I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

With the first rays of dawn, Ibnor spurred his horse toward Solitude. As he approached, the city's sheer scale became apparent. Its imposing walls alone spoke to its status as Skyrim's largest city. Ibnor paused, taking in the sight: Solitude, a majestic fortress guarding the coast. Its towering walls, the natural arch, and the distant mountains formed a breathtaking panorama.

"This never gets old… even an ultra-modded Skyrim doesn't do this view justice," Ibnor thought.

"Finally, Solitude," he muttered, dismounting. 

The city was a whirlwind of life, far surpassing the game's rendering. A morbid curiosity, a desire to witness the city's infamous executions, drew him toward the block. But as he rounded the corner, he found the square empty, save for a single raven perched atop the executioner's axe, its black eyes gleaming in the midday sun. The silence was heavy, the air still. A wave of disappointment crashed over him, leaving a residue of anticlimax.

"I thought there were public executions here," Ibnor said to a passing guard.

"Aye, there were," the guard replied with a shrug. "Months back. You're late to the party." 

Ibnor's heart sank. He'd missed the spectacle. With a sigh, he turned from the empty square. The Winking Skeever, a cozy inn with a warm hearth, beckoned as a welcome distraction. Stepping inside, he was met with the comforting aroma of stew and the low murmur of conversation.

"Welcome to the Winking Skeever. Take a load off and enjoy the atmosphere." The innkeeper said from behind the counter. 

Ibnor took a seat on the counter. 

"What will it be? Food, drinks?

"I'll have your finest mead, please."

"You're in luck. Fresh batch today—Black-Briar, straight from Riften." The innkeeper drew the mead from a barrel and filled a mug, sliding it across the counter to Ibnor.

"Black-Briar, huh? Lucky me, I guess."

"Anything else, friend? If you need a good rumor or two, I think I can oblige…"

"I need to find someone by the name of Gulum-Ei." Ibnor said, pushing five septims towards the innkeeper.

"Gulum-Ei?" The innkeeper's smile remained fixed, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. "Doesn't ring a bell. And I'd certainly remember someone like that… especially if they were sitting in plain sight." He gestured subtly with his chin towards the small table behind Ibnor, taking the offered coins.

"Here, take this as compensation for what I'm about to do. I'll be quick." Ibnor said, and produced another pouch of gold towards the innkeeper before walking towards Gulum-Ei. As expected, even before he opens his mouth, Gulum-Ei speaks to him first.

"So, what do we have here? Hmm… Let me guess. By your scent. I'd say you were from the Guild. But that can't be true, because I told Mercer I wouldn't deal with them anymore."

"I'm here about the Goldenglow Estate."

"I don't deal in land property. Now, if you're looking for goods, you've come to the right person."

"You can drop the act now… Gajul-Lei."

"Oh, wait… did you say Goldenglow Estate? My apologies. I'm sorry to say I know very little about that… bee farm, was it?"

"You acted as broker for its new owner."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. I can't be expected to remember every deal I handle."

"You just have to make it difficult, huh?"

"What do you mea.!!" Gulum-Ei's words trailed off as Ibnor grabbed him by the horn and began punching his face repeatedly. The sudden attack alerted the other patrons and froze them, unsure whether to intervene. 

"Stop! Please!" Gulum-Ei gasped, clutching at Ibnor's arm, blood staining his lips.

THUD! 

Another blow landed, sending him reeling.

"I'll... I'll tell..." he wheezed, his voice a strangled croak.

THUD! 

The ground bucked beneath him.

"Tell you..." he tried again, his vision blurring.

THUD! 

He tasted blood, the metallic taste filling his mouth.

"Everything I know!" he roared, his voice raw with pain.

"Karliah..." Ibnor whispered. "I know it was her."

A final, bone-crushing punch sent Gulum-Ei sprawling.

THUD!

Silence.

"If you know... why... Why are you doing this... to me?" Gulum-Ei whimpered, his voice cracked, blood staining his lips, a few teeth missing. His eyes, wide with shock and confusion, pleaded silently.

"Give me the Goldenglow Estate Deed." Ibnor demanded. Gulum-Ei obediently fished the Goldenglow Estate Deed from his pocket and handed it to Ibnor with shaking hands.

"Listen, this is your last chance. Cross us again and not only you, but both Deeja and Jaree-Ra will also suffer the consequences. Wouldn't want that to happen, would you?" Ibnor said softly as he pat Gulum-Ei on the cheek. 

He then turned back to the counter and finished his drink in a single, long gulp.

"I hope you're finished," the innkeeper remarked, his gaze fixed on the mess caused by the two. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. Some people need a… harder persuasion." Ibnor said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Just as he was about to leave, another commotion could be heard.

"Learn recall runes then!" a Khajiit roared.

"Hey, take it easy. It's just a game. Chill out and drink some tea." One of the people it came with tried to calm it down but to no avail.

"Tea? What is that elf shit?!" 

"You need to really calm down. Other people didn't really care about it." Another one said.

"Look, it's simple. If you don't like it, just don't play it. No need to disturb others who want to play it." The other echoed. 

"Yeah! I think this is where I head out! This is hot garbage!" The Khajiit continue to raise its voice.

"Hey!" The innkeeper shouted at him. "It's clear that you don't find this place to your liking. You are welcome to leave, and never return. Go, be on your way."

The Khajiit then storms out of the inn, while muttering something.

"Some people huh?" The innkeeper turned to Ibnor.

"Yeah, some people just need a high five… In the face… With a chair." He replied and left the inn.

He rides back towards Helgen, hoping to check on Rayya. Upon reaching Helgen, he dismounted and walked through the ruins until he found her. After making sure everything is in order and giving her a bag of supplies including potions and food, he continued his journey back to Riften. It was then when a line of thought struck him.

"There should be someone I can rope in, near Riften. If I'm not mistaken it should be the tower south of Riften." he thought.

He rode until he reached Lake Honrich and turned south, with his eyes scanning the horizon for a shadow of a fort. Not long after riding along the lake, he saw a tower in the distance. Arriving at the tower, he dismount and stand in front of the door.

"Should I knock or sneak in? In the game these witches will shoot on sight." Ibnor is in a dilemma.

Just as he was contemplating, his senses blared and he hurriedly moved to the side, in time as a woman was sent flying through the door, breaking it and collapsing on the floor. The woman stops moving with shards of ice spears sticking out from her body and blood pooled under. He turned to face the source of the attack and saw a raven haired woman looking at him in shock. 

"By the gods! I know this looks bad. Let me explain..." panicked, the raven haired women tried to explain.

"Illia, calm down…" Ibnor said, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.

""I… I didn't want to, but she attacked to try and keep me from leaving. I just can't be a part of this place any more! The things we do here… Evil! Evil things. No More!" She began rambling.

"Illia, hey, Illia! Listen to me. I'm here to help."

"We were supposed to find a sacrif…"

"For the ritual and you want to stop them. I know. I know."

"I don't know who you are or what brought you here, but I could use your help, if you're willing." Illia seems to realize that he meant no harm and begins to calm down.

"Like I said, I'm here to help."

"I have to stop her."

"And we will."

"Let's get up there before mother finds out what we're doing."

They began their ascent of the tower, the winding stairs growing steeper with each floor. The third level proved the most difficult—a cackling witch, her face etched with malevolence, barred their way. The fight was brief but intense, Ibnor's swift strikes finding their mark while Illia's fiery spells kept the creature at bay. Despite the brief struggle, they reached the top of Darklight Tower faster than they had anticipated.

"She's just beyond this door," Illia whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "My plan is simple. I'll present you as the sacrifice. While she's preoccupied with the ritual, we'll strike."

Ibnor's heart pounded. The plan was risky, but Illia's determination was undeniable. He nodded, his expression grim. 

"It's locked tight. Blast it! One of those witches must have the spare. You'll have to double back. I'll keep an eye out here… unless you can manage that lock."

"I can give it a shot." Ibnor knelt, drawing out a set of lockpicks. The delicate clicks and scraping of metal filled the air. After a tense moment, the lock clicked open. "Got it."

As they opened the door, a chilling sight met their eyes. A vast, circular room, illuminated by flickering candles, lay before them. At the center, a grotesque altar was adorned with strange symbols. Illia's mother, Silvia, a gaunt woman with eyes that burned with unnatural light, stood over the altar, her hands outstretched.

"You have arrived," Silvia's voice echoed through the room, her tone laced with malice.

"Mother, I... I've brought you what you asked for. I found a willing subject for you. The payment has already been discussed, of course." Illia stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. 

"Very well. Let the ritual begin. Take a seat on the chair behind me." Silvia's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to Ibnor.

With a heart pumping like a wardrum, Ibnor sat in the designated chair. Despite knowing how it would go, he could help but to feel nervous as doubt creeped in and lay in his heart. As Silvia began to chant, Illia's eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. The moment had arrived. 

"I can't let you do this, mother. You have to die now!"

Illia, her eyes ablaze with determination, lunged at her mother. A surge of icy energy coursed through her veins, manifesting as a flurry of deadly ice spears that shot towards Silvia. The ancient witch, sensing the impending danger, raised her hand, casting a ward of shimmering, ethereal energy to deflect the attack.

Ibnor seized the opportunity to assist Illia. With a swift movement, he closed the distance between himself and Silvia, his blade unsheathed. A flurry of slashes and stabs rained down upon the witch, each strike more precise and deadly than the last. Silvia, caught off guard, staggered back, her defenses faltering.

Enraged, Silvia retaliated with a torrent of fireballs, each strike aimed at both Illia and Ibnor. The air crackled with electricity, the room illuminated by the blinding flashes. Illia, her body shielded by a protective ward, defended against the incoming bolts, while Ibnor, with incredible agility, dodge the deadly strikes.

Determined to end the battle quickly, Silvia unleashed a final, desperate attack. A wall of flame erupted from the ground, blocking the path to the altar. But Illia conjured a powerful wind spell, dispersing the flames, opening a path for Ibnor. With one swift move, he severed Silvia's head, ending her life.

The only sound in the room was the soft hiss of dying flames. Illia and Ibnor stood close, exhaustion etched on their faces, their breaths misting in the cool air. Illia turned to him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering sadness.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You saved me. Perhaps… even from myself."

"I'm so sorry…" Ibnor began, but she cut him off with a gentle shake of her head.

"Don't. Please. If I had known it would end like this… Mother…" A single tear traced a path down her cheek.

"What will you do now?"

"I have to leave. This place… these memories…"

"Come with me, Illia."

She looked at him, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. "It's better than being alone with them. Maybe… maybe I can finally find some peace. Yes. I'll go with you."

"I have a matter to settle in Riften first. Go to Helgen. Find my housecarl, Rayya. Tell her I sent you. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

"Helgen? But… it's a ruin."

"Not anymore. I've been named Thane of Falkreath. I'm rebuilding it."

"I… I'll be waiting."

"Take my horse. It'll be faster." 

Ibnor watched Illia disappear into the distance, then glanced back at the darkening sky. He turned toward Riften, cutting through Snow-Shod farm and slipping through the city's southern gate into the graveyard. There, concealed amongst the crumbling tombs, he located the hidden mechanism. He activated it, and a section of the graveyard's wall silently slid open, revealing the secret entrance to the Cistern. With a swift, cautious glance back, he slipped into the opening and disappeared into the darkness.

He barely crossed the threshold when Mercer's voice cut through the air.

"Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?" 

"According to him, it was Karliah."

"No, it.. it can't be. I haven't heard that name in decades. This is grave news indeed, she's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again." 

"Why?"

"Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for. She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she'd done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished." 

"Why has she returned?" Ibnor asked, observing Mercer, trying to read his body language.

"Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other's backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there'll be no one left that could possibly catch her. If only we knew where she was..." 

"According to Gulum-Ei, she mentioned 'Where the end began'."

"There's only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus... a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again." 

"I'm sorry, did you just say 'we'?"

"Yes, I'm going with you and together we're going to kill her. Prepare yourself and meet me at the ruins as soon as you can. We can't let her slip through our fingers." 

"Well, alright. Let's g..." Ibnor turned only to see Mercer already vanished. 

Ibnor stepped out of Riften's gates, his mind filled with thoughts. 

"Why did I give Illia my horse? Now I have to walk… I wonder what Harin is up to now. It's been a while… She must have gone to the embassy, I guess."

Not long into his journey, he stumbled upon a peculiar scene. A man lay sprawled on the ground, face down, a horse tethered nearby. Curious, Ibnor approached the figure.

As he drew closer, the man abruptly sprang to his feet, a crude dagger flashing in the sunlight. A wild glint shone in his eyes. 

"Hand over your coin purse," he snarled, "and you won't get hurt."

"Oh dear. That's not good." Ibnor, unfazed, tilted his head, studying the bandit.

"What's not good? Don't try playing games with me!" The bandit took a shaky step forward, brow furrowed.

"It's just… your complexion. Terribly pale. And your lips are cracked. Your eyes are all bloodshot, and even your fingertips look… translucent." Ibnor shook his head slowly, his expression grave. 

"What are you talking about?" The bandit's confidence wavered. 

"Do you… partake in skooma?" Ibnor asked, his voice low and concerned.

"What's it to you?" The bandit hesitated, his gaze darting to the ground. 

"I only ask because those are classic signs of skooma poisoning. I wouldn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but… if it's a regular habit, you don't have long." Ibnor clicked his tongue sadly. "Three months, at most."

"Three months? What are you saying?" The bandit's eyes widened in alarm. 

"Skooma ravages the body. But," Ibnor added quickly, raising a hand, "if it's just occasional use, there might be a chance."

"A chance? How?" The bandit's voice was now laced with desperation. "Is there a cure?"

"It's not exactly a cure, but it can flush the toxins from your system. You need to get your blood flowing, keep your heart pumping."

"How do I do that?"

"Exercise. Vigorous exercise. Running, jumping, anything to get your heart rate up. When you feel warm, flushed, that's a sign your body is purging the skooma. Do that for a couple of weeks, and you should be right as rain. Then, you can… well, you know…" Ibnor winked subtly.

"Is that… is that really true?" The bandit stared at him, his expression a mixture of fear and hope. 

"Absolutely. It's a secret I learned from a Khajiit caravan. Me and my companions swear by it." Ibnor lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's how we manage… well, never you mind."

"Should I… should I start now?" The bandit looked nervously at the surrounding forest.

"The sooner the better, brother," Ibnor said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Tell you what, you go and take care of yourself. I'll watch your horse for you. Wouldn't want it wandering off while you're… indisposed."

"Really? You'd do that for me? Thanks, brother! I won't forget this!" The bandit's face lit up with relief. He turned and sprinted into the woods, disappearing among the trees.

Ibnor watched him go, a slow smile spreading across his face. He chuckled softly. 

"Suckers," he murmured under his breath. 

He then untied the horse, mounted it smoothly, and continued his journey north. As he rode, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of the landscape. The snow-capped mountains, the winding rivers, and the dense forests were a breathtaking sight.

Soon, the imposing walls of Windhelm came into view. Ibnor paused, taking in the grandeur of the city. The massive bridge, stretching across the river, was a testament to the skill and ingenuity of the Nords. He then continued his journey until he reached a Snow Veil Sanctum.

A desolate ruin, shrouded in an eerie silence, it was the last place anyone would expect to find Karliah. As he neared the entrance, he spotted a disturbing sight: a dead horse, its lifeless form a stark reminder of the danger that lurked within.

A figure emerged from the shadows, a man cloaked in darkness. It was Mercer Frey, his face etched with a mix of determination and weariness.

"Good, you're finally here," Mercer said, his voice low. "I've scouted the ruins. Karliah's inside."

"Did you see her?" Ibnor asked.

"No, but I found her horse. I took care of it. She won't be using it to escape. Now let's go. We need to catch her while she's distracted. You lead the way."

"I'm leading?"

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression I was in charge. You're leading and I'm following. Does that seem clear to you?" Mercer's voice is dripping with sarcasm.

"Let's go." Ibnor gave up.

"Just be careful. Karliah is a skilled assassin. The last thing I need is for you to blunder into a trap and alert her to our presence."

With that, they entered the ruins. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the walls.They made their way towards the door to the Snow Veil Catacombs, and soon realized that the door itself is locked and cannot be opened without a key.

"They say these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable," Mercer commented, his voice echoing in the silent chamber. "This one doesn't look too difficult. Quite simple, really. I don't know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill."

With a satisfying click, the door swung open.

"After you," Mercer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Deeper into the ruins, deadly traps and reanimated draugr tested their resolve. The stench of decay intensified with each step. The next chamber held a chilling scene: several draugr lay dead, victims of some past conflict.

The corridor ahead was a labyrinth of shadows, lit by the eerie glow of ancient braziers. Sleeping draugr lurked in the darkness, their heavy breathing a constant threat.

"There are two more of those ahead," Mercer warned, his voice barely audible.

TThey moved cautiously, senses heightened. A heavy metal gate barred their way, a testament to ancient craftsmanship. A chain, hidden in a nearby alcove, controlled the gate.

"Bone chimes," Mercer muttered, his eyes scanning the room. "Clever. Rigged to awaken the draugr, I'd bet. Don't blunder into any of them."

They moved cautiously, senses heightened. A heavy metal gate barred their way, a testament to ancient craftsmanship. A chain, hidden in a nearby alcove, controlled the gate.

Descending stone steps, they entered a vast, echoing chamber. The air reeked of decay, and dripping water echoed through the space. Draugrs, awakened from their slumber, charged towards them, their weapons raised.

Ibnor met the charge head-on. His blade flashed, cleaving through rotting flesh and rusted armor. A well-placed kick sent one draugr sprawling against the stone wall, the impact echoing through the chamber. A swift thrust finished the creature. Beside him, Mercer fought with a ferocious grace, his razor-sharp sword a blur of motion. A swift, brutal slash severed a head, sending it bouncing across the floor. Another draugr's arm was torn away, its lifeless hand still clutching a rusted sword.

The chamber became a chaotic scene of clashing steel, spraying blood, and the guttural cries of the dying draugr. Outmatched by the combined skill and ferocity of Ibnor and Mercer, the ancient warriors fell one by one, their lifeless bodies littering the floor.

Regrouping, they continued their descent. A massive metal door, its surface scarred and pitted by time, loomed before them.

"That door," Mercer said, his voice filled with anticipation, "looks perfect for an ambush. Be ready."

As they burst through the door, a swarm of draugr attacked, their weapons glinting in the dim light. Ibnor and Mercer found themselves surrounded by a horde of draugr, their glowing eyes fixed on them. The Draugr Overlord, a towering figure with a menacing aura, stood at the forefront, a symbol of their power.

Ibnor danced through the press of draugr, his movements fluid and unpredictable, avoiding their clumsy swings and using their own momentum against them. Mercer, a master swordsman, fought with cold precision, each parry and riposte perfectly timed, his blades finding the gaps in the draugr's defenses with deadly accuracy.

"ZUN HAAL!" 

The Draugr Overlord, sensing the threat, unleashed a powerful Disarm Shout, a shockwave that swept across the battlefield. 

The Disarm Shout ripped their weapons from their hands, the clang of steel echoing harshly in the confined space. Ibnor instinctively threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a spray of ice shards that tore chunks from the stone floor where he'd been standing. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. A discarded sword lay just beyond his reach, the hilt glinting amidst the dust and debris. Knowing they couldn't face the Overlord unarmed, he strained, reaching out with his telekinetic power. The sword scraped across the stone towards him, finally within his grasp. He gripped it tightly and with a desperate heave, hurled it towards Mercer, who was already being pressed by two other draugr.

Mercer, momentarily distracted by the press of enemies, saw the incoming sword at the last second. He twisted his body and extended a hand, catching the hilt just as a draugr's axe swung towards his head. The sudden acquisition of the sword gave him the leverage he needed. With a swift, brutal counter-swing, he not only deflected the axe but also brought the stolen blade down in a powerful arc, cleaving through the Overlord's neck. The heavy head tumbled to the stone floor, finally silencing the monstrous creature.

After a grueling fight, the remaining draugrs were quickly defeated. As they caught their breath, Ibnor used his telekinesis subtly when he noticed another Word Wall was standing there.

[Dragon Tongue +1]

[Mental +0.5]

[Mental +1.2]

[Dragon Tongue +1]

[Shout (Disarm) - ZUN] 

[Strength +0.5]

[Archery +0.4]

"We're on the right track," Mercer said, his voice filled with confidence. "She's been through here as well."

The only sound was the soft echo of their footsteps as they moved through the ancient hall. Before them stood a massive Nordic puzzle door, its surface a complex arrangement of rotating rings carved with ancient symbols.

"Ah, a Nordic puzzle door," Mercer mused. "Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. But I know a trick or two." 

He approached the door and began manipulating the rings, his movements swift and practiced. With a low groan of stone against stone, the door slowly sinks, revealing a dark passage beyond.

As Ibnor stepped through, a sense of dread washed over him—a feeling of being watched. Before he could react, a silent arrow shot from the shadows, piercing his side just below his ribs. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and a searing pain shot through his body.

"Shit, I forgot about this…" was his last coherent thought before darkness engulfed him.