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"What do you mean you can't fi..."

"Kil..."

"Sh..."

Maeniwen crouched in the corner after a hard day's work of slaughtering the Thalmor soldiers. "Let's see, that's 20 to me, 0 to the Thalmor." She commented as she rubbed her bloodied borrowed daggers on the thin grey tunic that they had forced her to wear since her capture at the hands of her so called guardian.

She knew that the chances of her killing everyone was slim to nothing but Maeniwen always got the job done.

"I can't wait to show the Bosmer [&@%!] what the master race can do to their enemy." A Justicar told his companion as he walked down the hallway. "Oh shut up about the master race. Yes, we're superior to everyone but i'm fed up of hearing you go on and on an..."

Maeniwen smirked as she watched the two Justicars fall onto their backs whilst clutching the daggers. "Boys, there is no such thing as a master race." She commented as she yanked the bloodied elven daggers from their throats.

After a few hours of sneaking around the embassy and killing anyone that worked for the dominion, Maeniwen climbed up to the rafters of a storeroom. "Nice and dark. Just the way I like it unless there are spiders up here." She remarked as she sat against a beam up in the rafters.

"I can't believe they are making us retrieve the damn food whilst she is on the loose." A soldier complained to his partner. "I know but someone has to ensure the mages get to eat their fine food whilst we eat nothing but the stuff they deem good enough for us." He told the soldier as they looked around in the storeroom.

Maeniwen waited untill they were directly below her and jumped from the rafters. The soldiers fell onto the floor with a soft metalic clang as she pierced their foreheads with both daggers. "Why can't you wear softer armour? It really annoys me when my cushions hurt me!" She told the dead Altmers as she withdrew her daggers.

A few days later...

"Ciron! Care to explain to me why half of my staff are dead?" The ambassador asked Ciron. "Because they are failures." He calmly replied as he poured himself a cup of root tea. "She's your bloody tool. Kill her before I send you to Skyrim to investigate those blubbering mammals in the coldest part of the region!" The ambassador ordered Ciron. "Of course. She'll be dead by the end of the day."


Maeniwen placed one foot in front of the other and slowly stalked her target. "Where are you?" The altmer growled with his sword raised. The bosmer smiled at the fact that a lone bosmer had reduced the Altmer soldiers into scared little boys and girls.

"Right behind you." She said as she thrusted her dagger through the back of his neck and pushed him to the ground. "Oh man, now i can't use that." She moaned after realising the dagger was stuck in the dead elf's neck. "Oh well." She commented as she continued sneaking through the embassy.

"No wai..."

"SHE'S HE..."

"WHERE ARE Y...."

Maeniwen smirked as she killed the last soldier in her path. She was exhausted and every fibre of her body wanted to rest but her mind refused to bow down to the demands of her body. "Ciron, show yourself so i can stab you." She commented as she searched for him.

"Great work." Ciron told Maeniwen from behind. She swore under her breath and knew that if he wanted to, he could end her life. "When i kill you, it will be very long and very painful." She threatened the elf. "I know but you're almost completed the job. The Justicars are holed up in the ambassador's office, just as i thought they would and should take you a few seconds to slaughter them if you approach the office from the rear. The window will need to be unlocked and my distraction will arrive in a few minutes. Only two will remain to protect him and i know you'll finish the job." Ciron informed her.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked the Justicar. "Because we will finish the job. I'll explain everything once we are finished her. My distraction requires my signal and i doubt you want to deal with 30 Justicars."

"Damn. You owe me one giant explaination!" Maeniwen told Ciron. "Naturally and we will need to discuss your future." He informed her before casting a spell on her.

Her body started to become stiffer then a well crafted sword, her limbs refused to obey her commands and she saw the floor coming to greet her.

"You will have 10 minutes after the spell wears off. Do not fail me." He told her as he walked away.


Maeniwen heard the sounds of fighting in the courtyard outside and slowly got up as the spell wore off. "You [&@%!]." She remarked as she started to make her way towards the office.

10 minutes later....

Maeniwen grabbed hold of the ledge and carefully used her dagger to pick the lock. "Don't be that lock." She commented as she blindly moved the dagger up and down in the window's lock. She felt something come off a few seconds later and assumed that she had unlocked it.

"What in Oblivion is going on!" The ambassador asked the two remaining Justicars. "I don't know but it seems that Ciron has betrayed us." "Indeed, only he could use soldiers against us." The two justicars said to the ambassoder. They didn't noticed the small bosmer climbing through the window and were focusing on the door.

"Kill anyone that comes through." He ordered his loyal bodyguards. "Of course." They replied. "You really need to cover all areas." Maeniwen told the trio as she threw both daggers at the Justicar.

"What the..." They both slumped against the door after turning to face her. "YOU!" The Ambassoder shouted in surprised as he stood up.

"Let me guess, you're going to reveal your grand plan and explain how you will kill me before i end up stabbing you in the heart." Maeniwen told the altmer. "No, i will kill you and hang you out of my window for all of Valenwood to see." He calmly said as he threw a fireball at her. She rolled out of the way and smirked at him.

"Tut,tut,tut, such rudeness." She remarked as she rolled towards him and punched him in the crotch. "You little [&@%!]!" he yelled as he recoiled in pain. "Now, that's just uncalled for." She commented as she punched him in the head and brought her knee up to his forehead.

"The dominion will sentence you to death regardless of Ciron speaking for you or not." He told her before she stabbed him with a letter opener. "The problem with letter openers." She told him as she rammed it into his stomach. "Is that they can never get the job done quickly. I mean, i have to.." She said as she removed it and stabbed him again. "do this a lot before you are dead." she told him and unleashed a flurry of stabs at him.

"Dagon spit on you." He said with his dying breath a few minutes later.

Maeniwen sat down in the leather chair and put her feet up on the table. She heard the sound of people running towards the office and expected it to be the distraction that Ciron had mentioned.

Ciron entered the room with his soldiers and smiled at Maeniwen. "Well, you've done it and i will reward you for purging the embassy on the behalf of the dominion. All owed payments will be given to you in the next few weeks and there is a job for you if you are interested." He told her.

"[&@%!]. You." She said to the Justicar as she flipped him off. "You betrayed me, tortured me and now you expect me to continue working for you?" She asked him.

"It was all part of the plan. I knew it would be impossible to sneak into the embassy and they would have killed you instead of putting you into a cell. I'll admit, it is cruel but you got the job done and i do hope you'll accept the job once i've explained it to you." Ciron informed the Bosmer.

"[&@%!] off." Maeniwen retorted. "I can see that there will be no changing your mind. I'm afraid I will have to deal with the bosmer that wiped out an embassy of Alinor but i will not have you killed." He told her.

"Oh let me guess, you'll imprison me and force me to kill for you." She said to the elf.

"no, I shall exile you from Valenwood for your crimes against the dominion but no-one will pursue you as long as you don't do anything to the Thalmor or any of their agents. You will be free to do what you can and you will recieve 30 thousand septims as part of the payments owed. My men will escort you to the border and i expect them to return." He told the young woman.

"The next time i see you, i will kill you and anyone that works for you." Maeniwen promised the elf. "I know but we won't meet again and it's the best i can do to spare you a public execution. However, you will have a week to recover before we offically exile you."

Little did Maeniwen of Valenwood know that her destiny was starting to begin. In the land of the nords, she would discover her true self and become a hero to the people of Skyrim for they will return. It was foretold that they would and she would be the one they fear. In their lanaguage she would become....

DOVAHKIIN!

DRAGONBORN!

Born in 4E 181 to a pair of Khajiit traders, Sa'Zyrr spent much of her early years wandering the warm sands of Elsweyr with her parents and learning the merchant trade. She was as quick as any other Khajiit and -perhaps- a little more prone to bouts of kleptomania than her peers. This made her a pain in the tail to her parents and siblings.

Her parents made no attempt to stop her thievery and, eventually, Sa'Zyrr grew tired of wandering the same trade routes again and again. Well, that and the guards had realized who she was and she couldn't really go anywhere without getting intense scrutiny. She decided to run away. It was a dream that many a child harbored at one point or another; Sa'Zyrr simply decided to act upon it.

Sa'Zyrr ran away with nothing more than a set of ragged leather armor, some lockpicks, and a simple iron dagger to her name. The remainder of her childhood -she was only 12 years old when she ran away- was spent slipping from shadow to shadow in Tamriel's cities, blissfully emptying the pockets of the rich of their valuables.

Unfortunately, she found herself caught in an Imperial ambush when she left a house at Darkwater Crossing after robbing it. She was captured -along with Ulfric Stormcloak, a few of his men and a thief- and taken by cart to Helgen for execution. Apparently there was very little tolerance for thieves in Skyrim.

In a stroke of luck -if it could be called that- she was saved from execution by a Dragon. Wasting no time, she fled the burning town with a Nord named Hadvar; he took her to his uncle in Riverwood, Alvor, and the man agreed to help both of the singed and weary travelers. On one condition: that Sa'Zyrr alert the Jarl of Whiterun that Riverwood was in danger. She agreed, and that launched her into the biggest journey of her life. And she was only twenty years old!

During her time in Skyrim, Sa'Zyrr was revealed as the Last Dragonborn. To add to her fun, she also eventually became the Guild Master of the Thieves Guild and a member of the Nightingale Trinity. Her work there revealed a certain dark side and, in the interest of making more gold, she also joined the Dark Brotherhood. Sa'Zyrr was shocked again when she was named the Listener by the Night Mother.

When she was exploring a cave in the wilderness of Whiterun, she encountered a group of vampires; merciful, they decided to let her live... If they could feed on her. They didn't have the courtesy to wait for an answer and instead fed on her right there as she lay, sprawled and defeated, on the dusty stone floor of the cave. That was when she became a vampire.

Curiously enough, the change didn't bother her. She merely went about business as usual, only spending more time outside at night to avoid the burning rays of the sun. Sa'Zyrr heard rumors of the Dawnguard, but she decided to ignore them; she did not wish to become a vampire hunter. She already was a vampire! Why would she join an organization bent on wiping out her kind?

The Khajiit vampire never married and neither did she adopt one of the many orphans that inhabited Skyrim. Instead, she merely chose to make her home in the swamps of Morthal, right outside of a Nordic Barrow. She studied the corpses there and, mostly out of curiosity, took up necromancy. This led to a fascination with magic that drove her to join the College of Winterhold. Sa'Zyrr became Arch-Mage after the previous one was slain by a Thalmor agent.

Sa'Zyrr also journeyed to Solstheim at one point to deal with another Dragonborn named Miraak. During this time, she became involved with the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora. He sought to imprison Sa'Zyrr like he did Mirrak, but the Khajiit was smarter; she slipped out of his grasp and returned to Skyrim.

She led the Thieves Guild, College of Winterhold, and Dark Brotherhood for years before vanishing. Nobody knew what happened to her, but the general agreement was that it was the work of a Daedric Prince.

Do’razda was jogging along the road, with a steady pace he could keep up forever. The ruins of Helgen was soon left behind his back. According to the woman Gerdur, this road would take the khajit to his kin. Reaching a top of a hill, he spotted something ahead. That gave the khajit a stop. It looked like tipped over wagon. His heart started to race and he burst into full run. No, it couldn’t be possible… His caravan had planned to take this road...it couldn’t, could it?
He saw a body, laying face down, tail twitching in the air.

“NOOOO!” he could never tell later how he crossed those last meters. Falling to his knees, the khajit turned the body around. “Uncle S’dreet!”

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend." a gruff, threatening voice said.

A bandit approached him, his sword still dripping with fresh blood. From the corner of his eye Do’razda could see other bandits.

The khajit whipped out his sword and dagger and leaped. Fired by fury, he attacked the bandit with unusual ferocity. He was usually more cautious fighter, preferring a stealthier approach. Another bandit joined the melee but Do’radza was too fast for them. His sword stroke like lightning, finding the gaps in their armour. Soon the two bandits were laying on the ground dead. A third one tried to got a shot at him with a bow. The khajit leaped and ducked and his sword slapped the bow from archer’s hands. A steel dagger found his throat. Do’radza’s sharp ears heard rustling from the thicket. A fourth bandit had decided to beat a hasty retreat from the bloodthirsty khajit.

But Do’radza wasn’t done with his revenge yet and ran after him. With roar, the Khajit abandoned his sword and dagger and went with tooth and claw. He ripped him apart. With the deed done, the khajit picked up his weapons and cleaned them to dead bandit’s tunic.

Slowly, reluctantly, he returned to the wreck of a trader caravan and started the grim task of retrieving the bodies and burying them. Sweet Sheeba with her silken fur and Ma’radha, his little brother. Ma’radha always was the runt of the litter, small and frail but oh, so clever. He could sweet talk birds out of trees and into cooking pot. News of his death would crush their mother’s heart.

When the grim task had done, the moons had already risen. Do’radza lifted his face towards the moons. “You shall pay for this, you who prey on travellers of the road. I shall hunt you down and soak the ground of this frozen land with your blood. My name shall make your hearts quake with fear. I shall not return to my homesands before my kin’s death has been paid in full. My blade is kiss of death. I am death to all honorless curs who kill to steal. This I vow, in a name of the clan mother, under the sacred moons. Hircine, bear witness to this vow. My kin, be comforted in your afterlife, you shall be revenged!”

The Nord let out a grunt of pain as her back slammed against the floor. Her blade clattered to the ground beside her and promptly slid out of reach. One of the vampires, an Altmer man of incredible strength, pinned her in her prone position and brushed her disheveled brown locks out of her face. He bared his fangs in a cruel smile.

"Well, you were a tough one. Fine prey. Better than most we get around here," he sniffed. The amber eyes -set quite close together in his pale yellow face- shone with hunger as briefly licked his lips, "I can smell your blood and hear your heart pounding in your chest, mortal. How does it feel to know you shall soon become a snack?"

The other vampire, an Altmer female -the mate of the male- approached the trembling Nord and stood over her. She looked to her peer and let out a soft whistle, "Frightened, I'd bet. Why don't we make things easy for her, Azaelor? Drain her dry before she dies from fear alone. She's almost paler than we are."

Azaelor chortled, tightening is hold on the Nord as she began to squirm. He looked down at the woman and cocked his head to the right, "No... I think not. Remember, Tarylas, we don't get as good of a meal very frequently. Perhaps it would be best if we saved this one... And kept her for as long as possible. If done right, we could take blood from her like mortals milk their cattle."

"Agreed," Tarylas replied, kneeling beside Azaelor and his victim, "But only if she tastes good. I don't like my prey sour."

"I prefer them a little on the sweet side myself, but this one looks to be a good balance between both."

Smiling to themselves, the vampires hauled the Nord woman to her feet and pulled her into the living chamber of their cave. There, they had a torture rack set up; it had been used in the past and was rather dirty, but it would still do. They chained her to the wall. The Nord was only given enough space to hang there by her arms.

Once their meal was in place, the vampires bent in to feast. Azaelor went first. He brushed the Nord's brown hair out of the way before plunging his fangs into her neck. The woman's body tensed up as she let out a silent cry; she began sobbing as soon as the Altmer male pulled away. Tarylas took her share and, by the time she was done, the Nord was unconscious. The vampires had the courtesy to heal their victim... Only so that she did not die.

When she woke up, the Nord was force fed whatever food and drink the vampires had lying around. Most of it was either stale or rotting. Eventually, she found herself hanging above a pile of her own vomit, feces, and urine. The vampires never bothered to clean it up, instead leaving their victim trapped above the festering pile of filth. Apparently the stench didn't bother them.

The torment went on for several nights. It pained the Nord that she could not do anything, but.. The vampires had her chained too tightly. Even if she did manage to get away, the vampires would either kill her or imprison her again. Although... At that point, she would have taken death any day.

When she just couldn't take the punishment anymore, things began to change. The Nord had sunk into a sort of waking nightmare. She was wandering through a dark forest, her destination unknown. Her limbs ached and an odd crawling sensation made her flesh itch. The woman had a driving desire to find shelter... For some reason, she feared the sun; she feared the moment a ray of sunlight -dimmed by the foliage above- touched her skin. The feeling of panic was intense...

The two Altmer vampires stood in front of the Nord and watched as her body was rocked by spasm after spasm. Her breathing came in harsh, irregular gulps and they could see the fluttering of her pulse in the side of her neck. They cast a dismayed glance at each other... Both of them had been in that position before. They knew what it meant.

"Azaelor. She's changing."

He only nodded.

After running for what felt like hours, the Nord arrived at a dark cave. She could smell the aroma of pine smoke coming from further within the cave, and so she entered. Perhaps she could find a friendly stranger there. One who was willing to help. Or... No. She pressed on, the darkness of the cave becoming brighter the further she went in. As expected, she found a traveler sitting at her camp. The mysterious woman had her back turned to the Nord and was busy with a pot of water.

By now, the Nord's body had gone limp. The two Vampires sat at a table and watched, waiting for the moment she woke up as a vampire. They couldn't tell if the woman was breathing or not. She simply hung motionless, her skin becoming paler by the second and her lips taking on a blueish hue.

A curious hunger had seized the Nordic woman; it was like a fire in her blood, only instead of hot... It was cold. The power of it astounded the Nord. She could not control it and, to her surprise, she leaped with incredible speed and strength towards the woman. Her weight slammed into the woman and, instinctively, she bent her head down and sunk her teeth into the woman's neck. Her blood tasted incredible.

Her thirst satisfied, the Nord decided to take a peek at the woman to see who she was. The Nord screamed as she realized that the woman she had just fed upon was herself. The sensation of terror grew as her double's face began to change; it became bloodless and shifted, slowly turning into the face of a bat. Horror made the Nord drop the body of her twin as she realized what she was. With a start, she woke up.

The two Altmer vampires watched as the Nord opened her eyes -now amber instead of the green they had been- and instantly closed them again. Tears mingled with the cold sweat that dripped from her brow as the Nord realized her fate. She felt herself being removed from the shackles and unceremoniously dumped outside into the darkness. She did not move.

Being a vampire was a fate worse than death.

Birds chattered and the wind blew through the trees, bringing scents of snow and forest and water, down from the mountains and off the lake. She listened, concentrating solely on the forest floor. Hooves stepped, light and soft, over the grass and needles. She waited, muscles tight and aching from being crouched for so long. But silence and stillness were necessary.

Blade’s stomach rumbled.

Sweat trickled down her back beneath her furs, and she adjusted her grip on her knife. Not too tight, it needed to move freely, but she didn’t want to drop it, neither. Through the gap in the tree branches, pokey needles digging into her skin, she saw the soft brown, the frail looking legs, the small herd entering the clearing.

She had tracked them, moving silent across the wood and dead leaves and grass up the mountains. Ranging ahead, she had climbed a tree alongside the deer trail and lay in wait. It didn’t always work, but without a better weapon, she was limited in her hunt. Sometimes she could sneak up on a single animal.

More often she couldn’t.

A deer’s head came underneath her perch, blank black eyes focused on the grass. She waited for it to step closer beneath her tree. One hand on the rough tree trunk, she narrowed her eyes. One step, two, its narrow back lining up.

She dropped from the tree, green and brown a blur around her, and landed on the startled creature. Wrapping her arm around its neck, she twisted, the momentum of her fall aiding her in toppling the thrashing doe. She held on tight, wrapping arms and legs around it, ignoring the bruising and the dirt crumbling and smearing onto. Ignoring the fleeing herd, she reached one hand up for the muzzle, fingers tucked and away from gnashing teeth. Wielding her knife in the other hand, she yanked back on the head and struck the pale throat.

Twitching and writhing, the doe died, hot, steaming blood pooling onto the forest floor.

Rolling away from the animal, Blade’s chest heaved, sweat coating her skin. The crisp wind was welcome, and she watched her breath steam and blow away. Waiting for her heart to slow again, for the sweat to cool, she gazed up at the trees above her.

Pushing herself to her knees, she pulled the deer back towards her. Wiping the knife handle on the grass, she began the long, slow work of cutting the hide from the carcass. While she worked, Blade listened to the bird chatter and wind song, buzz of flies that came to scavenge off of her work and the distant wolf howls of those who would come scavenging, too. She would have to work quickly, before the stronger predators came.

But if she got enough pelts, soon, soon she could buy another weapon, a sword, or even a bow. Then she would be the strong one.

Once she’d removed the hide, she set to work harvesting the meat, cutting it into strips to dry. Her stomach rumbled again, and eyed the meat, wondering if she dared. Reaching up to wipe a stray strand from her face, she smeared blood across her brow, and paused.

The wolf pack had arrived.

She stared down the yellow-eyed male, biggest in the pack. She knew, could hear and smell, that more were arriving around the clearing.

The wolf growled at her, baring saliva-dripping fangs.

Blade growled back, loosening the hatchet from her belt.

Perhaps because she wore the pelt of a wolf, perhaps because she’d already killed one pack in the area, perhaps because they weren’t desperate enough, but most the pack slowly backed away. Only the leader remained, watching, and she knew she would have to hurry.

She looked over the meat that she had already cut. It would be enough, and there was no point being stubborn. At least not with wolves.

Hurrying, because though she could not see the others, she could hear them circling beyond the clearing, she gathered the hide and the meat, arms laden. Standing, she pinned the wolf with her own intense stare, and slowly backed away. Let them have the remains, she thought.

They let her leave, rushing in to tear at the still warm flesh. She turned and made her way back to her temporary campsite. The fire had not quite gone out, and did not take her long to build up again. Taking the crude rack she had made, she stretched out the hide, then put up the meat to cook over the fire.

From her supplies, she fished out a piece of dried meat, and tore off a hunk. Staring over the lake, she chewed and considered her next step. This hide, and the ones she already had, would they be enough? Or should she get more? She took another bite, and thought over her supplies. She had plenty of meat, but her bread had gotten stale and hard. She would eat it, but it would be gone soon, and most the other food she’d gotten was out, too.

She decided, stuffing the last of the meat into her mouth, that it would be better to head back to town with what she had now. If she needed more pelts, she could get them. She turned to the next task.

Scraping the hide was rhythmic work, same as skinning had been. She let her mind go when she did it, not thinking, just working and being. She could hear waterfowl on the water, diving for fish and rooting amongst the reeds. The wind rippled on the water, waves lapping against the shoreline, and leaves and flowers rustled around her.

Into the blank of her mind, she allowed one thought to occur to her. She became aware of the blood coating her arms and smeared across her face. The sweat dried to her skin, and the dirt and bruises from the struggle. Her muscles ached, wrenched and sore, and her furs clung to her.

But if there was such a thing as peace, then for her this was it.

This last sentence tied the whole piece together for me. It made me feel grounded at the end, and I felt her peace. Blade is very much in her element when she's out in nature. This is easy to tell from your descriptions of her movements, and what she senses around her. That's my favorite thing about the story---that through her mannerisms I learn who she is, and you're not just telling me.


My 2 cents: I think you use too many commas for my liking. They clutter up the story and make it choppy to read. Your work is so beautiful, and more flow in the structure would strengthen it. I'm using the sentence here as an example:

Suggestion:

The first sentence brings it to a stronger version of present tense. Taking out "she decided" and just leaving the second sentence puts us right into her thoughts/perspective. Deep point of view, which clenches the reader's attention and is less passive.

Personally, I would love to read about Blade in a social situation. She's so adjusted to being alone in the wilderness, so being around other people would bring an interesting tension.

In regards to my earlier snap, I'm sincerely sorry about biting a few of you/everybody. I have no clue what the [&@%!] got into me. That last time or in the past. All I can say is that I'm sorely tempted to stop sharing stories out of fear of doing it again.

I don't know what it is, but I know I can't really control it. I don't usually have a problem with controlling my emotions (opposite, actually. I'm too controlled and, in most cases, I will not allow myself to relax. Particularly when dealing with others), but sometimes I flare up and bark at anybody who happens to be nearby. I did once see a mental health person and he suspected me of having Asperger's, but the way he handled the appointment made me doubt his honesty (because he said one thing to my mother and myself but something entirely different to my doctor - that would be the Asperger's comment).

It's also true that one of my English teachers was a bully (not just to me, but to my entire class. I can't think of anybody who genuinely liked him). He once humiliated me in front of the entire class when I attempted to explain why I had difficulty answering questions verbally (I frequently had to write the answers of questions down in order to organize them enough to read, otherwise I couldn't get it out properly) and botched what I was saying. I was essentially told that, if I couldn't properly form a response without writing it down, then I was too stupid for the -1 English class (usually made up of honors students).

Whatever it is, it shouldn't be happening. That's quite clear. It has made me look like an [&@%!] on more than one occasion.
The whole situation has been bothering me for a few days now (I just wasn't sure what to say and if anybody would even believe me). I still don't know what to say or do, so I've just go to hope that my apology is enough for those I might have hurt. I just can't help but think that it would be best if I kept my mouth shut (or just sat on my hands).

The woman who called herself Milady Winter dismounted from the horse. “Home at last!”, she sighed and with a pat, let the horse to go and graze freely. It had been a long trip and the hour was late. The night was dark, with clouds covering the stars and moons. She unloaded her saddlebags to the chest where she kept her smithing materials. 60 dwarven metal ingots...what was she going to do with all of them?

She headed for the door, her thoughts on the warm bed when she heard a roar.

She swirled around. “Oh bother, not now!” It was a dragon. It was just a dark shape against dark night sky. She readied a fire spell. The dragon roared again and disappeared behind the house. She sprinted after it. “Don’t you dare to eat my horsey!” she blasted it with a firebolt. The dragon breathed fire on her. “Oh bugger. Go to Oblivion!” her second bolt didn’t do more damage to it than the first one. Then she lost sight of it when it circled around the manor. Only her dragonborn’s sixth sense told her where it was. The damn thing was fast and hard to see. She tried to run after it, going circles around the house. She aimed a third firebolt at it and missed completely. All she did was set some tree tops on fire. “I need ice-based spells!” she launched her spell again, only to realize the dragon was nowhere near. Cursing, she ran after it again. “Stay in one place! So I can kill you! Bother someone else you oversized lizard!” her shrieks were accompanied with more firebolts. None of them hit. The dragon’s attention was suddenly drawn to something else and it headed towards the giant camp near by. Milady stopped. She was not going to chase it there. Not in the darkness. Maybe the smell of mammoths was more appealing than skinny nord woman. Milady didn’t care, she was just happy to get rid of it. She turned around and walked back. She went inside the Heljarchen Hall. She had some things to do before she could sleep.

Next morning

A good night’s rest did wonders for one’s mood. Milady was dressed for a travel when she stepped outside. It was beautiful morning, sun was shining and birds singing. She was almost whistling when she headed towards the carriage. No horseriding today. Then her dovahkiin sense alerted her again. Turning around, she spotted a distant shape of dragon. It was attacking the giant camp. “Oh crap, not again and not the same dragon!” Jogging towards it, she pulled out her bow. When she came closer she realized it _was_ the same elder dragon. Obviously the giants had put up a good fight and kept it occupied whole night.

She kept to the cliffs above Blizzard Rest. Last thing she wanted was battle against a dragon and giants. She found a good ledge where she had unobstructed view to every direction. The dragon had not yet noticed her and she stretched her bow. Twang! The arrow sinking to dragon’s side did get it’s attention.

She kept shooting her arrows, one after another. The dragon circled around her, breathing fire. “Hey, I can do that too. Fo!” She couldn’t believe she had forgotten to use Thu’um last night. When the dragon pulled back, she used the brief break in battle to gulp down few healing potions and resist fire potion. Then she was back to firing arrows and frost breath. Each hit gnawed away the dragon’s health but also depleted her stock of arrows. She had only limited number of them with her. She was starting to miss those 256 steel arrows she had stored in her house. Finally the dragon crashed to the ground, it's body resembling pin cushion. Milady approached it cautiosly, still firing arrows. Then, just like that, the dragon was dead. She lowered her bow and shook her aching arms. “Tough bugger to kill but no match for Dragonborn,” she smirked smugly and opened herself to absorb the dragon’s soul. She felt the familiar rush, an excitement that was better than any skooma she ever tried.

Milady proceeded to loot the dragon’s corpse. She pulled out arrows, discarding those that were too damaged to use again, pried loose scales and cut bones. “I’ll make a nice armour of you one day,” she muttered vindictively. Then she started the walk back to Heljarchen Hall. She dumped the dragon’s bones and scales to the smithing chest.

She approached Markus and her carriage.
“Markus, you could have helped instead of hiding under the wagon,” she scolded him.

“I’m sorry, M’lady, but I’m just a carriage driver, not a warrior. Now, where can I take you today?”

“To Winterhold, I have business at the College,” she replied and climbed back of the carriage. Taking a seat, she leaned backwards and relaxed.

Sahrotaar craned his neck forward to bring his gaze onto the tallest platform in Apocrypha. The Summit of Apocrypha. The lair of Miraak.

I rode upon Sahrotaar, positioned behind his head, as he circled overhead. The Serpentine Dragon – an ugly brute with an overly large lower jaw containing far too many teeth- was searching for a place to land as I had ordered him to. Two other dragons sat on stone arches and Miraak himself watched as I flew around on the back of the dragon that had once been his mount. I couldn’t tell if the man was irritated or amused; either way, both of us knew why I had come… It was time. Miraak’s soul would be mine.

The dragon finally located a place to land. He dumped air from beneath his wings and descended, hitting the slimy ground with a heavy thud. I slid off of his neck and took several steps towards Miraak. He closed the distance between us as Sahrotaar leaped back into the air.

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha. You are here in your full power and thus subject to my full power,” he stopped for a moment and his black eyes met my amber eyes in a second or two of mutual hatred, “I will kill you and claim your soul, Dragonborn. With its power, I will be free. Solstheim will be mine and I will be master of my own fate once again. Kru-!”

My magical energy surged as I lifted my left arm; with it, Miraak rose into the air. Glowing red tendrils surrounded him as I held him above the ground. He could only grunt and struggle. The man simply could not break free of my grasp.

I smiled up at him. He had had his opportunity to give a speech, and now I had mine. My voice was sharp –like the edge of a dagger- as I spoke, “Ah! Not so fast, Miraak. You will not be taking my soul today. Tonight. Whatever. I have seen your death, Miraak, and I know what must be done. I will steal your soul and use the power to further strengthen my own.”

With a fang-baring grin, I dropped Miraak back to the ground. Before he could regain his composure, I whipped the metal edge of my right gauntlet into the side of Miraak’s head; it connected with his mask and scratched it. Miraak himself was knocked sideways. For good measure, I slammed my left foot into his exposed butt. The Nord fell face first into the ground.

“Kruziikrel! Relonikiv!” Miraak gasped as he pulled himself back onto his feet, “Now!”

The two dragons launched themselves into the churning green sky. They divided their attention between Sahrotaar and me; fortunately, my wards blocked all of their attacks. Sahrotaar was not so lucky. He was forced to duck and weave throughout the air to avoid their attacks. I would have enjoyed watching them fight if it weren’t for the fact that Miraak was now coming at me. He was absolutely livid. It made me laugh.

“Ven… Gaar-Nos!”

Cyclone. Miraak had summoned a massive whirlwind against me. It was no problem. I released a blast of magic that tore apart the whirlwind. With a hiss, I charged.

Miraak’s blade caught me off guard. It looked as though it was a part of Apocrypha –possibly created by Hermaeus Mora himself, although I wasn’t certain- and apparently it attacked as though it were a part of Apocrypha. When swung, the blade spouted a massive tentacle that would whip the victim and likely poison them. I had barely enough time to raise a secondary ward to block the strike. The force of the impact made me stagger backwards a few feet. In retaliation, I hit Miraak with my drain spell; I felt the force of his life merging with mine. The sound of Miraak’s laboured breathing was broken by another Shout.

“Wuld… Nah-Kest!”

He blasted himself into one of the acid pools. A mass of tentacles formed around him and pulled him into the swirling green liquid. Miraak reappeared in the center of the Summit and did something rather curious. He called down one of the two dragons he controlled and Shouted a phrase at him. The dragon died instantly and Miraak took his soul; its power was used to heal his wounds. This would be a long fight.

“Fo… Krah-Diin!”

I blocked another one of Miraak’s Shouts as I ran towards him. My blade connected with his arm as I twirled past him. The man was quick to seal the wound and strike back. He used a staff that sprayed tentacles. I attempted to block the squirming mass, but one managed to grab onto my leg. A hiss escaped from my mouth as I ripped my leg free.

It would take some old magic to get around Miraak’s staff. There were spells I knew from hundreds of years ago that I could use. It was a risky strategy considering I hadn’t used those spells in ages, but they could prove useful in this situation.

I focused my magicka and, in an instant, teleported myself from my position in front of Miraak to a spot directly behind him. My fist connected with the unprotected back of his head and he dropped onto his knees. When he got back up, he immediately spun around and attempted to grab me by the throat. By reflex, I rammed my elbow into his gut and sent him to the ground again. He cursed.

A massive screech distracted both of us. We looked up to see Sahrotaar and Relonikiv grappling in midair. Their wings buckled under their combined weight as they clawed and bit at each other. They began to fall. Sahrotaar forced his opponent underneath him and the back of the other dragon scraped across the ground as they landed directly in front of us. Relonikiv could only roar and Shout at Sahrotaar; the impact must have broken some of his bones because the dragon was not flying again.

Miraak shook his head slightly before turning back to me. He unleashed another Shout –fire breath, this time- and I blocked it with ease. Before he could attack again, I sprinted forward and rammed my blade through his middle. The man inhaled sharply as he disengaged himself from my blade. He repeated the soul-stealing heal process, only this time he stole the soul of the severely wounded beast.

Our battle quickly resumed. I could feel the thrum of Miraak’s fury in the air; no doubt he could sense the same from me. I was getting quite tired of this fight. Sahrotaar was still alive, so I assumed that Miraak would use his soul to restore himself one more time. After that… I had him.

“I will defeat you, Dragonborn! You may be tough in combat, but I am still stronger! Your soul will be mine!”

He was mad. The man used Whirlwind Sprint to fling himself to me. I ducked to avoid his tentacle-spewing sword. As I rolled back onto my feet, I grabbed onto his arm and allowed a shock spell to flow into him. His body instantly locked, causing him to keel over.

“I seem to recall you doing that to me, Miraak! Consider that my revenge!” I crowed. He didn’t appreciate that.

Miraak hopped back onto his feet and charged me once again, forcing me to teleport out of his way. I launched a volley of ice spikes at him. He shattered them and Shouted again.

“Mul… Qah-Diiv!”

Ah, Dragon Aspect. I was wondering when I was going to use that. I was tempted to use the Thu’um against him, but I had said I could defeat him without it. It was true. I would simply have to rely upon my skill and strength.

“Yol… Toor-Shul!”

My wards blocked the Shout; the fire died out around me, but I still felt the hot blast of wind. It loosened the clasps on my cloak and caused it to billow out behind me. As Miraak closed the gap between us, I hit him with my drain spell again. He unintentionally groaned as my spell sucked the life out of him.

He was panting as he used his little tentacle transport trick to take him back to the center of the Summit. Miraak, as I expected, forced Sahrotaar to the ground and ripped his soul from his body. I looked up and noticed that Hermaeus Mora was beginning to manifest himself overhead. No doubt the Daedric Prince knew the end of the battle was imminent. He would likely side with the one who looked most likely to win –which was me- and so I was not concerned.

“It seems as though I underestimated you,” Miraak’s voice caught my attention. I brought my gaze back down to look him directly in the eye, “While I have no doubt that your Voice is weaker than mine, you are skilled in combat. Now that I know your strategy, I will certainly defeat you.”

I snorted, “That’s not likely.”

Miraak growled at me. The old Nord spat out another Shout and I walked through it. We charged each other and exchanged a fast and furious series of blows. The [&@%!] actually managed to wound me, though not severely; he scratched the side of my face. It was bleeding a fair bit –as head wounds were prone to doing- but it did not require immediate healing. Miraak did not fair very well. He had several deep slices across his chest, legs, and arms. I could smell his blood and I knew that he was losing precious strength.

It was time for the final assault.

I focused my magicka and, as the air started to crackle around me, I released a monstrous burst of lighting; it poured from my hands and arced towards Miraak. The blast hit him square in the chest and sent him flying backwards. He hit the ground and slid several feet. Surprisingly, he was still alive. Just rather burnt. I watched as he hauled himself up and used Whirlwind Spring to toss himself into the acid again. He was then taken in the usual mass of tentacles. Only this time he didn’t reappear immediately in the center of the Summit. I had to wait.

When Miraak did appear, he was being suspended in the air, his arms and legs sprawled out. A massive tentacle sprouted from the pool and impaled Miraak through the chest. It seemed as though Hermaeus Mora had made his choice. Miraak was doomed. I was, of course, upset that I was not to be the one to kill him, but… I wasn’t about to interfere. The Daedric Prince certainly didn’t sound too pleased with Miraak.

“Did you think you could escape me in my own realm, Miraak? You can hide nothing from me here. Nothing! I have grown weary of your rebellious ways and now it seems it is time for you to get your reward. No matter. I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

“May… May she be rewarded for her service as… As I am!”

The man screamed as Hermaeus Mora ripped his tentacle out of his chest. He fell to the ground… Dead. At last. I watched as his body burned away and his soul flowed into me. I felt his power –and the power of the dragons whose souls he had taken- merging with mine. I almost didn’t hear Hermaeus Mora. Luckily, the Daedric Prince managed to break through my euphoria.

“Miraak harboured dreams of rebellion against me. His ways have cost him his life. Continue to serve me faithfully, Vulom Staadnau, and you will be richly rewarded.”

His tentacle barrier disappeared and the book –the exit back to Solstheim- rose out of the pool in the center of the Summit. I did not linger. The last thing I did before leaving was take Miraak’s mask and robes

Frea, the Skaal girl, approached me when I reappeared in the Skaal village, “You’re back! Does this mean… Is Miraak dead?”

“Yes. Your father did not die in vain,” I told her, holding up Miraak’s mask. It was bloody and scratched from our conflict. I would have to do some significant repairs and polishing before I put it on display. The same went for the robes.

“Good,” Frea appeared relieved. Her face quickly became serious, “Two things, Dragonborn. If you will listen.”

“What is it, Frea?”

“One: you should not cooperate with Herma-Mora any further. It will do you no good and you may end up another Miraak. Two… You should heal that wound. You are still bleeding.”

Oh, the Skaal woman… She suspected nothing. None of the Skaal knew who and what I really was. The deception was easy to keep up. So long as I remained cordial, anyway.

“Thank you for the advice, Frea. I will deal with the wound when I get home. All of my supplies are stored there.”

I would return to Severin Manor eventually. First, I wanted to irritate Neloth. I gave Miraak’s mask a quick cleaning on the inside with some snow and then put it on. The mask still smelled of Miraak and, judging by the way my nostrils burned, he could have used a bath. Or two.

With the mask on, I teleported myself into Tel Mithryn. I appeared directly behind Talvas. Just for the hell of it, I tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and dam near fainted. The man’s grey skin nearly turned a pasty white and he squealed; the sound caught Neloth’s attention and he grumbled at me from the other side of the tower.

“Stop scaring my apprentice! If he dies, you’ll have to replace him. I have quite a few unpleasant experiments planned for him!” His eyes narrowed as he looked at the mask, “Isn’t that the mask that Miraak wore? That must mean he’s dead. Wait… Take the mask off and don’t move!”

The old wizard’s habits made me curious and I couldn’t help but wonder where this was going to lead. I removed the mask and observed Neloth as he approached. He appeared to be looking me over, spending a considerable amount of time staring into my eyes.

“Are you looking for something?”

“Signs of Hermaeus Mora’s permanent influence: black spots in the whites of the eyes, incipient madness, loss of self-awareness… Hm. No. You look fine. At least, no different than when I first saw you. Aside from that cut. Stop bleeding all over my tower! Although I would like to collect a sample of your blood. Who knows? I might find something interesting.”

“Black spots in the whites of the eyes are a sign of Hermaeus Mora’s permanent influence?”

Neloth cut me off, “Yes. I believe I said that. Are you deaf?”

“Far from it. As I was going to say before I was interrupted, if black spots in the whites of the eyes are indeed a sign of Hermaeus Mora’s permanent influence, then Miraak must have been nothing more than a puppet. Albeit a sentient one. His eyes were pure black. There was nothing human about them.”

“Is that so?” The old wizard appeared to consider this information, “Well, then it seems as though Miraak’s dreams of escape were nothing more than dreams.”

I had a rather amusing thought, “Or perhaps it wasn’t even Miraak’s idea to begin with. What if Hermaeus Mora implanted the thought into his mind and made I seem as though it were his own?”

“Well, now there’s a thought. It wouldn’t surprise me if that were true. Or false. Hermaeus Mora is, after all, subtle. You should know that quite well by now.”

Now that was true. Hermaeus Mora liked to lure people into his realm. Who knows what else he might do? I turned to leave Tel Mithryn. As I got to the levitation stream, I heard Neloth speak again.

“Come back in a few days and I might have something for you to do!”

Well, it’s not like I had anything better to do. I didn’t feel like returning to Skyrim yet. Working for Neloth was probably the most productive thing I could do on Solstheim.

But first… I had to rest. It had been days since I had last slept. Now that Miraak was dead, I could finally rest without worrying about waking up at one of the stones.