FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The land of the Dragonborn.

Realizing that the urine that gathered in his boots was quickly turning cold from the low temperature, the traveling Bretton found the fear for his life momentary replaced with disgust and embarrassment. But as the impossible creature thundered forth the question once more, the fear rushed back into his mind as he turned his gaze back to the dragon. "Answer, joor! What purpose do you have within Dovahofkiin?!" The creature was twice as horrific and thrice as imposing as the tales had them portrayed. Smaller than expected, but the plated scales and deathly array of spikes and horns decorating its body more than made up for its size. Of course, even if they were smaller than the stories reaching the southern provinces claimed, they still seemed large enough to effortlessly grab a horse and rider within their massive claws and fly off with them effortlessly... The voice dooming forth between the sharp set of teeth but a few feet from the Bretton's face was clearly impatient, also carrying the same intolerance for exchanging words and time with a lesser creature that the Bretton peddlers were known for... such cruel irony...

"I seek... D-Dragonhome? I was granted permission to-" The stuttering traveller was interrupted by the dragon sighing and rolling his eyes before kicking off and sending the fresh snow swirling beneath the winds of its powerful wings. Sustained mid-air, a few yards off the ground, it spoke once more. "Discuss your cursed orlaavend with the Nord guards!" Seemingly offended, the dragon was soon high amongst the clouds with another few powerful strikes of its wings... leaving the Bretton to empty his boots in shame and quickly wash his legs with handfuls of snow before changing trousers. Thankful for whatever odd magic the dragon had blasted his horse with to calm it, or it might just had fled for the hills with his cart and cargo...

It wasn't long after his first encounter with one of those legendary and myth-spoken dragons that he saw the entrance he had sought for weeks. The cold was bad enough, and to almost every day experience the fear that came naturally when the shadow of a dragon darted across the nearby ground was just as bad! Bandits, trolls, tigers, dragons and a cold so intense that few of the rivers or ponds he had past showed any movement at all... had it not been for the unique and possibility-rich opportunity that had opened up for him, he'd never have left his old shop in High Rock. How he missed the warmth...

The journey had been disastrous as well... He had first travelled to the hold of Morthal, since it was the easiest to reach from the harbour near Solitude and seemingly the closest of the ten holds in Skyrim to Dragonhome. However upon arriving there and asking for a guide, he had been laughed at by the local bar patrons over his unknown mistake... he sought to reach Dragonhome, once known as Labyrinthian, with a CART! A feat impossible to do from the North side of the mountain due to the sharp slopes and large amount of stairs one would have to cross to reach it from that side. So after having re-stocked supplies, he had been forced to spend another week on the road just to reach Whiterun, the centre hold of Skyrim, from where he could reach Dragonhome.

But he was finally getting close! The long journey up-hill from Whiterun had drained his horse and made the last stretch painfully slow, especially since this seemed to be the stronghold of many a dragons... he had hoped THAT part of the rumours were just folktales. But he could clearly make out several of the skulking figures rest amongst the many rocky spikes and juts on the two mountains as he entered the pass between. The single road that lead up between the mountains seemed fairly new and well maintained, and it was clear that the land had been altered slightly to make it easier for carts to traverse the long slope. As he finally passed beneath the first ancient arch of massive stones, he could see the city.

For thousands of years it had been known as Labyrinthian, but for the past hundred years or so it had been called Dragonhome, and for good reasons. Ever since tumult of the Stormcloak rebellion and the return of the dragons settled by the hands of the legendary hero known as the "Dragonborn", to be more precise. But he did not yet know the details of the change... only that the once feared and abandoned ruins had been turned into a growing and blooming city by the aid of the very same hero... and where there was opportunity, there was Brettons! At least now there was one!

"Halt! State your business within our city, traveller." The voice of a local male drew the Bretton's attention away from the impressive architecture and to the small guardhouse, which's single window glowed brightly and the tiny chimney erupted smoke from the warm fire within. The voice's owner was a native Nord. Somewhere in his mid-20's, maybe early 30's, with an average build and rich brown hair. The height and broad shoulders that was common for the Nords did however make his handlebar moustache look somewhere between silly and intimidating... "Trading! I come from High Rock with permission to open shop, signed by the Jarl himself!" Blinking in his own surprise, he came to realize just how easy he had it talking to regular people in a charming and trust-giving way. It came natural for him, but had stood to offer no aid in the confrontation of the dragon but half an hour earlier... At any rate, he offered the protective envelope with the signed document within to the guard who gave him a funny look over his claim. "Hmm... everything seems to be in order... ah, the old Hjulmar building! Wait here a moment." The large man turned and went inside the warm, wooden hut again. Hot air turned visible as it escaped the open door, and the Bretton could hear the thick voice of the Nord converse with another voice that was too low for him to catch due to the wind. But it truly didn't take more than a moment before he came back out and handed the papers back with a nod. "You're clear to enter, outlander. I'm sending Lizzy along to help you with the cargo." As he stepped aside, the Bretton could see that there was a third person amongst them who had been hidden by the sheer frame of the male Nord. An almost sickly thin and rather short female, with the face and ears of a cat and covered in a dark brown and golden coat of fur! A Khajiit! "This Khajiit is Liz'Arvo, and is happy to be of use." The female's voice was almost a whisper, a hiss, but warm and friendly like her glowing green eyes. Her attire was humble, a robe and cowl with wrapped arms and a pair of gloves. Her, what the Bretton could only assume to be a 'smile', was calm but proud, indicating a certain level of self-esteem and belief in her abilities, even for looking so frail and poorly developed. There was truly nothing about her form that spoke of her being female, outside of her gentle facial features and voice... But before the trader could utter the words of protest along with the hand he began to raise to deny the offered aid, the hands of the female became enwrapped in a soothing light as she flickered her fingers, levitating her off the ground calmly so she could step up on the cart's seat next to him. A mage.

"Suleyk told me of the location. Is two stairs up, so let us save our backs, yes?" Sitting down casually, she smiled warmly once more. The Bretton couldn't do much but nod and mumble a few words of uneasy appreciation. It wasn't her magic that put him off, but he had never quite liked the Argonians or Khajiits... they seemed unnatural to him. But he could use the help moving his cargo, and there had been no mention of payment for the offered aid... so he thought that he might as well make use of the situation.

Riding into the city itself, he was amazed over its sheer size. Around the city reached the mountains like impossible walls, shielding the inside from the harsh winds and most of the snow. And whilst the majority of the buildings seemed beyond ancient, many smaller houses alongside the mountain walls looked new or at the very least recently build when compared to the restored ruins. There was a broad and long stairway down to the centre of the city, but thankfully they had constructed a slope of packed dirt next to it for carts and cattle to move more easily. The middle of the city existed of a large town square made from some kind of black stone, functioning as a market place!

"Impressive, yes? Our Bronjun Katla established Dovahofkiin only a hundred years ago, but is already so full of life." Liz'Arvo looked down upon the commotion of stands, peddlers and bystanders from their elevated location, smiling happily as she did. "It is surprisingly... forgive me, but what is a 'bronjun'? Katla is the name of your Jarl, is it not?" The Bretton looked to the cat lady from the corner of his eye, uncertain as how to handle her. "I ask for your forgiveness. Yes, Katla is 'Jarl' of 'Dragonhome'. Khajiit often forget the outsiders having not grown up with the tongue of dragons. Many tings and people here have their names in the old tongue, since city itself is built by the old ones." As she nodded, the Bretton did as well. Finally understanding where several of these unknown words stemmed from. He had at first guessed them to be some kind of Nordic accent, but never that they would have taken after the language of dragons... "It seems I have quite a bit of studying to do..." He hummed, honestly curious.

"Liz'Arvo attends the Dova Hahsok, 'Dragon School'. Could tell of how Dovahofkiin came to be, yes?" Almost sparking with eagerness, the female feline looked to the Bretton with delight... he nodded. "When Nords were at war with another, the Dovahkiin appeared. Last born with blood and soul of Dragons... this one has heard of the legends, yes? Good. Dovahkiin found power in Thu'um, shouts of powerful words natural to dragons. Following years, between aiding the Empire and people of Skyrim, the Dovahkiin trained to master the thu'um. Meditating with the Greybeards and studying at the Collage in Winterhold. Events of the time and that one's mastery of magic caused the Dovahkiin to soon take over as Kinbok of the Collage! Teachings say that through combined power of all Eight Schools of magic, the world-eater Alduin fell to the Dovahkiin..." "Eight schools of magic?!" The Bretton looked to her in confusion, as he himself had only heard of Five.

"Yes! The Dova Hahsok teaches Restoration, Conjuration, Alteration, Illusion and Destruction, just like the collage. But also the deep studies in Alchemy, Enchanting and Ven Do Zul, Way of the Voice. All having their own Magical uses and potentials, so in Dovahofkiin they are taught as schools." Smiling calmly but having to hold on to the cart due to a bump the in road, Liz'Arvo met the confused but nodding gaze of the Bretton whilst she kept pointing him in the right direction. She continued. "With Alduin defeated, many dragons came to respect the Dovahkiin that one's superior thu'um. But other enemy came from the Thalmor... Dovahkiin being Dragonborn is proof of royal heritage, unknown linage to long-lost Septim family. They too where Dragonborn, is no secret. With Empire as winners in local war, many wished for Dovahkiin to take the throne in Cyrodiil to once more have Septims in charge. Thalmor refused. Banning worship of Thalos, ancient Dragonborn hero that the Nords believes became a God, the elves threatened to wipe out the Empire as it went against agreements... Having aided the Empire to stand against the Dominion, Dovahkiin was forced out from the Empire so to not start another war. So... where to go?" Clearly saddened by the tragedy of the global betrayal the hero she apparently worshipped faced, the Khajiit sighed. "Labyrinthian. All of Skyrim was Empire grounds, so no-where to go. But no-one came here... So through aid of many loyal friends from many adventures, magic and even dragons, they began to clear out the ancient ruins and rebuild! Dovahkiin had already faced most dangers alone in search for Magnus' Staff, so rebuilding was soon started. Over time, many who adored the hero came here too, seeking to aid in the project or for shelter as they too were abandoned by both the Empire and Dominion. Soon, all kinds of races flooded here to live under protection of Dragons, to study magic and to live safe." The Bretton sat silently as he listened to the tale, knowing how false the High Elves of the Dominion and the Politicians of the Empire can be, so he had no issues believing her story.

"But... how come he was allowed to remain here? Why didn't the Thalmor or the Empire wipe out the local forces long ago?"

Liz'Arvo smirked slyly as she jumped off the cart as it stopped beneath the stairs to the Bretton's assigned home. "They were eager to make foes... Both sides having seen the Dovahkiin slay dragons on single hand and seeming ease, they thought not needing the hero to wipe out the rest. Little they knew, that the Dovahkiin only killed those that try kill first! And that Dragons really suffer no damage by mortal means. With Ulfric gone and Dovahkiin banished, only Greybeards remained capable to use Thu'um, but no forces could breach their top due to their power. With no natural foe to the dragons in their grasp, they tried sending mages and soldiers to wipe out the rest of the dragons." The female feline purred in delight as she lifted the first box of cargo with her magic. "Never worked. Dragons too fast for bolts, arrows or swords. And why land to give humans reach, no? But this went in favour for the Dragonborn, who had told all Dragons that there was no desire to spill further dovah sos. And now they had common foe. Through respect, fear and need, more and more Dragons joined sides with the Dovahkiin's growing force. Mortals and Dragons cooperating to build a city for all to live safe, learning from another, aiding another! It is why all who study at the Dova Hahsok are given individual word of power to practice, to master! A gift from the Dragons that guards our skies, whilst we support care and crafting from the ground."

"Truly? What word is yours?" The Bretton found himself having less and less of an issue to trust or listen to the female feline as they carried his cargo up to his new home and future shop, enthralled by her story and the lore of the town. Liz'Arvo magically lowered the rolls of mats she had carried up the stairs before closing her eyes and focusing... Before turning to the skies with a surprisingly wide-opened mouth that allowed the sun to shine on her sharp teeth and canines. "Bonaar!" The word echoed between the mountains and was answered by a dragon roaring in approval of her pronunciation. "Is my family's word. In our tongue, it means 'humble'. My father picked the word when the Dovahkiin began teaching in the Way of the Voice." "Your father was taught in Shouting by the Dragonborn? Odd word to pick..."

"My father, J'zargo, studied at the Collage along with the Dovahkiin. They became friends in their practices, went on adventures... he then became the student, but he had once been very much of a... how to say... hot head? The time spent alongside the much stronger and faster learner that was still always kind and helpful, he said, infused him with humbleness. And so he picked the word." The Bretton nodded, having something in the back of his mind taunting him with that his entire species could use that mentality, but he shrugged it off. "Delah nau vahraak tiid, Liz'Arvo? Hi los alun ful frin dii prustiik." A second female voice joined in after a few moments silence, along with a few boxes hovering above the figure walking up the stairs. The female was tall, VERY tall. No doubt a High Elf of some kind, the Bretton thought. It'd also match the almost angelic voice erupting beneath the... mask? Clad in robes just like the Khajiit student, only far more decorated, the second female's face was hidden beneath a richly decorated cowl and mask made from some kind of stone or odd metal.

"Zu'u hiif daar solgaaz, mindovin." Liz'Arvo bowed deeply and made an odd gesture with one hand, before motioning to the merchant whose cargo the mask-clad teacher carried.

"Ah yes, the Bretton salesman. I am glad to see that you arrived safely, and what luck you have in that it was young Lizzy's week of aiding the deliveries. She is amongst the best students I have in my fields." The tall woman with the hypnotically wonderful voice placed a proud hand on her student, who purred in shy delight over the praise. "I was taking a stroll amongst the gardens when I heard our feline friend here, so I thought that since I had the time I could investigate." "That is very kind of you, miss... thank you. I take it that you are a teacher at this, uhm, 'Dragon School' that miss Liz' here told me about? I have yet to fully absorb the local culture, and your mask does confuse me somewhat on your social level and profession..."

Liz'Arvo giggled softly and looked to the covered face of her teacher, who upon looking back nodded. "This one should know, that the Dovahkiin located Eight masks of great power here in Skyrim. Recovering them from the ancient Priests of the original Dragon Cult. These masks are now given as symbol of status to the teachers of the Eight schools of magic in the Dova Hahsok, granting them unique strengths." The Khajiit smirked over the surprised look on the Bretton's face. Such ancient artefacts handed out to mere teachers? It made him consider re-taking his childhood studies in the fields of Destruction just for a chance to get closer to them... "I had heard stories like anyone else about the many adventures and foes he met, but I would never have imagined... His old chambers must have been a treasure hunter's wet-dream if he could give out such potent trinkets to friends and employees." Unlocking the door to his new home, the Bretton looked inside and began feeling his pockets for something to light a candle with. But before he could get the chance, four orbs of radiating pale-blue light flew by his ears and connected themselves to the four corners of the large inner room, illuminating it brightly. Turning his head, he saw the two females looking in opposite directions with their hands on their backs. And whilst he could only see the face of the Khajiit, he was sure that the elf was smiling just as much beneath that mask. Going inside, the three began to move the carried cargo into the building at a high speed, allowing for some more conversation.

"So... what does the Dragons get out on this deal? Having met with one, I know now that they are far more intelligent than I had anticipated. How come they agreed to serving as airborne guards and fright-symbols to the same species that tried to kill them?" "Mutual benefits." The elven teacher replied. "Neither truly trusts the other, however they are in as much need of us as we are of them. And whilst only a few have managed to build true relations and friendships between species, we are still a young community. But we are making progress fast. The Empire and the Dominion fears the dragons as they are unable to battle them one on one, and now a majority of them all live close to each other as a family amongst a mountain with only two possible entrances. This benefits the Dragons as they are left alone from forces that'd want them dead or harvested, as well as us from getting the best protection in all of Tamriel. However, all dragons have a natural desire to lead and dominate, to express their mastery in knowledge, shout, flight and magic by having a larger following and treasure than others of its kind. This is where we come in. They guard us, and we partly serve them. As powerful as they are, their lack of elegant and thinner limbs disables them from delicate crafting or detailed work. And they are highly intelligent, so they find it beneath them to hunt on their own and eat raw food. So they hunt, we cook. They guard, we offer tribute. They teach, we bow." Closing the door behind her as she carried the last few boxes in on a field of shimmering magic, the elven teacher then aimed her free hand to the fireplace and shot a ball of wild flames into it, setting the wood and remaining coal on fire to heat up the building. And before the Bretton could point it out, even though his face already displayed his worry, she continued.

"We are aware of how dangerously thin the line we walk on is. Many worries that the Dragons will turn on us, or that we'll become a new Dragon Cult. But at the same time, the Dragons also constantly have to deal with trusting us to not poison their food or gauge their eyes in their sleep. We are both breeds that by nature desires to kill or dominate the other, and what we have here is a standstill of power and need. We need their protection, they need our assistance. They are near immortal on the battle field, but useless when it comes to any form of crafting outside of infusing items with magic. And there has yet to exist a dragon that would have that small of an ego to put its powers in a mundane or humble item such as a stone or stick. No, they demand and desire the beautifully and decorated crafts in noble gems and rich minerals. And we're all growing to trust each other more and more with each passing season."

Whilst the three sat on their boxes in silence, allowing the Bretton to fully digest the situation and mentality of the populous he was joining, a sudden boom of angry voices united in a shout interrupted the stillness. "VAX POLTOR! BEL IN!" Liz'Arvo looked to her teacher with a worried look as the older mage stood up calmly and nodding. Again interrupting the Bretton before he could open his mouth to ask the question. "A traitor has been captured... you, may wish to follow to observe the city from this angle as well. We are not flawless, not that anywhere is, but if you are to live amongst us... this is what one has to accept." The two females walked down the stairs with determined strides, forcing the Bretton to almost jog to keep up with the two. Cursing the elf for having so long legs and the Khajiit for being so naturally agile... leaving out the fact that his life as a merchant had left him a bit plump and unused to faster movements. Thankful for that the apparent meeting spot, the town square, was but a few throws of a stone away from his new home. A crowd had already gathered in a tight cluster before the smaller gathering of people in similar robes to that of the masked elf, seeming waiting for her as the crowd recognized her and spread to form a passage for her. Only now that he was up close, having taken advantage of the pathway through the crowd to get closer to the action, did the Bretton realize just what a wide array of species there were living here. All kinds of humans, elves, orcs, and even some other Khajiits and one or two Argonians. All standing in a thick circle in front of the strange statue in the middle of the city's open space, seemingly a Dragon's skull in stone, joined by maybe 8 or 10 human figures by its sides. He couldn't see clearly for the other ministers in masks standing in front of them... actually, perfectly in front of them, now that he thought about it. And whilst starting to notice details, he realized that the group of presumable teachers all had masks that differed from that of the female elf. Hers had carried Tusks, like that of a Boar or young Mammoth, but theirs lacked said extra feature but instead had a carved mouth. A hasty county summarized them as 8 all in all before the female elf took a stand in the middle with four on each side, perfectly mimicking the odd statue behind them. "Uhm, why are their masks different, and why are all the teachers here?" He lowered himself to ear-height of Liz'Arvo, who hissed back through her teeth quickly.

"They wear the eight masks the Dovahkiin retrieved, they are teachers beneath the Dovahkiin." She pointed quickly to the female elf in the middle who was currently being briefed on the situation by the presumed man on her right. And it took the Bretton a few moments of confused blinking to put the pieces together. The long lifespan of Elves... the Dragonborn's heroic events over a hundred years ago followed by founding this city... her wearing the unique mask amongst 8 obviously lower ranked ones. "... She's the Dragonborn..." He mumbled, fighting the knowledge from the stories he had heard since he was but a toddler. About the stout Nordic warrior with a voice like thunder and a sword like lightning. It dawned upon him that the stories no doubt had been altered to hide the fact that the savoir of Skyrim and the Empire's fight within it was not only a woman, but an elf... No doubt the Nords chose to spread rumours of the true Dragonborn being a Nord like themselves, and the Dominion joining the spread to hide that one of their own with such powers worked against them... But he then realized that there were hints of truth in the tales of a Nordic Dragonborn. As the female hero and Jarl of the city removed her mask, he saw how impossibly human she looked... it was just the ears that were a bit pointy, and her facial features were far fairer than on any true-blooded human. To maintain such human features whilst suffering the benefits of boosted magicka, slow aging and increased beauty... no doubt a half-breed, developed in a human mother from the looks of things. He had seen plenty of half-elves in High Rock. Hell, his entire people had elven genes blessing them with traces of magic and attitude, it was common for them to mingle with their pointy-eared allies...

The thick layer of murmurs died as the owner of the tusked mask, the one whose name already indicated cross-breeding between races, raised her arms with a serious and disappointed look on her fair face. Her voice carried forth, ringing as clear and beautiful as a series of silver bells in a cathedral, joined by a distant chorus of bronze ones that brought forth her distaste and disappointment. "Fahdon, mu lost poltor vax tol lost unt wah yaaviliis vahmaan do lokoltei kotin un lohiim. Drun amativ banaak!" She spoke to her people, both the mortal humanoids on the ground and the many dragons dotting the mountains in still curiosity over what had happened. The Bretton didn't have to point out that he didn't understand the dragon tongue, for the female Khajiit translated for him with just a few seconds delay.

"She says; 'Friends, we captured a traitor who tried smuggle foes to Dragonhome.' She asks to bring the criminal forth." Barely had the feline time to finish her rough translation before the crowd once more split an opening to allow two guards clad in armours made from polished steel and the bones of fallen dragons, a morbid sight in-of-itself, but the focus lied with the middle-aged female Nord they pushed in front of themselves. She had seen some harsh winters, but the prosperity of the town she had gone undercover in had clearly done her well. Her lack of any significant amount of breasts told of a starving childhood and having yet to birth children of her own, a brief comfort for the crowd, but her oddly chubby cheeks and hips on an otherwise very slim figure was proof of the rich and secure life she had faked within Dragonhome.

"Mu mindok ek ol 'Rita', punah wo lost aam un dein niist geikaal ahrk krein niin lovaas wah un moro. .. mein viidost ulaan dein fus ahrk brah zahraan tahdoor wah yaaviliis ko hokoron fus lost siivut ko ek weyt, ahrk rek lost ni soven kolos ek vahzah alliegence nok!" The Dragonborn spoke once more, and there was a clear tone of fury in her voice this time. As if the charming and chipper silver bells were replaced by larger and much thicker copper ones, darkening her tune severely. This time it did take Liz'Arvo some time to translate, because from the distraught look on her face it seemed as if she had known and trusted the woman in bonds...

"She.. she says that Rita, one of the barmaids... by the moons... she has been located with plans to poison all guards and smuggle foes in with barrels... and not denied her involvement..." The Bretton realized that what the feline said couldn't have been more than a brief summary of the total explanation, but her horrified reaction was evidence enough for him to believe the details of it to be true. But barely had she time to drag for her breath before she rushed off in surprising speed for her weak build, darting towards the Northern entrance once more. Leaving the Bretton merchant confused and alone amongst the crowd of strangers. "The Thalmor and Ulfric sends their regards, you false prophet! The Dragonborn would never have sided with the Empire! Would never have forced Skyrim under the false government of a puppet Empire! The elves that ploughed your mother to bring you here are still in control!" The chained woman snarled at the half-elf in robes standing before her, with hatred burning in her breath and glare. A frustration over having been so close to succeed, to be so close to the bared throat of the person she hated the most... "You, an agent of the Thalmor, speak as if you were a Stormcloak... I will give you a chance to elaborate upon your reasons before passing judgement upon your act." The Dragonborn stared angrily, but calmly at the much shorter woman before her. Showing no sign of being intimidated by the female's brutal behaviour.

"Don't patronize me... We ALL know how you killed Ulfric and stopped the rebellion, how you handed the land over to the puppet Emperor of the elves! Once they had no use for you, they threw you out and returned to push the people of Skyrim down! Killing any and all who would worship the TRUE Dragonborn, Talos, after the betrayal of the recent and FALSE one! You serpent! If we so have to join the Thalmor to get our revenge for your betrayal, then so be it!" The Nordic woman grinned, knowing her time was up, but like a true Nord she didn't fear it.

"You have chosen the view upon history, and we have ours. I will not bore you with the view of someone who actually lived during the historical events you cling too so dearly, but let me ask you this... Why did you try to harm the people who has done you nothing?" Katla, Dragonborn and Jarl of Dragonhome seemed calmed by the claims of the female nord as she delivered her brief reply and answer. "Are you taunting me the moment before you kill me?! We all know that you took over Labyrinthian and erected a stronghold of servants and dragons to protect you once you ran out of allies! When none of the official powers would support your claim for the throne, you ran away to muster forces like- ..." The Nordic woman looked as if she had been short in the stomach by an arrow as she quickly silenced and bit her lip.

"... -like Ulfric? Yes, there are similarities. Big ones, even. With the differences being that I did not ask for the throne, rather than had the people of the Empire demand me placed upon it and the Thalmor refused, thus also the higher-ups within the Empire's politicians. And I did not erect this, as you put it, 'stronghold' to protect myself, but to erect at least one location where people of all genders, races and preferences COULD live united. Let me ask you... did the Thalmor tell you that I was impossible to reach for anyone NOT living within my walls? That's why they needed you to hurt me by going through my people? Are the Thalmor known for being honest? Did they tell you of the many times I have allowed members to meet me here in the city, or how many times I have single-handedly answered a summons only to be attacked when giving them a chance for peace...?" Katla turned from the woman known as Rita, whose eyes had lost their fire upon the recent realizations and possible ransacking of her own judgements. Returning to the eight remaining masked members of her court and school, she once more applied her own mask before taking a serious stance. "This land is known as Skyrim! It consists out of Nine official holds and one that the other that the current High King and the Empire does not agree with! But we are in laws and traditions little different from that of our fellow Holds! We follow the laws of the land and allow ourselves some unique laws suited for our own home, as well as hold a legal system and score of bounty unique to our own Hold! One of those being a low tolerance of betrayal, since we have all suffered too deeply from such a crime! Petty thievery and drunken brawls are excusable, but we have no cells nor traitors!" Katla's voice was turning far more draconic with every word that streamed forth from her lips. Energies warped around her and seemed to follow currents in the form of wings and a tail around her body, glowing in a mixture of bright blue and orange. Her speech was boosted by the agreeing members of the town, both the mortals and the dragons joined their voices after she uttered the word "Traitors" for the last time.

The Bretton had a feeling that she had spoken in the common tongue not for his reason, but for the now honestly frightened-looking Rita who had sunk to her knees. It was to allow her to hear and understand every single part of the anger from the female demi-God, to digest every word's meaning as she stood before her in twisting powers of the arcane. Thrusting a single hand forward towards the captured woman, the Dragonborn raised her in the air within a grip of shimmering magicka! The other hand warping with green energies, before blasting her captive with them! Freezing her in a sparkling dust of the paralyzing spell. The crowd quickly began to tread backwards, a young boy dragging the Bretton by his arm when he hadn't moved, enthralled by what he had just witnessed.

"The Blood Brother comes! Hurry now, elder!" The Bretton had no time to be insulted by having been called something referring to high age, before he heard the Dragonborn's voice once more! "Bo dii zeymah! Kinbok do un dein ahrk zeydaan do un joriin! ODAHVIING, Zu'u faan hin faan!" Her voice brought a deafening chorus of dragon roars from the surrounding mountains, along with a beautiful false aurora from the many beams and bursts of light they erupted!

As the people's and dragon's shouts and roars sank, a moment of silence had found itself in the city. But it was interrupted shortly after just arriving by a powerful but distant roar. This one not the public cheering to whatever Katla had said, as much as responding to her call! Soon the faces and fingers of the people and necks of the dragons all began to point in the same direction, as a red mark on the sky was shooting towards them at blinding speed! It was another dragon, no doubt about it! Nothing else could move as such velocity and make such a roar! Katla had moved the fingers of the hand with which's magic she held Rita, the former barmaid. Turning her to the south entrance that lied close to the town square so she could see her executioner approach from a distance.

Although the red dragon had moved in from high altitude, he went lower the closer he got to the town. To the point that it'd look as if he would crash into the city wall facing the steep southern cliff! Folding his ways so that they laid against his back moments before crashing into the narrow, square entrance to the long stairs, the red dragon managed to just barely slid through it in a demonstration of flight accuracy that could not have come easily! Thrusting his wings out to break his momentum like a sail once he was within the city itself, causing the fresh snow and some pots and people to fall over and swirl from the powerful wind. Taking ground with just his hind legs and taking his sweet time folding his wings before going down on all four, erupting a low growl that was joined by the cheering and chuckling of his fellow kin around and above them. "Zu'u lost fahraal braag, dii briinah ahrk lokaliin! Fos lost hi bel zey fah?!" The dragon covered in tarnished red scales had his slim and narrow snout mere inches away from the tusks on Katla's mask, speaking to her in a harsh but respectful manner as his sharp fangs almost stroked the pointy bits on her face-wear. "Zu'u lost bel hi ko uth wah miik hi gein wo fund grut mii, ko hind do daar nahlii wah hin satisfaction, dii zeymah ahrk lokaliin!" Katla replied with a voice that thundered both deeper and louder than even that of the dragon before her, even one with such a strong ego and desire for imposing entrances as him! The Bretton could not make out the true meanings of their conversation, but from the mixture of sly, knowing smirks on some of the people around him, he knew he was missing something amongst what sounded like a polite exchange of intentions and ranks.

However there would be no more need for conversation between the two, for the red Dragon by the name of Odahviing simply nodded and looked up to the floating and paralyzed female Nord above him. The scene felt very storybook to the Bretton, causing him to shiver in anticipation and dread over what he saw before him. And either from everything else having been so ceremonial and overblown, but he felt that things then suddenly went a bit fast as the spell was simply broken and the woman fell... only to be snapped out of the air by the jaws of the massive red creature.

The paralyzing spell having prevented her from so much as screaming or begging broke along the same time as the one arm hanging outside of the dragon's mouth, pierced from both sides by the low rows of sharp teeth. The scream of pain from having the bone broken from the force of the snapping and piercing teeth and the arm almost fully torn off from the same ones was more than what her bravery could have prepared her for in the face of death. It was excruciating! Laying within the massive maw of the dragon, face-first against the tongue that played with the raw flavour of his unbroken meat. Moving across her body and digging into her dress, before easily ripping it off her with sheer strength, causing several of the thin leather strings holding the fabrics together to almost cut into her skin in the progress. A tossing motion of the dragon's head caused her mind to almost blank as her outside arm swing like a rock tied to a string in result, forcing the sharp pieces of her broken bones to twist, stab and cut in the freshly opened meat. Pinching and clenching and cutting in the remaining nerves before Odahviing clenched his teeth strongly and cut it off cleanly. The arm fell to the snow still remaining on the town's square, but none could hear the thud over the muffled screams from within the dragon's mouth. The Dragonborn stepped forward and picked up the severed, bleeding limb with a confidence that only came along a lifetime of war and slaughter, holding it up for all to see the fingers still twitching from the snagged and flexed nerves. "This shall be sent back to the Thalmor! Trust me when I say that they recognize the BITE OF A DRAGON!" Her roar was joined in by roars from both mortals and dovah alike, before she threw the arm to one of her masked subordinates to arrange for the shipment. She then turned to the Dragon that the young boy had called "blood brother" and patted his side in a stroking motion, whispering something to him and him alone before walking back to her place between the two groups of four by the matching statue to observe the execution.

Odahviing seemed more than happy to follow the wishes of the town's leader, as the screams from within his murderous rows of teeth had turned into a self-pity and begging sob. He could feel the woman squirm within his mouth, her feet struggling against the dark depths of his throat and the slippery inside of the walls and tongue surrounding her. When her arm had been trapped between his chewing-bones, it had also prevented her from sliding down any further... which she had only realized upon loosing said limb. And whilst she had been brave before, there was nothing like a little agony to jumpstart the desperation to remain autonomous and breathing! He once more opened his mouth slightly, separating the curtains of daggers shielding the woman from the evening sun's light, and air not tainted by the scent of cinder and rot. She whimpered and hesitantly reached towards the light that leaked in between the oral spikes, though daring not reach too close in fear of losing her remaining hand as well. She trembled, searching around the tongue and along the walls of the mouth for anything to hold on too or use to free herself. Half hoping to find a rusted steel dagger amongst the folds of slippery meat from a previous prey... But her searching and fondling around the tongue in order to find a hold or tool to reach that tempting gleam of light and cold air only resulted in the dragon having that much easier a time to know just where her last arm was... a quick and constricting wrap of the massive and sharp-tipped tongue captured the arm by its lower section, instantly shifting its course so that it laid between a low of teeth... that came down the moment the woman realized what had happened. Once more di her scream escape the mouth of the dragon as he tormented the traitor, having completely destroyed the arm she until recent had left. Where the first one had been cut off after protocol and agreement between him and the mortal he served, this one was all his to play with and enjoy... as was the rest of her. He had shifted the arm so that it laid elbow-to-hand aligned with his teeth, and had bit down hard. Apart from almost splitting the arm on the length, her hand actually BEING split and missing two fingers... he had also caused a wild fireworks of bone shards in the bloody mess. Where the twin-length bone in her arm had not broken beneath the pressure and sharpness of his bite, the many sharp fragments had been forced to dig or cut in any direction possible to make way for the penetrating rows of fangs! Spreading within her arm like savage shrapnel. The woman cried for the Divines to have mercy, for Talos to save her by a quick death, for the dragon to have pity on her. Odahviing grinned, causing the woman to shriek in agony once more over the shifting of his teeth... it rarely took much to make them beg for the death they sought to escape by any means only moments before. How peculiar mortals are... Peculiar, and carrying flavours worth to salvage and savour every last bit of. The blood of the woman, her warm and rich life-essence that fuelled her body and which's remaining amount decides upon life or death... it poured along the sides of his mouth. Both outside and within, running in a small stream on the side of his tongue and tickling his taste bulbs with its metallic sweetness. Had the Gods wished for no predators to exist, then why would they have made blood as sweet as any fruit or berry, he reasoned.

Realizing from the growing spot of red-stained snow beneath him that he was spilling far more than he had anticipated, he decided to not waste any more of his meaty traitor meal. Closing his lips best he could, he began to chew the remains of the arm. One bite split it further, a few inches down from the wrist. The second bite split it perfectly, from fingers to elbows and loosening the outer half so that only one half was still attached to the sundered elbow. Something the third bite quickly solved, before continuing the series of chewing by turning the two halves of an upper arm into mush on both sides of Rita's still aware head. Blood squirting and leaking all over her, her own screams and sobbing pleads for death almost drowned in the crunching, squishing and slurping of her own cut-off arm being minced around her. The thought of being swallowed alive by the beast, doomed to die a slow death in agony from blood-loss within his stomach came over the woman as her organic cell shifted. As morbid a thought as it was, she realized that the remains of her arm was little but soup that had gathered along the hot dragon saliva at the back of his throat, held off by the end of his tongue being folded. If he were to swallow it... he would swallow her as well! She wished to die, to be freed from the mind-numbing agony that coursed through her entire upper body, but not slowly! Struggling to find anywhere to place her feet based on nothing but instinct, she would soon realize that she did not need to fight being swallowed. Odahviing had no intentions for it. The sick air of her own and the dragon's breath, along with the gut-wrenching scent of her own meat and blood, was forced from her lungs as several ribs cracked in an instant. The thick tongue upon which she had been lying during this nightmarish event had suddenly elevated her against the roof of the dragon's mouth harshly, crushing her with the impossible strength that allowed for such a force. Groaning and gasping for air at the same time, she was quickly made aware of the tongue's sudden movements. It was still pressing her against the roof, but seemingly retracting towards the throat after the gurgling sound of the dragon swallowing pieces of her. It was surprisingly smooth, when compared to everything else on the dragon... sliding easily against her near-nude body whilst still forcing her in place.

Soon, the pressure came from a single balanced point. The sharp-edged but strong tip of the organ pressed hard against her stomach, forcing her upper body to hang slightly whilst her legs still had support from the folded mass of the same tongue. Given even a full hour in the same position, she could not have been any wiser on what the intentions surrounding her were at this point... mostly because of her mind being unable to fantasize such a move from her mostly droll and uneventful life. But the purpose was made clear along with the pain, as the tip of the cone-shaped tongue hardened by having every muscle within flex, and pushed even harder against the centre of her stomach! Almost drilling against her bellybutton, and from sheer force very quickly breaking the tiny knot within and stretch-tearing an entrance for itself. Her back against the roof of his maw having provided the perfect opposite force for the penetration to pass with ease.

Rita could only swallow drips of hers and the dragon's mixed saliva. She was unable to scream or respond in any other way as she felt her internal organs shift around the meaty pole that had pushed straight through her body and now pressured her spine directly. The experience was overwhelming, the agony excruciating and the sensation of having her guts touched directly by the hot and slippery tongue was... indescribable for the woman. Her screams and movements did not start until the dragon began to move his tongue about within her, scoping and stroking her insides with a delightful curiosity. Stretching the long masses of tubes, pressing the squishy bags, feeling the pulses and beats of her internal workings more closely as he had his entire being's worth of focus in nothing but his tongue. Not even hearing the banshee-like wailings of pure animalistic agony that escaped his prisoner's lips behind his own.

He continued to slowly play with the lower collection on her internals for about a minute, through which Rita screamed and shook constantly without being able to even formulate words, even less prayers or wishes. It was not until Odahviing grew bored of the squishing and tasting of the honestly rather foul group of organs in her stomach-section that she silenced... for he had shattered her ribcage from within by spearing his tongue up into it. Her heart, pounding like that of a dying rabbit's to keep the panicking body and mind alive with what little blood it had left, now had to work even harder as the powerful tongue had wrapped itself around it... squeezing it playfully. And at last, this was all that the mind of the woman could take. War, torture, starvation, combat, fleeing... she had tanked a lot of things to harden her into a woman of the land. And whilst the dragon commended her for how long she had remained awake, she finally passed out. Her lungs barely able to work from being either ruptured or compressed by the sudden lack of space within the broken cage, causing the heart to try and beat faster and faster in panic... but soon, it too failed from the lack of oxygen and from her brain simply going dark. Odahviing tasted and caressed the pounding muscle into its last, spluttering attempt, before feeling no more movement or life at all within the body. He smirked, before shifting his tongue to end it all. Hooking the tip before dragging his tongue back out of her body and snaring all he could within her from the pointy end. Fishing out a reasonable pile of guts and organs from the broken body for him to chew and enjoy, whilst also tossing the remaining body around to get a bit more crunch in his munches...

Being ageless, he cared little for keeping track of time in any smaller forms than days. Exactly how long he had spent chewing the woman up since his arrival was beyond him, and he didn't truly care either. It had been a good meal and an even better demonstration for both his own kin and the mortals serving him. Dragon, human, elf or other would all have witnessed what happens to those that crosses his mistress and the rules they established for their home. She ruled the mortals and governed the dragons, alternatively beating up those that sought to dethrone her, whilst he ruled over the dragons that swore allegiance to Dovahofkiin and acted as both commander of all guards and executioner. A final wave-like motion of his neck allowed for the last dripping remains of the human woman to slide down to join the rest in the small bulge on his stomach, causing faint sloshes whenever he moved. Blood had hardened in river patterns down his lower jaw, throat and neck from his sloppy and intimidating crunching, but they blended fairly well with his already red scales. Lifting his head, he gave out a primal roar of superiority to the skies and was joined in by his fellow dragons roaring and some of the mortals shouting their selected words. Justice had been passed, a message had been delivered to any other potential traitor, and a dragon had been fed.

With Katla nodding to him in a way that made him know that she was smiling behind that ancient mask of hers, Odahviing nodded back as his mistress and her ministers turned to give the crowd a final message about politics and spirit and relations and blah-blah-blah. Being no longer needed, the red dragon began to walk towards the same entrance he had arrived through, albeit now with a sagging stomach that allowed those nearby to hear the remains cluck and move about in its near-liquid form.

The Bretton could but stare as the dragon flew off, not caring to try and understand the speech in Dragon Tongue that the Dragonborn was giving her people. He was... sickened, horrified! But also fascinated. Such a manner of execution had he never dreamt of witnessing before, and it had made him several times over promise every one of the Divines, even Talos for good measure, that he would never scam another costumer again! Especially not in this city! Or... at least not in THIS city... not this city's people... maybe just a traveller every once in a while... but he would try to NOT do it even then! As the crowd shifted and he was once more joined by Liz'Arvo, who explained that she had to check on the guard by the Northern entrance, her husband for that matter, he invited her in for some tea to have her tell him more of this place... could be good to be more prepared, after all...