Chapter VI
Dungeons Deep and Caverns Old
The Archmage looked ill. His normally blue-tinted skin had paled to some indistinct shade of yellowish grey and his eyes were only a dull dark red. Clearly, Savos Aren had seen better days and Veryn began to suspect that Bricca probably had a hand in his condition. When it came to Aren personally, he was not too bothered about the man's impending death. The Archmage did his job only meagrely, delegating much of his tasks to Mirabelle Ervine and he was very keen to just let anything run its course. But if he died, his post would be empty and it was very well possible for the Thalmor to attempt a power grab, or at the very least for them to heavily influence the decision of whoever would be Aren's successor. Veryn hoped that the Archmage would hold out long enough until the fuss around the Eye of Magnus was settled and Ancano had no reason to be here any more.
Today was the third time in a month they were assembled in the Archmage's quarters to discuss the Eye. Tolfdir, Mirabelle, Aren and of course Veryn himself were gathered around a table covered with books and notes, all pertaining to the Eye and its apparent counterpart: the Staff.
"The last time the Staff has surfaced was over two hundred years ago in Morrowind. It is mentioned in writing in the third year of the current era, just before the Red Year. I have every reason to believe its owner died in the eruption of Red Mountain and that the Staff, as great artefacts are wont to do, disappeared." Mirabelle Ervine put down her notes. "I can recommend reading up on these, Lord Uvirith."
"Thank you." Veryn reached for the notes, still annoyed at how she tried to avoid looking at him directly and at her insistence of addressing him with his noble title. "I haven't found anything in the library as of yet. The last time, you mentioned the Synod I believe, Archmage?"
Aren burst out coughing and grasped the arms of his chair, leaning forward while he gasped for air. "Very uncooperative," he wheezed. "Just wanting to hoard magical artefacts. But yes, I think they are after the Staff as well. They kept asking if we knew where it was when they visited the College last month, so clearly they have reason to believe the thing is in Skyrim."
"They apparently believe we're keeping it in a closet somewhere." Mirabelle pinched her nose and scrunched her eyebrows, appearing awfully annoyed with everything around her. "Eventually they inquired about the ruins of Mzulft, although they did not want to give any reasons why. Perhaps you should have a chat with them, although I doubt they will be very forthcoming. It has been a while since they left, but they they will be in Mzulft for the coming months at least."
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
After he had saddled his horse outside Winterhold's stables he left her waiting patiently, scratching at the snow with her hooves.
“Soon,” Veryn muttered, kneeling at his backpack and searching though it for the third time to see if he had everything he needed. Mzulft lay over a week of riding from Winterhold, in the far east of Skyrim. If he had forgotten anything he could not simply head back to the College. A sudden noise, a twig breaking under a boot, caught his attention. He jerked his head up, breath catching in his throat and magic tingling ready at his fingertips.
“Who's there?” he called out, feeling a chill run down his spine as he nearly got caught unaware. His answer was a bout of heavy coughing and then a mer stepped forward from the bushes. Beneath the shadow of his hood feverish red eyes glistened in a sallow, sickly face.
“Archmage,” Veryn said. The mer coughed again.
“Yes,” he said, wheezing for breath. “Please, you must hear me out.”
To his surprise, the Archmage hadn't spoken in Imperial, but in Dunmeris, the tongue spoken in Morrowind. He doesn't want anyone to listen in, Veryn thought. Something's wrong.
“Veryn, please, listen to me.” Savos Aren wrung his hands in despair, apparently taking Veryns silence as a rejection. Veryn nodded and made a motion for the older man to continue.
“I'm sorry,” Aren said, his voice close to breaking. “It should have been me to tell you about Ancano. I was mistaken, so very mistaken. I thought he wouldn't be a threat , but he is. This illness of mine... it's him. He is behind it. I suspect he has been poisoning me and I am unable to stop him. Every day I am getting weaker. I am old and now I am dying.”
Bricca. Hired by Ancano? Veryn shivered.
“I need you to help me,” Savos whispered. “I have something powerful, an artefact and Ancano must never find it. I want you to take it and keep it hidden until the time comes that you may have use of it.” He smiled weakly. “Don't think too badly of me then. Keep it secret. Keep it safe. He must not get his hands on it.”
Veryn pulled his cloak closer around him in a futile attempt to keep the cold away. “What do you mean? What sort of thing are you talking about?”
The Archmage hesitated. “It is better if you don't ask.” He held out a bundle, a wool blanket wrapped around something heavy. “Take this. Make sure to keep it away from sight. If anyone asks, we've never talked.”
Only after Savos Aren left Veryn took a closer look at the bundle, pulling the folds away. The artefact was made of stone and shaped like a ring, but with a space between two ends and a knob in the middle. A torc, Bretons called it, a neck ring worn by their ancient warriors. This one would never have been worn, as it was too large and unwieldy. Rather, it seemed decorative and heavily imbued with magicka. When he ran his hand along the twisted lines carved in it he could feel the complicated charms that were bound to it . He looked around nervously. The piece made him feel uneasy. What if Ancano did find out? What was so wonderful about a piece of stone that the Archmage had to hand it over? And why was Bricca working with the Thalmor? He wrapped the wool back over the stone and hid it in his pack before riding off towards Mzulft.
As he passed Windhelm, Veryn toyed with the thought of riding so far eastward that he would cross the border with Morrowind. It would leave Ancano and his threats behind, diminish the risk of the Thalmor finding him to nearly zero and bring some much needed rest in his life. On the other hand, he would have to ditch his moon sugar somewhere to avoid being caught and imprisoned for smuggling and there was nothing left in Morrowind but endless ashes and Great House politics. His old keepsakes, mementos of Vvardenfell, had been lost to him when the Thalmor took them away and Morrowind would not bring him any closer to deciphering the Eye of Magnus, where as the Synod might. The old Imperial Mages Guild had not survived the interregnum that followed the Oblivion Crisis. It had split into factions and eventually it fell apart, making room for two rivalling groups. The Synod and the College of Whispers continually strived to outdo themselves and gain the favour of the Elder Council. Veryn had never borne much love for the old Mages Guild and he disliked its successors even more. The College of Winterhold was a godsend. It was neutral and far enough up north to stay out of Imperial business and ever since the great collapse there had been only a few members of House Telvanni around.
It was a pain to travel the land during Sun's Dawn. Veryn had left his horse at a nearby inn and now continued on foot towards Mzulft itself, wading through the thick snow one step at a time. At some places the snow had stacked up against rocks and became knee-deep, obscuring the narrow hunting tracks that led up the mountains. It took two days of searching before he came upon an ancient Dwemer road. It was covered in snow too, but stone arches rose above it at regular distances, making it easy to follow. He passed various smaller towers and watch houses, while in the distance Mzulft loomed up, built high along the mountains. Once he reached what looked like the Synod's base camp he halted, staring at it in wonder. He had expected it to be a busy place, bustling with people, but it looked completely abandoned. When he walked near he saw that some of the tents had collapsed or were torn down and the supply crates of the expedition were broken apart and ransacked. He frowned, looking around the camp for any signs of life, but there were none. The fires had snowed under and a lot of books and notes were ripped apart and lay scattered across the tents and the ground, damaged too much to be readable. A more thorough search led to the conclusion that all valuables were still around. Veryn set up his own camp sufficiently far away from the base camp. Whatever had caused it to be in this state, it wasn't bandits. He thought of the persistent rumours that had gone around the College for the last decades. Within the Dwemer Ruins, it was said, lurked the Falmer. They were twisted little creatures, not unlike blind snow goblins and normally they stuck to their dank caves. As of late however, stories had surfaced of Falmer going on raids, killing everyone and everything they came across indiscriminately. They were leaving the safety of their underground homes behind, expanding their territory. According to Arniel Gale they were becoming more organized, more wicked and cruel, causing Gale to put an end to his hobby of exploring Dwemer ruins.
"I've seen one of them," Gale had said once. "They're blind, but this one knew I was there and he looked at me, staring with an eyeless face, with skin grown over where the eye sockets should have been. I turned and ran and have never set a foot in one of those ruins since."
The thought of entering Mzulft while it was potentially filled with Falmer, let alone the thought of being in the dark, underground, made Veryns skin crawl. Whatever the Synod had been looking for down there, they hadn't returned with it. That meant the key to the Staff of Magnus, or perhaps even the Staff itself, was still up for grabs, Falmer or not. The next day, he woke up shivering and disoriented, soaked with sweat despite the frigid air, but he was unable to recall exactly what he had dreamt. After a sober breakfast he broke up the tent and hauling everything on his back again headed for the entrance to Mzulft to start his descent into the ruin. The entrance hall was hot, like most Dwemer ruins. The sudden heat enveloped him like a suffocating blanket, causing Veryn to halt and get rid of his heavy fur cloak. Just as he rolled it up and fastened it to his pack, someone called out to him in the dim hall.
"You... not one of them. You must... help me."
Slowly he walked towards the source of the sound. Even before he reached the man slumped against the wall the stench of old blood, rot and excrement assaulted his senses. The smell of Northwatch Keep, he thought and retched, but he forced himself to go on and kneel down near the man. His belly had been ripped open, but nothing vital had been hit. The man was burning up with fever and the cut was an awful mess of infected and necrotic tissue. His robes were coated with dried blood and pus. Once they had been a rich blue colour, but now were stained a filthy brown.
"You must... help." The man gasped for breath and tried to reach for Veryns hand.
"What happened here?" Veryn asked.
The man was silent for a while, wheezing in pain.
"They came from below. We... we thought they were just a myth... folklore... At night, they headed for the camps. They got most of us. Some of us ran. I was the only one who made it... nearly." His brow glistened with sweat. "In the Oculary... Paratus may still be alive. Please, help me... the pain.." He trailed off, nearly falling unconscious again.
"I'll help you," Veryn said, quietly withdrawing his dagger from it's sheath. "Just close your eyes and breathe. It will be over soon."
Too ill to question him, the man obeyed. With one hand, Veryn kept him steady and upright, before stabbing him at the base of the skull. The man's head lolled forward as his body went limp. Veryn stepped back, glad to take a gulp of fresher air and cleaned his blade. There was nothing he could have done to keep the man alive and so he continued onwards, smiling slightly.
In Morrowind there were a great many Dwemer ruins as well, dotted throughout the landscape. The ruins in Skyrim looked slightly different and the Dwemer in the north had made a lot more use of carved stone, but despite that the ruins felt instantly familiar. The thickness of the air, the faint smell of metal that one could distinguish even under the stench the Falmer had left and the sounds of metal clanging against metal; of pipes moving up and down and gears turning and creaking, of steam escaping into the air, he enjoyed them. His surroundings were faintly illuminated by the same blue-green light coming from the lamps that hung around the walls and ceilings, filled with some sort of gas. The Dwemer Automatons were the same too: spider-like workers that skittered around the ruins in a futile effort to repair what they had been programmed to do. The storerooms they got their supplies from must have been empty for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, but as long as the soul gems that powered them did not run out they would not quit their endless tasks. Veryn dealt with them from a fair distance, casting firebolts at them until they collapsed and running away when they came too near. Despite their size, they could be surprisingly harmful, lashing out with the razor-sharp tools they held with the ends of their legs. Only once they were down and had stopped smoking he went near to wrench their soul gems free from the molten heap of metal. He wandered around the ruins, exploring passages no man or mer had visited for centuries, dodged even more workers and soon lost track of time entirely. He set up a small camp whenever his body screamed for a bit of rest, food or moon sugar, trying to stick to those parts of Mzulft he had already cleared and were somewhat safe. He never was sure how long he slept. It could have been an hour, or half a day. Often he waited anxiously for the Falmer to come after him when he woke up screaming again, wondering if he had alerted everything in his vicinity. At times, he wandered almost aimlessly, pondering about the Eye of Magnus, obsessing over keeping it out Ancano's hands. Eventually, all his thoughts ended up with the Staff again, the key to unlock the full power of the Eye.
After what probably had been days he came across a second base camp. It was as abandoned as the one outside, built high upon wooden scaffolding, raised along the walls of a large cave, but there was one major difference: corpses. Various members of the Synod lay strewn around the wood, all of them in various states of decomposition. Veryn pulled up his scarf over his face in a vain effort to block the disgusting smell they gave off. Some of them seemed to have died by blunt force, their skulls splintered, but others seemed to have melted away. Veryn made sure not to touch them. He crouched on top of the scaffold, listening intently to his surroundings. He had heard before of the rather fearsome chaurus; large insectoid creatures raised and domesticated by the Falmer. They lived in humid environments, often underground, but unlucky travellers sometimes stumbled across them in Skyrims bogs and marshlands. The most dangerous aspect of the chaurus was not its thick, chitinous skin that protected its body, nor the sharp, pincer-like claws it used to tear its prey apart. No, the danger was in the chaurus' acidic spit: a thick gooey poison that could eat its way even through hardened steel. Veryn had no intention at all to come anywhere close to them.
And so he waited, hiding in the darkness. He had cast a small spell, allowing him to see anything that was alive. Tiny bugs and insects glowed very dimly everywhere around him. Veryn ignored them and drew on his magicka to make the spell stronger, causing it to reach further. There was something moving in the cave at the end of the next corridor. He watched its movements in silence, trying to predict what it was going to do next. The problem with the beast was that the corridor was the only way forward right now, so he decided to try and sneak past it. Using his magic, Veryn made himself nigh invisible and made his way over to the chaurus' lair. Every sound he heard caused him to cringe and pause, looking around nervously before heading on. When he saw the chaurus he sucked in his breath, feeling ready to turn around and never come back. It was much larger than he had imagined it to be, but luckily it had its back turned towards him and was tearing apart something that could only be described as a shredded heap of bloodied meat. Veryn clambered onto the rocks behind it, climbing over them like a sabercat. He was nearly at the end when the chaurus put its head in the air, strings of raw meat dangling from the corners of its mouth and sniffed. Veryn froze at the spot, trying to draw the least amount of attention to himself as possible and the chaurus sniffed again. He watched the monster, eyes narrowed, afraid to breathe and praying for it to go away, when the chaurus opened its maw and dropped his meal on the ground. Almost faster than Veryn could react it turned around and spat.
Damn!
Veryn bit his lip to stop himself from shouting in surprise as he flung himself off the rocks. Making too much noise might alert any nearby Falmer, leading to a situation where a quick death was the most likeable outcome. Adrenaline surged through his veins and he became fully aware of everything happening in the room, overly alert for anything that could mean death. He dropped his pack and rolled away from the rocks and a second glob of acid, trying to cover his face with his arm. With a sizzling sound the stuff bit into the rock next to him and he could feel his arm sting where a few droplets ate through his clothes. He threw a fireball at the chaurus, immediately followed by a second one, but both of them bounded off the grey chitinous carapace. The chaurus clicked its jaws in annoyance at what it perceived as a puny elf wandering into its home. An elf who was proving very annoying when it sent jolts of electricity through the chaurus's body. The monster stood there dazed for a second, its many legs twitching and then it uttered an awful, bloodcurdling screech that almost sent Veryn into an immediate state of panic. He kept trying to hit the thing with magic, the rough stone of the wall chafing painfully against his back. The chaurus was unfazed by almost all of his attacks and slowly skittered closer, the dim light coming from the Dwemer lamp in the distance reflecting in its many faceted eyes.
"Fus!"
He tried to Shout at it to keep it away, but all the Shout did was toss the chaurus to the ground for a second. B'vek, why? He had to get rid of the beast somehow before it tore him apart, Veryn thought as he moved along the wall to avoid another shower of acid. He was panicking too much now to even shout correctly, despite the mantra of the Greybeards that always was at the front of his thoughts. Breath and focus. This wasn't really the time to sit down and start clearing his mind. Unfortunately, Arngeir had flat out refused to teach him any tactics that would be of use in a situation like this.
"Violence is the least of the Voices uses and it should only be used in times of True Need."
Veryn assumed that being about to get eaten by a chaurus whilst stuck in an underground ruin would count as 'true need', even for the pacifistic Greybeards. While he tried to concentrate on Shouting, the chaurus leapt at him and he cried out in pain when the beast pinned his legs. When he tried to push it away its claws drove deeper into his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he glared at it, trying to wrench his arm away from the grabbing front legs. Elenwens taunts were never far away. Just give up, he heard her whisper in his head. Struggling will only cause you more pain. He hated her as much as he hated that damn chaurus that was clicking its jaws, readying itself to dig into the delicious living treat it had now captured. Veryn didn't plan on becoming a dinner. Despite the situation and the throbbing, awful pain in his leg, he laughed. To his own ears, it sounded like the laugh of a madman, but he hadn't survived the Thalmor only to die here, like this. The chaurus clicked angrily, momentarily confused by its prey. Unfortunately for the beast, the few seconds it was distracted proved to be its undoing. A Shout, much more determined than the last one sent it flying across the room, while a sudden fire burned its eyes. Screeching and howling in pain, the molten, jellied remains of some of its eyes running down its head, it launched itself at the Dunmer again. The chaurus never noticed the dagger Veryn lashed out with. Four times it got stabbed with a blade of Skyforged Steel, until its legs gave in and it sunk to the ground, bleeding and confused. After minutes, it finally died, blood and acid leaking out from the corpse and forming little puddles underneath it.
His breath fast and jagged, Veryn dropped the dagger from his trembling hand and leant back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits, his thoughts a mess in his head. He had to get away from the cave and the dead chaurus before the Falmer decided to check out the noise. His leg protested when he crawled over to his discarded backpack and by the time he had finally made it to a relatively safe place without Falmer or chauri he felt as if he was on the verge of collapsing. He sat down, resting his head on his knees for a while and then continued to look at the wounds. Two deep gashes ran along his calf, bleeding heavily. He cleaned them up and dabbed a thick cream on them. Over the next couple of days his leg healed well. The cream, smelling strongly of mustard, knitted his flesh together until all that remained were large, pale scars. Just a few more to add to the collection, he thought wryly. Even before the Thalmor had gotten involved, years of dungeon delving had left their marks on him. The blight diseases, lying dormant in his blood, didn't help either. They made him immune to diseases and infection, made his body far more resilient than it should have been and had kept him alive when he should have been dead. Unfortunately, they caused his body to heal in a way that was entirely wrong, turning even the most minor injuries into thick, disfiguring scars and occasionally into patches ofhardened, flaking white skin.
The next couple of days went over surprisingly uneventful. To his great relief, Veryn did not come across any more chauri. He continued exploring Mzulft even more carefully. Clearly he had come into Falmer territory now. Some of the halls had small shrines or way markers, crafted from bone and chitin. He hid himself in a niche in the wall behind one of those strange piles when his spell picked up something living and tried to cover up his own scent with magic. The Falmer, for it was one of those vile creatures, shuffled down the hall, covered in scraps of cloth and leather. It was small, goblinoid in shape, but with a face that looked like a mockery of that of a mer: large pointed ears and a similar skull structure, but missing a nose, lips and eye sockets, its teeth jagged and pointy. It smelled disgusting too, of mould and rot, earth, mushrooms and worms kept too long in the heat. Even when it passed Veryn barely dared to breathe in, as the stench of the beast kept hanging in the air. His path continued full of pauses and backtracking, waiting for hours so larger Falmer patrols could walk along without noticing him, hiding behind corners and machinery until his muscles cramped, just so he could pass safely once the right moment was there. Eventually he came to the point where he could not go any further at all. Every door was locked and when he crouched at one of them, trying to get a feel for the lock with his magic, someone at the other side started shouting.
"Back off, you filthy mongrels! I'll burn you alive!"
"I'm not a Falmer!" Veryn shouted back.
"G-Gavros? Is that you?"
"No! Can you open that door?"
"Who are you? What have you done with Gavros?" The voice on the other side rose.
"Nothing! Just open the damn door!"
Veryn could hear the lock being opened and something heavy scraping across the floor. The man that appeared in the opening pulled him inside roughly and immediately shut the door again, barring it with a large beam of Dwemer metal before turning around and glaring viciously at Veryn.
"Now who are you and what do want?" He scowled at Veryn in disgust as he took in the mer's face. "Where is Gavros? He was supposed to come here with one of the crystals. I've been waiting for him. How odd, I don't even know for how long." The man shook his head. He clearly belonged to the Synod, wearing the now tattered and filthy blue robes and cloak. His dark hair and olive skin betrayed his Imperial descent. Streaks of thick, black oil stained his clothes and hands and his eyes shone almost as if he had a fever.
"Why are you here instead of Gavros?" His voice had taken on a harsh and accusing tone and he continued glaring at Veryn.
Veryn shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "Your friends are dead. I haven't found any living human or mer either inside or outside this place until now."
The Imperial staggered back as if he had been hit in the face. Shaking, his eyes teared up, he sat down on a large hollow pipe. "It was those things, wasn't it? Those... Falmer? Don't worry about it, they said. Yeah, well, back in Cyrodiil you don't have them. It's just a legend. Just like dragons, until Crispus got dragged off by one. By the Eight, how were we supposed to know what a miserable and barbaric place Skyrim really is! And now those Falmer have probably taken our crystals too."
"What sort of crystals are you talking about?"
"The ones for the machines here of course! Are you daft? I've been trying to start the machines by hand, but without the crystals they can't project anything. It doesn't work at all!" The Imperial gestured at the various tools laying spread around. "Who are you even? Why are you here instead of the Synod?" Suddenly he sounded suspicious and started staring at Veryn again.
"My name is Veryn Uvirith. I am a mage of the College of Winterhold. I was looking for the Synods help to find something." He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, hoping to soothe the man slightly. He decided to forgo any of his titles. He did not care much about his holdings in Morrowind anymore and he doubted the Synod mage would either, especially now the man started to grow increasingly hostile.
"You're from the College and you expect me to help you with whatever it is that you are seeking in this godsforsaken place? Get a grip on reality, man, because that's not going to happen!" The Imperial stood up and turned his back to Veryn demonstratively, but then he changed his mind all of a sudden. "Unless you can get me one of those focusing crystals I need. Those monsters, the Falmer, they must have taken them somewhere. Perhaps they even have the old ones, but that's all right. I can make new lenses if I must and if you get one of them we might just get this machine here to work." Then he held out his hand tentatively. "The name's Paratus. Paratus Decimius. And you must be looking for the machine, just like we did. It's supposed to show us where to find the buried artefacts of Skyrim, but without the lenses it does not work. I need to fix it. Since you kept yourself alive in this place, maybe you can help me get the lenses and I will let you use the map.”
Veryn left Paratus to his own again the next day. There was a Falmer camp nearby that might hold one of the Dwemer focusing crystals. Something that was clearly Dwemer in origin lay in the middle of a primitive shrine in the encampment, made of stacked up bone and skulls. He scouted the surroundings of the camp for two days and then went in while the Falmer were mostly asleep. A couple of guards that were patrolling around the premises went down fast with a dagger in their back and a handful of flame in their face. Skirting between makeshift huts, built out of chitin and metal, Veryn made his way to the crystal. He looked over his shoulder with every other step he took, afraid of any of the Falmer waking up. With the blind creatures, using magic to stay unseen was useless. Instead he muffled his noise and hid his smell, since the Falmer relied on those senses to spot their prey.
Thank the gods nothing happened. After he picked up the thing and slunk away the camp stayed dark and quiet as if nothing had happened at all. When Paratus let him back in, where he was safe, Veryn sat down and reached for a bottle of wine. Paratus was following his every movement, muttering something about damn elves and freelance adventurers.
"I've got a crystal for you. I hope it works."
Paratus grasped the crystal from Veryns hand, his face instantly brightening up. The crystal was large and spherical, with a thick ring of metal around it and small round lenses dotting it's surface. On one side it was damaged and you could see the little pins and screws inside, connected to each other with thin wires and carved pieces of stone.
"This might just work. You – you may have just saved the entire project! This place, we call it the Oculary." He gestured for Veryn to walk along and opened another door. An enormous machine towered up before them, with decorated platforms and walkways surrounding it. "All our research points to the Dwemer being intent on discerning the nature of the divine. This machinery, all of it, was designed to collect starlight and then.. I'm not sure. Split it, somehow? But the machine was damaged and we lacked some of the key parts. Until now, that is. Why don't you go and get some sleep. I'll try and see if I can get this to work."
When Veryn woke up next he was still buzzed by the moon sugar he had taken the night before. He felt good and spent the next hour rummaging through the Synods food stores for breakfast. He lied back on his bed, enjoying the bread, cheese and salted meat. Clearly, the expedition had been funded well. Paratus was already at work, or perhaps he had been at work all night long. He crouched at the top of the machine, covered in oil and was carefully adjusting some of the large lenses that were attached to fragile curved beams.
"Magnificent, isn't it!" he exclaimed. "Took an incredible amount of work to get it running again. I spent hours etching the new lenses for the crystal. Here's hoping it will all be worth it!"
"I could help you out if you wish," Veryn said. Paratus looked a bit sceptical, but waved at him to come up. Hours upon hours of work followed, with every detail about the machine having to be exactly the way Paratus wanted it. It was precise and fiddly work and Paratus was not always the most pleasant company. He talked a lot and nitpicked on everything, but at last the moment was there when they carefully lowered the focusing crystal in its socket and turned the machine on. It sputtered initially, but then lights started to blink at a panel high above and a loud, low drone filled the air. The roof opened, squealing and whirring, to let in a bright beam of daylight. High above them, the sky was bright blue and cloudless, with the sun shining fiercely.
"Well, we should probably wait until it is night and then start focusing the lenses." Paratus pranced around, sounding as happy as a child. "They won't be able to believe this back in the Imperial City!" That night, a small bundle of starlight was caught by the lenses. It was almost too thin to see at all. "Heating and cooling the crystal should do the trick. No – not you!" Paratus nearly shoved Veryn out of the way. "You're half-blind. Your aim is probably way off and you are not going to risk my project!"
Veryn scowled at him, but moved reluctantly out of Paratus' way. Carefully, the Synod mage started casting spells and pressing buttons, chewing his lip and scrunching his eyebrows in a state of deep concentration. With loud, grinding noises the mirrors and star maps on the dome-shamed ceiling started to move around, as if driven by some invisible hand. Then, suddenly, the light was caught in the exact right spot. Thick beams of pure white starlight hung suspended in the air, brightening up the entire place. It was a marvellous sight and Paratus squealed with joy before he ran down. "Excellent... Excellent!" he shouted out, intently studying a crude map of upper Tamriel that was projected on the wall.
"No...." he suddenly muttered, raking his hands through is hair in agitation. "No! It's all wrong! The map, it should light up like the night sky!" Paratus jabbed his finger at a bright focal point at the height of Winterhold. "This! This is your interference! Look at it. Look at it! " He reached out and grabbed Veryns arm, roughly trying to drag the Dunmer over to the map. "You're trying to stall my work? Well? Explain yourself!"
Dots of white light started dancing in Veryns vision when Paratus dug his fingers into his arm. Out of reflex he cast a spell at the man, shocking the Synod mage with lightning. Growling, Veryn staggered back, trying to get rid of the growing panic that gnawed through his mind.
"Don't," he hissed at Paratus, readying a second spell just in case. Paratus stared at him, twitchy and scared.
"You're awfully jumpy, aren't you," he said, laughing nervously and rubbing his hand where the lightning had stung him. "But you must agree that it is because of you and your College that everything has failed! I'm not a fool. I can make the connection between this and you showing up!" He backed off when Veryn glanced at him, eyes wide with fear.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Veryn grunted. He watched Paratus like a hawk, while trying to keep his eye on his surroundings at the same time. His heart was beating in his throat, his body acutely aware of everything. He gritted his teeth as Paratus started talking again, loathing the man and everything he stood for.
"You – you must have an idea! Either you are lying to me or..." Paratus seemed to get a sudden idea. "Or... there is something at your College that is so immensely powerful that it is interfering with the Oculary here. Something beyond what I had anticipated. But what is it?" He peered at Veryn, still cowering, but with a glint of confidence in his eyes. Clearly he had realized something that Veryn did not and he was not afraid to use that knowledge as leverage. Letting his magic dissipate, Veryn crossed his arms and stared blankly at Paratus, making a feeble attempt to placate the man.
"We may have something, yes."
Paratus nodded, moving his head up and down quickly like a bird trying to wrench a worm from the ground.
"Of course. If we take that into account, these results make a lot more sense. You are looking for something, yes?" Paratus eyed him shrewdly. "The Staff of Magnus, perhaps?"
An involuntary twitch of his right eye gave Veryn away immediately and Paratus' face lightened up considerably.
"Look at the map. I'm not going to give away any details, there's too many secrets of the Synod involved and you probably wouldn't be able to comprehend - " He winced when Veryn rolled his eye in irritation. "Have you ever seen the Orrery in the Imperial City? It was the inspiration for this idea. Instead of projecting the sky, I adapted the machine and the crystals to project all of Tamriel and – well, what's important is that we should have gotten a map with all sources of magical power in northern Tamriel right now. And yet there are only two locations visible. One of them is of course Winterhold, your College. The other can only be Labyrinthian. And Labyrinthian holds ancient secrets. Yes, I dare say you will find your staff there." Paratus became agitated and his eyes started to get that feverish gleam again. "But remember, mage of Winterhold, I now know that your College holds something that the Synod will be very interested in. Go and get your staff. I don't need it."
Without saying another word, Paratus stomped off. Veryn shook his head. The man had been trapped inside Mzulft for too long, on his own, with the constant looming thread of Falmer and chauri. It was only very reluctantly that Paratus ended up agreeing to following Veryn out of the ruin and whilst doing so he complained endlessly and kept making passive-aggressive remarks, shying away only when the Dunmer seemed to become angry. For Veryn, it was a truly frustrating week. Paratus was awful at staying quiet and it happened more than once that they made only a narrow escape from a group of nearby Falmer that went to check out the noises. It was during one of the nights that Quaranir came to visit again. Paratus was fast asleep in their makeshift camp and unable to find any rest himself, Veryn had offered to keep watch. It wasn't a bad thing to do: merely sitting in the dark with some of the Synods good Imperial wine and keeping up a spell to detect any nearby living things. Just like the last time, Quaranir took Veryn by surprise by appearing out of thin air and freezing time. The Psijic looked tired this night, worn and old, with lines creasing his face.
"Dragonborn! I come bearing bad tidings and a warning to you. You have done well thus far, but there are hard and trying times ahead. It is imperative that you return to your College at once! My Order unfortunately -"
"Forbids you to say any more," Veryn added. He sighed and rubbed his right eye. "I know. But isn't there anything you can tell me? Give me some advice?"
Quaranir shook his head, his brow furrowing.
"I would, if I was allowed to. You will be called upon soon. Be prepared for everything. I wish you good luck and I am confident you will be able to make it out of this."
Despite Quaranirs attempt at reassuring words, Veryn stared at the darkness for a long while after the Psijic had left as suddenly as he had appeared. Paratus greeted him with a deriding smirk the next morning, looking pointedly at the empty bottle, but at least he kept his mouth shut for once. Veryn was more than happy to ditch him at the nearest inn and once he was on his own again he raced towards Winterhold. He barely rested along the way, exhausting both himself and his horse, but he managed to cut off a good two days of the usual travel time. When he arrived at the College, he realized what day it was. The twenty-first of march, the Spring Equinox and Azura's summoning day. He ran his hands through his hair in annoyance, his anxiety growing. Today was the first anniversary of his hard-won freedom. One year ago he'd agreed to Astrid's proposal of joining the Dark Brotherhood. One year since Elenwen had done her best to break him down and yet he had somehow made it through. He swallowed as he walked up the narrow bridges, afraid of what today held in store.
The College was in an even greater state of chaos than when the Eye of Magnus had arrived. People were shouting now and walked around with weapons drawn and spells ready to cast. A large crowd had gathered outside the Hall of the Elements and the more Veryn neared them the more he could feel the amount of magicka choking the air. It was strong enough to make even him nauseous. He was not surprised at all that the Eye had altered the results of Paratus' Dwemer machine. Pushing through the crowd, sending angry glances at the people around him so they moved aside, Veryn made his way to the Hall. It was packed as well, with all mages and researchers of some rank in the College gathered outside a large ward that blocked any and all access to the Eye of Magnus. Veryn listened in to the ongoing talks, cursing under his breath. Ancano was in there and he had found a way to channel the powers of the Eye of Magnus without using the Staff.
"We need to get that ward down!" Savos Aren stood at the front of the crowd, yellow and exhausted. He seemed even more shrivelled and ancient than before Veryn had left for Mzulft, his heavy and richly decorated robes weighing him down visibly. "Try it again, on the count of three! Keep casting until it breaks!"
Fire, ice and lightning flew through the air, battering at the magical shield for minutes. A collective gasp and sigh of relief sounded when it finally disappeared and Savos burst into the Hall proper. The Eye was glowing brightly and Ancano stood near it. He was channelling a beam of Magicka into the Eye continuously and it seemed as if he was leeching his power from the foundations of the College itself.
"Ancano! Stop this at once! I command you!" Unfortunately, Savos Aren was too sick to make much of an impression any more and he had to lean on Mirabelle Ervine to keep steady.
"Don't go near him," she hissed at Aren, but it was too late. The Archmage slowly walked towards the Thalmor, hands raised and at the ready to to cast a spell. The magic in the air intensified. Veryn could hear it in the air now, strange, otherworldly tones that mingled with the almost unbearably loud humming of the Eye. The was a flash of light and for a fraction of a second the world bathed in pure Magicka, before it exploded into numerous pieces. Veryn groaned as he hit the floor, thankful that his clothes at least took some of the impact. He peered around from where he lay. Mirabelle was seated against a pillar, clutching her side. Tolfdir was already standing again, but Veryn could not see where the Archmage was.
"Are you alright?" he heard Mirabelle ask. He nodded at her and tried to pull himself up. Agony shot up through his wrists and hands as soon as he leaned his weight on them, as if the nerves, bones and muscles inside had been covered in Dwemer oil and set alight. He ended up sitting awkwardly on his knees for the moment, eyes tearing up, to take in his surroundings. Everywhere around, mages tried to scramble to their feet. Around the Eye, Ancano had cast a new ward and he stood safe behind it, catching Veryns eye and grinning at the Dunmer in triumph. Then he felt someone yank his head back hard, keeping a firm grip on his hair and digging his or her fingernails deep into his skin. He was disoriented, his vision blurry and he tried to pull his head away, to reach at the person behind him with a knife, but his limbs felt like mud. His throat clenched and it was suddenly hard to breathe. The sounds of people screaming and yelling merged with Elenwen's laughter. Something pierced his right shoulder and he was thrown back at the ground. Pain flared from the wound, coming in waves. He tried to reach towards the thing stuck in his flesh, realizing he had to pull it out. Meanwhile, the pain kept getting worse and his right arm felt strangely stiff and detached, as if it was no longer a part of his body. The numbness slowly spread around, until his fingers cramped and couldn't move any more and his breathing started to slow down. He struggled for each breath, desperate to get air, panicking as his body refused to do what he wanted. The Eye of Magnus loomed over him, flaring brightly and briefly he spotted someone standing over him, then moving away again. The edges of his vision blurred and it was becoming harder and harder to discern reality from what was happening in his mind.
The voices around him were starting to fade out, changing in volume erratically and sounding distorted. The flickering of the Eye was repeating itself over and over, interspersed with faint moments that could have been from the past or the future, flashing before his eyes. A golden mask. Dragons. Helgen, burning. A dark prison ship. The Imperial City, on a day as normal as any. The glyphs on the Eye, burning in his vision and then he saw the Hall of the Elements as if he was flying above it. Bricca stood near his body, her daggers held loose in her hands and her hair falling down her back. Mirabelle Ervine, who had managed to stand up and was staring straight ahead as if everything was unreal. And Ancano, laughing as he channelled magicka at the Eye, laughing like Elenwen used to do. Suddenly, he was dragged back to his body again and he could see her standing there, smiling. He tried to shake his head, as he had relived this particular memory too often already.
"No", he tried to whisper, but the poison had paralysed his body. The only thing he could do was lay still and watch himself hang from his wrists as she forced his head back. Lightning sprang from her fingertips, aimed at his face. It burned through his eye and skin, leaving nothing but agony wherever it touched him. Inside his head, he screamed and screamed, until his sanity started slipping away. The memory started to loop too, repeating over and over again, but then tendrils of darkness flooded into his sight, expanding until they covered everything and pulling him away into the Void. Veryn welcomed it with every fibre of his being as it seemed the way out. Perhaps death was not that bad after all, he thought, floating in the Void like a wisp around a pool of water. Everything around him was silent and he longed to become a part of it, to have his thoughts become silent too, until they did and he felt himself slipping away.
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Comments
Well done.