Kathodos

Just got around to reading this. I have to say, I laughed at the ending of this chapter. I get the feeling I know who cast that spell.

Well, it definitely wasn't Sjadbek, that's for sure

Well, duh, he's a Nord. And we all know how most Nords feel about magic.

Why...why isn't this published? This is awesome.

Sjad's okay with magic if it's not being used on him. (Exception: Restorative magic can be freely used on him )

I would agree with him on that score! I'd like to meet someone who would argue with him, their survival rating must be pathetic.

i love it, keep it up i wanna read moree

Orc, Van Moro, thanks so much, guys! I really appreciate it! All of the continued support has certainly been indispensable.

I'm currently working on the next chapter!

This is the 1st good news of the day

Aww haha, I'm glad that it's been good news for you. I'm looking to have the current chapter done in a few days.

Sweet, looking forward to it

Chapter 8

“Don’t bother arguing the point, I’m going.”

For all of the anxious glances exchanged in the Flagon, Brynjolf was only strengthened in his resolve. It was not a widely popular decision, for him to leave Riften to head out in search of missing Guild members. But after nearly a full week of no word from Penelope and several days of an absent Mercer, he had to try. Even if he turned up nothing or if the two appeared soon after he departed, it would be well worth the effort. He would not be able to quell his apprehension otherwise. He had not been able to sit still or think about much else in the meantime and as long as he was actively doing something, he could be more content overall.

As usual, Delvin sympathized with him and offered to help the Nord search, but the latter declined – he saw no need to disrupt the Guild’s current operations with the absence of yet another integral agent, and thanked him all the same. They could carry on as normal for a little while longer, but not much more. Brynjolf wondered to himself what could possibly have happened, to have such unexplained disappearances in tandem. He tried not to consider the worst and reminded himself that both Bretons were notably skilled with blades. Both were sufficiently feisty, as Bretons tended to be. And very likely, Penelope had gotten snagged in the war business in and around Windhelm. Mercer’s whereabouts were, as per usual, somewhat murkier to speculate about.

As he left the Flagon to head up to the world above, he caught Tonilia’s indignant glance. Again, he did not much care. Whether the Redguard ever realized how pettily obtuse she was being or not, he would not cater to or indulge it by paying her any mind. And he silently stepped past her. Dirge gave a great dissatisfied sigh as well which Tonilia appreciated, but the pair of them found no listening ears for their grievances. Not this day. They would have to look to each other’s self-alienated company for the duration. Because indeed, the conventional wisdom about the red-headed Nord still stood.

With his twin daggers, an old but trusty sword and a few miscellaneous supplies, he headed to the north side of town, near the stables. Shadr would still be out of horses to sell, but the Guild had a very loyal breeder for a contact, one who never seemed to lack reliable and sturdy steeds. The short man with honey-blond hair met the tall Nord just outside the city walls with a fresh stallion, and eagerly pocketed the shimmering coins in return. Soon enough the thief was off, figuring that retracing the Breton woman’s steps would be the best approach to begin with until he found more clues. The daylight still had several more hours to stretch on and he intended to make very good use of it. He spurred the tawny animal to the north. While he was not particularly religious, he still whispered an appeal to the divinities to keep her safe and to be reunited with the pair of them under the best circumstances possible. Something about the brilliance of the midday sun warmed him and reassured him that his appeal was heard.

…………..

The sunlight was painfully bright in her eyes as she struggled to rebound from her unconsciousness. She did not recall the impact of her paralyzed fall from Kallias, but her muddy clothes and aching head were proof enough of it. Unsure of how much time had passed since the incident, Penelope was thankful to be able to move her eyes and hands a bit more freely. The spell was wearing off, though she still was largely stiff and awkward on the ground. And truly, where was she? The marshlands were long since gone from her sight, replaced by snowy tracts. The wind blew quite cold and she shivered excessively in her damp clothes. Whoever had bewitched her had more than likely been responsible for moving her north and possibly east of Morthal. The terrain seemed vaguely familiar but she knew that either way, she was not where she had been attacked in the wetlands of Hjaalmarch.

Indeed, the intense brightness upon waking was the sun’s rays reflecting off of the glittering snow. It was all quite beautiful, but equally unsettling. Rubbing the back of her head gingerly she slowly stood up, her legs wobbly and still not entirely cooperative. She was just as stubborn as always, even when it came to her own body. She did not have time for wounds and weakness. Even a paralysis spell could not hold her back for too long. She would force her limbs to obey.

As soon as she got to her shaky feet, she tensed and her heart dropped. Kallias! Where is she?! Her faithful mare had since disappeared. No amount of calling out to her in the bitter air would make the animal appear or answer with even the faintest of neighs. Looking in the snow yielded no obvious sign of tracks – though she did notice a different horse tied to a nearby tree, a steed not readily familiar to her. But where was its rider? She pulled her cloak tighter around her to temper the cold. And a second wave of realization hit her, when she felt how much lighter she was at the hip. Her blade was gone. Her father’s blade. Teeth and fists clenched. Someone had actually taken that sword from her while she yet drew breath. And it was an offense that would not go unanswered. Her fresh anger and frustration restored the last energy to her muscles and she stomped up the hill ahead of her. She still saw no one and heard no sound except that of the breeze in the trees. Back and forth she glanced, searching. Seething.

Nearing the top of the hill she could see the charred frame of a structure, twisted beams and stone collapsed onto a resilient foundation. It had been a modest home, from the looks of it. The sweet scent of smoke still lingered. She approached cautiously, eying not only the structure but the areas around it. Such locations in the wilderness were famous for their aptness as bandit resting areas. There indeed had always been more than enough cause for an abundance of vigilance. Without her blade, she had even more reason to be guarded. Thankfully, whoever had carried off her sword had not noticed the dagger kept hidden in her boot. It was clearly less than ideal, but it was better than nothing. She would have to rely on her speed and small size to get her out of any close combat with a short blade. As the ruined interior of the former home came into view, she hoped even more sincerely that she would not have to test that theory.

Fractured wood crunched with each step. She gasped when she saw what appeared to be remnants of a burnt corpse sprawled out on the floor of the structure, near the remains of the fireplace. She absently crinkled her nose at it, and carefully stepped over it to continuing looking around. There did not seem to be any sign of recent visitors, no personal effects or evidence of fires stoked by wanderers. Nothing but tragic ruin.

Crows cackled and flapped overhead, no doubt eager to besiege the crisp meal on the floor. As they began to perch on the remainders of the beams and broken walls, she sought something, anything with which to cover the poor soul and shield the body from further indignity. After checking a couple of nooks, she found a tattered and dirty brown blanket. She shook the ashes loose from it and spread it over the body, sighing sadly as she did so. The feathered scavengers were then greeted with a scowl.

“Nasty things. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your supper.” She muttered.

Slowly exiting the ruined house, she took a glance at the sky. It seemed a touch misty, maybe portending rain. There had been so few sunny days since coming to Skyrim, she wondered if the gloomy weather was typical for the province or if she simply had had bad luck.

A sudden low growl, a growl feline in nature, froze her in place. She dared not make any quick movements, but she also knew that it was never advisable to keep one’s back to a cat. The snarling grew louder and her heart sank into her stomach. She still lacked her blade, armed with nothing more than a dagger. And against what was likely a sabre cat of some variety, she would be sorely disadvantaged. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned to face the beast approaching from several feet to the side. Its head was lowered almost to the ground, snarling into the wind. The animal’s white coat also was cause for extreme concern – everyone knew that snowy sabre cats were considerably more robust than their sandy counterparts. This would be a tense, tough fight. But it was one that she was not allowed to lose. Nevertheless she had to admit that her options were extremely limited. And rapidly diminishing.

“This…is not good…really, really not good…”

She took half-steps backward as she drew her dagger from her boot, her heart sinking once again at the length of it. She felt a flash of embarrassment at her position, chiding herself for not being skilled enough in magecraft to attack the cat without her blade. Thinking back to her anonymous High Rock ancestors, she gave an exasperated sigh. Who really has the time to master everything anyway?! Father was a soldier, swordsmanship was in my blood. And Mother never has had much to say about spell-casting. When even the long-toothed feline halted its hissing and growling to tilt its head ever so slightly to the side, she knew she had to snap back to reality.

“…Argh, why am I yelling at myself about this now?!”

She planted one foot in the snow, bracing for the cat to lunge. The beast snarled and stalked closer. Penelope studied its movements, watching its large paws and being careful to not let her eyes stray from those monstrous teeth either. It vastly outsized her and it would take every practiced skill to dispatch it. She was more than ready to try. Drawing deep breaths amid a thundering heart, she clenched her teeth. Waiting.

Quicker than a flickering glint of sunlight on a polished blade, the animal lunged forward. It took a swipe at the Breton, knocking her halfway to the ground and cutting right through the thin leather armor on her sleeve. The pain was acute and it shot through her body. But she merely groaned, grimaced and re-steadied herself. She had managed a swipe of her own as the cat’s claws came by, though her dagger could barely scratch the surface of that thick, furry hide. She would have to get in closer, to stab and even swipe at the beast’s eyes if possible. There was not long to think about her next moves, as the animal came back again. This time she would dodge the strike and manage to plunge the blade into the cat’s side. The beast roared in response, but it was not yet visibly slowed. If anything, it only seemed angrier. Blood coated her dagger and dripped, dotting the white ground.

She did not even realize that she was backing up until she heard the dead wood crunch under her feet again. The riled beast continued to creep toward her, closing in. Penelope looked frantically to the side, trying to keep one eye fixed on the animal. All she could see were the familiar blackened beams and crumbling interior of the former home. She needed length, a weapon with reach. Otherwise she could never get in close enough to finish off the creature. She could handle one solid swipe of its claws, but not many more. And as her wounded arm began to tingle, she grew more desperate. Breath grew shallower. A mild dizziness began to set in and she bit her tongue in hopes of jolting herself out of it.

The cat squatted down, snarling and spitting. And the Breton knew what was imminent. Her eyes darted downward and widened. A broken beam lay nearby. It was a decent size and she thought it might serve as a good striking weapon. There was no other recourse remaining, except to run. And she knew that if she did that, she was as good as dead. No one could outrun a sabre cat; as stout as they were, their lumbering was treacherous. The animals could easily chase down any hapless soul they set their sights upon. That is, of course, barring water serving as a firewall. But with no water in the immediate vicinity and nowhere left to hide, a fractured beam and all of its sharpened splinters was the only plausible approach left.

Re-securing her dagger grip in her right hand, she then reached down and picked up the wood with her left hand. Clenching her teeth, she braced herself once more for the brute force sure to break upon her. A hushed appeal to the Divines quickly followed. The animal did not waste much time in charging her again, but this time the young woman was a bit more ready. The cat gave a thunderous growl and leapt forward, bringing her down with it even as she struck it harshly with the beam. She was able to thank all of her lucky stars, as the creature had impaled itself upon her dagger, its soft innards finding her steel. Judging by the speed of its demise, she figured she had pierced its fierce heart - a most fortuitous turn of fortune, clearly. Weak and out of breath, she struggled to free herself from underneath its weighty body. She was relieved to finally emerge and make her way out of the structure after a few minutes, leaving the cat’s carcass to bleed out in the remnants of the doorway.

She stumbled forward a few feet and fell to her knees in the snow. Bloody, bruised, aching, exhausted and still vaguely dizzy. The animal’s gore had poured forth onto her as it fell and the smell was beginning to sicken her. She had always prided herself on having an iron stomach but fresh, hot gore had a staggering stench all its own. The back of one blood-caked hand flew to her mouth as she gagged, but she tensed as she heard movement.

“No more sabre cats…please no more sabre cats…” She muttered grimly, rising to her feet slowly. The revelation, however, would come sooner than she liked. Her pounding heart nearly stopped with the touch of cold steel on the back of her neck. Chills and even shorter breath ensued - then a voice.

“As I’ve said before, girl, beasts of any kind will be the very least of your worries if you cross me.”

That all too familiar leering voice that so often turned her stomach with fear now stoked the embers of rage inside her. And before she turned around the blade traced her back, falling about midway down before coming to a stop. The voice continued. “One thrust, that’s all it would take. And you’d choke to death in a miserable heap out here. Unceremonious. Undignified. Unknown.”

Penelope slowly turned to face the one threatening her, knowing full well who she would find at the other end of the sword. And her eyes, already alight, blazed all the more as soon as she saw that the ill-tempered Breton man before her bore her sword in his hand. Her father’s sword. Unacceptable.

“Mercer…give me my sword…give me my blade!” Mercer shook his head in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing out here anyway!? Not even Brynjolf has had any idea what you were up to but unlike him, I’m not naïve enough to assume that some terrible tragedy befell you. No, you’re much more the type to go poking around where you don’t belong, stirring up trouble. From the beginning you were always far too curious, about everything-”

As he spoke, his tone and his demeanor had both maddened and flustered her. But as soon as he berated her for her curiosity, she became certain of one more thing.

“It was you, wasn’t it…it was you who bewitched me out there in the marshes! Why?! And how did I not see you all that time?!” The Guild Master chuckled, eyes narrowed incredulously. Mockingly.

“Are you really as dumbfounded as you look? Frankly, I’m surprised that you haven’t put it all together yet. I expected better.”

Penelope’s own eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hmm, looks like your recent scraps have slowed your brain somewhat. So I’ll spell it out for you. I’ve been tracking you since you left Solitude the last time, girl. I know you spoke to someone there. I can only imagine what about, but I knew that this would be my only chance to intercept you. One will find that even the most elementary of paralysis spells is more than sufficient to take down an unwitting target – even one as slippery as you.”

She merely crossed her arms and offered a sarcastic grin in reply. “You could have just asked me, and spared yourself all of the dramatics.”

“But you see, I don’t like wasting my breath or my time.”

“Hmpf. So, that explains why you’re here. But not how I didn’t see you out there, or even just now. I guess those invisibility potions do work as well as they say?”

“Pfft, potions. So mundane. I assure you, my methods aren’t so plebeian. And they’re also none of your business.”

“Of course, of course.” The artificial smile she presented wore thinner with each passing moment and bit of brusque commentary by Mercer. There was only so much she could take. Her patience had been drained. “But I will be having my blade back now.” As usual, Mercer was not easily swayed.

“You must be joking. I may give it back to you once we’re back in Riften and I have you under lock and key. I’ll have to have one of the other dunces keep an eye on you at all times. Hell, maybe I should shackle some of you together, make my life that much easier-”

All bets were now off. He had invited her spirit to tussle. There would be no misgivings.

“I really rather not have to get drastic over this. But I insist that you return my blade. And I’ll make my way back to Riften, no trouble.”

“Hold on a moment…did I just hear…a threat?” Mercer stepped even closer, pressing the steel against her throat. “Have you forgotten who I am, girl? Insubordination has ways of getting people killed. Because I’m so charitable, I may possibly be willing to forget that little quip. But mark my words, Brynjolf can’t and won’t be able to excuse everything you do, not forever. There will come a time when you’ll find us abruptly unreachable…and unaccommodating, to say the least.”

The last restraints of patience inside her snapped with his browbeating. And she looked him straight on in the eyes, not even blinking as she hurled forth her own jagged words.

“My gods, you think I really give a damn about your threats to me now!? If you want to kick me out, then so be it. It’ll give me that much more time for far more important things.”

The Breton man sneered at the young woman’s words. He did not bluff often. Hardly at all. But when he did, he most certainly did not appreciate having it called. The fact of the Guild’s turnaround on her account had never escaped him, even as he fumed over her stubborn independent streak. Secrecy was all well and good for him. But he positively loathed it in anyone else. There was principle, business, and business principle. Somehow he would have to force himself to find the happy medium again, even if he could scarcely quiet that latent rage always carried within him. He would have to let this latest offense slide. At least for now. They both had bigger fish to fry and he knew it - he simply just needed more time to figure out the nature of hers.

But before he could respond, both Bretons’ eyes grew wide in alarm. The ground shook below them and a murmuring rumble echoed. Sudden winds swirled the loose snow high in the air and tossed it into their faces. Mercer drew back the blade from Penelope’s neck, his normally tight sneer now gaping in confused alarm. She mused that he did not even look quite like the same person while bearing such a rare expression. Her internal commentary was exceedingly short-lived however as a piercing roar cracked along the heavens. She knew the sound. She had heard it before. In fact, she had heard it not long after crossing into Skyrim. It was that hollow and shrill scream that chilled her right to the bone and slowed her heart before speeding it.

And before long, the great dark form appeared against the sky, a massive twisting silhouette. As she peered upward at it, she thought she caught its hellish glance. Indeed her eyes met those of the scaly beast above and she was reminded once more that the present danger was no quaint legend confined to a dusty tome. So many old tales had proven themselves realities throughout her life. It was something of a marvel.

Mercer had now shifted his own sight to the hovering creature as it belched forth flame here and there among the trees and ground. A man ever bitter, ever unshakeable, ever unafraid and proudly dismissive of even the gravest of threats was now woefully transfixed. He himself had a certain amount of superstition about him, but he most always maintained an acutely skeptical mind. No doubt he had heard the whisperings of the dragons’ return to the province but as he had never witnessed one in his life, he had not been an eager believer – rather, he cast aside the fearful talk as hapless mutterings of fools and peasants. But now, face to face with such a being, he nevertheless found himself in awe. Shocked. Perhaps even puzzled.

And Penelope quite literally seized upon that puzzlement to her advantage. With the Guild Master’s attention toward the skies, she wrenched her blade from his preoccupied grip and jumped back. The male Breton angrily turned back to face her, gnashing his teeth. She countered with pragmatism.

“It’s seen us, and it will keep coming for us.” She gestured to the sparsely forested land surrounding them. “There’s nowhere to hide, so we both better be prepared to fight our way past it. If you think you can handle it all on your own, be my guest. But I have my doubts that the thing will agree to leave you be while you tangle with me.”

Mercer did not want to admit that she was right, that the beast would not simply go away and leave him to his business there. The dragon had been lessening its distance each time it circled and he knew that it was only a matter of time before it focused its efforts exclusively on them. Through still gritted teeth, he obliged.

“Fine. Try anything funny, try to be cunning, and I’ll have your hide, girl-”

“Look out!” The dragon had flown above them and swooped down low enough to shower their position with concentrated fire. Penelope had grabbed hold of Mercer’s shoulder and pulled him to the side, out of the direct blast. Both had gotten their clothes singed but it was better than the deadlier alternative. Mercer blinked and regained his balance.

“There’s a cave back that way,” He pointed down the hill away from the ruined house. “We could hold up in there and take cover until it gets bored.” Penelope followed his glance.

“You’re positive that you saw a cave? It could be the last mistake we make if we go for it and it’s not where you left it…”

“What are you implying, that I’m senile?! Yes, there’s a cave back there, I stepped inside it earlier, damnit!”

Despite the copious amounts of snickering she was doing internally at his vexation, she wisely muted herself.

“Alright, alright. Then let’s make a break for it. It’s going to tail us for a good distance though, so be prepared…”

“Don’t patronize me, girl. I’ve lived many more years than you have, I think I know my way around a fight.”

Penelope just crossly sighed. This isn’t just any old fight, you old fool! And then she steeled herself for their dash to the as-yet-unseen cave. Their boots crunched the snow underfoot and for a few seconds, it seemed as though the aerial beast had relinquished the chase. They heard no sounds but those of their tracks across the white expanse. And they made it a decent way toward the cave that Mercer mentioned, managing to get down the hill. Both eyed the massive rocks in the side of mountain slope, and the darkened opening. It was in sight, as promised, but the distance appeared deceitfully small. They still had to make it a great many yards in the blowing snow and with the winged behemoth following them. It would be nothing short of a miracle to ask for an uninterrupted run to safety. Sure enough, that concern was confirmed.

They could hear the dragon bellow behind them and when the ground shook even more violently, neither desired to look over their shoulders. Wind blew faster and more harshly against their backs, hair whipped every which way. But Mercer had been readying a spell in one hand, while the other held fast to his blade. He turned to scowl at the creature and let fly bolts of lightning. Though the brown-skinned dragon recoiled slightly from the hit, it did not appear much fazed by the spell. Mercer’s confident smirk quickly melted into a very nervous frown. He looked over at Penelope, who stood ready with blade gripped tightly in hand and her feet planted. She was poised to strike. The male Breton could not shake the feeling that she faced the beast with a strange familiarity. The way she fixed upon the creature, eyes narrowed in resolution…it was wholly unexpected and unnatural. These thoughts gave him pause and newfound suspicion. Who is she… really?! It was not unlike a riddle, so often repeated in his mind. He had been able to see straight through the cheap and thinly spun vestments of all who came before her in their outfit. Why was she proving such an enigma, even for him and all of his wit? It frustrated him to no end.

He readied another offense, his previously-tested paralysis spell. Once more he let fly the vibrant bursts from his hand and chuckled haughtily at the dragon as it hovered. And once more, the latter shook off the spell, this time appearing vaguely irritated by the vain attempts. Its patience was not yet altogether exhausted, as it decided to charge the pair on the ground while still riding the air. It rushed upon them, its devastating claws swiping and thrusting them both to the ground. It was certainly enough to severely weaken them further, but not quite enough to kill them – yet. Mercer seemed to get the brunt of it. After her vision steadied, Penelope could see the Guild Master on his knees in the snow, shaking and bleeding from his forehead and arms. He could not bear much more either, even if he refused to admit as much. And she knew that the cave was their best chance until the beast finally obliged her silent wishes and landed. Dodging and ducking were skills she had long since acquired and finessed, owing in no small part to her petite size. She knew she could mortally wound the creature as long as its claws clutched the earth. There, it would die by her steel. She only needed the chance.

She hobbled hurriedly over to Mercer, helping him to his still shaky feet and urging him to use whatever trickery he had employed against her earlier, to render himself invisible again and more freely make his way to the cave. He nodded wordlessly, breathing heavily, his usually brilliant green eyes now dulled and half-closed with pain. But whatever he had conjured earlier was failing him currently. Despite mutterings and listless gestures, he remained visible – and visibly pitiful. For all of his bluster, Mercer Frey was not immune to the pangs of grievous injury. And Penelope knew that she not only had to get the both of them to the cave to escape the worst of the dragon’s wrath, but she would also have to treat his wounds. There was no time presently to check the severity of his lacerations. She could only point him toward the cave, crying out to go on ahead, to keep moving, and that she would join up with him as soon as she could. She then shoved a tiny bottle of restorative potion into his quaking hand. He gave her an exhausted grimace, clearly unhappy to be spoken to in such a fashion, especially by a woman. But as he also had a sufficient enough sense of self-preservation, he accepted her plan and her help. And he started continuing toward the cave again. He waited until her back was turned to gulp down the elixir, however.

She ran along the opposite direction and called out to the dragon, trying to bait it into following her. Once she got back up the hill near the burned out house, she cast a few flares which in the daylight glowed much more faintly. But combined with her insistent taunts and calls, the flares were a successful decoy. As the dragon approached snapping its jaws and flapping its terrible wings, she raised her blade, though the gash from the sabre cat was still fresh enough to riddle her with sharp pain of her own. She winced, but kept as steady as she could. The beast finally did her a much-needed favor and descended completely, landing upon the earth with a thunderous thud. Yes…that’s right…

The true size of the creature could only be fully realized when it stood upon the ground. The naturally diminutive Breton looked even tinier in comparison. But this one was not overcome with fear. She very cautiously edged nearer to it, dodging its snapping jaws and leaping to barely avoid its lashing tail. Nearly out of energy, a proper fight with the beast was almost certainly out of the question. But she could pick at it as she made her way back down the ridge to the cave, assuming and hoping that Mercer had limped his way into it by now. Each time the dragon’s ferocious mouth came by, she took a swing that broke skin and flung blood into the snow. Its attacks were becoming more rapid and frenzied – it clearly was beginning to lose patience. And among all of the hisses and growls and roars, Penelope swore she could make out what sounded like a voice. Curious…

Time was not on her side, this much she knew. And as the pain in her arm spiked again, she knew she needed to initiate a careful retreat to the cave. She dodged, sprinted and leapt her way down the hill, relieved to not see Mercer lingering outside of the rocky shelter. A dual trail of blood and footprints told her that he had in fact made it in to the cavern, and she was determined to be as lucky. With the refuge in sight she made a final push forward, doing her best to run and keep one eye over her shoulder. It was within reach now, a few more bushes and bare trees to pass before she could collapse without fear. But a treacherous stone, one obscured by the gleaming white dust and ice, caught her frantic foot but a few yards from the cave entrance. It was slow-motion fall, her blade flying from her hand and landing a few feet ahead of her. Her leg throbbed and bled, but she forced herself to crawl as fast as she could – which was not very fast at all. Renegade strands of her long black hair matted with dirt and drying blood suddenly whipped around much more quickly. Oppressive heat came from above and as she wearily looked over her shoulder, she was greeted by the sight of the hovering beast, its flashing eyes fixed on her vulnerable form and preparing to exact its finishing blitz. She turned back around and tried to crawl to her blade, which though it lay in the snow not far from her, it still seemed like hundreds of yards in these feverish moments.

Something in her pushed her forward, gave her a burst of energy in the span of a few precious seconds and her trembling palm gripped the sword. It would have all been for naught, though, as the creature readied talons and teeth for the kill. Her life was little more than a hare’s breath away from certain ruin. But she had an unlikely savior in the irritable Breton man who stood by in the cave, wounded but defiant. Out from the shadows of the entrance, he stepped forth and launched a pair of lightning spells. It was about all he could muster. And it was enough. The dragon recoiled once more from the attack and it gave Penelope the time she needed to stagger and stumble into the safety of the cave. Mercer joined her as the pair moved back and more inward, watching the dragon shake off the magic and glare down at them. It did not even attempt to follow them into the cavern, it was far too intelligent of a creature to do so. But its intelligence also made it all the more diabolical.

They watched it fly upward and disappear from their limited view. Nervous glances were exchanged as silence dominated for many unsettling seconds. But eyes opened wide with a deafening crash and the low rumble of fast-falling rocks and tumbling boulders that followed. Neither could be sure where the sound originated from until they saw the dragon’s form eclipse the brilliant daylight. The beast appeared to lash and thrash at the stone above their cave and that which flanked it. And as the first, small rocks began to give way to larger boulders that fell in front of their cave door, both started to consider what their foe had decided to employ as its “checkmate”, its final counter-maneuver. But by the time they fully realized their predicament, it was too late. Snow, boulders and even dislodged trees had rumbled and cascaded into a pile in front of their former entrance and exit. And then, more silence. Not even a final roar of triumph from the winged terror. There was only silence - and the sounds of their agitated hearts and brisk breaths in the darkness.

As the last sliver of day became night to their eyes, all she could see was her father’s face.

Oh boy. Penelope and Mercer alone in the dark ^_^

Best chapter yet. Oh Mercer. xD

Great work Docta!

I know. Her work makes me feel embarassed to try to write something. Though I do have my arm out of the sling finally and will try to get something out later this week or next. If she changed things to something other than Skyrim, which is owned, she could definately be published. IMO

I've always been a TES fan who skipped all the book-reading in-game, but reading this has made me really want to get to know the lore better. Great job!

Aww man, this is very nice to come back to after a long day. =) Thanks so much, everyone! The ongoing support is quite appreciated.

I'm pleased to say that the next chapter will reveal a couple of new faces, and I'm very excited for it. Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

New faces, eh? Do we know their names yet? ^_^

Maybe, maybe not...

That said, the next chapter will at least be fun for me to write. Hopefully it'll be as fun to read.