well-wishes and morbid jokes and it’s-about-times. She camps at the junction of Overlook Road, and reaches the ruin of Milchar by late afternoon the next day.

Her torch is a lone pool of gold slithering along the ancient stone. She decided not to cut and pitch a second branch, in a fit of bitterness or sentiment. Either it will not be needed, or they must walk close enough to share its light.

Deep in the bowels of the ruin, she lights the incense to calm the elytra that guard the entrance to the grove. They brush her with their curious antennae as she passes.

She knows the rules from listening to everyone’s stories for so long. First, do not touch the Tree of Shades or the standing stone. Second, make it fair in case of strife. The potions and the knives are laid out on the bank.

Finally, the offering. She takes a sip of the wine and spits it out into the reflecting pool. There’s nothing special about it, no magical or mind-bending properties. It’s just wine, but its grapes grow lush and fat in the loam of her village. For decades she has lived and labored and loved in Split, eaten countless meals from its crops, drank this very wine. Her own body, by now, is made up of the Divide. The water will know her.

She stares down her reflection, shadowy and vague in the black water. The scrolls crumble to ash in her palms, and she screws her eyes shut against the pain and screams herself hoarse.

A hand reaches up from the water— her own hand, she could not mistake the pitch of the fingers or the creases of the palm— and, trembling, she reaches for it.

It pulls her in.

Twin streams of bubbles from identical noses, four limbs tangling and thrashing and sinking into the silty bed. No way to tell which is dooming the other, or why. Murderous intent, or the struggle of a drowning victim? Shoving and fighting, or dragging and clinging?

Somehow they both burst above the surface and heave themselves onto the muddy bank. Their green skirts are heavy and sodden. As soon as the water is coughed out, one of her is screaming and blaming, and one of her is crying and cowering.

Neither of their throats can withstand the ferocity. They rasp and blubber, incoherent, all the grainy sharp-edged words melting together into a red-hot glob frustration. Circling each other, shying away or flinging arms out with explosive gestures, shrieking and moaning wordless accusations like crows warring over a carcass.

She remembers the things laid aside in anticipation of such strife, and so does she. At once their hands dart out— and their fingers brush together atop the calming tincture.

Stunned, she laughs. So does she, the same laugh. They eye each other with suspicion, but it seems they still want some of the same things. Each drinks from the bottle, and the warmth floods their chests, and sands all the jagged edges smooth.

They sit heavily beside the reflecting pool, exhausted now that the shock has passed. Its waters make them four and not two, and she thinks it a relief that the rite is only permitted once.

“I smashed the chandelier,” she whispers to all her reflections. “So many months of work, lost. I’m sorry.”

“We smashed it,” she says, and takes her by the hand, pulling her up and away from the dark water. “We will start again.”

[cryptid-called-ash]

Have you got any head cannons about Miraak and Vilkas because you have started to make me ship them.

I Will slowly convert everyone here to shipping these two.

The ship name I went with is Mid Grohiik, which means loyal wolf.

The wolf twins have a similar dynamic to the dragon brothers, bisexual older brother and Ace little brother.

They met when Miraak was dragged along by Breyth to the companions hall in order to dole out some missions. So of course he’s trash talking as always and he ends up in an intellectual debate with vilkas. (At which point, Breyth and Farkas decided to back away slowly and go put dresses and fight stuff)

Neither have any idea of how courtship work! Hijinks ensue. Breyth tries to help, but he grew up in the shivering isles, so his ideas of courtship are wack at the best of times. Farkas keeps suggesting food.

Miraak 100% uses dragon aspect as a way to show off to Vilkas.

Vilkas is pretty much only using ancient texts to parce out how to court a dragonborn.

Dragon Courting Hoards!! Bc it’s a favourite trope of mine.

Miraak’s love language is gifts and words. Vilkas’ is acts of service and words.

Breyth has the rings make by his blacksmith friend Reesa of New Sheoth. One is gold, with a moonstone set between golden dragon wings. The other is hard steel, with a sapphire set in a wolf’s jaws.

I think the wolf twins should definitely join the dragon guard. So romantic rides on dragon back are definitely a thing.

Vilkas helps Miraak get used the modern life. Things like politics and economic condition that a 17 year old from a different province is already struggling to understand and can’t really help with.

That’s all I got for now! How this was to your liking💚

[luckydxy]

MEET THE MUSE!

LEGAL NAME:  Ara Loft DATE OF BIRTH: 5th Day of Evening Star ( December ) NICKNAMES: Sparrow, Grey Fox, Sheo, Criminal Scum GENDER: Cis Female AGE: 18 -- 200+ SPECIES: Niben Imperial ( Human ) -- Daedric Prince PLACE OF BIRTH: The Imperial City, Cyrodiil, in Loft Manor CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Timeline dependent. Usually the Waterfront Hideout or New Sheoth Palace. Frequently on the road. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Tamrielic ( the Common Tongue ) & crude Bosmeris OCCUPATION: Lord Sheogorath.  Prince of Madness.  Sovereign of the Shivering Isles.  Lord of the Never-There.  Previously a Champion of Sheogorath & Countess of Mania.  Temporarily Guildmaster of the Cyrodiil Thieves Guild. Temporarily Castle Anvil Treasurer.  TLDR ; Basically a bunch of fancy words for Unemployed. CRIMINAL RECORD: We don't have enough time for that. Mostly thievery & general mischief. Occasional murder as per her whims.

DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS ( Thanks Thadon )

LIKE[S]: Art, music, dancing, flowers, fine jewelry, puzzles, locksmithing, gold/silver smithing, archery, swimming, horses, adventure, surprises, people watching, stealing, dusk, The Shivering Isles, The Imperial City, Anvil, Martin Septim, Haskill, honey, strawberries, felldew, wine, bubble baths.

DISLIKE[S]:  The Mythic Dawn, Mehrunes Dagon, Jyggalag, Akatosh, dull scratchy clothing, politicians, snow & cold, bulky armor, working, know-it-alls, the color grey, The Deadlands, Bravil, Dyus, Syl, Thadon, cells & shackles, most vegetables, ale, cats, spiders.

FEARS: Jyggalag, enclosed spaces, fire / burning to death, The Greymarch, Lijsbeth, spiders, Jyggalag, Haskill when he's cranky, Abandonment, Relmyna Verenim because she's always cranky, open water / sailing, poison, Jyggalag yet again, being healed by means of magic / career healers in general.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Adventurous, charismatic, creative, clever, dramatic, passionate, persuasive, witty, deceptive, emotional, sarcastic, stubborn, crafty, demanding, dishonest, envious, greedy, impatient, obssesive, self-indulgent.

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

HAIR COLOUR: Deep black. A true ebony. EYE COLOUR: A bright ivy green. HEIGHT: 5 ft. 3 in. WEIGHT: 105 - 110 Ibs TATTOOS: None

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS: None PARENT[S]: Lijsbeth Loft & Garett Dice CHILDREN: None PET[S]: Do the madmen/madwomen count? No? She's friends with a unicorn & occasionally 'borrows' Barbas from Claviucus Vile.

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Lesbian RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

TAGGED BY : @austerulous​ this was a good one thank you !! TAGGING : *finger guns @ the dash* whoever hasn't done it! !!

[tamrielwolf]

(Warning: this post mentions suicide and depression) There’s a popular Oblivion clip from the Shivering Isles DLC where the player humorously says “today is your lucky day” before pushing an Imperial man from a staircase after he reveals how he sometimes debates whether or not to jump. However, if taken the time to play this short quest, you will find that it is one of the most saddest moments in the the games. Hirrus Clutumnus is a citizen of Crucible who lives an utterly “miserable existence” as he puts it. He will whisper to the player offering a rewarding proposition, and if you choose to meet him after dark, it will be revealed that this task is nothing more than an assisted suicide. He doesn’t offer many details or insight, but makes it evident how decisive he is of this desire to die. It’s better if you listen to the despairing request in his own pained words for yourself:

After this dialogue, he will make his way up the stairs where you have the option to push him. He is initially taken aback, but you will soon hear him mutter, “peace at last, thank you”.

Since Hirrus promised the player a reward, you are then able to loot the key from his body and take anything from his house. In his jewelry box, you will find a valuable ring and an incredibly upsetting will that reads:

“I've wanted to die for quite some time. Things just aren't going right. Never have gone right, really. No one seems to care either, nor even notice I exist. Not that I'd have much to say even if someone had wanted to be my friend. I'd make a lousy friend anyway. I'm probably even boring the person reading this. I'm certainly boring myself. Not that anyone will ever find this note. Oh, but if they do! If they do it means that I've been granted my greatest wish! To be released from this mortal coil. This isn't a suicide note, no. That would mean I've taken my own life, and we all know what that means. Who wants that kind of existence, to be reborn on a hill every day, reset as if nothing ever happened? That's even worse than the life I'm living. Life I've lived! Yes, yes, yes! I'm sure I'm happy now. The dead me. The me writing this note isn't happy at all. Never have been happy, really.

Anyway, the purpose of this note is to say to the man or woman who has killed me: "Thank you!"

All I really have is this queer little ring. A wizard gave it to me once, said I reminded him of his dead son. I guess I resemble his dead son even more now. Anyway, he said it would make me happy. Lift the weight of the world off my shoulders or some such thing. Come to think of it, it's the only time anyone has ever given me anything. Personally, I think the thing is worthless. Just like me.

I tried it for a while, the "Happiness Ring" but eventually I couldn't wear it anymore. It made me feel odd -- not myself. I didn't like feeling that way so I locked it away. It's pretty enough, though. It might fetch a few gold coins at the merchant. Sorry not to leave much more behind. But, my life never really amounted to much anyway, did it?

Yours very truly,

Hirrus Clutumnus, deceased”

And if you think it couldn’t get any more disturbing, here is his gravestone that appears in the New Sheoth Graveyard upon completion of the quest.

[witchyfroggins]

A/N: haha, i had this idea in mind for awhile so seeing that people havent taken the holden opportunity for a oneshot or reader insert i guess my time has come!

Also the reader is said to be female but you can change it otherwise i dont mind.

Summary: in the unlikely events of an adventurer coming across the gate to the shivering isles in hopes of stopping the infinite loop of the greymarch a ball is to be hosted as a last hurrah.

Warnings: Emotions (possibly)

_______________________________

Everyone in the Isles gathered in Sheoth at this evening dresses in bright or dim clothes dependinf where they rein from. Mania or dementia. You were from (Mania/Dementia) you wore a (Favorite Dress) along with your hair pinned up by a white flower from Mania's garden that you managed to sneak or just take.

The normally deserted streets were littered with people in creative masks and beautiful gowns. You had a white owl mask with real soft feathers. It only covered your eyes so you had a deep (Favorite color) Lipstick on your lips.

You were new to the isles so the reason for this beautiful Mascerade was a mystery to you but you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

Everyone was enjoying their time. Chatting with eachother, drinking and eating as they waited for the arrival of their very special guest. You knew who it was of course, the famed daedric prince of madness, sheogorath.

When you had arrived for the first time. You were confused and scared, the white bearded man welcomed you with a surprisingly warm smile on his face. Why did you not kill you? You never found out.

After that, in time you managed to serve under him from (Mania/Dementia). You always admired him. Your fear faded as soon as you looked into those golden cat like eyes. You, for a lack of a better word, interested in this prince. He could also say the same for you.

Presenting yourself so rawly to him. It was if he could see a fraction of himself in your eyes. You were nothing like the other mortals who had been sent to him after a a gruesome death. He wanted to get to know you better. So you stayed.

Back at the ball you navigated your way to the small bar that had been set up to get a drink. You were a nervous wreck, you weren't one to always wear fancy clothes. Let alone be in a fancy ball. This might as well be your first time.

As you were sipping on a glass of red wine the noise of the ball faded as everyone gazed upon the stairs as a figure appeared wearing a rather unfitting suit for the prince of madness. It was purple and styles like your normal Tuxedo but it was decorated with a golden floral pattern on one side while the other was a black thorn pattern. He dawned a golden feline eye mask above his nose.

Of course he was accompanied with his Chamberlain Haskill in his normal attire despite the event.

Everyone soon stopped their conversation as the mad prince raised both of his arms in the air with a wide cat grin on his bearded face.

"Let the Mascerade begin!" He Declared earning a cheer of approval as the floating orchestra began to play a tune on their own.

Everyone went back to their business as the mad prince stood from the top of the stairs gazing at what could be the last heart filled moment in a long time. The greymarch was upon him and he didnt have the courage to tell (y/n). But he couldn't find the right time.

As if by coincidence his eyes landed on her form. Awkwardly shuffling to the back of the room in her beautiful (Favorite color) gown and white owl mask. As if a predator was drawn to its prey he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Normally he would refrain himself from dancing with the locals. It wasnt good for reputation. But he may not get another chance. He cringed at the thought of becoming Jyggalag and hurting her.

As if battling with his own mind he had finally come to a conclusion. You only live once, as mortals say even though he was a daedric god. She could only live once.

Before he could even register what he was doing he found himself moving down the stone stairs. Grabbing the attention of his loyal followers as they fearfully cleared the floor for him as he strided confidently towards you.

It was only when he was a few feet away from you, you realised him. Almost choking on your wine as he stood in front of you in an almost intimidating way. But when you looked up to him as he was taller then you. You could see his eyes. The pupils weren't their usual shape. They were wider, his beautiful yellow irises shy of disappearing.

Quickly you placed your glass down and bowled.

"L-Lord sheogorath, how can i help you?" You asked forcing the words our of your mouth joping to play it cool. However your voice betrayed you at that moment.

You awaited his response. The simplest things could tick him off bu tonight there will always be an exception. He looked down at you, he just laughed. Not his usual maniacal laugh. It was soft almost inaudible to the people around him. But he made certain you heard it.

He hooked a finger under your chin grabbing your attention as he guided your head to look at him. You could feel the heat rise on your cheeks as you gazed up at him. A kind smile on his face.

After a moment he steppes back giving enough space between you two for him to bow to you! A mortal. The crowd began to stir, whispering among themselves as he reaxhed out with his hand.

"A dance? Mi'lady?" He asked in his usual scottish accent that sent a shver down your spine.

You by all means would jump at the chance of dancing with him. But with the people staring and whispering behind their masks she felt as if it was wrong.

"Are you certain my lord?" You asked in an accent of your own. Oh how he loved to hear you speak. It made him feel as if he were flying. Well he can fly but it was different.

He didnt speak a word sending a glare to those around them. And with one swift movement he took you gently by the hand pulling you towards his chest. One arm sliding around your waist with ease.

"Don't mind them my dear. Tonight it's just about you and me" he whispered in your ear. He waited to long for this moment for so long and it was finally here.

He couldn't help but bask in your presence. Your smell, the feeling of you in his arms. It was beautiful. He guided you to the dance floor. Your dress swaying with his movements.

The band began to play once again. The lamps that hung on strings between the buildings changed into a beautiful red hue as it focused only on them.

You averted your eyes from him. To embarrassed to look his way. He wasn't impressed by this and with a small 'tsk' freeing one hand only to hook it under your chin once more as if it never left.

"I dont much like people averting my gaze (y/n). If it wasn't for your exquisite beauty i would have had you displayed as a carpet in my throne room" he stated his voice staying the same mono tone. It almost scared you if not for his hidden compliment.

He enjoyed dancing with you. Having you entwined with his own dark soul as he spun you around. However his glee wouldn't last long. There was still the dire situation to come and he has yet to tell you. Maybe he doesn't.

Sheogorath had a beautiful idea. A way to show his affection for you and get you out of danger.

With one simple movement he spun you around once again before dipping you low enough for your hair to become undone and hit the stone floor. He kept you their for some time. Just admiring how you looked. The red of your cheeks brought out your beautiful (eye color) eyes.

You couldn't hear anything above your own racing heartbeat as the close proximity of your face and his. His breath mingling with yours. Drawing you ever so closer to him.

With out a warning his lips connected with your own. It was just as you imagined it, soft, warm and slightly chasped but it was perfect.

Both of your lips moved in perfect sinc with eachother. As if you were made for him. A perfect mortal molded into his liking without his torment. You were perfect. He couldn't let you call to his lesser half.

He pulled you back onto your feet. Never removing his lips from yours. Spinning you around fast enough that you couldn't see straight. Then the last words you would probably ever hear from him in some time.

"I'm sorry"

His words confused you but as soon as you regained your balance and the world stopprd spinning you realised you were not in the isles anymore. You were in nirn.

____________________________

All done!

Wow! That took longer then i though and it is longer then i thought.

Anyway part 2??

[your-uncle-sheogorath]

Hello Lord Sheogorath and happy Sunday!

How are you and how has your week been? Hope it was a good one?

What tricks did you add to little Reli's castle?

Do you have any plans for the New Life festivities? (Maybe just abducting Lord Tharn for a little while so he can get some proper rest? XD). You usually exchange presents during New Life, right? Is there a present you'd like to receive?

As always, and even more so during this festive season, I wish you all the best for the week to come. May it bring you, your loved ones, and all you care for heeps of joy, loads of happiness, and tons of laughter.

Have a great Sunday Lord Sheogorath. Take good care of yourself!

Hello, Sundas Anon!

Las week was a bit... Odd, I suppose. Abnur caught a bit of a cold, Haskill started a diary, a mare was on the loose rampaging through my palace at New Sheoth... In fact, I believe she is still loose. I can hear her from here, and I'm in the White Gold Tower! (Note to self: fire my stable master)

My plans for New Life? In one word: mischief! Mischief! Abducting Abnur sounds like a great idea too, I'll be sure to do that. About the presents, I can't think of anything that I'd like to receive. As long as it is a good surprise, I'm game for almost anything.

Have a very merry holiday! Enjoy the food, and the people, and the rest, if you can get any (hopefully you will?). And take good care! :3

[lord-rosenth0rne]

Me: *severely fed up with my playthrough of Skyrim and can’t say the no-no words because reasons* OH, FOR THE LOVE OF UNCLE SHEO!

**New Sheoth, Shivering Isles**

Sheogorath: *sits on his throne bored before suddenly jolting in his seat* Woah!

Haskill: *confused* M-My lord?

Sheogorath: *looks at him astonished* I think my name was just used as a curse... *grins wildly* AND IT FELT GREAT! HA HA! DO IT AGAIN!

Me: *dragon dives straight into my character and knocks them off a cliff* SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh- *still can’t say the no-no words* SHEOGORATH!

Sheogorath: *doubled over laughing, holding his sides* OH! That tickles! MORE!

Haskill: *sighs* As you wish, my lord. 

[happygounluckyme]

This is the demon Sheoth, a Knight of Tartarus. He takes the form of a goat with the front legs of a pony, a leonine tail, four feathered wings, six horns and five deep red eyes on his face with three more on each larger wing and one on each smaller wing. He can take the form of a black pegasus if requested. Sheoth both causes and cures disease and can fill wounds with horrible worms. He can also reveal the truth in anyone's words and expose all lies. He answers all questions truthfully and clearly in his gravelly, deep voice, but only after he has been given a gift of dried white roses, gold or the blood of an ailing mare. Sheoth is obedient to the conjurer once an adequate gift has been given and will not be tempted by other spirits. 

Sheoth is a stern, fair, no nonsense servant of Tartarus. While the conjurer will have his loyalty for the time he is needed, his loyalty to his kin is eternal. A threat to the Kings, Princes and Dukes is a threat to him and he will staunchly defend his home and his superiors. As a Knight of Tartarus, Sheoth is skilled in combat and displays great strength and speed in addition to his ability to bring sickness. They say wherever Sheoth steps, plants wither and die. 

Bases by Box-of-Ideas, ribbetlion and selenaede

[ansu-gurleht]

basically i’m the person that gets to new sheoth and meets sheogorath for the first time and the first words out of my mouth are “your goatee looks stupid” and as soon as the last syllable hits the floor i’m falling to my death

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Elder Scrolls Legends: Isle of Madness DLC: plot and lore summary for those who don't have the time or the will to play it

All Elder Scrolls legends stories have are framed as stories told by Kellen, a traveling moth priest, and Nagh, his furry boyfriend (?), who really like to hear the man talk, in their long and perilous journeys across Tamriel to better pass the time.

Kellen, who has always till now narrated stories he saw on the scrolls he carries around, stories about the shezarine Forgotten Hero, this time decides to tell a different kind of story, one he remembers from a old journal he found long ago.

As of now, we have no knowledge of when exactly any of this happening. However, since they treat the Return to Clockwork City DLC, which is happening right during the Skyrim Dragon War, as old history, we can assume this is happening way late in the 4th era, perhaps even the 5th.

Anyway, Kellen decides to tell us the story of a new "hero."

Talym Rend. He was a spy for the empire, stationed in Morrowind, and the journal was his. He narrates of how his son, Nevos, had been struck by a terrible madness, and how no healer, no temple priest, not even the ashlanders could heal the boy. He so decides to venture into the shivering isles, home of Sheogorath, corner of the house of troubles, and petition for him to heal his son.

We don't know when specifically this is also happening either. Morrowind isn't a smoking ruin, and the tribunal temple is still the local religion, so it's not the 4th era. The existence of a united empire deploying troops in both Morrowind and High Rock might make us assume this is happening during the 3rd era, before the events of Morrowind, but after the warp in the west? The details are confused.

Anyway, Talym finds a strange door in Morrowind, and by passing it he reaches the fringes of Sheogorath Realm.

There, we meet our first supporting character.

Cyriel is a sneaky little shit. She distracts Talym with the prospect of some sick weapon, and warns him about the incoming fight with the gate keeper, only to steal his gold purse one second later by going "Can't Help Being a Gemini Shadow."

Talym so ventures into the fringe, and finds a garden of swords, growing from the ground, and among them, a axe specifically grown to kill the gate keeper.

He uses it to kill the mountain of a flesh atronach, only for cyriel to come out of the bushes to thank him for all the work he's done for her, and walking onto the gates of madness.

Reached New Sheoth, however...

And so Talym is out to seek glory to amuse the mad god.

First, he meets once again Cyriel. The cheeky bugger has gotten herself trapped in a trap and is now trying to extort Talym's help via deception and false humility, all of this at the No-Rats Camp, a giant camp whose owner, the eponymous Nervous Giant, is terrified by Rats and Skeevers. Talym manages to make him run away and saves Cyriel, asking for his purse back, only for Cyriel to vanish in the shrubbery once again.

Second, he meets the second supporting cast member of his adventure.

The Orc Bard Luzrah gro-Shar, a gentle soul, who incidentally has the menu theme stuck in her head due to a magical cave filled with colored grumites. You help her finish her song, and she warmly salutes him.

And then, he meets the most peculiar of men (man?).

A man with a split personality, Tavyar (Rayvat?) who believes one is constantly following the other with ill intent. Talym makes them notice that they are apparently the same person, only for the 2 to get enraged and attack together... as one?

Killed the knight (or was it the mage?), Talym is approached by Haskill, who tells him that Lord Sheogorath is most pleased with him, and will receive him now.

Talym, reluctantly, accepts.

And so it begins. The mad god has also managed to conscript Cyriel and Luzrah in the mission, Sheogorath promising one riches, the other bodily harm if they don't comply, and the unfortunate Threesome is now forced to do the mad god bidding.

First, they must instill the fear of the dead to a Khajiit bandit lord, who lord Sheogorath calls a slur while he's at it, who has killed many a hero before like the Hero of Dawn and the Red Avenger, and is now afraid of no enemy, especially the dead ones.

Talym, who at first tries to spook the Khajiit with some smoke and mirrors, is in the end gifted by Haskill with a powerful amulet, that can capture weakened ghosts to later unleash on unsuspecting victims.

The bandit lord is left, fleeing into the night, haunted by the ghosts of those he had killed.

Second, a Dunmer Baron in Morrowind, owner of several Kwama Egg Mines, and sworn enemy of a rich Betty Netch Herder. The trio must convince the man, who has always had everything handled to him on a silver platter in life due to his noble and rich birth, that he is more than a simple mortal, is to boost his ego to comical proportions.

Talym so disguised himself as a prophet, and calls the baron "the Prince of the Prophecy, whose words always come true." He so asks the Baron to make three statement, three wishes, and see how they will hold true.

The first, is asking for his Kwama to lay golden eggs, a task easily fulfilled by Luzrah (" Didn't I tell you guys other than a hard I'm also a superb painter?").

The second, is for his rival's bull netches, the most gentlest of creatures, to rampage on his farm, another task easily fulfilled by simply harming the farm's betty netches in front of the bulls.

And third, for a snowstorm to start despite it being Morrowind in the middle of a particularly hot summer, which is another task fulfilled by hijacking a local telvanni mushroom tower and using it as a catalyst for a overpowered blizzard spell.

After the 3 portents are fulfilled, the baron, mad with power, decides to use his newfound "powers" to smite down his rival in a duel, and, once done so, he decides that he is capable of flight, launching himself from a Cliffside before anyone, let alone a horrified Luzrah, who unroll then was having a blast at the Baron looking silly and believing such obvious bull, can stop him.

The baron falls to his death, and Lurzah leaves the party, disgusted with watch she and the others have done.

Now, more somber, the zany adventures they seemed to have till now come to an end...

Starts the second part of this story.

Talym and Cyriel reach the border between High Rock and Skyrim. A rogue Reachmen Clan, the Doomfang Clan, is trying to breach the mountains and establish a small colony in northern high rock, so to keep trade between the 2 provinces on a choke hold.

The empire has sent one of their best generals and spies, General Porcia, Talym old friend and superior during his time as a imperial spy, and his next and last target in order to save his son.

The situation is dire, but Talym would do anything to save his son, even betray a old friend...

So, he intercepts and kills one of her spy couriers, so to tamper with its informations, so to Plant false ones and make her doubt her ability as a spy master...

Only to discover the unthinkable.

The reachmen had perfected a weapon, terrible in its design. A poisonous gas, with no antidote, deathly and pervasive, soon to be unleashed on the imperial garrison, the Breton contingent, stationed there and lead by Porcia.

Cyriel is horrified. She says they must warn the imperial at once, that no one is worth the life of an entire army...

Only For Talym to rebuke her with force. He would sacrifice anyone, even 100 armies to save his son.

Cyriel is disgusted. She leaves, stops, gets his unopened satchel filled with gold, and throws it on the ground at his feet. And then she's gone.

Talym can't stop now, he only has 24 hours left to complete his task, and he's getting desperate. He decides to plant false evidence that a sacred flower growing in a nearby grow, sacred to Lady Mara, can be extracted and used as a counter cloud to the poison, knowing full well that it will most likely do nothing of the sorts and will doom them all to a slow death by gassing.

But, due to the death of the courier, the Reachmen have gotten more alert, and manage to capture Porcia. Talym is so forced to save his old friend, only to later lead her to her doom.

They go together to the sacred grove, where Porcia, believing the flowers to be their only hope, and that the priestess were going to die anyway once the reachmen decided to attack them to prevent the flower from being harvested (something that was never going to happen), orders her men to kill them and take the flowers with force, committing a massacre of pacifist Mara priests trying to resist the imperials as they took their sacred flowers.

The trap is set, the weight of her actions already resting heavy on her mind, Porcia orders a attack against the reachmen stronghold, knowing full well such a enclosed space would be perfect for the deployment of the gas. So, she orders all her men to converge in a narrow passage, and, once the poison cloud is released, she orders to release the sacred flower counter cloud...

And then...

The two gasses have a terrible reaction with each other.

Fire is unleashed on Reahcman and Breton alike, the entirety of the Doomfang Clan, warrior, men, but also women and children living in the stronghold, and an entire imperial legion destroyed and eradicated in a single night, explosions disfiguring and killing and maiming soldiers for life, or kill those lucky enough to get killed. Porcia, miraculously unscathed, perhaps a punishment, or a mercy by lady Mara herself, witnessing her actions and her consequences, becoming more from that day onward, in fear her words might one day again cause such terrible fate, such senseless deaths, for nothing, and thinking it was her fault, hers and her faulty informations.

When it was all Talym's fault instead.

The war criminal, because we can't have a elder scrolls legends story mode without the main character being a bloody war criminal, returns home, the conquering hero, ecstatic to finally see his some again, whole and-

But his son is gone.

And only a tomb lays in his place. A tomb Talym himself built over a year ago.

He doesn't understand. How did that happen? Sheogorath must have tricked him somehow, so Talym returns to the isles, his mind getting more and more deranged as time passes and the weight of his actions start making itself clear, all with actions and horrors for nothing, the man slipping more and more into insanity as he forgets who he is, as he sees normal trees coming to life, and mudcrabs talking and trying to sell him their wares, and strange... colored grumites... singing... the menu theme song?

Lurzah is back, during Talym darkest hour, for the friend that helped her with her own song, despite everything he has done.

She wakes him from his delirium, and tells him that the only way for him to heal, is to face his past, maybe with the help of a ancient orc song, so powerful that it can send you in a trance and let you fight your darkest self.

But that's not enough. He must learn the truth, he must find Sheogorath and demand answers. So Lurzah tells him or a mighty warrior, someone Sheo himself was afraid of, trapped in a ancient cell in cavern at the fringes of insanity... or perhaps sanity?

So, they enter the cell, and free its prisoner, who was no other than...

Haskill's evil brother?

Dyus, keeper of the records of Jyggalag, the prince of order, the last thing of Jyggalag left in the isles, for not even Sheogorath could bring himself to kill his last link to his past.

Well, his second to last.

For the sword of Jyggalag is somewhere to be found, and, by using it against Sheogorath, he too will be faced with the memories of what he has done, of what he was, and, perhaps, will be compelled so to tell Talym the truth about what happen to his son.

Talym finds the sword, and returns to New Sheoth, bidding one last farewell to Lurzah, who tells him there are no ill feelings between them, and who probably decided to go search for where the hell Cyrial has gotten herself into to get her out of trouble, thus starting a epic Orsimer/Bosmer bard/thief lesbian love story to span the ages.

(Or maybe not, this one can dream).

Talym reaches Sheogorath, amazed that the man is still standing after his ordeal, and that he has managed to find the sword of order of all weapons. Talym directs his sword against Sheogorath, and demands an explanation.

Which Sheogorath, in all fairness, does give.

Via mind fucking flashbacks of course, but big still count as a explanation:

Back then, when Talym was still a imperial spy under porcia, the Black Worm Cult murdered his "partner" (Never mentioned if romantic or work partner. Since we see no spouse to speak of I'm assuming they killed the guy husband and spy partner and Nevos is adopted), so he decides to infiltrate the black worm cult himself to dismantle it from within, despite Porcia insists that he should take a break and spend more time with his son.

Alas, tragedy strikes. The cult discovers what his going on, and puts Talym in front of a terrible test.

Prove his worthiness to the cause...

Via the trial of ruthlessness.

This is by far the most chilling fucking scene and match in the history of this fucking game.

Whatever you do, you cannot save your son.

The spell in your hand, blood sacrament, is a damaging spell, and both creatures are ready to attack. There are 3 ways to kill your son.

Even if you pass, one of the two cultists will assume you failed the test, and comment on what a shame it was, only to then have the creature attack the boy by itself.

Memories come back like a flood. He had asked Sheogorath to forget the terrible action he had to commit, to kill his own beloved son, only for him to manipulate his memories so he could come back to him, years later, and do his dark bidding again.

Sheogorath and if he wants to do it all over again, and let him make him forget all of his pain and misery rather than have to face it for the rest of his miserable life.

But Talym has learned his lesson now. He must not run away from pain, but must healthily deal with his loss rather than strike bargains with mad gods. He has learned to live with the truth and his past, no matter the pain.

He then asks if Sheogorath if he can say the same for himself.

Talym strikes him with the sword of order one, two, three times, each strike making memories of his past as the prince of order flood in Sheogorath's mind, the mad god first disgusted by his last self, later scared, and in the end defeated, begging Talym to stop, to take away the memories with him and return home, something Talym agrees only after having the mad god swear to not harm or retaliate on neither him or on Cyrial and Luzrah again, who were probably having wild lesbian sex in Lurzah's colored music cave as all of this was happening and Sheogorath started making rain flaming cheese from the skies as he pleaded for Talym to go the fuck away from him.

And so the story end. Talym returns to his empty home to deal with his grief, alone, and leave us a warning: "no matter what devil might try to bargain with you, memories and grief are important to us, and we should never give them away, no matter how painful they might seem."

The story ends, and we return to out travelers from the start, with Nagh obligatory sarcastic closing statement: "Jeez, man, Naagh is beginning to think you only know angsty stories, it's the 3rd time you made this one cry with one," as a city appears on the horizon.

[sirsheoth]

[bones-of-sheogorath-blog]

Here’s a quick Relmyna short story to celebrate Sheogorath’s summoning day. This is NOT the Relmyna x Sheogorath story I wrote yesterday lol. That one will only be found on ao3 once my account gets approved. Anyways, here it is. Note: Some in-game dialogue has been used. 

She stood within the room of The Wastrel's Purse, an inn in Passwall, and the only one place she chose to linger for any given amount of time (asides from her ruin on the other side of the wall, of course). Relmyna remained there only to stay close to her creation, and because in Passwall, it was easier to find victims for her torturous experiments. Those not blessed by Sheogorath would hardly be missed, after all. Quite the opposite.

The thought of his name made her face shift with a frown. He hadn’t come to visit her in quite some time, and when she approached the palace in hopes of an audience, the guards shooed her firmly away. At first, Relmyna had considered it nothing more than a phase. Sheogorath went through them much like a child, like the time he had demanded every left side of every house in New Sheoth be painted a vibrant pink, and shut himself in his throne room for weeks, muttering about how the color orange was mocking him. But this time was different. There didn’t seem to be any obvious clues that Sheogorath had been stricken by a paranoid, psychological affliction. If anything, the realm remained quite normal, a warm breeze, gentle and heated, a vibrant sky, ignited by the sun’s cascading rays.

For some time she pondered, and wondered to herself, if Sheogorath had moved on.

No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t true. He wouldn’t! He loved her, and she loved him. They had been through so much together. He had always been so intrigued by her experiments, there were days where he had spent hours at a time watching her torment and torture the souls that had displeased him, not for the simple sadism in such an act, but for his fascination for her experiments, the appreciation of her discoveries, the intense study of the sixth element of flesh.

It just didn’t make sense. Why would he suddenly cease his visits? Why was she so suddenly alone, and cold at night? Had she done something wrong? Had she displeased him in some way?

As the night passed, Relmyna continued to deny that there was anything wrong. She promised herself that it would get better. Everything would be fine. When the darkness of night fell across the landscape, a deep rumble of thunder shook the interior, and a smile spread her lips. Did that mean he was listening? Did that mean he would see her again soon?

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

Anger. It burned in her gut. It gripped her heart with fiery tendrils. It seared her mind, and sharpened her thoughts with a cutting edge. Relmyna stood upon the border of the Fringe and the Isles, the grand wall towering over her head. The night sky was dark and starlit, streaked with vibrant pink. Lingering in the woman’s shadow was the Gatekeeper, who watched her with blind, stitched eyes, silent and content, in the presence of its parent.

"Look at all the bones around you! You have been a busy little boy, haven't you?" The Dunmer cooed to the monstrous creature, a gentle, soft string of proud words that flowed past her dark lips. But the longer she stared at her child, the more intense her anger became, and her fists clenched, with fingernails digging into the flesh of her own palms. “Why does he refuse to see me, child?” She demanded of the Gatekeeper, but in response, she received only a rumble from it’s cavernous chest. “Just looking at you reminds me of Him.” Relmyna practically growled, her lips twisting into a furious frown, and hands lashing through the air. Life wasn’t fair, she knew, but in this case, it was a little less fair than she was used to.

“He’s a coward.” Relmyna hissed to her creation, her crimson gaze narrowed, but even with all the anger that had settled within those maroon eyes, pain still lingered.

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

She was writing him a letter. It wasn’t the first. It wouldn’t be the last. Relmyna sat at her desk in her room, hunched over the table, with her feather ink pen locked tightly within her grip.

‘What do I have to do to get you to see me?’ The first string of words read with desperation, ‘Shall I bring you the champion you so desperately seek? Shall I cut my own flesh so that I may appease you? Burn my skin to cleanse my soul of whatever sin I have committed that has earned me your displeasure? Tell me what to do.’ Relmyna’s face shifted with emotional pain as she wrote, her typically graceful penmanship turned jagged and forced.

“What do you want from me?” The Dunmer cried out, and her voice was so loud it could no doubt be heard across the hall and down the stairs of the inn. “Tell me what you want!” It was a plea that fell from her lips, in a voice that she could never imagine would be her own.

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

Another dreary, gloomy night, even as the sky swirled with vibrant life. To the Dunmer, she saw only the grey of the world, the bleak, lifeless, joyless expanse of her hopeless thoughts. The Gatekeeper greeted her the moment she ascended the steps to the wall, it’s stitched frame rumbling with what Relmyna liked to think was affection. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she felt herself choke on her own grief. The Gatekeeper, sensing its parent’s sadness, drew ever closer, loud and lumbering.

"Why does it still hurt, after all these years? Why?" She raised her hands to her eyes, covering them with dark fingers, as if it would hide her grief, her terrible depression. The Gatekeeper leaned closer, extending a massive hand, reaching for her. Relmyna jerked away. "Stay away. My tears, they burn you! Don't you remember? Stay back, child!" She cried out. Then, risking a glance, her gaze fell across the creature she had so lovingly crafted at Sheogorath’s side, and her body was wracked with intense, emotional pain that brought a whimper past her lips.

"No, it's too much. I don't know why I keep coming to visit you! I have to leave now. I’m sorry!" That was the last time she dared to visit her child, and whether or not it missed her presence, she could not know for sure.

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

Weeks later, as the Dunmer sat alone in the Passwall inn, she heard the excited cry of Shelden just outside.

“They did it! They killed the Gatekeeper!” The Redguard shouted to all that would hear. There was a resounding cheer from the trapped adventurers that had been lingering in Passwall for some time. Those that hadn’t become victims of Relmyna’s experiments were overjoyed to hear that they could finally enter the realm proper.

Deep inside her chest, Relmyna felt her heart turn to ice. It pained her, at first. But as she stood from her chair, a sense of cold neutrality gripped her frigid thoughts.

Stepping outside, Relmyna made her way up the steps to find the broken, bloodied figure of her fallen son. Her gaze narrowed, and for some time, she simply stared, and said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was as harsh as a steel blade’s biting edge.

“So be it. Let the adventurers in. I don't care anymore.”

[breadknight-likes-things]

Cities of (Sort Of) Cyrodiil: New Sheoth

Ha ha! Plot twist! You thought I was done writing about the cities of Cyrodiil, and that’s because I technically am!  New Sheoth may not be anywhere near Cyrodiil, not even being in the same dimension really, but it’s a city from my favorite Elder Scrolls game nonetheless, and boy is it a weird one.  New Sheoth is the capital city of the Shivering Isles, Shegoraths realms of madness consisting of the bright and unpredictable Mania and the dark and dreary Dementia.  New Sheoth straddles the line between these two wildly different worlds and as a result, is essentially two cities in one.  

Ah yes, that famous street: Dementia Raven Way

Dementia's side of the city is known as Crucible and it’s uh....well let’s say rustic.  Frankly, Crucible looks like something out of Fallout 3, bathed in sickly green and looking like nobody’s bothered to take care of the infrastructure since the day it was built, if you could call it “built”.  Gnarled trees grow in and out of buildings unimpeded, the citizenry is dreary and depressed and there’s at least one opportunity to push a dude off a steep flight of stares after he asks you to do just that.  Crucible probably isn’t a place anybody would really want to live, but I guess try telling that to the people spending all their time wallowing in the mud and loving it!

Is it crazy? Is it just late autumn?  Who can say?!

The Mania side of the city is known as the pretty self explanatory “Bliss”.  Though the name sounds like a teenagers Sonic OC, it does it’s job well enough in getting the vibe of the place out in one word.  Everyone in Bliss is the same level of weirdo you find down in Crucible, but surrounded by a generally nicer setting.  Fittingly it’s the polar opposite of the other side of town, with clean streets, happy people and no trees winding their way into the local inn.  It stands in stark contrast to the sights of crucible, and when taking some time exploring this wacky berg I always tend to gravitate towards the vibrant colors and more interesting locations to be found in Bliss. 

Shivering Isles was a great expansion, and New Sheoth was a unique twist on the fantasy cities we’d been seeing up to that point.  Though it hasn’t aged all that great in recent times(for instance, there’s really no nuance to the shift, it’s a hard loading screen between the two districts), it’s one last memorable city in a game that revolutionized the idea of the things in a way that hadn’t been done at the time since WoW. 

[uesp]

Ahjazda--In memory of Ahjazda. The world wasn't coming to an end -- only her.

Amiable Fanriene--Amiable Fanriene, fallen before the walls did.

Bhisha--In memory of Bhisha. Killed because he loved dogs. (Only shown if Bhisha was killed during Ushnar's Terror.) In memory of sweet, harmless Bhisha. (Shown in all other cases.)

Big Head--In memory of Big Head. Completely Forked.

Blaise Sette--Here lies Blaise Sette. Faster than the wind, dumber than a stump.

Bolwing--I think his name was Bolwing.

Brithaur--In the end, his last breath was stolen from him.

Caldana Monrius--Caldana Monrius' last words: 'Bring some skooma to my wake!'.

Cutter†--In memory of Cutter. She enjoyed every cut to the last. And she enjoyed that one the most. It cut her spirit free.

Dumag gro-Bonk†--In honor of Dumag gro-Bonk. He made killing things fun again.

Earil†--He taught us to make the seconds count before we close our eyes.

Endarie--Remember Endarie. One day she will rise and take her vengeance.

Fimmion--Fimmion died hungry, or at least he thought he was.

Gloorolros--In memory of Gloorolros. Sticks and stones broke his bones.

Helene--Helene the Deaf. She never heard it coming.

Hirrus Clutumnus--Hirrus Clutumnus never felt like he fit in anywhere. He fits in a coffin quite nicely, now.

Lob gro-Murgob--Lob gro-Murgob died. We ate him and buried the bones here.

Mazaddha--Mazaddha found that which he did not seek -- the sharp end of a blade.

Meehn Half-Tail--May your spirit swim forever, Meehn Half-Tail.

Muurine--Muurine rests with the knowledge that her death provides much gossip.

Orinthal--Numbers matter no more, for Orinthal has found eternity.

Ranesta--Ranesta lies here, covered in glory and dirt.

Raven Biter--In memory of Raven Biter. He was one crazy son of a bitch.

Rendil Drarara--He's cooked his last meal.

Sheer Meedish--Beloved wife and loyal drinking companion.

Sickly Bernice†--This time, she was right.

Sontaire--Finally, Sontaire sleeps alone.

Thaedil--In memory of Thaedil. A juggler beyond compare, at least in her own mind.

Tilse Areleth--She couldn't take it with her.

Tove the Unrestful--In memory of Tove the Unrestful. His works completed, may he finally find rest.

Una Armina--In memory of Una Armina, a true Oddity.

Ushnar gro-Shadborgob--He asked to be buried with his beloved dog. Oh, well.

Uungor--Uungor finally got out of the city. Sheogorath watch over his spirit.

Vien Brenenus--Vien Brenenus. Noble but poor.

Vilval Telaram--Vilval Telaram was thrown in this hole.

Wide-Eye--In memory of Wide-Eye. May all her children prosper.

--The Epitaphs that can Appear in the New Sheoth Graveyard, if any Citizen Dies

†Though the epitaphs are waiting to be written, the intended occupants of these graves are always essential and therefore cannot be killed.

[happywitch416]

Chapter 14

When they opened the door to leave, a Bosmer accosted them demanding Elena’s help. She had listened to his story, before gently patting his hand and saying she would look into it. “The Pelagius Wing is closed but I know just who to ask.” She told Serana with a grin. “Shouldn’t take long.”

The Blue Palace was disappointing. Serana decided it was just a bigger, colder version of Proudspire. No art and only a single banner adorned its walls. Elena was talking to a red-haired Nord, arms casually folded. "Falk, you know you can trust me. You've known me since we were children." Elena upped the charm, a bat of her lashes above the saccharine smile. 

Falk rolled his eyes causing Serana to choke on a laugh that Elena didn’t miss, her smile turning into a grin. "Aye. And you stole and ate all the lavender dumplings from the palace kitchen and tried to blame my dog.” Her grin just widened, a sparkle in her green eyes, and he sighed. “Fine, but nothing comes out of that wing.” He pointed a thick finger at her. “Its darkness needs to stay contained.”

"All the dumplings?" Serana asked as they brushed the spiderwebs from the door frames before going through them. Erdi had been kind enough to hand them brooms as they went into the wing, her wistful sigh and the longing gaze she sent Elena's direction caused Serana to inwardly write the woman off as a silly idiot, ignoring the bloom of jealousy in her chest when Elena gave the woman a brilliant smile and touched her hand a second longer than necessary taking the broom.

A huff of laughter flowed over Elena's shoulder. "Aye. I was sicker than a dog for the next week. They had been made for a banquet our parents were attending, no children invited of course. And there was nothing I loved more than a lavender dumpling."

"And now?"

She pulled a face. "I haven't touched one since." She grinned at Serana. "I should have turned into a dumpling, is there a magical reason I didn't?"

Before Serana could answer Elena disappeared in a puff of lavender smoke while a cackle filled the air. Elena's broom hit the floor and was quickly followed by Serana’s as she stepped cautiously forward. The space felt no different than the rest of the hallway. She searched all the way to the end and down the stairs into a storeroom but there was no sign of the woman. She drug a chair from the bar area and settled down to wait, either Elena would reappear here, or she would come back to this spot to find her. It was just a matter of time. 

The sun was sinking, darkness already settled over the Ghost Sea. There was a loud pop, Serana started from the chair, her knees aching with the sudden movement as magic crackled into her hands. Elena appeared, landing promptly on her rear. 

Elena shot to her feet, spinning in a circle looking for something before finally noticing the staff in her hand. She dropped it to the floor as if it burned and then kicked it away. Serana laid a hand on her shoulder and Elena's hand raised to grip it. Elena’s palm was clammy against hers. "What happened?" Serana led her over to the chair and half shoved her into before grabbing the half bottle of watered-down wine that she had been drinking from the windowsill. She was disheveled, her hair free from its braid, a tear in the soft black shirt she wore under her armor between the vambrace and shoulder, the wound itself angry but dry. 

Elena took a long drink, grimaced, and drank again. She peered into the bottle. "I think I need something stronger." Serana took it from her and watched the tangle of curls tumble down her forearms as she held her head in her hands, elbows settling on her knees. "I met Pelagius the Mad." She said slowly like she didn’t believe the words leaving her mouth. "And fixed his mind?"

Serana leaned forward sure she misheard. "You what?"

A soft, alarmed laugh gently fluffed the curtain of fire red hair. "I wandered around Pelagius the Mad's mind. With Sheogorth." She took a deep breath, the press of the leather against her ribs a comforting reminder of reality. "I turned a wolf into a goat with that thing." She pointed at the staff in the hall and peered up at Serana through the tangle of curls. "It's the Wabbajack."

Serana gingerly picked it up while Elena eyed it warily. "So, it turns wolves into goats."

"And other weird shit."

She nodded like it made sense. "Did you go into the past and fix his mind? That could change everything you know."

Another hysterical giggle escaped Elena. "Maybe? At the table he looked alive. Said he was leaving, and that ruling was boring. Sheogarth said in order to leave I had to help Pelagius with his problems. And that we were in his head. But it was outside?" She tugged on her hair, both fists full. "How long was I gone?"

"A few hours." Serana slung the staff across her back and pulled Elena to her feet. "Come on, a nice warm drink, some food, and a good night's sleep in your own bed will help." She was shocked when Elena nodded instead of arguing that they needed to go instead.

Elena wrapped an arm around her waist and rested her head on her shoulder. Serana leaned her head against hers after a moment of her heart beating too fast. "Thank you for not immediately saying I am crazy."

Serana smiled. "The night is young."

Another laugh passed Elena’s lips, less hysterical and punctuated with a yawn. "And I have a standing invitation to share a torte with him if I am ever in New Sheoth."

Elena was up when Serana came into the kitchen the next morning. Elena was scowling at the Wabbajack resting against the far wall. "I woke up and it's still here." She gestured angrily at it. "What in Oblivion do I do with it?"

"Overrun Skyrim with goats, obviously." Serana hid her smile behind her steaming mug as Elena rolled her eyes. 

"So helpful." She shook her head with a soft chuckle before sobering. "If anyone knows how to properly store such things, it's a wizard. I think I will wander back to the palace to annoy our court wizard with it." Her gaze lengthened. "A gift from far away."

Chapter 15

Elena glared at Castle Volkihar as they rowed towards it, aiming for the tiny beach at its side, and hoped no one was watching the water. They clambered out of the boat, rushing the shore as the tide threatened to put them in water up to their boots and drag them back in. Elena anchored the mooring line against a boulder before letting out a low whistle as she stared up the castle walls, it managed to be even more massive from this angle. Serana had continued up the beach, finding their way. “Yeah, just around this bend.” She joined Elena and gazed upward. “Castle looks so big from down here. I mean, it is big, but, well, even bigger.”

“Everything is bigger when you are at the bottom.” Her lips pursed. “Except gold.” Serana shook her head and led the way into the undercroft.

“The old water cistern.” Serana sighed, striding gracefully through the dim light as Elena picked her way at a slower pace, cursing softly at every stumble. “On some days, this smell would just.” She trailed off with a shiver. “Be glad you weren't here then.”

Elena peered over the railing beside her, the smell was bad anyway. “I can imagine.” Her nose turned up, but a smile of relief finally broke through as a soft wind began to blow, taking the worst of the smell with it. 

Serana stared at her for a heartbeat longer before shaking her head, the odd winds that followed Elena around like a hound were for another time. “Take a left up here. This is one of those weird double-barred security measures that my father put in when he got more paranoid. If we follow that path around, we can find the other switch. This leads out to the courtyard.” Elena followed her and they opened the doors with a groan.

Elena stood in the doorway, surveying the courtyard before them. It was a disaster. “Oh no.” Serana flew down the steps, she turned about taking it all in. Plants long dead, towers crumbling. “What happened to this place? Everything's been torn down. The whole place looks.’ She paused still looking about. “Well, dead. It's like we're the first to set foot here in centuries.” She crossed the garden to the large doors, now destroyed and little more than a wall of rubble blocking the way. “This used to lead into the castle's great hall. It looks like my father had it sealed up. I used to walk through here after evening meals.” Her shoulders fell, a sad longing in her voice. “It was beautiful, once.”

Elena joined her amongst the skeletal trees and brown leaves, secure in her observation that they were alone. “I can believe it.” Even with the destruction, she could see how it would have been lovely.

Serana continued to turn slowly, her voice low, mournful. “This was my mother's garden. It.” She shook her head, her gaze lighting on Elena in earnest. “Do you know how beautiful something can be when it's tended by a master for hundreds of years? She would have hated to see it like this.”

Elena nodded; it was easy to imagine how beautiful it once had been. And how deadly, judging by the flowers still choking through the death in a spiteful show of life.  She crossed her arms, scuffing a toe on the dirt. “Is there anything, beyond it being destroyed, that is out of place? Something that should or shouldn’t be here like a chest or garden pot?”

Serana did a slow turn again inspecting the garden before shaking her head. “Wait.” She approached the dial on the ground, running a hand along its raised plane. “Something's wrong with the moondial here. Some of the crests are missing and the dial is askew. I didn't even know the crests could be removed.” She looked up at Elena, brows furrowed. “Maybe my mother's trying to tell us something?”

Elena nodded. “Well, let's look and see if they are here.” They went different ways, searching every nook and cranny. Elena called softly over her shoulder. “What happened you think?

Serana let out an irritated noise. “If I had to guess, I'd say the moment mother fled the castle, father went on a rampage. Knowing him, anything at all that reminded him of her was just destroyed.”

“And then he walled it off, further removing her memory.” Elena gave her head a shake, disgust curling her lip. The man was possibly one of the worst she had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“It appears that way. I suppose he wanted to put the past behind him. Perhaps if he had spent more time with us, he would have recognized the beauty for himself.” Elena held up a crest with a grin as Serana straightened with one of her own.

They made their way back to the moondial, Elena’s eyes catching the third and snatching it up. “Why even have a moondial?”

“Well, as far as I'm aware it's the only one in existence.” Serana explained as Elena handed her the second crest. “The previous owners of the castle had a sundial in the courtyard, and obviously that didn't appeal to my mother. She persuaded an elven artisan to make some improvements. You can see the plates that show the phases of the moons, Masser and Secunda.”

“I guess it would be silly to have a sundial. Although imagining this place having previous human owners is a bit strange.” Serana chuckled. “Does it work?”

“That's the thing...what's the point of a moondial? I always wondered why she didn't just have the whole thing ripped out. But she loved it. I don't know. I guess it's like having a piece of art, if you're into that sort of thing.”

“People have kept stranger things in the name of art.” Serana decided to not ask about whatever caused Elena to make that face.

Serana set the last crest in the correct spot and the ground shuddered below them, the moondial opening into a hidden stair. “Very clever, mother. Very clever. I've never been in those tunnels before, but I'd bet they run right under the courtyard and into the tower ruins. Well, at least we're getting closer. Let's go.” Elena followed her, down, down. She was grateful when the tunnel evened out and soon, they were ascending stairs again. She gave a silent thanks to her years in the Legion, it was the only thing stopping her from taking a nap on a step.

The part of the castle ruins they were in was far from empty. A feral vampire, long rabid and mindless, was the hardest to dispatch. The gargoyles were easy to creep past, avoiding disturbing their slumber. The death hounds were no smarter than their counterparts. After creeping through a bloody kitchen and up more stairs they reached a dead end. Serana shook her head, pacing. “I don't think we've reached the top yet. I'd bet there's some kind of secret passage around here.”

Elena went to the fireplace; it was a favorite spot for hidden passages according to Odara. The first candlestick that she touched bent under her hand and the back rumbled open. Serana smiled. “Leave it to my mother...always smarter than I gave her credit for.”

 They finally made it to the top of the tower. “Look at this place.” Serana’s eyes were wide as she slowly descended into the room. “This has to be it! I knew she was deep into necromancy. I mean, she taught me everything I know. But I had no idea she had a setup like this. Look at all this.” Bookshelves lined the walls; all sorts of strange plants and ingredients were scattered about amongst soul gems of every type and size. Elena nodded in silent agreement, awe rendering her mute. “She must have spent years collecting these components. And what's this thing?” She stood looking at a lowered part of the floor made with concentric circles.

“I have a lovely number of alchemical items and most of these things are what’s this thing for me. You will have to be more specific.” She said tartly.

Serana scowled at her.” I'm not sure about this circle, but it's obviously...something.” It felt strange, whatever it was. “Let's take a look around. There has to be something here that tells us where she's gone.”

Elena headed to the bookcases while Serana went to one of the tables. Most of the titles she didn’t recognize, wasn’t sure she wanted to fathom what they held even as they called to her curiosity. A plain, worn book caught her eye and she pulled it down, letting the pages open in her hands. Neat, curled writing flew across the pages, dates the only division between entries. “Would this help?” She waved it at Serana.

“You've found her journal! Let me take a look at it.” Elena handed it to Serana, and she quickly thumbed through the pages.

Elena read over her shoulder before jabbing a finger on the page. “What's this "Soul Cairn" that she mentions so often?”

Serana’s brows knit together. “I only know what she told me. She had a theory about soul gems. That the souls inside of them don't just vanish when they're used...they end up in the Soul Cairn.”

Elena stared at her before letting her head fall to one side. “Why care where used souls went?”

Serana continued flicking through the pages as she began to pace. “The Soul Cairn is home to very powerful beings. Necromancers send them souls and receive powers of their own in return. My mother spent a lot of time trying to contact them directly, to travel to the Soul Cairn itself.”

“Do you think she succeeded? Maybe she went there to hide?” It was not a place she would consider for a moment, but for a necromancer it made sense.

Serana’s gaze fell on the floor markings again as she nodded. “That circle in the center of the room is definitely some type of portal. If I'm reading this right, there's a formula here that should give us safe passage into the Soul Cairn.”

Elena clapped her hands before rubbing her palms together. “What do we need?”

“A handful of soul gem shards, some finely-ground bone meal,” Elena’s face fell, it would take walking across Skyrim to get what they needed, if they even could. Some places in Cryodil would have them at a price but it would take time. “A good bit of purified void salts. Oh.” Serana swore. “Damn it.”

“What's wrong?”

“We're also going to need a sample of her blood. Which if we could get that we wouldn't even be trying to do this in the first place.” Serana glared at the portal.

Elena pursed her lips before quirking an eyebrow. “You share her blood.”

Serana nodded, shaking the journal at her. “Hmmm. Not bad. We'd better hope that's good enough. Mistakes with these kinds of portals can be...gruesome.” She shuddered. “Anyway, enough of that. Let's get started.”

Elena held up a hand, stopping Serana’s mad dash. “Are all of those ingredients here you think?”

“Oh, definitely. Mother would have plenty of those materials in her laboratory, you just need to find them.” She grinned at Elena who rolled her eyes and turned to hide her grin. They were easy enough to find in the end. Gem shards made for quite the bowl of shining and the void salts and bone meal were up the steps with the rest of the alchemy ingredients. Elena was impressed with the magnitude of Valerica’s collection, it wasn’t often anyone had such an array of ingredients. If she wasn’t going to use them, surely, she wouldn’t mind if Elena somehow ended up with them later. She smiled, Odara would be proud but abandoned ingredients weren't the same as stealing them. She joined Serana on the balcony that overhung the portal.

Serana took them from her and put them in a bowl. “Then the rest is up to me. Are you ready to go? I'm not entirely sure what this thing is going to do when I add my blood.”

“Can I ask you something first?” Serana nodded, gaze fixed on the portal.  “What will you do if we find your mother? I know things aren’t great with your father but well.” She shrugged lamely, the tension in her shoulders made it stilted.

Serana let out a quiet sigh.  “I've been asking myself the same thing since we came back to the castle.” She met Elena’s eyes, the softness in them warming along her skin. “She was so sure of what we did to my father, I couldn't help but go along with her. I never thought of the cost.”

“It sounds like she did everything for your sake, to keep you safe.” Elena’s voice was quiet and steady.

  “Possibly.” She shrugged. “I guess even a vampire mother is still a mother. She worried about me. About all of us. But she wanted to get me as far away from my father as possible before he really went over the edge.” Elena understood the sentiment, even if it was not the action she would take. If anyone threatened her girls, regardless of who they were to them, she would make them beg for a quick death. “I don't know what she was thinking.” She shook her head sadly. “She always seemed happy, before we heard the prophecy. Then it all changed. She became a different person. They both did. She was practically smirking as we left home. Almost like she was proud of herself. Like she didn't just want to stop my father...she wanted to stick it to him, too.”

“I understand that feeling after meeting him only once.” Elena grumbled. She winced at Serana’s slightly stricken expression and she continued softly, taking the book from her hands and sat it on the bowl before she took her hands gently.  “We won't know until we find her, but you aren’t alone.”

“Yes...yes.” Serana’s voice stuttered, her hands were so warm and gentle even with the callouses and scars that covered them. “You're right. I'm sorry.” She gave herself a shake before meeting Elena’s eyes and squeezing her hands with her own. She gave her a wobbly smile.  “I just didn't expect anyone to care how I felt about her. Thank you.” Elena nodded, letting go and smoothing her hands against the leather of her armor fidgeting with buckles and ties. Serana cleared her throat breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. “Are we ready then?”

“Let's get that portal open.” Elena pulled her bow and leveled an arrow at the portal. Serana sank her fangs into her wrist, ignoring Elena’s raised brow, and held it over the bowl where the blood began to sizzle.

The sunken floor sank further and further until it was stairs into purple light. “By the blood of my ancestors...” Serana said softly. “She actually did it, created a portal to the Soul Cairn.” A huff of awed laughter left her. “Incredible.”

Elena eyed it cautiously, stepping down the stairs slowly as she pulled the bowstring tauter. Her foot touched the first purple lit stair and pain jolted through her, white-hot like a lightning strike. She went to her knees, arrow skidding off across the stairs and disappearing, her bow in a white-knuckled grasp. Serana grabbed her shoulders, hauled her back up the stairs, and stared down at Elena as she blinked and grimaced half curled around herself. “That looked painful.”

Elena nodded, gingerly sitting up with a groan. Her body felt burned and cold all at once. “What happened?” Her head felt split in two.

Serana made a face. “Now that I think about it, I should have expected that. Sorry.” Elena scowled at her apology as she tried to rub the feeling back into her hands. “It's hard to describe. The Soul Cairn is well, hungry, for lack of a better word. It's trying to take your life essence as payment.”

Elena stared at her a moment before she turned to the portal in horror. “So, there's no way in?”

“There might be, but I don't think you're going to like it.” Serana continued with uncertainty. “Vampires aren't counted among the living. I could probably go through there without a problem.”

Elena’s gaze came back to her and she rubbed her temples before sighing exasperatedly. “Are you saying that I need to become a vampire?”

“Not your first choice, I'd guess.” Serana’s voice was flat.

Elena pushed herself to her feet, wincing as she straightened her back. “Not what I said. I just. It’s not something I expected in my life.” She laughed, an awkward thing that fluttered in her throat. “I’m not much for meat and blood, the thought makes me a bit queasy. My Da is a Vigilant of Stendarr, sworn to remove Daedra worshippers and undead from the world.” She winced; he would make exceptions, of course. She hoped. “And my girls.”

“I think you would have more control than you give yourself credit.” Serana smiled a little before her shoulders drooped. “I'm sorry. I wish I knew a better way, something that would be easier for you.” Elena began to pace, muttering softly under her breath. She sent her mind outward, seeking Kyne and her peace. Warmth filled her mind and with that she decided. “Just know that I won't think any less of you.”

Elena stopped and then placed both hands on Serana’s shoulders. “It’s not the end of the world.” She paused dramatically. “Yet.” She added with a grin and Serana shook her head with a huff. “Just don’t let me murder anyone okay?” She gave Serana the slightest of shakes. “I’ve got my girls to think about and I would do terribly in prison.” She dropped her hands, rubbing her wrist before switching to flicking her braid after her fingers ghosted over her amulets. “The quicker the better I guess?”

“Of course.” Serana opened and closed her mouth a moment, her lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks. Elena was struck again by how beautiful she was, the glow she carried, which was intriguing paired with her currently flushing cheeks. “Turning someone is a very personal thing for vampires. It's intimate. For us.” She flushed, taking a half step back as she chafed her arms. “I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into this.”

Amusement danced in Elena’s eyes as her arms crossed and she settled comfortably on her feet. “In that case, I'm glad you're the one doing it.” Her teeth caught her lip a moment before she smiled.

Serana slammed her mouth back shut. Elena looked so calm about it, and that comment. She shook her head and then nodded. “Let's not waste too much time, then.”

A grin appeared, full of glee that encompassed Elena’s whole face. “Bite me!”

Elena was still chuckling at her own joke as Serana’s lips found her pulse in her neck. Elena’s body warmed at how close, how very close Serana was holding her. Her breathing sharpened and she willed herself still in Serana’s arms. The breath across the soft skin of her neck rolled her eyes back in her head before fluttering shut.  Fangs sunk deep, the sting was sharp but she felt the curve of Serana’s smile when the soft moan drug itself from her throat and she went lax, head falling further to the side as the warmth blazed to hot. She could feel the blood welling across her skin, a haze growing in her body. A swirl of tongue against the heightened nerves made her shudder and she felt Serana sigh against her, felt herself lowering to the floor. The world was growing darker and Serana’s gentle hand in her hair didn’t feel so cold anymore.

Elena blinked. How long had she slept? Did the roof fall? By Oblivion why was everything so damned bright? She scowled until her vision returned fully and she found herself gazing up into Serana’s face. “Hey.” She said softly.

Serana lost herself in her eyes, they had been a lovely shade of green before but now they glowed with a light that suited her perfectly. “Hey.” She smoothed Elena’s hair back from her forehead. “You wiggled, and we got blood in your hair. I got it out, but your braid is ruined.”

The world was brighter, sharper, the stones seeming to vibrate above her. “Easy enough to fix.” Her eyes closed again. “Making me move will be. Everything is so.”

“Intense?” Serana felt her nod as she continued to smooth her fingers through the red curls. “You adjust after some time.”  The freckles stood out more now, the scars that curled around her jaw. A harsher beauty, she decided, like snow capped mountains and pine forest. She flushed; grateful Elena’s eyes were closed as she searched for something to say. “Smells are the worst.”

The soft rumble of laughter made Serana smile again as Elena’s eyes opened again. “Some smells won’t be so bad. The flowers in spring. Baking bread.” Serana nodded, even as Elena’s face twisted a moment. “I expected it to hurt.” She blanched. “More. Expected it to hurt more.”

“I tried to make it as painless as possible.” Serana informed her softly. Elena nodded sharply, gaze everywhere but looking at Serana as she finally realized her head was in Serana’s lap. She almost sat up too fast, the world taking a brief spin before she pushed herself to her feet. She reached down and helped Serana to hers. Fingers still entwined they stared at the portal. “Ready?”

“As I ever will be.”

Chapter 16

They passed through the portal single file, Elena flinched expecting the pain to return but passed through it unharmed, feeling like cool if slightly slimy water on her skin. The sky stormed above them, a world of blacks, greys, and purples. Elena’s head swiveled continuously as they descended. Serana’s feet let up a small puff of dust when they touched the ground. “I'd heard stories about the Soul Cairn, but never thought I'd see it myself. So far it's about what I imagined.”

“I think it’s beautiful.” At Serana’s concerned look, she shrugged sheepishly. “I like storms.” She shook her head, eyeing the ruins that dotted the landscape eyes following a darting wisp until it disappeared. “But I’m reminded of something my mother always said when we were on the road. Don’t stand in the middle of standing stones and never follow the lights.”

Serana nodded in agreement. “She is a wise woman.” Elena nodded. “What will she think of you being a vampire?”

Elena’s brows knitted together as she considered and settled her bow against her shoulder. “She won’t bat an eyelash more than once before she’s fussing.” She shrugged at the look the bemused look Serana shot her way. “Where should we headfirst?”

Serana pointed, to a black shape rearing in the distance. “There’s a castle like place that way. I think it would be a good place to start.”

“If anything, we will be able to see from the top of it.”

 They kept to the road through the Soul Cairn. Elena felt no need to explore beyond that, didn’t trust this land of shifting fog and endless lightning and Serana agreed. It took less time then she had thought for them to arrive at the castle, its twin spires pulsing with energy. She caught sight of the barrier before they cleared the stairs and found herself wondering if it was keeping something in, or something out.

“Mother!” Serana cried, charging the barrier, and coming up short.

The woman behind it balked, anger furrowing her brow and it deepened when Elena joined Serana at the barrier. “Serana?!”

“Is it really you? I can't believe it!” Serana let out a short laugh of joy. “How do we get inside? We have to talk.”

“What are you doing here? Where's your father?” Valerica snapped.

Serana’s face fell and Elena fought the urge to wrap her hand in hers. Her mother be damned, but she wanted her hands free in case anything wandered up to join them. “He doesn't know we're here and I really don't have time to explain.”

 Valerica began to pace. “I must have failed. Harkon's found a way to decipher the prophecy, hasn't he?”

“No, you've got it all wrong.” Serana rallied.

Valerica cut her off, glaring at Elena now. “And you've brought a stranger here? Have you lost your mind?”

“No, you don't...” Serana tried again pleading.

Valerica ignored her and motioned to Elena. “You.  It pains me to think you'd travel with Serana under the guise of her protector in an effort to hunt me down.”

“Hold on a moment, lady.” Elena started, Serana put a warning hand on Elena’s arm that Valerica ignored with a turn of her nose. “I wouldn’t even know who you were if it wasn’t for Serana and I most certainly would not be here.”

“I find it hard to believe your intentions are noble.”

Elena bristled like a saber cat, hair rising on her arms and fangs lengthening, but Serana cut her off. “We are here for the Elder Scroll.”

Valerica let out a sharp, derisive laugh and continued to rail at Elena. “You think I'd have the audacity to place my own daughter in that tomb for the protection of her Elder Scroll alone?” She gave another bark of laughter at the near murderous glare that appeared on Elena’s face, after meeting both of Serana’s parents she absolutely thought it. “The scrolls are merely a means to an end. The key to the Tyranny of the Sun is Serana herself.”

Serana began to glare at her mother and Elena’s brows knitted together in thought, anger simmering lower. “What do you mean?” Her gaze flicked to Serana and when she wouldn’t meet her eyes, turning her glare to the landscape and fidgeting, Elena posed her question to Valerica. “What’s the Tyranny of the Sun?”

Valerica began to pace again. “When I fled Castle Volkihar, I fled with two Elder Scrolls. The scroll I presume you found with Serana speaks of Auriel and his arcane weapon, Auriel's Bow. The second scroll declares that "The Blood of Coldharbour's Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon." Serana stilled and she continued. “Like myself, Serana was a human once. We were devout followers of Lord Molag Bal. Tradition dictates the females be offered to Molag Bal on his summoning day.” She shrugged, at odds with how pale Serana became. “Few survive the ordeal. Those that do emerge as pure-blooded vampires. We call such confluences the "Daughters of Coldharbour."

Elena nodded, in some ways the daedra were no different from the Divines. She decided she was never going to ask what Serana went through that day, she had a feeling she would immediately go looking for a portal to his plane of Oblivion to rip his head off with her bare hands. “The Tyranny of the Sun requires Serana's blood.”

Valerica gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Now you're beginning to see why I wanted to protect Serana, and why I've kept the other Elder Scroll as far from her as possible.”

Elena interrupted her, a hand raising with the pitch of her voice. “Are you saying Harkon means to kill Serana?” Serana still stared away from them, arms crossed and stiff.

 Valerica shrugged matter of factly. “If Harkon obtained Auriel's Bow and Serana's blood was used to taint the weapon, the Tyranny of the Sun would be complete. In his eyes, she'd be dying for the good of all vampires.”

“I won’t allow that.” Serana looked up at that, the steel and fire in Elena’s voice, how her eyes burned even as a darkness took them. She motioned to Serana. “Besides what of Serana’s opinion in this mess?”

“You care nothing for Serana or our plight.” She sneered. Elena’s fists clenched, jaw tightening.  “Whether or not you've become one of us in order to survive the Soul Cairn, you still aren’t one of us.” Every muscle in her body screamed to launch herself at Valerica. Valerica turned from her, her own goal achieved as Elena fumed and wrestled her temper into something that would not make her stupid. “This stranger, why I should entrust you to her?”

“I am not her keeper!” Elena protested as the other two ignored her. She threw her hands out with a growl and stepped away to pace.

“This "stranger" has done more for me in the brief time I've known her than you've done in centuries!” She snarled and Elena winced a little, knowing something herself of the butting of heads between mothers and daughters. That was going to sting but she couldn’t muster any pity for Valerica, she deserved it.  

 Valerica drew herself up to her full height. “How dare you! I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!”

“Yes, he's a fanatic, he's changed. But he's still my father.” Serana’s voice softened, centuries of sadness in her next words. “Why can't you understand how that makes me feel?”

“Oh, Serana.” She shook her head, like Serana had suggested there was two suns. “If you'd only open your eyes. The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy, that he needs your blood, you'd be in terrible danger.” Elena wanted to snap at her, she already was in danger, had been in danger, and would have been defenseless when Harkon’s minions found her. The wind guided her true, but what if she hadn’t listened? She shook her head, not wanting that what if or the pang in her chest.

“So, to protect me, you decided to shut me away from everything I cared about?” Valerica looked taken aback and Serana continued, finally having found her voice. “You never asked me if hiding in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly. Both of you were obsessed with your own paths. Your motivations might have been different, but in the end, I'm still just a pawn to you, too.” She snarled.” I want us to be a family again. But I don't know if we can ever have that. Maybe we don't deserve that kind of happiness. Maybe it isn't for us.” She let it sit said for a moment before continuing. “But we have to stop him. Before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the Elder Scroll.”

Valerica was silent for a long time, staring at her hands, Elena rubbing a red mark on her wrist. “I'm sorry, Serana. I didn't know...I didn't see. I've allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Forgive me.” Serana nodded tersely. “If you want the Elder Scroll, it's yours.” She turned to Elena. “Your intentions are still somewhat unclear to me. But for Serana's sake, I'll assist you in any way that I can.”

Elena barely acknowledged it, still bristling and her voice sharp. “Do you have the Elder Scroll with you?”

“Yes. I've kept it safely secured here ever since I was imprisoned. Fortunately, you're in a position to breach the barrier that surrounds these ruins.”

“What do we need to do?” Elena and Serana spoke at the same time.

Valerica gave a slight shake of her head. “You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surround these ruins. At their bases, the barrier's energy is being drawn from unfortunate souls that have been exiled here. Destroy the Keepers that are tending them, and it should bring the barrier down.” They turned to go down the stairs and she called to them. “One more word of warning. There's a dragon that calls itself Durnehviir roaming the Cairn. Be wary of him. The Ideal Masters have charged him with overseeing the Keepers and will undoubtedly intervene if you're perceived as a threat. Be careful and keep my daughter safe.” Elena pulled her bow off her shoulders, raised it skyward in response and they set off across the plains.

Elena shivered as they crossed the endless plain with its jagged rocks and glowing fissures. She had stepped over one, feeling something slime across her skin and a faint screaming in her ears. “I feel like we’re being watched. I know it’s not quiet, but I think I’d feel better if we traveled as quickly as possible. It’s all open anyway.” Serana nodded and falling into step beside her as they gazed around them. 

 After what felt like hours, Elena was panting, hands on her knees. The last tower was in sight and she hoped the luck they had had so far would hold. "By the eight, does that damned tower ever get any closer?"

"It’s the last one" Serana was sitting on the ground. "All that time in the tomb did nothing for me.”

Elena chuckled lightly. "Even after the Legion, this is brutal." She wiped her arm across her brow and straightened. "The other two Keepers were easy enough. You rest up and follow when you can.” She tossed her the waterskin and took off. 

 Serana heard the shrieks long before she found Elena. The Keeper lay dead, three arrows sticking out of his chest like an errant pincushion, its weapon still sheathed. But Elena was fighting hand to hand with mistmen and skeletons, a thick wall at her back that kept them from attacking from behind but left her unable to escape. A blast of magic dropped most of them and she finished the others as Elena slid down the wall, breath ripping harshly from her throat. 

She jumped when Serana pushed her hair out of her face. She didn't remember it coming undone. "What happened?" She watched Elena scan the courtyard over and over, eyes wide and wild. "Deep breaths, come on now."

“I hate skeletons.” Came the barely audible squeak, her eyes darting frantically, her hand wrapped around her medallion with a white knuckled grip. “With their creepy bone hands.” Her volume grew steadily until she was shrieking. “And I hate specters with their creepy hands that just go through my body! I looked down and A HAND IS STICKING OUT OF MY CHEST!” 

Serana ducked the wild flail of her hands. she pursed her lips a moment before speaking. "Yet you agreed to come to the Soul Cairn."

"I didn’t think it’d be this bad." Her breathing settled as she scowled. “It’s the Soul Cairn. Its only supposed to have souls.” Serana chuckled and brushed away some dust that had settled across Elena’s armor. Elena let out a soft laugh of her own as she settled her face in her hands and drew up her knees. “By the eight.”

When they returned to Valerica, the barrier was gone. Serana was drained of her magic for the moment and Elena had a cut along her cheek, the red that smeared along it made her eyes seem sharper. “You managed to destroy all three Keepers? Very impressive.” Her tone even conveyed it, but Elena shrugged. She was too tired to be pleasant, this place pulled constantly, like an endless tide and had far too many problems. Too many skeletons, too many specters, too many things that should stay dead and would fuel her nightmares for the next era.

“Are you able to give us the scroll now?” Elena was happy to let Serana do all the talking, she was certain all she would do was look foolish if she opened her mouth.

“Yes. Please, follow me. Keep watch for Durnehviir. With the prison's barrier down, he's almost certain to investigate.” She led them through the doorway and into a large courtyard filled with fog. Serana and Elena turned at the same time to see a giant bone dragon flying over the wall with a deafening roar.

A Warrior’s Heart Master List