PoTM: Chapter 43, Let There Be Light

  • The Journal of Ralis Sedarys, Volume 22

     

    If it weren't for the comfort brought by my invisible friend, I would have fled this place long ago. I wish I had realized earlier that it was not a group, but a master who contains multitudes. He's guided me into a true understanding of the barrow, and I greatly desire to meet with him.

     

    My insight into this place is now so intuitive, so fundamental, that I almost feel as if I built it myself. I explained to the workers how to use the tile set, but they seemed too afraid or uncoordinated to properly step on each tile quickly enough. No problems, nothing that the master cannot solve.

     

    We will be able to converse properly soon enough.

     

    The Journal of Ralis Sedarys, Volume 23

     

    Lord Ahzidal demands more blood, and I give it willingly. The hired men have somewhat pitiful souls, so it sometimes takes several of them to achieve the desired effects.

     

    I won't be writing any more. There is no need. The time has come to awaken the master, and bring him to the fate he deserves.



    4th of Rain’s Hand, 4E 204

     

    Sometimes it was just too difficult to understand one’s own motivations. What was it that drives everyone forward to do something stupid? Is it fear? Desperation? Primal needs? But these dwelt on just one side of the spectrum of emotions. What about hope? Or love?

     

    Well, hope definitely ain’t my thing, Grulmar thought, lying on his belly in the ash on a hill. He was hiding in the shadow of a half burned tree, a grey cloak thrown over himself and he could already feel the additional weight of the falling ash on his back. And love ain’t it either. So why are ya really here?

     

    He had been watching the entrance to Kolbjorn Barrow for three whole days, lying in the ash with only his spells keeping him warm. And it wasn’t pretty. The numbers were growing by each day down there, as well as the pounding in his head. Ash Spawn. Draugr. Reavers. They all moved through that camp, moving like puppets with only half of their strings attached to them and drunk puppet master pulling at them.

     

    There was something about it that only solidified Grulmar’s belief that the world was a damn clusterfuck. One day ya got a lunatic Dragonborn whisperin’ to ya in yer dreams, lettin’ yer perfect world come true, and the moment someone gets rid of that tusker, there’s another nutter takin’ his place, this one even more bonkers than the first one.

     

    Whatever was Ahzidal doing, Grulmar felt it spreading over the land like a disease. The whispering at back of his skull, this unknown and alien will trying to break his mind, force him to bow. But he was capable of pushing those voices out of his mind, because he already had some practice with that. But others?

     

    That down there was a damn army. Nearly one hundred heads, and it didn’t matter if they were dead, alive or empty ash-pots. They had the numbers.

     

    So what in blazes are ya doin’ here, matey? he returned to the most important question, yet again coming to the conclusion that sometimes one couldn’t understand even his own motives. There was something about Ahzidal that made him more dangerous than Miraak, and Grulmar theorized it had something to do with the fact that Ahzidal wasn’t trapped in some gods forsaken library realm full of slimy tentacles. No, Ahzidal was here and now, in this plane, on this island.

     

    Logic demanded he should run. Fear screamed he should run. Desperation urged him to run. And yet Grulmar was here.

     

    “There are people who deal with these kind of shit, matey,” he whispered to himself. What if they are currently occupied? “Then it’s not my damn business, is it?” Maybe it is. Some serious magic down there. Magic of the mind. Y'are mostly unaffected by it. “Maybe I am, just differently. I’m tuskin’ here, right?” Ya think it’s a trap meant for ya? Don’t flatter yerself, matey. “What then? Another world-conquerin’ megalomaniac? Why’s this shit keep happenin’ to me, I wonder.” Because y'are an idiot.

     

    Grulmar sighed and shook his head. “Lovely. Arkay’s marble balls, matey. Y’are arguin' with yerself just like Decimus. Y’are growin’ senile now.” And it still doesn’t get me any closer to the answer what in the Oblivion am I doin’ here, damn it!

     

    Suddenly the movement in the camp changed, catching Grulmar’s attention. He frowned and clenched his jaws, feeling the sickening magic whirling in a new pattern, as if a wind suddenly picked up and began blowing west. He gritted his teeth as the pressure in his skull increased, demanding his obedience and he could feel that hot wetness of blood slowly drip down from his nose.  

     

    One two drops. Pain. Denial clashing with demand. My mind’s my own, ya wanker!

     

    Frustration and anger as an answer. Reluctant retreat.

     

    That was probably the answer to Grulmar’s question. What was he doing there?

     

    He was there to silence the newest voice in his head. Why? Because it was in his reach.

     

    And the army in the camp began marching, being driven by that thoughts-flooding magic to the west. Why west? What was there?

     

    Grulmar narrowed his eyes when the realization hit him. Raven Rock. They’re headin’ to Raven Rock. Shit’s gone sideways now, matey. Over a hundred controlled minds released in one direction, and the Dunmeri town had only a handful of guards. Twenty at best, but the Bulwark wasn’t an obstacle that could be taken lightly.

     

    The Orc pondered the fate of Raven Rock for a second. The people there meant nothing to him, they could all die as far as he cared. Did they deserve it? Most likely not, but most of the people in this world didn’t deserve it. It was difficult to try to think like a long dead Dragon Priest, but in a way it was making sense to capture Raven Rock. Solstheim was just an island, small in comparison to the size of the Tamriel continent and Raven Rock was the only port on this island. If Ahzidal had any intentions to ever go to Skyrim - which only made sense for a Dragon Priest - he’d need ships for that.

     

    Y’are not here about the army or the ships, matey. Y’are here to silence the hissin’ of the head of the snake, remember?

    He watched until he was sure the army was far enough and then he began picking his way down from the hill, losing sight of the camp above the barrow for a while. He crossed several ash dunes before he got into the vicinity of the camp and he crouched there, his eyes darting from one tent to another, looking for any movement.

     

    The Orc forced himself not to slap his forehead when he realized he didn’t have to do it the old-fashioned way. He reached into the streams, drawing a handful of Magicka and concentrated it around his eyes, while also focusing on any kind of magicka in the camp.

     

    The magic sight revealed nothing alive in the camp, or anything powered by magicka. The pink and blue clouds of mist were mostly concentrated underground, right in the barrow. He sighed and began moving towards the entrance.

     

    He was passing empty tents and cold fireplaces, all kinds of jugs or wooden bowls lying around, nearly covered by the ash, most likely left behind by the Reavers. Reavers. That was something he couldn’t wrap his head around. What were they doing around the barrow? He could imagine that Ash Spawn and Draugr were the closest to Ahzidal’s magic, but Reavers? Maybe the Dragon Priest became powerful enough to draw them away from their camps in the wilderness of Solstheim?

     

    But for what reason? Grulmar had no idea what kind of game Ahzidal was playing. He didn’t know what the end game was either, and frankly he didn’t know a thing about Ahzidal. It was all like a...hunch, a feeling. Words coming out of his mouth, but words his mind wasn’t capable of understanding, not their true meaning or origin. All those dreams, all those feelings and mystical bullshit… It was almost like knowing but not understanding. Or understandin’ without knowin’. Tusk if I know!

     

    He walked down the wooden scaffolding towards the uncovered door leading into the barrow, walking around large marks, almost streaks, of dried blood. It looked almost as if someone was dragging a dead body into the entrance. Which certainly didn’t make Grulmar feel any better. He already felt he was in over his head, questioning his decision to come here yet again.

     

    Ya can’t run forever, matey, he thought when he stopped by the heavy stone doors and with a sigh, he leaned against them. They opened with more ease than he expected and he tripped into the barrow, trying to regain his balance. When he did, he blinked several times into the dim light of the barrow, illuminated by candles and torches and he bared his tusks at the narrow corridor in front of him. Another Nordic ruin. Can’t really escape those even on Solstheim, eh?

     

    The worst thing about these barrows wasn’t the number of Draugr or even the traps. No, the worst thing was the smell. The perpetual choking scent of death filling one’s nose, overwhelming the other senses. Walls with alcoves full of Nords dead for centuries - maybe even millenia. Urns with ashes or preserved organs. All that only compounded the smell and nothing reminded Grulmar of his own mortality than the gods forsaken stench of death. It would take him weeks to get it off his clothes.

     

    With a deep breath - but not too deep - he started down the corridor, moving slowly and keeping to the shadows. It would be much better if he got the jump on someone than they on him, so that meant carefully weighing every step he took, controlling his breaths and focusing on the dancing shadows. But the barrow was strangely quiet. Maybe all the Draugr are headin’ to Raven Rock now? It was one of the possible explanations. The other could be they were just waiting for some idiotic Orc to walk right under their axes.

     

    He arrived in a bigger chamber, with some kind of pale stone altar in the middle of it, candles set around it. The candles’ flames were the only light in the room and all of it just highlighted the dead body on the altar. It was a Dunmer, male, his throat and wrists slit, creating an immense pool of blood all over the altar and around it, the candles on the ground almost swimming in it. Grulmar felt something stick in his throat and he gagged, quickly looking away and moving past the altar.

     

    That was a completely different stench of death, one infused with magic that was turning Grulmar’s stomach upside down and making his eyes water. Blood magic.

     

    He slowly began understanding from where Ahzidal was taking so much power.

     

    The Orc stumbled down the hall, away from the altar, the pressure in his head building again. The tusker is persistent, I gotta give him that. It was then when he walked into a massive room of worked stone. Right in front of him was a wooden bridge leading to massive column carved out of stone, probably holding the ceiling of the room where it was. Under him was at least a ten steps long fall to the floor, the only path leading down there was a wooden scaffolding. The scafolding led to what seemed like Grulmar like a large wall of stone, etched with writing in a language that wasn’t Tamrielic or Dwemer. Made up of distinct slashes and dots with, as if… Grulmar paused, it was written by claws. Dragon claws. Or copied to resemble them.

     

    Grulmar could swear he could make out two dead figures down there, two Draugr whose bodies looked as if they were almost melted away by an immense heat, with only their armor remaining. He narrowed his eyes. Someone’s down here fightin’ them? Since the bodies were down there, should he go there too? Or what if they fell down from the scaffolding - or more like thrown down?

     

    The Orc sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on the dark magic emanating from within the earth somewhere ahead of him, not sure where to turn. Nordic barrows were built like damn mazes and he could easily follow the wrong path. And so he aimed his magicka at the power of the dark ritual ahead, and he pulled one strand of magicka from it, like pulling a thread from a tunic. He curled the strand and then he opened his hand.

     

    Magic formed under his feet in the form of grey-blue mist and then the mist headed over the bridge towards the column, leaving whispers behind. It went around the column and Grulmar quickly followed, only reminding himself to slow down. He didn’t want to be spotted and no one beside him could see the mist. At least he hoped that was true. Should have studied the spell’s manual more closely.

     

    The mist led him through the maze of narrow corridors, and as he walked, he was encountering more signs of some kind of struggle. Mostly Draugr who were nearly burned to ashes, a few Reavers who were cut down by some kind of bladed weapon - their limbs were severed, their bones were broken. Their broken bodies looked like the discarded toys of a giant. An elegant giant who clearly knew how to use a weapon, the cuts too economical and lethal. Grulmar already had his suspicion who was down there with him.

     

    As he progressed deeper into the earth, the sounds of struggle became louder and louder. He passed a slain miner, only to realize the miner was still breathing, the wound on his head suggesting that he was only knocked out. Now Grulmar had no doubt.

     

    He could hear the hissing of a draugr very close, closely followed by a clash of metal and then a blinding light erupted from behind the corner. The Draugr growled in pain and Grulmar sneaked towards the corner, peeking around it.

     

    Another flash of light blinded him for a second and he shielded his eyes, blinking several times until he could discern a large figure standing in the narrow corridor, the burned body of a Draugr at its feet, its armor lose.

     

    “Playing hide and seek, Motagiik?” the figure spoke and Grulmar shook his head. Bloody elf...

     

    He walked from around the corner, taking a proper look at Äelberon leaning heavily against the wall, the tip of his ebony sword resting on the ground. “Figures I’d find ya down here, Shiny.”

     

    “Yes, I was nearby,” the Altmer flashed a tired smile, but his eyes were twinkling with clear pleasure the he was seeing the Orc. “And you?”

     

    “Ah, well. I’ve heard the Nordic barrows are lovely this time of year and this just seems like the perfect place to take some time off,” the Orc smirked. The Altmer chuckled at his words, but Grulmar’s smirk disappeared when he walked closer to the Altmer and saw how pale he was - even more than usual. His skin was like translucent white wax, revealing dark blue veins underneath it, punctuated with coal dark circles under the Altmer’s eyes. The pallor made Mora’s runes stand out even more. Usually the Mer sported a tinge of pink around the nose, lips, and ears, a little on his cheeks too if he was well or warm. The snow Elf coloring, which off-set the grey shadows of his angular features, but there was no color this time. Nothing. Grulmar sighed and shook his head, almost ready to support the Altmer - but that wouldn’t be a good idea considering the Elf weighed twice as much as him. Even as thin as he appeared to be, his bridgandine armor loose in places, the hair that peeked from under his hood more dull. What had only bordered on unhealthy at Tel Mythrin was now clearly unhealthy.

     

    “Do I look that bad?” Äelberon grinned, letting his eyes crease. “Aye, I do. Runnin’ out of space to punch holes in me belt. And whiter than Jorrvaskr’s sheets after Tillma’s been a’washin’.”

     

    “Sunshine and butterflies, matey,” the Orc forced a smile on his face. “Ya should have stayed in bed with Fangs.”

     

    “True, I should have. I wanted to.” The head tilted to the side thoughtfully and a certain melancholy creeped in his eyes, making their prior creasing diminish. “But we cannot always choose for ourselves, can we? Sometimes others choose for us and we do not get what we want.”

     

    Grulmar was silent for a second, the sentence echoing within his soul with sadness and sympathy. He understood that very well. “It ain’t fair,” he murmured, averting his gaze from Äelberon. “Ya kick Miraak’s arse and right after that, another tusker pops up. Really, they’re poppin’ up like mushrooms after rain these days. I’d even say we’re cursed, ya and me, Shiny, the way we jump from one pile of shit to another.”

     

    “You would say we should be getting used to all the shit by now, but, no, it is not any easier,” the Altmer sighed, his hands glowing slightly with that warm orange light, the magic flowing through his body now. “That is why you are here? Tired of running away from one pile shit only to step into another? You end up with shit on your boots anyway. So you are actually heading towards the shit on purpose now? Saving yourself the trouble of the surprise of finding shit on your boots?”

     

    “Now y’are just rubbin’ it,” Grulmar said out of the corner of his mouth, staring at Äelberon who stared back at him. And then they both chuckled. It was very a very dry and resigned chuckle, but they both understood. They quickly sobered up though as they felt another surge of that dark magic spreading from the hall in front of them.

     

    “Did you notice on the way here?” Äelberon suddenly asked and Grulmar nodded.

     

    “Blood magic.”

     

    “It is not so subtle as Miraak,” the Altmer murmured, flexing the muscles of his neck. “This is more raw, more direct. Dragon magic and necromancy combined with enchanting and blood magic. Everything here screams wrong and if the Dov still roamed the skies, it would not have been tolerated. The Dov in me definitely disapproves. Do you feel the pressure in your head?”

     

    “Like a morning after few bottles of Sujamma.”

     

    “Aye, or definitely how I feel after he’s been drinking. It will only get worse,” the Elf took a deep breath. “It is extremely difficult to break the Dragon Priest’s hold on his victims.” He looked back the way they came from, most likely thinking about the still alive miner back there. “And we have not seen everything he can do yet.”

     

    “The miner back there,” Grulmar cleared his throat and licked his lips, the thing he was about to say leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “We might not have the luxury to save them all. Kill or be killed. Shiny… We might need the other guy who’s fumin’ in ya, who’s disapprovin’.”

     

    “I will do what I have to do,” the Altmer said solemnly, flames dancing behind his eyes. “But will you, Grulmar? If we go down there, there will be blood. Blood you will never wash off your hands.”

     

    “The road to freedom is paved in blood.” A mere whisper, but Äelberon nodded to that, most likely knowing very well what it meant, seeing through all the layers of the statement. Grulmar shook his head and smirked. “Tipsy must be laughin’ his dragon arse now. We’re bloody screw ups, aren’t we?” Even as he said that he could feel the other presence in Äelberon stir, rumbling with laughter.

     

    “Tipsy, eh?” Äelberon tilted his head to the side, weak smile playing on his face. “Oh, he likes the name. If he could, he’d be dancin’ like a wee lass.”

     

    Äelberon’s head then snapped down the hall, his eyes narrowing, and Grulmar in that direction too. He saw nothing, but he knew the Altmer had much better ears and after a moment he heard it too. The shambling and hissing. A Draugr. It appeared in the corridor and Äelberon frowned, looking back at Grulmar. There was a question in his eyes and the Orc nodded.

     

    He pulled out the Torvallian dagger from the sheath on his back and lifted it above his palm with magic, pointing the blade at the Draugr and then he pushed. The dagger shot straight into the Draugr’s eye and it crumbled on the floor, its undead life finally ended.

     

    The Altmer nodded in approval and pushed himself from the the wall. “We are running out of time.”

     

    “Raven Rock?” Grulmar asked, only to realize his question wasn’t very clear and was about to open his mouth to continue but Äelberon understood.

     

    “Yes. We have to cut off the snake’s head. I have a contingency plan to slow the army, it should buy us some time but still… As revitalizing as this reunion, is we are running out of time.”

     

    “Contingency plan,” Grulmar rolled the words on his tongue, savouring how they sounded for a second. “Yer woman?” he then narrowed his eyes. Of course Äelberon’s backup plan was Serana.

     

    “My woman, backed up by the Skaal,” the big Mer smiled. “Now, do you have a plan? For what is down there?”

     

    Grulmar pursed his lips and shrugged. “Goin’ down there magic blazin’ probably ain’t the right answer, eh? Ya know how it works. Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go sideways, throw away the plan.”

     

    Äelberon rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how are you still alive, Motagiik. Maybe we should pull off a Nchardak then?”

     

    “Ncha-” Grumar started and then it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Ya go in first to draw their attention and I provide support from the shadows? That works fine by me, after all it’s not my green skin on the hook there.” He extended his arm towards the narrow corridor in front of them and slightly bowed to Äelberon. “After ya.”

     

    As he did so, Äelberon grabbed his right hand and squeezed, pulling him closer. The Orc managed a surprised yelp before the Altmer nearly lifted him up by the hand, the burning eyes focused on the marks on Grulmar’s hand. “You have read the book,” he stated.

     

    The small Orsimer grimaced. “Yeah. Was tryin’ to save Talvas,” he murmured and tugged with his hand, letting Äelberon know he could let him go now. He was glad when the Mer didn’t drop him. “It was lovely. Mora tried to make me a deal of course. And no, I’m not that stupid. But I still ended up with this bullshit on my hand.”

     

    “Did you figure out what it does? Every Black Book has a power in it, unlocked by reading the final chapter. Manifesting in this manner,” he pointed at the marks.

     

    The Orc shook his head. “Was busy with other stuff, ya know. And honestly, don’t even want to know what it does. If I could, I’d scrub that shit off my skin.”

     

    The High Elf let out something between a chuckle and a snort. “Me too, though I would not try it if I were you. But we have lost enough time. There is a Dragon Priest that needs to be put back to his place.” He pushed himself away from the wall while Grulmar pulled out the Torvallian dagger from the still Draugr, walking heavily down the hall, which quickly turned into a set of stairs leading deeper into earth. Äelberon walked first and Grulmar kept his distance, keeping to shadows five steps behind him.

     

    This tactic worked well back in Nchardak. It was almost ironic that after all that learning and practice, Grulmar still wasn’t the regular type of mage who could just enter a room and rain destruction on his enemies. No, his magickal abilities mostly supplemented his own natural skills of subterfurge and agility. While Äelberon on the other hand… Well, he’s sorta like a mammoth. Well, no not a mammoth, he’s never been clumsy and he’s far from stupid, but he was just one of those who could take the attention being drawn on him, and actually use it to his tactical advantage. Want someone to draw all the magic, arrows, blades and shit? Call the Dragonborn, eh?

     

    The stairs led them to an intersection in the shape of T and Äelberon stopped for a second, looking to the left then right, only to turn left. Yes, that was where the magic was emanating from. Grulmar could see Äelberon walk through a door into a large room and he heard the very familiar hiss of a Draugr from there.

     

    “For Lord Ahzidal!” someone growled, and Grulmar heard a clash of metal. He quickly peaked into the room, noticing Äelberon in a very short exchange of blows with a Reaver clad in Bonemold armor - an exchange that ended with the Reaver getting his knee shattered by the ebony sword. The Reaver fell to the ground when the leg gave and as he was falling, Äelberon stabbed into the armor’s gap at Reaver’s side, running the blade in between the ribs.

     

    The Orc noticed two stone chairs behind Äelberon, both with Draugr sitting in them, and an opened trap door between them and the Altmer. The Draugr were getting up and Grulmar bared his tusks, honing in on the one closest to Äelberon, and focused on all the armor the undead creature was sporting. He motioned with his hand, releasing the spell and the Draugr that was just trying to stand up suddenly sagged back into the stone chair, its armor now weighing more than the Draugr itself. Even the undead’s unnatural strength wasn’t enough to fight the adamant laws of Earthbones.

     

    The second Draugr was now coming at Äelberon who readied his sword and Grulmar narrowed his eyes. No silver? Ah, bollocks. The Orc watched the Draugr’s feet clad in metal boots and he waited for the right moment. Just when the Draugr put all its weight on the right foot and was about to take another step with the left, Grulmar pushed against the right. That sent the Draugr right on its face, a loud ringing of metal and breaking of bones sounding in the room.

     

    Äelberon raised one of his eyebrows in Grulmar’s direction and crouched next to the Draugr, a bright light emanating from his palm, burning away the rest of the undead’s skull. Grulmar walked towards the one in the chair and carelessly stabbed the Draugr into its eye with his silver dagger, effectively ending it.

     

    “Care to let me have at least few of them?” the Altmer smirked.

     

    The Orc grimaced at that. “Ya’ve already had yer share on the way here. Plus, where’s yer silver, ya moron?”

     

    “Too much metal, only two hands,” Äelberon shrugged and Grulmar could now make it out, the whistle as the Mer breathed. The old injury was aggravating him. He probably couldn’t wield two swords anymore. He was two hundred and forty-six years old, that he could still even fight was something.

     

    “Great. We’ll need that magic of yers later, so don’t waste it on finishin’ these rot-brains when even I can do it more efficiently with these little tools I got as gift from ya some time back,” Grulmar shook his head and spinned the Torvallian dagger on his palm. It suddenly overturned and fell on the ground with loud ringing and the Orc cursed.

     

    A dry chuckled echoed through the room as it was Äelberon’s turn to shake his head. “I feel safer already, Motagiik.” He then walked towards the trap door, looking down the fragile looking wooden stairwell winding up around the shaft leading deeper into the barrow.

     

    Grulmar stopped next to him and looked down, only to take a step away, suddenly a shade paler. “Looks as safe as a mammoth climbin’ a ladder,” he murmured.

     

    “An interesting comparison. Are you implying I am the mammoth?” he said with a playful tone. “Maybe you would like to go first then.”

     

    “Gettin’ acquainted up close with a lurkin’ Draugr or fallin’ to my death after the stairs break under yer big arse? I really love my options here.” He then measured Äelberon from head to toe, tilting his head. “Ya lost some weight though. Maybe we’re not completely doomed to the hilariously ironic fate of survivin’ a horde of undead only to die of breakin’ our necks when  stupid wooden stairs decide to tusk us over.”

     

    “Just do not look down.”

     

    With that, the Altmer began the descent, the wood loudly creaking under him and Grulmar grimaced, imitating Äelberon’s voice: “‘Just do not look down,’” closely followed by a snort, “Funny as tusk up yer arse, Shiny…”

     

    The way down was long and for Grulmar definitely terrifying, thanks to his fear of heights and the constant creaking of the wood under his feet. It felt as if it was about to break any second, and Äelberon’s advice not to look down wasn’t really helping. He had to look down. Tryin’ to walk down the steps while lookin’ up is bloody stupid idea! He was trying to stay as close to the wall as possible, his hands looking for gaps in it, in the case the stairwell really gave up.

     

    Pale as death and covered with sweat, he finally laid his feet on solid ground at the bottom and released a heavy sigh. “Not goin’ back that way, not even over my dead body.”

     

    “I would not worry too much about that,” Äelberon observed. “These barrows are usually designed to have more than one entrance. More than likely, it will be a back entrance connected to the grand burial chamber that will lead to the surface.”

     

    “I certainly hope so.”

     

    They followed the narrow corridor into a larger room again, this one being one of those which had walls full of alcoves for dead Draugr. It used to be an intersection of sorts, but the way forward and to the right were blocked by a cave-in, the only way now being left. Stone steps were carved into the floor, leading down to the intersection where the floor was covered with a strange liquid.

     

    “Oil?” Grulmar wondered aloud.

     

    “It seems so,” Äelberon nodded, narrowing his eyes and smelling, “aye, oil.”  After those words were said, they heard the familiar hissing and shambling of Draugr and the Altmer looked around, his eyes resting on the torch on the wall. He pulled it out of its holder and then hit the wall with his sword several times, making as much ruckus as he could.

     

    “Very subtle,” Grulmar murmured and retreated few steps back, blending with the shadows.

     

    Three Draugr appeared from around the corner at the intersection and looked up the stairs, their glowing eyes honing on the two interlopers - well, just one. Doubt they can see me, Grulmar thought.

     

    And Äelberon threw the torch.

     

    The floor exploded with fire, engulfing the Draugr and they released hissing screams of pain as their undead bodies were being consumed by hungry red-purple flames. But even as they burned, they were moving up the stairs, trying to reach Äelberon. He readied his sword and the first Draugr that came too close earned a kiss from the ebony blade on its face, getting almost half of it sliced away.  It fell on the side, thrashing around in its painful blindness.

     

    Grulmar pushed against the second one, making it stumble and roll down the stairs back into the burning oil, while the third one was already on its knees, crawling towards Äelberon. It hissed and cursed, and it collapsed under Äelberon’s feet, raising its charred arm in a pointless effort to reach him. The hand dropped and the Draugr became still.

     

    “Tuskin’ hate that smell,” Grulmar covered his sensitive nose when the stench of burned decayed flesh reached him. He watched the flames still dancing over the bodies, unable to take his eyes of them. Something about it was mesmerizing. What a damn bad way to go. Burnin’ to death. And it didn’t matter that those Draugr were dead already, it was just the idea of endless agony as skin and flesh was being slowly eaten by the flames that shaken Grulmar to the core of his soul. Damn bad way to go, he thought again. Is there a good way though?

     

    “Are you alright?” Äelberon interrupted him and the Orc shifted his gaze at the High Elf, noticing how weak and almost fragile he looked, old. Grulmar shook his head.

     

    “Not really. Just… there are times when I’m really glad I’m not a master of Destruction magic. This is one of them. A whole school of magic focused on makin’ others suffer as much as possible, magic all about killin’... Sometimes it makes me sick.”

     

    “One cannot deny the fact that magic is...dangerous,” Äelberon sighed. “Destruction magic can be used for many other things, and you would think the name of the school could be misleading, but it really isn’t, is it? It is all about destruction and maiming, about removing what stands in your way. Because the temptation is always there. Are there not times when you wish you could make those who have wronged you or hurt you suffer? How easy would that be with fire obeying your every command, with lightning crackling at the tips of your fingers?” The Altmer then shook his head, a small reflective smile playing on his face. “I knew an Orc once, a very long time ago, not Urag. In fact, very different from Urag and no less my friend. Lived in the Imperial city and helped me during one of the many points of my long life where I stood to lose everything I held dear. He said to me, ‘Killing is very easy. Dying is easy. But living is hard.’”

     

    “Livin’ is hard. Yeah, he got that right.”

     

    “Violence begets violence. If someone draws out a big sword best way to stop him is to bring a bigger sword,” Äelberon continued. “At least that is the logic that is driving the world and has been for longer than I have lived. Same applies to magic, to the Destruction school. It is always an answer to something. But is it the right answer?” He laid his heavy hand on Grulmar’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “Just because we do not control the elements for the purpose of pain and destruction does not make us worse than the others who mastered it. It makes us better.”

     

    Grulmar grimaced. “I guess that doesn’t apply to Alduin or Miraak, right?”

     

    Äelberon’s face darkened a little, and he closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were blazing with an inner fire, suddenly more than one being staring from them, focused on Grulmar, but at the same time looking through him, through space and time. “Sometimes there is no other option but to respond in kind.”

     

    The Orc shuddered. He noticed it before but now it was more obvious. Something had changed in the elf, something beside an old dragon awakening in him. Gone was the always hopeful priest - or maybe not entirely gone, but buried under the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Even Grulmar had changed, because there were times he would never think about it, he would only bitch and whine, criticize and provoke, but these days he had to wonder how Äelberon still standing with all that weight dragging him down.

     

    He cleared his throat and looked away. “We’re close now. Shouldn’t they be comin’ for us after all this ruckus? Or do ya think they’re preparin’ their defences?”

     

    “I think they are occupied with something else,” Äelberon tilted his head to a side, as if he was listening to something. Damn elf ears. It was difficult to discern whether the Altmer was really listening to something Grulmar couldn’t hear or if his senses were probing the streams of magicka around them. “We have to hurry,” Äelberon suddenly growled and increased his pace, almost running down the stairs.

     

    “Damn it!” Grulmar started after him, running down a narrow hall while checking all the knives he had on himself, making sure they were leaving their sheaths properly. He also felt the pounding in his head intensifying, almost as if someone was singing and getting more louder, more excited.

     

    Äelberon stopped in front of metal door positioned in a very narrow hall where two people standing next to each other wouldn’t have much room to move. The Altmer put an ear to the door and then raised his hand to stop Grulmar, motioning him to stay behind. The Orc nodded and hid on the other side of the door, grimacing in the elf’s direction.

     

    The High Elf gently opened the door and slid into the room, while Grulmar pushed himself more against the wall, staying hidden. He could hear chanting and humming coming from multiple throats, but he didn’t dare to peek into the room to find out what they were dealing with. It wasn’t the right time to give away his presence.

     

    For a few seconds, the chanting went on without interruption and then Grulmar heard a chuckle. A very familiar chuckle.

     

    “Well I’ll be damned. Everyone see what I see?” someone said, with a heavy and rough voice. “The Dragon-fucking-born. Figures you’d drop by.”

     

    Mogrul, Grulmar suppressed a gasp. Mothertusker! It almost seemed that one just couldn’t prevent tripping over that tusking Orc on this island. What in Oblivion’s arsehole is he doin’ here?

     

    “How the mighty have fallen,” Grulmar heard Äelberon grit through his teeth. “From the so-called 'king of Solstheim' to merely a brainwashed fanatic.”

     

    “Heh. I would say it’s a matter of perspective,” Mogrul chuckled and Grulmar could very easily imagine that provocative grin on his face. “When everything began to crumble, I found new a purpose, a meaning. I’ve been shortsighted, petty even, and in recent turn of events it seems everything I did was pointless. But Lord Ahzidal showed me the way.”

     

    Unholy tuskin’ cow! Hearin’ this shit from Mogrul’s mouth...now that’s tusked up. Mogrul the Faithful. If there was something more terrifying than Grulmar’s fear of heights this was it. A person with a lack of belief completely turned around, becoming faithful or even zealous without consent, just taken over… Well, if anyone deserves such fate it’s the tuskin’ Mogrul.

     

    “You fool, you’re just a tool to him,” the Altmer replied, and Grulmar almost heard a taint of pity in his voice. It wasn’t that he felt sorry for Mogrul, but it was the taking of someone’s freedom. “To be used until broken, and then thrown away. You’ve played right into Azhidal’s game.”

     

    “But well, look at us babbling here like old grannies when I have more important stuff to do,” Mogrul said in a cheerful voice, the creaking of metal sounding during that. “So, if I asked you nicely to just fucking die, you wouldn’t be that kind right? Yeah, thought so. Then go fuck yourself, you fucking piece of Altmeri shit!” the Orc yelled like someone who just completely snapped.

     

    Gettin’ his mind controlled apparently doesn’t improve his charmin’ personality.

     

    “You’re not the first who has asked me to die!” the Altmer hissed.

     

    The hissing of Draugr and the shambling of multiple feet on the floor got his attention and there was a ringing of metal hitting metal. Grulmar could hear his breath quicken, the loud pounding in his temples nearly drowning all that ringing. What’s the game, Shiny? What’s the tuskin’ game?! he wanted to scream, but somehow, he didn’t dare to even peak from behind the door. Panic? Fear? Common sense? It could have been any of those things, because whatever was going on behind the corner sounded big.

     

    Grulmar’s fingers cracked as he gripped the hilt of the Torvallian dagger even harder, the fighting now sounding right from behind the door. A figure stepped into the door and Grulmar was about to pounce with the dagger, aiming for the head, when he realized it was Äelberon. The Altmer was holding a ward in the door, his face covered with sweat and a few bruises. He looked at Grulmar, fire burning in his eyes. “More than a dozen undead,” he growled, feeling the impact of many weapons pounding on his ward. “Use the hallway as a funnel. Behind me!”

     

    Short, on point, and very clear, uttered in a commanding and resolute voice leaving no room for debates or doubts. It was like a hard slap for Grulmar, shaking the anxiety off his mind, sharpening it into cold focus.

     

    He quickly jumped behind Äelberon, backing away several steps and then the ward disappeared. Two Draugr were pushing through the door, each of them with a sword in a hand. The Altmer backed away one step, getting little bit more room and he brought his ebony sword down on the left Draugr’s head, splitting it like a pumpkin. But it was not silver, the Draugr barely noticed it and it swung its own sword in a horizontal cut.

     

    The swing was too wide and the sword scratched the wall, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

     

    The Draugr on the right attacked too, and Grulmar pushed against the sword in the middle of the swing, pushing the blade straight into the undead’s face. Which didn’t slow it down, not even by a bit.

     

    Äelberon took another step back, the tight hallway preventing him from using his long sword to its full advantage and Grulmar bared his tusks.

     

    The Draugr on the left tried its luck again and the Altmer cut off the arm holding the sword before it could finish the swing. The limb flew up and hit the ceiling, losing the sword in the process and then it fell down on the floor behind Äelberon, close to Grulmar. It immediately started crawling towards the Orc.

     

    “Shit!” Grulmar growled, grimacing like an animal chased into a corner. “This is why ya bring tuskin’ silver!” he shouted and stabbed the arm, pinning it to the ground with his silver dagger. It immediately began trashing as if in immense pain.

     

    By that time Äelberon managed to cut off the right Draugr’s leg, the undead falling to the ground with an angry hiss immediately drowned by the feet of a reanimated miner stepping over it. “Fus!” he shouted, sending the nearest undead stumbling back, but the mass behind them didn’t allow them to fall. Instead, the marching undead wavered for a second, like straws of grass in a spring breeze, only to straighten again.

     

    Grulmar knew that Äelberon could do more than that, much more. He could burn them all to ash with a single word or toss them around like ragdolls. But he didn’t. Why? Closed quarters. Fire produces smoke. We’d choke on it while they wouldn’t.

     

    And the elf took another step back.

     

    The Orc glanced the way they came from, his hands beginning to shake. Too many. Just too tuskin’ many! It would be so easy just to turn around and run, save his own skin. The Altmer would stand his ground, like he always did, giving Grulmar enough time to run away from this madness. What am I doin’ here anyway? I didn’t come here to die for tusk’s sake! He didn’t owe anything to anyone.

     

    “Grulmar!” Äelberon growled, retreating by another step.

     

    Why should I care? I could hide in Neloth’s tower, protected by that crazy Telvanni. Raven Rock? That place can burn! He didn’t owe anything to anyone.

     

    “GRULMAR!” the elf now shouted, closely followed by: “IIZ SLEN... NUS!” The shout hit the three nearest undead, freezing them solid right where they were standing, one Draugr even froze in the middle of a swing. The undead behind them kept pushing forward, sending the statues of ice to the ground where they shattered into thousands of pieces.

     

    The Orc blinked few times, as if he was waking up from a dream and he shook his head. Those thoughts...those were his. His deepest thoughts, the ones he was trying to supress, brought to the surface. But not by him. He could feel that presence in his mind, coiling around his thoughts like a snake ready to lay its eggs.

     

    Get out! his mind screamed. He didn’t owe anything to anyone. But himself.

     

    Grulmar redirected another swing, this time of an axe wielded by a Draugr clad head to toe in metal armor. The Orc released a powerful Burden spell which enveloped the undead as a cloak, wrapping tightly around everything the Draugr was wearing. The undead crumbled on the ground with the loud sound of snapping bones, only to be trampled by the next wave.

     

    Another step back.

     

    An undead miner’s head flew off after Äelberon found enough room for a horizontal swing, even as an axe screeched against his the plating on his brigandine.  

     

    Grulmar send a Torvallian dagger into another miner’s skull when he saw an opening, pulling the dagger back into his hand.

     

    But it still wasn’t enough.

     

    For every step Äelberon took back, the undead paid in limbs and heads, but that wasn’t enough to really stop them, not without silver, and the Elf seemed too tired to shout them all into Oblivion - or maybe he was saving his strength. Grulmar wished he was of better use but he could do only so much when the Altmer was pretty much blocking his line of sight. Desperation was creeping into the Orc’s skull, demanding his surrender.

     

    There was no point in holding back in this fight, not if trying to save magicka and energy would cost them their lives. This was just a fodder sent to slow them down, to tire them out and it was working. The Mer was tiring. He could hear the Altmer’s whistling breath as he struck his blows. What was the point of prolonging it? If they wanted to finish what they came here for they had to get through these first. Grulmar hoped that Äelberon understood that.

     

    One more step back and Äelberon would be out of the narrow hallway, losing the advantage of tight space.

     

    He jumped forward, slipping under Äelberon’s arm and casted the most powerful and wide Burden spell he could muster, his head nearly exploding from such strain. The radius of the spell took most of its magnitude, the weight only slowing the undead down, but not breaking them. The Orc cast a ward in front of Äelberon, blocking an attack from the nearest Draugr, trying to hold them back. He could feel the weakness spreading through his body, the magicka being drained away too fast, his raised hands now trembling with exhaustion.

     

    “Burn ‘em!” he shouted from the top of his lungs. “Tuskin’ burn ‘em all!”

     

    The Orc closed his eyes as if in a prayer, dropping the ward like he was leaving his life in the hands of some god to do with as he pleased, hoping the god would be merciful and intervene to save his faithful servant. Now he knew how it felt, what it meant to those who believed in something greater than themselves.

     

    But this was real. No distant god would answer with silence in this moment. No.

     

    If righteousness had a physical manifestation… it would be this.

     

    Burning light.

     

    Grulmar could feel it behind him, like a window opening directly into Aetherius, allowing the rays to pierce the darkness. Even through closed eyes and his back to Äelberon, Grulmar could see the light when the hallway literally exploded like a thousand suns, scorching the Orc’s back. Someone was growling in pain and it took him a moment to realize it was actually him.

     

    And then it was over. Like a calm right after the storm, leaving people perplexed about the sudden silence after an eternity of the sky rambling with thunders.

     

    Grulmar slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to try to chase away the bright spots. He coughed on the ash in the air, ash that moments ago were the bodies of Draugr and reanimated corpses, now completely vapourized by the purest magic, with only the empty shells that were their scorched armor left behind.

     

    He could hear the heavy breathing, with its whistle behind him and he turned around, looking at Äelberon’s pale and tired face, nearly the color of fresh snow. There was a faint smile there, the kind people often have after a job well done and this job was done exceptionally well. But the smile soon disappeared, exchanged for a look of confusion and Grulmar could see the bright crimson blood appearing in the Altmer’s left nostril. “Shit,” he muttered when the Altmer’s eyes rolled, his hand now searching for a support at the wall to his right. He leaned against it, taking a deep breath, and then he leaned against it with his back, slowly sliding on the floor.

     

    “Damn it! Not now, Shiny!”

     

Comments

6 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 7 others like this.
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  April 22, 2018
    Oh dear, lots in this chapter. I hope Albee is fine!
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Caladran
      Caladran
      Caladran
      Oh dear, lots in this chapter. I hope Albee is fine!
        ·  April 24, 2018
      Sorry, haven't been online for some time, so this will be a little late, but thanks for reading, Cal. And well... It's Albee and the party's just starting :D
  • The Sunflower Manual
    The Sunflower Manual   ·  April 15, 2018
    It's weirdly satisfying to see Mogrul reduced to this. And Aelberon remains a straight tank. Mammoth is right, hehe.

    As I'd already said, I think it's fine not to emphasise Grulmar's fear of heights so much. It's not anything really debilitat...  more
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  April 15, 2018
    There is a lot in this chapter.  Yes, we established Gru's fear of heights in CA and in PoM, but yeah there's a funny story that may down the road really hone in on it, with him screaming like a girl and everything. I really enjoyed the subtle refere...  more
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  April 15, 2018
    Grulmar has a fear of heights? I'm sorry, but that's the first time I ever heard of it. Was there any mention of it in CA, Cursed Tribe, PoM or PoTM?
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      Grulmar has a fear of heights? I'm sorry, but that's the first time I ever heard of it. Was there any mention of it in CA, Cursed Tribe, PoM or PoTM?
        ·  April 15, 2018
      Hmm. From the top of my head... Chapter 1 of CA, near the beginning, and in PoM, the...5th part of the Memories?