The Harmony Scrolls V: Skyrim

The Harmony Scrolls V: Skyrim

Chaper One

The Hall was silent. Dead silent. The initiates, the apprentices, the old, the young, they were all there, crammed into a small circular room. Today was a day for the record books.

"Milo of Whiterun, you have completed your training here at the College of Winterhold, and I am quite certain we all know that you have exceeded everyone's expectations," Savos Aren said with a chuckle. Whether he was laughing for the fact of how well the young mage had done over the years of his studies, or the fact that a Nord had actually been able to enroll without causing trouble for the faculty was up for debate. "And so, today, we hereby recognize your graduation from The College of Winterhold...with flying colors, I might add."

The men, mer, and few equines in the room all cheered enthusiastically, their voices rising up across the marble walls and reverberating around the Hall of Elements. A tall, slender young Nord still in his prime, unlike most of the other mages at the College, stood up from his kneeling position. He wore a long, royal blue tunic with a shawl that had the insignia of the College crocheted on it, and ancient Aedric symbols made up the lining of the robe where the seams were. His face was that of a man who had not reached thirty yet, and his hair was white as pure snow, except one strand, which hung down in the middle of his face. That strand was a lavender color.

"Thank you, Archmage," Milo said as he stood up. "I will make the best of my education here, and I will never forget you." With that, most of the company clapped for a few more seconds and quickly disbanded. After all, the College is not known for its celebratory affairs. Bowing one more time to the Archmage, Milo turned and made for the exit to the courtyard.

It was harrowing and cold outside, just as it always was in Winterhold. The sky was ashen grey from the snow clouds, and small crystals of frozen water fluttered by on glass wings.

"I'll bet it feels good to get out of this cold for once, eh?" an old man said. Milo wheeled around sharply to see Tolfdir staring up at the sky with him. Milo relaxed and smiled at his mentor.

"Of course, Tolfdir," he replied. "I can't wait to return home to Whiterun."

Tolfdir looked back down at Milo and said, "Shall I hire you a horse and carriage or just a horse?"

Milo laughed. "Neither. Walking would be better for me after staying in the College for seventeen years."

"Are you certain? The roads are destined to be rife with thieves and wild animals. You'd at least have protection in a carriage and a means of escape if you had a horse."

Milo gestured to the coastline out of a window to his left. "I prefer the view of the icy coast and rocky mountains. You can't stop to admire that inside a moving carriage and besides, we both know I'm highly adept at doling out punishment."

Tolfdir thought about this suggestion and eventually sighed with a smile. "I suppose you are correct. In that case, let me give you a small parting gift..." he said as he reached into his robes.

"A gift? For me? Sir...you really shouldn't have..." Milo began with humble astonishment.

"No, no, young wizard, I insist," and with that, Tolfdir revealed an ebony staff with a glowing amethyst placed in the hilt of the pole. Milo's pupils became nearly invisible.

"My gods, is that a...?" he choked. "A...staff of raising the dead?"

Tolfdir nodded. "I noticed you eyeing the one used in the College and practicing with it on Skeevers every so often. I thought you would be pleased if you had your own," he said as he held out the staff out to the graduate. Milo reached out with pale, shaky hands and gently took the staff from Tolfdir. He stared at the polish on the hilt and the carved design of a skull on the tip for seemingly hours. He looked up again at his mentor.

"Sir, you really shouldn't have. You know how other mages treat necromancers."

"Well, then, just keep that staff hidden from them, eh?" Tolfdir replied wryly.

Milo smiled and raised the staff over his head and placed it on his back. He then bowed to his ex-teacher and walked out the overpasses and onto the decrepit and run-down stone bridge, and just like that, he had left Winterhold.

The blizzard had died down after Milo had walked a couple miles south. The cold didn't bother him much anyway, being Nordic in descent. And of course, he had lived in Winterhold for seventeen years.

Milo kept moving his head and eyes all around the scenery. Nothing had changed much, only a few new saplings dotting the side of the road and some crumbling cobblestone fences. Looking forward once more, Milo could see a figure casually walking towards him. As the figure came closer, Milo sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, a Dark Elf. Fantastic."

As the two wanderers came closer, Milo tried not to look the elf directly in the eye. His efforts weren't good enough, because the Dunmer slowed his pace and reversed direction so he was walking in step with Milo with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Hello there, traveler," he said smoothly. Milo held his tongue. "You look a bit worn," said the elf.

"I'll have you know I've only walked two-and-a-half miles," Milo retorted trying not to show his frustration.

"And you're certainly going to walk more. Don't ask, I can tell. You look like the sort who likes to travel and not stay in one place for long." Milo said nothing, trying to control his breathing and picked up his pace slightly. The Dunmer quickly skipped ahead and whipped out a small purple vial, holding it in front of Milo's face. The Nord stopped on a dime, looking at the elf disapprovingly. "Which is why I'd like to offer you this bottle of Skooma. You'll be feeling so good, you won't even realize you've arrived at your next destination. It's only fifty septims," the dark elf suggested.

"No, thank you," Milo said pushing the elf aside.

The Dunmer straightened up and strode off muttering, "Hmph! I can see why men and mer hate each other. I'll go talk to someone who's more interested in commerce."

Milo kept his eyes fixated on the dark elf until he was over the hill. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thought he would never leave," he sighed, and he walked on through the wilds.

Milo had passed a couple small towns and a brewery where he ordered a small bottle of Alto wine. The road was more lush now, with greener grass and a thicker canopy of leaves in the trees. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

There was a small rustle in the bushes to Milo's far left. He turned his head sharply. Nothing there...or whatever made the noise, it was gone now.

Milo cautiously took two more steps forward...

...And from behind a small grove of trees, two Timberwolves burst out of the underbrush, howling madly.

Milo saw them just in time to jump backward and ready his hands. One of the Timberwolves snarled, bearing its splintery fangs and charging straight at Milo. He rolled to the right and hurdled forward as the second wooden predator lunged forward and tried to bite the wizard in half. Milo rolled as he hit the ground and spun around and took aim with his left hand which began to spit gouts of fire. The wolves instinctively shrunk from the flames, just as Milo had predicted. He reached to his back and pulled out another staff, one that channeled lighting through the sapphire in its hilt. With a flick of the wrist, the staff shot electricity at the beasts. As soon as the tip of the bolts hit their mark, fire erupted from the wooden bodies of Milo's adversaries, who panicked and desperately tried to quell the flames once set ablaze.

Their efforts were all in vain. Within seconds, nothing remained of the Timberwolves' life force, leaving only burnt ashen bark instead. Milo strode carefully up to the carnage he wrought and by pushing his palm out, he caused the wolf to flip over via some invisible force. He then made quick fluid motions with his fingers and pointed at the wolf. Almost instantly, a gust of wind put out what fires remained. Milo then inspected the wolf and using a steel dagger he kept in one of his pockets, carved out its eye. He cautiously brought the orb to his mouth and nipped it with his canine, and he immediately felt slightly weaker.

"Hmm. Interesting," Milo pondered. He walked slowly over to a tree and sat down, taking out a journal. He opened it to a page documented with some of the wildlife of Skyrim. He then wrote, "Timberwolf eye: deplete stamina" in the notebook and closed it again.

"I suppose I'll rest here until the effect wears off," he muttered. He laid back against the tree for a few minutes. The silence was almost overwhelming. Milo could hear birds chirping from yards away, and the wind whistled through the trees, playing a symphony conducted by the wilderness. Yes, Milo could hear almost anything in the calming quietness.

Including dual iron daggers being unsheathed right behind him.

Milo's eyes shot open and without hesitation, he rolled forward just in time to hear two almost simultaneous thunk-ing sounds behind him. He stood up and spun around again to see a thief with her daggers stuck in the trunk of the tree as if she had swung around the trunk. The brigand pulled her daggers out of the tree and walked around it. She had on basic thief attire: dark robes, gloves and leather boots, optimal for sneaking. What struck Milo was that she was an equine. The equines were pacifistic...usually. There have been exceptions. This was clearly one of them. Her coat was dull pink, and her hair hung straight down with some of the ends bound up in leather, a trend many races borrowed from the ancient Nords when Ysgrammor came sweeping across the north with his five-hundred champions.

The thief held out her hand. "Your septims or your life."

Milo stood straight up and spread his arms as if he were presenting himself at an altar. "Do I look like I'm the type of man who has any money?"

"With that steel dagger? I'd say yes," the bandit replied.

"This was a gift," Milo explained. "I have no money to sate your greed."

The bandit took a couple threatening steps forward. "Then how about you give me that dagger and I'll make some money off it?"

Milo understood the possibility the robber had no other way to make an honest living, but his patience was wearing thin. "Not a chance," he said. "I already told you this dagger was a gift, and there's no way in Oblivion that I'll part with it."

The thief paused for a second before exiting her fighting stance and turning around and saying, "Have it your way." In a second, she wheeled around again and lunged at Milo, her daggers glinting in the sunlight. Milo instinctively pulled out both his two staffs, the Staff of Sparks and The Staff of Raise Dead, and engaged in a one-on-one duel with the bandit.

She swung left. He blocked right. Her movements were sharp and fast, and Milo was sure that if he hadn't been trained as a battlemage, he would have had his throat slit by now. He thrust his staffs forward and she made a quick handspring backward, coming out of the motion by hurling one of her own daggers at Milo's head. He quickly jerked the Staff of Sparks upward, blocking the dagger and hitting it at such an angle that it went sailing straight up into the sky.

Quick as a flash, they both got up close and personal with each other, launching and landing a flurry of blows to the head, chest and arms. After a few seconds, they both leaped back form the brawl. There were very few places that weren't bloody. Milo's lips were oozing red and there were patches of his blue robe that had turned purple. The thief had gotten blood on her long hair and her arms were now cut and punctured along the forearm. They were both breathing heavily.

"Heh. Not bad for a wizard," the robber attempted to insult Milo.

"Not bad, for an Equine," Milo shot back.

He must have struck a nerve, because her grin gave way to a fierce sneer and she rushed Milo down once more. This time, the thief gave Milo no room for error, causing him to consider if she was a champion of Nocturnal. He could barely keep up with her, forcing him to vault backward and drop his dagger in the process. Seeing an opportunity, the thief lunged forward, snatched it up, and fled backward before Milo could react. She proceeded to rub it in by taunting Milo. "Well, how about that," she called. "How nice of you to give me such a thoughtful gift."

Milo clenched his teeth, swearing he wouldn't "let that bitch get away with this," under his breath. He considered launching a fireball at her, but that wouldn't work, because she would just dodge it. Aside from straight offensive, he was at a loss for action. He deduced, however, that she was prone to anger, due to her reaction to his insults. He just had to find a way to get her goat. And when he saw something glinting off the sun high in the sky, he knew exactly what to do. He thrust his hand outward, toward the object in the sky, clearly visible now as the dagger Milo knocked away from its flight path the thief set for it. The dagger glowed sky blue and another invisible force directed it flawlessly into Milo's hand. Milo smirked and replied, "You're quite welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take this little beauty and transmute it into solid silver." He turned around to leave, but he caught the thief staring at him with wide eyes.

Three...two...one... he counted down in his mind. Sure enough, the second after he said "one," he whipped around to see the bandit about to lodge both her daggers in his neck. However, upon seeing Milo's reflexes, her expression went from furious envy to shock. Taking advantage of her confusion, Milo grabbed her right wrist and turned the dagger around in his hand, jabbing her stomach with the hilt. She coughed and hunched over, allowing Milo to reach back, grab his staff, and swing it back around like a golf club, knocking her on her back. Milo strode forward, spun the dagger back around, and slammed it straight down...

...On a loose part of her shawl. He forced the dagger tightly into the dirt and stood back up immediately. The thief had expected Milo to run her through with her own blade, so she had no idea what to do when she realized there wasn't a screaming pain in her gut. She pulled hard to sit up, but Milo reached forward and taking hold of her forehead, pushed her back down to the ground. He then reached over to her right hand and wrenched his steel dagger free.

"I'll be taking that," he said coldly. With a minor distraction out of the way, he strode confidently away, raising his hand into the air, creating a small orb that patched up the gashes and cuts dotted around Milo's body.

Milo had put about five miles between himself and his last encounter and was steadily making progress toward Whiterun. He was just coming out of a valley northwest to the great plains of Whiterun Province, through a forest of birch trees.

"Shouldn't be much longer," Milo said to himself. He gazed up at the golden late afternoon sky. He sighed with satisfaction and brought his gaze back down to see a small band of people rounding a bend. They were barely visible from a distance, but Milo could make out a large sack being carried by another Nord and there was also and Orc in the party. He was holding a severed head by the hair. Milo froze. "Damn, more thieves. Like I haven't seen enough today already." However, they hadn't noticed him yet, gloating over their last robbery. Thinking quickly, Milo ducked into the underbrush on the left, staying low and under their line of sight. He wasn't all that good at sneaking, but he did have a slender frame and the bushes were high enough to shield him from prying eyes. He breathed heavily as he passed right next to the group, hearing their laughing and talking clear as day. Only a few seconds later, he had passed by them entirely, and slowly emerged from the low-lying flora. He fidgeted nervously as he watched their retreating backsides. He slowly crept away while keeping his eyes glued to the party of bandits. And unfortunately, that meant he didn't watch where he was going.

Milo turned around just in time to slam face-first into a tree. Knowing the bandits were still there, he didn't yell anything. However, he had been nervously fidgeting with his dagger, and he dropped it onto the cold, hard stone on the path. It resonated with a loud *clang* around the valley. Milo froze with horror as he looked down at his weapon lying still on the stone blocks half-submerged in the dirt and he soon heard someone form the path ahead call out, "Hey! Where'd that kid come from!?"

"Doesn't matter," said another, "he's a mage. Easy pickings!"

Milo looked up to see the entire group of about five thieves rushing him down, screaming wildly. Milo shoved his dagger into its sheath and took out both his favored staffs again. He brought both of them up in a defensive fighting stance and took aim at the Orc with the Staff of Sparks.

"Just...have...to kill...one..." he muttered. When the group was within a few feet, Milo licked his lips and opened fire on the Orc. The electricity arced through the air and met its target. However, it did little more than cause the Orc to slow down. The rest of the robbers were closing in fast, so Milo stopped his barrage and twirled his staffs around him, blocking incoming blows with surprising dexterity and strength. He had done a full rotation of blocking and once he made it around, he jabbed the same Orc in the stomach, causing him to flinch and stumble backward. Milo took aim once more and fired searing electric energy at the Orcish warrior.

"Oi! I think he's specifically targeting Lughel! Keep him distracted!" one of them called out.

Damn, Milo thought. They're not as mindless as I had hoped. The rest of the robbers encircled Milo, hoping to close off any potential gaps he could shoot through. Milo quickly unsheathed his dagger and put his Staff of Zombies away in order to parry blows with his other staff and strike faster with his dagger. The four other bandits were swarming him and Milo found it hard to concentrate. He quickly parried a blow on the left and spun his Staff of Sparks around his hand while simultaneously bending his torso in a circular motion to block a volley of incoming swipes by his attackers. In one fluid motion, he spun around and with a quick glance at the thieves, he rammed his staff into the ground, creating a shockwave that blew every enemy backward. Milo looked up to survey his handiwork, and noticed the Orc who had been kept away was now charging straight at him, issuing a coarse battle cry from his throat.

The Orc leaped into the air with a battleaxe and was intending to come down on Milo's skull. However, Milo gripped his Staff of Sparks more tightly and channeled all his magical energy through it. This created an ear-shattering explosion and caused all the magic-infused lightning contained inside the hilt to erupt forth in a pillar of light.

Which, unfortunately for the robbers, hit the Orc square in the chest as he was about to come down on Milo's head.

The surge of electricity was too much for even the battle-hardened Orc to handle and when the pillar died, his body fell limply to the ground. The other thieves only stared in shock at the capabilities of their would-be victim. Milo wasted no time taking out his Staff of Zombies and unleashing its dark magic on the body of his victim. After the orb of pulsing energy hit the fresh body, it began to spasm little by little with increasing intensity as it rose into the air. Soon there was another Orc standing in the place of the body. It looked like the previous owner. It walked like the previous owner. Everything about it was exactly the same as the soul who once inhabited the body, with one major difference.

"Servant...kill." Milo commanded.

There was no concept of "mercy" left in the mind of the enthralled.

The Orc charged forward, wielding his battleaxe with just as much skill in undeath as in life. While his thrall went up close and personal, Milo stood back from the fray, encircling it, and launching spells at the confused bandits attacking their ex-colleague. He had gone around the group so he was situated at the front of the path, able to run if he so desired. But he was still a Nord by blood. He loved a good fight, whether he explicitly said so or not. He had launched a few volleys of fireballs into the group, killing two of the five that remained and completely disregarded his thrall, of course, as it wouldn't attack him unless instructed; Milo noticed, however, that his Orcish puppet was slowly weakening. It took Milo a couple seconds to figure out, but he eventually got a glimpse of two arrows lodged in the Orc's flesh: one in the left arm, one in the upper back. Milo deduced the arrows were tipped with either magic, poison, or a concoction that severely weakened the undead. Either way, he was falling fast. He could not use Healing Hands, as the undead have no functioning systems to repair. He could only hope the Orc mopped up what remained of the bandits quickly.

With Milo's help, this prayer became a reality. The last one who remained was easily dispatched as Milo ran him through with his steel dagger after he did a teleporting trick in which he disappeared, caused the bandit to think he was behind him, causing him to turn around, find nothing, and receive a blade through his heart from the direction he was just facing for his troubles. In a short time, the Orcish thrall fell too, letting him finally rest in peace. Milo stood still in the center of the carnage, blood on his hands and blade. He surveyed the bodies, searching them for valuables, mainly septims, but he found something disturbing. He had looted four bodies. He was certain that there had been five bandits.

He stood up tall to look around for the alleged fifth bandit. He found nothing in the immediate vicinity and for a few seconds, and he assumed the thief he hadn't found fell of the cliff they were walking along by accident. Until he took and arrow in the palm of his hand.

Milo had pivoted just in time for the arrow to miss its intended mark, possibly his leg, and it instead sunk into his hand. Milo was made painfully aware of this fact and he screamed a curse to the Divines. He looked at his punctured and now profusely bleeding palm, and saw the tip of the arrow was pointing out of the back of his hand, meaning the assailant had fired his shot from behind Milo. Milo knew immediately that he was a sitting duck out in the open so he launched himself into the underbrush and behind a large birch tree.

Milo took a look at his bleeding hand and saw that it hurt and stung sharply, but it was nothing a Restoration spell couldn't fix. He took hold of the part of the shaft coming out of his backhand and gripping it tightly, he closed his eyes as he struggled to break it off. Once he heard a loud snapping and a sensation of burning fire, he turned his hand over and pulled the opposite side of the shaft out of his hand altogether, lightly grunting in pain. He created another orb of gold light to patch himself up and decided he was ready to face his attacker.

He sprung out of the bushes to face his only opponent, launching a barrage of fireballs and lightning bolts in the direction of his attacker only to find there was nothing there but empty space. Milo paused his barrage to observe and think. If he wasn't still there, where was he? The only logical answer, Milo thought, would be hiding in the bushes.

Milo turned around just in time to see his assailant ready another arrow, but Milo's sudden movement put him off a little. Just enough time for Milo to process what was happening and react accordingly. He readied a lighting bolt and flung it at the archer, who simply dodged it and retreated to the bushes.

"He's just as persistent as that other thief," Milo said to himself. He immediately heard some rustling in the bushes and unleashed a torrent of fire to burn away the plant to reveal nothing was there, which was followed by footsteps running across the path and an arrow coming dangerously close to grazing Milo's cheek. "Very persistent," he muttered again, feeling his cheek to find lose skin cut away by the arrowhead. Apparently, this one was an excellent pickpocket and skilled in the art of stealth as well as light-armored combat. Milo concentrated to bring lavender flames from his hand.

"Listen well, friend," Milo called out to the wild. "You might be able to hide from my sight, but you can't hide from my magic!" He concentrated again and the flames roared to life, bathing the world in a light purple mist. Milo could hear heartbeats. He could see a jackrabbit hiding in one of the bushes, made clear by its red outline. There was a fox just over the hill. He picked up on another heartbeat, which was right behind him. Unfortunately, Milo took so much time searching he was not prepared for his opponent to appear behind him and as soon as he turned around, he was tackled and forced to the ground.

"You're not leaving here alive or in one piece!" the brigand cried as he wrestled with Milo. The thief began throwing his fists down on him, trying to knock some teeth loose. Milo did not take the full brunt of the assault, blocking or moving his head side to side, but the thief did manage to land a lucky shot after a couple minutes, right on his nose. Milo's head was still reeling from the jab that caused his vision to blur from watery eyes. He could feel blood rushing down his lips and he could see the robber pull out a dagger. Milo was too dazed to react quickly and the robber raised the dagger over his head to strike the killing blow. Milo knew there was no getting out of this. His mind was too stunned by the punch the highwayman landed to form coherent thought, and by lesser extent, think of spells to get him out of this fix. He could only brace himself for his inevitable death.

Which took a long time in coming. So long, that Milo opened his eyes, which were now slightly clearer, to see why the bandit was holding off. All he could see from this angle, though was the robber in the same position he was in moments ago, but with a shocked expression that stared straight ahead. In a few seconds, the man collapsed on top of Milo, who cried out in surprise and shoved him off. The cause of his collapse became apparent when Milo looked over to check his body: an iron dagger, buried in the man's spine. Milo stared in shock, wondering how an iron dagger could suddenly materialize in a person's back. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice asking, "Are you all right?"

Milo turned around to see someone he thought (and hoped) to never see again. Her dark clothes blended her in with the settling shades of night, but her straight pink hair and coat told Milo it was the same equine thief he met earlier in the day. She still wasn't showing any emotion, as per usual. Just a condescending stare. Neither of them spoke for a solid five minutes.

"It's...you again...?" Milo asked with weak surprise.

"Who did you expect, High King Torygg?" she retorted.

Milo stared at her in shocked silence. "How...how did you...?"

"Know you were here?" she replied again. "Easy. I've been trailing you all the way over here."

"Does that...that mean you were...hiding some of your skills in our fight? Not actually showing your full potential?" he asked in awe.

"Of course," she said. "But mind you, you're the only one who has been able to keep up with me, and push me that far. I had to really watch myself when I was shadowing you, considering you can hear me if I breathed too loudly."

Milo still had another question, the most pressing one at the time. "But...why?"

She smirked and said coyly, "I wanted to see if you could transmute that iron dagger to silver," as she reached out her hand to help Milo up.

Milo initially retracted from her reach, almost positive there was a hidden poison dart up her sleeve, but slowly, he reached out and took her hand, chuckling sarcastically. "Heh, heh, heh...very funny." Milo stood up and brushed all the dirt and grime he could off his robe and continued with a stony voice, "No, really...why did you come find me?"

The thief sighed and strode over to the deceased robber and reclaimed her dagger that she firmly planted in his backside. "Do you really want to know?" Milo couldn't really think of answer that sounded right to him, but somehow, the thief took his silence as an affirmative to go ahead. She turned around and asked, "Let me answer your question with my own question...why did you spare me?" Milo only stared at her in confusion. "I mean, why in Tamriel did you let me live? You should have killed me...but you didn't. I thought Nords were emotionless killing machines, not unlike those barbaric Orcs."

Although more than a little offended at the notion of being called an "emotionless killing machine," Milo was still wise enough from his training at the College to answer, "I've never believed in mindless killing. Granted, there are those here in Skyrim that would deserve it, but I don't like to engage thieves unless they engage me first. I understand that thieves aren't evil by nature. They are evil by necessity. Am I correct?"

The equine stared at him in quiet surprise and looked as if she was about to speak, but closed her mouth and turned her head away in shame. "Exactly," Milo continued. "It's nature for you to steal. Although I do not approve of it, nature cannot be changed, or it takes a hefty amount of work to change." They were silent again for a minute before Milo asked, "You're not going to try and rob me again, are you?" just to be safe.

The thief laughed. "Not right now," she said with a smug grin. Milo kept his eyes on her with an expression that read, "Don't even try it" as he walked along the path, back on his way to Whiterun. Milo stopped before rounding the bend to hear the thief call, "Hey, where are you going?"

Milo called back, "To Whiterun. I have family there."

The Equine, seemingly intrigued now, ran up to him and asked, "Say, do mind if I...travel with you?" Milo was obviously suspicious, as he shot her a skeptical glance. "I have family there, too," she added. "Well, 'on the outskirts,' would be more appropriate, I suppose."

"How do I know you aren't going to pull a fast one on me?"

"After I saw you take care of those other bandits and...well, what happened earlier today...? Not until I get better gear," she retorted.

Milo scoffed, finding the company of this thief different than what might be expected. She seemed to be more friendly and had a sense of humor. Of course, that could just be for getting close enough to swipe some coins, so he decided not to get very attached. "By the way," she said as she held out her hand again, "My name's Pinkamena Diane Pie. Some just call me 'Pinkie' or 'Diane,' since it's easier to say."

Milo stared at her hand again and shook it without as much resentment as before. "My name is Milo. Milo Axe-Blood of Whiterun." They walked on through the night together, as both said they didn't tend to sleep much.

It was early morning, or what some my constitute as morning The sun had not shown its rays yet, but the sky in the east was growing lighter by the minute. Milo and Pinkie had been walking on through most of the night, neither one as exponentially tired as a normal person would be after forfeiting a night of sleep. Pinkie said it was in her nature to be nocturnal, while Milo said he was used to staying up, studying ancient texts. Milo talked on through the night about himself and his profession, whether asked or not. And he had much to say. He spent an hour and a half talking about his fascination with the long-dead Dwemer alone before Diane forced him off his tangent; however, she said barely anything about her past, focusing on herself in the present tense. Soon, though, the city of Whiterun was standing proudly in the distance.

Upon noticing it, Milo's eyes widened and he smiled with joy to know he was home again. He walked straight ahead, which caused him to deviate from the main road and go toward the city. However he was stopped from hiking too far ahead.

"Where are you going?" Pinkie asked with a hint of frustration.

Milo turned around and said, "Back home to Whiterun. I thought we both had family there, right?"

"On the outskirts," she corrected him.

"Exactly. Aren't they on the outskirts of the city?"

"Not the immediate outskirts," Pinkie said.

"Wait, then..." Milo couldn't understand what she was talking about until she started to walk along the path and not take any movements toward Whiterun. Milo groaned as he watched her retreating backside. "Oh, for the love of Talos...how much longer do we have to walk?"

"Oh, quit whining!" she yelled backward. "It shouldn't take that long."

Milo sighed and followed reluctantly on. I know she's going to jump me, he thought.

It took about at least seven more miles of walking, circling Whiterun and heading east, into the plains of Whiterun Hold. The duo had been walking in silence for awhile, so Milo thought it might be a good time to ask about Pinkie's family.

"Mother and Father died years ago," she explained. "They left the rock farm to my oldest sister."

"Rock farm? What purpose does a rock farm serve? You can't eat rocks, you can't breed rocks, so why on Lorkhan's green Nirn would your parents own a rock farm?" Milo interrupted.

"Let me ask you something, Milo...ever heard of a trebuchet?" Pinkie shot back. Milo understood where she was coming from, so he shut his mouth, but Pinkie wasn't done yet, as she mercilessly retorted, "It's a nifty little device that's capable of hurling large chunks of stone death up and over castle walls. You wouldn't believe how much a large hunk of rock can sell for, but then again, you humans are too afraid of accepting fate." She sighed and gently removed the hair that had gone down in front of her face during her rant. "But anyway, my other two sisters, Marble and Limestone, moved to Solitude, because they owe their lives to the Imperial Legion."

Milo scoffed distastefully at the mention of Imperials. "Damn elves..." he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Pinkie asked.

Milo replied "Nothing," and kept walking leisurely.

"No, really," Pinkie urged him. "What do highborn have to do with your Imperials?"

Milo growled and muttered damning curses under his breath before explaining, "Diane, don't tell me you haven't heard of the Thalmor?" Pinkie shook her head and Milo moaned and then chuckled disdainfully. "Oh, they have much to answer for," he continued. "The Thalmor are a subsection of the Aldmeri Dominion. Some of my brothers and sisters call me crazy, but I am almost certain they want to eradicate any race that isn't completely elven in descent. Their most condemning contribution to society is the ban of Talos worship."

"Talos? Isn't he some sort of Nordic general?" Pinkie questioned.

Milo stared at her wide-eyed and said, "It would do you good to get out more and read, lest you meet Talos on the way to Sovngarde. The man Tiber Septim, the father of Imperial rule, was more than a fantastic general. Upon his deathbed, at the age of one-hundred-and-eight, Tiber Septim, the man, was dissolved. Out of his soul, the Aedra fashioned Talos, the god-king of mankind."

Pinkie only stared at him with a cocked eyebrow. "So?"

"'So!?'" Milo cried in disbelief. "So, Tiber Septim became a Divine, accepted into the pantheon of the Aedra, as living proof that man could become as great as gods!" Milo paused for a second. "Ah, but you don't have the same pantheon of gods as men do, I believe. I remember reading that in the archives of the College," he muttered. "But still, a mortal from Nirn became a god. And now the gods-damned elves...elves...!want to see him gone. You can't just...ignore the feats of a man like Tiber Septim, can you?"

Pinkie looked ahead down across the river valley and replied flatly, "Well, it doesn't matter, because we're here." That said, she took off running down the grassy plains. Milo turned to watch her sprint forward. In front of him, he saw the foot of the great mountain where Gjukar's men had been stationed centuries before, and in its shadow lay a small farm surrounded by a wooden fence and in its fields were stone and rocks of many different sizes and shapes. Milo could also see a humanoid figure standing in front of a rock, bashing it over and over with her bare knuckles.

Pinkie picked up her pace the closer she got to the house and called out, "Sister!"

The pony standing in front of the rock stopped her task, whatever it was, and looked toward the sound of the call, squinting her aqua-blue eyes t try and make out which of her kin was calling her. She was taller than Pinkie and seemed to have more mature features, as her eyes were almost half-closed, her hair was kept in a neat hime-cut and her coat was an unsaturated shade of violet-grey. When she caught sight of Pinkie, she gave a subdued smile at her as her sister vaulted over the wooden fence. They embraced each other, her older sister holding on tightly.

"Hello, Pinkie Pie," the mare said.

"Maud, for the thousandth time, I'm not Pinkie Pie anymore," Pinkie said.

"But you are my younger sister," Maud told her flatly. "I have every right to call you whatever I want." She stared back in the direction Pinkie had come from to see Milo steadily walking down the valley slope and upon reaching the wooden fence, he spread his arms out and a spectral force lifted him up and over the fence. "And who is this?"

Milo smiled and bowed gracefully. "Milo the Axe-Blood, at your service," he said. "And I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss...?"

"Maud Pie. Call me Maud, if you want," she said.

"Not one for emphasis and emotion, are you?" Milo asked.

"She doesn't talk to boys much," Pinkie added wryly. Maud looked back at her with a subtly annoyed expression.

Maud turned back around to ask Milo, "You're a mage?"

"Indeed," he replied.

"Hailing from the College of Winterhold?"

"Yes. How did you guess?" Milo questioned as he turned his chin up and raised an eyebrow.

"I have participated in various archaeological excavations for the past few years," Maud explained nonchalantly.

Milo paused and scratched his chin. " Ahh, yes, I think I heard your name brought up somewhere in the College's interests. Saarthal, correct?"

Maud nodded steadily in affirmation and turned to Pinkie. "While I enjoy surprises, this one was...rather unexpected. Why did you visit me with Sir Axe-Blood so suddenly, sister?"

Milo and Pinkie shot a nervous glance at Milo, who aimed his eyes to the upper right, trying to avoid eye contact with both of them. "It's...a long story, sister. Listen, we were just on the way to Whiterun. We'll explain on the way there," Pinkie anxiously said.

"Yes, and if you don't mind, I'll be doing the talking, Diane," Milo added.

Pinkie wheeled around to look at him in surprise. "And why is that?" she asked.

Milo only walked back to the fence and levitated over it again, motioning for the other two to follow. "I can't trust a thief to tell the whole story as it happened," Milo yelled back.