Sharn shivers in the predawn light as she waits for Azura's Star to rise above her. The Valley of the Wind is living up to its name. The wind has been a constant companion from the moment she'd stepped foot into the valley. Next to her Zanabi, her Nix Hound, chitters unhappily as he huddles close to the small fire she's managed to keep lit in spite of the constant wind. She reaches out with one gloved hand and gives him a good scratch on his carapace. The unhappy chitter morphs into a sound of delight and the hound leans into the caress, mandibles clacking. It always surprises her how much he likes to be touched. One wouldn't think such a dangerous creature would crave such attentions.

He is larger than most wild Nix Hounds, with stocky, muscular limbs and a thick torso. She thinks it has to do with both breeding and not having to fight for his food as a young pup. Most of the wild ones found along the Bitter Coast have a long, rangy, appearance, akin to the racing hounds of the Alik'r Desert in shape and build. Zanabi reminds her more of a young mastiff.

She still doesn't know what stayed her hand when she'd found him as a pup in that smuggler cave all those months ago, but she is glad she had. Named for the cave she'd found him in, the silly beast is good company, especially along the coasts and in the interior lowlands and desert regions of Vvardenfell. With the training the bandits had started and she'd finished, Zanabi is an excellent camp guard and scent tracker. Now that she has a home on the Odai Plateau she is strongly thinking of starting a breeding program for Nix Hounds. She knows plenty of scouts and adventures that will pay good coin for such a companion.

Looking up, Sharn sees a single bright star come into focus between Airan's Teeth at the far end of the valley. She rises and Zanabi jumps to his feet to pad alongside her on quiet feet. After dousing the fire with a handful of sand she heads down the valley towards the elaborately carved stone door embedded within the valley wall. The doors are both divided into three panels; the top depicting an empty circle, the center filled with the crooked six point star the often represented Azura, while the bottom panels portray the waxing and waning crescent moons. Sharn brushes her hand along the door and it opens with the rumbling sound of stone against stone. As she pries the door open further a soft feminine voice comes drifting down the valley, carried alongside the wind. "In the dawn hour under Azura's star, the door is opened."

Zanabi dances at her feet, turning this way and that as if searching for some elusive scent. "Easy Zanabi," she croons to the hound. "Guard, I'll be back before you know it." He looks mournfully up at her, dark red eyes reflecting what little predawn light that is able to filter down into the narrow valley. Mandibles clicking, he settles himself in front of the stone door with a dejected sigh. Giving him one last scratch, Sharn slips through the stone doorway.

The quite is almost painful after the constant sound of the wind. Stalactites and stalagmites are present in abundance and she can make out at least three different types of mushrooms growing among them as she walks down the short passage and into the cavern proper. At the far end, in perfect alignment with the door is a large statue of a kneeling mer. Its head is bowed slightly as it gazed down at its hands. The hands are resting on its folded legs, palms out in offering. And in the faint light of Azura's Star that gleams down from an open fissure at the top of the cavern, Sharn can make out a glint of silver.

Slowly, carefully Sharn approaches the statue. Quiet, it is so very quiet. The air is still inside the cavern, and it seems as if the whole of Tamriel is holding its breath. As she gets closer she can see that the figure holds a slender silver ring suspended in the air above its open palms.

Never taking her eyes from the ring, Sharn sets her pack down at her feet followed shortly by her sword, bow, and quiver of arrows. Then, unable to understand why she feels compelled to do so, she takes off her gauntlets. The air in the cavern feels cold against her skin, and she could have sworn silent watchers stand around her as she reaches out to take the ring from the statue's hold.

As soon as her bare skin touches the cool silver of the ring a rushing sound fills her ears and images flash before her eyes. It is as if she stands outside of her own body. She sees herself slip the ring upon her left forefinger and then her image shifts. Before her stands the camp of the Urshilaku, followed by other camps she was unfamiliar with. She walks boldly through the streets of Ald'ruhn and into the Redoran Council Hall inside Ald'ruhn-under-Skar. She strides up the familiar stone steps of the Hlaalu Council Manor in Balmora, guards stand to attention as she passes them. She moves through the twisting paths of Sadrith Mora, levitates up through the passageways of the Telvanni Council House.

As she is assaulted with these visions a female voice rings throughout the cavern, the words coinciding with the images that flash before her eyes. "Nerevar Reborn: Incarnate. Your first three trials are finished. Now two new trials lie before you: seek the Ashlander Ashkans and the Great House Councilors. Four Tribes must name you Nerevarine. Three houses must name you Hortator. My servant, Nibani Maesa shall be your guide. And when you have been named Hortator and Nerevarine, and when you have stood before the false gods and freed the heart from its prison, heal my people and restore Morrowind. Do this for me, and with my blessing."

When she comes too, she is on her knees in front of the statue, the ring of Moon-and-Star upon her hand. Breathing heavily, Sharn slowly gets to her feet and then once more takes note of the cavern. Well, she thinks in shock, I was right about the watchers. Shades of both men and mer stand clustered around her in a loose circle. One, a dunmer woman, approaches and speaks in a dry, dusty whisper. "Welcome, Incarnate."

The sound of stone shattering tore Sharn from her dreams as an explosion went off over her head. Rolling off the low mound of cushions and onto the carpet, she crouched, waiting to see what else would happen. A shower of dust and debris fell from the ceiling onto the cushions she'd just vacated. Glancing up, she could see cracks forming across the entire surface of the ceiling. From beyond her prison door came muffled shouting and cursing, then the sound of running footsteps as at least two of her guards raced away.

A cold smile spread across her face as more explosions sounded throughout the fortress, causing even more debris to fall and the spider-web of cracks to spread. She stood, a bark of laughter escaping from her as the cracks continued to creep across the stone ceiling. An unknown force was assaulting the fortress, and she fully intended to take advantage of the chaos. After all, one doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She would have to think of an appropriate parting gift for her hosts in order to fully extend her thanks for their hospitality. But first, the ward.

Wards could be passive, active, or both, depending on what the creator wanted to accomplish. Active wards were ones that actively responded to stimuli, while passive wards simply resisted any efforts to break them. The rarest were the ones that both resisted and responded to attacks or attempts to break the ward. But all wards were only as strong as the means used to create them. The strongest wards were the ones built into whatever building or area they guarded, but that was also their greatest weakness. Break the foundation, break the ward.

Sharn had had months to study and probe the ward that contained her. It was designed to keep her and her magicka inside its bounds, but it also permitted objects to pass though it from the outside. This was why the ring of Moon-and-Star had been able to slip past the ward. It was a strong and complex bit of magicka, and she knew that she would never be able to muscle her way past it. There were, however, other options open to her now.

She considered which of those options to take. Fire and lightening were out; the space was too confined to safely use either one for a ranged attack, which left frost as the only option. Ignoring the shouts and sounds of fighting that were filtering down through the walls and ceilings; she quickly calculated the correct angle for the maximum effect. Once satisfied, Sharn began to gather what little magicka she had to her hand, feeling the biting cold of the forming ice spear. Raising her left hand high, she released the spell.

The diamond-hard bolt of concentrated ice hit the ceiling just above the edge of the ward, right where a large network of cracks had formed. Already bits and pieces of the stone were missing from ceiling. The ice shattered, along with a large part of the stone ceiling. Shards of rock and ice fell to litter the floor and Sharn could feel the weakening of the ward. Once, twice, three more times she formed her frost bolts, spending most of her magicka reserves in the process. But it worked. The ward collapsed as its supporting structure was undermined by the loss of the stone.

Her jailors had been clever in how they'd placed the ward. She would give them that. Most would have simply inscribed it into the floor. Calpernia's precious Daedric Lord had placed the ward into the ceiling instead. Correctly judging that with the height of the room and the lack of ranged options available to her (due to the drain magicka spell he'd inscribed onto the floor), Sharn would be unable to circumvent the ward.

That cold, cold smile appeared again. She would have to think of something nice to get the attacking force. Perhaps a handful of gems or some of the many enchanted trinkets she seemed to collect wherever she went.

Glancing around, she verified that there was nothing here that she wanted to take with her. And it would not due to linger here. Striding forward, Sharn easily passed the boundary that had previous kept her confined to her carpeted prison.

Settling into the chair that Calpernia had recently occupied as the pain vanished, Sharn waited for her magicka to rejuvenate from the frost spells. Pity I never followed the path of the spellsword, she thought. A larger magicka reserve would make my life indefinably easier.

But she'd never been that good at spell-work. The wise woman had despaired over her inability to master anything but the most basic of spells. On the other hand, the forge wife had had nothing but praise for her smith-work. She could have stayed in the stronghold after she'd reached her majority and trained to become a forge wife herself, but she'd had restless feet and the road and the Legion had called to her.

Dismissing the troubles of her youth from her mind, the orc got up from her comfortable chair and made her way to the barred and locked door. She carefully studied the door, looking for any traps or wards.

Nothing.

Frowning now, Sharn ran her fingers lightly over the wood planks and metal locks. Again, she found nothing.

Feeling slightly insulted about the lack of traps and wards on the door itself, Sharn placed her hands against the cool metal of both locks. Resting her ear against the door, she silently cast Ondusi's open lock spell that she'd mastered decades ago. It was a journeyman level spell, used mostly by forgetful apprentices and thieves just learning their trade, but Sharn thought the spell well worth the effort it had taken her to learn. It also used most of her limited magicka to cast, which it should not have done. The drain magicka must have affected her worse than she'd initially believed.

The soft 'click' of the first one lock, then the other, opening came to her as she partially collapsed against the door, once more drained of most of her magicka. As she waited for what seemed an endless amount of time for her reserves to fill again, she was dimly aware of the sounds of fighting. She would have to move faster if she was to escape her sunless prison.

Getting to her feet, she was about to tackle the bar when she heard the muffled voices of her guards arguing beyond the outer door.

"I have my orders Templar. The prisoner is to be kept contained at all times." The male voice was calm and unruffled by the fighting. Sharn recognized it. He was one of the Venatori mage guards and often brought her simple meals to her. He was also an unmitigated ass and she would enjoy killing him.

"It cannot escape the bounds of its prison, and we would be foolish to disrupt the outer wards simply to check on it." So, there were wards she would need to circumvent in order to escape. Mentally she thanked the ass for that very useful information.

"But you heard the explosion. It sounded as if it came from her cell. What if something happened to disrupt the ward? She could get out! It took over a dozen Templars and Venatori to take her down the first time!" This voice was much younger than the first. From the tone and intonation, Sharn doubted the lad had seen his second decade.

"And so what if it somehow gets loose from its cage?" The mage made a dismissive sound. "I've been dosing its food with magebane for months now. Even if it does somehow escape from the ward, it would still have to get past us, and we are more than adequate for a single unmagical creature."

Unmagical was she? An it, was she? Sharn was torn between being amused or insulted. Insult won, and she bared her tusks as she forced herself to her feet. Moving back to where the two chairs sat, she reached down and picked up a large chuck of stone that had fallen from the ceiling. Raising it over her head, she brought the stone down with all her might against the heavy wood back of the nearest chair. The wood splintered at the joints, leaving several pieces for her to choose from.

Grabbing the sturdiest looking one, part of the high back, Sharn took it, along with the stone chunk, back to the door. Eyeing the door, she judged where the hinges were and started hammering the door with the stone. Using the same steady rhythm that she used to purge the impurities from steel, the wooden door shuddered and groaned under her assault.

Shouts of surprise and fear from the young guard, along with harsher tones from his senior could be heard now as she continued her hammering. Ideally Sharn wondered if the guards would wait until she broke through the door before trying to stop her. That would be the wisest course of action, but from the arrogance and contempt in the mage's words, Sharn thought he would not be so wise.

Her supposition was proven correct when she felt that strange wave of something pass over her. Whatever it was, it sliced into her, feeling as if knives were tearing at someplace deep within herself. The wave also forced all the ambient magicka away from her, along with significantly draining her reserves. She staggered as the wave hit her, the pain causing her hammering to falter in its steady rhythm.

This, this was what had led to her capture in the first place. The mages' magicka and spells, while different from what she was used to, had not truly caused her any problems. But the warriors calling themselves Red Templars; their strange powers had caught her off guard.

But she knew what to expect now. She knew not to be using any active magicka when they sent their waves of cleansing at her. One of the few benefits of have a small magicka reserve was that it would refill relatively quickly. And the ring of Moon-and-Star kept her entire reserve from being depleted. She hurt, but was not undone as she had been before. Best of all, the fools had just banished the wards that had been placed in the corridor. She loved it when her enemies did all the work for her.

Letting the stone fall to the floor with a loud clatter, Sharn gave a not-quite-theatrical moan of pain before moving silently to the left of the doorway. Oh, she hurt. It hurt to breathe, to move, but she'd endured pain worse than this.

There came the sound of a door opening, footsteps walking quickly, confidently, down a short hall, then the rasp of the wooden bar being lifted from the door. The mage on the other side of the door showed he wasn't a complete idiot, as he had the young Templar lose another one of those magicka cleansing waves before opening the door. For someone claiming I'm unmagical, he's sure extending a great deal of energy to make sure I've none to hand. Once again, she felt that strange wave with its accompanying knives pass through her, taking with what little magicka she'd recovered from the first one. Baring her tusks at the pain, Sharn let out another loud moan.

Pulling open the doors, the mage strode confidently into the small prison cell. He stopped just inside the room and Sharn swung the length of wood with all her strength. Her improvised club hit the mage squarely on the side of his head. He went down without a sound, the side of his head a broken and bloody ruin. Beyond the open door, a young man in armor stood gaping at her from the hallway. She smiled at him, making sure to display her tusks to their best advantage as she stepped over the crumpled form in front of her.

"Well youngling, what are you going to do now?" She advanced towards him slowly, her eyes never leaving his. The boy gulped, and he brought his sword up in a defensive position. Having spent a good portion of her life in the Imperial Legion and later as a founding member of the new Dawnguard, Sharn knew a wet-behind-the-ears recruit when she saw one. He had training enough to know he should attack her, but lacked the experience to know when to do so. Pity he would never get the experience he so desperately needed, but life was cruel sometimes and this boy stood in her way.

"Do you attack me? Betting your sword against my club? Or do you run and get help? After all it took how many of you last time to bring me down? And here you are, all by yourself. Tell me recruit, what are you going to do now?"

He was trembling violently now, sweat dripping down his face as Sharn forced him back down the hallway with her words alone. She could feel the ring of Moon-and-Star warm upon her finger as it worked its own peculiar magicka on him. As long as she kept speaking and held his gaze, he would be unable to look away, unable to think clearly with the ring clouding his thoughts and her words dripping like poison from her lips into his ears.

They had entered the main corridor now, and she slowly backed him against the far wall. The sounds of fighting where definitely closer now. She would need to finish this soon. Pity. It had been awhile since she'd been able to play. "Perhaps you will listen to some advice from one older and wiser than you. Run boy. Run long and run far. And per chance I will forget your face."

He was nodding his head in agreement before she had even finished speaking. Not much willpower in this one. Recruits like him were easily cowed by those with a stronger personality. And hers was the strongest of all. "Yes mi 'lady. Anything you say mi 'lady."

"Then show me where my belongings are and I will be on my way." She placed her left hand, the hand with the ring of Moon-and-Star, upon the boy's trembling shoulder.

He gulped, and turned to lead her down passageways and corridors. She directed him to avoid the fighting, and off they went. Corridors and hallways sped past, and she easily memorized the twists and turns, as well as the fact they'd passed other cells, before the boy stopped in front of another door. This one was on a lower level than her cell had been and the door stood slightly ajar.

"Mistress Calpernia keeps everything here in her work room mi 'lady." He gulped, not looking at her, sword still held in trembling hands. "Normally there would be guards; I'm not sure where they went."

"Are there any others being held on this level?" Sharn asked, making sure he could feel her breathe against his skin.

"I'm not sure mi 'lady. I think Magister Valenris and Commander Samson have some qunari on the lower levels and a few dwarves and elves on this level, but I don't know exactly how many there are or where exactly they are being held."

He gulped again, and dared to ask "Are you pleased mi 'lady? Can I go now?"

The orc leaned forward to croon softly into his ear, "Well done, recruit. And I shall indeed send you on your way," then Sharn slid her summoned dagger across the boy's exposed throat.

He struggled, the pain and shock of the mortal wound freeing him from the poisoned trap of her words. Dropping his sword, he grabbed for her hands as the blood flowed down over his armor. Easily controlling his frantic movements, she held him close until he stilled. After waiting a for a few more precious heartbeats to be sure he was dead, she gently lowered the boy's limp body to the lean against the wall and picked up the sword from where it had fallen.

Frowning at the inferior quality of the sword, she would have never allowed such an ill-made weapon to leave her forge, Sharn grimaced as she forced herself to keep the sword. It was better than her improvised club, but not by much. She swung it a few times to better judge its weight and balance, then leaned down to remove the sword belt and sheath from the boy Templar. His dead eyes stared accusingly at her, and she gently closed them.

There was still no sound from inside the room, and no one had emerged to investigate the boy's struggle or the clatter of the sword hitting the stone floor. Wondering if the room was truly empty, Sharn eased her way over to the door and peered into the room through the open crack.

From what little she could see, the room beyond was a typical mage's study. Arcane clutter and open books and journals littered every surface while shelves lined the walls. Mage lights and sputtering oil lanterns burned over work benches, causing various crystals to gleam and glitter. She could neither see nor hear any sign of movement.

Slowly, she eased through the open door, being careful to keep to the shadows as much as possible. While the mage lights and lanterns provided illumination, they also cast just enough shadow for a good scout or assassin to hide in. And Sharn was very good at her job.

Once inside the room, all sounds from the outside ceased. What she could hear soft were the mutterings and the sound of papers rustling of someone furtively searching for something. That explained the cracked door. Whoever was in here had left it open to try and keep an ear out for trouble. Sadly, they had failed to take into account how well the sound barrier had been made or hadn't known it existed. Which meant it was a secret known only to a select few.

It also meant that she too was at a disadvantage. Sharn would have to keep an eye on the open door at her back. It would be embarrassing to be caught off guard the way the human already in the room would soon be.

On bare, silent feet, the orc ghosted across the room. Moving at a slow crouch, Sharn was careful to stay out of direct line of slight of the sole occupant of the room. It was a human male, dressed in those ridiculous white robes the Venatori favored. He stood in front of a large desk, going through notes and journals, oblivious to anything else. What is that old saying? Sharn thought. While the cat's away the mice will play? Now what could this naughty mouse be up too? Her curiosity aroused, Sharn crept close enough to see if she could make out just what it was held his attention. And her gaze was caught and held by the crystalline dagger and a plain leather satchel lying discarded to one side of the desk along with a scattering of amulets and rings.

Keening. The blade she had carried for over two hundred and fifty years. It was hers, hers in a way that not even Trueflame was. And next to it was her bag of holding. A bit of magicka worth well over a thousand Septims, just tossed aside like so much trash. Honestly Sharn was surprised that it hadn't been destroyed out of ignorance or spite.

The man made a sound of discover, an 'ah-ha!' of unexpected delight. He leaned over his current journal, body language screaming out his excitement. Sharn regarded him coldly. He stood between her and Keening and that just would not do. She would have to correct that over sight.

Stepping closer, the orc reached out and grasped him firmly by the chin, jerking him back flush against her body, and then thrust her stolen sword upwards into his skull through the soft underside of the jaw. He died instantly, quietly, with only a small amount of blood falling to splatter the desk. She let the body and sword both fall to lie at her feet and reached eagerly for the crystal and dwemer metal dagger.

And then Keening was once again in her hands and the blade's crystalline song filled her mind with color and light. Sharn took no harm from it; indeed, she took strength both physical and magical from the blade's song. But the same could not be said of other that had tried to wield it over the centuries.

Like the ring of Moon-and-Star, the Tools of Kagrenac chose their own bearers. It had taken decades before she could bear the blade without also wearing Wraithguard, but in the end, they had reached an accord, the blade and she. Now the dagger's unique song was an integral part of her being.

Slowly the swirly of sound and color died away to a soft murmur in the back of her mind. It was like the sound of the surf lapping against the shore, something heard only when concentrated on. Sharn gently placed the dagger back onto the desk and reach for the leather satchel. Picking up the unassuming leather bag, the orc ran her finger over the top flap, letting the sharp edge of the steel clasp cut the tip. A small drop of blood dropped onto the flap and was absorbed by the leather.

Opening the flap, she reached down deep into the depths of the bag, searching with groping fingers for the spare sheath she just knew she'd left there about ten years ago. When her hands pulled up a fist-full of leather foot-wraps, she snorted and put them to the side. Useful, but not what she needed. Back into the bag, almost to her shoulder now as she groped about for the length of leather she wanted. Finally, she grasped the plain leather belt and sheath that she'd made for Keening years ago.

Quickly wrapping the belt around her waist and placing Keening in its sheath at the small of her back, Sharn reached back into the bag and pulled out a stiff leather corset to go over the white linen shirt she was wearing. It wasn't much in the way of armor, but it was better than nothing. Stepping back over the body at her feet, she sat in one of the large chairs scattered around the room and wrapped her feet in the foot-wraps.

Back into the bag once more. This time she came up with two bracers from her time in the Imperial Legion, followed by the matching gloves. Sharn paused to trace the Imperial dragon that was stamped into the metal before pulling them on.

Feeling better armed and armored than she'd felt in well over a year, Sharn stood and threaded the bag onto her belt before padding back over to the desk. She swept her eyes over the abundance of books, journals and loose parchments sheets lying on the desk. Her eyes lighted on the rings and amulets and she quickly gathered them to her.

Frowning, Sharn looked at the single ring that she recognized; the Ring of Sanguine Golden Wisdom. At the time of her capture she'd had two other Treads of the Webspinner on her person; the Ring of Sanguine Red Wisdom and the Ring of Sanguine Green Wisdom. There was also no sign of the Amulet of Sanguine Glib Speech. No doubt Calpernia had them with her, the strong enchantments would have drawn any mage to the artifacts. Yet another item she'd have to take back from the Venatori.

After placing the Tread upon her right forefinger, Sharn tossed the other rings and amulets into her bag, she then turned her attention to the other objects that littered the desk surface. Grabbing handfuls of the loose parchments, the orc rolled the papers and stuffed them down into her bag of holding. The journals and smaller books she was able to wedge into the opening with some creative cursing, but the larger books . . . most of the them wouldn't fit through the small opening of the bag.

It was one of the few limitations of her bag. The opening would not expand past a certain diameter. This limited just what she was able to put into the bag, but outside of this, the bag would keep non-perishable items indefinitely while perishable items like fresh fruit and cooked meats could be kept for up to a week. And there was no real limit on the number of items the bag could hold.

Sharn eyed the books wistfully, but there was no hope for it. There was no way the large illuminated manuscripts would fit through the opening. But perhaps she could improvise . . . Picking up the closest book, Sharn looked closely at the binding, then taking Keening in hand, she cut the pages from the heavy wooden frame. Being careful to keep the pages in order, she rolled and bound them with strips of leather, then repeated the process on the other books that looked significate or old. After spending as much time as she dared on the books, the orc turned her attention to the various bits of equipment and magical items lying scattered around the room.

Anything that could fit through the opening soon found its way into the bottomless pouch. When she had ransacked the room of as much as she could, Sharn gathered everything that she couldn't carry and heaped them around the desk. That task complete, she reached up turned one of the oil lanterns on its side, allowing the oil to come splashing down over the priceless treasures piled underneath it.

Sharn stepped some distance away from the desk and quickly placed a fire rune onto the floor. It would take the oil about ten minutes to reach the rune, giving her a head start on her escape before the room went up in flames. Feeling please with herself, she slipped out the door, deliberately leaving it open to allow a draft to feed the coming fire.

As she paused in the corridor, Sharn debated her next move. The boy had said that there were others being held in the fortress, and while she was not one to blindly help anyone who asked, she also saw no reason to leave the Venatori in possession of other captives to experiment on. Also, she wanted to burn the keep to the ground on her departure, and these others should not have to pay for their captors' crimes.

Mind made up, she turned and made her way deeper into the fortress.

The first cell held nothing but a corpse and a light scattering of strange red crystals that seemed to be growing out of the walls around the body. Sharn stood outside the cell door, not bothering to try the lock. The Redguard was obviously dead and something about those crystals put her on edge.

They were a bright red, the color of heart's blood, and looked almost like salt crystals that grew along the edge of some of the hot springs in the Eastmarch Hold in Skyrim. The ones that looked so pure and inviting but were a death sentence to any who drank or swam in them. And these almost looked to be growing out of the body.

Sharn back away from the cell. Her instinct was to burn the body and crystals both, but she lacked the magical strength to do so. Deciding to come back and cleanse this place with fire after she had cleared it of enemies and victims both, she turned away from the poison crystal covered body and continued down the corridor.

Three more cells, three more crystal shrouded bodies. Another human, most likely an Imperial given her coloring, an elf that she thought was a bosmer, and what looked for all the worlds to be a xivilai. It seemed bigger than the ones she'd fought during the Oblivion Crisis, but it had the dark grey skin and the large horns that were a trademark of that particular Daedra race. All the bodies had those same red crystals growing around them. It reminded her of the way mold and fungus would grow up around decomposing bodies.

Sharn frowned as that thought crossed her mind. None of the bodies showed any signs of decomposing. There were signs of starvation and various injuries and wounds on the bodies, but nothing else. That was . . . wrong, unnatural. Even the draugr that infested Skyrim's tombs showed some signs of decomposition along with the mummification that was common for those entombed there. Calpernia, she thought with something close to anger, what have you gotten yourself into?

She stood in front of the xivilai's cell, aware of the passage of time as she pondered what to do and if she would even find any alive in these cells. About to head back the way she'd come, the sounds of movement and voices came to here. She cocked her head, listening intently. The sounds seemed to coming from further down, so she melted into the shadows and followed her curiosity deeper into the fortress.

More cells, some empty, some filled with more red crystal covered corpses. Sharn noticed in passing that the elven and xivilai bodies had more crystals growing on them then the human ones. There were also a few very short human bodies, (or what she assumed to be human), that had almost little to no crystals on them. She had counted three xivilai, nine elves, five humans and four of the short human corpses. Then she started to pass cells with the living still within, if she could call them alive.

There were only a few, most were lying limp in their chains, not evening raising their heads as she paused in front of their cells. One or two stirred enough to plead with silent eyes, and she could see the gleam of red within the depths of their eyes. Of the ten that were alive, only five were anywhere close to being able to walk out of the fortress on their own feet.

Sharn stopped in front of one cell. Within was a xivilai. He had been chained to the far wall, and the red crystals were only a dim tracing of color against the stone wall.

His skin was lighter than any other xivilai she'd ever heard of before, the color being more of a silver grey than the typical dark bluish grey. His eyes when he raised his head to return her gaze were a dark orange color that reminded her of her forge-mother's eyes. Two large horns curled back of his skull, then turned upwards at the ends. They started at each other from across the cell door, both saying nothing as each intently studied the other.

Finally, he broke the tense silence "Are you a demon or a darkspawn of some kind?" He tilted his head slightly, "or perhaps you're some kind of weird qunari half-bred."

Sharn had to concentrate to understand him, and she'd no idea what a qunari was. He wasn't speaking the language she had first learned in this foreign land, instead it was one that she was still learning. Common trade tongue Alexius had called.

Sharn snorted in derision even as she answered in the same tongue. "And you look like an over-grown albino xivilai." She'd had to use Tevene for the last few of the words and the xivilai gave her a puzzled look as she mixed languages.

He frowned and opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to question her more, but what came out was "Behind you!"

The orc twisted and lunged against the cell door, just as a bolt of lightning struck the struck the stone inches from where she'd been standing. It was followed by another bolt from the Venatori that had snuck up on her from further down the passing way.

The human bore down on Sharn, staff raised to fire off yet another lightning strike. Lunging, Sharn brought her hand up, a weak shield-ward forming even as she moved. The bolt hit her shield-ward, the force of it driving her to her knees even as residual lightning arched through her body.

The mage paused in front of her, eyes racing from her, to the chained xivilai, then back. Sharn slipped Keening from its sheath and lunged upward even as he eyes strayed once more. She buried the blade deep into his unarmored side. Blood sprayed her upturned face as the human fell limply to lay in front of her. Around them, various prisoners stirred in their cells, the noise of the fight finally penetrating their stupor.

Sharn got heavily to her feet, carefully she leaned over to wipe Keening clean on the Venatori's robes before sheathing the blade. Turning to the cell door, she pressed her hand to the lock and concentrated on casting Ondusi's open door spell. It again took more concentration and magicka than it should have. Her guard had boasted of poisoning her food with some concoction called magebane, so that must still be affecting her magicka reserves. At least that's what she hoped was the cause. If this weak magicka was permeant. . . well best not to think on it.

At last the lock gave, and she was able to open the door. Staggering slightly from the magicka lose, the orc made her way over to the chained male. He was watching her with an uneasy expression as she reached out and gripped his manacled wrist in one hand.

"This will be uncomfortable," she warned as she concentrated on the spell once more. Still drained from the ward and the previous open spell, it took even longer for her to summon enough magicka to cast the spell once more. The manacle fell open, and Sharn fell with it.

Landing on one knee, she braced herself and took deep breaths, trying to will the dancing black spots away from her vision. She had maybe one more spell in her, then she would be forced to rest before she did any other magicka. Finally, the spots cleared and she struggled to her feet. The xivilai used his free hand to assist her as she reached for the last manacle. Again, she struggled to gather enough magicka to cast the spell. Blood pounded in her ears and her vision wavered in and out as she released the spell to the sound of the manacle clattering against the stone wall. This time she found herself on both knees, hands braced on the ground as struggled to breathe in enough air to keep from passing out.

One part of her was aware that the xivilai had dropped down to crouch near her, but she ignored him in favor of getting her magical strength back. When she looked up, she was eye to eye with him. Faceted blue met bright orange as they looked at each other, then he rose to his feet and extended his hand to assist her to her own feet.

"Never seen a mage almost pass out after casting a few spells." He cast her a considering gaze.

"Never said I was a mage." Sharn grunted as she gained her feet. "You got a name xivilai?"

"I'm called Ashaad, and I'm tal-vashoth, not xivilai." He shot her a quick grin that was more a bearing of teeth than a smile. "How about you half-breed? What's your name?"

"I'm a full-blooded orc. Don't ever insult me by naming me a half-breed again. And you can call me Sharn."

As they exited the cell a voice rang out through over the voices of the other prisoners. "Hey Ashaad, how about you get the rest of us out too?" The question came from a cell further down the corridor.

"Keep your breeches on Sataari. I'll get too you when I get too you." The qunari bellowed back down the hall. "And keep your voice down, you're going to bring the entire fortress down on our heads."

"You're both about as subtle as a bull netch in mating season." Sharn grumbled as she made her way after the tal-vashoth. He stopped briefly to rifle through the belongs of the dead Venatori, but found little of interest.

Ashaad went to the cell hold another tal-vashoth, presumably the one called Sataari. He was larger than Ashaad by a good hand's width and bulked wider across the shoulders and chest. And Sharn could see a lot of both, as both tal-vashoth wore only breeches. She couldn't help but admire the play of muscles as Ashaad knelt to examine the lock. He then produced a lockpick from Divines knew where on his person and preceded to pick the lock of the cell door.

"Couldn't you have done that earlier?" She demanded.

"No. I couldn't reach my waist band. So, thank you again for getting me out of that cell." Sharn just scowled at his back, not sure if she believed him or not.

He soon had the lock open, and darted inside to attend to the manacles that held his friend to the far wall. He's faster than he looks she thought as she studied the two males. Not five minutes later both tal-vashoth were back in the corridor and heading to the next cell. Sharn followed in their wake, keeping to the shadows. From what little she knew about this particular world orcs would not be welcomed with open arms and she had no desire to be screamed and cursed as a demon.

As she was seriously thinking of slipping off on her own, the sound of movement caused her to spin around. She tensed, reaching back to bring Keening to bear as three large figures loomed out of the shadowed halls.

"Well Ashaad," the lead figure said in a lovely baritone. "I see you didn't need our help after all." The male, only a little taller than herself watched her with dark red eyes. "And I see you found something interesting to bring home too."

Sharn bristled at the remark. "I am neither pet or prize," she snarled at him, tusks bared in anger.

"Easy Sharn," Ashaad said as he and Sataari walked up to clasp wrists with the speaker. "Kaariss doesn't mean it that way." The tal-vashoth accepted the bow and quiver of arrows that another male passed over with an air of relief. Sataari took up an greatsword from the last newcomer. "And I think it would be a good idea for you to stick with our mercenary company," he gave her a hard look as he checked over the bow. "At least for now."

Sharn thought it over carefully, weighing the benefits as well as the weakness of the idea. She needed allies in this strange place, as much as it galled her to depend on anyone. Especially ones she knew nothing about. She was a stranger in a very strange land, even more so than when she had travelled to Akavir. There at least, she'd some idea of the dangers that lay before her. Here . . . here it was if she'd been cast adrift on the Sea of Ghosts during a full fog bank with only a broken compass to guide her.

"Very well. I will join your company. For a time."

"Excellent." Kaariss offered her his wrist in the same manner he'd done for Ashaad and Sataari. She accepted after a moment's hesitation. When in Akavir, do as the Akaviri do, she thought, remembering the old saying. "Welcome to the Valo-Kas."

"Now" Kaariss clapped his hands together briskly. "Let's get the rest of these cells open and head up to the courtyard. Lassair's squad is holding the gate, so we might want to get going before they bring the fortress down around our ears. As if to punctate his words, the distant sound of another explosions shuddered through the stone of the keep.

Four of the Valo-Kas each moved to a locked cell door, while the last paused in front of her. His eyes held a warmth that was strange to see in a mercenary. She cocked her head in question as he studied her closely. "Are you in need of healing?" the male's voice was a deeper rumble than any other tal-vashoth she'd yet met, and she could have sworn she'd felt it in her bones.

"Yes, she is," Ashaad shouted before Sharn could open her mouth. "She got hit by a lightning strike and almost passed out twice after cast a few spells.

"Is this true?" the male asked.

Sharn sighed, disliking having her weakness paraded before the entire group. But to refuse healing would be foolish and she tried very hard not to act foolish. "Yes. I could use a healing potion or two."

The male smiled at her, his teeth a flash of white against his dark skin which was the same shade as Ashaad's. "May I?" he asked, hand raised towards her. "I am Kost by the way."

The orc nodded her agreement, "Sharn," she said in exchange and braced herself as he gently placed one large hand against her forehead and the other over her heart. Heat raced through her, followed by a soothing coolness as his magicka sought out all the damaged places both on and in her body. Kost frowned in concentration, letting the spell linger far longer than she thought necessary.

"You've a great deal of damage, old and knew." The healer said in as soft a voice as he could manage. "I've done what I can, but the magebane is resisting my efforts. You'll needed to be cleansed of the poison as soon as possible. Until then your mana reserves will be negligible and very slow to refill." He gave her a considering look. "In fact, I'm surprised you were able to cast a single spell, much less two."

Sharn said nothing. She wasn't about to give up all her secrets at a first meeting. "Just be cautious in any casting that you do until we can get the poison out of you. You can do yourself irreparable harm if you're not carefully."

The cool heat of the healing spell receded as Kost withdrew his magicka from her. "I thank you for her service and words healer."

He gave her a long look, and then went after his next patient. Which happened to be Sataari, much to the male's annoyance.

It took about a quarter of an hour before all the former prisoners had been freed and healed to the best of the mercenaries' ability. By that point thick smoke was drifting down the corridor back the way Sharn had come, letting her know that her flame rune had worked just fine.

Kaariss eyed the smoke and then her before leading the group away from the approaching flames. Of the fifteen prisoners that had still be alive when the Valo-Kas had arrived, only nine would make it out of the fortress. The rest had been given the final mercy as opposed to a linger death. A few of the humans had protested, but they'd been ignored.

Sharn drifted along the edges of the group, careful to keep to the shadows, not wanting her face to be known to those outside of the tal-vashoth. Kost had seen this and had passed her a scarf, which she'd wrapped around her is the style of the Alik'r warriors she'd fought with during the Great War, which allowed her to conceal her features.

Afterwards she felt comfortable enough to ghost close just ahead of the main group, scouting for any stray Venatori or Red Templars that might still be in the keep.

Alas, to her great disappointment, they were able to make it to the main courtyard with only a few stray guards in the way. The reason for this was soon made clear as it looked as if every single remaining Venatori and Red Templars was currently fighting a group of tal-vashoth for control of the main gate, and loosing badly from what she could tell.

The Valo-Kas had chosen their ground well, standing just inside the portcullis where there was only enough space for the guards to attack three or four at a time. And none of them were paying any attention to their rearguard.

Perfect.

Feeling a vicious grin come over her face, Sharn looked over to meet Ashaad's gaze. He returned her smile with a brutal one of his own, as Kost ushered the prisoners over to any out of the way alcove.

"Well," Kaariss drawled as he pulled a pair of short swords from their sheaths. "We can't let them have all the fun." The others drew their own weapons as Sharn readied Keening. "Hit them, and hit them hard, no quarter given and non-taken." Were the only instructions Kaariss gave as they slipped out of the side door and into the courtyard.

Sharn found herself next to Kaariss, and she paused long enough to pick up one of the longswords that had once belonged to a Templar. Switching Keening to her right hand, she swung the sword, getting a feel for weight and balance and warming up her wrists. She had a lot of frustration to work out, and a large group of targets almost waiting for her.

An arrow sprouted out of the neck of the closest mage and Sharn danced into the crowd. A mage turned and saw her and she ducked closer, disemboweling him almost in passing as she concentrated on the Templars. They were the ones that had caused her capture. They were the ones that tormented her with knives of pain. She would return that pain to them tenfold this day. She sliced and cut, her blades striking like vipers and as the sent copper filled her nose and mouth. Laughter bubbled up and she torn her concealing scarf from her head and called on the berserker that lurked in all orcs. She retained only enough awareness to keep from killing her uncertain allies.

Magicka rained from sky and the hated Templars sent out their hidden knives to tear at her flesh, but the berserk kept her distant from the pain. She would pay for this later of course, but it would be later, and until then she would laugh and dance among her foes, leaving only the dead and the dying in her wake.

And then the ranks in front of her broke. Mages and Templars alike fled before her into the waiting arms of the Valo-Kas that had followed in her wake. They trapped those that still lived between the ten of them and Sharn stood in the center of it all. Blood dripped from her blades and she could feel countless cuts and burns on her skin. And she did not care.

"Lok'tar!" The shout was torn from her throat as Sharn gra-Ghora, Nerevarine and Hortator of Vvardenfell, Grandmaster of the Morag Tong, Knight of the Garland of the Imperial Legion, veteran of the Great War, Lieutenant of the Dawnguard, named Qahnaarin by the guardian of the Soul Cairn, raised her bare face to the bright sun and called out her victory to the uncaring sky above.

Calpernia sat on her horse and watched her fortress smolder and collapse into ashes before her. Samson stood next to her upon his own mount, his face a frozen mask of rage. For herself, all she felt was the numbing cold of shock mixed with no small amount of fear.

There had been forty people (not counting the various captives) still in that keep when she'd left to finalize the arrangements for moving the last of the experiments and prisoners. That had been three days ago, with no sign or signal that anything was amiss.

She barely hid a flinch as part of the outer wall fell into the courtyard with a groan of shattered stone. Within that same courtyard, she could see the black and twisted remains of what had to be the bodies of those she'd left in charge of the keep.

The only thing still standing was a small wood lectern, placed just outside the fallen gate. On it a single piece of parchment, pinned there by a dagger driven deep into the wood. No one had yet to retrieve the letter.

A flicker of shadow above her announced that her Teacher had arrived with his pet. Calpernia was not looking forward to his reaction.

If only they'd listened to her. Biting back the urge to say 'I told you so.' to Samson, she watched as her Teacher glided forward to gather the letter to him. His face was expressionless as he read and she wondered how many would die today.

"It appears we were both correct my student." Her Teacher handed her the letter and moved away from the gathered crowd of mages and Templars. "I must think on this. Meet my back at the temple. We have much to discuss."

Waiting until her master had departed with his unnerving pet, Calpernia flicked open the parchment and to study the words within.

Avvana Calpernia,

I do hope this finds you and that Daedric prince of yours in good health. But while my stay within your house has been most instructive, I find that I must take my leave of your generous hospitality. Within these walls, you're sure to find a few tokens of my esteem.

You should have let me go Calpernia. It's a pity that I must declare blood fund on you and yours, but that is only the right and proper course of action open to me. You should have never taken what is mine, for now I must take what is yours.

You will see me again, but until then Aka'Magosh. For I would hate to see you die before we chance upon each other once again.

The Nerevarine

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AN: Thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited this story. It means a lot that people are enjoying my writing. Sorry about how long this update took, but RL has been truly awful this last year. Here's hoping for a better one in 2017. Happy New Years. Catann