---Sun's Dawn, 10th, 4E 201---
Delphine’s mind was till now astounded by Yvienne’s superior display of magical insightfulness. It was but expected of her. She was herself a witness to the Nord’s immense control over Arcana, and the repertoire of spells and tricks that Yvienne possessed. Moreover, where from did she attain such perceptibility, was an affair shrouded.
The whole of Skyrim knew her as the Sorceress for this very reason. Not many Nord sorcerers. Certainly not of such an elite caliber.
She was a hedge, one that didn’t accept payment. A witch-hunter, vampire-slayer, belonged to no king or Jarl. Even Isran had tried to persuade her to join his ambitious Dawnguard.
“We work towards the same cause. How could our paths cross?” He had reasoned with her.
“It’s not that our paths will cross. But my method of working absolutely suits my use of magic. With utmost respect to you, I have yet to see a mage or a warrior who could face me, however outnumbered I may be. This is me. I am the complete mage.”
Isran was humbled. He knew she wasn’t bluffing. No one else wore that armor. A mysterious ambiance always surrounded her, shouting some hidden power that was held under control with determined will.
But today, Delphine was a spectator to something so graceful, yet so powerful. She had heard of Ancestor-moths and their power. That some moth-priests wear the moths around their neck and on their face while chanting inaudible mantras incessantly. She was not wrong.
--X--
The Order of Ancestor-Moths, a cult out of Cyrodill celebrated their ancestors in a very passionate and unique way.
The name – Ancestor, was given for this very reason. That they were simply the spirits of ancestors.
The high priests performed an esoteric ritual where the fjyorn* of their ancestor’s spirits was sung into the silk produced by the Ancestor-moths. When the silk is in turn spun into cloth and embroidered with the genealogy of the correct Ancestor, clothing of wondrous power can be made.
Monks of the higher orders preferred to wear the moths about the neck and face. They chanted the mantras constantly to maintain skin contact with the ancestor-moths, a discipline that they endured for the sake of cosmic balance.
When a monk interrupted these mantras, in conversation for example, the moths burst from him in glorious fashion every time he spoke, only to light back upon his skin when he resumed the inaudible chant.
There are cults. And there are cults.
--X--
As she came to, her eyelids slowly parted, letting in a stream of glistening green light into her vision. It was a serene sight. A green crystalline shield engulfed around Delphine protecting her, nurturing.
Ice spikes stuck to the shield, gradually melting away as she looked around her. The whole world around her was frozen. Like an icy Blackreach.
Sahloknir’s command over the power of his shout reflected in the destruction around them. Trees stood still, the ice sticking to the shrubbery like a disease. The air was cold. Only the hum of the shield spell entered Delphine’s ears. If it wasn’t for the shield, her heart would be frozen stiff. Three crystalline shield spells glowed sporadically among the bed of unforgiving ice land.
And a tiny moth, wandered aimlessly unaffected by all occurrences, fluttering away through the frozen air.
A perplexed Sahloknir fixed his eyes on the moth, as it slowly piloted towards him, deviating from its path like a drunk crow. Behind it in the distance, he could make out three green glows.
“Fos los daar? Fos lu, fos kromaar los daar?”^^
As the fog thinned out of the air, he could see. His last, most devastating shout, fizzled. Yvienne, Ernand & Delphine, safe inside their shields, not a scratch on them. His blood boiled as Yvienne swayed her hands gracefully, commanding the shield. The moth still swayed around.
Ernand felt the hopelessness of Sahloknir as he rose to his feet. This is who you are. This is not who you’ll become.
The adrenaline surged through his veins as he felt a shout rising inside him. Ernand glanced back at Yvienne. Her blue moist eyes soothed his core. He felt clear.
He formed a grip in his hand, summoning a spectral bound sword. You are done now. Death and fear. Triumph and defeat. The dragon’s heart beat in silence inside the dragonborn, as he marched towards the wounded beast.
“Fus....Ro…!!!”
Half dead, Sahloknir was paralyzed. Reacting to even the weakness of the Unrelenting Force, every cell in his body burned with the shame of defeat. He couldn’t even move his eyes, in part due to pain, and the rest due to shock.
With a swift motion, Ernand charged. Clasping the hilt beneath his palms, he raised them over his head, and with a determined force, sunk the sword into Sahloknir’s left eye. Sahloknir never found his voice even to scream. His unbearable anguish murdered his essence. Merciless, as he was.
Delphine sighed. At this point, she now found it futile and foolish to harbor any doubts about any prophecy ever created.
Yvienne too witnessed the Nord myth turned to truth before her eyes, as she saw Sahloknir’s skin evaporate into the shards of bright light from which he were resurrected.
Ernand opened his arms wide. This was his third dragon soul, his charm. Hope it never gets old..
--X--
As Ernand closed his eyes, Sahloknir’s soul found a new host leaving behind only bones and dust. Yvienne let down the crystal shields, commanding the moth toward her.
Delphine hurried over towards a rejuvenated Ernand. She saw it. Her eyes widened.“So it’s true, you’re indeed the dragonborn.”
Yvienne, a regular witness to extraordinary moments much in her life, didn't find herself as appalled.
Ernand turned around with a tiny hint of pride and caught Yvienne’s eyes, shuttering, flickering, as if she was about to lose consciousness. Delphine realized what was going on, as the both of them rushed towards Yvienne.
--X--
Yvienne’s mind spun erratically. Once again, she was in the clouds, far above the barren wasteland, holding hands with a faceless man. A bright white spiral slowly engulfed her. The man took her in his arms, about to let go. It was her dream. This time forcing itself upon her. She then heard the familiar voice she had heard the last time. “
Yvienne!”
“Yes, yes!! I am here!” She responded.
“Yvienne………………….…two…half…souls! Choose…with…………sapience!”
“Half-souls?” Yelled Yvienne, her head resting on Delphine's lap.
“What’s she saying?” Inquired Ernand, preparing a healing spell in his hand.
“Yvienne, My fjyron!” The voice shouted passionately, with a depressed finality. And then the man let go.
Yvienne’s mind searched for the voice and tried to connect it to the word uttered.
“Fjyron, my Yvienne!”
A frail image materialized inside her imagination. She swam impatiently inside the ocean of nostalgia. Slowly, the image cleared as she closed her distance. Then a sight that jolted her out of unconsciousness.
“Grandfather!!”
--X--
* - will to peace
^^ - What is this? What magic, what sorcery is this?
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Comments
Yvienne is a potent one isn't she. I'm rather curious as to whether she'll be master level to all the magic schools or if you ignore the spell levels altogether.
Hey do check your inbox...
Look forward to more.