The sun was almost setting when Stross finally made it back down the mountain to the village of Ivarstead. He was alone this time, as Fenora was still practicing her thu’ums, with Lydia helping to set up targets, and sometimes to be a target. Only the non-lethal thu’ums of course! Well.. at least he thought so. ...he hoped so.
Either way, Stross felt more than a little left out. His magic was too disruptive to be helpful, as flashbangs and fire were intended to be. So instead, for the first hour or so he read up on all things Greybeard. It was interesting… sort of. But it didn’t keep him occupied for long. After that he just sort of sat around on the side cheering for Fen, but even that got old fast, for all of them.
In the end, Fenora decided it was going to take a while for her to master the rest of her training, and they likely wouldn’t make it back to Whiterun until the next day at least. So Stross was sent down to get them all a room at the inn. No offence to the Greybeards, but she didn’t want to sleep in the freezing cold monastery.
Stross let out a sigh as he dragged his feet to the bridge. He didn’t like feeling useless. Most of all, he hated being alone, even if it was just for a little while.
“Reyda!”
The scream quickly pulled Stross’s attention. A gaunt-looking man had jumped out from the bushes near the bridge. He wore a set of ratty old clothes, and had a look in his eyes like he wasn’t all there.
“Have you seen Narfi’s sister Reyda?” he asked, his eyes quickly jumping all around even as he spoke.
Stross quickly tried to get a read on the strange person before him, but even his emotion sense failed, as Narfi’s aura was shifting and jerking about as madly as his physical form. “Umm… no?” Stross answered nervously.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Narfi deflated, his threatening posture lost completely. “Reyda left a year ago, but Narfi never said goodbye like mother and father. Now mother and father are dead... killed by the bad men. But Wilhelm says Reyda will be back, Narfi just has to wait. But waiting’s so hard!”
After that, he turned and ran back to an old broken down house, raving something sorrowful about his lost sister.
Stross walked on as well, looking over his shoulder a couple times to see if he was followed.
“This needs investigating.” Stross muttered to himself.
The Vilemyr Inn wasn’t extravagant or fancy, but it was warm and comfortable. Wilhelm had owned and served as its caretaker for many years, and did everything is his power to keep it clean, and its customers happy.
Most of the time, no one new was passing through town on their way south to Riften or north to Windhelm, and so customers were mostly the townsfolk. They dropped by after work to talk about the day’s events, any local gossip, or just to get a good meal and a stiff drink in the hours before they had before they went to bed.
Though for such a small village, there was a surprising amount to talk about, like Fastred wanting to leave town for a better life in Riften, or Ms. Temba getting upset over the bears destroying all the limber-worthy trees nearby. Also was the ever puzzling question of what Gwilin did every day; what allowed him to be so dang cheerful when anyone else would be glum? And of course, there was the infamous ghost of Shroud Hearth Barrow.
This was all old news though, things everyone had been talking about for weeks if not months. So when a new, mysterious stranger poked their hooded head through the door of the inn, everyone became just a little bit quieter.
This didn’t go amiss by the stranger either, and they paused for a moment by the door. If anyone was paying close enough attention, they might have noticed a faint red glow coming from under the traveler’s hood.
When they walked up to the counter and pulled off their hood, Wilhelm recognized her as the elf who fought the troll earlier that day, and gave his usual friendly greeting.
“Welcome! Good to see the trip to High Hrothgar wasn’t too much for ya. What can I get you tonight?”
“I’d like to get a room for the night please.” ‘Fenora’ told him and started counting out septims.
“Certainly, ten septims and it’s yours for a day. It’s through that door right over there.” Wilhelm said and gestured to a door only a few feet to the right of the counter. “Enjoy your stay, but I should warn you not to go too close to the barrow; it’s haunted.”
“H-haunted?” Stross asked.
“Yup. I’ve seen one of the ghosts with my very own eyes.” Wilhelm said, leaning over the counter for dramatic effect, “When it turned to glare at me, I swear its gaze burned right into my soul! WOOO-ooo-OO-ooooo!”
“Alright, stay far away from the barrow, got it!” Stross nodded fearfully.
“Good. Ya got more sense about ya than that Wyndelius fella.” Wilhelm said, calmly going back to polishing mugs. “Anythin’ else ya might need?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask about that guy who lives across the river. Narfi… I think he called himself.”
At the mention of the name, Wilhelm visibly sagged. “Aye, that there’s not so much a scary tale, as it tis just a sad one. Ya’see, Narfi’s family used to live in that old house across the river; good friends with them, I was. He mostly just keeps to himself there nowadays. His sister Reyda disappeared over a year ago, to gather some special ingredients on a small island south of here… and never came back. We looked for her everywhere, all of us. But she never turned up.
“It only got worse when those bandits came, just a couple days later. Narfi survived by hiding, but his parents…” Wilhelm had to stop and rub the tears from his eyes. “After everything that happened, Narfi clung to the hope that Reyda would come back one day. I’m pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him sane, so-“ Wilhelm sighed and stated, “I lied to him. I told him what I did to make the poor guy feel better. You can call me a coward if you wish. Gods know I already have.”
“No.” Stross told him, “I don’t know if I could have told him either.”
“Thanks. I just don’t know what to do about him though. Seein’ him wallow away in that decrepit shack every day…”
“What about that island?” Stross asked, “Do you think his sister might still be there?”
“If she is, after all this time…” Wilhelm shivered. “There’s an old cave on that island, Geirmund's Hall people call it, but I don’t know why. There’s somethin’ evil about that place, but it makes the mushrooms grow like crazy. Be careful if you’re going to search anywhere near there is all I’m saying, it certainly didn’t do Reyda any good.”
Stross stood on the small island in the middle of the river as the gave way to the moon and stars. A flat stone surface lay at the highest point of the island, and was likely all that remained of a long forgotten house where a ton of drinking contests were held.
Stross also found that Wilhelm was right; the mushrooms really did grow well here.
Unfortunately, of all things scattered around the cave entrance on the far side, the mushrooms were the least disturbing. Bones and skulls, scraps of meat, discarded pieces of armor and broken blades littered the ground. On the edges of the cave, several grotesque totems made of sticks and animal parts stood as a warning, or perhaps a threat to whoever might enter.
“Well this is foreboding.” Stross said to no one.
After a bit of standing and staring, the changeling shrugged and cheerfully decided, “Welp, might as well take a look inside.”
…
The second he entered the cave, there were far fewer bloody monuments, and far more mushrooms, as well as one particular person of interest.
He was a tall muscular man, a set of crude leather armor covered most of his torso and legs, yet he lay there on his side, cold and rigid and covered in cuts. A knife was buried between his shoulder blades, likely the coup de grace. The blood had dried, and the man left to rot where he fell.
“Yep, that’s a dead guy.” Stross observed.
In Equestria, finding dead bodies were an exceeding rarity, nearly unheard of really. It was a peaceful place after all; murder was nonexistent, accidents were scarcely fatal, and in the times when a loved one finally passed away from old age, they were prepared for a funeral shortly after.
By comparison, Stross noticed, Skyrim was absolutely rampant with death! Sometimes even, the dead weren’t satisfied with their first round of being murderized and had to rise from the grave for a second helping. For a little while, the change was pretty jarring, even for a non-pony like Stross.
But there was something off that piqued Stross's curiosity and overpowered his gag reflex, and that was a little red book tightly clutched in the man’s right hand. Stross also noticed the pair of axes on the dead man’s belt, but only one of them drawn.
“What was so important about this book that you’d keep hold of it instead of another axe?” Stross wondered while he did his best to ignore the sickly green eyes staring lifelessly back at him, and instead focused on retrieving the book.
Blood had spattered the cover of the book, and rigor-mortis stricken fingers fought to give it up, but eventually it was pried from the dead man’s grip.
“Lost Legends.” Stross read the title aloud, then proceeded to flip through the pages.
The book began by saying that history left unrecorded lived on in legends, giving short mentions of stories like ‘the Pale Lady’, and Red Eagle. But the pages afterwards had been tagged, the corner’s dog-eared, passages underlined, and notes scribbled in the blank spaces.
“In the dawning days of the First Era, the story goes there lived a powerful wizard by the name of Gauldur. Wise and just, he was well known in the courts of King Harald and the Jarls of Skyrim, and his aid and counsel were sought by man and mer alike.” Stross quickly read aloud, “And then he was murdered?! Why’s it always murder and tragedy with these old stories?”
“After stealing Gauldur’s amulet, the source of much of the archmage’s power, his three sons fled into the night, pursued by a company of King Harald's best warriors and the Lord Geirmund, the king's personal battlemage.” Stross continued, noting the word ‘amulet’ was underlined heavily. “So that’s who Giermund was.”
“One brother is said to have perished in the ruins of Folgunthur, at the Foot of Solitude.” ‘Valen’s team’ was jotted down next to Folgunthur. “The others were run to ground soon thereafter.” ‘Saarthal’ and ‘Giermund’s hall’ were written and underlined. “And once it was done, king Harald ordered every record of their murders destroyed, and Gauldur's name and deeds were struck from the rolls of history.” Stross finished, shutting the book and shoving it in his pack. “But what does that have to do with Narfi’s sister?”
“Everything.” An echoing voice told him.
Stross looked up only to see a ghostly pale figure mere inches from his face. Startled, he let out a scream of fright and jumped backwards only to trip and fall down an open chasm in the earth.
Water erupted around his body and soaked into his cloak. The changeling frantically pumped his arms and legs, finally pulling himself out of the pool of water and onto dry land.
“I’m sorry about that.” the ghost lady said, appearing right next to him again.
“Ahh!” Stross screamed and scrambled away from her on all fours, finally stopping when he found himself cornered at a dead end in the underground tunnel.
“Wait, please.” She begged him, floating nearer.
“What do you want? Is this because I took that dead guy’s money? You can have it back!” Stross said offering her the coins in hopes that she would take mercy on him.
“No. I want your help.” she told him, “You came here looking for me, didn’t you?”
Stross looked at the ethereal form floating before him, and then it clicked. “R-Reyda?”
“That was my name, yes. I came here to harvest mushrooms one day, but was kidnapped by cultists. They wanted to use my soul to resurrect one of the three brothers, from the Gauldur legend.” She explained sadly, “It worked too well. They bound my soul to the body of Sigdis Gauldurson, giving him new life. Shortly after, he killed them all, harvesting their life-forces as well. For more than a year now, I’ve been the only thing keeping that monster trapped here in this place. I want to be free of him, free of this place! ...But I am not strong enough to do it alone. Will you help me end that fiend, once and for all?”
Stross nodded without hesitation. Taking the lives of other to preserve its own? Killing and threatening the innocent? This kind of evil had done nearly everything he stood against. It wouldn’t get away with it! “You bet. Where do we start?”
“Thank you!” Reyda gave him a ghostly hug. “Follow me, and be wary of the traps.”
Reyda guided Stross through the waterlogged catacombs, Stross’s magic and the glow from her ghostly form lighting the way. She showed him the solution to the puzzle-locked gates, and twice saved him from being crushed or impaled by the traps.
Finally they came to the ritual chamber, a flooded area full of platforms rising from the water. In the center sat a large metal coffin, still surrounded on all sides by decaying bodies in cultist robes.
“This is it.” Reyda told him.
“Foolish girl!” boomed a menacing voice from the coffin. “You return once again, but still you lack the strength to do more than hold me here!”
“Maybe not, but now I have help!” Reyda yelled back defiantly.
The coffin burst open and a Sigdis stepped out, his rotting fingers still expertly nocked an arrow in his bow. “Another soul to the slaughter.” He mocked before teleporting away.
Sigdis reappeared on the opposite end of the room and began taking shots at the pair. One arrow managed to hit Stross in the chest, and he felt himself being drained. The energy within him was being ripped out by the arrow, and siphoned into its master.
“Watch out, his arrows drain your magika!” Reyda warned him too late.
Stross quickly pulled out the arrow, but the damage was already done. He knew he would have to avoid taking any more hits if he wanted to stay in the fight.
Sigdis managed two more shots before Stross was able to retaliate with his flames. The fire didn’t seem to do much harm though, and the undead archer simply teleported away yet again. When he reappeared though, two identical clones stood on adjacent platforms ready to fire with him.
“Kage bunshin no jutsu.” Sigdis snarked.
“That joke was cheesy and cheap as discount fondue!” Stross yelled back.
With next to nothing to hide behind, Stross instead took to the air, nimbly zipping back and forth to avoid the volley sent his way and returning shots when he could. It didn’t stop him from getting hit though, and he felt even more of his precious energy reserves slipping away.
Even worse, Reyda took a hit at one point as well; apparently Sigdis didn’t care that she was a ghost, and neither did his arrows. As bad as the draining effect was on Stross, it was absolutely devastating to Redya. Her distorted scream filled the chamber as she faded away. Her soul was damaged, and it took nearly a full minute for her to even reconstitute her form.
After that, Stross did all he could to keep all the attention on himself while Reyda waited for a moment to strike.
The only advantage the pair had was how it only took one hit to dispose of the Sigdis clones, and even that was negated by the fact that Sigdis could just teleport away and summon more.
As he ducked under yet another round of arrows, Stross called to his ghostly ally. “Reyda I can’t keep this up much longer. A little help would be great right about now!” he then threw a flashbang to buy a second while he threw another wave of fire at the clones.
“I’m working on it.” Reyda said with annoyance evident in her voice.
With another pair of clones vanquished, Sigdis made to teleport again.
“Oh no you don’t.” Reyda said with a smirk. She waved her hand, and suddenly the purple swirl of magic allowing Sigdis to warp around was gone, leaving the draugr simply standing there in confusion. “Now Stross, hit him now!”
Stross took the chance and used his wings to charge up a flying punch. “Eat this!” he yelled an instant before his fist connected with the draugr’s face.
For a second, nothing moved, Stross remaining frozen in the air mid punch.
Then suddenly he fell to the floor in a fit of spasms yelling, “Ow, my hand! I think I broke my hand on his face!”
Sigdis laughed and drew his bowstring back for an executioner’s shot. “Pitiful fool.”
“Oh for crying out loud-” the ghost of Reyda face-palmed.
The air in the room suddenly became tense. Reyda focused all her ghostly might on Sigdis while he was distracted by Stross’s writhing. Her ghost rushed toward Sigdis and jumped into the Draugr’s body. A blinding pale light filled the room, and when it dimmed, Sigdis’s body was pulsing with that same bright light. Cracks began to from all over his rotting body, and chunks of flesh fell away to vanish into bright blue ashes. Kinda like a certain hero in a certain movie. Hmm?
Realizing too late what Reyda had done, Sidgis could only scream in rage as the rest of his body exploded into piles of smoldering ashes.
It took a while for Stross to recover after everything, and he stood, rubbing the spots from his eyes. “Reyda?” he called out. “Reyda, where are you? You got him!?”
Nothing answered him.
Looking around, Stross found the Gauldur Blackbow of Sigdis and a piece of the shattered amulet in one of the ash piles, but Reyda was still nowhere to be seen. The changeling called to Reyda one last time, but silence answered him yet again.
The nearest door was beyond the platforms and sarcophagus, and led to a room with a handy shortcut to the surface. But sitting in the corner, was what Stross knew to be Reyda’s body. Remarkably well preserved for having been there over a year, the only major disfigurement was a stab wound to her gut, likely how the cultists sacrificed her in the first place.
The changeling let out a sigh as he slung the bow onto his back and crouched down near her. “Well, we did it. Sigdis has been finished for good.” He said and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you here.”
With that he picked her up and-
Okay well, she was a little too heavy. But he carefully dragged her out with him when he left.
Fenora stood with her eyes closed, her feet shifting ever so slightly in the snow. Her sword was drawn and held in front of her as she awaited the next wave of attackers.
“Be ready dragonborn.” Master Arngeir told her. He and the other three masters stood in a semicircle several feet from her. “Begin!”
“Fiik Lo Sah! (Mirror Deceive Phantom)” each of them shouted before quickly darting out of the way. In their places were four ghostlike silhouettes.
“Wuld Nah Kest!” Fenora used her whirlwind sprint, winding up her sword for a strike even as she was propelled forward.
She hit the first training dummy like a hurricane. Then with another step she flung herself at the next one with the same speed. It wasn’t until she reached the third that her whirlwind sprint finally wore off, and she lost her momentum. But she wasn’t quite done. With only one target left, she took the hilt of her two-hander and threw it like a javelin at the illusion, spearing it through the chest and making it disperse.
“Four and a half seconds! That’s your best time yet my thane!” Lydia called to her after checking a device made of multiple hourglasses. An ingenious idea really; ten hourglasses of progressing size were lined up in a row between two long bars of steel. Each increment took one more second to empty, and they could all be flipped over in unison.
“Most impressive indeed Dragonborn.” Master Arngeir walked over to Fenora as she retrieved and resheathed her sword. “The rate you have learned these thu’ums is still astonishing to all of us. Regrettably, there is nothing more for you to learn that we can teach you at this time. Continue to hone your skills, and above all, follow the way of the voice.”
“Thank you master.” Fenora said with a bow. Her voice was becoming a bit scratchy from all the training.
“Now then. You were wondering about your destiny to defeat Alduin.”
Once again, Fenora nearly slapped herself. In all this time training with them, she hadn’t even once thought to ask them about the reason they came to them in the first place.
Seeing the look on her face caused Arngeir to chuckle a bit, before taking his usual serious tone. “Alduin's return was truly a surprise to us all. We know that he gains strength from the souls of the dead, but where and how is a mystery to us at this time." Seeing Fenora's brow start to crease, he told her, "But there is yet hope. The head of our order is learning all he can about how to reach Alduin, and even how to stop him. When that time comes, you must be ready. For now, travel southeast of Solitude to the crypt Ustengrav, it is the burial place of our founder, Jurgan Windcaller. For centuries, traversing its halls have been the final test for those who wish to truly master the voice.”
For wise old men, they seemed to have very little in the way of answers. Fenora wanted to tell him exactly how she felt about that. But that hadn't gone too well in the past, so she settled for, “I will, thank you master.”
“Sky above, Dragonborn.”
“Voice within.” Fenora finished the mantra before she and Lydia turned to make the trek back down the mountain.
Now, after you just went through hours of intensive training in order to control a power that very few mortals ever even get to use, there are certain things one would want to do: get a nice warm meal in your belly, maybe a strong drink to go along with it, a warm bad to crash in certainly.
Seeing your ‘twin sister’ getting harassed by a pair of guards for hauling a corpse through town in the middle of the night is likely very low on that list.
“You’re lucky no one was awake to see this, or we’d have a full blown panic on our hands. Now explain yourself!” one of the guards demanded in a harsh whisper.
The two of them had pulled Stross around the back of the sawmill and out of view. Meanwhile the changeling still refused to let go of the body and was trying to get them to listen to some crazy story involving cultists and ancient legends, but they were having none of it, thoroughly convinced she was just a graverobber.
“What’s going on here?” Fenora interrupted them.
Seeing the apparent twin of the elf they were trying to apprehend, one of the guards quickly tried to make her an accomplice.
“We caught your twin here stealing-“
“Not you!” Fenora cut him off, “Stross, what’s going on?”
“So I talked to this guy named Narfi, and he was looking for his sister. But Wilhelm told me she’s been missing for over a year, so I went to investigate. Then I met her ghost and she told me she was killed by cultists to resurrect a dead guy from this old legend. See there were these three brothers who killed their dad to get his magic amulet, but they were killed ‘cause their dad was a really famous mage and a really nice guy. But Sigdis was alive again, and so we re-killed Sigdis and now Reyda’s gone too, but I found her body and dragged it all the way here, and it was really hard because she was heavy, and now these two jerks are trying to arrest me for doing a nice thing and- Fen it’s just like back in Equestria!”
Fenora took in a breath and let out a tired sigh. “Fellas, you two handle the body, I’ll take care of this.” She said and dragged Stross away by the hood of her cloak.
“Hey, you can’t just-“
The guard was cut off again when Fen threw a bag of gold to him and his partner.
“Sssssooooo…” the guard on the left started, “I’ll get her legs!”
“No fair, I wanted to get her legs!” the guard on the right protested.
“So… you killed an evil zombie, unearthed an old legend and freed an innocent spirit, even going as far as to bring her body back for a proper burial.” Fenora recapped once they and Lydia were all safely inside the inn with everyone asleep. “Not a bad day’s work Stross. Nice job.”
“Well, y’know…” Stross modestly soaked up the praise. “I was just there investigating- and Reyda did most of the work anywa-“
“So what the ‘Blivion were you thinking, walking back into town like that?” Fenora snapped at him suddenly, catching him off guard.
“Oh. Well I… guess I could have told them were the body was so they could come get it themselves.” Stross admitted shamefully, “But I didn’t want anything to happen to her before-“
“Not that.” Fenora nearly slapped him. “Why are you going around wearing me as a disguise? You’re going to get me in trouble!”
“Well I can’t go around as me!” Stross countered.
“Then be someone else. You’re a changeling right? Just… do your changeling thing and… I dunno, make a new you.” Fenora told him.
Stross thought a bit on that, and wondered why he hadn’t done such a thing sooner. If he could make a pony disguise by mashing together random features, why not make his very own human disguise, or an elf for that matter?
“Challenge accepted!” Stross announced, crossing his arms confidently.
“Great, you work on that. Me and Lydia are gonna get some sleep.” Fenora said and headed off towards their room. She then turned right back around and asked, “Uh, which ones ours?”
“That one.” Stross pointed. “But we might not want to stay here. The barrow outside of town is haunted by ghosts.”
Fenora raised quizzical brow at this. “Really? Stross, didn’t you just finish helping a ghost?”
“But she was a friendly ghost.” Stross made the distinction as if it changed anything. “These ones are scary. Terrifying! They’ve scared the whole town into-“
“Great, we’ll deal with it in the morning. Right now I need some sleep.” Fenora said and headed off to the room.
“B-…b-but the ghosts. Aren’t you afraid?” Stross asked, but his concerns were thoroughly ignored. “Can I sleep with you Fen?”
“No.” came her firm but simple reply.
“I can turn into anyone you want and snuggle you to sleep!” Stross reminded her.
A pause.
“I’ll think about it.”