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Amongst the dark green stone of Solitude, a vampire lord circled invisible overhead, her wings keeping her above the market place as her all-seeing eyes searched for a target. Finally, she spotted one, a woman, alone.

Lucie Estrane was returning to her home with her takings from her market stall, it had been a long day, but a profitable one. As she arrived, she turned, and had a looked at the rich orange hues as the sun set in the autumn sky. Truly, a nice sight. She settled in and started cooking dinner, a beef stew and garlic bread meal for one.

A knock at the door sounded a small while later, but when Lucie answered it no one was there. She looked around, before closing the door.

"Must just be children playing." She thought, oblivious to the monster in the room biding her time, awaiting the night. After a few hours, Lucie turned in, and went to bed, dreaming of sweet nothings. Her pursuer set to work, first creaking a staircase, just to unsettle her prize, before creaking a floorboard next to the bed, louder.

Lucie awoke, and looked around in the darkness, and all she saw was two deep, dead yellow eyes, as a knife settled against her throat, a hand across her mouth.

A woman's voice sounded, quiet, and clear, and deathly serious. "Do anything I don't like and you die. Do what I like, and you live."

Lucie was now completely scared, and trembling, she tried to answer. "W-W-What?"

The vampire turned. "Strip. All your clothes, off. Do it." The knife twirled next to Lucie's neck. "but you're a woman..." The knife pressed in. "And I want to have you. I dont care if you are alive or dead, I am having your beautiful body." Lucie felt cold, dead hands caress her chest and sides. Completely fearful, trying and failing to regain composure, Lucie stuttered. "Ok, ok, ok... Just a moment."

Lucie, clothed in just a nightie and skirt, stood up, faced the yellow eyes, and removed her nightie. The vampire stood and smiled as she enjoyed the view, placing her hands on Lucie's hips. "See, it wasn't difficult. Do as I say, and you have nothing to fear. resist and I shall kill you, re-animate your lifeless corspe, and do what I want then. I would prefer to keep you alive, so don't resist. Either way, your body will be mine."

The vampire delivered the final statement in such a way as to make sure Lucie knew it. Lucie gulped, realising the horror of the situation, and she decided to comply. It wasn't like she had any choice... She breathed in deep, and asked: "My skirt?" The vampire's response was immediate, as Lucie felt the knife press into her loins, and be dragged down, slashing it apart. Lucie panicked. "My Skirt!" The vampire responded, pressing the knife to Lucie's now uncovered flesh. "You're resisting."

Lucie's heart rate instantly quadrupled, her breathing now rapid.

"Calm down. I will only hurt you if you resist."

"Ok, ok. I'm just..."

"Completely scared? As I keep telling you..." The knife withdraws. "...Do as I want, and you will be fine."

"So what do you want?"

The vampire scowled. "I already told you."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Does the fact I am only interested in men count for anything?" Lucie asked.

"You can perform the male role then." She unclasped her cloak, revealing herself. "Starting with... Hmm. anywhere. Just don't do anything I dislike." She twirls the knife, and as the darkness closes in Lucie tries to fight the vampire's seduction, but fails. As they finally rest together, the vampire presses close to Lucie.

"There is just one last thing." The vampire covered the woman's mouth as she sank her fangs into the neck of her new lover, feeding as Lucie cries a muffled scream, before healing the wound, turning invisible and leaving. The drain leaves Lucie drowsy, and she falls asleep, to awake unsure of whether it was real or a nightmare, her once peaceful vision of Solitude forever broken.


The vampire meanwhile, arrives back at the castle, and sees an elven man, also a vampire, awaiting her. She dropped her hood, revealing her pale yellow skin, and black hair. "You're back Jennifere. How did your hunt go?"

She smiled. "I caught my prize. And she was delicious."

I know it's been a long time. And I'm sorry if my last note shocked you so much.
I write partly to make a confession. I murdered a man in cold blood yesterday night. He was a nobleman, staying in my room at a tavern in the Rift. It wasn't his room, he wasn't supposed to be there and... I don't know.
He just kept looking at me. Staring at me, his eyes boring into my soul.
I couldn't take those penetrating eyes anymore, so I took a knife to his throat, and cut deeper and deeper, until he no longer had one. I just kept sticking him, over and over again. I was unstoppable.
As you can see, I've been dealing with a lot, and... well, I don't think I'm leaving any time soon. This land calls to me, something yearns within me to stay and plunder its reaches, seek out forbidden knowledge, and reap its rewards.
Wherever I go, wherever I end up, I will always think of you, every minute of every day. And maybe my trail will lead me to the emperor one of these days, but until then, I will try my hardest to dethrone his society.
Any way I can.

Fall of Helgen part 1

Should have slit my throat months ago.

A convoy of nords and imperials descended on the small town of Helgen. The imperials were red and brown whilst the nords were blue and brown. The nords were bound and all looked like they had seen better days. The sky was blue and it was very calm. Little did Skyrim was about to get an unwelcome visitor.

The dunmer opened his eyes as the wagon slowly passed through the gate and saw a man conversing with the Thalmor. “Face your death with courage, thief.” The blond haired nord seemed to be content with his fate whilst the brown haired nord in rags seemed to fear it.

The wagon passed a large stone tower with the flag of the Legion hanging from it and moss was growing between the bricks. The bricks were worn and some had fallen out. Dark patches decorated the bottom of the tower and grass leaned against it.

The town was normally quiet but today, an execution was about to happen and could be the turning point of the civil war. Citizens commented as the wagons passed them and some insulted the blue clad soldiers whilst some insulted the red soldiers. The wagons stopped as they approached a wall.

“Everyone out.” The rider lacked the voice of a veteran and the dunmer knew that in a fight, he could easily take him out. The nords jumped off the wagon one by one and formed orderly lines. The imperials ticked off the names of their prisoners. “Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm.” The imperial with short brown hair ticked off the Jarl’s name. “Lokir of Rorikstead.” The thief ran past him whilst declaring that they would not catch him. He was foolish and was thrown onto the ground a second later by an arrow. It stuck out of his back and blood seeped into the earth.

“Step forward, Dunmer.” The Dunmer observed his surroundings as he stepped forward and noted that his chances of escape were next to nothing. Just like the war

“What’s your name?” The Imperial looked down the list. “Eréparl” “Captain, he’s not on the list, what should we do?” The steel clad Redguard scanned Eréparl with her eyes and seemed to be judging him. “Screw the list, he dies.” Her voice was full of authority. “You are a disgrace to the Legion.” The Dunmer gave the captain a headbutt and was restrained by two imperials. “Die with what little dignity you have left, grayskin.”
Eréparl was escorted at sword point to the rest of the stormcloak line. “This bloody war will end today, Ulfric.” Ulfric mumbled something about traitors. “Killing the high king started this war and we will put your rebellion down. Priest, give them their prays.” A woman in yellow and orange robes started to recite a prayer before a red haired stormcloak spoke up. “For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s give this over with. May Talos spit on your soul.” He walked over to the block and kneeled before the headsmen. His head was separated from his shoulders and fell into a wooden box.

“As brave in death as he was in life.” The blond nord lowered his head for a few seconds. “Bring the grayskin to the block.” The imperial general looked at the leather clad Dunmer. “Captain, what’s his name?” He looked at the woman. “Eréparl and my men have informed me he was caught trespassing on the border.” The captain focused her attention on the elf and gestured for him to be marched towards the general.
The general looked at the scarred face of the elf. “I have heard stories about an elf who fought the Thalmor for two years and paved the way for the Legion’s return. Are you the Eréparl from the stories?”
“I am and everyone here is a disgrace to their provinces. You claim to be bring peace to Skyrim but if you kill this Ulfric, you will be facing a leaderless army with a thirst for revenge.” Eréparl spat in the face of the general. “Release him.”

“General, he killed several of my men and could be impersonating Eréparl.” The redguard punched the elf in the stomach for spitting at the general. “ENOUGH! His face tells me he is Eréparl and the stories come from within the legion. Now, do as I order, captain.”

“Hadvar, cut him free.” The captain looked at the rest of the stormcloaks. “Get any ideas and my men will run you through.” The brown haired imperial slowly cut through the ropes.
A faint echo of a strange sound was heard through the town. “What was that?” Everyone looked up at the sky and saw nothing. “It was nothing. Resume the execution.” Another sound occurred but this time, it was closer.
The clouds started to darken and a wind started to pick. The clouds started to swirl.

“What in the oblivion is that!?”

In the months after the death of Ulfric Stormcloak and the stamping out of the rebellion, Legate Arcturus took a well-deserved break from fighting to have some time to himself. He started by moving to Hjaalmarch and building himself a home with the help of those such as Benor.




He then married Sylgja, daughter of his companion Annekke.






With a house, a wife, a title, and good friends, Arcturus was set to live out his life in peace, at least until he was needed again.

Three years past and Arcturus mostly kept to himself as the land of Skyrim erupted in song celebrating the tale of the Dragonborn, a nord warrior named Varic Thunderfist, who defeated Alduin The World-Eater before he could devour the souls of Sovngarde. Tales of the Dragonborn flooded the mead halls, and continued yet even after the Dragonborn mysteriously disappeared.

In these years, Arcturus grew in both age and wisdom, taking up a bit of poetry as a hobby in addition to hunting and practicing his sword-play. In this time he also had two children, twins Lucia and Valedus. Benor gladly became their Godfather, and praised Arcturus for his well-established home life and newly grown beard ("A real beard for a real nord", as Benor would say). Benor would become Arcturus' steward during this time as well.





Benor would return to the actual town of Morthal at times, but would always come back within a week; when he failed to return, Arcturus grew worried. His fears were confirmed when his wife solemnly handed him a letter addressed from the Jarl.





Shocked, enraged, and saddened at the news, Arcturus immediately departed for the town.



Upon his arrival, Arcturus looked upon the scene of a struggle, with Benor's body lying next to that of two vampire assailants. According to nearby guards, Benor rushed to protect a civilian from three vampires, taking down two before one assumed some freakish monstrous form and slew Benor before retreating.





Arc could not bear to look at his fallen friend for very long. Seeking justice for the heinous murder, Arcturus returned home, prepared himself for travel, and ventured to the site of the Dawnguard fortress to join the crusade against the vampires.





Speaking to the leader of the reformed Dawnguard and introducing himself as the person that had defeated the vampire menace in Morthal years ago, Arcturus was accepted into the new Dawnguard, from where he could help defeat the vampires in Skyrim.




That, however, is a tale for another time (because I wanted to jump ahead to Lucia).

Our tale begins with the introduction of Lucia Ember-Heart, daughter of the renowned General Arcturus (Former Legate, Jarl of Hjaalmarch, Hero of the War against the Stormcloak Rebellion, slayer of Ulfric Stormcloak and Lord Harkon).



As one of Arcturus' two children, Lucia was held to very high standards as a child and lived up to them, becoming a skilled warrior in her own right. Proudly bearing a cloak with the crest of Hjaalmarch, Lucia and her brother are both high ranking Legionnaires.

Years after the defeat of the Stormcloaks, relations between the Thalmor and the Emperor of Tamriel began to worsen. With the assassination of Titus Mede II and the succession of a poor diplomat of an Emperor, the Thalmor saw opportunity to take complete power. However, one province would provide a fierce resistance and be a major obstacle to their conquest; Skyrim, one of the most independent provinces within the Empire. Striking a deal with the lords of High Rock, the Thalmor began mustering their forces to invade Skyrim, starting in the West at Markarth.

Their first assault was a small one, and Lucia was placed in charge of the defense of Markarth.




The first of the Thalmor soldiers were met at the entrance of Markarth, and Lucia skillfully led her soldiers to an easy victory.





In the face of such a victory, Lucia arrogantly decided to have her men push forward to the roads to meet the Thalmor before they could even reach the city. This decision was frowned upon, yet followed. The Thalmor forces were met further down the roads at a riverside.




The battle took a turn for the worse, however, as Lucia was cornered at a cliffside. Though she was more than a match for her foes, a quick kinetic blast toppled her off of her feet and sent her into the nearby river. She was knocked unconscious upon hitting her head against a rock in the river, and floated away helplessly.

She awoke sometime later, still in the Reach but in an unfamiliar part of it.





With no provisions to sustain her, no sense of how long she had been out, and worrying about the state of Markarth and her men, Lucia immediately began to search for a way back to the city.



As night began to fall, Lucia found herself shamefully and hopelessly lost. Her attention drifted from Markarth to finding food, and as she scanned the horizon, she spotted a plume of smoke likely from a campfire. She followed this smoke and found herself at a hunter's refuge; the resident was no mere hunter, however. Rather, the resident was none other than the mage Marcurio, an old companion of Arcturus' who had retired to the woods away from the cities.



Marcurio took pity on his old friend's daughter and revealed to her that it was likely that Markarth had already fallen. The mage offered for her to stay the night and depart for Morthal in the morning, where Arcturus was currently residing. Lucia reluctantly agreed, staying the night and then leaving with Marcurio in the morning.



The duo made it to Morthal and Lucia reported to her father. Marcurio had hardly recognized the man, as he was clad in a unique set of heavy armor specifically crafted for him as a reward for slaying Harkon.

Arcturus was, as expected, disappointed in his daughter's poor position and angered at the loss of incredibly resilient Markarth. With no other choice, Arcturus immediately demoted his daughter and reprimanded her for her actions, saying he would expect more from any of his men, not just his daughter.




Luckily for Lucia, her brother Valedus interrupted the lecture to ask his father about a new assignment. Arcturus held off on scolding Lucia and nodded, stating that Markarth's loss would mean they would need help from within Skyrim to keep their hold on the region in the face of the Thalmor invasion.




Thus, Arcturus instructed Valedus to make his way across to speak with four organizations in Skyrim and request their aid; the Companions, the College of Winterhold, the illusive Thieve's Guild, and the Dawnguard. In addition, Lucia would accompany her brother, as Arcturus doubted her ability at commanding men at this point. Lucia bitterly obliged.

And thus the two Ember-Heart children began their trek to the city of Whiterun to speak to the Companions and enlist their help in the impending invasion.



Her heart hardened by her failure and her burning desire to outdo her brother to return to her father's favor, Lucia intends to perform at her best in their upcoming trials against the Thalmor. Will she become greater and restore her honor as a soldier? Or will her desire to outdo her brother lead to yet another failure? Time will tell.

The first rule of Skyrim was "Never insult tradition." Be it their most beloved deity or the integrity of their mother's drawers, one had to be respectful, or at least very quiet. Those who failed to obey the first rule of Skyrim swiftly encountered the second, and far more popular, rule. "Nords have strong fists, and you have a soft jaw."

Mel learned both lessons in quick succession, as the otherwise pleasant scents of spiced wine and pheasant roast was spoiled by the stench of rusted iron between her lips, as well as a sudden collision with The Winking Skeever's floor. Her vision clouded by black spots and the left side of her face throbbing with pain, there was little for the slight woman to do but try to think of what she'd done wrong, and whether she was about to receive further pummeling from the slab of Nordic man-meat who loomed over her. If she listened closely, she could just about hear the accusations being hurled at her attacker, and whether he'd just thrown a punch at a woman or a child.

"No..." The fallen woman grumbled in response to the yelling, her spindly arms struggling to pull herself into a sitting position, with a steady flow of blood flowing from her nose and staining her cloak. With a few weary blinks, she could just about percieve the large Nord gentleman being held back by a couple of other patrons, and a pair of hands attempting to steady her. "Just a Breton." She answered with a cheeky grin at the blur of a person who was trying to find something for her to lean against, baring the gaps where a few of her teeth used to be.

"Oh, that's not pretty..." Mel could hear her back-supporter muttering under their breath, while her attacker continued with his passionate remarks about Nord culture and his pride in it. The slight waver to his step was the only thing stopping him from pulling free of the two innkeepers keeping him grappled. "She's just a foreigner, Irnskar. She probably didn't know what she was saying, and I wouldn't push your luck, if I were you. If she's smiling after one of your punches, we know something got knocked loose. And I don't imagine the guards are going to be too proud if you've hurt the poor girl permanently." There was another retort from the Nord, but the white-haired woman cut him off. "Just go home."

Irnskar was about to protest further, but by the time most of the patrons had seen the state of the bleeding Breton's face, or had their meal visited by a flying tooth, none of them were willing to defend him. As he was escorted out, an awkward silence remained in the wide open tavern room, with only a few guests willing to return to their small talk as Mel was pulled up into the chair and guided into pinching her nose, while the diplomatic woman gathered a few sheets of linen from the bedrooms to stop her from bleeding all over the floor.

"We'll make sure the bleeding stops before taking you to the Temple. They'll know what to do with you there." The soft-voiced woman spoke, her face a lot clearer once the haze over Mel's vision had cleared up. "I'm Lisette, by the way. Forgive Irnskar; he had too much to drink, and there's not much for the man to be happy about nowadays..." She sighed softly, then tried to force a smile at injured woman before her. "Well, at least we'll have you fixed up soon. Beneath the purple cheek, the blood caked in your hair, and the lack of teeth, I'm sure there's a pretty face just waiting to be set free. And go for slightly longer without getting punched."

"Thank you. I'm Mel." Despite the pain that was still throbbing across half of her head, Mel couldn't stop herself from smiling with bloodstained lips. Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her, and she twisted in her seat to look around the slightly calmer tavern. "Do you happen to know where all my teeth are? They won't be as useful, but I'd love to have a souvenir of this." She looked back to Lisette, who, even kneeling, stood taller than her. The look she was getting could be described as nothing less than confusion and curiosity. They stared at each other for a moment before she spoke again. "Not the pain. But how often does one get such an exciting encounter right after docking?"

"I...suppose that makes sense." Lisette nodded, though not without a concerned glance. "I'll see if anyone has your teeth. Try not to get into trouble while I'm away." She said with an ounce of levity and another comforting smile shot to her patient.

"I'm on a chair." Mel replied, quite confident that it was enough to keep her protected. She got an askew glance in return, to which she grinned and immediately winced with the intense pain that shot through half of her face. It took a few minutes of Lisette's searching before she could return with the full set of lost teeth, silently cleaning them off with a rag while she waited for the Breton's bleeding to stop. "You are already my favorite Bard, Lisette. I'll have to commission a song for you, as soon as I find the coin." With that, she took the bundle of her teeth in one hand, and held the other up to her injured face. A gentle golden glow surrounded her hand, flowing into her cheek and shrinking the swelling until it had almost vanished entirely. Were it not for her bloodstained cloak and a few missing teeth, she almost looked normal.

"You're a mage?" Lisette asked immediately, looming over the slight woman herself in her disbelief with the sudden development. "Couldn't you have healed yourself to begin with?"

"Well...yes." Mel answered with a sheepish grin, her teeth still very much missing, and were swiftly tucked into one of the pouches attached to her belt. "But you were really being very helpful, and I didn't want to interrupt. It would have been cruel to take away the joy of having helped me, wouldn't it?" She asked, eyes flickering to the rather unimpressed look scrawled across the bard's face. "Or maybe not. But I appreciated it all the same."

Lisete could only stare at Mel for a few moments before she let out a soft sigh. "Well, you're welcome. If there's nothing else you need help with, I'm going to get back to my singing." She turned on her heel to pick up her lute, but felt a hand on her bicep, with fingers so slender they looked as though they'd snap like a twig if she flexed too hard.

"Wait, wait. You're a member of the Bard's College, aren't you? And I planned on visiting there are some point, but the boat was delayed, and my funds are fairly...well, you know the opposite of existing? They're that. So...I was thinking that you could share your quarters with me for the night." A look of horror leaped to Lisette's face. "What? I'm going to take off the cloak, obviously. Nobody wants bloody sheets."

Like a woman confronted with a baby made of daggers, Lisette's face was caught between an expression of sympathy and horror. "I suppose there are worse rumors that could be spread... So, you can stay the night with me. Never let it be said that Lisette let down a damsel in need." She relented, with a slight smile on her face.

"Thank you! You are truly incandescent, Lisette." Mel smiled as wide as she could at the bard. "I just hope the Bard's College actually does have some information on the Druids of Galen, or I'd have broken my nose for nothing."

"Hmm?" Lisette asked, only having half been listening as she fiddled with the strings of her lute.

"Nothing."

The first rule of Skyrim was "Never insult tradition." Be it their most beloved deity or the integrity of their mother's drawers, one had to be respectful, or at least very quiet. Those who failed to obey the first rule of Skyrim swiftly encountered the second, and far more popular, rule. "Nords have strong fists, and you have a soft jaw."

Mel learned both lessons in quick succession.

"Did Irnskar just hit a child?!" The voice did no favors for her ringing ears. A nearby lute came to a halt, followed by clattering chairs and hushed whispers through the crowd.

She groaned at the yelling that surrounded her. A brief touch was all it took to set off the throbbing; an ache that clung to the left side of her face like a needy child. If the punch hadn't been enough to offend her sensibilities, the squabbling locals would have.

Mel's sudden departure from the floor made her all too aware of the blood spilling from her lips. The embrace of muscular arms around her torso was a pleasant enough distraction from the bleeding for all of two seconds. Then her eyes settled on a lump of Nordic man-meat like none she'd ever seen.

"No..." Mel murmured. "Just a Breton." Her grin was met with gasps and shudders from all the gathered patrons, as their eyes drank in the sight. A face painted crimson, with teeth either hanging my a gummy thread or not present at all. The blurry woman tending to her could do naught but sigh.

"Oh, that's not pretty..." Mel was guided backwards on her new chair, then felt her hand being pulled up to pinch the bridge of her fractured nose. "Just keep it there." The feminine voice urged, before its bearer took a few steps forward to Mel's attacker. "She's just a foreigner, Irnskar. She probably didn't know what she was saying, and I wouldn't push your luck, if I were you. If she's smiling after one of your punches, we know something got knocked loose. And I don't imagine the guards are going to be too proud if you've hurt the poor girl permanently."

"Get off of me, you damned fools!" Irnskar bellowed. His arms were being restrained by two weasely innkeepers, their faces strained and their evening spoiled. "Do you know what she said to me, Lisette?! My mother would neve-"

"Just go home." Lisette cut him off. The man looked to the other patrons with a determined stare, but none were willing to defend him. Most of them were occupied with picking teeth out of their meals. It took just a few more seconds of glaring before Irnskar's shoulders sagged and he allowed himself to be escorted off of the premises.

"We'll make sure the bleeding stops before taking you to the Temple. They'll know what to do with you there." Lisette assured Mel. She span on her heel and pulled a nearby tablecloth free, which was promptly stained crimson. "I'm Lisette, by the way. Forgive Irnskar; he had too much to drink, and there's not much for the man to be happy about nowadays..." She forced a smile. "Well, at least we'll have you fixed up soon. Beneath the purple cheek, the blood caked in your hair, and the lack of teeth, I'm sure there's a pretty face just waiting to be set free. And go for slightly longer without getting punched."

"Thank you. I'm Mel." She smiled. "Do you happen to know where all my teeth are? They won't be as useful, but I'd love to have a souvenir of this!" The pair of women locked gazes for a moment. "Not the pain. Obviously. But how often does one get such an exciting encounter right after docking? That's a story for the grandchildren."

"I...suppose that makes sense." An askew glance said otherwise. "I'll see if anyone has your teeth. Try not to get into trouble while I'm away."

"I'm on a chair." Mel proclaimed, but there was no response. While the bard collected her teeth, she fiddled with the gaps in her teeth and wiped the blood off on her cloak. Soon enough, she had a handful of her teeth and another painful grin. "You are already my favorite Bard, Lisette. I'll have to commission a song for you, as soon as I find the coin." The Breton stroked her cheek with a hand that briefly glowed gold.

"You're a mage?" Lisette asked with no small amount of bemusement. "It's like you were never even hit... Couldn't you have healed yourself to begin with?" Her eyes were wide as she watched Mel's swollen cheek sink and her nose crack back into place.

"Well..." Mel wrung her hands together. "Yes. But you were really being very helpful, and I didn't want to interrupt. It would have been cruel to take away the joy of having helped me, wouldn't it?" Lisette stared. "Or maybe not. But I appreciated it all the same!"

"Well, you're welcome. If there's nothing else you need help with, I'm going to get back to my singing..." Lisette reached for her lute, but was stopped my a spindly set of fingers on her bicep.

"Wait, wait!" Mel rose to her feet unsteadily. " You're a member of the Bard's College, aren't you? And I planned on visiting there are some point, but the boat was delayed, and my funds are fairly...well, you know the opposite of existing? They're that. So...I was thinking that you could share your quarters with me for the night." Her beaming smile could only be matched by the horror scrawled across Lisette's face. "What? I'm going to take off the cloak, obviously. Nobody wants bloody sheets."

"I suppose there are worse rumors that could be spread..." There was no way she could avoid acknowledging that Mel looked quite pathetic, and sleeping on the streets would only make it worse. "You can stay the night with me. Never let it be said that Lisette let down a damsel in need." She sat down and pulled the lute onto her lap.

"Thank you! You are truly incandescent, Lisette." Mel perched on the seat beside her benefactor. "I just hope the Bard's College actually does have some information on the Druids of Galen, or I'd have broken my nose for nothing."

"Hmm?" Lisette plucked a string of her lute.

"Nothing."