The Creature of Dive Rock

• Posted by Accursed June 16, 2016 - 3,272 views

  The Creature of Dive Rock

  A Sequel to Ruthless Academics

  Almenar slept peacefully in a rented room along the Gold Road, clutching his bag of coins. Meanwhile, far to the North and days ago, his brother Tandano had already awoken to an angry-sounding "Bah!" coming from his father's room. Tandano shuffled sleepily across the hall and saw his father holding a note, written in his brother's hand and addressed to the both of them.

  Caranthir scowled at the letter, let his son read it, then waved him off. The foolish boy had finally done it. Nothing was ever good enough for him; all his efforts in raising him were wasted. Tandano would be re-written as his heir, and all of his assets and titles would go to him. He'd need to spend countless hours teaching the knowledge required to Tandano, and he may need more time than either of them could afford.

  No, Almenar must be found.

  He rubbed a faded scar across his leg and stood, walking over to his closet, and revealed an antiquated set of black Elven Armor, which showed some signs of scratching and burns but overall still maintained it's regal appearance. He took his sword and left the tower, then walked to a separate structure, the battlemage barracks, and went upstairs. Inside, a large statue of his past friend, Valund, watched over the sleeping and resting battlemages. Some played a card game in the corner, but most still lay in their beds, their boots by their bedposts.

  "Ahem.”

  The battlemages, somewhat comically, scrambled from their beds and stood rigid, facing their lord. Their commander, Lornr, marched to the front of them.

  "Lord Commander, we await your directive!"

  "Relax." A collective sigh came from the group. "My son has left the premises and gone to Cyrod. We must find him. Prepare to ride south within the hour."

  ---------

  Almenar strolled slowly through the streets of Kvatch, marveling at the marble castle and arena. Both were rebuilt after the Oblivion Crisis, and both were majestic testaments to Tamriel’s resilience.

  He walked into a store with a weathered sign, and found that it was precisely what he needed; an adventurers shop. He looked around for some potions and a leather satchel, and a bandolier as well. He took them up to the counter and made friendly conversation with the elderly man who was as weathered as the sign, and eventually discovered he too had been quite the explorer.

  “Ah, so what was your greatest expedition, if I may ask?”

  With a twinkle in his eye he said; “The Uderfrykte. Twenty men went up that mountain and three of them returned. Damned beast. It was thrice the size of any man I've seen, and at least four times as strong. Here, I'll show you.”

  The elderly man went into a back room and came back with a mounted head, similar in structure to that of a Troll but covered in white fur and bigger; much bigger. He looked over it as the older adventurer- was he older than the Elf? Or simply looked older? It didn't matter- told the story of the battle, Almenar listening as though a child.

  “I've heard rumors of another one wandering the mountains east of Bruma, if you're interested.”

  Almenar ran about the store, grabbing rope and grapples and potions and Gods know what else, purchasing it all for an expedition to find the Uderfrykte. He needed men, yes, but it would be easy enough to find mercenaries in Cyrodiil, the land where a noble isn't assassinated at a party and one is shocked.

  ---------

  Potatoes. And beer. They were all that Blandus knew. Being raised on a potato farm and inn and later inheriting it didn't exactly allow for a grand education, but he got by. Such were his thoughts when a company of men lead by a wealthy-looking Altmer rode up to the gate.

  The Altmer looked down at him in silence, awaiting the kneel that Blandus awkwardly gave after a few quiet moments.

  “For the love of all that is holy, please tell me that YOU have seen my son. Your neighbors aren't much help at all. Three days I've been asking utter fools and none have any answers.”

  “Your son… ‘sir’?” Blandus was not accustomed to dealing with anyone of any sort of noble class.

  "Yes; tall, blonde, pointy ears. Likely rich after his recent dealings in the capital. Did he stay here or not?"

  "Well, there was one Altmer who stayed a night who carried a large sack and wore steel armor. Brown horse too. Sir."

  The leading knight nodded and spurred his horse onward, leaving Blandus to his petty garden.

  ---------

  Almenar had, as was to be expected, found a mercenary company for hire. They required to be paid a third of Almenar's earnings, but he was happy to pay the price. They were good fighters, well-outfitted, and it was a dangerous journey. They were glad to see his preparation, and they grabbed some extra equipment from their stocks.

  With the last of the gear packed, they began their journey north to the Jerrals. They continued on, listening to farmer's stories of the Uderfrykte, until they reached the base of the mountains, tired and sore, where they agreed to camp for a few days. However, a band of mercenaries lead by an Altmer with a seemingly endless bag of money does not go anywhere without being noticed.

  It was in middle of the night when Caranthir first spotted the smoke, wafting up and covering the full moon. He knew it was his son, but he would let his Battlemages rest. No sense in waking everyone up to bring him back to Skyrim.

  The Uderfrykte. Was Almenar insane? One does not simply kill one without at least five mages armed with the best fire spells known to Tamriel.

  “I suppose I should have known. Adventure runs in the family.” He said to himself.

  “Does it now, sir? Care to elaborate?”

  It was Lornr, out patrolling.

  “I think you know; the College Incident, then the Ball Fiasco, the Scandal of 4E 202, lastly the Sovengarde Reclamation and the Dominion Welcoming. Not exactly a boring past, per se. I guess that side of me rubbed off on him. I'd also like to note that the ‘scandal’ and ‘fiasco’ stories are not named so because of my actions.”

  Lornr pulled out a small ale bottle from his pouch and took a swig, then offered it to to Caranthir, who refused.

  “I suppose you're right. Well, g’night, sir.”

  “Goodnight, Lornr.”

  Lornr put his ale away and continued to stroll about their camp, leaving Caranthir alone.

  Alone.

  He was not unfamiliar with solitude, and it always seemed to follow him, forcing him back into its folds and away from everyone else. With a heavy groan he stood and shuffled sleepily into his travel tent, prepared for the day ahead of him.

  ---------

  The next day, Almenar lay out the strategy to the hired men. They would climb the mountain until they reached Dive Rock, then fan out and search for any sign of the monster. He stood on a rock as he spoke, facing the mountain. This meant that he did not see a company of armored men approach until they were pointed out by one of the mercenaries.

  “Lornr, is that truly you?”

  “Yes, Almenar. We come as the arm of your father. He demands your return to Winterhold.”

  Almenar hopped down from his rock and walked towards Lornr and the Battlemages, sizing them up, though he knew it was useless. He wouldn't dare attack them, though he was still rather intimidating.

  “Tell my father I'll return when I am ready to. He was my age when he left home, for Magnus’ sake!”

  Lornr shifted his weight, uncomfortable. He was not used to addressing the commander’s son so informally, nor was he happy to be the subject of his anger. He took his helmet off and wiped the sweat off his brow. The tension built until the Battlemages split into two lines behind him, facing each other. A familiar Altmer wearing the antique Elven Armor sauntered confidently through the men, slyly smiling.

  “I've told you Lornr, your men are far too cordial. People have mistaken me for major royalty because of this line-splitting trick.”

  “My Lord, we were given direct instruction to guard you at the cost of our lives. We will always take every precaution to keep you safe.”

  “You may have been ordered to, but you still get your orders from me. And I order you stop, if that's what it takes.”

  Almenar was looking at his feet. He had expected the search party, but not his father himself.

  “And there's the prodigal son.”

  Caranthir was being very lax; no semi-aggressive actions, no disapproving circling, and no grabbing by the shoulder accompanied his monologue.

  “By Altmer tradition, we should be dueling to decide your fate. But I suspect you don't want that. Well, nor do I, as I'd like to keep both my sons. So how about a deal?”

  The wind rustled some leaves and Almenar’s mercenaries looked rather shocked. None of them had realized that their client was the son of the Mer trying to rebuild the Mage’s Guild.

  “Am I to take your silence as acceptance?”

  “Yes sir, Father.”

  Caranthir unstrapped his cuirass and gauntlets and handed them to Lornr, that waved off his Battlemages back to their camp.

  “Well then. Good. I think you'll find this to be quite reasonable; as long as you return to Winterhold once a year, you shall be permitted to roam the world and retain your inheritance. If you don't return for two years in a row, you will be presumed deceased. Is this clear?”

  Almenar nodded.

  “Do you accept?”

  He nodded a second time.

  Caranthir smiled. “Chin up, boy! It's not the end of the world. Now go hunt your damn Uderfrykte.” He patted his son on the shoulder.

  And he simply turned and walked away.

  One of the mercenaries, a Khajiit, cleared his throat.

  “This one is rather uncomfortable now.”

  Almenar stood, mildly embarrassed, barely comprehending what had just happened. His father had never been so relaxed in situations like this.

  "Back at it, I suppose?”

  He and his hired swords began climbing the rocky cliff. It was difficult climb, especially in the icier parts, but their struggles paid off when they reached the top. It took an hour, but they were successful in finding the tracks. They followed them to a small rocky overhang that shielded the beast's den, filled with bone and rotting flesh. Deeper in was a heaving lump of white fur, exhaling loudly.

  Now for the tricky part; killing the damned thing would not be easy. Instead of out-right combat, they opted for a combination of their roguish assassin and one of Almenar's only offensive spells, a basic ball of flame.

  The rogue snuck up to the hulking creature with little success. Instead of sneaking up and killing it, he only woke it up and was promptly grabbed and torn to shreds by the knife-like claws. Almenar cast his spell, which did a good bit of damage to its fur but lacked the power to kill it. In actuality, it sent the monster into a frenzy. It charged the assembled mercenaries and was bombarded by all manner of weapons; swords, maces, battle-axes, and arrows alike were shattered by the Uderfykte's armor-like waxy matted fur. It felled two more men before they started running. The men ran for their lives, all of them splitting up as they sprinted across the ridges as fast as their legs could move in the deep snow. The Khajiit and Almenar ended up hiding against an out-cropping and panting together.

  They waited an hour. Nobody else from the expedition showed up at their camp.

  ---------

  As dusk drew near, they opted to risk a campfire. Using the wooden handle of his broken sword as kindling and some metal stricken against a rock for sparks, they managed a small fire which they fed with various pieces of equipment they wouldn't need and even sacrificed Almenar’s map.

  “Khajiit thinks this could have gone better.”

  “It could've gone worse.”

  They sat in their bubble of light surrounded by darkness, knowing that somewhere near to them was a horror they couldn't defeat, and that it wanted blood.

  Somewhere, in the darkness, came a horrific cry. It sounded like a man being murdered, tortured; but it repeated. Always the same. Drawing nearer, echoing around the mountains, fear worming into the two hapless adventurers’ hearts.

  Then came more screaming from behind them.

  “What's it doing?”

  Almenar’s eyes darted around as he replied with “It's calling more. Run!”

  He covered the meager fire with snow and they dashed north, where the drop was less severe.

  “Find a large bank of snow at the bottom!”

  “Why?”

  “Do it!” the elf yelled.

  The Khajiit pointed and Almenar saw it. It was a large pile of snow formed at the bottom of a small valley. The screams where drawing nearer.

  Almenar did the unthinkable. He shoved his furry companion down the mountainside and toward the snow, feet first, then started sliding down himself.

  He had little room in his head for thought. Instead, all he found himself capable of thinking was “grab something, you idiot!”

  Small mountain bushes whistled past his ears as he carved a path through the white blanket around him. A tree grazed his arm and left a dent in his metal wrist guard. Instinctually, he thrashed his legs to and fro in an attempt to stop his descent, but managed only to kick more ice around. He hit the bottom, and found himself enveloped in white powder.

  He emerged rather dramatically, resembling a gopher popping it's head out of dirt, and would have found it funny himself if not for the unknown amount of horrific monsters tracking him down. The Khajiit mercenary shook the snow from his whiskers and they began jogging along the bottom of the valley. Both of them tried to guess how many Uderfryktes there were, but with the echoes it proved impossible.

  “I never did catch your name.”

  “Ma’Dato.” He replied as they trudged along.

  The valley snaked south, meaning that they ended up essentially at the same place where the started their ascent to Dive Rock. Discouraged and defeated, they lay down in the shadow of the rock Almenar had laid out his grand plan on and did little but rest. Come dusk, the exhausted pair slept, not even caring about what happened to the others in the party, only vowing to go back to the nearest city.

  Almenar’s eyes popped open near midnight when he thought he heard a rustling in the bushes; an odd, limping gait and strange noises. He rolled over to wake and alert Ma’Dato, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “Typical Khajiit. Run off and leave everyone else to die.”

  He stood and raised his sword in a defensive position, his free hand warming with a fire spell.

  “This is then. Come on out, you animal.”

  Grunting was the only reply. It grew closer until it stepped out into the clearing. There was something majestic about it, seeing it under the moon-lit sky. It charged him, and he was too stunned to focus his magic and only adjusted his sword to impale it, but the Uderfrykte was not so easily deterred. He found himself on the dirt with the horror on top of him, lying on his back and pushing the massive jaws back with his legs and arms. It was difficult, in no small part to the Uderfrykte’s stature, strength, and teeth, and his strength waned. He found it increasingly hard to push away the arms and head of the beast, feeling he was looking into the object of his demise.

  But that sound… As though metal and leather plates banging together, as armor does when it's wearer sprints.

  From the large stone a silhouette lept on top of the thing’s back. A fuzzy silhouette, with whiskers and a tail.

  Ma’Dato latched on to the Uderfrykte’s back like it was a barrel of Moon Sugar, causing it rear back. Viciously he gouged his claws into the animal’s neck and back, hissing and screaming. He resorted even to biting at it, punching it, until one fur-ball defeated the other, and Ma’Dato stood upon a large, muscular corpse.

  Almenar slowly stood, his energy gone, and coughed for a few seconds.

  “Thanks for uh… that.” He managed between panting.

  As it turned out, Ma’Dato did not leave. As he eloquently put it;

  “This one had to piss.”

  Lacking anything to actually put their trophy on, they were forced to drag it to Cheydinhal, where upon arrival they could sever the head and have it stuffed and mounted on a plaque for Almenar to keep, and to show to the elderly adventurer who first told him the story just prove he did it. Weary and drained, he still opted to walk all the way to Kvatch, into the old shop, and up to the counter. The old man stood there with a smile on his face.

  “You don't need to show it to me. I know exhaustion when I see it.”

  The elf smirked and sat on a crate, recounting his tale as the old man had recounted his.