4th Hearthfire

'We are in danger of outstaying out welcome,' said Drelis, eyeing the grumpy barkeep. 'Phane, perhaps you should order us some more wine to keep our host satisfied.

'What? Now?' Phane cupped his hands in a begging gesture. 'But you said we were just getting to the part with more dragons in it!' He looked to Lalaine for support, but she was clearly on Drelis' side. 'Fine. Damn you both. It'll be cheap wine though, so be satisfied with whatever turns up.'

'Get us some food as well,' suggested Lalaine. 'Bread, cheese, cold meat. Maybe some grapes!' But Phane was already half way to the bar, muttering. 'Are there really dragons in this next part?' she asked Drelis.

'Of course, I am no liar,' Drelis picked up his wine cup. It was empty. He sighed and put it back down. 'The nights were growing steadily colder with autumn settling in. I imagine it takes a while to get used to Skyrim's climate, even if you are already used to brisk mountain air. Even after the sun had risen, the wind still had a bite in it and snow was falling, even on the plain of the tundra.

'Khargol and Uthgerd passed a trio of giants herding their mammoths from their camp to a watering hole. Wild elk bounded across the fields, and rabbits bolted for cover as the warriors hiked towards the half-ruin of Fort Greymoor.

'The fort appeared to be manned, but the sentries on the wall turned out to be straw mannequins. "A legion trick," Khargol claimed.'

'Does that mean he was in the legion?' asked Lalaine.

'Not quite. I was going to talk about this later but... well, Phane wouldn't be interested. Khargol used to be a mercenary before he came to Skyrim, and he had some bad run-ins with the legion.' Lalaine's eyes lit up, her mouth agape. 'That's all I'll say for now though, there's too much to get through at the moment.

'The fort was occupied by a band of well-armed bandits. Thugs and outlaws, all of them, they were prepared to defend their ruined den, but they were not prepared for two experienced adventurers who stormed the place with such tenacity. Khargol commented that Uthgerd fought without remorse against the bandits, she explained that their crimes meant that they deserved no quarter. Uthgerd writes about her own feats of valour with a ridiculous amount of detail - if her accounts were to be believed in full, we would think she had slain a hundred men single-handedly while Khargol managed to best only four or five. One entry mentions the "bandits' pet wizard" and says only that Khargol took a lightning bolt to the chest, but managed to stay upright and hack the sorcerer to pieces. I suspect that Uthgerd's nordic distrust of magic had only been reinforced by their experiences in Volunruud.

'Looting the bandit dead, Khargol came across a book on legion tactics...'

'Mixed Unit Tactics,' claimed Phane, returning with a platter of food and drinks. 'Even I've read that one. Did I miss the dragons?'

'No, you didn't miss the dragons, and no it wasn't Mixed Unit Tactics.' Drelis made a grab for some bread while Lalaine cut the cheese. 'It was a book that is normally issued only to legion soldiers. Khargol suspected that the bandits had been deserters from the legion. It hardly mattered any more though, since they were all dead.

'Upon leaving the fort, both Khargol and Uthgerd were put on guard by the echoing bellow of a dragon circling above.'

'Yes!'

'The dragon circled and circled, roaring and trumpeting, never coming even close to the ground. Khargol picked up one of the dead bandit's bows and started loosing arrows at it. Uthgerd did the same, but none of their arrows found their marks. The dragon barely paid any attention to them, it just kept circling and roaring. Eventually it flew off into the northern mountains.'

Phane was visibly crushed.

'Don't worry Phane,' said Drelis, patting him on the arm. 'They pursued it to the slopes of Eldersblood Peak. They found an abandoned shack on the way up, and Khargol said he could see a number of barrows nearby. They were both already encumbered by their loads, however, so they left their packs in the cottage and scaled the slopes to meet the dragon.

'The dragon, however, swooped down to meet them. It belched flame as they scrambled for cover amongst the sparse trees. Khargol used his thu'um to distract it while Uthgerd shot arrows from her bow. The dragon became wroth and dived to land between them! Now, the slate on the slopes of this particular mountain was particularly slick. As the dragon landed, it dislodged a great tide of rocks and pebbles. The ground gave way and the dragon lost its footing. It was virtually defenceless ans Khargol's axe came crashing down onto its scaly maw!

'Utherd writes of the light and wind that swirled from the dragon's burning flesh until the beast was no more than scorched bones, and Khargol's eyes shone with the power of the monster's soul.'

'Huzzah!' cried Phane, nearly knocking his wine cup flying.

'Did they climb to the peak anyway?' asked Lalaine, catching the cheese wheel before it rolled off the table.

'Khargol did. He left Uthgerd in the shack and returned an hour later. He claimed that there was a word wall mural on the mountaintop, and he had a battleaxe strapped to his back that looked to be of elven make.'

'Elven weapons and armour are prestigious,' Phane remarked. 'Even an orc would see that.'

3rd Hearthfire

Phane returned to the table with three cups and a bottle of red wine. 'Let's hear something more cheery before the night is done.' He put the drinks on the table and sat down.

'I have some records that pertain to something bittersweet,' offered Drelis, sipping his sour wine.

'Are these Lydia's accounts?' Lalaine asked.

'Only to begin with, listen here. Khargol traveled through the night, under the pale gazes of the moons that watched from overhead. He found a desolate ruin on the hillside and, hoping to find shelter until morning, explored it. It was an empty shell, but at its highest point was a room open to the night sky where a forge burned brightly. A journal upon one of the workbenches described it as the Lunar Forge where weapons would take on queer attributes if forged in the moonlight.'

'Wow. Did he forge anything?'

'Unfortunately not, but I imagine that the Lunar Forge would not be something that an errant smith would forget. No, Khargol did not have the necessary ores and ingots to forge anything at the time, but he eagerly marked it upon his map for later investigation.

'He arrived in Whiterun just before dawn. He went straight to sleep, as anyone would after such a long journey, and woke a little before noon to tell Lydia of his adventures in Markarth and the Reach.

'On the forge at the Warmaiden smithy, Khargol forged dwemer metal into an exquisite set of heavy armour for himself. He also met with a mercenary by the name of Uthgerd the Unbroken.

'Uthgerd was a warrior woman, there was no mistake. During a fist-fight on the night that Khargol went missing from Whiterun, she had been on the receiving end of his orcish knuckles. So impressed was she, by his strength and vigor, that she had looked for him the following morning to offer her services as a fighter to watch his back. Khargol had disappeared, however, only to find himself in Markarth as we have already heard.'

'And we still don't know why,' complained Lalaine.

'Did Uthgerd end up following Khargol anyway?' Phane asked.

'She did indeed,' answered Drelis. 'She wanted to act as his companion, so he gave her the opportunity to prove herself. She was obviously a seasoned fighter, but every warrior has an individual way of fighting, so Khargol needed to weight her personality as much as her combat prowess.

'They journeyed into the foothills north of Whiterun, hunting bandits wanted by the jarl for theft and murder. The bandits were holed up in an iron ore mine; Khargol and Uthgerd stole inside, stepping slowly and carefully to avoid letting the bandits know they were there. Just as they crossed the threshold into the cavern where the bandits were sitting, planning their next move, Khargol disturbed some gravel that rolled down the slope and alerted the bandits.

'The outlaw hedge-wizard in the bandits' employ panicked and let loose a magical stream of flames. Spilled lamp oil caught fire and suddenly the cave turned into an oven! With the majority of the bandits writhing and burning amongst the flames, it fell to Khargol and Uthgerd to attack the bandit chief to finish the job. Raining blows from both sides, our valiant warriors won the day and claimed the bandits' treasure trove for themselves.'

'Was that enough to prove Uthgerd's worth?'

'Not even close,' said Drelis. 'Khargol had heard rumours of a barrow to the north, so he took Uthgerd there to see how she would fare against the walking dead. The burial ground was named Volunruud, and it stood half-buried in the snow of the highlands. Khargol warned Uthgerd what they were likely to face, but assured her that he was experienced in delving into such dark places.

'In the barrows, Uthgerd found the journal of a deceased explorer. The journal mentions the inner tomb being accessible only by finding a number of keys. Khargol suspected that the keys would be similar to the golden claw he found in Bleak Falls Barrow at the beginning of our tale.'

'I don't suppose that dead explorer's journal is one of those documents you have there,' supposed Phane. 'Or is it Uthgerd's diary you are reading from.'

'Uthgerd's,' stated Drelis. 'She was passably literate, but I suspect that some of her own feats are largely exaggerated.

'Where was I? Ah yes, the keys. As they searched for the keys in the smaller tombs, the skeletal remains of the dead animated to defend the charnel houses. Uthgerd writes that she smashed at least twenty skeletons to pieces. In the report that Khargol gave Lydia about the tomb, however, it is suggested that only half a dozen skeletons arose in each tomb. Either way, it was clear that Uthgerd's courage did not waver in the face of the undead.

'When the duo explored deep enough to find draugr, Uthgerd flung herself at them as they appeared. There were times when Khargol left her at intersections to explore side-passages. He was wary of traps and did not want Uthgerd setting them off and getting them both killed.

'The keys turned out to be ceremonial weapons. When they were placed in the door to the final vault, the way was opened. Uthgerd writes that Khargol spoke of echoing voices, something about dragon voices that he could hear down the tunnel. She could not hear anything, however, so we can surmise that non-dragonborn cannot hear the echos of the shouts recorded on the word wall murals.

'The guardian of the word wall, however, was an incredibly powerful phantom named Kvenel. Although Khargol and Uthgerd managed to best his draugr minions, Kvenel's potent magic drove them back into a retreat. They fled from the tomb and sealed the vault to keep the malicious ghost from pursuing them.'

'They had to run away?' Lalaine's voice was full of deflated disbelief. 'You mean that they were defeated?'

'I do.' Drelis drank some more wine. 'Don't worry, Lalaine; Khargol returned much later to face Kvenel's magic again. The night was cold and full of snow when Khargol and Uthgerd emerged from the barrow. They had to hike a little way from the barrow before they found a camp where they could rest safely until morning, but they had survived with only minor injuries. Uthgerd even writes, much later on, that she was plagued with nightmares of Kvenel's unearthly voice and the claustrophobia that the barrows gave her. It must have been a very horrible thing to endure.'

'Does that mean they parted ways?'

'Not yet,' Drelis explained. ' There was still more adventuring to do in the tundra, and Phane will be happy to hear that they include a dragon.'

2nd Hearthfire

'Why are we skipping a day?' asked Lalaine. 'I thought we were on the first day of Hearthfire, not the second.'

'You're not missing anything,' Phane explained. 'The orc left Markarth, killed some forsworn in the hills, saw a dragon that wouldn't fight back... and that's about it.'

Drelis nodded slowly. 'He's not far off I'm afraid. Although I would have tried to illuminate the story in a more exciting manner.'

'Let's not waste any more time. Our ale won't last all night, so tell us what happened on the second day of Hearthfire.' Phane took a gulp of the bright beverage.

'Ah yes, well the important events of that day were the slaying of the forsworn in a place called Broken Tower Redoubt, as per the jarl's bounty notice; passing through the village of Rorikstead; and investigating the barrow of Rannveig's Fast.' Drelis leafed through the three documents he had. 'The jarl's steward did not write details on what happened at Broken Tower Redoubt, and I'm sure we can imagine that for ourselves. A pity though, I would have liked to know how Khargol dealt with overwhelming odds when facing the forsworn.'

'Wait a moment,' said Lalaine, pointing at Drelis. 'You have a copy of the jarl's steward's report?'

'Well... yes. It's only a copy though, it's not the original.'

'How did you get your hands on something like that?'

'There are so many marvelously mundane books that end up in the library,' Drelis explained. 'Travelers, adventurers, merchants, many different people visit. They know that we will take anything and everything, regardless of its origins. I spoke to a khajiit, once, who sold me the records from a Telvanni stronghold in Morrowind; he was quite brazen and frank about having stolen them. At the time he had thought they would have been useful as blackmail material, but when he discovered otherwise he simply hanged onto them and left Morrowind, hoping they would come in useful elsewhere.'

'You actually buy books and documents from thieves?' asked Phane, amused.

'Don't get me wrong, I don't act as a fence to these people,' Drelis held his hands up, warding off any false assumptions. 'I'm not commissioning thieves to grab the personal diary of the king of Daggerfall or anything like that.' The others looked at one-another, eyebrows cocked. 'Let's just get on with Khargol's story shall we?

'Rorikstead was a small village named after the man who founded it. Rorik had fought in the Great War and had earned a large plot of land on the border of The Reach for his service to the empire. There he had founded Rorikstead. The villagers had worked hard to turn the cold soil into arable farmland, but once the initial effort had been put in, the crops of Rorikstead were growing successfully and the farmers even had surplus food to sell at Markarth and Whiterun.

'Rorik worried about his people during the civil war in Skyrim. He had already seen the horrors of war when the Imperial City fell to the Thalmor. He could only pray that the same barbarity would not find its way to Rorikstead during such troubled times. And, of course, on top of the civil war we have dragons returning to Tamriel. Times could not be more uncertain.'

'Did anything important happen in Rorikstead?' asked Phane, impatiently.

'Not much,' Drelis admitted. 'The records I have of Khargol's movements there come from the journal of a young man named Erik. Erik was tired of a farmer's life and wished to be a sellsword, an adventurer, a mercenary for hire. His father ran the Frostfruit Inn and had forbade him to leave Rorikstead. Khargol offered to pay for the lad's first sword and set of armour, leaving the choice entirely in Erik's hands.'

'Did he become a mercenary in the end?'

'He did. And more than just a mercenary, but that comes later. Lydia's diary goes over what Khargol told her about his journey back to Whiterun from Rorikstead. He hiked over the damp, mossy rocks, patterned with lichen and shallow pools of rainwater. He met a legion soldier waiting in ambush for a stormcloak courier, but never saw the legionnaire's mark. With the rain unrelenting, and the sun sinking behind the mountains,Khargol looked for shelter by the northern mountains. It says here that he saw a dragon flying between rainclouds; a dim silhouette against the darkening grey sky.

'That is when he found Rannveig's Fast, one of the ancient nord burial grounds. He knew that there would be shelter inside, but likely draugr as well. The chance of encountering the undead was, however, weighed off with the chance of finding one of the word wall murals that would teach him a new shout.

'Rannveig's Fast was unlike many other barrows in that its draugr were already slain within. Searching the ruins, Khargol encountered ghostly warriors who assaulted him. His weapons was, fortunately, enchanted, and he was able to defend himself from the spectres' attacks. Even as they slashed at him with their phantom blades, they cried out that they did so against their will - that someone else was dictating their actions.

'In the gloomy word wall chamber, a chest stood unlocked and inviting. Khargol was wary of such easily-gained treasures, however, and so he avoided walking straight towards it. There was a trapdoor on the floor before the chest; stepping on the trapdoor would have sent Khargol plummeting to whatever doom awaited below. He used the word wall, and then explored further, intent on finding the secret behind the ghosts and the trap.

'The trap had been set by a cruel and wicked man named Sild the Warlock. Sild had fashioned the trap to attract and imprison adventurers and treasure-seekers who he would then torture to death before using their spirits as his ghostly guardians. His workshop was filled with the tools of death and pain-bringing. I should imagine he found himself on the receiving end of both pain and death when Khargol unsheathed his axe.'

'How horrible!' Lalaine exclaimed. 'Why would anyone do that? Torturing people to death, keeping their souls trapped as ghosts, it's awful.'

'I agree, certainly,' said Drelis, putting down his documents and taking up his tankard. 'But there are cruel people in this world, whether driven to evil because of their nature, or greed, or something worse. We will have to take solace in the swift and brutal justice that Sild met when Khargol discovered his lair.'

Phane shuddered.

1st Hearthfire

Phane nursed his drink, throwing the occasional glance at a pretty redguard girl at the bar. Lalaine was not coming to the tavern this evening, she was visiting her mother or something, and Drelis had left him alone at the table to catch a student he knew and ask him about some book or another.

Drelis had left a few volumes, including Lydia's diary, on the table. Phane almost put his tankard on it before recognising and picking it up. 'I'll bet Lydia was a comely lass,' he idled to himself. 'I could do with a housecarl like that. Someone to follow me around and beat the snot out of any thugs who dared to cross me. Someone to watch the house for me.' He looked around his empty table. 'Just someone to talk to would do right now.'

He opened the diary and flipped through it to find where the story had left off. 'Well, old Drelis certainly wasn't telling the story verbatim was he?' It took him a while to get used to the way the entries were sorted, then found that Lydia's personal thoughts were separate from her documentation of Khargo gro-Mashnar's feats and movements. It wasn't the original diary, that much was certain, so why it had been laid out in such a hard-to-read manner perplexed Phane to distraction.

'1st Hearthfire,' he began, piecing the puzzle together himself. 'A courier delivered a letter to Khargol on the road. It was sealed, but signed "a friend." Very mysterious. The letter suggested finding a place called Lost Tongue Overlook.' He looked over at the redguard girl again, but she had left while he was distracted with the book. No one was watching so he carried on. 'Presumably it was one of the lost word wall murals that would teach him a thu'um.

'A mining community is hard pressed to make a profit thanks to the constant interference of the forsworn. The hills are full of eyes, and the forsworn are a constant threat. The journey back to Whiterun is off with a bang as a glimpse of a dragon is caught amongst the rocky crags. It circles and swoops, roaring, but not attacking. Khargol scales a steep rise of rock to swing at it, but the dragon keeps its distance, bellowing rather than getting involved in a confrontation. Eventually, it flies off. Strange...'

Drelis was still chatting away in another corner of the tavern. 'When the echos of the dragon's calls have finally died, Khargol returned to the road. He found a mine that smelled of death, the owner claiming that dead things had driven his workers out. Khargol entered to investigate nonetheless.' Phane shook his head. 'Madness. Why would you do that?' He read on. 'Khargol encountered draugr in the depths, slaying them until the only way forward was to jump down a sinkhole. In the crypt revealed inside, the draugr wight lord used his own thu'um to disarm Khargol, blasting his warhammer from his hands. Both test the power of their voice against one-another until Khargol, hoarse and exhausted, is the victor.

'The miners help haul him from the pit, but they have no reward to offer him. Khargol encounters forsworn in the hills, swamped by them and praying that his newly-forged dwemer armour will stop their arrows before they pierce something important. The forsworn have a camp on the exterior of an old barrow. With the forsworn dead, and the bodies moved to one side of the encampment, Khargol spends the night at the top, hoping that the broken bones he places around his bedroll will wake him should any scouts return and seek to cut his throat while he sleeps.'

Phane put the diary back on the table and finished his drink. 'Well, when you read it like that it is certainly a lot less exciting.' Drelis was still talking with the student in the corner, so Phane picked the books up off the table and walked over. 'Here you are Drelis,' he said. 'I'm off home, maybe we can continue from the second day of Hearthfire when we get back into the story tomorrow.'

31st Last Seed

'So where did the conspiracy lead?' asked Lalaine.

'And how was it a "conspiracy" in the first place?' added Phane. 'When I think of conspiracy, I think of the intrigues of Daggerfall, not a smelting town in Skyrim.'

Drelis nodded and smiled, allowing that it certainly sounded ridiculous on the surface. 'It was the public murder of the woman in the market that got Khargol on the trail,' he explained. 'She had been from Cyrodil, but Khargol managed to do some digging and found the room she had been staying at in the Silver-Blood Inn. Her diary revealed that she was more interested in the city's prison than shopping for jewellery.'

'What's so special about its prison?' asked Phane, impatiently.

'Perhaps it's not the prison itself, but whom it contained,' Drelis suggested. 'Markarth's silver mines are owned, largely, by the Silver-Blood family. Instead of sitting out a term or sentence in a cell, prisoners are put to work mining silver ore to pay their way out of incarceration. The murderer in the market had been a miner, not a prisoner, and had never been connected with the forsworn before now.

'After more poking around, Khargol ran afoul of a mercenary by the name of Dryston who attempted to intimidate him away from his investigations. Of course, Khargol's heavy fists made short work of the sellsword, and Dryston revealed that he had been sent by a man named Nepos "the Nose".

'Investigating the Silver-Blood family, Khargol found out from Thngvor Silver-Blood that Ulfric Stormcloak, the rebel who had killed high king Torygg, had saved Markarth from the forsworn using his Voice! This must have been very intriguing, but unfortunately that was all Khargol discovered, the specific shout or shouts that Ulfric used were not revealed.

'Khargol visited Understone Keep, the seat of power in Markarth. There he met an orc smith by the name of Moth gro-Bagol who taught Khargol smithing techniques he had learned in the Imperial Legion. Khargol put the theory to good use and fashioned some armour from dwemer metal he had found on his travels. He must have looked a strange sight, wandering about in dwarven-style armour.'

'What about this Nepos character?' Lalaine insisted.

'Well, Khargol might have been an orc, but he was not one to rush blindly into complex situations. He approached the jarl and asked about forsworn in the city. Jarl Igmund dismissed his questions, claiming that there were no forsworn within sight of the city walls, let alone within them. He asked Khargol to route camps of forsworn in the Reach instead, but it was not enough to dissuade our orc hero.

'He visited Nepos and, after a brief parley that revealed Nepos to be forsworn himself, killed him. The Silver-Bloods had the forsworn "king", a man named Madanach, in the prison's mines and had been using the forsworn as their puppets with the leverage provided to them. Things had, however, taken a turn for the worse; now the Madanach was distributing his orders through Nepos, a powerful man in the city.'

'So it really was a conspiracy,' agreed Lalaine.

'Indeed,' said Drelis. ' But that is the end of Khargol's activities in Markarth for the moment. With Nepos dead, it was safer to disappear that night than stay longer to root out more forsworn agents. Again, I cannot say why Khargol appeared in Markarth in the first place, but he disappeared just as quickly.'

30th Last Seed

This time it was Lalaine who was last to arrive at the tavern. 'A late delivery,' she explained. 'I had to wait for it to arrive before I could leave. Where were we?'

'Drelis says that we've skipped a day ahead,' Phane complained. 'Our orcish smith is returning to Whiterun from Falkreath.'

Drelis held out his hands to pacify his friends. 'You aren't missing anything, I assure you. Khargol has trekked around Lake Ilinalta looking for more barrows. The word wall murals within each teach him the words of those powerful shouts the dragonborn can use, so he has tasked himself with finding as many as possible.'

'Did he find any then?' asked Lalaine, taking her seat.

'I'm afraid not, at least not as far as Lydia's records show.' Drelis had some new books on the table, books that Phane and Lalaine had not seen before. 'These are journals and copies of official records from Markarth, the western-most town,' he explained. 'It is the seat of power in The Reach, home to the barbaric forsworn.'

'Who are the forsworn?' asked Lalaine.

'That is a question that Khargol himself had to answer for himself,' Drelis revealed. 'You might wonder how Khargol came to visit Markarth in the first place. Well, I can't quite explain that myself. Lydia's diary says that he returned to Whiterun after questing for the hidden word walls in barrows and tombs, only to disappear that same night without warning or explanation. He had paid for Breezeholm's renovation, traded in the town, worked at the forge... but he did not return from the tavern that evening.'

'Did Lydia go looking for him?'

'She writes that she wanted to do so. Her thane had disappeared in the dead of night without a trace. Should she abandon Breezeholm to go looking for him, or remain in Whiterun like she had been told to? She was his representative to the jarl and the townsfolk in his absence, after all. It must have been a difficult decision.

'But, like I said, Khargol turns up in Markarth the very next day. And it is not a short journey by any means.

'Markarth is a town built into the mountainside. It is rock and stone, unlikely to be burned down by dragonfire. Still, it had its share of problems, including corruption, daedra worship, the Thalmor, and the forsworn. The town had a shrine to Talos, but it was cobwebbed and dusty. No doubt the Thalmor ambassador that paced the halls of the jarl's court was petitioning to have the shrine torn down and replaced. The town is famous for its mines, smelters, and smithy. But Markarth's wealth was not counted solely in silver; there were expansive ruins of dwemer origin beneath the city, deep and mysterious, not to mention dangerous.

'The forsworn, it turns out, are nords who are dedicated to "the old ways". They dress in animal furs and make pacts with the dark denizens of the night. The Reach was littered with their camps, and they had no love for the nords of Markarth and the other towns, let alone outsiders. Khargol witnessed a forsworn agent killing an imperial visitor to Markarth in plain sight. He found himself being pulled deeper into the conspiracy of these forsworn assassins living within Markarth's walls.'

'What do you mean "conspiracy"?' asked Phane. 'You said that the forsworn were barbarians. How can they have a conspiracy if they all live in the hills, baying at the moon?'

'Ah, well that's just what Khargol was about to find out.'

28th Last Seed

'Lalaine, what are you doing here?' Drelis had thought he was alone; the library had been quiet all morning and master Earmil was snoozing in a corner somewhere.

'Phane and I thought you might like some company,' said Lalaine, sitting on a pile of A Brief History of the Empire II. 'He's around here somewhere, probably looking through an illustrated anuad.'

'Aren't you supposed to be at the castle?'

'I was, but Phane helped me get free for the day. Here he is now.'

Phane strolled down the aisles, grinning. 'How are you, Drelis?'

'What's this all about?' Drelis put his books to one side, his nose twitching. 'The two of you are up to something.'

'Come on Drelis,' Phane pleaded. 'You know exactly why we're here. We want to hear more about the orc smith and the dragons in Skyrim.' Lalaine nodded agreement.

'Right now? You two are impossible, honestly.' It seemed as though he was about to kick both of them out of the library, but at the last moment he gestured for them to follow him to a desk standing in front of a wide window seat. He sat down and shuffled through the tomes that were piled on the desk, revealing a dusty collection of leather-bound pages that Phane and Lalaine both recognised at once.

'Lydia's diary!' Lalaine exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Drelis put a finger to his lips, shushing his friends as he scanned the document. 'There isn't that much detail here about Khargol's movements after the dragon at Riverwood you know.' He flipped a page, and then another. 'Most of what Lydia wrote down was related to her by Khargol when he returned to Whiterun a few days later. I only have an outline of the events between his visits to Breezeholm.'

'Well, tell us what you can,' Phane suggested. 'I'm sure our imaginations can do the rest.'

Drelis shuddered. 'I'm so glad you're not a historian, Phane.' He composed himself and took one last look at the quiet library aisles. 'Like I said, the details are scant. Lydia claims that Khargol visited Falkreath, the town in Falkreath Hold to the south-west of Whiterun. It was a dreary place, damp from rain and fog, it's people miserable and unenthusiastic.

'Falkreath's main attraction was, of all things, its graveyard. The largest graveyard in Skyrim, it was claimed. That gives you an idea of the town's mood. The hold itself was a green, verdant valley. Forests, wild game, mountain streams, fresh air, and Lake Ilinalta; but history had a grim hold on the land. Some people whispered that the melancholy mood was the work of a daedra, but in truth no one knows why Falkreath is such a sad place.

'Khargol visited Jarl Siddgeir, who he describes to Lydia as "young, irresponsible, and likely open to corruption." Falkreath was siding with the Empire for the civil war, but the conflict had yet to rear its head in the hold. The jarl did not seem to be concerned either way; so long as he could go out riding and hunting, he could not care less about the Stormcloaks or the worship of Talos.'

'Sounds like my kind of guy,' murmured Phane, smiling even as the others scowled. 'I don't see what's so bad about it. A dragon could burn your house down tomorrow, or a bandit could take everything you own. Why play it safe all the time and live a boring life when you can enjoy yourself?'

'Perhaps the responsibility of a public office is just too much for you to comprehend,' chided Lalaine. Phane shrugged, more interested in the rest of the tale. 'Did the jarl have a task for Khargol?'

'Not that we know of,' admitted Drelis. 'Bizarrely enough, Khargol then journeyed east, up the mountain slopes, to Helgen. Bandits had settled in to loot the burned-out shell of the outpost, but other than that it was safer than the last time Khargol had seen it. There was no roar from Oblivion or beating of black wings; a dragon had not nested in the ruins.'

'Why did he go back to Helgen?' asked Lalaine.

'I couldn't say,' Drelis spread his hands. 'It was en-route to a cave called Haemar's Shame but your guess is as good as mine as to why he journeyed there in the first place. He described it as icy and cold, too cold for anything living to find comfortable. "Snow had blown in and covered almost everything. Even the cook fires could not keep it at bay." There was a coven of vampires there, worshiping some sort of blasphemous idol, but Khargol refused to go into more detail on the subject.'

'How odd,' Phane remarked. 'Do you think it was something he wanted to keep from Lydia? A secret?'

'Perhaps,' said Drelis. 'But that is where Lydia's records of that particular journey end. After clearing out the vampires of Haemar's Shame, Khargol followed tracks in the snow to a barrow called South Shriekwind Bastion.'

'Now there's a foreboding name if ever there was one,' Phane slapped his thigh. 'I wouldn't go near a place named Shriekwind Bastion, not for a thousand septims!'

27th Last Seed

'So where was Khargol gro-Mashnar next spotted, that you know of?' asked Lalaine as the trio gathered up their things to head out of the tavern.

'The next hold he was spotted in was Falkreath, to the southwest,' said Drelis, finishing his ale and putting the mug back on the table.

The candle was guttering and spitting; Lalaine blew it out as they left. 'And the dragons?' she asked. 'When do they turn up again?'

'Oh there was one before he reached Falkreath hold,' said Drelis nonchalantly. 'In Riverwood as a matter of fact.' Phane and Lalaine looked at the dark elf incredulously. 'Oh, I don't have the documentation with me for that.'

'Documentation!?' Phane spluttered.

'There was a dragon at Riverwood?' Lalaine spread her hands and grimaced. 'Why didn't you say?'

'Like I said, I don't have the journals and accounts of what happened. Well, not on me. I mean I know what happened but...'

'Damn your accuracy, Drelis!' Phane shouted, a little too loudly as left the tavern. 'Tell us what happened!'

'Oh, very well.' Drelis was clearly uncomfortable relating the events in the story without a journal or record to back it up. 'But any mistakes I make in the retelling are your fault.'

'Granted,' allowed Phane. 'Besides, you already said that the story was somewhat unreliable regardless of the source. We can't know for sure what really happened, so make your best guess.'

Drelis sighed. 'Let me think for a moment. Khargol left Whiterun before dawn, I know that much from Lydia's diary. She also mentions news that Riverwood was attacked by a dragon, although it took a day or three for word to reach Dragonsreach.

'The jarl had sent soldiers to stand guard in Riverwood, just as he had promised. There were not many soldiers, but how many men do you want to spare to guard a woodland village on the hold's outskirts? Dragons can fly, after all; they do not need to follow roads like an army, so Riverwood was not necessarily the next place to be attacked after Helgen.

'The dragon attacked in the early morning. The archers took shelter where they could, loosing arrows at the beast to deter it from coming too close. Many houses had to have their roofs repaired afterwards though - the dragon was not intimidated and burned the hovels at its leisure.

'But that's when Khargol turned up, as close as I can estimate. He helped the last of the villagers get to the inn, which had not yet burned. The dragon did not land to fight the soldiers directly, though. The village might have been small, but it was a community with little space between its buildings. The dragon did, however, land on the roof of one of the structures and proceeded to breath its deadly flames on the lumber mill.'

'The village's sole industry,' remembered Lalaine. 'How horrible. To have your life's work destroyed out of the blue like that.'

'The mill survived mostly intact,' Drelis reassured her. 'It did require some attention to repair, but most of the damage was done to the lumber waiting to be sawed. I'm sure it was devastation nonetheless, but the villagers all escaped with their lives.'

'So how did Khargol slay the dragon?' Phane asked pointedly. 'That's what is important!'

'When he saw that there was no way to reach the dragon from within the village, and that the houses would be burned down if the monster stayed there much longer, Khargol ran into the woods. He used his shouts to lure the dragon away, taunting it and goading it to follow him from Riverwood into the forest.

'Now the battle itself is certainly conjecture,' he warned. 'No one actually saw it, only the aftermath. Sounds were heard, assumptions made... this is the best estimation we have. When he was sufficiently clear of the village, Khargol made his stand. He had never been a particularly good archer and I doubt he was prepared to wager his life on his skill with a bow. The dragon flew overhead, breathing fire on its orc opponent, but the foliage of the woodland's trees kept most of the flames from reach Khargol. The dragon was forced to swoop down to attack!'

'Swooping is bad!' Lalaine exclaimed.

'Well, it turned out to be a very good thing for Khargol. The dragon could only dive at him at certain points where there was space between the trees. After that it would have to land or fly back up into the sky and circle around. As it was, Khargol managed to hack at the beast once or twice as it passed, until the dragon became so infuriated that it abandoned all caution and rushed at him when it should have paid better attention to its surroundings.

'One of the dragon's wings must have been battered against the trunk of a tree when it attempted to pull up out of its dive. It careened into the ground with an earth-shaking impact that could be felt back in the village. There was one final, defiant roar, and then silence. Khargol had taken advantage and slain the dragon where it lay.'

'Amazing!' Lalaine cried.

'Now that's a story worth telling,' agreed Phane. 'Why can't you tell us more stories like that instead of the travelogue Khargol's legend is in danger of becoming?'

'There is more to the story than just dragon-slaying, Phane,' said Drelis with a touch of impatience. 'Hopefully you'll realise that by the end.'

26th Last Seed

'Don't tell me that we've got to listen to their journey back to Whiterun,' complained Phane. 'Are there at least some dragons to fight on the way?'

Lalaine shook her head impatiently, rolling her eyes.

'Never fear,' Drelis assured him. 'Khargol and Lydia were in agreement the next morning that they should find a quicker route back to Whiterun. They asked a local hunter who pointed them down a game-trail that followed the river to a waterfall. If they could find a place to ford the river, they would be able to climb down the hills to the valley near Fort Amol.'

'Is that what they did then?' asked Phane.

'It was. They encountered a small pack of wolves, but it was nothing that two capable warriors couldn't handle. The walk was much easier than the one they had endured to get to Ivarstead two days ago, and a thick blanket of mist weaved its way through the trees below so that the forest appeared almost like a grey ocean littered with small green boats.'

'Did nothing happen on the way back then?' Lalaine sounded disappointed. 'Nothing at all?'

'Nothing of importance to the story,' Drelis admitted. 'There are notes in the diary about a small camp of outlaws, the scenery, a traveler smuggling moon sugar between holds, and strange lights that danced between the trees as they made their way through the woods. But nothing, like I said, of great importance.'

'So, when they got back to Whiterun, what then?'

'Well, Khargol spent a lot of time on the Warmaiden's forge, as you might expect. He improved the equipment that he and Lydia were using and forged some helms and blades for the town's guard. He might be dragonborn, but it seems that his goal of becoming a master smith was still quite important to him.'

'He must have spent a lot on raw materials,' said Lalaine.

'I believe so,' Drelis checked a diary entry. 'Khargol turned in the bounty for the bandits at the Varthiem Towers, so I should think that his reward helped with any financial costs he ran into. It seems that he had enough left over to buy property in Whiterun though, so he cannot have suffered too badly in the blacksmith's workshop.

'The house was called Breezeholm; it was largely unfurnished though, so unfortunately it lived up to its name. It was dusty and home to more cobwebs than items of furniture.

'And there you have it. Lydia's records of Khargol's movements have a large gap in them from this point. He tasked her with guarding his household, such as it was, and was gone before sunrise the next morning.'

'Where did he go?' asked Phane. 'Did he just disappear?'

'Almost,' Drelis spread his hands over the leather-bound diary. 'He had to find the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and there were many tombs that hid secrets unseen for a thousand years. But don't worry, we know his movements. The accounts are not precise or complete, but that doesn't mean we can't build a rough picture of what went on.'

'So what did Lydia do until he came back?' Phane asked.

'What would you do?' Lalaine shot back at him. 'Your patron has left you to look after his house while he goes off to uncover lost tombs and look for legendary artifacts. You have no duties except to keep the house safe from intruders, and the local ruler provides you with a supplementary wage with which you can buy any food and drink you might need.'

'Well,' pondered Phane. 'That sounds a lot like my life already.'

The others groaned.

25th Last Seed

'Drelis, you're late.' Phane pulled a chair out at the table. 'Did they keep you long at the library?'

'My apologies, friends.' Drelis looked pleased with himself, as if nothing was wrong. 'I was engaged in a rather heated bargain with a traveler who wished to sell some old journals. I tried to convince him to donate them instead but...'

Phane interrupted. 'Woah, woah. That's not the story we were waiting to hear.' He sat down and pushed a tankard of ale across the table. Lalaine scowled at him, but offered no retort.

'Ah yes, forgive me.' He looked over the table and frowned. 'Where is the mead?'

'The barkeep ran out of mead,' explained Lalaine. 'So we'll have to put up with beer or ale unless we can all afford wine.'

'On the plus side, the beef stew is remarkably good today,' added Phane.

'Alright then, where did we get to?' Drelis had only brought a single book with him this evening; it was Lydia's diary, or at least a copy of it. 'Ah yes, the climb to High Hrothgar. Now, neither of you have ever been to Skyrim have you?'

'Nor have you,' said Phane pointedly.

'I was just going to say that the Throat of the World is one of Tamriel's tallest mountains. Only Vvardenfell's Red Mountain ever stood higher. The Wrothgarians, Dragon Tail, and Jerral mountains do not compare, mighty as they are.' Drelis held his hands out, framing the scene in his mind. 'Can you imagine the dizzying height? The view from the slopes must be breathtaking, and the winds fierce.' He stirred from his reverie. 'But back to the story. Khargol and Lydia had rented rooms at the Vilemyr Inn, remember? They left before dawn. A solitary hunter greeted them on the lower slopes, making his way back down the mountain after a pilgrimage to the top. He warned Lydia and Khargol to watch their footing, there were drifts of snow on the mountain that could shift and slip away without warning.

'As they climbed higher and higher, they felt the temperature drop. Snow fell, lightly, obscuring their vision. Distant peaks became grey silhouettes, indeterminable shapes rising out of the earth to touch the sky.

'I can only imagine what a formidable sight the mountain must be from its base. To see that you have so far to climb must be daunting at first. Lydia writes that she tried to count the seven-hundred steps, but lost count at three-hundred odd and tried to focus on keeping her footing.

'There was another pilgrim on the path, meditating before a shrine. There was a number of shrines on the way to the top; when read in order they explained, in simple terms, man's first struggle to break the chains of their tyrannical dragon overlords.'

'And I'd wager there are books you can read at home, warm and cozy, that go into more detail.'

'Phane, you really are hopeless.' Lalaine put a hand to her head. 'It's not about reading the inscriptions, it's about climbing the mountain to read the inscriptions. The physical effort required is like a... a...'

'A form of meditation,' finished Drelis. 'Your mind must be clear and focused on one thing. The remote solitude, the mountain air, the silence of the snowfall. The experience must be quite humbling. I would be overjoyed with the opportunity to attempt the pilgrimage, but I doubt I'd make it half way to the top in my current condition; I've never been one for physical labour or long hikes through the countryside. But two strong, fit, healthy warriors with the determination of having Skyrim's fate in their hands? Two adventurers who had been summoned to the peak for the first time in as long as anyone can remember? Well, even they had trouble!

'Lydia mentions that they stopped several times before the top. She says that the air became thin towards the summit, that their breathing was harder and more laboured. They were both exhausted by the time they reached the gates of High Hrothgar itself.'

'And now we get to hear about the greybeards!' Lalaine said excitedly. 'Come on Drelis, don't stop now.'

'As you wish. When the duo entered the halls of High Hrothgar, the greybeards appeared to greet them. The greybeard who spoke to them was named Arngeir. He was one of four, and the only one who was not silent for the encounter. The voices of the greybeards were so powerful that they could kill with a whisper, kill with a word, and bring down a mountain with a shout.' The looks on the faces of Phane and Lalaine amused Drelis greatly. 'Arngeir asked Khargol to prove his ability with the voice, the thu'um as he called it. He spoke of destiny and the dragonborn. Tiber Septim himself, before he was known as Talos, had journeyed to High Hrothgar to seek tutelage from the greybeards in ages past.

'Khargol left Lydia to warm her feet by the fire, joining the greybeards in the courtyard beyond to learn more about the voice. Anyone can learn the secrets of the thu'um, you see, but only a dragonborn could learn to shout in the ancient dragon tongue ask quickly and easily as Khargol was doing.

'When Khargol returned to Lydia, he explained that he had a quest to fulfill for the greybeards so that they might tutor him further. Khargol was to recover the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from an ancient barrow in the Hjaalmarch.

'And so they began their descent back down to Ivarstead.'

'Wait, that's it?' asked Phane. 'That was all that happened at High Hrothgar? Some history and diction lessons? Surely there was more to it than that.'

'Ah, but they were very important history and diction lessons,' mocked Drelis. 'The shouts that Khargol learned from the greybeards were vital to his success. Not only that, but his time at High Hrothgar served to foreshadow that which would come later. You see, there were not four greybeards on the mountain, but five. The true master of the voice lived on the very peak of the mountain in solitude and contemplation. To meet him though, no, Khargol was not yet ready to withstand the trials he would have to face.'

'So... so finding the horn, it was a test of some kind?' asked Lalaine.

'You could say that. When we next hear about High Hrothgar, I think you might understand. Let's not get distracted though, there is only a little more to read in this day's entry.' Drelis licked his thumb and turned a page in the old diary. 'As they made their way down the mountain, Khargol saw the aurora dancing in the sky for the first time.'

'An aura? Is this a magical thing?'

'Not an aura, the aurora. The northern lights. It's a celestial phenomenon,' Drelis explained. 'Imagine, if you can, great bands of green and turquoise light waving slowly and majestically across the sky. Scholars and mages have debated the lights' origins and purpose but an agreement has never been made. All those who have documented it have described it as a beautiful sight and something that every traveler should see before they are too old to wander the world.

'It was full night before Khargol and Lydia returned to Ivarstead. They rented their rooms at the Vilemyr inn again, thankful for the much-needed warmth and comfort that a straw-filled mattress could provide.'

24th Last Seed

The patrons in the taverns were thinning out; the candle on the table burned low, melted wax forming a rough circle at its base. The barkeep brought one final round of mead for the trio, told them that he would be closing in an hour, and left them to it.

'He'd charge you for entertaining in his establishment if he knew how good this story was, Drelis.' Phane took his tankard in both hands and stared into the golden mead. 'What happened after Nilheim? When do the dragons pop up again?'

'You have an obsession with dragons don't you? Very well, let's see if this will slake your thirst. There was no obvious way to ford the lake from Nilheim,' Drelis continued. 'Khargol and Lydia broke camp before dawn and went back to the road and found themselves traveling through a sparse forest of silver birch. When the sun rose that morning, they would learn why the region was known as the Golden High Forest.

'Before that, however, they were set upon by a pack of half-starved wolves. Khargol struck one with his axe, Lydia felled another with her bow, but the third member of the pack met an entirely unexpected end.

'The clearing shuddered without warning, a dragon landed not thirty feet from the travelers, crushing the wolf and glaring with its malevolent eyes!

'Lydia writes that she saw nothing but fire from that moment until the sun finally dawned. "The beast was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was all black scales, horns, and leathery wings. It crouched in the clearing where it had landed, locked eyes with my thane, and belched a gout of flame that burned the trees and seared the grass. Even Khargol, dragonborn or no, was overwhelmed by the dragon's unexpected appearance.

'"When we charged the beast, it took to the skies and circled around and around, bellowing its terrifying roar. There was something unearthly about its voice, something that shook me to the core. I loosed arrows at it, but the dragon took no heed. Instead it flew south of us and began breathing fire down on what turned out to be a small farm! We rushed to the farmstead's aid, sprinting up the hill to save those trapped in the burning hovels. The dragon hissed and spat more fire at us, landing in its greed and spite, to feast on the goats and char the crops.

'"Khargol gro-Mashnar took his axe to the monster's wings and neck. It snapped at him and roared, but its movements were curiously slow and uncoordinated. It tried to bite him in half, but with a side-step and turn, my thane's ancient nordic axe found a place in its throat. Blood spilled from the wound, the dragon gave one final trumpeting roar, and fell dead.

'"I found myself astonished as the dragon's corpse immediately began to burn to cinders. The flesh melted away like parchment in a fire, until only half-scorched bones remained. My thane was surrounded by a bright light that streamed from the dragon's skeleton, filling him with the dragon's energy."'

'Yes!' Phane exalted and raised his arms above his head. 'A dragon!' The few remaining patrons gave him queer looks before returning to the drinks.

'Go on, Drelis,' invited Lalaine. 'What happened next?'

'The damage to the farmstead was, thankfully, superficial,' said Drelis. 'Khargol and Lydia helped to put the fires out and made sure everyone was alright before they left. Most of the livestock had died, and some of the crops were burned to a crisp, but none of the farmers had lost their lives and counted themselves lucky to be alive, if poor.

'That afternoon, Ivarstead was finally within reach. The travelers must have looked a sight as they entered the Vilemyr Inn, their clothes, armour, and hair scorched and blackened by dragonfire. They asked about the village, and about High Hrothgar. One of the villagers made supply runs up to the temple, leaving food and provisions in a chest near the summit, but other than that there were few who made the seven-hundred steps to the top.

'Also of interest was a story the innkeep told them about the haunted barrow on the settlement's outskirts. Shroud Heart Barrow they called it. Khargol left Lydia in the inn, investigating the burial grounds himself.'

'Why would he do that?' asked Lalaine.

'Haven't you been listening?' Phane chided. 'The ancient nordic burial grounds obviously have a connection with the dragons. Khargol was probably hoping to find more secrets... right Drelis?'

'His motivation is not recording,' Drelis said with a grin. 'The revelation within, however, is.

'When Khargol entered the barrow he beheld a ghostly apparition. It warned him to stay away, but how many times have you seen an orc back down from a challenge or threat? After working his way through trapped corridors and puzzling chambers, he found the ghost and proceeded to do battle with it. When he fell, the ghost turned out to be a mortal thief who had concocted a potion that would make him appear to be ethereal.

'The thief had been seeking a jeweled claw, but his frustration and solitude had driven him mad until he truly believed that he was a phantasm of the barrow. Khargol took the thief's journal as proof to the innkeep. Interestingly enough it turned out that the innkeep had the claw the whole time; he gave it to Khargol as a reward for exorcising the barrow. I'm sure you know what comes next.'

'Another one of those doors!'

'Quite right, Lalaine. You seen, Phane? She was listening after all.' Drelis smiled at his own joke, then continued. 'When he broke the seal to the inner chambers, Khargol was ambushed by a horde of draugr. He used his thu'um to force them back, stunning them so that he might deliver the final blow to put their aged bones to rest. The final tomb was large and imposing; its undead inhabitants powerful and intimidating. But the power of the dragonborn could not be denied, and our intrepid orc warrior carved a path to the dragon word-wall mural where he learned a shout that would calm any animals that crossed his path.'

 
The barkeep cleared his throat pointedly. 'Is that a good place to leave it for now?' asked Lalaine. 'I don't want to be falling asleep at work again.'

'It's as good a place as any,' answered Drelis, draining the last of his mead and gathering his books. 'Khargol returned to the inn and spent the night there, intent on climbing the mountain at sunrise. He detailed all of the events in the barrow for Lydia to record. It seems she was intent on immortalising Khargol's deeds somehow, even if it was just in her personal diary.'

'Come on you two, we'd better not outstay our welcome any more than we already have,' Phane waved to the barkeep as they left the tavern for the night-time streets. 'Same time tomorrow?' he suggested. 'I want to hear what happened when our orc hero finally met the greybeards of High Hrothgar.'

23rd Last Seed

'What took you so long?' Lalaine scowled as Phane sat down at the table. He was carrying a tall pewter pitcher of mead in one hand, and three tankards in the other. He was smiling mischievously. 'We've been waiting for you to get back so we can continue the story. Don't you want to hear how Khargol reached High Hrothgar?'

'Oh Lalaine, you are so single-minded.' Phane placed the paraphernalia on the table, gave one last look over his shoulder to the bar area, and sat down with his friends.

'Were you distracted by the young Ms. Hawkhart by any chance?' asked Drelis, grinning.

'Let's just continue with the story shall we?' Phane poured the mead into the tankards and handed them out, trying not to make eye contact with anyone while he did it. Lalaine shook her head, and Drelis chuckled, but they quickly resumed the tale where they had left off.

'I must say that Lydia was a very tolerant and devoted housecarl. She had been assigned to a thane who was an immigrant rather than a local. Khargol was not even a nord. Not even human. But she protected and obeyed him nonetheless. She even details, with a certain degree of fascination, how she awoke to find him cleaning the skull of one of the trolls they had killed. He had put out its eyes, rubbed it in salt, and was butchering it with a small steel knife. It must have put Lydia off her breakfast, but she still paid enough attention to catalog the procedure and even make a quick sketch of the skull after her thane was finished with it. The skull later became a trophy that Khargol would proudly display on his mantle, but we'll come to that later.

'The duo left the cave and got back to the road, following the river. The nearest settlement to High Hrothgar was the village of Ivarstead, so they followed the road signs, enjoying the fine weather.

'The roads were fairly quiet. They saw small wolf packs bounding through the foliage, met a traveler or two, and saw native fauna on the slopes through the trees, but little of import is noted in the diary.

'The first event that Lydia notes is the occupation of Fort Amul beside the road. Normally a stormcloak refuge, the battlements were now manned by scowling men and suspicious mer in dark robes. The mages warned them to stay away, but they must have been especially nervous of the heavily-armed travelers because one of them lost his arrogant and confident veneer to lash out at the adventurers with his crackling magicka!

Khargol and Lydia might otherwise have walked by the fort without a second glance, but instead they were drawn into a brief and bloody conflict with the spellcasters who now inhabited the stronghold. Orcs are not known for their aptitude when it comes to the schools of magic, but they are known for their resistance to spellcraft. While Lydia crouched behind her shield, Khargol waded through fire, ice, and lightning to slaughter the magi left, right, and centre. The mages' efforts were unprepared and poorly co-ordinated. When the fight was over, Khargol was debating whether or not to clear out the interior of the fort. Lydia explained that they had already crossed the boundaries of Whiterun Hold and were now in Eastmarch territory; Khargol's duties as Thane did not extend this far, but if he wanted to hunt down the mages in the ruins... well, nobody but the mages would be protesting.

'In the end though, they left the job to the next stormcloak patrol that came by. High Hrothgar was not getting any closer while they debated, and dragons were a more urgent threat than rebel magi holed up in a half-ruined fort.'

'You can't fix all the world's problems,' said Phane solemnly. 'Even if you are an indomitable orc warrior with the ability to shout people to death.'

'Is the fort mentioned again in any of the records?' asked Lalaine.

'It is, but only in passing,' Drelis revealed, spreading his hands. 'It seems that, with their reduced man-power, the mages could not hold onto the fort effectively and they eventually left for a smaller, more easily-defensible site.

'Now, Skyrim is land of mountains and snowfall, of tundra and icy peaks. Lydia mentions a great bridge that crossed near a broad waterfall. The sight briefly enraptured the pair, distracting them from the long, steep climb that awaited them.'

'I'd love to see Skyrim's mountains,' Lalaine mumbled, staring dreamily into the middle-distance.

'Too cold for me,' complained Phane. 'I'd rather hear about them instead. And dragons,' he added pointedly.

'I'm not going to add dragons into the story where there aren't any to be added, Phane.' Drelis rubbed his nose and continued. 'As they climbed higher, a heavy rain began to descend. The travelers were getting thoroughly soaked when Khargol spotted a cave where they might take shelter. Unfortunately, they were not the first people to take shelter in Snapleg Cave.

'Within the cave, a pair of old women worked over a small cauldron. The smell of a hearty stew drew the travelers closer. One of the old women invited them to sit and eat with them, but the enticement stopped when the other cook turned and revealed herself to be a fiendish hagraven!'

'Urgh!' Lalaine exclaimed. 'That sounds horrible. What is a hagraven?'

'They resemble stopped, old women,' explained Drelis. 'They often have long, matted white hair that hangs down from under a dark cowl. Their arms and legs are long and skinny, bearing feathers and ending in hooked black talons. They are frightful to behold, and naturally gifted with horrible magics that can turn a man mad or bind monsters to their will.'

'I will have nightmares for weeks,' said Phane, staring into his mead.

'Lydia had readied her bow and managed to loose an arrow through the witch's throat. The hagraven, however, was a trickier opponent. Without warning, a swarm of spiders descended from the stalactites. They crawled and pulled and weaved and bit. Lydia was overwhelmed, struggling to keep the spiders from biting her at the same time as keeping her footing. Khargol charged the hagraven, but had to pull back to avoid her wicked claws. He swung this way and that, but the hagraven was surprisingly nimble for something that looked so venerable. Only Khargol's shout managed to stun the wretched creature for long enough for him to plant his axe squarely between her eyes and stop her frenzied screeching.

'He helped Lydia chase off the last of the spiders, but the cave had left them both feeling more than a little uneasy. They decided that they would rather hike through the rain than rest in a cave that had once been home to a hagraven.'

'I don't blame them,' admitted Lalaine.

'Near the top of the climb, the pair found the ruined tower of Nilheim. A man lured them towards the half-fallen keep, claiming that bandits had attacked his camp and stolen his trade goods. It turned out to be a bandit trap, but the rain and the climb had vexed Khargol and Lydia to such a degree that they simply waded into the bandit camp, slaying everyone present without a word or moment's hesitation. The man who had set the trap pleaded for his life. Lydia describes Khargol lifting the man by his throat and pitching him off the cliff.'

22nd Last Seed

'Erline was not happy with me,' murmured Lalaine as she sat down at the trio's favourite table in the tavern. 'I kept falling sleep during my chores. She found me dozing in the wine cellar and accused me of being drunk!'

'I hope the consequences were not serious,' said Drelis. 'I wouldn't want to be an accomplice to you losing your job.'

'No,' Lalaine waved the matter away. 'The old hag was just annoyed because I might have seen her taking a sip of the good stuff when she thought no one is looking.'

Phane poured Lalaine some ale from the table's flagon. 'Sit down and relax,' he said. 'Now we get to hear what our orcish hero found at High Hrothgar.'

'Not so fast.' Drelis wagged his finger at Phane's impatience. 'There is still the journey before we hear about the destination.' Phane began to protest, but Drelis hushed him and opened one of the books he had brought. 'Again, this is the diary of Lydia the housecarl. If you remember, she had been given the duty of protecting Khargol. She was his bodyguard and loyal servant, a mark of honour from Jarl Balgruuf for his feats of bravery when he defeated the dragon at the western watchtower.

'Whiterun could have kept Khargol occupied almost indefinitely, but with dragons reappearing throughout Skyrim, and the threat of civil war looming on the horizon, it was time to seek out the greybeards and their counsel. Lydia writes that Khargol did not want to seem weak by asking for someone to protect him during battle, orcish warrior pride I would presume, so he requested her help as a guide. Skyrim was still largely unfamiliar to him, and Lydia would have more experience with the province's dangers; its fauna and pitfalls.

'The morning was clear and sunny, although I have no doubt that it compares with the late summers of Hammerfell, or even High Rock.

'As the duo made their way into the foothills, Khargol revealed that he had a bounty notice for the bandit leader of the Vathiem Towers. The towers flanked the White River that Khargol and Lydia had to follow to reach the Throat of the World. Lydia agreed that disposing of the bandits would make the road safer for travelers, but she also explained that Khargol did not need her blessing to venture into potentially dangerous situations - she was his housecarl and would follow him through the gates of Oblivion without hesitation. I am sure that such dedication to her oath would have impressed an orc, perhaps he was warming to nord culture.

'The bandits put up a desperate fight, but between Lydia's shield and Khargol's ancient nordic axe, they never stood a chance. Lydia writes that an archer marked them from the far tower and began harrowing them with arrows. Khargol took an arrow to the shoulder, at which point Lydia moved forward to protect him from any further harm. Since Khargol went into battle with a two-handed axe, he did not have the option of carrying a shield to block incoming arrows. But Khargol did not shy away or flinch at the wound, instead bellowing with rage and flying at the archer with all the speed of a maddened boar, hacking the bandit from shoulder to hip with a single, savage blow!

'With the last of the bandits defeated, Khargol and Lydia looted the towers for any provisions and gold they might need on their journey.

'Although a thick mist had rolled in from the river, the warm afternoon soon burned it off and our protagonists made good time. At the bottom of a steep hill, Lydia saw a hidden cave at the base of a waterfall. She suggested that they go inside and investigate. They had already been walking all day, and nightfall was not far off. Better to sleep in a cave than out in the open.'

'I imagine that Skyrim's nights are not of a temperature that promotes sleeping under the stars,' shuddered Phane. 'Can you imagine waking to find yourself buried in a sudden snowdrift?'

'Skyrim is known for its wolves too,' added Lalaine. 'Perhaps you would not wake at all.'

'Well,' Drelis continued, 'even as they entered the cave, Lydia whispered that she was already having second thoughts. I presume that the blood-splatters, ruined furniture, and gory remains of those who had last camped in the cave put her off the idea of spending the night there. "Look at the bones!" she warned her orc thane. But before they could retreat, they were set upon by a pack of trolls!'

'Trolls!?' Phane exclaimed. 'Oh no!' Lalaine breathed.

'Dark-skinned and hairy, with three black eyes and long, well-muscled arms. The trolls leapt upon the invaders to their cave, swiping and clawing, biting and roaring. Khargol felled one by severing its leg, Lydia slew another by driving her sword through its belly. The beasts kept coming, undeterred by their losses. Lydia recalls another trying to wrench her shield away, but she managed to retain her grip and bowled it over, hacking at its bestial face until her sword found purchase and the creature stopped moving. As she recovered, she saw Khargol wrestling with another troll that was trying to wrench his axe from his hands. He kicked and roared, but the troll would not let go. They moved so erratically that Lydia could not intervene without risking hitting her liege! Just as it seemed that the troll would triumph, Khargol butted it with his head.

'I'm sure I don't need to explain the effect of being struck in the face with a steel helmet propelled by a thick orcish neck,' smiled Drelis. 'The troll stumbled back onto Lydia's readied sword, twitching and convulsing as it fell.'

'Mara's mercy,' said Phane. I hope I never meet a troll as long as I live.

'The battle was not yet done,' Drelis revealed. 'Trolls have the disturbing ability to heal even the most grievous of wounds with an unnatural speed; it is one of the characteristics that makes them so dangerous. The troll that had lost its leg to Khargol's axe suddenly lurched upright as the heroes assumed victory. The monster would have struck Lydia in the back, but Khargol saw it moving in the corner of his eye and unleashed his mighty shout to blast it back with the force of the thu'um!

'Tired and sore from the day's efforts, the two of them unrolled their furs in the least-bloody corner of the cave. They would need all of their strength for the following day's trials on their journey to High Hrothgar.'

21st Last Seed

Phane fidgeted in his seat. 'Khargol is taking all this in his stride isn't he?'

'What do you mean?' asked Drelis.

'Well, I mean he traveled to Skyrim to start a new life, as a blacksmith or ironmonger I presume; but since crossing the border he has been up for execution, foiled a bandit plot, explored a forgotten tomb, learned an ancient magical power, slain a dragon, and been elevated to the status of thane. I'm guessing that he didn't just pack it all in for the quiet life he originally sought out, otherwise you wouldn't still have a dozen books lying in front of you.'

'As always Phane, your brilliance seems undeserved of someone with such low aspirations.' Drelis smiled and picked up his wine cup. 'Consider that orcs have been known to be natural warriors, adventurers, and fighters. They are capable of living in harsh conditions through the most trying of times; ideal candidates for the trials Skyrim had to offer. Khargol gro-Mashnar may have wanted to be a master smith when he first arrived in Skyrim, but now he is being called dragonborn and seeing things that no one has seen for thousands and thousands of years. Do you know whom had the honour to be the last dragonborn in Tamriel?'

'Martin Septim!' Lalaine cried. 'He was the last of the Septim bloodline wasn't he? The last Septim emperor.'

'Quite right, and that was almost two centuries before Khargol was even born. If you, Phane, were the first dragonborn in Tamriel for two hundred years, what would you do?'

'I'd get people to respect me, surely,' Phane thumped his chest, grinning broadly. 'If the emperors used to be dragonborn, why not elect me emperor if I'm dragonborn too?' He laughed at his own joke, much to the chagrin of his friends.

'I'm glad the responsibility of battling dragons never fell on your shoulders, Phane.' Lalaine pulled a face and shook her head slowly. 'What happened next, Drelis? Did Khargol go straight to High Hrothgar to meet the greybeards?'

'I'm glad you asked,' said Drelis, returning to his place in the old journal. 'Jarl Balgruuf had much to say about dragonborn, it seems. The jarl, the castle steward, and the castle mage, all told Khargol what they could about dragons, dragonborn, and the greybeards.'

'So, who were the greybeards?' asked Lalaine. 'We know they live in High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World, but what do they have to do with the dragonborn?'

'Ah, well Lydia writes that Khargol spoke of them as "masters of the voice", the power to shout in the ancient dragon language. You see, it is not necessary to be dragonborn in order to use a thru'um, and the greybeards dedicated their entire lives to studying it. To be summoned to High Hrothgar was a great honour.

'Khargol spent the next day in Whiterun, buying supplies and trying to find out as much as possible about the journey that lay ahead of him. He visited Jorrvaskr, the mead hall of the Companions. The Companions function in a similar way to the empire's Fighters Guild, but Khargol did not make much progress with them. He found the Companions brusque and stand-offish. You might think that an orc would shrug it off and sign their charter regardless, but Khargol was looking for help climbing the Throat of the World rather than the responsibilities of joining a warrior company.

'Lydia also mentions that Khargol said the companions "reminded him too much of Orsinium," and that "he was no longer a mercenary, blind to all but gold," which probably reveals a little about his history, don't you agree?

'The companions did help in some small way, however. Just beyond Jorrvaskar, the master smith, Eorlund Grey-Mane, worked the Sky Forge, making the finest weapons and armour known to Skyrim. Khargol was eager to learn from the likes of Eorlund, but little is revealed about what they discussed. From Lydia's scant records on the subject, it appears that Eorlund dismissed Khargol as an amateur and did not take him seriously.'

'That's a shame,' mumbled Lalaine. 'I suppose being dragonborn doesn't guarantee that everyone will take you seriously.'

'Quite, but Khargol's smithing days are not yet over. He simply picks up the trade a little later on.

'There were a few other events of small importance in Whiterun. Khargol got into two fist-fights in the Bannered Mare tavern, spoke with a pair of armed redguard envoys who claimed to be searching for a fugitive from Hammerfell, and aided a priest named Andurs who, in Khargol's opinion, "sounded more like a thief than a priest" although he does not go into detail as to why.

'After preparing for the journey ahead, Khargol spent the night in the Bannered Mare. The next morning, he requested that Lydia accompany him on the road to High Hrothgar.'

'Now we're getting somewhere!' cried Phane, rubbing his eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Is that the sun?' Lalaine asked, startled by the glow of dawn that was creeping in through the shutters.