"He who sups with the Devil should have a long spoon..." ¬14th Century Proverb.

 

 

  The Pale. One of the oldest Holds of skyrim, settled by the sons of Ysgramor after the mythical five hundred landed their ships on the shores of the Sea of Ghosts and cleaved the elven natives from the land. Where the Reach is unwelcoming for it's crags and the savages that dwell within them, the Pale is inhospitable for it's climate. A barren realm where the weather itself is perhaps more challenging than the beasts that stalk it's white valleys, occaisionally one finds worked timbers jutting from the frosts, the remnants of failed settlements that were once founded here and lost their battle with the blizzards, older attempts at civilization have long since faded, entire hamlets and villages swallowed by the snows, leaving no sign of their former prescence. Only three are known to my maps, Heljarchen, the capital Dawnstar and a lone lumbermill continue to struggle against the relentless winters.

 

 

  The ancients perhaps fared better, whilst their civilizations have long since passed, the collosal structures they built still dot the landscape, monuments and monoliths, tombs, cairns and barrows stubbornly poke from the snow to proclaim the grandeur of the kings and cults that ordered their building. Abandoned now of course, home only to dusty bones, Sabrecats, trolls and ice serpents that prey upon what few travellers brave the roads and when such souls are in short supply, upon each other. Riding through this cold and frigid terrain, I expected to see little, endless snow and things made out of snow, broken on occaision by whitecapped ruins. And so the sight that lay before me as I tugged upon the reigns and urged Magnus' slow plodding steps around a snowdrift, caught me entirely off guard and questioning whether the cold had bitten it's way through and started to eat it's way into my senses.

 

 

 

  Beneath the drift, nestled in a hollow carved from the rock by centuries of repeated assaults from the frigid wind was a scene entirely out of place for this cold wilderness. A long table of oiled wood and draped with ornate cloth, more at home in the palaces of kings and Yarls than this frigid backwater. Laid upon it was exquisitely cast silverware, plates, platters and bowls, piled high with fresh fruits and meats still steaming as if cooked and served mere moments ago. Pitchers and goblets of spiced wines lay beside cutlery and in the center a sculpture of a harp. It looked as if places had been set for at least a dozen guests, yet only two souls were present, a man and his dog.

 

 

  It was only as I reigned Magnus closer that I could see that it was no man. Physically he appeared to be a mer, a Bosmer perhaps, yet on closer inspection he resembled more and more the Sprite of Ivarstead. tanned flesh covered with inks, swirls, patterns and runes I did not recognise, a pair of antlers crowning his head. Like Sunberry, his face was a picture of joy, a smile and eyes full of mirth as he poured himself another goblet of wine, downed it in one and then burst into song once more. His hound seemed none too impressed with his antics, nor with my approach, throwing a cursory glance and returning to it's lazy slouch.

 

 

  "About time!"  He bellowed as I approached. "We've been waiting for you, the mulled wine is almost cold." His voice was jovial, but booming, echoing around the hollow and out across the snowfields.
"Who...What, are you?" I asked as I left magnus to trot away.
"Who am I???" A look of mock displeasure crossed his features. "Has even Highrock fallen so low they don't remember me? I who taught your kin their stories, taught them to sing and dance?" He stopped to slosh more wine into the tankard and proffered it to me, shrugging when I waved it away and draining it himself.
"I am Y'ffre. Storyteller of the forests, and the hound is Vigilance, greatest hunting and drinking companion a man could have, or an aedra for that matter. Enchanted to meet you." With a flourish of his hand he bowed low, the playful smile never leaving his lips. "And you, our sister broke the mold with you hmms? I don't think I've seen such a finely crafted mortal since the Interregnum."

 

 

  Y'ffre, Jephre in some lands, the singer, the storyteller, god of song and forest, spirit of the Now. Worshipped primarily in the Valenwood where the Bosmer credit him for creation of "the Green" all forest life from the humblest of grasses to the giagantuan graht-oaks, along with their own people and forming the pact between them. He has his places in Highrock also, brought to that land by the Dirreni. In contrast to the Woodelves who worship him for his wilderness aspects, in the Highrock his followers mostly dwell in cosmopoliton areas, Bards of Shornhelm and Stormhaven in particular, though he also finds the occaisional knights, wishing their deeds will be remembered or immortalised in song and saga.

 

 

  "The god of the green, here, of all places?" The being had me intrigued, but still somewhat suspicious.
"Sceptics, phah! Why not here?" He pulled a heroic pose and gestured to himself. "Is it because I wear this, admittedly, rather handsome form? Should I have appeared to you as an indrik? perhaps song, or a whistle through the trees?"
"Fine, then why here?"
"Waiting for you of course. We expected you sooner, perhaps you would have been sooner if you hadn't stopped at every tavern to trifle with every stud and strumpet to batt their eyes at you." He gave a chuckle and a sly wink. "You aided Sunberry, I thought it only right we repay the favour, hence, this." He gestured to the banquet laden table, indicating I should sit. "Vigilance's idea, I was pondering what to get you, he said it was a long journey and you would likely be hungry and tired. Smart hound that one."

 

 

  He was right about the hunger, those taverns had slowly dissipated the further north we ventured, ceasing to appear at all once we had passed Heljarchen. The banquet laid before me was mouth watering, given the mischievousness of these spirits I half expected the food to be illusiory but the first bite put that theory to rest, the meats were succulent, venison, fowl, basted in honeyed meads, vegetables and fruits and enough wine to drown even the Alik'r. There were kings in Evermore that did not dine so fine as this. I dined heartily, all the while wondering at my strange host and his connection, to the dryad of Ivarstead. For his part he offered no answers, instead strumming upon a lute and accompanying it with song. His voice was beautiful, some of his ballads I recognised, others were alien, all were mesmerising.

 

 

 

 

 

  "Had your fill?" He asked, setting his harp aside. "Good, Sunberry would give me endless headaches if I left you unsatisfied. Still you haven't drunk to insensibility I hope. You will need all your wits when you reach your destination, dark things are waiting there."
"You know I travel to Dawnstar?" Suddenly interested once more I shook my head to try and clear the haze the wine had brought me and pay attention. "What are these dark things that dwell there, the cult?"
"This, I do not know, but there is a bleak pall over that port." He shook his head "It is a powerfull one if it can hide from even my sight, I suspect a wayward sibling. Be watchful"
"All the more reason I should press forward then." I pushed to my feet and gestured awkwardly to the table. "Thank you for...well, all this."
"So soon? You should not exert yourself so soon after dineing, especially not on a feast as magnificent as this." The man held up a hand, looking concerned for a moment then smiling once more. "Stay a while and rest it off, besides, perhaps there is more we can do for each other."
I could use the rest, and whatever malevolence hung over dawnstar, I'd be of little use thwarting it with my head so misty from over indulgence. "More? What do you have in mind?"
"Simple, a trade. I will grant you the blessing of Y'ffre. And you, can offer the blessing of sister Dibella."

 

 

 I'm not sure if it was the wine clouding my good judgement, or his mesmerizing smile and the intoxicating twinkle in his eyes, but I accepted his trade. The Nords say Dibella was a bed-wife to Sheor, I doubt any of her mortal followers have ever laid with a god. Not that I was convinced yet that this being was a divine, an aspect perhaps, an avatar,  or just another mischievous nature spirit of the forest. He certainly had more stamina than most mortal men. At some point I became aware of another participant, a rough tounge probing my hind, bringing another brief flashback of Sunberry and Amarok, but the thought had barely formed when he mounted and I was lost in the moment once more.

 

 

  At some point the being got to his feet and merely watched, still with that endlessly charming smile. "I can see you two are still enjoying yourselves. I'll leave you to it and find some more wine, hmm?" and with that he stalked off. The hound, Vigilance, seemed not to notice nor seemed to care. He continued to pant and pump, I continued to wail and murmur. Despite my dealings in the Rift, the feeling of a beast thrusting into my slits was still alien to me, and despite all the questions that went through my mind the first time, it was still a pleasurable experience.

 

 

  At some point the hound finished and pulled away. I remember little of the rest of the evening. I vaguely recollect Y'ffre returning, I recall far far more wine flowing between us, I'm sure there was more song and a hazy memory of the being unravelling a bedroll and laying me upon it, and after that, nothing. There was also nothing when I awoke. The god? Spirit? The being, and his hound were gone, as were the table and  the cookfires. The sculptre was absent, no discarded plates or winebottles, other than the bedroll I was wrapped in when I awoke, there was no sign any revelry had happened here at all, even footprints had dissapeared. The only other living soul in the vicinity was Magnus, standing dutifully, waiting for the journey to continue.

 

 

 Dawnstar was not so far from our stopover, a few hours ride perhaps, but we rode slowly along the roads. Not that the nights after effects had caught up with me, the alcoholic haze had lifted and no hangover troubled me. Mostly I took my time to mull over the previous nights events. A mirage perhaps? Had the cold numbed me so much I had halucinated the whole affair or had I actually brushed, if even briefly, with the Divine?

 

 

 

  The thoughts vanished as I reached the capital. Whatever villainy Y'ffre had spoken of, there was no physical sign upon the town itself, no bleak fog or roiling mist. But the people, the people were certainly under some malaise. It almost seemed as if the after effects of my nights drinking had affected the townsfolk instead, they were moved sluggishly, heavy bags rimmed their eyes, guards at the gate struggled to stand to attention as I passed, a woodcutter, missed his mark, instead dropping his axe. As I dismounted and handed the reigns to a stableboy he stumbled toward the stables leading Magnus along with a yawn.

 

 

  The Tavern, the Windpeak Inn, was no better, the few souls within displaying the same slumberous lethargy I had seen outside. The bartender seemed to have trouble keeping himself upright, giving himself a pinch every time his shoulders began to slouch and his eyes droop. Only a small gathering by the bar seemed animated, two women and a Dunmer clad in robes. I could hear their raised voices, had they more energy it might even have been a heated argument, it at least was more audiable than the drugery and mutterings I had been greeted with so far in this town.

"Normal? It's a curse, an evil omen, it has to be..." The woman was distraught, her face was covered with the soot and dust, traces of a long shift in a mine, but the same weary look I had seen elsewhere haunted her eyes.
 "Please Fruki, calm yourself." The Dunmer placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "The priesthood is doing all it can, in the meantime put your faith in the Divines and all will be well."
His words seemed to have the desired effect and the trio dispersed but the slow shake of his head and the rubbing of his eyes told me whatever troubles the town was having was putting a great deal of strain upon him. When he looked up more he peered right at me, then his gaze lowered and to the amulet at my neck and finally smiled.
"Mara be praised." He whispered with a sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I took a seat whilst the Dunmer gathered drinks, the bartender, "Thoring" I had learnt, had in his drowsiness spilt as much upon the counter as into the mugs. The Dunmer sat opposite and after taking a deep swig of his ale spoke once more.
"I'd given up hope any relief would come, thought that the other temples had all but turned a blind eye to Dawnstar's plight. And yet here you are." He set his tankard down and gave me a weary smile.
"Who are you and what happened here?" I took in the sleepy tavern once more then turned again to the Dunmer. "I heard talk of a curse."
"I am Erandur, priest of Mara. And a curse is their theory. From my investigations so far I fear the truth may be far worse." The priest sighed.
"What have you learnt?" I set my tankard down, the mead's warmth was welcome, but I had no wish to repeat the antics of the previous night.
"Their lack of sleep, the repeating nightmares. I believe the affliction Daedric in nature, likely the princess of dreams, Vaermina, and it emenates from the tower upon the hill."
I'd seen this tower as I approached the capital, and figured it was the lighthouse, perhaps once upon a time it was, I learnt newer structures now served that function, one above the town and one along the coast.
"I had hoped to return there, penetrate the place and put an end to this malady. But I fear I am not up to the task, and so I remained here, helplessly watching them suffer as I waited for aid."
"It is not the reason I came to Dawnstar." I put the tankard aside and pushed to my feet, buckling Hamal's blade back onto my belts. "But I cannot let this evil stand."
"Steel yourself then. And follow."

 

 

 

 

  The Tower of Dawn the locals named it, Erandur assured me it was but a short walk from the town. As we approached I could see that it was not simply a tower, once a whole fortress had stood here, broken ruins and collapsed walls littered the area around it, even stout imperial keeps it seemed, could not stand against the march of time and the merciless winters of the Pale. The interior was likewise ruined, dark and grim a pale blue mist swirled around our feet, there was a small makeshift shrine to mother Mara, no doubt Erandur's doing. Pews and benches were shattered and broken, strewn across the room, the entry was perhaps once a chapel, but no shrines or tapestries, no statues or carvings remained to identify the deity it was dedicated to.
 

 

 

 

 

"Come let me show what I believe to be the source of this corruption." The Dunmer lead me past the chapel, through doors I had previousy not seen and along stair cases winding into the fortress' depths, it seemed the tower stretched as far downwards into the earth as it did upwards towards the sky. Dust and debris lay everywhere, yet there were tell tale signs, recently opened wine bottles, plates of food still steaming against the cold, footprints in the dust, someone had been here recently. The dunmer beckoned me to follow and led me to a grate in the wall, from where we could see down into the center of the tower where some object was encased in power, the distance and the shimmering of it's shield made it difficult to make out, but Erandur filled me in on it's nature.

"Behold the Skull of Corruption." His voice was low, almost reverential. "The source of Dawnstar's woes."

 

 

 

The Dunmer stepped behind me and his voice lowered even further, taking on a more malevolent tone.
"And the closest you will ever get to it."
There was a thud and with that the world went black.