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Dragonborn Ascendant (16)
🕑 Added 2022-10-28 13:59:04 +0000 UTCA/N: As always, a big thanks to everyone supporting me.
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The washed greys of the buildings blended with the rocky background covered in freshly fallen snow of the mountains. From afar, Markarth was indistinguishable from the mountain range it was carved into, the only signs that there was some sort of man made - or, in this case, mer made - structure being the brass coloured dwarven metal contraptions, pipes, roofs and doors, shining in a bright colour in deep contrast with a sea of bland whites and greys. Still despite only being an impressive if not a particularly gorgeous visage, the sight of the city gates and the stables not so distantly did indeed make me sigh a relieved breath, feeling the cold and tiredness of the travel finally creep in and settle on my bones, making me sag.
"We are here," I declared, turning to Aela and Lydia and noting, though not for the first time, their pitiful estate.
I could see how the two women sagged with the news and how an anxious energy took them as we slowly climbed the mountain. We stopped by the stables for a moment to leave our horses to be fed and cared for like they well deserved after a very long and arduous journey like travelling through the Reach near winter was. Then we moved to the city, the gates of Markarth looming over us - an impressive fortification that made me gaze in awe.
The guards posted outside were stoic standing near brasiers burning with bright flames, donning coats to withstand the cold winds. They didn’t offer us a single word as we passed through the heavy door made of dwarven metal, and surprisingly enough, the city looked surprisingly alive once inside.
“This is incredible,” Lydia breathed, the brunette perking up as her eyes widened. “A city so big, and made entirely of ruins from the Dwemer!”
“It really is quite the sight,” I admitted, a sentiment shared by Aela who also muttered something along the lines of a praise.
A small stream ran through a canal cut on the smooth stone tiles that paved the floor of the entire city, flowing down from the mountain. Numerous stairways and the city itself followed that path, rising and rising continuously, until they blended with the mountain, solid rock mixing and masking the facades of buildings that extended into the stone. In Markarth, only two buildings could be seen completely from the outside, the Temple of Dibella, a massive building that dominated the peak in the middle of the city, coupled with a large adjacent tower that hid a secret shrine for Talos. And along that path we could see, filling the entire street, an open market that remained busy even in the afternoon.
It was an impressive sight, certainly, but not as opulent as a city like New York, where you are surrounded by skyscrapers and a million people the entire time. That didn’t mean anything bad, of course, only that some of the lustre of Markarth was lost on me simply because I’d already seen far grander sights and much larger places.
Then, I caught sight of a man.
He wore a white linen shirt and he looked unassuming in front of the butcher who had a variety of meats on open display. By all means, this man looked like just a normal civilian looking to buy meat, except… His eyes flickered to a woman, and he followed her as she moved to a different stall where a man was selling handcrafted items like necklaces and rings.
So, while we walked rather slowly and I waited for Aela and Lydia to get the directions of a good inn where we could stay for the night before going to talk with the Jarl, I watched as the man stepped away from the butcher and then went past him, on the direction of the woman who seemed to be haggling with the merchant. And then he pulled something from his waist.
“Markarth belongs to the Forsworn!” He yelled before plunging the blade of his dagger on the woman.
Or trying to, because with a yank of telekinesis - a spell I was still trying to gain total control over - the dagger flew from his hand and a panicked look crossed his face just as dozens of people turned to see his failed assassintion attempt.
“Assassin!” Someone cried, pointing a finger to the man whose face reddened, and- oh, that’s a fire spell.
The air crackled and there was bristle followed by a blinding light as a lightning bolt shot from my hand to hit the man on his back. He fell to the ground limply, the flames gathering on his hand sputtering out and harmlessly dying.
There was another startled cry from the crowd, who then all turned on the direction where the spell was cast to face me.
I frowned.
A man died and that was all they did? Not panic or call the guards, just simply stare like dumbstruck idiots? No wonder the Forsworn have been doing as they please and striking terror in these Nords, I thought, shaking my head as I marched towards the woman who would have been assassinated.
“Are you alright?” I asked, and only then did the woman seem to snap from her stupor, eyes flickering to the body of her dead would-be-murderer then to my face. “Did he hurt you?”
“O-oh, yes, yes-” she nodded for a moment, then gasped, eyes widening. “I-I mean. N-no, no, I’m fine. Completely unharmed.” she stammered.
“That’s good to hear,” I nodded. “Do you know this man, why would he have attempted to assassinate you?”
“N-no, I do not,” the woman, a Nord by her accent, stepped back and shook her head nervously. “I’ve never even seen this man before in my life.”
“Then it was premeditated,” Aela muttered, a dark look crossing her face. “He did scream something before trying to kill you, ‘Markarth belongs to the Forsworn…’’ She muttered, and we traded a look for a moment.
Forsworn. I had told her about the Reach people, the huntress and my housecarl both, and they exchanged meaningful looks as the expression on the Nord woman morphed, a flicker of something crossing her eyes.
“Do you know what these Forsworn are?” I pressed, and immediately the woman shook her head.
“No, I’ve-” a pause. “I’ve never heard the term before. I’m not a native of the Reach, I came to Markarth to visit the city, and- I was hoping to find some fine jewellery for myself, but that was all I did.”
“I see,” I nodded another time, not believing a single word coming from her mouth. “Then you would do well not to wander alone anymore. You never if no one else will want to come and finish the job.”
“Not after this, no.” She easily agreed, a quiver in her voice. “I-I think I should go now.”
“You should,” Aela chimed in from my left. “Though, where in Oblivion are these guards to escort you back safely?”
“I appreciate your gesture,” the other Nord woman raised a hand, smiling shakily. “But I think I can go back alone. This once, at least.”
“You do realise that’s not the safest thing?” Lydia asked.
Before the blonde could answer, however, the guards finally arrived. They came in loudly making questions and stopping anyone in the area, though they certainly took a second thought when they saw my ebony battleaxe strapped on my back, and then decided it was not worth it to cause me trouble. We were let go, and then headed towards an inn to rest for the night. Thankfully, finding the inn wasn’t particularly hard, even if ultimately, all we ever did was follow the Nord - whose name we learned was Margaret - once the guards stopped interrogating her.
In the privacy of our room, Aela, Lydia and I shared a look.
“That woman…” the redhead started.
“She is hiding something, my Thane,” the brunette housecarl spoke up. “It was clear as day when you mentioned the Forsworn to her.”
“Aye,” I nodded. “I noticed her reaction too. Clearly she knows some about them. Enough to be afraid of their actions, it seems.”
“It seems like these Forsworn are a problem even inside the city,” Aela muttered darkly. “It makes that damned army all the more dire. You should warn the Jarl as soon as possible, Magnus. The lives of many people are at risk.”
“I fear that won’t change anything,” I frowned. “If the Forsworn are acting even inside of Markarth, then chances are the Jarl can’t do anything about them.”
“So you’re saying it’s useless?” The redhead asked and I hesitated to shake my head. She raised an eyebrow. “No? How so?”
“The Forsworn have to have a leader,” I said. “It would be impossible for the armies we saw at Karthspire and Red Eagle’s Redoubt to exist otherwise.”
“We have to find and kill this person then?” She guessed and I nodded in affirmation. Aela grunted. “Sounds reasonable. Though, how do we go around finding this leader?”
“That’s… something we’ll have to figure out later.” I muttered, and the redhead snorted in response just as Lydia hid a snicker behind her hands.
Little did they know, however, that I already had plans to deal with this entire problem.
The Forsworn Conspiracy and its subsequent quest, Escape Cidhna Mine were so incredibly memorable because of how they were constructed. Sure, doing the investigation work of going around collecting some bits and pieces of information would have been boring in most occasions, but the frequent meddle from the Forsworn trying to stop the Dragonborn from snooping around too much felt predictable but still refreshing, especially when, after being framed we are thrown into Cidhna Mine and are able to confront Madanach, the King in Rags himself. And being able to learn the other side of the story was also something quite interesting, particularly when the words came from the mouth of not only the leader of the Forsworn, but also one of his own delusioned free agents.
In a sense, aside from Daedric Princes’ quests or any of the other major side quests, like the College of Winterhold, the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild quests, the Forsworn Rebellion was without a doubt one of the best quests of the game.
And perhaps it was also because of the real impact an uprising in the Reach would cause that made me prioritise it this much when there were arguably bigger and more dangerous things I should keep my focus on instead of a rebellion. Still, until I had learned of the armies the Forsworn had around the Reach, I thought dealing with Madanach would have been a fairly easy task for a trouble that could have very bad ripples if left unattended for long.
It was why we - Lydia and I - left the inn in the morning and soon headed towards the Understone Keep.
Massive, grandiose and solid, dwarven architecture could be called nothing but impressive even so long after the dwemer disappearance. Certainly, it did not hurt this being the Jarl's seat, and therefore quite a maintained and decorated place whose splendour easily outshone the rest of the buildings in a unique city like Markarth. Though for such a big place, there was a distinct emptiness in these halls, and a lack of guards and quietness.
Inside, however, Understone Keep did not look so solid and preserved as I had imagined.
"So you must be the Dragonborn," Jarl Igmund muttered, caressing his beard. That made me pause for a moment, and the brunet chuckled from my reaction.
“I… did not expect word of my travel to arrive here so fast,” I muttered in turn. “Or any word that I existed at all, to begin with.”
“You are too humble. The Dragonborn is an important figure in Skyrim. There’s hardly a Nord that hasn’t heard tales of them,” the Nord openly laughed. “Why, everyone down to Cyrodiil must have heard the Greybeards calling for you, and that’s not different for us here in Markarth.” He said.
“Still,” I continued. “I did not expect for you to even know I was in the city considering I arrived just the other night.” And to that, Igmund smiled a smug smirk playing like a ghost on his lips.
“Merchants like to talk, Dragonborn,” said the Jarl. “Gossip is almost as important in their profession as trading, you realise.” Then his expression sobered. “Though their caravans have started to become rarer and rarer these days. The Forsworn…”
“And now the dragons,” I concluded his thought, earning a nod from the man. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t come bearing good news.”
“Of course not,” the brunet sighed, expression falling. “Speak up, Dragonborn.”
“The Forsworn, I think you are already familiar with them,” I started, earning a mutter that to my ears sounded quite along the lines of “very intimately” from the man as he shook his head, a frown on his face. He motioned for me to continue. “On the path to Markarth, from Rorikstead where I own a farm, I was able to scout a few locations on word from a friend of mine. From that investigation I was able to discover some rather worrying news. Karthspire and Red Eagle’s Redoubt are swarming with the Forsworn. Hundreds of them at the very least. Thousands, most likely.”
“Divines, I feared as much,” Jarl Igmund muttered somberly. “See, uncle, what our innaction has brought to us?” He turned to an older Nord. He was a bit short and thin, with a gaunt face and small eyes with a tired expression behind brown orbs. “Not only in my city, but the Forsworn now have an army of their own set loose around my hold. An army that we allowed them to gather!”
“The Forsworn know these hills and the way around these mountains, Igmund,” the elderly Nord returned to his nephew. “And they know the caves that make them. To mount any force against them is foolishness, they’d only be ambushed first, and then we’d lose good men for nothing, however few of them we have left.”
“You’re right,” Igmund grumbled after a twitch on his face. “Still,” he sighed, “we should send a letter to General Tulius, and ask for his help and his Legion. I don’t think we’ll be able to get rid of these Forsworn otherwise.”
“It’s not all helpless,” I declared then. “If we manage to kill whoever their leader is, there is a chance the army will disband.”
“Or attack my people indiscriminately.” The brunet retorted, a hard glare on his face, to which I grunted.
“Something they already do.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Snapped the Jarl back with a growl on his tone. “The Forsworn have been a problem in the Reach since my father’s rule, and before even the Great War had started. Do you honestly think none of us has ever tried to get rid of them entirely?”
“Wiping out the Forsworn is impossible, I know,” I replied, shaking my head. “But I never said to do that. Kill their leaders, and kill their largest groups and the Forsworn won’t be as big of a problem as bandits and raiders.” I said.
“And how do you suggest I do that, huh?” Jarl Igmund returned with another question.
I paused.
“I… might have an idea.” I said, and my evasiveness only got me a raised eyebrow from the brunet and the grizzled Nords. Until Igmund’s uncle spoke up.
“The woman from the market!” He exclaimed and Igmund frowned, confused.
“What?” His eyes flickered. “What do you mean, uncle? Speak sense!”
“There was an attempted murder yesterday at the market,” Igmund’s uncle explained to his nephew. “Haven’t I told you this?” He asked. “The assassin was killed, but he was a Forsworn agent or so it seems.”
“No, uncle, you haven’t told me this,” the Jarl shook his head, a frown still on his face. “Still, that doesn’t explain how that could be used to find the Forsworn heads.”
“They must have a contact line, my Jarl,” I said, and that was when a light of realisation lit on his face. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to have the murder ordered.”
“So you hope to find clues that point out to someone, I see.” Igmund muttered. “That is… risky. Loathe as I am to admit, most of my guard has been bribed and is corrupted, and I’m sure it’s those traitors who are paying them silver.”
“It’s still the best chance we have,” I said. “Besides, I’d be doing you a service getting rid of your corrupt guardsmen if it came down to it.”
Igmund’s expression twitched and a scowl formed on his face. It was clear to me that he did not like my idea, but he also did not find himself in a position to pick between options. Part of him must have warred inside, but after a long stretch of silence, finally the Jarl stopped working up his jaw and numbly nodded, opening his mouth to speak, albeit with much reluctance.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Do what you want.” He said, and I took it as a dismissal. Before I could leave, however, he finished with a final phrase. “And only come back with their heads.”
