'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.'
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