Outgrowing Skyrim

"Did they say how long it would take?" Camilla asks.

"No—mhh—they—mmh—didn't." I say as I pound Lydia. Time at home is a premium good so nighttime pillow talk often turns into just talk. It's a bit jarring at first but the girls seem to think it's perfectly normal to have conversations of all kinds while you are a hair's breadth away from cumming your brains out.

"Alright then. We should just be spending the night, so it shouldn't matter one way or the other. Just don't let them keep you for more than a day. Ysgrimor himself won't be able to help them if they force you to miss your own wedding." She says, all the while donning what looks like a set of gold chain lingerie. It's Fralia's gift apparently, worn by her when she was much younger among other sets. Camilla steps up to Lydia and asks, "You done yet?". She only moans in response.

I can confirm by the way her pussy is gripping my cock that she is very nearly there. I pull on a silver chain attached to Lydia's nipples to push her over the edge, feeling her clamp down on my cock in rhythmic pulses. When they subside, she collapses, huffing for air. Camilla doesn't even bother pushing her away and instead straddles her massive body to kiss me, draping her arms around me as she does.

"My turn." she whispers.

-

"I'm glad you came. It's been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers." Skjor says as I walk into the Underforge. It's basically a cave underneath the Skyforge, but its origin and purpose is even less clear. We think the Skyforge was built to be a forge or something similar, but the Underforge doesn't have anything particularly identifying about it, save for a large ritualistic basin in the center. 

"That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honor than some calls and feasting. I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form." Skjor continues, addressing the large werewolf in the room. She looks cramped in this space, panting softly as she waits, her body in the shape of an exaggerated v-taper. Black fur grows on her hyper-muscular form like a vestment. It does not grow everywhere like a normal animal coat but seems to grow as if it were some kind of decoration or status symbol. Her muzzle, handclaws, and footpaws are most notably bare, though here it makes some sense to me; it is easier to clean up the gore from more delicate sensory instruments if they are hairless.

"She's agreed to be your forebear. We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted." Skjor says, pacing a little while he talks. "He thinks we've been cursed. But we've been blessed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse?"

I have several answers to that, but I keep quiet, externally, at least. For one, I realized looking at the transformed Aela, this might not be the indoor superpower complement to my giant abilities I hoped it would be. She's just too big. I didn't notice much with Farkas because we were fighting in a spacious Nord tomb (and he's always big), but there might be some space issues with tighter places. Hircine, Lord of the Hunt and Daedric Prince, is the other big reason since your soul goes to him when you die. That's also not counting how much of your power he has direct control of, which is probably all of it.

"So we take matters into our own hands." Skjor continues. "To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf. Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, friend?"

Am I going to let all that stuff about souls, power, and excessive bulk stop me from indulging in a soul-tainting curse that offers unparalleled physical might? Of course not. I've already got an easy out if I don't like it and a method of contacting the Lord of the Hunt directly on top of that. Hopefully, he'll be amenable to an open discussion, but my hopes are not particularly high. In all likelihood I'll have to simply remove the curse once I've outgrown it. I've added him to the list of very powerful and definitely smarter-than-me persons that I'll have to talk to eventually.

"I am."

"Very well."

Skjor walks next to the beastly Aela. They lock eyes for a moment before he takes her elongated trunk-like arm and with his sword, cuts her wrist. She doesn't even flinch at the act but patiently waits as blood leaves her arm to the basin below. She stops bleeding after only a few seconds, after which both she and Skjor take a small step back to give me space to approach. I start towards the bloody basin before suddenly stopping. 

"Should I be naked for this?" I ask, eyeing the massive Aela.

"If you feel comfortable enough, yes. Eorlund should be able to repair whatever you break if not." Skjor answers.

I immediately strip using the inventory system, letting everything hang free. I realize this is probably the last time I'll see Skjor since he dies almost immediately after this. I hadn't felt an urgency to prevent this on account of Skjor being too proud to take advice and anything I did covertly would probably just prolong the inevitable. before immediately taking a sip of the warm blood below. It's gross and there's a familiar taste of iron in my mouth. That's the last thing I remember.

-

I wake up, still naked but now on a bedroll underneath a pelt tent. It's still dark, and I am starving just as the smell of fire hits my nose. Not just fire but a billion smells assail me, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. My brain is scrambling to keep up with my new heightened senses, but it's soon clear that my best course of action is to ignore them and get up. Aela is tending the campfire when she sees me rise.

"Are you awake? I was starting to think you might never come back. Yours was not an easy transformation. But you're still alive, so congratulations. We even have a celebration planned for you." She says, standing up.

"Cool, just give me a minute to get dressed." I say, tipping my balls inside my magic underwear. It doesn't take too long to get the rest on, a skill I'm getting very proficient at with all my armor swaps. "I'm ready."

"Good." She says, motioning me to follow. "There's a pack of werewolf hunters camped nearby, at Gallows Rock. The Silver Hand. I think you've met them before. We're going to slaughter them. All of them. They make for such easy prey. Skjor's already scouting ahead." 

"Neat. How long was I out for?"

"It's early morning now if that's what you're wondering. You gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning." she says as we walk through the Skyrim wilderness. "Ah- see there? Gallows Rock. It's an old fort, abandoned for years. They're like jackals, making their home anywhere they can find." 

It's a fairly intact structure, but a large amount of sediment from the mountain has made the walls almost pointless. That doesn't stop three pelt-wearing guards from trying to defend it, though. 

"Awe man." I say as an arrow flies past our heads. "I just got dressed."

I growl as my body extends and grows, armor spirited away into my inventory in a flash. The first thing I feel as I release the beast is a pain in my chest, which dissipates quickly, followed by pains in my bones as if they were being broken. All the while, my body expands, piling on muscle. It's over in a few seconds, but I feel great. Alive. Hungry. 

I tear into the first Silverhand I find with ease, swiping through his body like soft mince meat on the stairs before I go after the two archers he was guarding. I've got arrows in my hide, but I couldn't care less, flinging the first archer off the top of the keep before grabbing the last one's hands and crushing them. She screams as bone and wood pierce her flesh before I go for her throat. It only occurs to me after I've polished off all three corpses that there might be a slight change in my mental state. Aela approves, at least.

"Good. Kills sustain us and make us stronger. The heart of every Silverhand in this place is for you to build up your strength new-blood. The rest of us have been on plenty of hunts."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, both because it'd be difficult and because I might spray viscera everywhere. I set to cleaning myself as we head inside the old fort. It's immediately clear that the Silverhand have similar decorating tastes to the Forsworn, only they exclusively decorate in werewolf heads and beast pelts. Aela laughs when she sees that they've shut the front gate.

"Look at this. Cowards must have locked the place down after Skjor charged in. You can taste the fear."

"I… don't…. think... so." I say in a slow, guttural growl. "This… is…trap. Door… chain… on outside…should be…inside." These features can talk, but it's not easy. By contrast, those smells I was overstimulated by earlier aren't a problem anymore, and I can even make sense of my enhanced hearing. It is way too quiet here. 

"Are you sure?" She asks, and I nod. "Let's hurry then."

It's just what you'd expect from a werewolf-hunting operation. Dead werewolves, pelts, and ale. The corpses are probably new, though. Skjor has clearly cut a path through the fort. We pass through multiple living quarters and jails before I stop in front of one door. It's faint, but I can hear slight movement inside. With a nod to Aela, I creep to the door before flinging it open and rushing inside.

I jump for the first hunter I see, a hapless Redguard who hastily tried to hide behind the tanning rack he was working on. I effortlessly break through the skin on the rack as I leap for his throat, crushing it as I land with all my bulk. A female Nord charges behind me with a silver greatsword but is stunned by an arrow from Aela to her side. I turn around and palm her head, painfully tearing the sword from her grasp, my claws taking flesh as she resists. A well-armored one, their leader, I'm guessing, tries to lunge at me, but I'm in my villain saga apparently and use the Nord's body to block the attack before shoving them both away. I take stock of the fourth and last Silverhand I lost track of only to find him on the floor clutching an arrow in his throat. Their leader pushes his comrade off, leaving her on the ground, not moving. He might have made for a challenging fight but between my unorthodox werewolf and Aelas arrows he doesn't last much longer than his fellows.

Now that the fighting is over, I can properly survey the room for Skjors body. They placed it on a table at the back of the room, perhaps getting ready to prepare it for something. His body is still warm, with the slash through his throat the likely culprit. My ears can confirm his death and those around me, with only slight irregular noises coming from the bodies. Aela and I are the only two constant heartbeats in the chamber.

"The bastards... somehow they managed to kill Skjor." Aela says in disbelief. "He was one of the strongest we had, but numbers can overwhelm. He should not have come without a Shield-Sibling!"

I privately agree, but I also understand him wanting to go it alone. No one you love gets hurt, you can do things you normally couldn't with someone watching you and you get all the bragging rights. But Skjor was aging. His corpse makes the least of these new noises I'm noticing out of the recently created cadavers. Corpse quivers, I think I'll call it, which gives me an idea. I place my ear flat along Skjors chest to listen.

Pulling back, I immediately start convulsing, like a cat having a seizure and a hairball at the same time. Aela can only watch, confused, as I try to reverse my transformation early. It hurts like hell, but I keep trying, pushing the beast further back as it fights tooth and nail to stay surfaced. I don't really know how long it takes, but I know it's over when the sensations of agony are gone, replaced by an overfullness and coldness from my nudity.

"What just happened? Are you alright?" Aela says, alarmed.

I say nothing but stagger to my feet, hindered by a massive gut of undigested victims my human form is apparently ill-suited to process. With drool running down my naked, bloated body, I cast Healing Hands on Skjors corpse, closing his neck wound. When I run out of mana, I throw an extra large healing potion on him for good measure.

"He's dead, Alex. You can't bring him back. I'm sorry." Aela says solemnly.

I can only burp in response. Placing my head on Skjors chest again, I confirm the sounds that give me hope before standing straight up again. His heart is quivering. I arc Sparks between my hands, controlling the power before landing on my best guess of what an appropriate level of power should be. Then I take off his armor before placing my fingers at precise locations on his body, just like where I was taught to place the pads from an Automated External Defibrillator, or A.E.D., and then I let loose a pulse of weak Sparks. Skjors body jumps, but that's about it. In my head, I'd already decided to only do two pulses. I'mma 'bout to barf as it is, and there's a very large possibility I've killed his heart's ability to restart with my eyeballed voltage. After a few more seconds, I swallow my vomit down to go again. As I touch his skin and lean down I hear a heartbeat and back off, sliding down to lean against the stone table. Aela asks me something, but all I can do is rub my red overdue food baby before passing out from my cannibalistic food coma.

-

I once again wake up naked and confused. There's a pelt blanket covering me, though, and this time it's Skjor who greets me.

"You're quite lucky, you know? Ending the Beasthood early can have severe consequences. If you had eaten one more prey, you probably would have burst when you tried to save me earlier, which I suppose I should thank you for. Aela says it was nothing short of a miracle, and I believe her. But in the future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill yourself for me, alright?" He says, half smiling, half frowning.

"Sure thing." I say, rising up. Skjor gives me some privacy to dress myself, which is a relief because I don't fit into anything the way I used to. I'm one Sweetroll away from officially fat, and I feel my body jiggling everywhere. 

We pick up Aela outside and head back to Whiterun together. I try asking a few smart questions about being a werewolf, but it doesn't seem like there's much to it. "You don't have to worry about getting too big so long as you let the blood run its course naturally. The opposite, if anything." Skjor explains. "You'll get a feeling for how often you can call on the blood, but you can push it if you need to. Just don't say we didn't warn you." Aela explains. No Companion in memory has ever lost control of themselves in the same way common werewolves tend to as well, something Aela attributes to warrior discipline. I think it may also be due to the unique source of our Beasthood, but I keep that to myself.

-

I couldn't resist taking a nap when I got home, having not really slept properly through my ordeal. My family should be back soon, along with Alvor and his clan. We've already paid for a large room and food at the Bannered Mare without them knowing since Breezehome's a little too small for overnight guests and we want them to be comfortable. I must have gotten an hour of fitful sleep before someone banged on the door. Moaning I roll out of bed and clamber down the steps. They bang again before I can get to the door, above which hangs the hand ax that symbolizes my position as Thane, given to me by the Jarl what seems like an eternity ago. I open the door, surprised to see a guardsmen waiting for me.

"Thank the Gods. I didn't think anyone was home. You need to know there's been an attack near Riverwood. We're not sure exactly what happened yet, but it looks like a possible Thalmor ambush." he says

No

"Who did they attack? Did they go after my family?!"

"It looks to be that way. We aren't sure yet because half of them are missing, but there are casualties." the guardsman states with a gentility that should be comforting but only serves to infuriate the last nerve I didn't know I had.

"WHO?!" I boom. The guardsman staggers back as if hit by a thunderclap before composing himself

"Alvor is dead, his family missing. Housecarl Lydia and your daughter Lucia are also missing. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Camilla is dead. Lucan is the only known survivor so far that we've found."

For one whole second, gravity intensifies, not from the ground but from a hole in my chest. There is such an intense rush of feelings that I cannot actually feel them, my mind unable to comprehend the gravity I'm swirling in as it tears my being apart. For an eternity, this second lasts until I can no longer hold my breath, and my body forces me to inhale. I find the guardsman staring at me, pulling me back to reality. 

"Is there any other relevant information?" I say, swallowing an odd lump in my throat.

"No, my Thane. I must report this to the Jarl. Talos guide you."

I've never felt lighter in my life. My feet just move. It is not a good lightness. It's the kind of weightlessness that comes from too much alcohol, a numbness, to be more accurate, coupled with an urgency so powerful it transcends willpower tenfold. I need to use this state I'm in, this energized numbness, to find the best solution before I start feeling things again. This shock will wear off, and I can't let the emotional pain cripple me from possibly saving the others. 

In no time at all, and too much time, I've passed Honningsbrew headed to the bridge junction to Riverwood. I stop when I see two figures in the distance, one a guardswoman and the other seemingly a small grey clay statue of what looks like a girl. They are walking towards me, the clay girl shambling almost as she walks. I start walking again, determined that whatever fantastical being this might be will have to wait until I've saved what's left of my family, when the clay girl starts sprinting at me. 

"Alex!" cries them mud girl, leaping into my arms.

"Dorthe?!" I exclaim, holding what I can tell now is the daughter of Alvor and Sigrid, covered in grey riverbed muck. Some small relief floods me as I unconsciously start to clean her before I see the tear lines that run down her face and lock back in. "What happened?"

"Elves attacked us! Momma pulled me into the river to run, but one of the Elves hit her in the back with magic. She was really hurt, but we fell over the waterfall before they could catch us. I don't remember what happened after that. I woke up on the side of the river, but momma won't move. Can you help her? Please?"

"Yes, Dorthe, I will help your mother." I say, knowing full well Sigrid is dead. "Guardsman." 

"Yes, my Thane."

"Take her to Jorrvaskr with everything you know. Use my name and tell them to watch her for a little while."

"It will be done."

"Can't I go with you? Mother might need my help." Dorthe says, pleading.

"You've done enough. I'm sure your mother wants you to be safe now. The Companions will watch over you until we come back. No Elves can touch you there." I say, an unfamiliar tone I don't recognize in my voice.

 "...Okay. She's just over there so please hurry."

It's just as Dorthe leaves my sight that the body of Sigrid enters it, already brought to the roadside by the two other guards of the patrol squad. They can't tell me much, "Poor girl," but the mud of the riverbed weaves a heartbreaking tale. Sigrid survived the fall, brought Dorthe to the shoreline, and stopped moving after that. There's a clear drag line through the mud where the guards took her, but also a smaller, more irregular line surrounded by lots of little footprints as her daughter tried everything to save her. There's a terrible burn on Sigrid's back that evaporated her clothing where the spell struck, and already there's the faintest smell of death that my new super smell can pick up. I wish I couldn't.

It's starting to set in, an emotional drag manifesting as a physical one. I still don't feel much, but my body is annoyingly sluggish now after what I just saw. It gets heavier as I climb up the path and heavy still when I smell the blood, nearly pinning me to the ground when I realize it's not half as fresh as I'd hoped it would be. It looks like the battle happened just beyond the bridge, though there's not much to see besides blood and the occasional disturbed feature. They've already moved the bodies. How late am I?

Too late.

The village is predictably somber. What's frustrating is that for the first time since I've arrived in Skyrim, everyone knows me and exactly why I'm here. There is no just passing through and getting what I need; I know almost everyone here, and they know me back. Familiar faces full of sorrow, mouths full of regret, heads full of lead, too heavy to be kept upright. It's awful. I know it's not their meaning, but I would prefer a festival to this. I'm directed to head to the open morgue to find Lucan slumped next to Camilla. Alvor lies next to her, both bloody, though mercifully their faces are largely untouched. They both lie in repose, arms crossed holding the weapons they died with. Alvor, with an iron warhammer he no doubt forged himself and Camilla in the Imperial armor I gave her, clutching her sword with the shield, one of the first things I ever enchanted, covering her torso. The bodies of the attacking Thalmor foot soldiers were dumped in a separate pile with one of the guards watching over them.

"Look who finally turned up, everybody!" Lucan cries. "The great and powerful Dragonborn back from another adventure. What was it this time? Bandits, trolls or another musty tomb filled with riches? Maybe you were just doing your job huh? Fighting dragons is pretty important. Yessir!" 

"Lucan…"

"Whatever it was, I hope it was worth getting your family slaughtered over. Don't mind us; we'll just die quietly like ants while you live like a hero! Anything for the all important Dragonborn!"

"That's not what happened."

"Oh really? 'Cause it sure as hell looks like that's what happened. Even without the Thalmor butchering us, there are still dragons and a civil war to boot. But you don't care about all that, do you? You didn't spare a thought for us when you handed us all those Elven weapons and armor did you? Because you knew that your ass would be just fine. Because that's all you cared about. 

"T-That's no-t…"

"We needed you! They died crying for you! So where were you, huh? Oh mighty hero?"

He's right. He's right, and it's not helping. I can't even tell him it's not helping because he's right. He's cracked me like an egg and I'm starting to spill out everywhere. I desperately turn away, shoving everything back inside my broken shell, even with Lucan yelling behind me. I will find Lucia and Lydia. I will find them if it kills me, does worse than kill me.

I slip into the Riverwood Trader, grateful for the sensory separation it provides when I close the door. Fighting the urge to relax for even a moment I head up to the bedroom to where they would have slept last night and gather their scents. First Camilla, then Lucia, and then Lydia. As I analyze the smells a jolt of realization hits me that even if the other two are alive, that this will be the first and last time I will smell them together like this. Tears pour out of my face in a flood, but before I lose control and start sobbing I stab myself in the thigh. The pain doesn't stop the tears, but it does activate my survival response, allowing me to pick myself up and leave.

I don't give Riverwood a second thought, not even Lucan, Camilla or Alvor, as I hurry out. I can't talk to Lucan, so I'll have to use my nose and my spells to get what I want. Clairvoyance first, since that will tell me roughly if they are dead or not. An unspoiled corpse offers almost no resistance to the spell while even a living person familiar and open to me will have a slightly fuzzier path. To my delight and small dismay, Lucia is obscured completely to my spell, alive but with someone magically powerful. Lydia shows a much clearer path but I can't quite tell if she's alive or dead, as even a slight change to the body, say from decay or disfigurement can affect the magic. I put my nose to the ground, catch their scent, and run.

_

It might sound cruel to say, but I never planned on putting much effort into finding Lydia. Clairvoyance showed a pretty clear path so I already wrote her off as dead. If their scent trails had diverged I would have left her body in whatever ditch it lay to continue after Lucia, whom I'm almost certain has been kidnapped now. Being a parent changes the center of your world. Or at least it should if I wasn't such a careless monster. I know that Lydia would have done the same. Or rather she is doing it.

Based on the scent trail Lydia is most likely alive and chasing after Lucia, if I can believe my nose. Besides horses and the occasional odd traveler here and there, I can smell them both, though Lydia's scent is the strongest. I've identified a third scent that smells similar to the Altmer bodies at Riverwood. I think I can only smell one such individual, which tells me this person grabbed my daughter and ran away from the fight for some reason. Two distinct horse scents. Lydia must have picked one up by the stables. I can't afford to ride a beast that takes my nose away from the ground, and I can't go giant for the same reason. I have to go on foot and hope for the best if I want to know where they went.

"Aye we saw him come through this morning and Lydia not long after that." a guardsman at the Western Watchtower confirms.

"Did he have anyone or anything with him that looked suspicious?" I ask.

"Now that you mention it he did have a potato sack on the saddle. Odd to be sure, but orders from up high are to leave those yellow bastards alone so long as they don't cause trouble." he says. 

Saying nothing I take off again toward Rorikstead running from the evening light. It's a long way to Rorikstead from here and a lot of time to reflect on my failings. Lucan is most likely right. Elven goods pouring out of Whiterun Hold after Northwatch Keep was sacked was probably like a lighthouse for the surviving Thalmor, hungry for answers and revenge. A Thane is a really easy person to gather information on. Even if they thought I was too powerful to confront directly, all they had to do was kidnap someone I cared about to bring me to heel.

Even without the Thalmor, there are still powerful forces that want to hurt my family. This is a new age of dragons; they'll appear wherever and whenever they want in Skyrim and abroad. My list of enemies only grows. Why didn't the girls make more of a fuss? Why did any of us think it was a good idea to travel without me, even for such a short distance?... 

Whiterun. Balgruuf. That's the answer. The biggest and best of the nine Holds. I thought my family was safe in Whiterun. We all thought we were safe in Whiterun. Everyone in my family knows to run from a dragon. They can't run from an ambush. I didn't know the Thalmor could just waltz around Whiterun Hold. Hells, nobody thought the Thalmor were a problem in Whiterun with Balgruuf being neutral in the civil war. It's not technically Imperial territory right now, which should make the White-Gold Concordat null. There shouldn't be half a dozen Thalmor agents ambushing people in the Hold! But I knew better. I knew that Balgruuf was secretly an Imperial sympathizer, knew that the Thalmor could smuggle themselves into any Stormcloak city they wanted to (as they had before in the game), and knew that Thorald had been a prominent Whiterun citizen before his abduction. I knew they weren't really safe but I pretended otherwise. All because I wanted to do things my way and be a werewolf on my time.

Night falls well before I make it to Rorikstead, but I breeze through the town; stopping only to confirm with the local guard that both Lydia and the Thalmor passed through. Outside of town I strip and transform in the night, allowing Beasthood to take me once more. Obtaining this form cost me my wife, and I don't intend to let it all be for nothing. I would give it all back to put things right, but right now there's no better tool I can think of to track down Lucia than this nose and these limbs. Leaping into a full sprint, I find with some amazement that I can keep up this running pace almost indefinitely, which is great because I must be as fast or faster than a horse right now. The only problem is this form is terribly hungry. The need to hunt clouds my thoughts and weakens my body. I'll need interim prey if I'm to keep this pace up.

My problem solves itself. Just as I think I'll not find anything out here, I see a bandit checkpoint/toll shakedown on the road. They've built a whole network of wooden fortifications in a gorge that the path cuts through, replete with barricades and falling rock traps. You'd think the Legion would have cleared out crap like this, but I guess it doesn't matter if you don't need to supply Whiterun. I couldn't be more grateful. Killing them is easy, they are sleepy and/or drunk, save for their wizard leader, but the abundant cover in this fortified camp dooms him as I use it to reach his furry Khajiit throat. All of their flesh is delicious, but the testicles of the mage leader are a particularly tasty delicacy. Almost like two melons made of a creamy meat mousse. Who knew.

Plenty full now I ride to make up for lost time. Speeding across the marshes of Hjaalmarch the dank air fills my lungs. I sprint without stopping all the way to the town of Dragons Bridge uninterrupted, though I am starting to get hungry again. Stopping way outside of town, I ignore the calls of my inner beast to crack into some locals as my hunger starts to return, a dark impulse that I file under the 'things to take care of later' category. Right now, I need my human form again to ask questions and not alarm the locals. My nose has confirmed that they've come this way. I could even tell which coins the Altmer and Lydia used to pay off the bandits and smell that their horses are stressed and exhausted. I can't afford to be majorly delayed trying to find another crossing spot or risk a fight with a settlement of unknown strength, especially one that's sole purpose is to be a chokepoint. After what feels like an eternity the beast inside me sleeps, the experience much more pleasant this time, like a warm murder blanket slowly being lifted. I cross the bridge at dawn's first light. The locals direct me immediately to the Imperial commander of the bridge the moment the word Thalmor leaves my lips.

"You're the second person to ask that, and I'll tell you what I told them: go home. The Thalmor are off-limits. I don't like it any better than you, but that's the truth. If you've got a missing persons problem, then I suggest you give up. They're already gone." asserts the captain in a grim voice.

I couldn't help it. I felt the impact on my fist before my brain knew what had happened. I deck the captain in the face for even daring to suggest I give up on my daughter before reason floods back into me and I run. Fleeing the town I see guards wearing red sashes pour out like angry wasps behind me. I don't want a massacre (I kinda do, but I don't have time,) but I realize there's a better option as the guards run behind me on the road. I wheel around and Shout.

"Fus Ro Dah!"

Every man and woman behind is launched away, some back to town. I don't look back and no one follows me after that.

-

There's been another snag. Lydia's trail points to Solitude, while Lucia's heads up the mountains, likely towards the Embassy. When I thought Lydia was dead, this was a no-brainer, but I'm hesitant to head towards the Embassy without knowing why Lydia split. There are plenty of reasonable explanations, but I'm worried that they may have threatened Lucia's life on sight or something similarly drastic. I don't know. I'm too stupid and tired to know But I'd rather they simply kill her than have her live through whatever hell they might have waiting for her. There are things way worse than death in Tamriel, and the Thalmor have access to most of them. With that in mind I resolve myself to climb the mountain above Solitude.

I creep toward the Embassy in Nightingale armor, much slower than I'd like, but I'm pretty sure they will be on alert for me. It doesn't hurt that my beast needs a little more time to recharge. I'll be pushing my body, using it again so soon, but the longer I wait the easier should be on me. I don't know how much information they've managed to gather about me, but unless Lucia's kidnapping was somehow wildly coincidental, I can assume they at least know I'm Dragonborn. They may have figured out my giant spell by now and could possibly even know I'm counted among the Nightingales since that's common knowledge among the Thieves Guild nowadays. I don't think they could know about my Beasthood, not without powerful scrying magic. It's not outside their power to have as an organization, but you either have to have incredibly costly equipment or a near-mythical mage to do it reliably, both of which would be wasted in Skyrim.

The Embassy is predictably very well-guarded. Annoyingly so but they don't appear to be expecting anybody out of the ordinary, save for a dragon. In an indoor environment, I have no doubt I could kill them all efficiently. If I tried that shit in one of their high-wall courtyards, they'd explode me into a puff of red glitter in less than five seconds. It's a kill box. High walls with rusty metal spikes, powerful mages, and enough meat shields to save them. But my nose tells me Lucia is here so inside I must go. Trying the secret exit again couldn't hurt.

The old cave appears abandoned as I enter. Well abandoned by comparison. No critters or dead bodies, just old bones and moss. They repaired the hatch at least, but removed the ladder. I doubt I could get away with blowing it open a second time, not without endangering Lucia, so I slink back outside to review my options. I could grow giant, go invisible, and step over the fence, but I think the likelihood of someone noticing something was off would be high given that I wouldn't be weightless or noiseless. Even Muffle has its limits. The gates are solid metal bars, easy enough to see through, but would require a battering ram to breach. I contemplate my options but none of them seem good. My tired mind drifts off and I become fixated on a squirrel just beyond the gate, frolicking unaware of my plight or the dark purpose of this place. It bounds to-and-fro in a pattern that must make sense to critters but seems awfully inefficient to me. Then one of the guards comes round and it hurries out through the gate, ignorant of the barrier as it flees the one who disturbed its peaceful foraging. Huh.

You know I've never actually shrunk myself down past my natural height before, but it should be possible and turns out to be just as easy as growing tall. I easily slip through the gate, a tiny black Nightingale, and scurry through the courtyard. It takes much longer than I'd like, given that the courtyard is suddenly much bigger than it used to be, but being undetected is much easier when you're shorter than a banana. 

It's only when I make it to a door that I realize I have a problem. The front door is the only door on this side, and if I remember correctly from the game, it has a series of other doors that would obstruct my path to the more sensitive areas of the Embassy. The backyard, on the other hand, has several doors that I might be able to open normally and undetected if I could reach them. With some luck, I manage to find a vine running along a wall to the backyard, and after shrinking myself down even more to ensure that the plant can hold me, I start to climb. It's a very surreal experience, climbing a vine this small. I can see the leaf veins perfectly, like giant maps, and the vine itself is indistinguishable from a tree save for its comparative elasticity. Upsettingly the bugs are larger now and at a level of detail I didn't need. There are things humans just weren't meant to see and the particulars of the creatures that crawl the earth are some of them.

At the top of the wall, I can see only part of the backyard now but find myself conveniently by a door that's partially hidden by the overall layout of the yard and a few bushes. Getting down will be a problem, but I think I spot a path down some of the rougher stones that'll work perfectly at my size. As I study the way down, a flash of grey catches me in my right peripheral vision. Something fuzzy. An enormous grey wolf spider is staring straight at me, pedipalps churning, waiting to pounce. I summon my sword and shield, and in an instant it's on me. My shield is wedged between me and the spider's fangs, not by any real choice I had, but by the arachnid pinning me to its body. I slash for dear life as its eight legs curl around me, trying to manipulate my body for a kill shot. One of my swings makes purchase, and the spider flings me away almost over the edge of the wall in a reflexive shock. I can see in the spider's many void-black eyes that it's not finished yet, having judged its wound to not be severe enough to warrant retreat. It begins to carefully study me and approaches in slow cat-like movements, pedipalps betraying its excitement at the thought of eating me. I glance over my shoulder and then back at the spider before pushing myself off the wall toward the ground.