Fire On The Mountain (A Skyrim Quest)

Workings Of Her Hand

The nap is clearly welcome, even if Do'azda is not able to enjoy all of it, and she looks over at Bathes-In-Steel. "It was often said in Elsweyr that Do'azda walks beneath Azurah's gaze, and so this one wishes to commune with her, and she knows there is a Shrine to her, built by the dunmer, far to the north. The journey no doubt will teach us other things, and it brings us close to the College of Mages, should we wish to go." She thinks about all the magic she still has yet to learn, and all the spellbooks that she still needs to study, carefully packed, waiting for her.

But there's other things waiting for her. The loot includes the potion, the ingredients… and then in the treasure chest there's two hundred Septims, a truly beautiful necklace of silver, sapphire and gold, and three rather nice little gems. She takes the hundred Septims, and after a moment decides that since she's getting the potion and the ingredients, she can leave the necklace to Bathes-In-Steel. Bathes says, "It is very pretty. Perhaps I'll keep it. I could wear it." She held it in front of her throat, apparently in all seriousness.

Do'azda considers it. It is beautiful, but it does look a little odd and gaudy when the wearer is a warrior-mage dressed for a fight. But then, Bathes-In-Steel may reach places where she can be otherwise. She thinks of the sweetrolls, and the simple kindnesses that seem to be what Bathes-In-Steel is made of.

"Do'azda is sure that it would look lovely on you," she says, in all earnestness.


The little details are not hard to deal with. They let the archer out of the cage they put her in, but only after they gather up all the weapons in the cave and toss them over the side of the platform. They rain down, followed by the armor, like a deadly storm as they bounce and dent their way to the bottom of a ravine or lying well out of reach on a brutal cliff system.

She doesn't think that the prisoner will go after them, and with all of those taken, there's not enough left in the cave to tempt them. The woman shivers and glares at them, but when the door opens she holds back in the face of Bathes-In-Steel's blade. They retreat from her, and the woman looks around at the carnage and bloodshed, the destruction of everything she's worked for, and does not weep because she's had hours to process it once she woke up.

Do'azda cannot even pretend she feels sorry, not when these are a bunch of bandits. But she does wonder what will become of the two she's let go, and what people will think when they see a destroyed bandit hideout like this. No honor among thieves? Adventurers? She doesn't know, and she decides after a moment she doesn't care, not compared to more important things.

"We should make it as far as we can," Do'azda insisted, as soon as they are on the road. "Do'azda wants to arrive at the shrine before dawn or before dusk."

"What day?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, as if this is perfectly normal.

"As soon as we can," Do'azda says. "Azurah is of the dusks and the dawnings, and she wants to honor her as she deserves."

"What is the difference between Azurah and Azura?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, as they begin to walk. "Understanding that I unfortunately know little about either." It is a reflexive 'unfortunate' she suspects, considering how the Argonians feel about the Hist. The Argonians she's known--not many, back in Elsweyr, but a few--have no place for Gods and Spirits, not because they don't believe in them, this would be absurdity, but because they're not of the Hist.

"There are many stories," Do'azda says. "I'll tell you a few, if you want to know, and let you see the truth of it. They are the same but… not. Are a mask and a face the same thing?"

"Depends on the person," Bathes-In-Steel says easily.

"All Khajiit know that Noctra was the half-daughter of Azurah, born of the blood and darkness of her killing of Lorkhan. Most know and speak with interest of the stories of how she stole Azurah's key and fled and was chased down by the spirit of her 'father' and eventually agreed to help the Khajiit from the shadows, but only if they asked. But what few know is what this one knows, and what the wise Shamans know, which is that when Azurah was making the Khajiit in secret, she was visited many times by Noctra. The Khajiit, you see, were made from the early forest people, but shaped in her image. And so where did she do this shaping, but in a sort of workshop."

Do'azda smiles at the incredulous look. "We are all workings of her hand. She is told that Argonians are this for the Hist as well. She made us, in secret, and crafted us. But Noctra came to be suspicious of how much time she was spending in secret places, crafting us. Noctra was like a child denied a toy, and when she discovered what Azurah planned, she began plotting to steal a few for herself. But each time she left with a Khajiit… in her pocket, one supposes, though it is likely a metaphor, an image--Azurah would call her back and have her empty her pockets."

Bathes-In-Steel is listening now, and they stop for only a short time before continuing onwards, once they've made it over a slight rise.

"So Noctra grew clever, and began bringing things to them. She brought the Khajiit cleverness, and sneakiness, the ability to survive and the suspicion they have of others that has stood them in good stead, and so each night she would leave having given them a gift, and Azurah would say 'What is in your pockets' and Noctra would say 'Noctra has nothing in her pockets at all, except air.' And she would turn them out, and there was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there."

"So she was tricking Azurah?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, as Do'azda begins to detour. The sun is starting to set, and yet she's not hesitating. Do'azda's legs ache but she is not going to stop. She will not make it today to Azurah, but she wants to be able to make it before dawn the day after tomorrow. If she can do this, then she'll be able to greet Azurah in the time she deserves to be greeting.

She does not want, would never want, to disrespect her. "It is only when Noctra was confronted after she stole the Key, that she realized the truth, that Azurah had known. She had known of Noctra's gifts, and wanted them to continue… but by choice only, and not be treachery. And Noctra had gotten used to giving gifts, had begun to take interest in the fate of the Khajiit because of it as she would not have before. And so Khajiit who turn to Noctra are the cleverest, the fastest, and most suspicious, the darkest and the most dangerous… she is not invoked easily, but she can give one much. Do'azda knows Shamans who would be dead were it not for the aid of Noctra, and she knows Shamans who wish they were dead after asking for Noctra's help. This is Azurah, who looks the other way but sees all, and who surely knows about Do'azda's dream."

She can give Do'azda the wisdom to know what to do with the hints leading her towards Riften, and she'll know what to do about being the Dragonborn.


It is almost time to stop when she feels it. Something is calling out to her, a sort of tug that she often associates with Rahjin. So she reaches a hand out, and he appears on her arm. He is preening, and looks different, more solid in a way she doesn't understand at all.

"You can summon birds?" Bathes-In-Steel asks.

"Rahjin is my-"

She is going to say more, but Rahjin suddenly leaps off and begins to fly, and she feels the same tug. He wants her to follow. She looks over at Bathes-In-Steel, who looks like this, of all things, is the most magical and baffling thing she's ever seen.

"Do'azda has to follow him."

It is closer to midnight than sunset. It is late fall, and yet Bathes-In-Steel follows a woman following a bird without even asking a question.


Rahjin leads them to something very strange. It is a stone of sorts, carved with a hole near the top and baffling, swirling patterns on it, almost an eye, but not quite. Around the stone are a dozen candles, all of them lit, and a few bones here and there littering the floor.

Everything is glowing. The closer Do'azda gets, the brighter it glows.

"Is this a Shaman matter, or a Dragonborn matter?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, looking at Do'azda with wide eyes. "The Ritual Stone is just a place of meditation. It doesn't glow like that."

"You've been here?" Do'azda asks.

"Yes. There are stones like this, throughout Skyrim," Bathes says, frowning as she steps closer. "I don't want to alarm you, but--"

But she can feel it too. The closer she comes, the more she can hear a chorus of voices whispering to her, a deluge that seems to grow louder and stronger as she steps into the circle around the stone. Each step she takes is like through water, but Bathes-In-Steel stops outside the circle, a hand covering her eyes.

Rahjin lands on the stone without any problems. 'Why are you moving so slow' he doesn't think at her. 'You're a Dragon. This is a Stone.'

She realizes he knows all along, and of course he does. He has to have known that, because of course he shares her soul. She steps forward, and all of a sudden there's no pressure at all. She steps closer and closer and then--her hand reaches out.

The dead slumber lightly in this land, if you just reach out they are yours and they will

never going to summon a flame Atronach again, it had burned down her house but at least she'd killed the taxman, if she hadn't he'd

have you ever heard of the secrets that lurk within even the simplest bound dagger, because

I am a Magi, One of The Wise, And I beseech you to grant me your power and boon, even if I have to drain all the

power is almost used up, like a well run dry, but there is a little bit left, and he is low on Magicka and could use a

top the hill, but nothing left, they say that the Emperor is dead and so are his sons, but what will be done by the

killers and murderers, thieves and liars, but Mages also, and she has to balance all of them and protect her people in Whiterun…

It is like hearing a hundred voices speaking in her ear at the same time, telling a story that each of them began somewhere else and continued here.

This place shouldn't be like this. It is dried up, just as the voice say.

It was dried up.

Now it is powerful, and as she holds her hand to the stone, she feels the voices coalesce into a single yearning for something beyond Mundus.

Conjuration +3, Permanently, Ritual Stone 'depleted' for Do'azda.


With the Night Falling, Do'azda has time to read a bit, and then sleep… but which to read?

Different spells take different amounts of time to learn. Do'azda can read 2 actions worth of book, tonight.

[] Spell Tome: Flames (1 action)
[] Spell Tome: Illumination (1 action)
[] Spell Tome: Thieves Vision (1 action)
[] Spell Tome: Conjure Flame Atronach (2 actions)
[] Spell Tome: Lesser Wards (2 actions)
[] Spell Tome: Healing Wounds (1 action)
[] A Handy Guide to Lockpicks (1 action)

XP Gains

Recruiting Bathes-In-Steel and Dealing With Loose Ends (5 XP)
Clearing White River Watch (15 XP)
Defeating Ironhand (5 XP)

XP: 60->85/90.


Do'azda appreciates Bathes-In-Steel the more she travels with her. She rouses Do'azda as early as she wants to, and does not allow Do'azda to grumble, because she has boiled water and thrusts a drink in front of her, heavily watered mead of the sort that might wake her up, steaming as she sips it and begins to walk.

The whole world is blustery and cold the whole day as they walk, they wade across the river, they scramble up a goat's pass into the mountains, and they barely stop to eat. Do'azda pushes them hard… and Bathes-In-Steel neither complains or lapses into the kind of silence that she expects.

Instead, she tells Do'azda stories about her childhood, of her life before her skills were known, before she had to leave Black Marsh for the job she cannot do, and Do'azda obliges by returning the favor, telling of childish crushes and bold dares and all the makings of a childhood that is scarcely over, of parents with urgent duties elsewhere, of a shaman bored of her duties, taking her as an apprentice almost by chance, almost by accident. Learning alchemy and conjuration, ducking out of lessons on knifeplay, barely attending archery lessons, her forearm stinging from the bowstring. Summoning Rahjin for the very first time; such a vain bird, she tells Bathes-In-Steel with a powerful fondness.

And they do it. As evening falls, she sees the peaks, and in the distance the shrine. It seems almost to glow, and she's reminded of the hut of widow Loraya, only barely in her thirties despite the name, who left the lantern out on nights when she lured in lovers for a quick tangling of tails, some excellent food, and company.

Twice before she'd left, Do'azda had made the trek through the brush to that hut for all the reasons one can imagine, nervous and weary, and each time she'd felt like she does when she sees the statue in the distance, like someone is waiting for her and she does not want to disappoint them, would rather die than tarry.

And she'd come close to the hut and there the widow would be, standing, smiling faintly and watching, watching, always watching.

The statue looms as they approach, the dusk spreading its fingers across the huge shrine looming above like the sweetest promise and the kindest demand. It is still probably going to take running to reach it in time to still be in dusk, but she can do it and she turns back to Bathes-In-Steel and says the only thing she can say, "Thank you."

Bathes-In-Steel nods, and up they trek to the shrine.

How does Do'azda approach the shrine?

She approaches the priestess…
[ ] Professionally courteous - they both serve the Goddess, but little else ties them.
[ ] Friendly - she serves almost alone, and would no doubt appreciate a friendly face.
[ ] Sisterly - they are the daughters of Azurah, a deep and personal connection.

She approaches Azurah herself…
[ ] As a child to her mother. With trepidation and hope both, and yet with the will to grow and become more.
[ ] As a supplicant to her goddess. With awe and yet also a distance that comes from beholding light too bright to see.
[ ] As a student to her teacher. With a mind sharp and ready to take note, and with an open heart ready to be written upon.
[ ] As a servant to her mistress. With a desire to serve but an awareness of the boundaries, roles, and limits which divide one from the other.
[ ] Write-in, subject to veto.


TL AN: It is a world of strange miracles, and growing stranger still day by day.

VM AN: We've updated the informationals, too, so don't forget to check those out. There's new quests.