Words of the Wind
May I shrink to dust
In your cold, wild Wastes,
And may my tongue speak
Its last hymn to your winds.
I pray for the herder
That whistles to his guar at play.
I pray for the hunter
That stalks the white walkers.
I pray for the wise one
That seeks under the hill,
And the wife who wishes
For one last touch of her dead child's hand.
I will not pray for that which I've lost
When my heart springs forth
From your soil, like a seed,
And blossoms anew beneath tomorrow's sun.
16th of Sun’s Dawn
Solitude. How could one cope with such a concept? And what concept was it actually? Solitude didn't mean one had to be closed in a dark room, living in silence. One could be truly and utterly alone even in a room full of people. Unnoticed, invisible. The world passing through at a crawling pace.
That’s how Grulmar felt back in Tel Mithryn. It wasn’t the same without Talvas around.
He had been so angry when Talvas sent him back to the tower with a flick of his wrist. Grulmar even traveled back to Highpoint Tower, reaching the final room, but Talvas was already long gone. What was I expectin’? That he would still be kneelin’ there, broken like a discarded toy?
Talvas was gone. He was somewhere on the island, but what was Grulmar supposed to do about that? It was clear the Dunmer didn't want to be found.
And Neloth? Ah, Neloth. He had taken the news with his usual demeanour, with his cold ignorance. Ildari gone? Good. Talvas gone? Well, who is going to make a test subject now?
That’s what they all were to Neloth. Just subjects. Toys he could discard when they lost their usefulness, or when he broke them. Despite that, Grulmar clenched his jaws and continued with his studies and other responsibilities, which surprised even him. He always hated authority figures, the privileged looking down on him and others not so lucky at birth, but that was because the privileged usually felt entitled to their behaviour by their blood, by their titles or wealth they did nothing to earn.
But Neloth? He wielded true power at his fingertips, magical skill honed over centuries. It wasn’t that Neloth felt he was better than everyone. He really was better than pretty much everyone. Though, little bit of modesty wouldn’t hurt him. He doesn't have to be such an asshole all the time.
Grulmar rubbed his eyes, reminding himself what he wanted to do. There was still one matter he was postponing since he returned, watching and observing the last loose end leading to Ildari.
Drovas Relvi.
It was not a coincidence that after Grulmar brought the Dunmer to Tel Mithryn, the tower was suddenly poisoned. He had talked with Elynea about it and the previous poisoning. She had said she was working on it. So for the next few days, she and Grulmar had been doing some tests on the toxin that caused the first withering of the tower and the toxin that caused the malignant growth.
The results were more than interesting. The first withering was caused by a toxin that could be applied once and it would just slowly spread. But the second poisoning? The toxin on itself wasn’t extremely potent, not on its own, so to cause the malignant growth, it needed to be applied repeatedly, preferable every day.
So someone had been pumping the toxin into the tower every day. No one else would do that except the most recent addition to Tel Mithryn. Drovas Relvi, the new cook.
What would Decimus do in my place? Grulmar wondered and then immediately chuckled. He’d probably kick the door down and snap the neck of the little piece of shit. Decimus had always been about as subtle as a bear in heat. Grulmar then sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of the man who had been almost like a father to him. Grulmar had lost so many things in only a few years.
He then shook his head and took a deep breath. Enough of that depressin’ shit.
Grulmar entered Tel Mithryn’s kitchen, immediately noticing Drovas cutting vegetables on the counter. The Dunmer looked up and sighed. “Neloth’s tea will be ready in a short moment, sera.”
“Good,” the Orc murmured, taking seat on the other side of the counter, directly opposite to Drovas. “Ya know, I’ve been wonderin’ ‘bout somethin’ for the past few days.”
The Dunmer frowned and looked up. “About what, sera?”
Grulmar stared at the Dunmer without blinking, smirking. Waiting for some kind of reaction. Most people who were caught usually began sweating, their eyes flickering all over their surroundings, or their hands started to tremble. And Drovas certainly wasn’t one of those who could hide their fears, because he was starting to do all those things at once! “Ya seem a little nervous, Drovas,” Grulmar tilted his head. “Relax. I was just wonderin’ how is it ya were the only one willin’ to work for Neloth, ya know? ‘Cause the way I see it, only two kinds of people work for Neloth. Either those who are batshit crazy or really desperate. So which one are ya, Drovas?”
The Dunmer sighed in relief and then quickly tried to mask it with a chuckle, which came out more nervous than Drovas probably intended. “I owed Mogrul money, sera. Lots of money, more than I could ever repay,” he mumbled deliberately, trying to force his voice not to tremble, while he resumed his chopping. “And working for a crazy Telvanni seemed like the only choice to get out of the Orc’s reach, because I’ve heard he can’t touch the Telvanni.”
Grulmar nodded. “Hmph. Sounds reasonable.” He then leaned closer to Drovas, whispering: “Ya know why I came here? ‘Cause I'm batshit crazy too.” Drovas nervously chuckled and Grulmar scoffed. “So, now I'm just wonderin’ about one last thing, ya know? One last thing is bugging me. If Neloth gave ya this chance to get away from Mogrul, why did ya poison the tower then?”
The Dunmer suddenly went pale, his hands shaking involuntarily. “I... it’s…” he stammered.
Grulmar reached out with the magic, ripping the knife from Drovas’s hand and made it levitate in front of the Dunmer’s eyes, the blade only a hair from Drovas’s pasty skin.
“She forced me!” Drovas cried. “She said that if I didn’t, she was going to kill me and then raise me up again as her thrall!”
“So ya poisoned the tower because she threatened to make ya an undead?” Grulmar snorted. “Well, I’m wonderin’ what Neloth will do once I tell him what ya did. Ya think he’s goin’ to sent ya to Oblivion? That sounds like fun. He could probably torture ya in Oblivion for all eternity.”
“No, sera please, I-”
“Shut up,” Grulmar growled and then sighed. What’s the endgame, matey? Are ya goin’ to kill him? He certainly deserves it, the blood of Revus and Ulves is on his hands, isn’t it? The Orc then shook his head. No, this wasn’t his style. “I’m goin’ to make ya an offer, Drovas, and ya will say yes. Because if ya don’t, I'm goin’ to suggest to Neloth that ya would be a perfect test subject for some of his...nastier experiments.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” the Dunmer whimpered, falling to his knees. “I will serve Neloth faithfully, with no salary and such.”
Grulmar smirked. “Well, that’s actually better than what I wanted to suggest. So yeah, but I warn ya. If I find out that ya betrayed the Telvanni one more time...it’s not goin’ to end nicely for you.” The levitating knife then dropped to the floor with a loud ring and Grulmar got up from his chair. “Oh, and I think the tea’s ready. Ya should bring it to Neloth, or ya might end up as his test subject anyway.”
Talvas smoothed out his Telvanni robes as he walked into the tower, levitating up to the top. He reached the laboratory and he looked around, frowning when he couldn't seen anyone there. Which was strange, because the Magister rarely left the tower, always working on some new spells, or improving the already established ones.
He suddenly felt hands around his waist and nearly jumped out of his pants. He heard a girlish giggle behind him and he turned around, gazing into the Magister’s beautiful face. “Damn it, Ildari! You can’t keep doing this to me.”
“Oh, calm down you,” she shook her head, planting a kiss on his cheek before he went towards the enchanting table. “So how did it go?”
He sighed and changed direction, finding the window instead, looking at the spectacle that was Port Telvannis. It was a whole city made of mushrooms in the Telvanni style, housing almost two thousand inhabitants and at least two dozen Magisters, their towers above the other houses easily recognizable. “As usual. They just keep barking at each other, insulting each other. Today’s meeting was about an Orc apprentice requesting a promotion to Oathman of House Telvanni. He claimed Neloth was his sponsor, but since Neloth is on Solstheim and he doesn't have a Mouth here to represent him...well, the discussion got quite heated.”
“Which is why you are my Mouth. I can’t stand this nonsense,” she snorted, shaking her head. “But anyway, what is my stance on this Orc then?” she chuckled and came to him, wrapping her arms around his chest from behind.
“Well, I told everyone that Mistress Ildari, wise beyond her years, recognizes the Orc’s talent and even though he’s an inferior creature, he should be at least given a chance to prove his worth. That he should be given a task, a test.”
“Yes, that's precisely what I thought. You must be reading my mind, beloved,” she chuckled, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “But I trust your judgement.”
He turned around, pulling her closer to him and his hands reached for her butt, gently slapping it. “As you should. I am your Mouth, after all.”
“And I’d know of several ways to use that mouth,” she smiled, leaning to kiss him.
The world then suddenly spun around, the colours fading from around him and Talvas’ face betrayed panic. “No! Not yet!” he shouted, but there was nothing he could do.
He opened his eyes, revealing a coast covered with ice and snow and he felt his teeth chattering in the cold. He was lying on the icy ground and he could hear the sounds of stone being worked on by chisels behind him and he turned his head in the direction. The Water Stone - as it was called by the locals - was being worked day and night by the sleepers. Most of them were bandits and Reavers, but there were also a few of those strange cultists Talvas had seen around the island.
He groaned as he tried to get up, but he couldn’t. His whole body felt so weak. He had no idea how much time had passed since he came here, but he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since… what happened with Ildari.
He remembered leaving Highpoint Tower and heading west, towards the mountains with ice covering its peak. He climbed to the top of one, with Ildari’s body on his shoulder and when he reached the top, he put her body down, gazing at her one last time. And he couldn’t. He just couldn’t burn her, send her to her ancestors. He couldn't say his goodbye to her, and so he froze her body, encasing her in ice on top of that mountain.
Talvas then sat by her side, freezing, completely lost. He had no idea what to do next. What was the point? Ildari was gone, again and it tore him apart. All he wanted was to be with her and he couldn’t. Where was the justice in this life? Because apparently, there was none to spare for people like him. Damaged. Broken.
It was then that he had noticed the stone on the western coast of the island being worked on by the sleepers. Talvas never remembered the dreams that came when the magic of the stone near Tel Mithryn took over, but everytime he woke up, back in his bed, he had this feeling, this craving, to go back there because he could vaguely sense he was happy in those dreams. That whatever he wanted was there, behind the veil of reality.
Talvas growled, saliva dripping from his mouth as he forced his body to crawl towards the stone, towards the shrine of his happiness that was waiting for him. The stone was a mere step away from him, but he couldn't get back on his feet. So he crawled like an animal, using both his hands to pull himself towards it, desperation raising in his mind. He needed to reach it!
The dreams...it was all he had now. He knew that in his dreams he was with Ildari. He needed to be with her and he knew the magic of the stone would keep him alive, as long as he stayed inside the dream.
And yet it always spit him out after some time, weaker than before.
He extended his hand, reaching for the stone.
Ildari…
His fingertips touched the warm stone and he sighed as he began descending into his happiness again.
Sapphire spent most of the forenoon at the Retching Netch, sitting alone at the corner table, sipping wine mixed with water. Mogrul hadn’t called for her and she certainly wasn’t inclined to come running towards him, begging for some work. If he didn't need her today, it was more than alright with her.
Though it wasn’t like Mogrul was giving her lot of work lately. Quite the opposite actually. There wasn’t really work in Raven Rock anymore, because people were paying up on time and collecting protection money wasn’t an option anymore.
Yes, Mogrul still had some leverage on a few people, like Morvayn and Veleth, but the guards were no longer licking his boots, and even Morvayn had grown a spine.
The bungler of an Orc called Grulmar had been right. Apparently poisoned milk isn’t a sure thing. The Dragonborn and Serana had returned to Raven Rock a few days back and despite everything, they saved the city, again. This time, it was that stone people worked on. Shouted something at it and then did what he did best, killed whatever came out. Sapphire didn’t really care, but Morvayn sure did. He named the Altmer, the Dragonborn, a “friend” of Raven Rock, giving him much needed supplies to continue his journey, including a special pair goggles for his eyes, gifts and other things, and he had done that publicly, which was basically spitting into Mogrul’s face.
And to top that, Morvayn invited the Orc to a formal dinner, along with captain Veleth, the Dragonborn and his woman and the priests from local Temple. Like pouring oil into fire as far Sapphire was concerned. Mogrul lost his shit while the Altmer was almost shy about the entire affair, cautious, but he accepted the invitation because it was Councilor Morvayn.
Was it a coincidence that Sapphire had found the Orc the next morning covered in blood that clearly wasn’t his? Hardly. And yet no one important was missing and it was just later that day Sapphire learned about an accident in the mines. An entire shaft collaped, killing a dozen miners.
Veleth blamed Mogrul for that, because who else could gain something from such a tragedy but the Orc? The problem was that there were no witnesses and Mogrul had a very strong alibi that put him nowhere near the mines.
How did he do it then if he never entered the mine? Sapphire wondered. No one had seen Slitter or anyone else associated with Mogrul in or near the mine, so how in the blazes did he do it? And why was he covered in blood? If she had to take a guess, she would say the Orc knew a different way into the mines. He had slaughtered the miners, just to let off some steam and then collapsed the shaft on them, escaping through the same way he entered.
It was all nasty business, but without a single shred of evidence, without any proof, they couldn’t do anything about it, so the Councilor decided to let it slide. That did not sit well with the Dragonborn, who was no fool, already asking questions about possible other routes to the mines, other entrances, pointing out the one near the barrow, his eyes on Mogrul the entire time. But the Councilor opted not to pursue that, saying that it was wrong to accuse Sera Mogrul falsely, and that the Dragonborn, of all people, should know how that felt like. All done with that placid Dunmer smile that let Sapphire know that Mogrul still had the Councilor squarely by the balls.
The look on the Altmer’s face after hearing that spoke volumes. Complete and utter disgust. So Äelberon, the Dragonborn, and Serana left Raven Rock for the second time, with none of the things that the Councillor had gifted them. In a dark display of solidarity, the pair dropped the gifts solemnly in the middle of Raven Rocks main street, the one leading to the market. They dropped the supplies, the food, the finery, the goggles, and walked away with straight backs, rejecting all that they represented. Done in honor of the dead in the mine, no doubt. It was a public shaming of House Redoran that embarrassed the Councillor and left the people of Raven Rock wagging their tongues about who was right.
She then snorted and shook her head. Sitting alone in a dark corner wasn’t lifting her spirits in any way. She got up with a groan and headed out of the Retching Netch, being of a mind to have a chat with Glover. Certainly, that couldn't be worse than her own thoughts.
She left the cornerclub and headed towards Glover’s forge only to notice the forge was dead, probably since yesterday. That was strange. She didn't know Glover was taking a day off. She approached the house and knocked on the door.
No response.
She knocked again, louder, but still nothing. She turned around, shouting at the alchemist nearby: “Hey! Have you seen Glover?”
The Dunmer shook her head. “No. Hasn’t left his house this morning, at least I haven’t noticed.”
Sapphire frowned, something cold gripping her insides, and she turned back to the door. She tried the knob and found out it was unlocked. As soon as she opened the door, she noticed blood on the floor and her heart sank. “Shit,” she muttered, looking around. “Bloody shit!” she growled now and fell to her knees, hitting the floor with her fist. “Fuck!”
She understood. She knew. She didn’t have time anymore.
Her mind built a wall around itself, enveloping her in its cold grasp, locking off the harsh reality and the reaction to her. There was time for that later, but not now.
She ran to the basement, quickly searching it for the key Glover made for her.
If you remember what I once was, Glover’s words to her. It made her stop and her eyes fell on the Shadowguard armor mounted on a mannequin. Then she saw something, metal on the ledge on top where the armor was, almost hidden. The key. She reached and grabbed it, glancing one last time at the Shadowguard armor while she tucked the key away safely. That armor used to be Glover’s, back in his thieving days, and now it would be just catching dust. Never to be used again.
She shook her head and left the basement, walking out of the house.
Only to find Mogrul standing outside, next to the dead forge. He looked at her, a smirk playing on his face. “Oh, Sapphire. Is Glover in there?”
She clenched her hand into a fist, the walls around her mind shaking and crumbling under the onslaught of her emotions. It was all her mistake, she knew that. She understood that.
“I was supposed to meet with Glover, you know?” Mogrul smiled at her and she noticed Slitter standing to her left, frowning, his hand close to his sword. “I wanted to talk with him about some business, but then I heard he didn’t show at his forge this morning. Is he ill or something?”
Sapphire stared at him, waging a battle inside herself, convincing herself that jumping at the Orc and ripping out his throat with her teeth was a bad idea. And yet she could feel that she was starting to lose that battle.
“So is he in the house or not?” the Orc pressed, exchanging looks with Slitter. “Because if he’s not, I have a job for you. I need you to find that father of yours. Because you’re still working for me, remember?”
Sapphire closed her eyes, focusing on her breaths. Count to four. Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. “No,” she murmured, her voice low as she opened her eyes. “I don’t. Not anymore.”
She walked past him, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm, forcing her to look at him. “That’s not how it works, love. Me and you are going to take a walk now, to my house. And we’re going to talk-”
“Get that fucking hand off me or I´m going to cut off your fingers, you pig,” she growled, which only made him grin even more, his grasp on her arm becoming stronger. She bared her teeth at him, but he completely ignored that. And so she had no other choice. She looked around the market square and noticed one of the guards standing in front of the Retching Netch. “Hey!” she shouted, waving her arm at the guard.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mogrul snarled, catching her other arm. But the guard was already walking towards them and Slitter went to intercept, trying to distract the guard. All Sapphire could do now was hope the guardsman wasn’t one of those who were on Mogrul’s payroll, but one of the reinforcements.
“Over here!” she shouted again, struggling against Mogrul’s tight grip on both her arms. And the guard walked past Slitter, towards them.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Mogrul hissed and turned to the guard, flashing a grin. “How’s it going?”
“He’s hurting me!” Sapphire barked and the Orc shook his head.
“No, I am not. She works for me and we’re just-”
The guard reached for her sword. “Sera, let the woman go,” the guard said and Sapphire raised her eyebrows when the sound revealed the guard to be a woman.
“What? I’m just-”
The sword was drawn with a growl. “Let. Her. Go.”
The grip vanished and Sapphire was free, walking towards the guard. “Thank you,” she murmured and looked at Mogrul, making sure her stare sent him the clear signal that this was not over. She turned around and walked away, listening to Mogrul’s angry protests and arguments. He would probably get away unscathed, but a minor victory was a minor victory.
It was good to rely on the law again, because law was something Raven Rock desperately needed.
Neriila reached for a knife when she heard footsteps in the dark, but after few seconds she put the knife away, recognizing Sapphire’s footsteps. Every person had a characteristic walk, and along with weight and height, it was quite easy to recognize someone just by hearing them walk. Yet Sapphire’s were somewhat heavy, almost tired, which confused her at first.
Sapphire appeared in the camp and stared at Neriila, her face a stone mask even Neriila had problems reading. But even a neutral face could reveal things people were trying to hide and Neriila saw that Sapphire was hiding pain. And grief.
The Dunmer understood. Sapphire made a mistake but it wasn’t she who paid the price for it. It was someone else, someone who didn´t deserve it in Sapphire’s eyes.
“He killed Glover,” the Nord girl simply stated, giving Neriila a cold stare, her eyes dry.
He killed Glover. A simple statement, any emotion buried deep underground. Neriila had been preparing for that moment since Sapphire left. It was time to awaken those emotions in the Nord girl, to call forth the suppressed pain and grief and give it fuel, so that it could ignite into the fires of anger. Anger that could be easily redirected towards revenge.
Neriila stood up and hugged Sapphire. She held her in her remaining arm.
And before the night ended, she did more than that.
Comments
Okay then. Grulmar went with Obi-Wan, Mogrul did Gandalf, and now Sapphire is channeling her inner... B.J. Blazkowicz??
I can live with that, considering what bloody revenge looks... more