4E 201, Shor's Stone, Two days later
Gerron Ironbreaker
"So what exactly can I expect from your home?" Serana asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as they rode down the mossy trail leading to the village's outskirts.
Gerron chuckled. "It's just a village in the Rift. We've got miners, smiths, a few stubborn farmers trying to grow in less than fertile land, and the occasional goat who walks by thinking it owns the place. Our main trade comes from the mine. But…" he paused, his eyes flicking toward the distant palisade now visible through the trees, "...I have plans to change all that. With time, Shor's Stone will be more than just a mining town."
It came into full view shortly after.
A half-finished curtain wall of quarried stone curved around the village perimeter, built a few hundred yards from the wooden palisades that stood behind them to leave room for expansion.
A few dozen workers toiled atop the scaffoldings under the sun, voices shouting orders. The walls weren't finished nor were they perfect—but they were tall enough to give bandits pause. More than that, they spoke of ambition.
And ambition brought people.
Ever since word of the ebony mine came out along with their ability to protect, people have been coming to Shor's Stone in droves, seeking new opportunities. Merchants, miners, former soldiers. Each looking for a new home for their families in this war torn land.
Tents and lean-tos lined the outer road, and within the walls, new homes of brick and timber were rising. Children ran between them barefoot, shouting and laughing, while older folk carried crates or led livestock through the winding paths.
Gerron slowed his horse to a walk. His gaze swept over the village, feeling fondness and pride. Though he also realized the consequences of the added population. More mouths to feed and more lives to protect.
From atop the gate, one of the militiamen cried out. "It's Gerron! He's back!"
Another answered. "Call for Master Filnjar and Grogmar!"
The gates opened to let them in. Gerron nodded at the guards, many of whom bore scars from the bandit attack he heard a month ago, but they stood tall and saluted with earnest pride.
The village had changed.
Right at the center stood a new watchtower—twenty feet tall with a bronze bell fixed near the top. An early warning system for bandits or worse.
The clanging of smiths and shouts of recognition echoed as he and Serana rode past. Many people pointed at his ebony armor, no doubt recognizing him.
"Well, I'll be damned! If it ain't the famed Dragonslayer!" boomed a deep, amused voice.
A grin cracked across Gerron's face. "Grogmar!"
The orc strode forward, his bulk hidden beneath the steel plate armor, ebony axe on his back. They clasped forearms in the warrior's grip.
"I'm sure all the tales you've heard are exaggerated." Gerron said. "It's good to see you, my friend."
"Hah! Shor's Stone doesn't have many bards passing through, but even we've heard of the new ballad, the Breaker of Iron." Grogmar chuckled.
Gerron rolled his eyes before gesturing to Serana. "This is Serana, she's been traveling with me. A capable mage, and a friend."
Serana inclined her head with a slight, polite smile. "A pleasure."
Grogmar gave her a once-over, then grunted approvingly. "Looks like trouble. I like her already."
"She grows on you," Gerron deadpanned, earning a subtle smirk from the vampire.
They made their way to the long hall, one of the oldest structures in the village but now reinforced and expanded to house Shor's Stone's growing leadership. Inside, parchment and scrolls lay scattered across the long table where Filnjar stood, frowning over something with a quill in hand.
"Congratulations, Filnjar," Gerron greeted with a smirk. "A town as big as this needs a Master. Looks like you're doing well."
A sigh tore out of Filnjar's lips as he met Gerron's eyes with a smile. "Truth be told, lad, you're supposed to be the one sitting at this table. But it's good to see you all the same."
Gerron shrugged. "Maybe in the future, but not today." He gestured to Serana. "This is Serana, she's a friend of mine."
Serana gave a smile. "Greetings."
Filnjar nodded in greeting. "Any friend of Gerron is a friend of mine. Well met, Lady Serana." He then met Gerron's eyes. "Well, now that you're here, might as well put you up to speed."
Gerron nodded as he took a seat, Serana sitting beside him. Grogmar leaned lazily by the doorway as he listened in.
Filnjar reported on everything that happened in the months since he was away. After the initial bandit attack by Demir the Strong, Grogmar had rode with four militiamen and a dozen stormcloaks to sweep the area around town in a three mile radius for the surviving bandits or other bandit camps.
Two minor groups were discovered and likewise killed. According to Grogmar, they shouldn't be facing any more troubles from bandits for the next month at least.
The field had been cleaned and the dead buried. Filnjar had made sure that the families of the militiamen who died were compensated. The one good thing about this was that they stripped all the bandits of all their gold pouches and equipment. The ones too damaged were to be melted down and reforged while the good ones were kept in the newly built armory. From what Filnjar had seen, they now had enough to equip another fifty militiamen, more than doubling their previous force.
Jorleif and Filnjar had then continued their talk of trade, ending it in a place where both sides were happy. Shor's Stone would supply ebony arms and ingots to the Stormcloaks, who would pay a good number above the regular retail price.
Jorleif had also made a promise to look into the rising number of bandits. He would talk to the Jarl to send a garrison of Stormcloaks to reinforce Shor's Stone, as the town had become a major asset in the war.
"A smart deal," Gerron said. "Though speaking of Windhelm, have you heard any news from them yet?"
Filnjar raised an eyebrow. "Not yet. It takes about twelve days to get from Windhelm to here. The Stormcloak garrison is probably a week off from arriving. More if they're moving with plenty of men."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Gerron shook his head with a sigh. "Two days ago we found an injured dragon with arrows sticking out of its hide. It came from Windhelm's direction."
Filnjar frowned. "You don't think Windhelm has fallen, do you?"
"No, if Windhelm was destroyed then news would have reached us by now." Gerron shook his head again. "Just keep on the lookout for couriers bearing news, Filnjar."
"Of course." Filnjar nodded, "What's your next plan, lad?"
"I plan to stay for at least a month or two to resupply, and perhaps use the forge to make better weapons and armor. I've got some dragon bones and scales to work with." Gerron said. "How much ebony do we have for our own personal use?"
"Six crates full." Filnjar said.
"Good, that should be enough." Gerron replied. "Choose five of the best blacksmiths we have and I'll train them. If Shor's Stone is to be a powerhouse in weapons and armor production, then we need more than just me as the master blacksmith."
Filnjar nodded, scribbling names down already.
Gerron turned to Grogmar. "I'll be supplying the militia with quality ebony. Make sure you train them to be worthy of it."
Grogmar smirked, "I'll put em into shape."
Then his eyes landed on Serana. "The town needs mages. We've got people pouring in. Some of them are bound to have magical talent. Can I ask you to find these people and train them?"
"You want to have mages in our employ?" Filnjar asked.
"Yes, I've seen myself how useful magic can be. Every major hold has a court wizard. We need our own if we want Shor's Stone to survive what's coming."
Serana stroked her chin carefully, "Children or untrained mages are useless since a month or two of training won't be enough to do what you want them to do. So they at least have to be apprentice level and not complete novices." She smirked. "Sure, I can do that."
"Then it's settled." Gerron rose, walking toward the long window by the hall. " I'll be putting some plans for anti-dragon warfare soon. Once the walls are finished, start looking for engineers and arbalists to build and man siege weapons."
"I'll get it done." Filnjar nodded.
Gerron looked out the window, the blueprint of Shor's Stone future layering above the city once more in his mind's eye.
"The world is turning more and more dangerous by the day. War is coming. Shor's Stone has survived this long, but it's time to make it stronger. We won't be caught unprepared." he looked back at his friends. "When that time comes, we'll be ready."
…
4E 201, The Ratway
Esbern
The stench of the Ratway clung to Esbern like a second skin. Rotting wood, damp stone, and the faint coppery tang of blood filled the air with every breath. But for the first time in years, he didn't recoil from it. Compared to the musty, claustrophobic walls of his hidden sanctum beneath Riften, this was liberation—no matter how foul it smelled.
He moved through the shadows with careful steps, his mind going back to the plan he had made just days ago.
Word had finally reached him, the Dragonborn had returned. It certainly wasn't easy. News hardly came to anyone hiding far beneath the sewers of the Ratway, but he learned to do so.
He didn't exactly know when the dragon attack on Whiterun happened. It could've been months ago, it could've been years ago. It doesn't really matter in the end. What does matter is the fact that events of the prophecy are finally here.
It was Esbern's duty to help guide the Last Dragonborn and aid them in defeating Alduin.
The first step to that is finding Delphine. If there are any remnants of the Blades out there that's still alive, it's her.
'Stay low, stay cautious,' he reminded himself.
The decision to come here had not been made lightly. The Thalmor had spies in every hold and their eyes were everywhere. He was almost certain they'd caught wind of him again—too many near-encounters, too many steps in the Ratway where there should be none. But Esbern was no fool. He hadn't survived this long by being reckless.
He wanted to look for Delphine himself, but knew it to be the height of foolishness. He didn't even know where to start. For decades, he had secluded himself. Studying and preparing for this day when Alduin would reemerge.
In the end, he decided to use the Thieves' Guild's services. He had met them a long time ago when he became a permanent resident of the sewers of Riften. He had paid a hefty sum for them to speak not a word of his existence. As far as he knew, as long as the gold was sufficient, they would do anything.
Though that still didn't eliminate the risk of the Thalmor finding him. Which is why he's here under heavy disguise. The hood of his oversized cloak draped low, obscuring his body type and the telltale lines of his aging face. His grayed white hair was now jet black, dyed with an alchemical mixture he had brewed from crushed nightshade berries and ash salts. The illusion wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, but he wasn't planning to let anyone get that close.
Esbern might just only be the Loremaster and Archivist of the Blades, but he was still an agent of the Blades. He was far from helpless.
He made it to the entrance of the Ragged Flagon, the door hidden behind a battered false wall at the end of a crumbling tunnel. Two guards lounged near the entrance, eyeing him like a pair of skeevers sizing up a hunk of cheese. He kept his head down, muttering a low phrase he'd memorized days earlier.
"Delvin Mallory is expecting me."
One of them grunted and stepped aside. The door groaned open, revealing the flickering candlelight and quiet murmur of the Thieves Guild's den.
The Ragged Flagon was a half-drowned tavern nestled deep in the bowels of the Ratway. Its damp-stained walls were covered in faded banners, its tables crooked and uneven. But it was warm, and more importantly, safe. No one here asked questions they didn't want the answers to.
Esbern scanned the room and spotted Delvin Mallory at his usual corner table, leaning back in his chair while stacking a pile of septims on the table. He was flanked by a bottle of mead and a deck of worn cards.
"Sit down then," Delvin said, gesturing with a tilt of his mug. "You wanted to talk business, and here I am. Let's hear it."
Esbern sat across from him, careful to keep his hood low. He spoke with a slightly pitched and gravely voice.
"I need someone found. A Breton woman. Her name is Delphine."
Delvin's smirk remained, but his eyes sharpened a touch. "You have any idea how many Bretons live in Skyrim? That's like asking me to find a needle in a haystack—and the haystack's on fire."
"She's not just any Breton," Esbern replied. "She hates the Thalmor, abhors them really. So she would be in a place hidden away, underground somewhere to avoid them."
"Kind of like you, eh?" Delvin smirked before rubbing his cheek. "If she's capable of hiding from the Thalmor then finding her might prove difficult, though there are certain places I know that could work. But it's still vague. Could be a dozen folk. You got anything else? A location she was last seen? Associates?"
Esbern clenched his jaw. "...She might have a bounty, by the Thalmor."
"Well…" Delvin exhaled slowly, swirling his mead. "That does help. Sort of. If she's a wanted woman, we'd probably have heard whispers. Could reach out to a few ears across the Holds. Won't be quick. And it sure as Oblivion won't be cheap."
He's fine with that. Esbern leaned forward slightly. "Gold isn't a problem."
That made Delvin blink. "Is that right?"
"You deal with trade goods as well, yes?" He asked. "I've access to rare goods. Artifacts. Jewels. Even a few Akaviri heirlooms I'm willing to part with. Assuming you have someone who knows how to move such items without drawing the Thalmor's attention."
Prior to his escape, Esbern had managed to procure many of the Blades' treasures and brought them to his sanctuary. Most of them were just useless trinkets, worth a lot in gold should they be sold to the right buyer. Esbern had long separated the ones with true value and those without. He wouldn't think twice about selling them.
"Old man, you just got real interesting." Delvin chuckled, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "You've got yourself a deal. If you've got the coin—or something shinier—I'll put the word out. We'll find your friend, if she's still alive."
Esbern nodded before passing over a note to Delvin. "When you find her, give her this message. She'll understand what it means."
Delvin raised an eyebrow before shrugging. "Alright then."
…
AN: Shor's Stone is starting to shape up. Gerron won't have him home unprotected if he has anything to say about it. Ebony armor for everybody.
Anyways, the Blades finally make their debut. Or at least a Blade. They probably have the weakest advantage of all the factions in play since they have almost nothing to their name. Having only two people in their number, with no headquarters, no steady income of gold, no supplies, and they start off separated.
It's a rough time for them, but they ain't out of the woods yet if Delphine or Esbern has anything to say about it.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 36 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!