A changeling's visit to Skyrim

“…’s waking up… …et me talk to… …et back and stay there.” Fenora managed to hear as her eyes creaked open and her hearing came back to her “Hey there Fen, you feeling alright?”

Stross was kneeling by her side as she lay wrapped in a bedroll on the icy ground. Looking past him, she saw the city of Windhelm, in all its racist glory.

“Str- Stoss.” She tried to speak his name, but he quickly shushed her.

“Try not to talk for a while. I tried my best, but that stab wound to your throat hasn’t fully healed yet.” Stross explained “It should be okay in a day, maybe two. But until then don’t speak, and certainly don’t use any of your dragon shouts.”

Fenora immediately wondered why then he had asked if she was okay and expected an answer, but decided to leave the matter be.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” came an infuriatingly familiar voice “but Mercer will no doubt reach Riften before us now. He’ll tell the Guild whatever he has to in order to label us as all as traitors. We’ll be lucky if Maven isn’t sending the Dark Brotherhood after us- Hekq cle kehc fre mir!”

“OR!” Fenora yelled as she strangled Karliah “You’ll be lucky if I don’t rip your stupid brain out through your- Keh…”

Fenora stopped her angry threats when she coughed up a bit of blood.

“Fenora, your throat remember!?” Stross half chided her.

“Translate for me.” she rasped before making a series of gestures.

“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to do this.” with a pulse of red embers, Stross transformed into Fenora and began reading the various hand signs and motions she made.

“I’m freaking pissed that you shot me and allowed Mercer to slit my throat and then dump me in the ocean while I bled out.” ‘Fenora’ said angrily.

Fenora waved her hands and clenched a fist.

“While you hid like a bitch.”

“I saved your life.” Karliah defended “That arrow had a unique poison that slowed your heart rate and kept you from bleeding out. I even stayed behind to pull you out of the water.”

Fenora frowned and gave a low growl.

“Okay, first, that’s bullspit; it’s because of you I was stabbed in the first place. Second, Stross did most of the work, all you did was start the fire and find these blankets. And three,” Fen-Stross rose her voice for emphasis “we’re still gonna beat the ever living crap out of you.”

“No no no, wait! Please, I can help you!” Karliah begged.

Fenora raised an eyebrow.

“How do you figure?” Fen-Stross asked.

“I have all the proof we need to convince the Guild that he’s betrayed them, no matter what he tells them.” the dunmer thief held up a leatherbound book with an intricate lock “Gallus’s journal, it details everything leading up to his death, and proves Mercer is crooked.”

Fenora snatched the tome out of her hands and smirked.

“Then we can just take this to them ourselves.” Fen-Stross told her.

Karliah’s eyes widened and she looked at them, pleading. “Please just let me come with you. Twenty-five years I’ve been pursuing this; for twenty-five years I’ve had to constantly watch my back and sleep with one eye open! Twenty-five years I’ve been all alone, unable to trust anyone. Please just let me come with you, if only to see this through.”

Fenora and her doppelgänger looked at each other in contemplation. Fenora rubbed her fingertips together.

“Alright, but when we get done, we expect to finally get Windcaller’s horn.” Fen-Stross told her “And a nice amount of gold for all this trouble.”

“If it means I can finally rest easy, anything in my power to grant shall be yours.” Karliah agreed.

Fenora gave a small fist-pump and looked around, throwing Stross a questioning eye and making a motion as though putting on a backpack.

“Oh, yeah, about that.” Stross rubbed the back of his head as he dispelled his illusion “I kinda… had to… leave all our gear at the bottom of the sea floor in order to bring you back to the surface. Also your clothes. You’re wearing nothing but a bandage around your neck.”

Fenora let out a squawk of surprise and quickly grabbed the bedroll and wrapped it around herself, giving Stross a hard glare.

“Well what was I supposed to do; say something sooner? That’s what the cold is for!” Stross asked before getting hit in the face with a piece of flaming firewood.

“Hold it right there! What business do you have in Windhelm, bug?” one of four burly guards stopped Stross at the gates of the city.

Seeing as how they couldn’t get their old gear back without diving into freezing cold water, Stross was sent into the city alone to buy some new gear with their remaining septims, the only other thing he'd managed to save. He asked why they weren't coming with him, but Fenora pointed out that she currently had no proper clothing, and Karliah was a wanted dunmer thief. Walking into the most racially prejudiced cities would likely get them all arrested or worse.

“Oh you know, just some shopping; some new clothes, potions, decent weaponry, maybe something to eat.” Stross answered.

“Hah! I’ll bet.” The guard spat “For all we know, you could be some imperial assassin, come to weaken our military by taking out our leaders.”

“What? No I’m not-“

“Furthermore, we’re under orders to stop anyone we think is suspicious, and you look mighty suspicious with that big stupid grin on your face. Beat it!”

“Fine.” Stross huffed and dejectedly walked away.

There was a flash of red in the distance, and two seconds later a nord in a familiar tunic and cloak pieced together from rags walked up to the gate.

“Good day guardsmen!” he hailed them.

“Well met kinsman.” they responded.

“Boy there sure is no better place than Windhelm to spend your hard-earned gold, is there? I need to head to the tavern and get some nord mead… because I’m a nord and that’s our favorite. Get some good ol’ steel battleaxes while I’m at it, maybe make fun of the other races for not being as awesome as we are.” he said almost mockingly “Can I go in?”

“Of course, we always welcome our brethren.” The guard said and opened the gate for him.

“Heh, just like Equestria.” Stross thought as he entered the city.

“I liked the big stupid grin that guy had.” The guard said as he closed the gate.

As Stross entered the city for the first time, he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the ancient architecture that had somehow stood up for all those centuries, with people constantly living in it none the less. The stonework might have looked worn and unpolished to some, but the fact that it existed spoke volumes about-

“Name’s Nils, I’m the cook up at Candlehearth Hall.” An old man said as he walked by “You can’t just throw big pieces of wood on the fire, gotta use the little bits too.”

“Uh, okay?” Stross answered, unsure why that bit of trivia was randomly given to him. However, he immediately got back on track with buying some-

“The people here call me Captian, because I used to be a sailor.” A man in a blue fleece jacket told him before continuing on his way.

“Um…”

“You come here where you're not wanted!” A man shouted angrily from Stross’s side and he flinched out of habit, but he found that he was not the target of the harassment. Instead, a dark elf woman was cornered by a pair of nord men, and they were really letting her know how much they didn’t like her kind.

“You eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!” The man on the right spat at her.

“You tell ‘er Rolff!” his friend egged him on.

“We simply haven't taken a side because it's not our fight. We shouldn’t have to fight in a war just to be able to live here.” The dunmer reasoned.

“Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!” the other nord nudged his friend.

“Imperial spies? You can't be serious! I work for clan Shatter-shield, here in the city. What would I do, report to the legion how many barrels of fish guts and mead go in and out of the harbor?” she called the two on their ridiculous accusations.

“Oh you’d like for us to think you’re so harmless. Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are.” the Rolff said as he cracked his knuckles.

“Hey back off!” Stross got between them and their target “What’s the matter with you? Threatening someone like that. And you!” he called to a nearby guard “Why are you just standing around letting this happen?”

The guard turned a disinterested eye to him and gave a dismissive shrug.

“Oh and what’s it to you then?” Rolff jabbed a finger into Stross’s chest “Are you some elf-lover?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve met quite a few elves in Skyrim and most of them were very nice people, wonderful even.” Stross said proudly. "And for your information, I've even got a girlfriend who's an elf!"

Rolff was quite taken aback by this, clutching at his chest like he were about to have a stroke. “Then you’re a traitor to your own kind.” he said with a frown “You don’t belong in this city as much as these grey-skins! Get out of our city you poor excuse for a nord!”

“Enough!” bellowed a man in fur clothing as he stepped up beside Stross. “I did not fight in a long and bloody war for our people, just to see them turn into a bunch of foul-mouthed pig-headed racists that fight among themselves. Away with you, and you too Stenvar.”

“Brunwulf free-winter? I should have known you’d take the side of this degenerate scum and those pointy-ears.” Rolff said with a hateful glare. “This isn’t the end of this. I’ll be in the Grey quarter later to give these elves a piece of my mind.”

The two of them watched as the nords stomped off. Brunwulf then turned to the dunmer they’d been harassing. “Are you okay Suvaris?”

“Yes, thanks you both. War or not, you truly are a hero Brunwulf.” Suvaris breathed a sigh of relief and bid them farewell.

“I take it you’re new in town.” Brunwulf conversed with Stross as they made their way to the market district “Not many nords around here would stick up for our neighbors from the Grey quarter like you did. What’s your name?”

“I’m Stross, and no, I’m not from around here. Is it always this bad?”

Brunwulf sighed. “Afraid it is. After the so called Great war with the Aldmeri Dominion, many nords gained a natural distrust for anyone but their own kin. Even so, Ulfric’s war propaganda is only making things worse. To get his forces riled up for the fight ahead, Ulfric has sown the seeds of hatred towards all the other races among his soldiers, and it’s trickled down to everyone else.”

“That’s horrible, I’m sorry.” Stross said, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry friend, just do your part to make the world better for everyone.” Brunwulf told him before leaving to chat with some of the merchants.

Immediately to his right, Stross heard the persistent clanging of metal on metal. He turned to see a blacksmith feverously trying to shape a blade into one like many Fenora had picked up in the ancient tombs, and his assistant adjusting the fit on some helmets.

“Excuse me sir, are you the town’s smith?” Stross approached him.

“Of course I am. What do I look like, some dog or a tavern wench?”  he snapped, only realizing his harshness a second later “Ah, don't let my words cut you too deep. I've just been working the forge too hard, but Ulfric’s soldiers need their armor and weapons from somewhere. Name’s Oengul war-anvil; what can I do for ya?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you had any pieces for sale.”

“I haven’t had much time t’ make armor for sale, but if yer desperate, you can check in that box over there; it’s full of the pieces I’ve had to reject for this reason or that.” He pointed to a rather large bin near the side of the workbench.

Stross casually walked over and rummaged through the pieces. Most weren’t too bad actually, aside from being far too heavy or bulky to be of practical use. Yet one piece in particular caught his eye when he picked it up, it was a chainmail shirt with a thin piece of soft leather beneath each layer of chain.

“How much for this?” Stross asked the smith’s assistant.

“Hah, that piece of junk I made last week? Twenty septims and it’s yours. Can’t believe you’d want to wear that though, I mean it’s flimsy and the chains are uneven and-“

“And it’s light and gives solid protection without slowing you down.” Stross said as he slipped it on, the chainmail hugging his frame. “You shouldn’t sell yourself so short, it’s a good piece.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Sure, here’s twenty-five.” He took out a handful of the golden coins and counted them out for her “Thanks!”

“Wait!” the smith’s assistant stopped him “I have something else that might interest you… stranger.”

She put her current project down for the moment and went behind the smelter, beckoning him to follow. When he did, Stross found her rummaging through a box hidden in a pile of ore. From it she pulled out a set of armor comprised of overlapping black plates grafted into the underside of a leather duster-style coat.

Stross let out a low whistle.

“You like it? I’ve been working on these for a while now. Master Oengul has told me time and again that flashy and stylized armor like this has no place on the battlefield, but I assure you, this is just as good if not better than what you’ll find soldiers wearing.” She told him with barely contained giddiness “I’ve tested my armor against swords, axes, it even stops arrows at point blank!”

“Wow… Is it for sale?” Stross asked, knowing Fenora would definitely like to have it.

“Well considering it’s the latest version of what I consider my life’s work, aside from becoming a master blacksmith that is, how about… three-thousand septims?”

Stross was sure he heard a window break in his head. Three thousand spetims was only two-hundred some-odd less than what he had with him, and he still had to buy weapons and potions.

“I’m sure it’s worth it, but that’s still a little steep for me. How about twenty-eight hundred?” he offered.

The woman sighed. “It took me days to make this, and it cost me a good amount of my pay to get the materials. I’m afraid I really can’t go lower than twenty-nine fifty.”

A lightbulb went on in Stross’s head, and he got a brilliant idea. “What if I told you that this armor is for the legendary Dragonborn, and she’ll be wearing it while we save the world together from Alduin the dragon-god of time?”

The woman was silent for a moment as she looked over the nord before her, then she broke out in a bit of laughter. “Oh wow, that wasn’t half bad. You know what, just for that, and for that little tip you gave me for my other piece, I’ll knock off a hundred gold.”

“Should have know she'd take it as a joke. Eh, close enough though.” Stross thought as he handed over the money and received the set of armor.

Stross walked through the doors of the potion shop by the name of the White Phial. The store smelled strongly of burning liquids and unknown substances, and strewn across the counter and on the shelves near the back wall were potions and reagents of every kind. yet what Stross didn’t see was any store owner.

“Hello? Anyone in here?” he called.

“Go away!” Barked a man’s voice from the second floor “Leave an old failure to wallow and die in his misery.”

A young man quickly descended the stairs to address his customer. “I’m terribly sorry about that sir. Whatever it is you need, please just take it from the shelves, I’ll trust you to pay for it if you so please. Hold on master!” and with that he sprinted back up the stairs.

More intrigued by the prospect of what was causing the commotion, Stross cautiously ascended the wooden planks that led to the second floor. From there he observed the man trying to get an elderly altmer to drink some green medicine, only for the bedridden elf to violently slap it away and demand that he be left alone.

The man did as he was told and sullenly left the room, barely registering the fact that Stross was eavesdropping on him.

“Do you need some help?” Stross asked as the two walked back downstairs “Because it looks like you need help.”

“I doubt there’s anything that can help master Nurelion now.” The man, whose name was Quintus, said sadly.

“What do you mean? Is he sick?” Stross asked, wanting to know if he could help in any way.

“Oh he’s sick all right, but his ailment can’t be cured by any medicine we can create. It’s a sickness of the heart.” Quintus told him “All his life he’s searched for the legendary White Phial, a flask made of never-melting snow from the throat of the world, capable of replenishing any liquid you fill it with. We’d finally managed to track down its resting place, but once we’d nearly gotten killed retrieving it, we found it was broken, and unable to hold anything.”

“So… why not fix it?” Stross asked the obvious.

“It’s not that simple!” Quintus though on that a while “Well okay, maybe it is that simple, but there’s still a problem. There are three ingredients I need to repair it; powdered mammoth’s tuck, a briar heart, and a bit of never-melting snow from the throat of the world. I have the first two on hand in the store, and I’d go and make the pilgrimage to the Greybeards myself, but master Nurelion has been getting worse every day, and I’m afraid to leave his side to make the journey.”

“Well, I know the Greybeards. I’m kind of on a quest to save the world right now, but the next time we head up to see them, I can get some of that snow and bring it here to you.” Stross offered.

“Really? That would be wonderful, thank you.” Quintus looked on the verge of jumping for joy “Tell you what friend, it isn’t much, but since you’ve agreed to help, I can give you a discount on any potions you need.”

“Awesome! I’m going to need some health potions, and maybe a couple antidotes for general poisons.” Stross said as he pulled out his coin purse.

“Good thing you don’t need stamina potions, Susanna makes sure we’re always sold out.” Quintus gave a hearty chuckle.

Stross raised an eyebrow, indicating he didn’t get the joke.

“She’s a bit of a whore.” Quintus explained.

With just over two-hundred septims left in his purse, Stross still needed to get at least one decent weapon for Fenora to use. He had his magic, and had held onto that cursed blade of f*ck-your-healing-potions that only he could use due to the fact that he didn’t need to touch it, so he didn’t need anything else for himself.

Of course they could simply wander around until they found some bandits, beat them up and take their weapons, but that system seemed to always be pretty hit and miss. On rare occasions they’d find an enchanted claymore of lightning or something awesome, but most of the time the rabble of thugs would be wielding blunted iron swords and axes.

Fortunately, he’d overheard talk of a shop that sold discount weaponry in the Grey-quarter.

As soon as he wandered into the alley that led into the section of the city reserved for the dark elves, he noticed quite a difference in tone. The stone walkways were filthy compared to the ones in the upper markets, likely due to the gutters leading right into the streets. Even though the stairs led downwards into the warren-like homes, the walls around them still rose up high above them, blocking out much of the sky and leaving little room for the stale air to vent.

Overall, it was a very dingy and miserable place.

Stross was able to find the shop rather quickly as it was both the first on his path, and the only place that looked like an actual business. “Sadri’s used wares” the sign outside proclaimed, though the effect of having a proper sign was more like putting a fresh coat of paint on a broken board.

Stross walked through the door and was cheerfully greeted by a dunmer man behind the counter.

“Hello my friend! Welcome to Sadri’s used wares, I’m Revyn Sadri. How may I help you?” he said, making sure to crack a chipper smile.

“I need some weapons for a quest of great justice with a side of vengeance and getting paid.” Stross told him.

“Ah, of course. We seem to have a lot of people doing that these days.” Revyn said and reached below the counter “Take a look through these, they were brought in just this morning by some intrepid souls who returned from a bit of dungeon delving.”

Among the assorted weapons were quite a few iron maces, a couple swords with chipped blades, and one or two longbows with frayed strings, all of them with more than a few lingering blood stains.

“Is this all you have?” Stross asked as he put back a pair of daggers.

Revyn sighed, his cheerful demeanor falling apart. “Unfortunately yes. Everything you see here is brought in and sold to me by adventurers like yourself. Ever since the Jarl made the guards get all choosy about who they let in the city, business has been rather painfully slow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Stross looked over the assorted second-hand weapons and got to thinking “Do you have any ingots? Any kind of metal will do.”

Revyn turned quickly rummaged around inside a crate. “I’ve got a few steel ones, and an ebony one if you’re interested.”

“Yes.” Stross clapped his hands together “I can definitely make this work. How much for two steel, the ebony and this two-hander?”

“I’ll do it for two-hundred.”

“You have a deal my friend.” Stross told him and handed him bag of coins.

Revyn practically jumped over the counter to shake Stross’s hand. “Thank you sir. I’ll be able to last the week due to you.”

With the ingots and sword and an idea in his head, Stross walked out and back to the upper markets.

“I’m sorry… you want to what?” Hermmir, the blacksmith’s apprentice and assistant asked, cleaning out her ear at what she just heard.

“I want to take this iron two-hander and turn it into a single-edged piercing sword, using Ebony to coat the blade and steel to reinforce the spine while tempering the whole thing with my flame magic. Can you help me with it?” Stross quickly repeated.

Hermir stared at him for a second and a smile slowly crept across her face. “Let’s do this.”

And so for the next hour the two were hard at work on the sword, all the while under the disapproving stares from Oengul for ‘butchering smithing as an art and a duty’.

“Alright, keep track of how much material we’re grinding off from that side, we’ll need to put the same weight in steel once we reinforce it, otherwise it’ll be unbalanced.” Hermir told Stross as he ground off one side of the sword.

…

“Get ready, I’m heating the ingots now.” Stross said and floated the two steel bars between his hands.

Hermir flinched a bit when the illusion peeled back from the magic flowing out of them, revealing his black, corroded scales.

“Don’t worry, that’s just… um, a side effect of casting magic this hard.” Stross lied “It happens all the time, wears off when I stop.”

…

“Okay… now the ebony. Ready?”

“Ready.” Stross held up the ball of liquefied molten metal in his telekinetic aura.

Hermir slowly plunged the blade through the orb, coating the entire surface of the blade in black. Afterwards she quickly moved it to the worktable and stared hammering the edge. Once that was done, she plunged it into a nearby trough of water to quench it.

As the final step she handed it back to Stross, who channeled his flames into the blade rather than around it, completely fusing the different metals together. A bit of magic shot out of the surface as it was quenched a final time.

The result was a thin, two-handed straight-sword with a single blade, its black outer coating magically etched with a flame pattern.

“Wow.” Hermir said breathlessly “Nice job mate!” she slapped Stross on the back.

“Nice job yourself. I probably would have messed this up super bad without your help.” Stross returned the compliment “So uh… how much will this cost? I’m kinda low on cash.”

“Oh don’t worry. You already bought my special armor, so this one’s on me.” She told him “And besides, it was worth it to get away from the grind of making fifty identical helmets and swords all day, every day. Just make sure to slay lots of baddies and beasties with that, eh?”

“You got it. Fenora’s gonna cleave Alduin in half with this thing.” Stross thanked her and left.

Hermir chuckled and shook her head. “He’s still goin’ on about that.”