Severus Snape in Skyrim
Up next, Severus Snape makes his way to the island of Solstheim where he learns how to shout, tame and ride dragons. Follow him as he uncovers new magic through ancient runes, a power that draws the attention of the first Dragonborn.
Will he be friend or foe?
Determined to better understand this world’s magic, Severus set his sights on the College of Winterhold, the supposed heart of magical study. The journey was long and bitterly cold, the harsh winds biting through his robes. Along the way, he encountered a peculiar jester named Cicero, stranded at a farm with a broken cart. Finding amusement in the bizarre man, Severus persuaded the farm’s owner to lend assistance, earning himself a small sum of gold in the process.
Upon arriving at the College, he was met by a mage named Faralda, who required proof of his magical ability before allowing him entry. When asked to summon a Flame Atronach, Severus found himself at a disadvantage—he had no such knowledge. However, for a price, Faralda provided him with the necessary spell tome. With a flick of his fingers and a precise incantation, a blazing elemental took form before him. Satisfied, Faralda granted him entry.
Mirabelle, another member of the College, provided him with enchanted robes, and as he donned them, he felt a surge of energy—magic seemed to respond to the fabric itself, enhancing his abilities. For the first time, he understood the true depth of enchantments in this world. After resting in his assigned quarters, he attended his first lesson with Tolfdir, where he learned the fundamentals of magical wards. Recognizing Severus’ thirst for knowledge, Tolfdir expanded his instruction, teaching him Waterbreathing before assigning him a task for Arniel Gane, a scholar obsessed with ancient artifacts.
Severus completed various assignments within the College, mastering new spells like Bound Sword, Frenzy, Fireball and Turn Lesser Undead. Testing his magic in the field became a grim yet satisfying experience, particularly when using Frenzy to manipulate creatures into attacking each other—a fitting exercise when imagining them as his old adversaries. Eventually, he undertook a task to deliver an enchanted fire sword to a woman named Getolde, only to find the true recipient was her daughter, Adara, a child with a natural affinity for magic. Sensing potential, Severus convinced her mother to allow her to study at the College.
His curiosity extended to the College’s Arcaneum, where he met the orcish librarian, Urag gro-Shub, who set before him a quiz regarding Olaf and dragons. This intellectual challenge was a welcome break before he sought out Tolfdir once more. The mage, impressed with Severus’ progress, informed him of an upcoming excavation at Saarthal.
Before delving into further academic endeavors, Severus decided to retrieve the Dragonstone. Returning to Bleak Falls Barrow, he moved with careful precision, dispatching bandits and studying their interactions. Upon learning of the golden claw’s significance in unlocking the barrow’s secrets, he eliminated the thief Arvek and claimed the artifact. The deeper he ventured, the more he encountered undead warriors called Draugr, their lifeless eyes gleaming with unnatural energy.
A single misstep cost him dearly. In an attempt to ignite oil on the ground to incinerate a group of Draugr, he misjudged the flames’ spread, and his companion, Faendal, was caught in the inferno. The elf’s screams were brief before silence overtook the chamber. Severus stood still for a long moment, guilt creeping into his mind. Then, with a sharp inhale, he shook it off. Survival demanded pragmatism.
Continuing alone, he reached the chamber’s heart, where a wall of intricate carvings pulsed with unknown power. As he approached, knowledge invaded his mind—a word, a concept, something ancient and potent. He had no time to contemplate its meaning before a Draugr guardian emerged, intent on cutting him down. Wielding his bound blade and hurling fireballs, Severus engaged the undead horror in battle. Victory came hard-earned, and with it, the Dragonstone.
Looting what he could, Severus stepped out into the cold air once more, Dragonstone in hand and mind alight with possibilities. He was growing stronger, adapting, and learning. This world had mysteries yet to unravel, and Severus Snape intended to uncover them all.
If you’re going to write the entire journey of the main story of Skyrim, @naaga, I fully support this. I’ll just sit back and read your updates reliving my favorite parts through your words. I won’t comment any more.
The air in South Brittleshin Pass was thick with decay and the scent of damp stone, a far cry from the dungeons of Hogwarts yet eerily familiar in its oppressive gloom. Severus Snape tread carefully through the cavern, his bound sword flickering like a spectral blade in the dim torchlight. The necromancer had been a feeble wretch, his incantations sluggish, his defenses laughable. Snape had dispatched him with a precise flick of his wrist, sending a crackling fireball into his chest and watching dispassionately as the man crumpled like a marionette with severed strings.
It was then that he found her—the girl, Zora Fair-Child, shackled and trembling in the shadows. She was young, with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that Severus found both foolish and oddly irritating. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice clipped. The girl nodded eagerly, her gratitude evident in the way she all but latched onto him as they exited the cavern.
A return to Riverwood was in order. Severus had business there, and Zora, insistent as she was, seemed content to follow. Upon entering the village, his sharp eyes settled on a mercenary—Gorr, as he introduced himself. A towering brute with the demeanor of a seasoned pit fighter. Useful. He needed someone who could take the brunt of attacks while he worked his magic from the shadows. Gorr seemed agreeable enough, and thus their motley band grew by one.
Returning to Whiterun, Severus strode into Dragonsreach, dragonstone in hand. Farengar was engaged in hushed conversation with an unfamiliar woman, one whose presence exuded an air of quiet authority. No matter. He had no time for politics. He placed the dragonstone on the mage’s desk with a dull thud, his dark gaze sweeping across the room.
The brief respite was shattered when Irileth stormed in, her face as impassive as ever but her words filled with urgency. “A dragon has been sighted near the western watchtower.”
Snape’s stomach twisted. A dragon. A beast of legend, akin to the ancient wyrms described in dusty tomes. He had faced monstrous creatures before, but never one that could rain fire from the heavens. Yet he was not one to cower. He gathered his companions and set out.
The battle was chaos. The dragon, a beast of onyx scales and molten eyes, descended upon the watchtower like an avenging god. Arrows bounced harmlessly off its hide. Soldiers screamed as its fire reduced them to charred husks. Severus remained at the edges, weaving spells with relentless precision—fireballs striking its wings, frost magic slowing its movements. Then, with a final, desperate bound sword strike, the beast collapsed, exhaling one last, rattling breath.
And then it happened.
A rush of power, ancient and visceral, surged into him. The air vibrated, the very essence of the dragon dissolving into ethereal energy and pouring into his body. He staggered, his vision swimming, his breath hitching. The guards murmured, awestruck.
“Dragonborn…” one whispered.
The word meant nothing to Severus, yet it carried weight, reverence, expectation. Then, as if the very heavens themselves sought to confirm the revelation, a thunderous voice echoed across the sky, rolling over the land like a god’s decree.
“DOVAHKIIN!”
The Greybeards had called. And the world had heard.
Severus returned to Jarl Balgruuf, who received him with newfound respect, bestowing upon him the title of Thane and offering property within Whiterun. A housecarl, Lydia, was assigned to him, a duty-bound warrior whose unshakable loyalty Severus found both irksome and oddly reassuring.
Before setting out for High Hrothgar and the enigmatic Greybeards, he took a moment to visit Danica, a priestess who spoke of the Eldergleam, a tree of divine origin. It was a matter for another day, perhaps. More pressing was the letter from the Jarl of Falkreath, an invitation laced with intrigue.
Yet, Severus’ path was clear. The Greybeards had summoned him, and he intended to answer.
Quote from Naaga on February 26, 2025, 3:01 amThe air in South Brittleshin Pass was thick with decay and the scent of damp stone, a far cry from the dungeons of Hogwarts yet eerily familiar in its oppressive gloom. Severus Snape tread carefully through the cavern, his bound sword flickering like a spectral blade in the dim torchlight. The necromancer had been a feeble wretch, his incantations sluggish, his defenses laughable. Snape had dispatched him with a precise flick of his wrist, sending a crackling fireball into his chest and watching dispassionately as the man crumpled like a marionette with severed strings.
It was then that he found her—the girl, Zora Fair-Child, shackled and trembling in the shadows. She was young, with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that Severus found both foolish and oddly irritating. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice clipped. The girl nodded eagerly, her gratitude evident in the way she all but latched onto him as they exited the cavern.
A return to Riverwood was in order. Severus had business there, and Zora, insistent as she was, seemed content to follow. Upon entering the village, his sharp eyes settled on a mercenary—Gorr, as he introduced himself. A towering brute with the demeanor of a seasoned pit fighter. Useful. He needed someone who could take the brunt of attacks while he worked his magic from the shadows. Gorr seemed agreeable enough, and thus their motley band grew by one.
Returning to Whiterun, Severus strode into Dragonsreach, dragonstone in hand. Farengar was engaged in hushed conversation with an unfamiliar woman, one whose presence exuded an air of quiet authority. No matter. He had no time for politics. He placed the dragonstone on the mage’s desk with a dull thud, his dark gaze sweeping across the room.
The brief respite was shattered when Irileth stormed in, her face as impassive as ever but her words filled with urgency. “A dragon has been sighted near the western watchtower.”
Snape’s stomach twisted. A dragon. A beast of legend, akin to the ancient wyrms described in dusty tomes. He had faced monstrous creatures before, but never one that could rain fire from the heavens. Yet he was not one to cower. He gathered his companions and set out.
The battle was chaos. The dragon, a beast of onyx scales and molten eyes, descended upon the watchtower like an avenging god. Arrows bounced harmlessly off its hide. Soldiers screamed as its fire reduced them to charred husks. Severus remained at the edges, weaving spells with relentless precision—fireballs striking its wings, frost magic slowing its movements. Then, with a final, desperate bound sword strike, the beast collapsed, exhaling one last, rattling breath.
And then it happened.
A rush of power, ancient and visceral, surged into him. The air vibrated, the very essence of the dragon dissolving into ethereal energy and pouring into his body. He staggered, his vision swimming, his breath hitching. The guards murmured, awestruck.
“Dragonborn…” one whispered.
The word meant nothing to Severus, yet it carried weight, reverence, expectation. Then, as if the very heavens themselves sought to confirm the revelation, a thunderous voice echoed across the sky, rolling over the land like a god’s decree.
“DOVAHKIIN!”
The Greybeards had called. And the world had heard.
Severus returned to Jarl Balgruuf, who received him with newfound respect, bestowing upon him the title of Thane and offering property within Whiterun. A housecarl, Lydia, was assigned to him, a duty-bound warrior whose unshakable loyalty Severus found both irksome and oddly reassuring.
Before setting out for High Hrothgar and the enigmatic Greybeards, he took a moment to visit Danica, a priestess who spoke of the Eldergleam, a tree of divine origin. It was a matter for another day, perhaps. More pressing was the letter from the Jarl of Falkreath, an invitation laced with intrigue.
Yet, Severus’ path was clear. The Greybeards had summoned him, and he intended to answer.
1000/10
The bitter wind howled through the peaks of the Throat of the World as Severus Snape trudged through the snow-laden path leading to High Hrothgar. His robes, now reinforced with enchantments from the College of Winterhold, shielded him from the worst of the cold, but even magic could not fully repel Skyrim’s relentless frost. Zora Fair-Child and Gorr followed closely, the former ever-optimistic, the latter grumbling about the climb. Lydia, his newly appointed housecarl, remained ever-stoic, though he could see the effort it took for her to maintain her disciplined posture in the face of such an arduous journey.
Their path wound through mountainous terrain, treacherous in its steepness and riddled with obstacles. As they neared Ivarstead, Severus sensed something amiss. The villagers spoke of a haunted barrow nearby—Shroud Hearth Barrow. While he had little patience for tales of the supernatural in his past life, he now understood that the dead often refused to stay buried in this world. He decided to investigate, more out of curiosity than duty.
Inside, a supposed ghost lurked, warning him to turn back. A lesser mind might have faltered, but Severus knew theatrics when he saw them. With a calculated flick of his wand—no, his staff, he reminded himself—he cast a potent Frenzy spell. The so-called spirit, a mere illusionist, fell to his own cowardice, attacking wildly before succumbing to the steel of Gorr’s axe. Further exploration led to the discovery of an ancient puzzle door, locked with a claw mechanism similar to the one in Bleak Falls Barrow. He pocketed the valuable artifact and left the ruin, leaving the villagers none the wiser.
Back on the path, a group of pilgrims struggled against the incline, clutching their meager offerings to the Greybeards. Severus observed them with mild disdain—faith had never been his strength. Yet, he found himself intrigued by the notion of these monks, supposedly wielding power rivaling his own. What exactly had he become, to warrant their summons?
The ascent grew harsher, and dangers loomed at every turn. A frost troll, grotesque and lumbering, stood in their path. Severus sneered at its lack of intelligence. With a swift incantation, he conjured a Flame Atronach. Fire and ice clashed violently as the summoned entity unleashed infernal wrath upon the creature, melting sinew and searing fur. Gorr delivered the final blow, his blade carving through the beast’s charred hide. The stench was revolting, but the victory was satisfactory.
Upon reaching High Hrothgar, Severus felt an eerie stillness. The Greybeards, clad in robes as ancient as time itself, welcomed him without preamble. Their leader, Arngeir, appraised him with a gaze that was neither warm nor hostile. They spoke of the Voice, of power drawn from the very essence of the world. Severus remained skeptical but humored them, allowing them to test his abilities. His first attempt at their instruction sent a powerful wave through the hall, shaking its very foundations. He felt the raw potency of the Thu’um, an ancient magic unlike any he had encountered. Even he had to admit—it was exhilarating.
As he descended the mountain, the path forward became clearer. He was no mere mage, no wandering scholar. He was something greater, something feared. He was Dragonborn.
Severus Snape stood in the grand halls of High Hrothgar, the cold mountain air still clinging to his robes. The Greybeards, silent and solemn, watched him with impassive expressions. He had demonstrated his ability to use the Thu’um, absorbing knowledge of the ancient language instinctively. Now, Arngeir finally spoke.
“You have taken the first steps on the path of the Voice,” the elder intoned. “But power without purpose is nothing but destruction. Do you understand what it means to be Dragonborn?”
Severus folded his arms. “I imagine you will insist on enlightening me.”
Arngeir showed no sign of irritation. “The Thu’um is a gift from the gods, a means not to conquer, but to find harmony with the world.”
Severus nearly scoffed. He had heard similar sentiments before—restraint, balance, control. Always from those who feared true mastery. But he said nothing, knowing the monks held knowledge he needed.
"To further your understanding," Arngeir continued, "we will teach you Whirlwind Sprint—a Shout that bends time and space, allowing you to move with unnatural speed."
One of the Greybeards stepped forward and spoke a single word: Wuld. The ancient script burned itself into the stone floor, glowing with raw power. Severus felt the pull of knowledge, as he had before, and let it settle into his mind.
"Now, use it," Arngeir instructed, motioning toward a stone gate that was beginning to lower. "Pass through before it shuts."
Severus exhaled and focused. "Wuld!"
The world blurred, his body flung forward as if caught in a powerful gust. The sensation was disorienting, but he landed gracefully, just as the gate sealed behind him.
Arngeir gave an approving nod. "You have done well. But to truly walk the path, you must retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from Ustengrav. This trial will test not only your power but your understanding of the Voice."
Severus was growing tired of these trials, but he held his tongue. He had no interest in their philosophy—only in what knowledge he could take from them. He nodded curtly. "Then I shall fetch your Horn."
Return to Ivarstead
Descending the mountain was no easier than climbing it. The winds were relentless, and the frost troll he had evaded earlier had returned, its beady eyes locked onto him with hunger. Severus wasted no time, casting a barrage of fireballs that set the creature ablaze. It screeched in agony before collapsing into a charred heap.
Arriving in Ivarstead, he sought out Klimmek. The Nord looked surprised as Severus handed him the empty satchel.
"You actually did it? Ha! That’s a relief." Klimmek chuckled, shaking his head. "Here, a little something for your trouble." He tossed Severus a pouch of gold, which he accepted silently.
His business concluded, Severus entered the Vilemyr Inn. The warmth inside was a welcome relief from the mountain’s chill.
Wilhelm, the innkeeper, eyed him curiously. "Something I can get you?"
Severus reached into his robes and pulled out the journal he had found in Shroud Hearth Barrow, placing it on the counter. "This."
Wilhelm’s expression shifted from curiosity to shock. "You—you found this in the Barrow?"
"Yes," Severus replied, his tone clipped. "And your suspicions were correct. The place was haunted. But I dealt with it."
Wilhelm exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods… I found this years ago in the Barrow but never dared return it." He hesitated before pulling something from beneath the counter—an artifact shaped like a sapphire claw. "This was found alongside it. If you’re interested, it might help you uncover more secrets in that place."
Severus took the claw without a word.
Exploring Shroud Hearth Barrow
Inside the barrow, the air was thick with the scent of dust and decay. Severus traced his fingers along the carved walls, eyes narrowing at the inscriptions. The sapphire claw fit neatly into the stone mechanism, triggering a deep, grinding noise as the hidden door rumbled open.
Further in, the Draugr stirred. Severus did not hesitate. Fire erupted from his hands, engulfing them in searing flames. The undead crumbled into blackened husks. He pressed on, deeper into the tomb’s heart.
A massive wall of ancient runes loomed ahead, glowing faintly. The power in the air was unmistakable—another word of power waited to be claimed. He stepped closer, and as before, the word burned itself into his mind.
"Kaan."
It felt… different. Not a force of destruction, but one of harmony. He clenched his jaw. A strange power, but power nonetheless.
His moment of contemplation was shattered by an inhuman wail. A spectral guardian materialized before him, its form shifting and flickering like mist in moonlight.
Severus raised his hand, conjuring a protective ward just as the spirit lashed out with its blade. The impact sent tremors through his arm, but he did not falter. With his Bound Sword, he struck back, slicing through its form with precise, calculated swings.
With a final, agonized shriek, the guardian dissipated into nothingness.
Beyond, a chest sat in the alcove. Inside, Severus found an intricately crafted cuirass—Yngol’s Armor. He ran a hand over the metal, sensing the protective enchantments woven into it. A fine addition to his growing arsenal.
He emerged from the tomb as the first rays of dawn touched the treetops.
The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller awaited. But now, at least, he was better prepared.
Severus trudged along the western road, his dark robes billowing slightly in the crisp mountain air. His destination was Orphan Rock, where the cursed dagger Nettlebane was said to be guarded by a coven of witches.
The Alchemist's Shack & Thistle
Along the way, he came across a small wooden shack, its garden littered with drying herbs. The scent of lavender and nightshade clung to the air, and an old alchemist’s journal lay abandoned on the table. The previous occupant, it seemed, had either perished or wandered off into the wilderness, never to return.
As he examined the alchemy supplies, something nudged his boot. Looking down, he found a rabbit—small, with bright, intelligent eyes. It twitched its nose at him, seemingly unafraid. A name tag on its collar read: Thistle.
Severus sighed. “If you intend to follow me, do try not to get eaten.”
Thistle, as if understanding, thumped its foot in what Severus interpreted as defiance.
Orphan Rock & Nettlebane
Continuing on, Severus arrived at Orphan Rock, where the witches awaited. They were hunched figures draped in tattered robes, their skin twisted and wretched from prolonged exposure to dark magics. The air crackled with energy as they unleashed bolts of lightning.
Severus deflected the first attack with a raised ward, retaliating with a well-placed fireball that sent one hag screeching into the trees, ablaze. He moved swiftly, dodging a gout of fire while conjuring a Bound Sword in his hand. The blade hummed with arcane energy as he cleaved through the nearest hag’s throat.
In the center of the clearing, atop a macabre altar, lay Nettlebane—its blade jagged, pulsing with sinister energy. Severus retrieved it, suppressing a shudder at its unsettling aura.
Helgen Reclaimed
Rather than continuing to Falkreath immediately, Severus made a detour to Helgen. The once-proud fortress, still bearing the scars of Alduin’s attack, had become a den of bandits.
Stealth was never his strong suit, so Severus opted for direct confrontation. Fire surged from his fingertips, turning the nearest sentry into a screaming, charred husk. The rest fell swiftly, their bodies left smoldering in the ruins of what was once an Imperial stronghold.
Satisfied, he pressed on.
Summoned to Falkreath
Arriving at Falkreath, Severus was granted an audience with Jarl Siddgeir, who lounged on his throne with a goblet of wine in hand.
“I hear you’re making a name for yourself,” Siddgeir mused, swirling his drink. “I have a task for someone… capable.”
Severus merely arched a brow.
“Bandits,” the Jarl continued, “troubling my hold. Deal with them, and I’ll consider you in my good graces.”
Severus inclined his head. “If there is coin in it, consider it done.”
Auri & Thalgeir
On the road to the bandit hideout, he encountered a red-haired Bosmer woman with a bow slung across her back.
“You have the air of someone who enjoys wandering,” she said with a playful smirk. “Mind if I tag along?”
Severus eyed her warily but nodded. Gorr, whose usefulness had waned, was dismissed. The pit fighter grumbled but departed without complaint.
Further along, a grizzled Nord named Thalgeir stopped him, pressing a small wooden urn into his hands.
“My old friend Runil… Please, deliver these ashes to him in Falkreath.”
Severus sighed but accepted.
Falkreath’s Sorrows
Returning from his task, he met Runil, the priest of Arkay, who accepted the ashes with solemn gratitude.
Nearby, he overheard two grieving parents whispering in despair. Their daughter had been slain by a beast, and the culprit was being held in the barracks.
Intrigued, Severus made a mental note to investigate further.
The Jarl’s Uncle & Lod’s Request
Before leaving Falkreath, he met Dengeir of Stuhn, the Jarl’s uncle. The elderly Nord pulled him aside conspiratorially.
“There’s a letter in Lod’s house,” he murmured. “Retrieve it for me, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Breaking into the blacksmith’s home was a simple matter of a well-placed spell of muffling and deft hands. The letter was soon in his possession.
On his way out, Lod, the blacksmith, stopped him.
“You look like the kind who could handle himself,” he said. “There’s a dog outside town… I think he needs a friend.”
Severus was about to refuse, but then reconsidered. If the beast was of any use, he could keep it. If not… well, a well-placed fireball solved many inconveniences.
A Vampire’s Lineage
Delivering the letter to Dengeir, the old Nord’s expression darkened.
“So, my suspicions were correct…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “If you’re interested in another job, there’s a vampire. An ancestor of mine, buried in Bloodlet Throne. End it.”
Severus simply nodded. Another hunt. Another enemy to incinerate.
The Gildergreen’s Renewal & The Companions
Returning to Whiterun, he presented Nettlebane to Danica Pure-Spring. The priestess paled at the sight of it but nodded.
“With this, we can heal the Gildergreen,” she murmured. “But I need you to gather the Eldergleam’s sap.”
Another errand. But one that intrigued him.
Before setting off, Severus had one last task in Whiterun—joining the Companions.
His first trial? Exterminating a frost spider nest in Eastmarch.
The Frost Spider’s Lair
The cavern was thick with webbing, each step met with the sickening crunch of tiny skittering legs. Severus wasted no time. A blast of fire ignited the nest, sending the monstrous arachnids into a screeching frenzy.
The alpha spider, massive and bloated, lunged at him—only to be met with a Bound Sword through its many eyes. It collapsed, twitching.
A trivial task.
Returning to Danica & Aela’s Summons
At the Eldergleam Sanctuary, he drove Nettlebane into the sacred tree, watching as its sap bled forth.
Danica accepted the offering gratefully, already speaking of the Gildergreen’s rebirth.
Satisfied, Severus turned his attention back to Jorrvaskr.
Aela awaited him, her expression unreadable.
“Skjor is looking for you.”
Something about her tone made Severus suspect that this would be more than a simple errand.
And for the first time in this world, a flicker of curiosity stirred within him.
Severus Snape stood before Skjor, his expression unreadable, as the Companion informed him of an opportunity to prove his honor. A fragment of Wuuthrad, the legendary battleaxe of Ysgramor, was rumored to rest in Dustman’s Cairn. He was to retrieve it, accompanied by Aela as his shield-sister. Aela, ever the eager huntress, was already prepared to leave, but Severus, unwilling to be bound by another’s pace, insisted she go ahead. He would arrive in his own time.
As he stepped out of Whiterun, he was approached by a worried Redguard named Amren, pleading for the return of his family sword stolen by bandits. Severus, never one to perform charity, but recognizing an opportunity to deepen his ties to the city, agreed to retrieve it from Halted Stream Camp. However, before heading there, he decided to settle another bounty first.
His first stop was Redoran’s Retreat, where he efficiently dispatched the bandit leader, claiming his head as proof for Proventus Avenicci. Pleased with the ease of the task, he set off for Halted Stream Camp, only to be ambushed near Silent Moons Camp. The bandits, smug in their numbers, did not expect the fury of a masterful spellcaster. Severus unleashed destruction upon them, incinerating their feeble defenses with a barrage of fire. As the last of them fell, he examined the forge they had occupied—one imbued with ancient lunar enchantments. He made a note of it for further study before pressing on.
At Halted Stream Camp, he descended into the caverns beneath, reducing the inhabitants to charred remains. The leader fell swiftly, and with his death, Severus reclaimed Amren’s sword. Amidst the spoils, he discovered a tome detailing a spell to transmute iron into silver and then into gold—a most useful acquisition. He also collected a mammoth tusk, recalling Ysolda’s request.
His tasks in Whiterun temporarily complete, he finally made his way to Dustman’s Cairn. Aela awaited him at the entrance, offering no pleasantries as she led the way inside. The two navigated the dusty ruins, dispatching Silver Hand mercenaries along the way. Severus, ever meticulous, ensured that none escaped his wrath. However, he found himself trapped behind a gate after pulling a lever. Before Aela could assist him, she was ambushed.
What happened next paralyzed him.
Aela, pressed against overwhelming odds, transformed before his very eyes. A hulking beast of fur and claws emerged where she once stood, tearing through her attackers with horrifying ease. Severus felt his blood turn to ice. Memories clawed at his mind—Black’s cruel laughter, Potter’s reckless japes, and the terrible night by the Whomping Willow when Lupin had nearly ended him. Werewolves. He had feared them ever since, and now he found himself surrounded by them.
Aela, having reduced her foes to lifeless husks, released the gate for him. Forcing himself to suppress his emotions, he followed her deeper inside. The revelation that the entire Inner Circle of the Companions bore this curse only increased his disdain for them. But for now, he had a mission to complete.
They reached the final chamber where Severus felt an irresistible pull towards an ancient word etched into stone—‘Yol.’ The moment he absorbed its knowledge, a terrible force awakened. Draugr erupted from their crypts, and Severus found himself overwhelmed. Fireballs and bound weapons, healing spells and defensive wards—he exhausted every resource to stay alive. His magic reserves drained, he barely held his ground as his Flame Atronach kept the advancing undead at bay. Potions replenished him as he wove through the carnage, finally emerging victorious, though at the edge of collapse.
Severus retrieved the fragment of Wuuthrad and, alongside Aela, returned to Jorrvaskr. Vilkas led them to the mead hall, where the Companions officially inducted him into their ranks. He kept his emotions guarded, offering no gratitude as the ceremony concluded. Skjor, still unconvinced of his worth, gave him another mission—a fugitive within Whiterun Hold needed to be hunted down.
Before pursuing this task, Severus sought out Kodlak Whitemane. The Harbinger spoke of his disdain for his own lycanthropy, admitting his desire for a cure. Severus, despite his usual contempt for the plight of others, found himself intrigued. The thought of a werewolf seeking to undo his nature amused him, though he merely nodded in response, offering no opinions.
At Kodlak’s suggestion, Severus retrieved a weapon from Eorlund Gray-Mane before turning in his collected bounties to Proventus. With his amassed coin, he finally purchased Breezehome, securing a private residence within Whiterun.
With his affairs in order, he visited Farengar and invested in new magical equipment. He acquired Apprentice Robes for Conjuration, spell tomes for Stoneflesh, Fear, Soul Trap, and Steadfast Ward, enhancing his arsenal significantly.
That evening, he turned his attention to the latest intrigue—a Redguard woman, Saadia, seeking his aid against Alik’r mercenaries. She claimed they sought her life unjustly, branding her a traitor. Ever the pragmatist, Severus decided to hear all sides before committing. A visit to Whiterun Barracks secured him information on Kematu’s whereabouts, setting the stage for the next phase of his plans.
As he left the barracks, a new face caught his attention. A man named Lucius Lore from the East Empire Company was assembling a group of mercenaries for a dragon hunt. Severus, ever one to recognize an opportunity, listened intently. The world was shifting around him, and he intended to be at the heart of its upheaval.
Severus stalked through the streets of Whiterun, his robes billowing as he listened to the idle chatter of the city guards. Their words, typically of no consequence to him, carried an unusual weight today.
"Ever heard of the Dawnguard?" one muttered to his companion. "Vampire hunters, forming again down south. Looks like they mean business."
Severus scoffed. He had encountered his fair share of creatures of the night, but an organized faction dedicated to their eradication piqued his interest. The timing was convenient, considering his own impending mission—to track down and execute a fugitive lurking in Whiterun Hold.
The hunt was swift. The fugitive barely had time to stammer a plea before Severus struck him down with a well-placed firebolt. As the body crumpled to the ground, Severus wasted no time in looting whatever meager belongings he carried before continuing on his way.
He soon came upon the Hall of the Vigilant, an imposing yet now eerily silent structure nestled in the cold wilderness. The scent of death hung heavy in the air. Severus entered cautiously, wand—no, staff—raised. The scene inside was a slaughterhouse. The bodies of the so-called Vigilants of Stendarr were strewn across the floor, their lifeblood painting the stone in gruesome patterns. And there, among the corpses, the unmistakable stench of another predator—vampires.
"Charming," he muttered, stepping over a dismembered limb. So, the undead had grown bold. That meant the Dawnguard might have some merit after all.
But he had more pressing matters.
His path led him to Ustengrav, an ancient, half-crumbled tomb where the Greybeards had directed him to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. The draugr within were relentless, but Severus had grown accustomed to such resistance. Flames and spectral blades carved through their ranks as he made his way deeper into the ruins. However, upon reaching the final chamber, his progress was met with an infuriating realization—the pedestal where the horn should have been was empty. Instead, a note had been left behind:
"Dragonborn—meet me in Riverwood. Delphine."
"Marvelous," he sneered, crumpling the parchment. Another detour.
Returning to Riverwood, Severus confronted Delphine, the innkeeper of the Sleeping Giant Inn. The revelation that she was the same woman he had seen speaking with Farengar at Dragonsreach was no great surprise. What followed was an exchange he found particularly tedious—her suspicion, her tests, her thinly veiled arrogance. She was convinced the dragons’ return was linked to the Thalmor, though her reasoning seemed tenuous at best.
But before she would trust him, she required proof. He was to accompany her to Kynesgrove, where another dragon was expected to rise from the dead.
They arrived in time to witness an unsettling spectacle. The black-scaled behemoth from Helgen, the one that had nearly ended his life, hovered over an ancient burial mound, speaking in a guttural, arcane language that sent shivers down Severus' spine. The ground trembled as a skeletal form clawed its way free, flesh knitting itself back together as the dragon was reborn.
Alduin turned his gaze to Severus, his voice dripping with scorn.
"You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, Dovahkiin."
Severus sneered but said nothing. There was no time for a philosophical debate with a beast that had likely existed since time immemorial. Instead, he conjured fire, bound his blade, and attacked. The battle was ferocious, but in the end, the dragon fell, its soul surging into Severus in a blaze of energy. Delphine, finally convinced of his legitimacy, divulged her next scheme—breaking into the Thalmor Embassy. Severus, ever pragmatic, stored that information for later.
For now, he had other business.
He returned the stolen horn to the Greybeards, enduring another of their prolonged rituals as they formally acknowledged him as Dragonborn. The power of their shouts resonated through his very being, though he found their teachings somewhat tedious.
With that task done, he set forth toward Saarthal, where the College of Winterhold had begun its excavation. His fellow apprentices seemed irritatingly excited, though Severus kept his distance. As they entered the ruins, an apparition—Psijic, judging by his robes—appeared before him, delivering cryptic warnings about the fate of the world. Severus had little patience for riddles but made note of it nonetheless.
Within the ruins, the draugr were relentless, as expected. Yet Severus fought with an ever-growing arsenal of magic, cutting down the undead with fire, lightning, and steel. The final chamber housed something peculiar—a massive, glowing orb of unknown origin. He reported his findings to the Archmage, who seemed concerned yet intrigued, and was promptly sent to consult the orcish librarian, Urag gro-Shub.
Before he could retrieve the requested books from Fellglow Keep, however, Severus returned to Whiterun to manage unfinished affairs. Selling off his gathered relics, he then met Skjor, who requested his presence in the Underforge.
Severus arrived that night, feeling a gnawing unease. The sight that greeted him was revolting—Aela, mid-transformation, fur bristling, golden eyes glowing with unnatural hunger. The Inner Circle of the Companions, he realized, were werewolves.
Memories from childhood struck him like a thunderclap—Potter, Black, leading him to the Shrieking Shack, the howls, the terror.
He recoiled.
"No," he spat, stepping away. "I have no intention of subjecting myself to such a disgraceful affliction."
He stormed out, leaving Skjor and Aela to their brutish rituals. Disgust curdled in his stomach, but he forced himself to focus. He needed a task to clear his mind.
Approaching Farkas, he accepted a simple job—clearing out a vampire’s lair at Mara’s Pond. Perhaps it was the perfect opportunity. Vampires, werewolves… he had no love for either.
Severus adjusted his robes, checked his potions, and set off once more into the cold, unforgiving wilds of Skyrim.
