A changeling's visit to Skyrim

“Thanks for the frost salts,” Arcadia said as Fenora handed her the jar. “they’ll be important for this love potion I’m making; perhaps I’ll test it out on Farenger for having others do his leg-work for him.” she joked “Here, take these as payment.” she passed her a few mixed-and-matched potions.

“Thanks, and let me know how that little 'experiment' goes.” Fenora grinned, and they shared a quick laugh.

“What’s wrong with your friend there?” Arcadia asked, noticing Stross slumped over in the corner. “Is he sick? I have remedies for nearly any ailment.”

“I’m not really sure, he says he’s hungry, but he can’t eat food like we can. He says his kind can only feed off love, of all things.” Fenora explained.

Arcadia raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t really wrap my head around it either.” Fenora admitted “According to him, he hasn’t been able to ‘feed’ in at least a few days, and by the rate he’s slowed down just since this morning, I believe it, and I’m really starting to worry.”

Arcadia was intrigued by this, she prided herself on be able to cure nearly anything with her potions. Diseases, burns, broken bones, and even hangovers were things people came to her for on a daily basis; surely this would be easy enough.

The two of them walked over to Stross, he perked up slightly as they approached.

“Stross, Arcadia want to take a look at you, she thinks she can help.” Fenora explained.

“But I’m fine.” he protested, trying to stand up straight.

“You’re not fine!” Fenora insisted “You’re going to die at this rate, and I want to help you somehow.”

Stross relented, realizing that his friend was right, he allowed Arcadia to begin her examination.

“So,” she began “what kinds of symptoms have you been experiencing?”

“Just the normal things that come from early withdrawal, like tiredness and difficulty using spells.” Stross named off a couple symptoms, but he knew that headaches, dizziness, and weakness follow not long after, and eventually the weakness and headaches would turn to pain. Fenora was right, at this rate he would die, but it wouldn’t be quick, and certainly not painless. He was glad she was eager to help, but wasn’t sure there was much to be had.

“I’m going to need a better look at you if I’m to know what I’m dealing with,” Arcadia told him “Could you remove your cloak?”

Stross nodded and pulled back his hood. Arcadia paused as she caught a look at his eyes for the first time but managed to regain her focus. However, every frame of reference she had was completely shattered when he removed his cloak entirely.

“Wh- what are you?” Arcadia stuttered as she looked over Stross’ form, black shell covering it from head to toe.

Stross stared at her for a second before answering “I’m a changeling, you’ve probably never seen one before.”

“He’s not dangerous.” Fenora quickly added.

“If- if you say so,” Arcadia took a couple of steps back “but I don’t think I can help you; I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Y- you might try Danica Pure-spring at the temple of Kynareth, she’s an accomplished healer.” she told them, now safely behind her counter again.

Stross let out a sigh. “Thanks you for trying.” he said before re-donning his cloak and heading outside. Fenora shot a glare at Arcadia before following.

“I’m sorry Stross.” Fenora said as she walked beside him out of the market area.

“It’s okay; I don’t expect anyone to react well to me. At least not without hiding what I am.” he lamented “If I weren’t so low on power

I could turn into someone else, someone that doesn’t look like they came out of a nightmare. Until then, I’ll just keep this cloak on.” he pulled the hood further over his face.

“Come on, there will always be scaredy-chickens out there, but this is Tamriel. We have cat, and lizard people here; you can’t be the strangest thing anyone’s ever seen.” Fenora told him with a smile “You’re just a little more weird than the weird we’re all used to.”

For most, it might have been hard to take this as a compliment, but it still made Stross feel better.

By the time they had reached the main gates again, they had run into Ysolda, and somehow got roped into finding a mammoths tusk for her. The mammoths tusk that she was supposed to get. Well, I guess Ri’saad never specified how she had to get it.While they were mulling over where in the world they were supposed to find one, they didn’t notice an argument happening nearby.

“Okay, I’ll prove it!” a man in an old set of imperial armor shouted to another in a fur coat.

“You there,” he stopped in front of them “Greymane or Battle-born?”

“What?” Stross asked, not understanding the question.

“You got stones in your ears? I asked you what side you’re on; Greymane or Battle-born?”

“What?”

“Are you new here or something? Where are you from?”

“What?”

“’What’ ain’t no country I ever heard of! Do they speak English in ‘What’?”

“What?”

“English mother-bugger! Do you speak it?”

“What?”

The man drew his sword, clearly quite annoyed “Say ‘what’ again! I dare you, I double dare you. Say ‘what’ one more gods damned time!”

It was at this point that several guards stepped it to break up the fight.

“Sir,” began one “I’m going to have to ask you to stop that… blatant rip-off of a cult classic. You’re going to get us all sued.”

“Fine, but this isn’t over.” he monotoned and put on a pair of shades “I’ll be back.”

“Not unless you want to pay the legal fees, you won’t.” the guard threatened as he pushed him off.

“Sorry about that,” the guard apologized “ever since the war started, the Greymanes and Battle-borns have been at each other’s

throats. Safe travels, adventurers.”

“I used to be an adventurer,” another guard started “then I took an arrow-

“That’s great, but we’ve got to get a move on. Thanks again.” Fenora interrupted as she helped Stross through the gates.

…

“Well, back to it then.” the guard turned to his once adventurous friend “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

His friend simply stood there for a while, tears welling up under his visor.

“Th- they didn’t… want to hear my story.” he choked out as a sad song began to play in in the background.

The walk back to Riverwood was quite uneventful, at least from the perspective of an onlooker. But for Stross, his feet felt like they were made of lead. Every step took a huge amount of effort, and he nearly fell more than a few times. By the time they reached the ridge where they had first gazed out upon Whiterun, he was having trouble breathing, and his vision blurred every few moments.

Suddenly a wave of intense pain shot through him, it was immediately followed by numbness and he collapsed to the ground without as much as a whisper. If Fenora hadn’t kept looking back to him, she wouldn’t have seen him fall.

“Stross, stay with me!” she said as she helped him back to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to-

“Hey, don’t worry; I’ve got you.” she pulled his arm over her shoulder and helped him forward “Let’s just get to Riverwood, okay.”

“What about the barrow, the dragonstone?” he asked weakly as they passed the fork leading up the mountain.

“You’re in no condition to make that climb. I’ll leave you in Riverwood to rest, while I go in and get Farengars’ dumb rock.”

Stross wanted to argue that he would be fine, that he didn’t want to leave her. But he knew that she was right; he had slipped into the later stages of hunger. He couldn’t use his magic, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, and if they ran into trouble along the way he’d be nothing but dead weight.

He sighed and held on to her as best he could as they made their way into Riverwood.

When they reached the interior of the town they were greeted by the sight of a small mob forming near the inn. Two figures were arguing at the head of the crowd.

“They have my sister, we have to get her back!” a man shouted “Who knows what they’ll do to her.”

“Calm down Lucan, we can’t just go charging up to the barrow.” Gerdur told him “Those bandits are too well armed for the likes of us.”

“But we have to do something.” an elf joined Lucan’s side “I love Camilla!”

“I love her more!” a bard countered “And she said she would pick me over you any-day.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.” they argued back and forth; the children once again placing bets.

“Will you two stop it?” Gerdur interrupted them “We don’t need another drunken brawl.”

“At least they’re willing to help!” Lucan shot back “If we wait for the guards to show up, it’ll be too late by the time they arrive!”

Fenora decided to see what the commotion was all about, and stepped up onto the deck of the inn with the others.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“A few nights ago, bandits broke into Lucan’s shop and stole his golden claw.” Gerdur explained.

“And my sister decided to be a big damn hero and get it back!” Lucan screamed “Now they have her too, and now we can’t get her back because miss ‘wood-chopper’ over here says it’s too dangerous.”

“Those bandits have been camped up at the Barrow for months; we’d never even get close.” Gerdur countered.

“You mean Bleak Falls Barrow?” Fenora asked “I’m heading up there anyway, I could get her out on my way through.” she offered.

This earned her several gasps from the crowd, as well as an “Are you crazy?” from Stross.

“Oh don’t worry about it; I know how to deal with bandits.” she assured them “Just look after my friend here while I’m gone.”

“Oh no… no, no, NO!”

Stross could deal with being hungry, he’d become accustomed to running and hiding, and knew he was worthless in a fight. But this was more than he could take. He didn’t care that they had only met that morning; Stross wouldn’t just stand by while the one true friend he had in this world marched off into danger without him.

He showed his determination and loyalty… by losing his balance and falling flat on his face.

“Fuck. My. LIFE!”

About twenty minutes later, Stross lay limply on a bed inside the inn. Fenora had received an iron sword from Lucan the shopkeeper and had headed up the barrow. The elf archer Faendal, and Sven the bard accompanied her, hoping to rescue their damsel in distress and win her affections.

Meanwhile, Stross stared at the ceiling, feeling incredibly useless.

“If only I wasn’t so weak right now, I could have gone with them. I guess I’ll just stay here until they get back.”

Another wave of pain shot through him, adding to his misery. They had been more and more frequent as more time passed. Stross tried to remember exactly how long it had been since he last fed.

“…and that was about four days before I reached Ponyville. When I arrived here in Skyrim, it was day time, but in the prison it was night. Then they brought us to be executed in the morning…”

He moaned as he realized how much time had passed.

“Five whole days… and that spell that brought me here probably drained me even more.”

He turned onto his side and curled up into a ball, hoping that it would in some way ease his pain.

“You were at Helgen, weren’t you?” a voice asked him.

“Yeah, before the dragon blew it all up.” he answered weakly.

“And you told the Jarl, correct; you and the elf?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, but they all laughed at us, said that dragons were a myth.” Stross told her “Farengar said he’d help us though, if we got the dragonstone from Bleak falls barrow, he’d prove we were telling the truth.”

Stross waited for a response, but instead heard footsteps exiting his room.

“Orgnar, I’m heading out.” the voice sounded again.

“Do what you gotta’ do, I’ll be here.” Orgnar responded.

Stross simply took a deep breath and sighed, another jolt of pain interrupting him. Looking over at the end table, he spotted the potions Fenora had left him; the ones they received from Arcadia.

“What have I got to lose?”

He grabbed the nearest one. ‘Potion of illusion’ the label read.

“Great” he thought as he picked up the next one.

‘Potion of brief invisibility’

“Why would I need this? I can just turn invisible on my own… well, I could if I had any power left.”

The third one made him raise an eyebrow. ‘INCINERATE! by Ryan Industries – when it simply has to burst into flames, don’t wait, Incinerate!’

Setting that one aside for later, he picked up the fourth bottle. ‘Viagra’ ‘potion of enhanced stamina’

"Yeah... not after last time."

The final bottle seemed like the only one that seemed like it had even a remote chance of helping him. 'Potion of regenerate magika'

Stross didn't really know what 'Magika' was, but he was too hungry to care at this point. Giving a small shrug, Stross uncorked the bottle and drank its contents.

Meanwhile, Fenora, Faendal, and Sven were making their way up the mountain to the bandit stronghold at Bleak falls. The temperature had dropped significantly as they trekked up the snow-covered trails.

“It’s freezing up here, how much further?” Fenora complained.

“It shouldn’t be too much further; you can actually see the entrance from the river down there.” Sven told her “It’s always given me chills looking at it.”

“To think that poor, sweet Camilla is in that horrid place.” Faendal grimaced “I hate to imagine it.”

As they rounded a corner, Fenora immediately pulled them down. When they threw looks of question, she responded by pointing out a bandit lookout, partially hidden amongst the falling snow.

Taking Faendal’s bow, she nocked an arrow. Training her sights on the bandit’s exposed neck, she drew back the string. Long repressed memories of anger and regret surfaced as she overdrew the string a final inch. Slowly exhaling, she released the arrow… and watched with a slight satisfaction as the bandit collapsed on the ground in a heap.

Faendal and Sven simply sat back in awe, clearly impressed by the feat of marksmanship they’d just witnessed. Fenora paid them no mind however, and simply handed Faendal back his bow.

Moving over to the now dead bandit, she searched his body for anything useful.

“Let’s see here. A shank, twelve wooden arrows, a rickety crossbow, half a bottle of mead, and twenty-seven septims.” she listed of the items to herself as she pocketed or discarded them. She didn’t bother with the clothes or armor; not only would they protect you less than tin-foil, they also stunk to High Hrothgar.

Satisfied with the loot, she kicked the body over the edge of the cliff and motioned for them to keep moving.

Faendal and Sven just gave a quick glance at each other before following.

Once they reached the entrance to the barrow, they noticed several more bandits patrolling the outer courtyard; standing watch with longbows from the stone overlooks. Fenora was trying to decide the best way to eliminate them without the others taking notice, when the main doors opened and what appeared to be their leader called them all inside.

“What’s going on, did they spot us?” Sven asked.

“No,” Fenora replied as she watched them leave their posts “it’s something else. Let’s follow behind them, quietly.”

It wasn’t hard to get in unnoticed; the bandits didn’t even bother to close the door. Sneaking inside into the large inner room, they saw the bandits conversing around a bonfire in the center. In total there were ten of them, all clad in fur and hide armor and wielding either bows or hand axes. The leader, wearing iron platemail spoke up.

“Arvel stole the claw and ran ahead. He’s probably trying to take the treasure for himself.”

This revelation was met with sneers and angry yells from the rest.

“That damned traitor, I knew he was up to no good.”

“He was a dunmer, what do you expect from an elf?”

“Hope the traps down there get him!” they said in disgust.

They continued this talk until the leader silenced them with a raise of his arm.

“Forget the claw!” he shouted “We’ve got something better.” he walked to a darkened corner. When he returned, he carried a woman with him; heavily bound and gagged. “We’re gonna’ be richer than that shiny trinket could ever make us when we ransom this broad off! You know, after we have a little fun with her, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled.

The others just stared at him for a second, comprehending what he meant.

“Oh, you idiots.” the leader face-palmed “I’m talking about sex!”

There was a long, resounding ‘Oh… we get it now’ followed by cheering.

“Not so fast!” Faendal shouted as he jumped out into the open and nocking an arrow.

“Release her or face our wrath!” Sven joined in, brandishing a woodsman’s axe.

“Does ‘stealth’ or ‘element of surprise’ mean anything to these guys?” Fenora thought as she slinked away into the shadows.

But even though they were outnumbered and outmatched, against all odds, Faendal and Sven… still totally got their butts kicked, and the bandits were now celebrating over their two new hostages.

Fenora, who was smart enough to sneak around the bandits and not get captured, was currently thinking of the best way to dispatch such a large group. Pyrotechnics quickly came to mind as she spotted several barrels of ale across the room, perched precariously on their sides. And located conveniently above them were a torch, and some old rags.

“Man, they just make it too easy sometimes.” she said to herself.

“Make what too easy?”

“Oh, those barrels of ale over there, they’re perfect for creating a fire hazard; especially with those rags and torches just sitting right next to them.” she explained to the bandit that had walked up next to her.

Several glorious seconds of comedic awkwardness passed until Fenora realized what was amiss.

“Oh shit.” were the last words out of her mouth before she was dragged over to the rest of the prisoners. So much for being smart, huh?

“Well what do we have here?” the bandit leader said as he looked over the struggling elf “This day is just getting better and better!” he yelled triumphantly, his call echoed by his followers “Oh and this one’s a looker. I’m gonna have fun with- yurgk!

He yelled out in pain as Fenora jammed a shank hard into his side.

“Oh you’re gonna’ pay for that one you little-

He raised an iron-gloved fist to strike her back. But before it could make contact, his fist froze in mid swing, soon mirrored by the rest of his body. The confusion and anger in his eyes turned to pure terror before the life left them completely.

The rest of the bandits, as well as their prisoners just watched in confusion as the hulk of a man simply stood there, his arms and legs going limp, and his skin turning cold and pale.

With a shimmer of light, the potion of invisibility wore off, and before them stood Stross; his right hand clamped firmly around the bandit leader’s neck, clawed fingers digging into his flesh. He slowly turned his head to the rest, and let the body of their leader fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

It took only a second for the rest of the rabble to snap from their confusion, and to their next train of thought.

“KILL IT!”

With a battle cry and axes raised, they charged forward. But what they didn’t notice in their frenzy, was the bestial glint in Stross’s now pitch black eyes.

With a wave of his arm, the fires and torches extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. In the next second, Stross himself erupted into flames.

Hovering above them, surrounded in a flaming halo, he let out the most blood-curdling shriek ever made by a mortal being.

Descending down upon the terrified thugs, he immediately grabbed the nearest two and drained them of their life force almost instantly.

A volley of arrows from the remaining bandits struck him, pircing his shell in several places, but this only enraged him further.

Pointing his hand at the offending archers, he snapped his fingers. As he did, their bows burst into flames along with their arms and legs.

In the chaos, he moved in for the kill, and in the course of a minute, four more bandits lay dead.

Three more rushed him with hammers and battle-axes, pummeling him and hacking at his scales. But though the wounds cut deeply, they served little to even slow him down.

With one bandit’s skull clamped in each of his hands, and the third’s neck within his jaws, Stross swiftly ended their lives.

The remaining two didn’t even bother to look back as they dropped their weapons and ran for the door. But Stross was not feeling merciful that day, he was feeling hungry.

Downing one with a blast of flame, he pounced on the other from the air. Syphoning the life from his victim and smashing its head open when he was done.

Slowly rising to a standing position, he turned to see the final bandit cowering in a corner. Bleeding and badly burnt.

“P- p- please… don’t kill me.” he begged.

Stross frowned and grabbed the young bandit by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to eye level.

“Why should I let someone like you live?” Stross asked, his voice more heavily distorted, and his eyes still solid black.

“I have a family!” he shouted “I was mad at them for never letting me do what I wanted, s- so I became a bandit.” he sobbed “I was wrong! Please, I’ll never do anything bad ever again, just let me go home! Please!”

Stross was silent and still for a long time. Slowly, he lowered the boy to the ground before turning and walking away. The frightened young bandit didn’t need to be told twice, and ran away from the barrow as fast as he could.