The atmosphere of Vilemyr Inn was almost mockingly warm and cheerful upon my entry of the establishment, considering what I'd just been through. A bright and spread-out fire crackled merrily in the firepit in the center of the inn's main room, casting oddly shaped and abstract shadows on the walls and ceiling as an enormous trout roasted on a spit suspended above the flames, giving off a mildly unpleasant smoky, fishy smell that overpowered all other scents. What looked like the majority of the inn's patrons were gathered within close vicinity of the controlled blaze, most likely due to the recent bad weather I seemed to have caused - except for the barkeep, of course, who seemed intently focused on polishing the counter of his bar. As I made my way towards the back of the room, I received a few wary, even suspicious looks from my fellow patrons, which, considering my outfit - and the state of it - I didn't really blame them for their unfriendliness. And, considering that at present I wasn't much in the mood for striking up any conversations, this was an almost welcome reception.

Just as I reached the bar, the innkeeper finally looked up from his work. The man - Wilhelm, I think his name was - had tired, sunken-looking eyes, and time, and possibly stress, had clearly left its mark on him, if the defined lines across his forehead and near his mouth were anything to go by, as well as his receding hairline. His face and clothing looked slightly grungy, and I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't in a conversational mood - and this seemed to be his default mood, as, right before my companions and I began our trek up to High Hrothgar, we'd stayed the night at the inn as well, and he'd been just as 'friendly' the first time we stopped by. However, his expression changed from bored and unapproachable to slightly surprised as he took in my appearance, but then promptly regained his neutral and world-weary countenance as he half-asked, half-stated, "Here to rent a room, or get a meal?"

"Just one room, please," I replied, barely aware of how uncharacteristically bland and dull my voice sounded as I spoke.

Wilhelm merely grunted in reply, and, seeming to know better than to ask about my companions whereabouts, merely passed me a slightly tarnished corundum key, jerking a thumb towards the door nearest to my right, remarking simply, "That's your room. It's yours for the day."

"Thank you."

I proceeded to retire to my room with haste, locking myself in as soon as I'd entered it. The bags I'd been carrying dropped to the floor in a disorganized heap as I sank into a conveniently placed wooden chair, hardly caring how roughly-hewn and uncomfortable it was as I put my head in my hands, as I was now finally able to allow myself to reflect fully upon the day's events. Despite losing two friends in one day, however, I found myself strangely devoid of any strong emotions regarding that loss What I was feeling, however, was much duller than the fury, anguish, and disbelief that I'd gone through earlier - but by no means was it harmless. I was hardly over what had happened, but I found myself entirely devoid of expressing how I felt, deep down - it was as if my soul itself had been completely worn out by what I'd witnessed today. And, for that matter, all of me felt exhausted. Apparently, the act of calling down an out-of-control thunderstorm had taken its toll on me as well, as, now that I was seated, I didn't feel like I'd be able to get up from the chair anytime soon, despite how uncomfortable it was.

Despite my exhaustion, however, it was evident I wouldn't be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Every time I closed my eyes, I caught glimpses of Nightbrook's surprised face, and of the aftermath of the destruction I'd caused. After trying a few times to fall asleep, all of it in vain, I decided that it would be a better use of my time to try and do something else with my time. For that matter, sleep was probably the last thing I needed after a day like today, considering what likely waited for me there.

Damn Vaermina. Damn her, and damn this whole Forsworn affair. I should've just stayed home, I thought to myself bitterly as I ran a hand through my still disgustingly matted hair, But it's too late to change what I've already done. And I can't stray from the course I'm headed down now, either, no matter what it costs me. I just hope that I can prevent this before more people suffer needlessly - should I ever be so lucky to have something turn out right.

Letting out a deep sigh, I pushed myself up out of the chair, ignoring the protesting of my legs as I moved unsteadily towards the two bags that I'd dropped earlier due to my weariness. Paying no attention to Nightbrook's bag and whatever lay within it for the time being, I fumbled with the latch on my canvas satchel until I finally managed to get it open, and, after digging through a small library's worth of books and other irrelevant items, I found what I was looking for. I carelessly removed a bundle of clothing from the pack, then proceeding to lay it out haphazardly on the bed. For a moment, I merely stared at the garments, an indescribable and unpleasant feeling rising in my gut the longer I stood there.

The clothes were pleasant enough to look at; in fact, they were of relatively decent quality, and I had no problems with the clothing in question - it was not so much what they were, but the circumstances under which I'd required them. The memories of stocking up for the trip to High Hrothgar had been poisoned by bitterness and regret, and the dress that was now laid out before me was no exception. It was a pretty enough thing, although not particularly flashy nor rich, as it was made from linens that were dyed an intense heather gray, and the skirts of it were long enough to reach about to my ankles. The bodice of the piece was made from average-grade leather that was black as pitch, though the neckline was a bit lower than I'd have preferred it to be. I remembered with clarity voicing that particular complaint during my 'shopping trip', only to have it met with sarcasm and reassurances that it, in fact, was not 'that low'. Once, that memory might've been funny, or slightly embarrassing, but I wasn't sure what I felt about it now, aside from feeling slightly sick.

But it was either wearing this, or continuing to masquerade around in a hero's clothing - not to mention a hero's clothing that I'd likely ruined beyond repair. There were enormous bloodstains dotting my ancestor's once pristine robes, and there were a few very noticeable tears in the fabric from the earlier fight. Even if it was possible to mend the robes, I highly doubted I'd be able to do it, but wearing them was out of the question, for many reasons.

After some hesitation, I undressed slowly, trying to take care not to further damage the robes I'd been wearing as I removed them. I then folded the robes - which, at this point, looked akin to rags, albeit ornate ones- as neatly as I could, stowing them carefully in my satchel before changing into the grey dress. As I'd remembered, it fit well, although there was considerably less roomy than the clothing I'd gotten used to. But I would just have to adjust to that.

I then attempted to comb out my hair, despite the fact that I not only didn't have a mirror, but seemed to have broken my comb beyond use - that is, without the fear of accidentally harming myself while using it. After a good deal of frustration and pain, I managed to get it into a somewhat presentable state, and promptly gave up on the venture, although that left at a loss of what to do next. I knew of one thing that I ought to do, but I was loath to pick it up so soon after the day's events.

Nevertheless, after a relatively short internal conflict, I went through my pack once again, withdrawing my ancestor's journal with determination, though there was a bit of reluctance to my actions that I couldn't fully suppress. While continuing to read this particular book was the last thing I wanted to do right now, I needed to do it, even if the mentions of a certain mer might be painful to read. It was high time I learned how to fend for myself, rather than depending on someone else's skills. I highly doubted I'd have that 'luxury' where I was headed. I took a seat once again, lighting the small, singular candle on the small end table next to me with a spark before flipping through the book to the page I last remembered reading earlier that day. The pages crackled loudly as I turned them, although that sound wasn't entirely unpleasant to listen to, but I was careful to make sure that I did not damage any.

When I finally came across the passage I remembered last reading, I continued on from that point, skimming over the more personal parts of the journal for the time being. I became so absorbed in this task that I ended up reading well into the morning. I barely even realized that I'd done this; in fact, it felt like only a couple of hours had passed before the first rays of dawn cast a soft, dim glow through the thick glass of the slightly grimy windows that were present in my room, beginning to illuminate the small chamber with the light of day. Starting as I realized what time it was, I closed the journal and got to my feet, feeling slightly more rested - but only slightly. Despite being somewhat sleep-deprived from my night of reading, I felt that it was probably best that I hadn't tried to sleep that night - something told me I'd have ended up getting even less rest if I had, all things considered.

After getting to my feet, I stretched stiffly yet carefully, as, despite the fact that most of my wounds from the day before were well on their way to being completely healed, they were still there, and, if I wasn't careful about moving around for the next couple of days, there was a possibility that they would reopen - which was the last thing I needed to happen. I caught myself hoping that I would be able to catch a break on my way to Winterhold, but let out a derisive snort at the thought. I highly doubted the gods were going to allow me even that small kindness, with the way things had been turning out lately. It was difficult to feel optimistic about my future, considering who I was up against. However, I finally managed to wrench myself away from that unpleasant and dispiriting line of thought; I had enough to deal with already without those added insecurities. Yes, it was unlikely I'd succeed in my endeavor, but I was at least going to try to do what I'd set out to accomplish in the first place—especially considering that, as of now, it was more or less imperative that I would finish what I started.

Taking a long, deep breath in an attempt to combat my fears, I forced myself to try and think logically about the next part of my journey. Traveling on foot wasn't ideal for me at present, as, not only was entirely on my own, but I was also being sought after relentlessly by the Forsworn, but, at present, I had no other viable options in mind. From the looks of it, Ivarstead wasn't a popular destination for many, despite the fact that many residents of Skyrim had claimed to have made the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar. I doubted that I would have the option to purchase a horse of my own, as I hadn't seen hide nor hair of one upon first arriving in the hamlet, and, for that matter, I had not spotted anyone passing through with a wagon or carriage, which further suggested that I would be stuck walking all the way to Winterhold. At the very least, that arrangement would likely spare me the pain of having to lose anyone or anything else. That thought brought me some small, hollow sort of comfort, and, with that, I began to gather up my things, knowing full well that I should get on the road as quickly as was possible.

When I bent down carefully to pick up what had been Nightbrook's bag, I hesitated, briefly wondering if I should go through its contents before I started the next part of my journey. It hardly made sense for me to carry around his things unless they were of some use to me, and, as insensitive as that thought initially seemed to me, it was more than possible that he might have been in possession of something that could make the rest of my journey easier, and I could not afford to miss something important, even if it meant doing something I didn't feel particularly comfortable doing. I would just have to deal with my hypothetical feelings of guilt later.

Attempting to repress my unease at what I was about to do, I began to undo the simple leather strap on Nightbrook's bag, finally allowing myself to see what lay within it. At the very top, he had packed what a neatly folded spare cloak, identical to the one I had become accustomed to seeing him wear, black as pitch and crafted from exceptionally soft, fine wool. I withdrew it from the leather rucksack carefully, doing my best not to wrinkle the fabric as I laid it on the chair I had previously sat in, returning my attention to the remaining items in the bag. A good deal of space was occupied by several different colored phials of varying colors and sizes, many of them unrecognizable to me. Some were bottled in the familiar clayware that seemed to be the 'standard' in Skyrim, but other, strange-looking liquids glinted through tinted glass bottles, and yet others were made from various types of metal, and one even seemed as if it had been created from ice, especially as it was surprisingly frigid to the touch. I decided almost immediately that I would do well to leave the concoctions I didn't recognize alone, as I had no doubt that some of the mixtures that Nightbrook had kept on his person were likely very lethal.

Disregarding the phials for the time being, my eyes were then drawn to a rectangular case crafted from durable black leather, two steel buckles and leather straps keeping the container firmly closed. I picked up the case carefully, undoing the bindings and, opening it cautiously, I discovered it held a set of rather expensive looking lockpicking set made from some sort of richly colored bluish green metal—malachite, most likely. Just one of the pieces alone was probably worth more than I'd ever been in possession of in my whole life, and I was awestruck for a few moments at the simple extravagance of these tools. Nightbrook certainly must've been a remarkable thief to have enough money for something like this, I thought to myself, guilt beginning to gnaw at my conscience as I regarded the set with a renewed solemnity. It was at this point a small scrap of paper tucked into a pocket on the inside of the case caught my interest, and, hesitating only momentarily, I pulled it out cautiously, inwardly cringing as the slightly yellowed parchment crackled noisily at my touch. In slightly faded yet vivid plum ink, a message had been scrawled across it, the style of the writing very familiar to me.

Nighty,

Sorry about breaking your old set. Hope this breaks up for my destructive and glaringly obvious lack of skill at lockpicking. Unfortunately, it seems that I just won't ever be able to fit the mould of a competent larcenist.

There was very little doubt in my mind that this set had been a gift of sorts from my ancestor, especially considering the very cringe-worthy play on words she'd somehow managed to work into a three sentence letter. The more I find out about her, the more of an enigma she becomes, I thought, feeling ever so slightly put-off as I tucked the note back into the case, placing it back in Nightbrook's bag for safekeeping. I definitely wouldn't have any need of that item, but it had clearly been of great value to him, so I wouldn't dream of selling it. However, this did bring to mind the question of how, over the course of just two generations, my family had gone from being able to buy friends incredibly nice gifts to merely eking out an existence in the hills of High Rock.

After a few moments of somewhat displeased speculation about the habits of my slightly more recent ancestors, I forced myself to resume the task at hand, although there wasn't much else of particular note remaining in his satchel. There were a few well-wrapped portions of food stored away in his bag, a couple changes of clothing, and a surprisingly detailed map—which I did withdraw from his belongings with the intent to use it during my journey to Winterhold. Also present in his bag was a very sizable and overstuffed-looking coin purse, which I also removed for my own use. Considering that I currently had less than ten septims of my own at present, I had great need of this money in the case that I would need more food, or any other traveling supplies that were imperative to my general well-being. Despite the fact I felt more than a little uncomfortable using his money for myself, he certainly would have no more use for it, and in order to properly avenge him, I'd have to get to Winterhold safely first, which undoubtedly would cost me a sizable amount, considering how far away I was. Whether I was comfortable with it or not, I would likely to have to use at least some of his savings just to get by.

Now that I had gone through all of its contents, I began to reorganize Nightbrook's bag, ensuring that I left nothing I had removed from it behind. When I grabbed his spare cloak, however, I paused, staring contemplatively at the garment. After a few moments, I donned the article of clothing somewhat hesitantly, fastening its plain-looking pewter clasp at the base of my neck. There were several practical and symbolic reasons for me to do something like this, but, at the time, there were no such thoughts in my head—it had been an act driven simply by an unconscious yet overwhelming impulse. I then proceeded to refasten the straps of Nightbrook's pack, tying the strap of my satchel to his bag before hoisting the rather heavy load onto my shoulders. I was unused to walking around with such a great amount of things on my person, and it was certainly not going to be pleasant to carry for several hours a day, but I wasn't about to leave anything behind, as, presently, my need to hold onto my friend's belongings overrode my sense of practicality.

Now that I no longer had any need of its privacy, I left my room, unlocking the door and leaving it ajar upon my exit. A quick glance around the main room of the inn informed me that, aside from Wilhelm, no one else who might've been staying at the inn had awoken just yet—if, in fact, anyone else had been staying there in the first place, which I somewhat doubted, considering how sleepy of a place Ivarstead seemed. The innkeeper looked up briefly when I walked in, but, when I made no move to go towards him, he once again directed his attention to the dented old iron tankard he had been cleaning prior to my entrance. As I wasn't feeling particularly hungry, I saw no reason to stay at the inn any longer, and headed towards the door with a renewed sense of determination. Even though my friends were gone, I still had a goal to accomplish, and it was one I could achieve on my own. I had started out alone, and I would damn well finish my quest alone too, if that was what it took.

Drawing the cowl on Nightbrook's cloak over my head, I stepped out into the pale morning sun, ready to face whatever it was the day would bring.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Helvia's officially setting off alone, for better or for worse. Whether she makes any new friends or allies on her way there, or whether she even makes it there, remains to be seen. And, for that matter, is she really prepared to face anything stronger than a mudcrab or a wolf on her own? Only time will tell.

In all honesty, though, I'm really excited to be moving onto the next major bit of this story. I have a ton of new characters to introduce, and I hope you'll like (or enjoy disliking) them as much as I do.

~~~~~

QUESTIONS:

Question (From themainidea to Helgír): If you could take away the responsibility of being the Dragonborn, would you?

Answer (By Helgír): Without a doubt, yes. It's difficult enough being related to the late High King. Currently, I'm being expected to deal with two rather unpleasant issues that I'm hardly qualified to 'fix', and it would be a great burden removed from my shoulders to not have the Dragon Blood.

Question (From jordanmccombs03 to Helgír): Were you even slightly, maybe just a tiny bit jealous of how badass Helvia was with her sparky death storm?  Do you wish you had those powers?

Answer (By Helgír): Not particularly. It clearly took a toll on her, and it seemed that she had just as little control over herself as I do when my... lineage decides to interfere with my daily life. I'd prefer to avoid having yet another such taxing and unpredictable handicap on my life, although, if she can find a way to manage and harness such an ability—which I think could be possible—, it would certainly be an impressive and useful skill to have.

Question (From o0LondonRain0o to Helvia): What do you think of Helgir? Not just romantically, but what do you think about his personality in general? Like, do you think he has any annoying traits? xD

Answer (By Helvia): I think he's a good person, but he certainly has his issues. You probably know as well as I do what a temper he has on the occasion that he gets upset, and he could be a little more open minded than he is. He's a natural pessimist, too, but, aside from that, I haven't noticed anything particularly terrible or shocking about his character. And, considering what sides I have seen of him, I believe that he's all around a very upstanding and kind person. He's the sort who can get things done, once he realizes that he's the only one capable of making certain changes, and owns it.

Question (From caroline333c to Mel): What was your relationship with Nightbrook, and is he with you now, cause ya know, u both are dead.

Answer (By Mélisande): We're both dead? Really? How insensitive of you. I can assure you, dear reader, that I am by no means dead, and he is certainly nowhere near my plane of existence. No, I'm sure Nocturnal's dealing with him now. The two have an odd relationship, it seems. But as for your first question, we used to be pretty close friends. And, for a time, I did find him attractive. But that time has passed, and we have both changed a good deal.

Question (From KateMarie88 for Helvia): Is the black sword from your ancestor's memory the same sword you carry, and if so will there be some kind of significance to this?

Answer (By Helvia): I have absolutely no idea.

(Nah, it's not. Atellus' sword has nothing to do with Helvia's, and, in my rewrite, I'm probably going to discard the idea of an ebony sword for one of elven make, or something less 'high-level' for someone as inexperienced as she. That choice was a mistake on novice AA's part.)

Question (From KateMarie88 for Nightbrook): Do you really have Nine Lives like Mel suggest?

Answer (By Nightbrook): I'm not at liberty to say. I would have worse things than death to worry about if I tried to answer that.

Question (From Cherimdo for Nightbrook): How does being dead feels like ?

Answer (By Nightbrook): I don't know. Fancy finding out for yourself? *draws spectral bow*

(In case you haven't noticed, it's tad bit of a sensitive subject for him.)

Question (From Cruiser1967 for Snjall): What are your feelings on Helvia and Helgír?

Answer (By Snjall): *lifts head out of a patch of nearby grass, snorts quietly, and returns to his grazing*

Question (From Emberclaw12 for Nightbrook): Will you ever return as a ghost to say "Wazzup" to Helvia?

Answer (By Nightbrook): I'm afraid that will never be a possibility, as Nocturnal is rather strict in her dealings with her followers. Also, why would I say that word? What does it even mean?

~~~~~

If anyone has any more questions for anyone in Mage, feel free to ask them! If they've appeared in Mage at all, regardless of how long they were a part of the story, they're open to ask questions! ^^

Well, as always, please do leave a vote and/or comment if you enjoyed the chapter, and see you next time! Good adventuring, dear readers!

-AA