Here's the result:
1-Arkngthamz: This one 'Arkngthamz', was on the inscription, too. Apparently the main Aetherium research center. Seems like the place to start.
2- Mentioned as a 'Bthar-zel' ('allied city'?). Not Bthardamz, though. Looks like a smaller site, north or northwest of there, on the river.
3- The primary source of Aetherium. Extracted from some deeper mine?
4- A storage site for raw Aetherium, just outside a major city. Apparently, it had to be kept outside because the Aetherium was 'harmonically volatile'.
5- No name, no identifying information, but page after page of ruined diagrams. Couldn't make out much, but it looks like - an astrolabe, a gear, some sort of crest in four pieces? Could this be the location of the Forge? Something important, at least.
16th of Morning Star, 4E 203
He heard the ground trembling and for a second he thought he was going to die, that a ravine was going to open under his feet, swallowing him while he was helpless in his chains. But that didn't happen, though he felt like he wasn't far from shitting himself. Way to go, Decimus. Shitting your pants when a mountain farts.
He was surprised they took Lareyne with them, but that wasn't the only surprise. Up until now, he still allowed himself a measure of doubt. No, not doubt, hope. Hope that Grulmar didn't betray them. Hearing everything that went on outside, the words that were said, was sobering. How could it get that far? Grulmar killing Erik… He didn't want to believe it, deep down hoping it wasn’t true. He knew Grulmar, he was like a son to him. How could you, Gru? That isnvt you. Killing your friends… He couldn't handle it. He had put so much love and effort into that Orc, trying to make something better out of him and he failed. Ultimately failed.
He remembered the moment he first met him, back in Largashbur. I caught a fucking flu back then and it nearly killed me. The Orcs nursed me back to health and when I woke up, the first thing I saw was that runt's face with his runny nose. He taught Grulmar the trick with the coins—basically because of Decimus, because of that little coin trick, the Orc became ambidextrous, so good with knives. He had it rough back then, but the worst was yet to come. It took Decimus years to find the Orc and when he did, he was already deep in some serious shit in Riften.
Who was at your side when you cried like a little baby for another dose of Skooma? Who was there to nurse you back to health, to give you purpose? How could you betray me after all the shit we've been through? Decimus felt empty, like a husk of what he once was. He felt old and weary, diminished. In one moment he wanted to strangle the Orc, but no matter how hard he tried to picture that moment, it turned into a hug every time. He just wanted to hold him like he held him back when the Orc needed him most. But he doesn't need you anymore. He killed his own friend, he doesn't need anyone. He never really did.
He sat alone in the tent staring at the fur, watching the wind pass through it in silence. Decimus wanted to stop thinking, but how can anyone crawl back from the hole of being betrayed? The hole was deep and dark, and most people would try to crawl out with anger and rage, but some just couldn't get angry at the ones they loved most. The light was waning, shadows of the soul getting darker and darker and what was left but despair? Ronnie would often say to never give into it. Never let the darkness take you. You know what, Ronnie? Fuck you. He swallowed hard and hated that his chest was tightening.
A strange sound took Decimus from his thoughts. It sounded like whistling followed by a heavy thud and a scream of pain. He sprung to his feet, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon. If those are bandits returning to their camp…
“Hello,” a woman's voice sounded from under his feet and he looked down to see a spectral head peeking out of the ground. He let out an incoherent cry of surprise and jumped about as high as a Khajiit. It took a second for his heart to climb down from the top of his head, but he recognized Katria and then his brows creased. I've had about enough of her popping up everywhere…
“For fuck's sake!” he growled, making his chains shake. “You can't keep doing this to me, you fucking ghost!”
“Then, I guess, you don’t want these?” Katria dangled a set of keys in front of his face. Decimus’ eyes widened in surprise. “Alright, I’ll just be going—“
“We don’t have time for games. Give me the keys.” Decimus snapped. Katria just shrugged and tossed him the keys. He started unlocking his shackles, cursing his fingers for not working properly at first in the cold. His mind raced as he rubbed his sore wrists. First, find your weapon, he ran the list through his mind. Second—he looked up and eyed the ghost. “Is it just you here?”
She shook her head. “One would think they would guard their camp and prisoners better. But just one drunk guard…”
Decimus ignored her and burst from the tent. The first thing he saw was Serana chained to a column, the armor in her back ripped in places. A Nord approached her, a ginger Nord with a smile on his face, through a full ginger beard. The Nord hugged the vampire, making her hiss at first, but then she paused, releasing a surprised cry, and returned the affection as best she could while the Nord began to unlock her chains.
“Shor’s Bones, Serana! How long have you been like this?” The Nord asked and Decimus knew the voice. He wasn’t dead? What the Oblivion?
“Days.” She croaked, while the Nord quickly ripped some cloth from the lining of his cloak to bind her oozing wrists. He brushed her hair from her face, and Decimus could see the expression on the Nord’s face darken. But Gru had said, Decimus shook his head.
“I’m so sorry, Serana…” The Nord murmured.
She leaned against the Nord for a moment. “We need…”
“It’s alright. We’ll be alright.” He comforted, holding her. “Can you stand?”
“I need to.” She answered, her eyes on the Nord. “Help me up, Erik. We need…”
“It’s alright.” He reassured, though the eyes now looked uncertain.
“Erik?” Decimus whispered. Fucking idiot, he’s not going to hear a whisper. “Erik!” He shouted properly. The Nord looked up him and smiled, his eyes lighting up, as he was helping Serana to her feet. Decimus ran to him and properly smacked him with an open palm to his back. “It’s really you. You crafty bastard. I heard Grulmar saying that you were dead.” Decimus shook his head, still not believing. Still not sure. “And I—“
I lost hope.
“It’s alright, Dec. I’m alright.” Erik replied, grabbing the Imperial’s shoulder with a solid shake. Decimus nodded before letting go of the Nord and his eyes fell on Serana.
He blinked. “Dragonborn’s balls.” He could only gasp. She was nearly dead. Ronnie was going to kill all of them. There was no question in Decimus’ mind. Starting with the Altmer prick. It was clear that she had been beaten, badly. It was also clear that her system was being ravaged by silver. Poisoned. She was nearly the color of the snow at their feet, her veins like a roadmap on her skin. The grey of the metal coursing in her veins. Her eyes were sunken, her face gaunt and sporting more bruises and cuts than he could count. Decimus grabbed her shoulder, bringing her head up to face him. Fuck, was she thinner even? He immediately wrinkled his nose. She reeked. They all reeked, but this was different. Did the Elf rub her in shit? “Are you alright?” He asked, his tone dead serious.
Those vampire eyes blazed and her fangs bared, the anger barely restrained. “We need…” She repeated, her low voice sending chills up his spine. It was the third time she said ‘We need’.
Decimus’ eyes searched hers. “What do we need, Serana?” He said softly, trying to understand. She didn’t answer, the eyes going distant. He then turned to Erik. “What in the Oblivion’s going on? What happened?”
The Nord grabbed Decimus by the shoulder. “It wasn’t Grulmar who betrayed us, Dec.. It was never Grulmar.”
Decimus spit. “But he said you were dead? I heard him bragging about it.” Erik gestured to his side. Decimus saw the dried blood on Erik’s armor, saw the cut in the leather. He felt his face go red. “He did try, the fucker—“
“No!” Erik exclaimed, shaking his head in earnest. “He’s an asshole, yes, but no, you’re wrong. Just calm down, so I can explain.”
“We are wasting time, we need…” The vampire said quietly, eyeing the Dwemer tower that had now fucking appeared out of nowhere. Decimus bit his lip. Watching her like that hit him harder than he expected and he brought his arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. You’re fucking hugging a vampire. Oh well…
“Listen, lass. Erik’s got some explaining to do first. We’ll find the Old Mer.” He squeezed again, she was very cold. “I promise.” He turned to Erik again. “Go on, lad.” His voice darkened. “Explain.”
“At first, I thought he had betrayed us. Ronnie couldn’t even convince me. Whole time in Blackreach, bloody Old Mer was right and I wouldn’t listen.” The Nord frowned. “Took Gru cutting me with some nasty paralysis poison—“
“He used that on you?” Serana asked, her eyes snapping back into life. That’s it, old girl, you dig yourself out of that tunnel. Don’t give into the darkness like this Old Blade almost did. I will owe that priest of yours a big apology when we get out of here. Bah, I’ll just buy the old fatty some honey nut treats.
Erik immediately shook his head. “No, no, no way weaker than what that Bosmer used to poisoned Ronnie.” They poisoned him? Decimus was about to open his mouth, but Erik continued. “Gru wasn’t trying to kill me.” Erik sighed. “He knows I’m a Nord.” A bitter smirk then played on Erik’s features and he eyed Serana before he put a hand on her shoulder. Decimus knew from that look that things still weren’t healed between the two, but they were better and that counted for something. “Nords are stubborn, we don’t listen. And Gru isn’t strong enough to just sit on us like your Old Mer can.” The lad turned to Decimus. “We were played, Dec. You and I. It was never Grulmar who betrayed us. The one who betrayed us... It was Lareyne.”
“Lareyne?” Decimus's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Fuck.” I always have to bang some bitch.
Serana’s jaw dropped and she withdrew from Decimus’ hold, making the Imperial furrow his brow. She’s getting angry. “That’s why he ran…”
“Yes!” Erik nodded. “Äelberon suspected all along. From way back in Windhelm.”
“And he didn’t think to tell us?” Decimus questioned, narrowing his eyes.
“She's a Thalmor agent, Dec.” The boy replied, his tone serious. “Knowing their history with Ronnie, what did you expect him to do? Risk everybody? He’s a knight, Dec. And he suspected, he wasn't sure.”
Decimus nodded soberly. “You’re right.” He spit and turned away. “Hmph. She played us all along, didn’t she?”
“Aye.” Replied Erik with just enough weight to the voice to let Decimus know that he knew what had happened between himself and Lareyne. Boy was getting smarter every day. Yeah, I fucked her too, lad. They exchanged apologies with their eyes, an understanding between men. Bet you hate women now, eh? “She used us.” Erik continued. “That's why Dreth knew where to go, why he waited for us here. She told him.”
“I'm going to fuck her up,” Decimus growled, starting to look around the camp. “Has anyone seen my gear?” He then narrowed his eyes. “And where the fuck is that lazy bastard Marcurio?”
Erik pointed to a tent up the hill. “Took an arrow to the knee. Aela shot him.”
Aela’s here? You sly old fox, Ronnie, Decimus smiled darkly. She's your best.
“He should become a guard,” Decimus sneered as he searched the other tents for his gear. “Fuck! Where did they hide my gear?!” As he was looking through the chests he shouted at Erik. “Talk to me, lad. How much time do we have?”
“Äelberon and Grulmar have a plan,” Erik replied. “We're not supposed to go in.”
“What?” Decimus frowned, though it quickly morphed into an angry grin when he finally found his armor and weapons. Not going to be so happy you fed me venison, now, you Redguard fuck. He rushed to put on his armor, the adrenaline giving his fingers the precision he needed. “What do you mean they have a plan?” he asked as he was leaving the tent with his gear, slowly strapping it on. He saw how Serana looked at the Forge entrance. Where was her gear? Probably where the other Altmer was. The dandy, Decimus liked to call him with his silks and soft leather. Fucking priss pretending to be a merc. Her eyes were boring into the entrance now and he saw the magicks faintly charge in her hands. After all you went through, you still have magicks in you? Decimus faced Erik again. The lad was fingering the hilt of—is that Ronnie’s silver bastard?—nervously. “They don't need us?”
“Äelberon believes—“ Erik began.
“He's going to get himself killed,” murmured Serana, shooting the boy a defiant look. “They will not show him mercy. They don’t care about Dreth or the shards.”
They?
Decimus blinked several times. The Old Fart could be stubborn sometimes in his need to protect his friends, but if he was confident enough he could handle it, then Decimus trusted him. The Mer wants to live just as much as any of us. He wouldn't go down there just to die. “If Erik says he has a plan, we should follow it—“ Decimus started.
“They will not let him live!” She insisted, the fire in her eyes growing. “He's going to die down there!” She took a few stiff steps towards the forge, but she lost her balance and stumbled. Both Erik and Decimus rushed to the faltering vampire, but she stopped them with a glance that would make a dragon piss itself and rose to her feet again, the magicks in her hands intensifying. Her fangs were bare and Decimus remembered that rage from the battle for Castle Volkihar. “And I will not let that happen to him.”
“He'll handle it, Serana,” Decimus tried to calm her down, but she snorted like a bull and hissed through her bared teeth in warning. Unwittingly, he took a step back, clutching the hilt of his silver sword. Serana saw the action and shame flashed before her eye as she relaxed her features, though Decimus could still see the fury under the surface. She turned away quickly and her eyes found the tower.
“No he won't,” she whispered softly, hobbling on her own towards the entrance to the Forge. “It is just like the Tower… in pieces…they will tear him to pieces… eight pieces... No, I will not let that happen again…”
Decimus and Erik could only exchange confused looks. Ah, fuck, she's delirious with the poison. All the more reason to have her stay. Decimus was about to take a step forward when he noticed Erik make the first move, following the vampire. Lad, you’ve grown a pair since I saw you last.
“Good, you’re in one piece, Imperial. The Old Bear will be pleased.” Both men stopped at the sound of the Huntress’ voice. She emerged from the hill, wind-blown auburn hair exposed to the icy air, her golden bow ready, a smaller version of Ronnie’s, her lips spread in a wolfish grin. Her pale grey eyes then honed in on Serana as she walked towards the Forge. “Wait. Where is she going?”
“She doesn't want to leave him alone in there,” Erik explained.
Decimus sneered. “We would appreciate if you'd talk some sense in her.”
Aela snorted and checked her quiver. “She is right. Old Mer’s plan stank right from the beginning. We saw with our own eyes what that monster in there with him did to Dreth’s men. That creature is without honor and I will not leave my Shield-Brother alone with that.”
“What was done?” Decimus asked. “Who’s in there with him?”
Erik looked away. “We should really—“
“No!” Barked Aela, making Erik flinch. “Benor was—“She shook her head in disgust. “By Hircine, Erik! His insides were liquid, Erik, and the Redguards were even worse. No!”
“We are wasting time…” Serana interrupted, quickening her pace. Aela nodded and followed.
Decimus was confused. The monster? Decimus listed in his mind the people that went in with Ronnie and Gru. Dreth, Galar, Bleak Walker, Stenvar, Belrand, Vorstag, the two Orcs, Lareyne, the Bosmer, the cat, and that other Altmer. Only the Bleak Walker deserved the title ‘monster’ in that group. The rest were manageable. And the Bleak Walker didn’t go to Raldbthar… The dandy did. Dandy? That dandy? What was all this talk about Benor and Redguards with liquid insides? “I’m not understanding. Who’s in there with him?” Decimus repeated.
“Hurry!” Serana cried. Decimus watched Aela leave with Serana. He watched how the vampire’s back straightened, surprised at the amount of magicks she could charge despite being so close to death. He saw the wounds on her back more closely. She had been whipped and the marks had distinct little clusters. His brow furrowed.
“He wouldn’t even tell me his name.” Erik muttered, looking worried, his eyes darting back and forth between Decimus and the women.
“Ronnie?” Decimus then spit. “That Kahleron fellow with Dreth? He’s nothing, a fucking dandy. Ronnie can sit on him—“
“That’s not his real name…” Erik let his voice trail off and Decimus felt the hairs on his neck shoot up, understanding the lad’s tone of voice. Serana’s injuries suddenly made sense. The wounds on her back were in clusters of eight... Eight. Decimus cringed, remembering the scars on backs of dead soldiers. The scars from that lash.
Fuck, fuck, fuck… it had to be another Thalmor. One powerful mother fucker, like that bastard Vingalmo, for old Ronnie to not even speak the bloody name. They were in Skyrim, they patrolled the province. You’d think fucking up a former Grand Justiciar would send them a message, but no, it was like they were possessed, the fire only fueled. Where do you stand on this, Old Blade? Contracts, not causes, something he’d hear Teineeva say all the time. The Lizard would stick to the contract. But it was Ronnie...
And it was Gru.
He was in there too. With that Thalmor monster crazy enough to use that demon lash on a vampire. With Dreth. With the Bleak Walker—Decimus furrowed his brow. Ah, shit. You are the worst Goldpact Knight, Old Blade. Decimus then sighed and faced Erik. “Women. One moment you're good and then they come in and rule your life. Don’t even let you do stupid things.” He said towards Erik. “And we men need to do stupid things from time to time, right? But no, they don't get it. They want us to be safe. And you know what? For once I agree with that. Better to live than to do stupid thing and die. Let's go stop Ronnie from being stupid.”
“He's going to kill me,” Decimus heard Erik moan as the lad followed him into the forge. Don’t worry, lad, I got your back, Decimus smirked.
Grulmar watched Äelberon step towards the valve, and he noticed the Altmer stretching and shortening his muscles, moving his lips slightly, as if getting ready for some serious shit. They made eye contact for a second, and Grulmar nodded, letting the Mer know he was ready. I don’t know what ya got planned, Sir Shiny the Saint, but I’m ready. Grulmar braced himself. The shit's about to go down. So let's make it count. It's going to get really hot in here, I hope Galar's ready.
They opened the valves, the Altmer with a mighty pull, and he with slower motions. Grulmar saw an army of automatons emerge from the Dwemer pipes as the steam cleared. You knew, you fucker, Grulmar quickly glanced in Shiny’s direction.
And then it happened.
Grulmar saw Lareyne—a free Lareyne who was tied up before—bury a knife deep into Shiny’s side.
Shit!
He then saw Kahleron stab him with a saber. That was stupid because Shiny just grabbed his wrist and broke it like a twig. But then Lareyne was on him again, her knife in his back and Grulmar’s jaw dropped. The big male Orc pulled out his axe in response and with a loud, enraged battle cry jumped forward. An arrow struck the Orc’s orichalcum, doing nothing, but the second arrow went through his helmet, lodging in his face. It didn’t stop the warrior though, who surged forward. Shock magicks then poured from Kahleron’s fingertips in the large Orc’s direction. It was so fast, so fast. His heart was racing.
And then he heard Serana's shriek of anguish and rage. A sound that nobody wanted to hear. Erik was supposed to keep them at the camp!
Shitshitshitshit! He cursed in his mind, but he felt the knife on his own neck ease a little bit and he knew he had to take a chance. Äelberon fell to his knees, the knife sticking out of his back and Gru wanted to scream his name. His real name, not Shiny, no insults, just his name. But he couldn't, not at that moment. His own life was at stake here.
Grulmar tilted his head to the left, his body following it into a crouch. When he got out of the knife's way, he pulled his dagger out and still in a crouch, he spun on his heel and stabbed with the dagger up, aiming at Stenvar's crotch, where armor offered very little protection. He was fast, actually little bit faster than that, but Stenvar was a veteran.
The Nord's hand blocked Grulmar's forearm holding the dagger—forcing him to drop the weapon—and the Nord’s other hand slashed forward with the knife that had been at the Orc's throat. Grulmar was forced to jump back only to realize his mistake. He jumped back around the valve, grabbing it with his left hand before he would fall down amidst the cluster of Dwemer automatons clamoring to get to them.
In that moment, he noticed that Belrand was locked with Vorstag in a furious exchange of thrusts. The She-Orc and Galar were defending the stairs from the incoming automatons. Speakin' of those tuskers… One sphere decided to slash at his feet and he had to spin around the valve, because at that moment Stenvar finally drew his greatsword, ready to chop off Grulmar’s head. The small Orc spun around the valve, switching the grip from left hand to right hand and the moment he saw the greatsword coming, he jumped forward, under the weapon, rolling beside Stenvar's legs. He was about to get back on his feet when he heard the whistling of the greatsword cutting the air in front of it and he went prone, feeling the gust of air right behind his back.
“Fucking Orc!” Stenvar cursed. Grulmar rolled quickly onto his back, only to see the blade coming at him again. This time, he threw his legs over his head and rolled backwards to push himself on to his feet. As he dodged the swords strike, his hands went to the bandolier strapped to his chest—thank ya, Dreth, for bein' too short-sighted to remove me of my gear—and in one fluid motion, he sent two throwing knives flying in Stenvar's direction. The Nord deflected one knife with the back of his armored gauntlet, but the second was headed towards his face, and Stenvar rapidly pulled his head to the side, earning the Nord only a cut on the left cheek.
“Uh oh,” Grulmar murmured when he saw how anger flashed in Stenvar's eyes. And then the greatsword's blade was all around him and he was jumping from one side to another, dodging, trying to avoid getting cut in half, wriggling like a helpless worm about to be hooked. Too big weapon! Tusker! Where's Shiny to come in with that big bastard of his when ya need him?! “I need help!” he shouted, but everyone was too busy to bother helping a stupid Orc who knew as about as much about fighting as a giant knew about farming.
Ah shit. Stenvar raised the greatsword above his head and in the moment when Grulmar thought his end was coming, he saw it. An opportunity. He jumped forward with a throwing knife in each hand, stabbing at Stenvar’s sides. One knife was stopped by the Nord’s armor, but the other went through, finding a space between the leather straps holding the armor together. He felt the blade puncture through the soft flesh, and he tried to push it deeper to do more damage, but then the Nord head-butted him.
Black dots flashed before Grulmar’s eyes followed by a bright light, his head rattling. When his vision cleared, he saw the greatsword coming down at him again. Fuck Nords and their hard heads. He lowered into a crouch and jumped forward, into the attack, getting out of harm's way. He then grabbed Stenvar around the waist and tried to push him down off the platform. But then he realized how stupid of an idea that was.
The Nord was pretty much two times heavier than him, supported by muscles that were able to put Grulmar's to shame. The Orc felt a knee hitting his ribs, kicking every bit of breath out of his lungs. It forced him to release his grip and then another knee hit him straight in the eyebrow.
Grulmar found himself lying on the ground, blinking and struggling for breath. But he also heard Stenvar growl in pain and when his vision cleared again, he saw the Nord holding his knee, blood pouring from between his fingers. Grulmar unwittingly touched his eyebrow and felt blood on his bone protrusions. A grin clawed to his face. “Mama never told ya?” he chuckled, trying to get back on his feet, though his head spun like he had just had ten rounds of Sujamma. “Never hit Orc in the face if he has these,” he pointed at the bone protrusions on eyebrows.
Stenvar hobbled to the side, with stairs now at his back. Grulmar used this moment to look around the Forge and it left him nearly breathless. Something that could have been only Fangs was flying near the ceiling, throwing dark magicks at Kahleron and Lareyne on the other platform.
Someone had raised a wall of powerful shock magicks between the platforms, preventing the automatons from attacking them from both sides and in the entrance hall, he saw the Bleak Walker and the Dunmer woman locked in a battle with Decimus, Erik and Aela. What the tusk are ya doin' down here?! That wasn't the plan. Oh, who are ya kiddin'? The plan already flew out of the window the moment tuskin' Shiny decided to get himself stabbed.
Grulmar looked away from the other platform, not wanting to know if Shiny had gotten up. His eyes found Vorstag sitting against the wall in a pool of his own blood and Belrand was leaning against the same wall a bit away, holding his side with blood seeping between his fingers. There was a faint yellow light around his hand, but Grulmar knew he couldn't count on Belrand’s help.
The hiss of steam and the intensifying heat made Grulmar turn his head to the forge itself. His jaw dropped when he saw what emerged from behind the Forge. A massive Centurion, bigger than the one in the storeroom, red-hot from the lava. We’re all gonna die here, he thought to himself, ignoring the sweat that now stung his eye. A crackling net of shock magic engulfed the automaton and Grulmar saw Galar running straight for it. The Centurion swung its hammer and to Grulmar's surprise, Galar's staff stopped the attack dead in its tracks. The Telvanni then struck the Centurion. It reeled backwards, trying to regain its balance, its torso dented as if it was hit by a rock fired from a trebuchet. No one can be that strong…
He watched in awe, getting distracted, and he was about to pay the price for it. Stenvar used the moment and swung his sword at him. Hearing the swish of the blade, Grulmar jumped back at the last second. He tripped, getting away from harm's way, but he fell to the ground, expecting the final blow to come. Nay! Not yet! Grulmar reached with his left hand to a spot on his right arm, where was a sheath under his forearm, pulling from it a throwing knife. Before Stenvar could bring his weapon down, Grulmar leaned forward and stabbed with the knife as hard as he could. He aimed for Stenvar's other knee, not the one already hurt, but the healthy one. He buried the knife right into the joint and the Nord yelled in pain. Then something big literally rammed into Stenvar, sending him into air and down the stairs. Grulmar blinked several times at the powerful Orc female in full orichalcum armor now standing before him against the fire of the Forge, her armor dented and scratched from her fight with the automatons, dimly reflecting the firelight.
She offered him a hand to help back to his feet and he accepted it, letting her pull him up like he was a ragdoll. He stood, breathing heavily, and realized she was taller than he was by a good head, maybe more. “Once this is over,” she then murmured, her eyes never leaving his, “I will ride you, little warrior.”
“Eh?” Grulmar croaked, feeling a tick in his eye.
“For the Thalmor!” Kahleron yelled after Dreth saw the She-Elf suddenly lunge at the Dragonborn. What?
“Kahleron!” He screamed in anger, but it was already too late, both Kahleron and his prisoner were all over the Dragonborn. Fuckfuckfuck! I needed him, you fucking Thalmor! He cursed in his mind. He heard Kahleron's wrist snap in the grasp of the Dragonborn and no sound was ever so satisfying to his ears. Son of a bitch! You planted the girl among them, didn’t you? She's Thalmor too! Dreth's ex-hireling, the big Orc, then charged at Kahleron, but an arrow shot by the Bosmer stopped him in his tracks. Well, no it didn’t and the Orc charged forward. The second arrow should have stopped him, but it didn’t, not entirely. The first one only scratched his armor, making the Orc gnash his tusks in rage, but the second one went through the helmet's visor and Dreth saw it buried under the Orc's right eye, into his cheek bone. The eye popped right out of its socket, and the Orc yelled in pain, but he didn't stop. No, he kept going in Kahleron's direction.
Then he saw the vampire arrive. She burst from her own body, it seemed to Dreth, and the vampire who had been chained to a column for three days, nearly dead to Dreth, became a creature. A creature with wings that looked like a bat on skooma. The Goldpact Knight, another woman, and Erik the Slayer emerged from the entrance soon after. Erik! Malacath take you, Greenskin! Jagaark and Jenassa intercepted them, but Dreth saw the automatons coming at them from behind. He called forth the magicka, his fingertips crackling with shock magicks and he raised a wall of lightning between the platforms. Automatons flinched away from the powerful wall. But one spider shuddered and then lay still on the ground, its core fried by the magicks.
“The stairs!” the Bosmer archer shouted at him, releasing one arrow after another at automatons crawling towards them. Dreth gritted his teeth in Kahleron's direction, still fuming, and then turned around with a reluctant growl. Later, you son of a bitch! He clapped his hands and when he put them away from each other, lightning surged between them, crackling and twisting. He pulled more and more and when he could no longer contain the magicks, he released it at a Sphere heading towards him, poised to cut him in half with its blade.
The lightning cut into the air, making Dreth's hair stand up with its static energy. The lightning struck the Sphere straight into its chest, launching it backwards as if it was shot from a trebuchet, the smell of frying metal seeping into Dreth’s nostrils. The lightning, still hungry, then jumped to Spider close to the Sphere, the crystal on its back shattering into a thousand pieces. The lightning then continued its hungry dance of destruction, leaping to its next target, and the next, and the next. It cleared the whole wave of automatons coming their way. But more still came. He didn’t know this would happen, did the Altmer know?
The fucker knew, Dreth answered in his mind. There was never going to be a bargain. He turned the valve to trigger them. By the Reclamations, you were a smart fucker.
While he was charging the spell, he got so distracted he completely stopped paying attention to what was going on around him. A quick glance revealed chaos. And a wave of dark magicks headed his way. Dreth raised his ward in the last second. The foul energy washed over him, pushing him back and he could feel the rage behind it. Rage, madness, and intense hunger. All these emotions assailed him as he stood his ground against those dark magicks. When it ended and he could pull back his ward, he looked up and saw the creature flying near the ceiling of the Forge, bombarding them with its dark magicks. He glanced toward the large form lying in a pool of blood. He was still, unmoving.
The clanking of more metallic legs striking the stone floor made Dreth whip his head away from the dead Mer. More Automatons were coming, but then Dreth felt something very familiar, an energy he felt once already behind him. He whirled suddenly and without thinking, he stabbed with his dagger. His silver dagger.
I learn from my mistakes.
The ethereal form was phasing out of the wall and the dagger stopped it in its tracks. The ghost wailed in pain and Dreth growled: “I knew you would show up, so I brought some silver.” He twisted the dagger roughly, pulled it out, and then stabbed the ghost again. This time, it was like stabbing a real being of flesh and bone. There was resistance as the dagger pushed between bones, grinding against them before it found its way right into her heart. “The Forge is mine!” He spat, his eyes boring into hers. He felt crazy, but he didn’t care. It was his. It is mine.
Katria screamed and then an ethereal wind blew her away, leaving only a puddle of thick, glowing ectoplasm on the ground. “The Forge is mine,” Dreth murmured again, still trembling with rage. He should feel victorious for getting rid of Katria for the last time, but...it tasted like ash in his mouth. It would take months to unlock its secrets now…
More automatons were coming and he charged another spell.
She smiled as she watched the mongrel turn his back to her and rolled the knife that Kahleron—Kahleron! What a deliciously fitting name for this endeavor—slipped her, cutting the ropes. By the time she finally managed to cut her bonds, the beast of an Altmer had given the valve a mighty turn, opening it instantly. She had to act quickly, he’d turn around soon. Lareyne and Kahleron both heard the metal of automatons on in the walls as they passed through the pipes. She tensed when Kahleron hesitated. Attack him, now. She saw the leg muscles of the Altmer in front of her bulge. He’s going to turn, you fool, you are losing your window. Forget you, let’s end this.
She lunged forward, stabbing the Mer between ribs, aiming for a lung. When the blade buried into his flesh, he spun around in surprise and she rolled to the side, behind his back, pulling the blade out in the process. Her heart was pounding, it was happening. Those eyes met hers and for a second she felt fear. Gods, those were not Altmer eyes.
“For the Thalmor!” Kahleron then shouted, plunging his saber into the mongrel’s chest. Now he reacts and he makes this mistake? Idiot! Lareyne thought. There was no way Kahleron could pull the saber out before the beast could reach him. And true to the Dusken’s bulk and power, he reached Kahleron, grabbing the more slender Mer’s wrist as the weapon was being pulled from his chest. Auri-El’s bow! Tt was like he felt no pain. They compared him to a machine in the Tower, a very construct. But no, he’s not a construct, he is only a Mer of flesh and blood. Lareyne heard Kahleron’s wrist snap like a twig under the Dusken’s grasp and Kahleron screamed in pain. After so many years you still underestimate him. But she didn't. She had a better teacher. She jumped forward again and buried the knife right next to his spine, going deep until the crossguard stopped her, the blade surely going through his heart.
Silly Lareyne, the mongrel doesn’t have a heart.
“You didn't expect this, didn't you?” she purred into his ear as the life passed from his body.
“This particular action? No.” He gasped. A weak chuckle then escaped his lips, which threw her off-guard for a second, making her narrow her eyes. “Well, at least not yet, but he was always a very impatient sort.” The mongrel then fell to his knees and his last look belonged to that vampire who showed up in the entrance, passing through the Bleak Walker and the Dunmer female as if they weren’t there. The one the mongrel had been lying with, fornicating with. “Krosis, my Ana, for what... I am putting you... through…forgive...” Lareyne heard him whisper and then he dropped on the ground. Finally!
Only there was no time to rejoice.
The vampire wailed and then transformed as Lareyne pulled the knife from his now lifeless body. Bits of the creature’s armor flew everywhere and the vampire became something beyond Lareyne’s understanding. Fuck, we will have to work quickly. She will require proof. Lem—Kahleron where are you?
She noticed that an Orc with an arrow in his face was charging at them and her eyes widened until Kahleron appeared at her side, releasing a surge of shock magic from his fingers as he held his broken wrist towards his chest. The lightning crawled all over the Orc's body, making him scream in agony like a boar to the slaughter. He convulsed violently from the magicks, his muscles no longer functioning properly. In a few seconds, there was nothing but scorched armor and dust as Kahleron's magic disintegrated him.
The vampire then barreled towards them in its disgusting form and it was Kahleron's pet Khajiit who leaped into the air, fire magicks escaping its paws in a powerful inferno. It always surprised her how such little things could harness such magicks, but it ultimately failed, for the vampire, with one beat of its membraned wings, vaulted into the air, above the path of the blaze. An orange-red glow then appeared around its clawed hands and the Alfiq surged towards the creature, as if it had been lassoed by an invisible rope. It hissed and screeched, charging all sorts of spells in an attempt to break from the vampire’s grasp, but it was caught in the creature’s powerful clutches. His name was Jo’Naar, Lareyne remembered meeting him at Markarth. He struggled violently, using his claws to scratch at the creature, but to no avail. The vampire then adjusted its grip on Jo’Naar, holding the Alfiq’s front and rear legs with each hand. The yowl from the cat was almost unbearable. It was terrified.
And then, with a shrieking roar, it pulled.
Lareyne felt the sticky wetness as blood and intestines sprayed across her face, making her growl in disgust. I’ve already had to sleep with humans! It can't be worse! She called forth her own magic, creating a serpent of fire that whirled around the vampire, but the vampire escaped it by flying up to the ceiling, continuing to hurl its own dark magicks at them. Its eyes burned bright red, the face contorted from grief.
“Just hold that foul thing away!” snapped Kahleron from behind her. “I'm going to take the mongrel's scalp! We need that scalp! It’s the only way she’ll believe, that he’ll believe in Alinor…”
The vampire heard that and it launched itself into an air strike, diving down from the ceiling right at them. Lareyne raised a ward around her and Kahleron. The creature struck the ward at full speed and Lareyne screamed as the force of the vampire’s impact pushed against her. The magic of the ward wavered for a second, the claws starting to tear through the magical barrier. Lareyne snarled, pouring more power into, but the claws still slashed. This shouldn't be possible! “Kahleron! It’s coming through!” she shouted and he growled in response.
“Quelne! Can’t you handle it?”
“There will be nothing left if it comes through, you—“
Magic crackled around her, preventing her from finishing her words. It struck the vampire’s side, lighting up the bones in its body, making them visible through the grey, leathery skin. The undead thing released a vicious hiss, surging through the air to again find the safety of the ceiling to throw more magicks at them. The magicks coming from it seemed endless. Lareyne eyed the beast as it circled the air and came to the conclusion that slinging spells at it would only deplete her own reserves, so she called forth the magic of Oblivion, ignoring the blasphemy and Kahleron’s disapproving scowl—I do what I need to do to get the job done—to conjure a bow in her hands. She launched several arrows at the vampire. It dodged, fast as a hawk, but Lareyne countered, confusing the beast with a fake move. She launched another arrow towards the vampire, satisfied that this would down the foul creature. She felt her face heat up in rage when the vampire turned into a mist, the arrow passing through it without doing any harm. The mist then came for them and Lareyne turned quickly to Kahleron.
The older Mer was again focusing on the dead mongrel at their feet, trying to take his scalp. His broken wrist, however, wasn’t making it easy. He was only succeeding in cutting the dead mongrel’s forehead, unable to grab the hair properly to cut it. Fuck. Can’t even do this simple job correctly, she cursed to herself. A gust of air made her turn away from Kahleron.
She raised her ward against the mist just in time, but the mist simply passed through it as if nothing was there. Lareyne let out a gust of air. What now, bitch? It rematerialized behind Kahleron. He shouted in pain when one of its claws raked his shoulder. He dropped the mongrel hard and whirled around with his saber, but the creature dodged. Lareyne was forced to dodge under another powerful swing.
“Fry it!” She hollered.
“Die, daughter of Coldharbour! For Vingalmo’s sacrifice!” Kahleron cried, letting the lightning surge through his hand onto the saber and past the blade towards the beast. She answered the Mer’s spell with blasts of fire, engulfing the creature with magic from both sides. It will fall too, Lareyne grinned in satisfaction, hearing its screeches of pain and frustration while it tried to find a way out of their destruction.
Then it turned into swarm of bats.
They tried to burn and electrify them, but the bats were mercilessly clawing at them, their numbers not decreasing. One scratched her face and she realized that each scratch bore a risk of disease. Of becoming one of them. No. She turned to Kahleron and cursed when she saw him attempt to cut the mongrel’s hair again. Idiot!
“Gods! There are too many. Leave him!” she shouted at Kahleron. He shook his head in refusal, but his eyes widened and Lareyne turned to see what he was looking at, still beating at bats with her arms. Erik and another Nord woman with pale grey eyes were heading towards them. “We have to go!” she continued screaming.
“NO! We need the proof!” He screamed in her face. She struck him hard with the palm of her hand and the Mer stared at her trembling, breathing heavily.
“I’ll get the weapons. You need to get us out of here.” She argued. Kahleron growled in frustration, looking like he was going to hit her back. One more screw up, and I’ll kill you, she thought, but her face communicated a tender look instead and she changed her voice. “It will be enough for them, I promise.” She reassured. The older Mer took a breath and started to charge magicks in his good arm. Lareyne took the time to bend quickly to retrieve the mongrel’s weapons as she continued to swat bats away with her other hand. She wanted to break the bow on her knees, she wanted to toss the bastard into the lava, its evil burning away, but she restrained herself, focusing instead on keeping them whole and unbroken. She avoided looking at the mongrel, looking at the hawk’s nose that she could see peeking from the hood. The bit of square jaw, the noble profile. He wasn’t breathing, that was enough for her, she thought as she reached for the bastard. He was dead. The blade scratched the stone and she winced, until she remembered that it was made of ebony. Careful with them, you are already forgoing the hair, these need to be pristine, or they will not accept the death.
The bats were shrieking all around, the sound overwhelming, and she felt another scratch, feeling strangely dizzy after the blow. The noises of battle waged on and she could hear the two Nords approach.
“Do it!” she shouted at Kahleron. He nodded at her and extended his healthy arm towards the entrance.
“Come quickly!” He yelled and she rushed towards him, grabbing his shoulder. “Hold on.” He growled softly. Lareyne felt how he drew on the magicka, drew deeply from the stream that was like a thunderstorm. He groaned and she saw the beads of sweat on his forehead as she held him. She felt the lightning surging through his body, and her fingers tingled from all that energy.
With a cry, Kahleron let the lightning escape his hand and Lareyne felt a pull. Her whole body felt as if it was being torn to shreds from the inside, her very bones breaking by the pure energy of magicka that came from the Mer. Gods! What it was to be that old and practiced. She could do nothing like this. Her bones felt like they were breaking, but they really weren’t. She knew it was because they were moving, flying. They passed between the Nords, flew over the heads of a fighting Decimus and Bleak Walker and landed near the staircase leading from the Forge. They looked at each other when they noticed no stairs.
“Why am I not surprised? Quelne…” Kahleron muttered. “Hold on.” Lareyne tightened her hold on the Mer and he growled, pulling all his strength to ride the lighting once more. This time, he transported them up to the door, but the effort left him gasping. He looked back and Lareyne saw how the gasping stopped, replaced by a dark chuckle, his light green eyes twinkling despite his exhaustion and pain. “Rulundil is going to owe me a ton of money at the Embassy.”
Lareyne nodded in agreement before looking back at the chaos one last time. She smiled coldly, watching the men struggle and fight like little worms. They will all die here. “We did it! He's dead!” All the sacrifices I've made to get to this point. It all payed off. The Dusken dog is dead!
They ran down the stairs and Decimus saw the forms of Jagaark and Jenassa with the mighty Forge serving as a backdrop. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare at it. He had seen many Dwemer ruins with their strange constructions, but everything paled in comparison to the great cave they had just left behind and the monstrosity that now stood before him. It was almost, to him, like a fucking temple. A monument, having the look of a sacred place. Some have gods of gold, and some gods of logic.
The Bleak Walker and Jenassa were stationed at the end of the hall and he gritted his teeth. He was barely able to keep up with the others. Even Serana, as sick as she was, still moved so fucking fast. And his knee had felt every step he took, hurting like Oblivion itself, but when he saw the Bleak Walker looming at the end of the hall, he knew he would have to clench his jaws and endure the pain. The fucker needed to die. Today!
Serana sprinted on ahead, getting energy from Decimus didn’t know where, and he shouted. “Wait!” But she didn't listen and both mercenaries heard him, turning around. One moment, they had empty hands, and in the next, their weapons were drawn and ready. Damn, they're fast.
He had already fought the Bleak Walker, he knew what to expect from the Redguard and his bastard sword. Jenassa was different, he had only heard of Jenassa’s skill through word of mouth. Sure, he had met her, at the Drunken Huntsman, but he had never seen her fight. Her strength was dual blades. Just stay focused, old man. Don't get distracted by tits or something.
Serana was ahead of them, just about to meet the mercenaries up close and Decimus knew it would get bloody. Jagaark swung his sword at her and Jenassa attacked with her left sword as Serana ran right between them. Then she jumped, her unnatural strength sending her into the air and over the blades of both mercenaries. Jagaark didn't bother turning around, but Jenassa did, to cover his back, but Serana wasn't interested in them.
Decimus then saw her stop suddenly, falling to her knees. The wail that came from her was something that made all three of them look at each other. A wail of pain, of anger, of grief. Her armor then burst from her skin and Decimus saw her form change. Becoming the creature that made men fear for their lives. Why was she changing? She didn’t for the dragon. She only ever changed for one reason.
But Decimus couldn't think on the reason, he had to focus. He pulled back, slowing his pace and drew his baskethilt sword. “Slow down, lad.” He warned, extending his left arm. It struck Erik on the chest, forcing him to slow down. “Watch your left side, alright?”
“Why?” Erik wondered, practicing his wrist with the sword in hand. Decimus then noticed in the fire light of the Forge that Ronnie’s silver bastard was riddled with numerous chips and dents. What the fuck happened to that weapon? Ronnie never kept his blades like that. Never. That blade wouldn’t take a hit before it broke. Fuck! Old Mer had been serious about not wanting them down there, otherwise that bastard wouldn’t be in the lad’s hand. “I'm going to take the Redguard, you cover—“ Erik started.
“Not a chance, lad,” Decimus growled, interrupting him. “Shoot them, Aela! Now!” The Huntress sent her first arrow in the air, straight at the Redguard. He ducked and then both he and Jenassa started running towards them. Another arrow was aimed at Jenassa and she managed to deflect it with her sword.
“Fuck!” Aela cursed, moving to get a better shot.
Yes, fuck! The mercenaries increased their pace, trying to get behind Decimus and Erik, to use them as living shields, making it as difficult as possible for Aela to get a clean shot. Force the Huntress to abandon her bow. What Decimus saw so far indicated that Jenassa was more than good, definitely better then Erik, and she knew the Companions, which meant she knew their way of fighting. Probably told the whole party. Bitch, Decimus spat. If the two wanted to stay out of Aela’s line of fire, they’d have to be more defensive, play their positions differently. And none of them looked like defensive fighters. That was the Old Mer’s game. Sometimes, Decimus smirked. Focus. One mistake, one small exposure and an arrow would end them.
Jagaark was directly in front of him and Decimus jumped to the side, giving Aela an opening. But before she could take the shot, Jagaark made a pirouette to the same side as Decimus, right next to the wall. The Redguard then swung his sword in a wide arc, making Decimus take a step back, moving closer to Erik again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Jenassa was showering Erik with a whirlwind of nasty strikes, using different angles at the same time, and forcing the Nord to retreat.
Decimus blocked a short thrust at his waist, locking the Bleak Walker’s blade at the crossguard to stab directly into his face. The Redguard bent his back, swinging his sword at Decimus’ crotch. The Imperial expected that move and he used it to his advantage, stepping back and taking a swing at Jenassa’s side. The bitch parried his blow and the Bleak Walker launched a series of strikes. But the Goldpact Knight was counting on the Redguard’s aggressive attack. He was only buying time for Erik.
He used the retreat to pull out his left-hand dagger, now using both hands to block the Bleak Walker's attacks. “Your left side!” he growled at Erik, reminding him to cover his crippled arm. The boy is not a one-hander. Not yet, though you can already see the feet moving faster, like the Old Mer. Decimus blinked, surprised at the stinging wetness. No, no, no, Old Blade, you breathe and fight. Old Fart would understand. Kill these fuckers and get to Gru. Fuck Elven ears! He saw Jenassa move at his words, using the warning to focus on Erik’s left side, but then suddenly bypassing the Nord’s hasty defense to aim at his right side. They will use everything against you, lad, think! This isn’t a fucking spar!
Decimus quickly parried a strike to his head and his riposte nearly took half of Jagaark's face if the Redguard didn’t lurch his head to the side. He saw Jenassa’s strike and his dagger managed to catch the sword before it hit Erk’s flesh. He locked the dagger’s crossguard with the blade and gave a sound tug, throwing Jenassa off-balance, pushing her sword into the Bleak Walker’s path. He blocked it and then went on to attack Decimus again, baring his teeth at the Imperial. That’s right, get angry, you fucker.
Erik seized the opportunity and his sword went down in a powerful swing. Jenassa blocked the blow with both swords crossed in an X, but Nords are way bigger and way stronger than Dunmer, the force of it bringing her to her knees. But bigger doesn’t always mean smarter and Decimus saw how she shifted the angle of her right sword. She shifted it so that it still blocked Erik’s blade, while her left sword came swinging low, for Erik’s knees, and the Nord had to jump away from the attack, with no chance to block it.
“Fuck! I can't get a clean shot!” snarled Aela from behind them. She’s going to have to abandon the bow for now. Erik may not be able to dodge next time and I need your speed, Huntress. Decimus set his jaw.
“Take Erik's left side!” Decimus shouted back, grunting when he was suddenly pushed on his heels by Jagaark's furious attacks. He kept his head cool, though, blocking every attack and paying attention to Erik's fight too. Let's stay cool. Come on, Dec. The Redguard is younger, yes, but he'll get frustrated. You're older, you have experience. Hold your ground, save your strength and he'll eventually get pissed because he can't get through. Defensive fighting. And then you'll cut that motherfucker's head off!
Fast as a wolf, Aela was on Erik’s left side, her Skyforge steel hunting knives already drawn. Those two, it seemed, paid attention to the old Bear more, fighting well alongside each other. They covered their weaknesses, and the two became a tight pack, beginning to push Jenassa back, which forced Decimus to push harder on Jagaark.
He swung his sword towards the Redguard's right leg and the moment the black sword went down, Decimus stabbed at his face with his dagger. The Bleak Walker raised both hands, his blade still pointing down and covered the stab with the weapon’s crossguard, freeing his sword from Decimus' to cut at Decimus’ side in a wide arc. Instinct told Decimus to dodge, but the swing would continue past him, towards Erik. So he was forced to block the blow, twisting his wrist to block the blow with his blade pointing down. He felt the blow radiate from his arm through his whole body, making his teeth vibrate, but the angle of his blade eased the clash a little. He then stabbed at Jagaark's knee, holding his blade locked on his crossguard. When the Bleak Walker took a step back, he hit Bleak Walker's blade with the pommel of his dagger. The blade jumped off his sword as if it hit a wall.
Decimus’ left hand shot forward, stabbing with the dagger, immediately following with his sword swinging vertically towards Jagaark’s neck. The Redguard dodged to the side, but Decimus pursued him, pushing him against the wall. He locked the Redguard’s sword with his own and stabbed with his dagger. Jagaark let go of the sword with his right hand—though his left still held the weapon—and grabbed Decimus’ by the wrist to stop the dagger. It's time to fight like an old Bear, Dec grinned. The Imperial hit the Redguard’s nose with his forehead, hearing a bone break, but Jagaark wasn't one to go down so easily. Decimus grunted when a knee hit his ribs and then he saw how Jagaark's eyes twitched to something behind him. You don’t think I saw that, eh?
He moved to the left, turning around, with Jagaark still holding his wrist, and blocked an attack by Jenassa who seemed to push back both Erik and Aela for one moment.
“Go!” he shouted and while Erik furrowed his brow, Aela quickly understood, dragging her Shield-Brother roughly in the right direction. The positions were shifted now, instead of Jenassa and Jagaark blocking the way, the left side of the hall was unguarded and they could use it.
Jenassa turned back to face them, but they were already running past her towards the Forge. To whatever they would find there, Decimus scowled. Don’t think on that now.
Decimus hit Jagaark with his elbow, but the action forced him to drop his dagger while he deflected several blows from Jenassa. He still managed to cut Jagaark with his sword across his powerful forearm. The Bleak Walker finally released his grip.
The Imperial then jumped away from them, rolling over his shoulder and then stood up, with the heat of the Forge now on his back. His left hand went over his shoulder and he pulled out his silver sword. He watched Jenassa wipe the sweat off her face and Jagaark’s cold stare, but Decimus saw it, the sweat. He took his usual stance when he wielded two swords. His left hand at shoulder level, the sword pointing towards him, while the right was near his right hip, with the blade pointing downwards.
“Alright,” he grinned at both mercenaries. “Let's dance, motherfuckers!”
Grulmar could see and hear Stenvar growling in pain under the stairs, holding his knee to staunch the bleeding, the knife still protruding from it. Guess he's not such a tough guy after all, Grulmar snorted in satisfaction. The Orc then crouched next to Belrand, looking at his wound. Vorstag's axe did a number on him, the slash was deep, and Grulmar was surprised that the Nord’s intestines weren't spilling out. He looked at Vorstag's dead body, half the face literally melted away, exposing the bone underneath. He managed to hit Belrand and then his face got melted off. Gross... He reached into his belt and shoved a vial with red liquid under Belrand’s nose. “Here, take that. It should help with the healin' and numb the pain too.”
“The Dragonborn,” Belrand murmured, pointing towards the other platform where Fangs was fighting those two Altmer, Dandy and Fiery. Tuskin' she-elf. Everyone fell for her trick. Äelberon was still unmoving—though what else would he be? There was a part of Grulmar that expected the Mer to get back on his feet, swing his bastard like Oblivion, or shout the Forge on their heads, something, anything. But it didn't happen. He shook his head solemnly, “Shiny's done for.”
Both he and Belrand noticed the She-Orc going down the stairs, towards Stenvar. She raised her axe above her head over the cowering Nord and Grulmar shouted. “Hey!” But she didn't listen. When do Orc females actually really listen? The axe went down with a wet sound followed by bones breaking and Stenvar’s growls of pain stopped. Grulmar turned his head away from the carnage, trying to hold what was inside his stomach inside. “Shit.” Was all he could gasp and he blinked several times. Now's not the time. Others need yer help. He ran down the stairs, seeing Serana in trouble.
He felt a familiar weight bump into him and turned to see Erik. “Gru? You alright? Where’s Äelberon?” The Nord asked, grabbing him by the shoulder.
Grulmar only frowned and pointed towards the platform where Serana had just turned into a swarm of bats. “She needs help! Now!”
Erik and Aela looked at each other and then ran to the platform. I hope ya will not crumble like castle of sand against a wave when ya see the body. He looked in Galar's direction and determined that the crazy Telvanni didn't need an angaid of help. For a second, he just stared, still unable to wrap his head around how anyone could be that strong—he’s blockin' attacks from a tuskin' Centurion who has a mothertuskin' hammer instead of hand! The Centurion was red hot and the heat from between the bars in the floor was beginning to rise again, but Galar seemed completely immune to that. All because of his tuskin' enchantments.
Then suddenly lightning crackled over his head, hitting a wall in the entrance hall and two people jumped out of that lightning. “Tuskin’ Elves!” he yelled and then the lightning struck again, carrying them to the door leading out of the Forge.
It was then that Grulmar finally noticed that Decimus was present too. Seriously? Did anyone actually follow our plan? Ah, well, the plan blew up anyway. Decimus was exchanging blows with the Bleak Walker and Jenassa and Grulmar was left staring, unable to move, for several seconds before he was able to snap out of it.
The Goldpact Knight again proved what he really was. An instrument of destruction, a killing machine, the eye of the storm. Because what he was doing wasn't a show, it was a literal storm. A storm of blades.
The Bleak Walker and Jenassa were trying to find different angles, one attacking from the front and the other one from the behind, but Decimus’ blades were everywhere. Three swords against two. Two seasoned warriors against an aging mercenary.
They didn't stand a chance.
Their pace was insane and Grulmar knew they wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. The Bleak Walker managed to parry Decimus's baskethilt sword aimed for his head while his riposte was blocked by Decimus’ silver sword. Jenassa then struck from behind and Decimus spun on his heels, parrying the attack with enough force to throw Jenassa off balance.
He then spun around, cutting with both swords at the Bleak Walker but that was just a charade, to keep the blade from striking his back while he was using the spin to get closer to Jenassa. She swung both her swords at the same time in a desperate attempt to keep the Goldpact Knight from getting too close, but the move didn’t work. Decimus blocked both swords with his steel one, locking them both, while his silver sword went behind Jenassa, slicing under her knee.
The Dunmer yelled in surprise and pain as she lost control of her leg. She buckled as it stopped supporting her weight and Decimus took the opportunity to spin around her and push her towards the Redguard. With a snarl the Bleak Walker angrily tossed her aside, like a toy, and showered Decimus with a storm of furious strikes.
Grulmar started moving towards the Bleak Walker's back, unseen by both. Can't let ya get killed, old man.
But Decimus was amazing. He blocked every strike. He managed to parry the Bleak Walker's sword and block the blade, pushing it away from the Redguard’s body.
An opening.
Decimus stabbed with his silver sword.
A perfect swordsman's lunge, with all weight on the bent front leg.
Grulmar heard a bone snap.
“Later,” “Once all this is over,” Not now,” Decimus always said.
Grulmar saw pain and shock on Decimus's face.
A bone was protruding from his left thigh.
The blade then missed its target.
The Bleak Walker used the opening and his sword pierced Decimus's torso, straight through his heart.
He died on that blade and Grulmar stared, frozen. The Bleak Walker lifted him up on the blade and then tossed him aside, ripping him from it, the black of the blade smeared red. He landed on the stone floor and… and...
Decimus...
“No!” Grulmar screamed. In pain. In fury. In fear. Fear that this was all really happening.
Jagaark whirled to face the shout and Grulmar didn’t stop. He needed to reach Decimus, he needed…
He extended his arm in pointless gesture to reach Decimus.
Grulmar then felt something in him wake up, something bigger than him, than the Forge, than Skyrim or the whole world even. Something beyond everything. There was a moment of panic, terror, when he thought that the thing that was haunting him his whole life would take over again, but he quickly realized that it wasn’t that. It was much bigger than what haunted him. It was pure.
And it needed out.
He extended his arm as the Bleak Walker raised his sword above his head. To strike him down, but he needed to reach Decimus. He needed to reach Uncle.
It burst out. Unleashed. Unhindered. Free.
He felt a shock going through his hand and then a force surging from him. Surging outwards.
The Bleaker Walker’s sword was ripped out of his hands by that force, making the Redguard stagger. He vaguely heard the weapon’s metallic clang as it struck the stone, but Grulmar didn’t care. He was at him—not allowing himself to think about what just happened. It was a moment where rage and sadness clawed their way to the surface, demanding an answer. A retribution. A toll.
Grulmar's knives were out and aimed for the Bleak Walker's throat. No holding back this time. No denial of death. This time, Grulmar would kill, without fear or remorse.
The Redguard blocked both Grulmar's hands with his forearm, stepped sideways and the Grulmar felt his head snap back when a fist hit his nose, stars dancing in front of his eyes. Before he could shake that off, another fist hit him square on the jaw, with much more strength. This time, his whole body followed his head, right to the ground.
“I just killed the Goldpact Knight!” The Redguard bellowed. “Did you really think you could best me, you piece of shit Orc?!”
Grulmar was lying on the ground, coughing and he opened his eyes. Decimus’ face was right in front of him. Forever frozen in a grimace of pain and surprise, his blue eyes suddenly losing their shimmer of life. Life. It was taken from him, violently and unjustly. Because that was the world they lived in.
The Bleak Walker pulled out both daggers that were crossed over his belly. “You are nothing compared to him.” He growled savagely.
Grulmar felt heavy thuds on the ground and then the female Orc covered his view as she charged the Redguard. He dodged to the side, striking with his daggers, but they were unable to do anything against her orichalcum armor. She swung her shield and then followed up with her axe.
The Bleak Walker bent at his back to avoid the shield and then he stepped inside the swing of the axe. The Bleak Walker found a place where the armor's plates connected at the elbow and his dagger found its way there. The She-Orc gnashed her tusks in anger and pain when the dagger pierced her forearm and she grabbed the Redguard around his waist, along his with his right arm, preventing him from using his second dagger. Her head hit his already broken nose, breaking it a second time, but he answered with his own head-butt. She lost her balance and the Redguard suddenly fell backwards, pulling her down with him. He managed to get his legs under her and then suddenly the female Orc flew over him, landing on her back with a hard gasp, the air escaping her lungs.
Grulmar slowly rose to his feet and the Bleak Walker turned to him when he heard the Orc growl in pain. The Redguard snorted and with dagger in hand he headed towards Grulmar.
The Orc was barely standing and the Bleak Walker must have sensed that. Both of them knew that the Orc didn't stand a chance against the Bleak Walker. Whatever happened that enabled Grulmar to disarm the Redguard wasn’t going to happen again. And even without a weapon, the Bleak Walker could beat him to death like the Orc was a ten year old runt all over again.
Grulmar was slowly retreating from him, down the hall, to the door leading out. And the Redguard slowly followed, confident. The Orc then touched his forearm, the leather wristguard he had made on the way to the Forge. He pulled out one of the modified crossbow bolts and he heard the Bleak Walker laugh.
“Going to throw toothpicks at me now?” The Bleak Walker snorted.
“Yeah.” Grulmar nodded. “Pretty much.” He moved his hand, aiming for the Redguard's torso. He didn't even see Redguard's movement, it was so fast, but his hand caught the bolt. The Bleak Walker looked at it, holding it between two fingers. “That it? You done?” He asked, snapping the bolt in two between those thick fingers before letting the pieces fall to the ground as he stepped forward.
Time slowed as Grulmar watched the bolt fall. “Not yet.” He murmured. The bolt hit the ground, right behind Bleak Walker's feet and Grulmar prayed to Malacath, Trinimac, and anyone else would be willing to listen like he never had before.
Then everything turned red.
The bolt exploded with fire, ripping off the Bleak Walker’s legs and then engulfing him in an inferno, pushing everything forward. Grulmar covered his eyes when a splash of blood slammed into his face. It was a small explosion, he wasn't standing near it, but the Bleak Walker was.
When Grulmar opened his eyes to look around, he saw the hall painted with blood. The Bleak Walker’s body was lying on the ground under the stairs—or what was left of it. Everything from the chest down was sprayed on the walls around him, intestines and all the other organs just sliding from the Redguard’s body.
And Grulmar started vomiting.
Erik and Aela ran past Grulmar and Erik looked back one last time while his Shield-Sister sprinted forward. He looked at Decimus. He'll handle it. We were just holding him back. Now he can do what he's does best. He was also glad Grulmar was alright and still felt a little bit bad for not trusting him. He did plenty of shady things...but he never double-crossed his friends. Never.
He saw Galar exchanging blows with a fiery Centurion and just shook his head at the madness of it. And then they ran into a swarm of bats. Erik couldn't see anything, just two figures moving inside it and then lightning charged through the air between him and Aela, hitting a wall over Decimus and the other two mercenaries.
The swarm of bats then disappeared, one moment swarming around then and the next they formed a sloping mound on the stone floor. A mound that then became a now-naked Serana. She was kneeling on the floor, barely able to keep her head up, her hand reaching forward, stretching to reach…
No! Not him. Erik then saw Ronnie, lying face down on the floor in pool of his own blood. Serana tried to reach for him, to touch him, but then she fell over, unmoving. Erik felt a weight on his chest, something that no man nor beast could lift. He couldn't breathe, his knees felt weak and the bastard in his hand rang on the ground.
Dead. That can't be. He'll...he'll get up any second. His god will help him. He must.
But it didn’t happen.
“The Forge is mine!” Erik heard someone shout and he looked up to see Dreth with the Bosmer archer, a smile on his pointed face as an arrow pointed at Erik.
“Bormah! No! No! No!” Aela cried out, but her cries of despair became growls and the growls only intensified. He heard more metal striking the floor. Armor? He didn’t know. Something gold that looked like a bow was flung towards the platform, breaking into two pieces. Did something get Aela? An automaton? The growls grew louder, but his eyes were on the archer. The one who shot the black arrow. The one who poisoned his Harbinger.
The archer released his arrow.
Erik watched it fly through the air and raised his left hand. He saw the arrow pierce through the palm, between the forefinger and middle finger knuckles, stopping only a little bit away from his eye. He felt the pain as if it was something distant, almost like an itch. Nothing more.
Then an auburn furred beast barreled past him, sending his sword sliding. It fell off the platform and on to the grilled floor but he didn’t care. Dreth released his magic at it and the air was suddenly filled with the stench of burning fur, but powerful beast just shrugged it off. The Bosmer released another arrow, piercing the beast’s side. It launched into the air, a fury of tooth and claw, charging at the Bosmer, who rolled out of the way in the last moment, using another arrow to cut the beast on its rear leg. Erik heard a whine, but it was quickly replaced by a growl as it turned to make another charge, its yellow eyes burning with Hircine’s rage.
“MY FORGE, MY FORGE, MY FORGE!” Dreth kept screaming at the top of his lungs while lightning surged from his fingers again. The beast howled as more of its flesh got burned, but Erik furrowed his brow. Dreth, don’t you know Nords are resistant to shock? Why was he thinking that? That wasn’t a Nord, it was a beast. Nothing stopped the raging beast and Erik saw how it overtook Dreth, grabbing him by the leg with its maw. It then stood on its hind legs, lifting Dreth off the ground. The Dunmer was flailing his arms, screaming in pain and Erik heard the terrible sound of bones breaking and Dreth’s terrible squeal as the beast snapped his leg in half right under the knee. Dreth fell to the ground, feebly trying to crawl away, blood trailing behind his severed limb.
And Erik was just watching, on his knees. Unable to move. The archer released another arrow which made the beast angrier. It whirled to face him and Erik saw the glimmer in the yellow eyes, the great teeth bared in a snarl that transfixed Erik The Bosmer was standing close to Erik, nocking another arrow and the Nord then realized he had to do something. He was obliged to do something.
He needed to let it all out. The pain, the rage, the anguish.
He got back on his feet, breaking the arrow’s shaft in his hand so it would be smaller and then he jumped towards the Bosmer. The small Elf hastily turned around and tried to cut him with one of his knives. Erik blocked that cut with back of his left hand, barely feeling the pain, and then his right fist landed on the Bosmer's face. Blood and teeth sprayed from the Elf's mouth and Erik hit him again, breaking his nose and the Bosmer fell to the ground. Erik followed the Bosmer to the floor and hit him again with his fist, hearing that delicate elven cheekbone break under that crude thing that was his fist. My Harbinger could take a punch there, you fuck! he thought. Another punch broke the jaw, but Erik wasn’t done. He continued until his knuckles were sore, blood splashing everywhere. He watched, through the veil of his tears, the Bosmer’s face slowly turn into a red-white paste of flesh and bone.
Erik finally stopped punching, his own heavy sobbing making his breath catch. He looked at his surroundings through his watering eyes and saw auburn fur again. The bloodied beast slowly approached and he looked deep into its eyes. Eyes he knew. Eyes he had seen in Jorrvaskr. Her eyes.
“Aela?” He croaked.
“Yes.” Her voice then came from the animal, low and sad, as she nuzzled his chest with her large head. He saw the blood at her side and on her hind leg and he found himself holding his Shield-Sister tightly, feeling her fur against his hands. She whined softly and the tears streaked hot over Erik’s cheeks again as he glanced briefly at their lifeless Harbinger. Always protect a Shield-Sibling. What Ronnie would tell them. Always have their backs. He realized then that she had saved his life. His felt his throat swell when she trembled as he held her and he could tell that she was hurting, both from the pain of her injuries and the pain of their terrible loss. It was said among the Companions that she was closest to Ronnie, treating him like a father. Her and Farkas. Bormah, it meant ‘father’ in the language of the dragons. It was what she called him when Aela stopped her normal hardness. He then tugged at her fur gently, motioning her towards the Bosmer’s body. She understood and after one lingering glance at Erik and then at their fallen, the werewolf began to weakly feed.
Foul machine! Galar cursed in his mind. Each of his hits were bending the outer armor of the Centurion, but whoever made this Forgemaster put more effort into it than into the other Centurions. It was smarter, better. Galar couldn't reach its Core so easily.
“Enough.” He growled, dropping his staff. He touched a ring on his middle finger and a thunderbolt struck the Forgemaster, but it barely slowed him down. Its hammer went down on Galar's head and he caught it in the air with both of his hands. Metal creaked and steam hissed as Forgemaster's joints struggled against the unnatural strength of the Dunmer in front of it. It then swung its second arm and Galar freed one of his hands to release a stream of cold towards that offending arm. More steam rose into the air as the Forgemaster melted all the accumulated ice, forcing Galar to actually stop the blow with his free hand.
The battle then became a wrestling match between a magic imbued Telvanni and the tireless Dwemer automaton. Galar felt his arms tremble in exhaustion and growled. This is beneath me and extremely tedious. “I am a Telvanni Magister!” He muttered.
He released the grip on both of the automaton’s arms and jumped nimbly away to grab his staff. Galar touched several rings on his right hand at once. He felt them charging as the Forgemaster closed in and at the last possible moment before his doom would seem imminent to a casual observer, the Telvanni swung his staff. The moment his staff came in contact with the Centurion’s arm, magicks exploded into a maelstrom of fire, ice, and shock. The arm got ripped apart by the force of it, but the Forgemaster didn’t even notice. It was a machine, lacking any feelings or self-preservation instinct. Too dumb to realize that the battle was now essentially over.
Galar was now able to reach its Core.
He charged at the Forgemaster, grabbing it by the waist and pushed hard. It released a gust of hot steam in his direction, but he completely ignored it, not being harmed by the heat at all. It was actually rather nice, a breeze amidst the swelter of the Forge. Galar then lifted the Forgemaster and slammed it against the floor. Before it could do anything, he jumped on its torso and his fingers buried deep into the metal of its torso, denting it, piercing through it and then opening it like a farmer’s rake scrapes along the ground. Galar smiled when he saw it spinning hectically in an attempt to give more power. The Centurion’s Core. All the frantic spinning in the world will do nothing for you, little machine. You are not blessed with the knowledge of the Telvanni.
Galar's hand reached inside and ripped the Core out.
The Centurion stopped moving, like a puppet that suddenly got its strings severed. Galar jumped off the Centurion and growled when he noticed how dirty his robes were and gah! Burned! This is unacceptable. I look like a common thug. This is in no way a presentable state dress for a Telvanni Magister. I'll have to get some of the inferiors to clean it for me.
He looked at the Forge and frowned, noting the destruction, the bodies, the beaten hunks of metal and flesh. But the Forge...What a creation. So many possibilities, so many ways to use it. What secrets could be revealed with this thing?
Well? None. Because it was an abominable creation. Heresy. Secrets of Dwemer were not meant to be discovered. Nirn was not ready for them. The Albino windbag had agreed to some extent, Galar could see it in the eyes. The hesitancy, the reluctance to go. But he is now dead. Fool. Oh well, you knew it would fall on you, Galar. He was just a Knight-Guard whereas you are a Magister.
Galar ran up the stairs and saw the ginger Nord, half naked vampire—no, she was actually more naked than clothed—and another fully naked Nord women, which made him frown in disapproval. Just what exactly were these beasts doing in here? This is neither the time nor place for fornication. Fools! “For the love of the Reclamations, werewolf, abomination of Hircine, cover yourself. You are breaking decorum.” He growled, which earned a glower from the Nord female. He looked down at her briefly. Ah, she is ginger too.
“I’m breaking what, you Dun—“
“Aela…” Erik murmured, pointing towards Äelberon’s body and the vampire. Aye, he is definitely dead, Galar mused, but he furrowed his brow at the vampire. The vampire wasn't moving and it was very hard to determine if she was still alive or not. The Nords were just sitting there, looking stupid, wasting time and with a huff, Galar touched one of his amulets and a blue aura appeared around her body. There, see, Galar solves all problems.
“She’s still alive.” He stated flatly. “If you can call what it is a life, that is. Cover the abomination of Molag Bal up and take it out of here.” He then ran to the valve in front of the Forge. It was time to end this.
“What are you doing?” Erik yelled from his position.
“What needs to be done. What needs to be done.” Galar kept growling, as he turned the wheel. The heat suddenly rose, the steam hissing from the ground. The ground itself started shaking and Galar could hear heavy footsteps through the noises.
A hand grabbed his arm and Galar chuckled. “Stop!” Erik cried. “You’ll bring the cave on our heads!” The Nord was then rather silly and attempted to tug at Galar’s arm as he turned the central valve. He tried and tried, but even with all that Nordic strength, he couldn’t budge Galar’s arm. It was almost endearing, but Galar quickly grew tired of the action and pushed Erik away like he was a fly.
“Well, of course that is my intention!” Galar snapped as he continued to turn the wheel. “It is impossible for an inferior such as you to understand. This thing has to say the way it always was. Forgotten.” He kept turning the wheel and pieces of ceiling suddenly started falling down. He felt the wheel couldn't be turned more, but he still did moved it, grunting when he ended up ripping off the valve. Perfect, that should do the trick. He noticed Erik still standing there like an oaf and sighed. Do I have to help everyone? “Nord, if you want to survive, I highly recommend running.” With that, he turned towards the entrance hall, following the lumbering Nord.
Erik watched the Telvanni in shock as he started bringing the whole complex down on their heads. After all we've gone through to get here... He snapped out of his shock and ran full-speed back to the platform where Aela was strapping on her armor. “Aela! Shit! Hurry, we need to get out of here!” He gathered Serana in his arms and was surprised to see her suddenly spring to life, clawing angrily at his face to reach Äelberon. “Easy, easy…” He tried to soothe, but she wasn’t having it.
“No… must be with… him…” She cried as she clawed, struggling violently against him.
“Aela!” The Nord woman had strapped on her armor but was heading towards Äelberon. “No, help me with her! She’s too strong still.” Erik shifted his attention to a now-wailing Serana. “Dammit, hold still.” His eyes went back to Aela, watching the look on the Nord woman’s face, watching her finger her ring. The ring with the wolf’s head on it. A gift from the Harbinger she had said. He then saw her reach for a strap in her armor, to undo it. What?! “Aela! No! We won’t make it out with him!”
“But—“ She wavered, her hand over the strap.
“Ysmir’s beard, think, sister, think! Would he want us to die in here? Is that what he would want? That we died for his body? Is he that way? Tell me now—“ He stumbled when Serana nearly got out of his embrace. Erik caught her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder with a heavy grunt. He knew that if she wasn't so weak from the silver poisoning and her display of rage, that he wouldn't even be able to wrestle with her, but the truth was that in that moment he was stronger. Barely, he huffed, feeling pain creep over his joints.
Aela still hesitated, looking at Äelberon’s body with tears in her eyes and Erik felt his throat swell at his sister’s pain. She then nodded, her face becoming weary, older than her years. “You're right. That is not his way.” She gave him one last look and Erik bit his lip as her features softened. “Goodbye, Bormah. You will never be forgotten. We will sing of you…” She couldn’t finish her words and instead, the Huntress went to Dreth, her grey eyes like ice. The Dunmer was passed out from the pain. She stooped next to him and removed the Aetherium crest he was clutching for some crazy reason in his hands, like a child clings to a toy. “Let Snow Bear’s sacrifice not be for nothing.” She then nodded and Aela led the way down the stairs where they saw Belrand descending from the other platform, leaning against the wall and holding his gut and Erik noticed the blood.
Erik's hand immediately went for his sword, only to not find it. Shit, he remembered now how it slid off the platform. There was no time to go back for it. He glanced at Aela who was missing her bow. “Take out your knives.” He whispered. The Huntress quickly responded, heading for her new target, only to stop when the aging Nord raised his arm.
“Shor’s bones, Erik! I'm not your enemy. I tried to protect him...and I failed.” The Nord managed to say before Aela could swing her weapons. “Please.” The Nord pleaded. “I didn’t want any of this.”
Erik motioned for Aela to stop her blades when he saw Grulmar covered in blood, kneeling over a body. “No more blood, sister. It stops.” She relaxed her stance and Belrand let out a gust of air in relief. Erik narrowed his eyes, staring at the body the Orc was next to. The armor. The bulk of the form. “No… no… no…” Erik whispered hoarsely. Aela’s eyes followed what Erik was seeing and he heard her gasp and Belrand’s sharp cry. Not another one.
“Fuck!” Belrand cursed, stumbling quickly towards the body. “Decimus? No. Nonono. You old fucker. This can’t be.” The older Nord knelt next to Grulmar to turn the Imperial on his back. Erik’s air escaped his lungs in a ragged sigh when he saw Decimus’ blue eyes staring into the ceiling and more tears flowed from his cheeks.
“No more…” Aela said softly.
Belrand shook off his own tears and laid a hand on Grulmar’s shoulder. “Lad, do you hear me?” The Orc only grunted, in another world. “We need to get out.”
“I can’t, I can’t leave him here. I need to stay with him.” Grulmar whispered and Erik's heart nearly broke in half when he heard the pain in his voice. So much pain.
“Son, you have to.”
“No…”
“Look, lad, I’m hurt too.” Belrand whispered taking Decimus’ weapons. Belrand, hesitated, looking up at Erik, who nodded in approval. Aye, the weapons, salvage something from this. Erik glanced back to where Äelberon lay and furrowed his brow. He saw no weapons on the Harbinger. They took them, they took his weapons. Belrand, continued, trying to get Grulmar’s attention. “My guts are just about spilling out of me. I need your help, lad. I can’t stand on my own."
Grulmar didn't move and Aela decided to do it instead of him, supporting Belrand. The ground shook again and dust started falling on their heads. It was coming down.
“Gru, please.” Erik said softly. A rock slammed down near the Forge itself making all of them start just as the large She-Orc was suddenly moving towards them. Erik almost went on the attack, but Belrand quickly shook his head.
"It's alright, she was the Dragonborn's bloodkin, she stood by him." Belrand explained. Erik let himself relax and nodded at the She-Orc.
“We need to move now!” Aela shouted over the earth’s rumblings.
Something in the tone of her voice seemed to wake Grulmar up a bit. The Orc frowned, the red eyes snapping back to life, and he touched Decimus’ face a final time, leaving a bloody palm print on the Imperial’s cheek. He then got back on his feet and headed towards the exit, like a body without soul. Erik gave Decimus, the Goldpact Knight, one last look, remembering their sparring back in Windhelm and closed his eyes. His eyes then drifted to the left platform, but he stopped himself before more tears would flow. Too much pain and I need to carry her. I need to be there for her when she understands. He then followed them out of the Forge.
They ran all the way to the lift. Beaten. Hurt. In pain.
Grulmar was just looking at the path in front of his feet, completely ignoring the shaking ground and his fear of heights. The bridge could crumble any second but he couldn't care less. He was leaving him behind. A man who was like family to him. Uncle. Father.
We were supposed to go to Cyrodiil. He was supposed to show me the Imperial City, the White-Gold Tower. His old house in Anvil. All that is gone, because he's gone.
Galar was ahead of them, carrying Jenassa over his broad shoulders. The She-Orc brought up the rear making sure nothing came that could hurt them, her eyes on him the entire time. They soon reached the lift. Soon? To Grulmar it felt like seconds. Like an eternity. He wasn't sure. Time was fucked up and he wasn’t thinking about reaching the lift. He just moved his legs with the others. His mind was going through all the important moments of his life that involved Decimus. The first time he came to Largashbur, half-dead with sickness. How he taught him the trick with the coins. How he defended him from Yamarz. How he saved him from himself and Skooma addiction. How he always tried to make something better out of him. And always failed because I'm Malacath’s damned wreck.
He saw that Galar reached the lift first and then actually waited for them. All of them, even Belrand, who was slow from his injuries, and the She-Orc bringing up the rear. He waited for an 'it'. Normally he would wonder why that sociopathic Telvanni was being so considerate, but not in that moment. He just accepted that he won't most likely die in that Dwemer ruin and that was it.
They reached the lift shortly after him, everyone getting in and Galar used the lever in the center with one mighty pull. The lift lurched a little as the ground shook again and then it started moving up. Up and away from the chaos. Maybe we’ll die here though, because the ground is shaking? Is that a bad thing? Grulmar was trying to decide as he watched the others in the lift. Huffing and puffing, bleeding, trembling.
“What's she doing here?” Belrand growled, pointing to Jenassa, who was sitting on the floor of the lift, trying to bandage her leg. Grulmar saw Galar offer her a vial with red liquid—most likely a healing potion—and she took it without complaint. Then the Telvanni looked up and looked at Belrand with disdain. He probably interrupted the Telvanni’s calculations on how long it would take for them to reach the top.
“She is my new servant.” The Telvanni answered, cocking an eyebrow before turning away from the Nord to resume his mental calctulations. “She is indebted to me for saving her life.” The Telvanni then smirked. “Though really, all of you should be servants if I held you to that, since I did save your lives too. Bah! Two goblins, three smelly Nords, and an undead. No, I’m far better off with the Dunmer, though she is of relatively low birth. She will make due.”
“What?!” Belrand exclaimed and was about to open his mouth again when Erik shook his head, telling him with his eyes to just let it go. The older Nord let out a sigh and stared at the lever while Erik set Serana on the floor. He knelt beside her, holding her and stroking her hair. She was unresponsive, her eyes vacant.
“Anybody got a cloak?” Erik asked. “She’s very cold.”
“Vampires are that way. Gah! Stop treating it like a person, it isn’t.” The Telvanni balked, leaning on his staff.
Belrand shot the Telvanni a hard look, but kept his mouth shut and directed his next words to Erik. “At camp, lad, we got something for her to put on, don’t worry.” Belrand nodded.
“I lost his bow.” Aela said softly. “He made if for me. His little hawk, he used to call it. We would hunt together. Just like my da and I used to. He used to call him his mal ilit, his little fox… He loved hunting—“ Aela stopped herself when her voice broke and just sat on the floor, beaten and pale, her side bleeding a little. Grulmar looked away from her.
They all were a mess. Everyone was paying attention to their wounds and feelings as the lift continued going up and up. Time dragged on and Grulmar felt worse with each passing second, every stupid second. He wanted to cry his anger into the world, to scream and shout to the corners of Oblivion and back, but his sadness was too strong. It sapped the strength from his very bones. As the lift kept going up, Grulmar was feeling more and more clausterphobic. It kept building and building until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“How could you let him go down there?” Serana suddenly murmured mournfully. Grulmar’s head snapped in her direction, meeting her stare. The vampire eyes were dull, but full of hatred. She shifted her head a little, despite Erik’s gentle protests to stop. “How COULD YOU!” she roared, making everybody’s’ heads turn rapidly to face her
“It was his tuskin’ plan!” Grulmar growled in response, finally realizing that he was able to feel something after all. Anger. And anger made a great painkiller for the pain of the soul. He’d direct his anger at her and he faced the vampire and shot back, his red eyes blazing. “But why didn't ya stay where ya should? Everythin' went good until ya all showed up and got Decimus killed!”
“Äelberon was dead by the time we got there! And you did nothing for him!“ Serana yelled back at him, clawing back on her feet and both Aela and Erik were trying to hold her down.
“He was dead because ya tusked it up! He knew ya were comin', got distracted! He had a plan and ya tusked it up, getting Decimus killed! FUCK SHINY! Decimus is the one that matters! He’s dead because of ya!“ he pointed at Serana.
“You Monster! You pig! How dare you? He treated you—“ Serana almost looked like she was going to explode and Grulmar didn’t care. He and her would explode. “He treated better than you ever deserved. You filth!”
“Takes filth to know filth!” Grulmar shot back. She was snarling as Erik and Aela tried to pull her away. Grulmar’s eyes then honed in on Erik. “And ya too! Ya were supposed to make sure they stuck to the plan and ya even tusked that up!”
“Gru, please—“ Erik started, but Grulmar didn't gave him a chance to talk.
“Don’t tuskin’ ‘Gru’ me!” He yelled, watching the spit fly from his mouth.
“Shut up! Shut up!” The vampire screamed, breaking down into sobs. “Just shut up! Not another word from you!”
“And what are ya goin' to do if I don’t stop, eh, bitch? Suck me dry? It's yer tuskin' fault all this went to shit. That yer precious White Knight is dead. He was a stupid fool and he deserved to die!”
Then the lift suddenly stopped with a screech, and Grulmar angrily walked out of it, into the Dreth's camp, squinting against the light of the sun against the snow. Was it true what he said? Did he really mean it? Does it matter? Uncle is dead. Shiny is dead. How can anythin' matter now?
“Come on and take me, ya tusker.” Grulmar then bellowed into the sky. “Ya hear me? I know ya are. Ya are always lurkin' in my head, ya piece of shit. Come and take me!” Take me and all the pain away. I don't want it. I don't want anythin' now.
“You have just begun,“ it replied in his head and his eyes popped.
The ground then shook with another tremor.
Comments
Better to live than to do stupid [things] and die.
As he dodged the [sword's] strike,
The lightning, still hungry, then jumped to [the] Spider close to the Sphere,
Auri-El’s bow! [It] was l... more
Intense action, heart wrenching grief, then there's Galar and the whole quest was ... more
Intense action, heart wrenching grief, then there's Galar and the whole quest was for na... more
And Albee isn't the only hope? Who's on your mind?
'a fury of tooth and claw,'
Fang's.. Werewolves have Fangs.. not teeth like someone chomping on a bread roll for Hircine's sake.. Fangs............
Sorry... I'll get back to... more
'a fury of tooth and claw,'
Fang's.. Werewolves have Fangs.. not teeth like someone chomping on a bread roll for Hircine's sake.. Fangs............
Sorry... I'll get back to the sto... more
Hssssss
Hssssss
Katria screamed and then an ethereal wind blew her away, leaving only a puddle of thick, glowing ectoplasm on the ground.
don't tell me she's gone.... dead as in dead, no longer spirit, but.. dead........
Katria screamed and then an ethereal wind blew her away, leaving only a puddle of thick, glowing ectoplasm on the ground.
don't tell me she's gone.... dead as in dead, no longer spirit, but.. dead........
And if you didn't know that me and Lis are an oversoul of Daedric Prince of Cliffhangers... You know that now
And if you didn't know that me and Lis are an oversoul of Daedric Prince of Cliffhangers... You know that now
All we need now is for word to spread and Alduin will begin his rampage of death and destruction! Nords are resistant to shock? Since when did you get that idea, Erik?
All we need now is for word to spread and Alduin will begin his rampage of death and destruction! Nords are resistant to shock? Since when did you get that idea, Erik?
And as Lis says Nords had resistance to Shock and Cold in older games. Altmer had weakness to Magic, Orcs had resistance weak resistance to magic, Bretons had 50% resistance to Magic....so yeah. We´re going down th... more
All we need now is for word to spread and Alduin will begin his rampage of death and destruction! Nords are resistant to shock? Since when did you get that idea, Erik?