(this may be error-prone as I'm still sick, but hey, blog-post present for holidays - it has SPIDERS in it. Okay, not a great present, really but there you are)
In the morning, we managed to eat a rather hasty breakfast and then made our way to the Museum to seek out the scholar Calcelmo. The whole of the Dwemer were being unearthed, but there were more guards than workmen, which I found rather odd. Apparently just beyond the museum and the Jarl’s holdings was Nchuand-Zel, but not a workman would enter the place, and the door was barred and guarded. The museum itself was guarded and closed and the guards would not allow us entry at all. ”Nothing to do with me,” the guard insisted stubbornly. ”Entry is only granted by the court wizard, and no one else.”
“I wonder what’s going on with that,” I murmured to Vilkas. He shrugged, saying nothing, but he studied the whole of the ruins even so, listening to the murmuring of the guards.
The court wizard himself was crouched over a table, poring over scrolls and other works, the entire floor littered with a king’s ransom of artifacts. A younger man – his nephew, it seemed- bustled hither and thither with books, quills and inkpots.
“What? What is this now? Adventurers? Sell-swords?” Calcelmo barely glanced at us, his irritability rising. ”Idiots! I’m in the middle of very important research, and these interruptions do not help at all, now will you please -”
“Apologies, scholar,” I interjected smoothly before Vilkas had a chance to step forward, “but it’s your research I’ve come to ask about. ”You are the best scholar of the Dwemer in Skyrim, are you not?”
“Hmm-hmm,” Calcelmo mumbled, his ego suitably stroked. ”It’s true, my work is thorough – I’ve written the volumes on Dwarves, have you read any of them? These ruins – Nchuand-Zel – are ripe for study, nearly entirely untouched and I have even found an example of the forgotten Falmer language in the depths of the museum itself.”
“That’s exactly what we wished to speak about,” I said before the court wizard could expound on the subject. ”We are in need of some way to decipher the Falmer language.”
This unfortunately wasn’t the best thing to say, and I noted the chance on Calcelmo as soon as I said it. He stiffened and eyed me rather mistrustfully. ”Hm. Well, you must understand this has been several years of research and I simply cannot part with the work until it is completed.”
“But I’m a great fan of your work,” I attempted, but the salve to Calcelmo’s ego wasn’t going to help. He was a true scholar – and therefore couldn’t be bribed or wheedled.
“Well, that’s as may be, but then of course you must understand my position. There’s too much to do – however when the work is done, I’ll be happy to give you a copy.”
I sighed. There was no getting around the fellow, and while I had spied a few keys nearby upon a table, there was no chance of me stealing it here, and not with Vilkas with me either. Speaking of Vilkas, I turned round to find him standing upon the bridge over the rushing underground river, eyeing the door beyond.
“What’s in there, scholar?” Vilkas asked as he turned back toward us, raising his voice over the sound of the roaring water.
“Ah, yes,” Calcelmo muttered, rummaging for another scroll. ”That’s a bit of a …yes, a bit of a difficulty. I haven’t been able to make any progress in that room at all. Terrible business, really.”
“The sword I carry is no toy,” Vilkas said as he strode back towards us both. ”Name your trouble.”
“Hmmm. Its name is Nimhe, the Poisoned One. Massive spider apparently, I’ve lost more guards trying to rout the creature out…not a single workman or guard cares to go inside. And my nephew still has some of his research books in there, invaluable!”
“How big?” Vilkas asked, folding his arms across his chest. I could see the way his mind was turning…well, I suppose if stealing and flattery wouldn’t work, the Companions way of “stab it till it stops moving” would have to do.
“We are Companions from Whiterun,” I said to Calcelmo. ”We make it our business to eliminate “difficulties”. If we do this for you, may we be granted access to the museum?”
“Hmm-mmm,” Calcelmo mumbled absently, giving both myself and Vilkas an appraising glance. ”Well…I suppose the Nord there in armour may be all right enough, but you’re a slip of an elf…I’ll not be responsible for your deaths, just so you know. You were fairly warned. But…yes, if you do, I’ll give you access to the museum. Those terms are fair.”
I said nothing about being a “slip of an elf” or even about being Harbinger, and thankfully Vilkas didn’t add anything else either. We had the terms, now it was just a matter of carrying them out, and I nodded to Vilkas in thanks. Together, we crossed the bridge toward the chained and barred door.
“Aren’t you glad I came with you?” Vilkas murmured. ”My brother wouldn’t have come within a mile of this place if there’s a spider in it.
“How big do you think it is?” I asked.
“Any spider big enough to have a name is too big,” he replied.
We got the guard to open the door, and he slammed it almost immediately behind us, taking no chances. Thankfully for the both of us, our beast-blood allowed us to see in the gloom, even though there were a few holes in the ceiling which allowed some light to trickle through. The whole of the expansive chamber was covered here and there with silken threads nearly as thick as my finger. Vilkas and I eyed each other, the same thought going through our heads at the same time – very big spider, this one – and we kept to the edges of the chamber, eyeing the threads. Vilkas drew his blade and I put two arrows to the string.
“Have any Bosmer-wisdom for this hunt?” Vilkas whispered as we edged round, keeping the wall to our back. He wasn’t merely being facetious – I could hear it in his voice, and I smiled somewhat.
“Don’t forget to look up,” I whispered back. ”Keep your feet off the strands if you can. I will try and take out an eye or three but it will sense our walking through the floor.”
“A clear patch would be the best defended ground then,” he murmured, his gleaming eyes now golden and gleaming in the dim light.
I nodded toward a stretch of ground – littered with bones – ahead of us. ”That there…but have a care, looks rather obvious.”
“So then,” Vilkas said, squaring his shoulders. ”We will see. Use your Shout if you must, Dreema – spare nothing. Let’s see if the beast’s fangs can cope with Skyrim plate!”
Before I could stop him, the foolhardy, brave Nord leaped forward, planting his feet firm and squarely on the debris-strewn ground. I pulled back my bowstring, my heart in my mouth as there was no sound at all – and then, skittering from the far wall as a shape loomed and stepped forward into patchy light.
I’ve fought spiders before, in Skyrim and in Valenwood, but Nimhe was something other – taller than Vilkas, with fangs as big as daggers clicking away. Her beady eyes reflected Vilkas back eightfold, but he never faltered, bashing his fist against his chest and flourishing his blade.
The light was bad, but I loosed my arrows, one going wide and the other finding its mark. Two more followed, and then Vilkas charged forward, scything his blade in a brutal arc.
“Don’t stand in one place!” I cried. ”Move round, move round, she can’t chase us both!”
Vilkas ducked from a nasty swipe of the she-spider, only just missing getting one of her fangs into the back of his neck. I gathered air in my lungs, braced my feet and prepared myself.
“Yol Toor!” Not my favourite Shout – my throat always tasted like cinders afterwards, but I cannot deny it is very effective. Flame arced from between my jaws, flaring forward and torching dangling silk as well as scoring a hit right in the spider’s face. Nimhe hissed and frothed and staggered on eight legs, flames bubbling and sizzling. My eyes were dazzled, but now our target was aflame, and the rest was easy enough. Vilkas charged forward again, ripping his sword through three of her legs and swinging it back and down, cutting the cooking spider in two.
I coughed, spat, coughed again and rubbed at my lips with my hand. ”Ugh, ashes,” I rasped. Vilkas grunted and surveyed the dead spider, then reached forward and grabbed one of the monster’s curved fangs before I could stop him. With considerable effort, he wrenched it free and eyed his prize appraisingly – it was practically a knife, and poison hissed and splashed upon the stones from its cruel tip.
“I think I’ll keep this,” Vilkas said. ”I want to see the way Farkas faints when I show it him.”
“Vilkas,” I said reproachfully as I slung my bow upon by back, but he shrugged and gave me a sheepish grin.
“He’s my brother, I’m allowed. Well then, it’s proof at least of our kill.” Vilkas muttered and tore cobwebs out of his hair with difficulty. ”Shall we, then?”
When we returned, Calcelmo was ecstatic. Suddenly everything was a-bustle as he shouted orders, then handed us the key to the museum and shooed us away rather abruptly. I suppose it was only to be expected – his work was everything. Still, we had the key, and it was now just a matter of entering the Museum and searching the whole for the clue I was looking for. However…there was still a problem, at that problem was Vilkas. I was doing a job for the Thieves’ Guild, and while he was a good fighter and coin came first for him, it wasn’t his job.
“Take the key, cause a fuss,” I said to him quietly. ”I’ll go in and see if I can find what I need.”
“Why is this necessary?” Vilkas asked with a frown. ”Is this why you wished no one to come with you? What trouble are you in?”
He was implacable, and in desperation I had to promise I’d tell him everything once we were back in Whiterun. But until then, no questions. It grated however, and I could tell. He muttered, then sighed and snatched the key from my hands. ”Very well then. Get yourself hence and I shall wait, but I shall do so uneasily.”
And so he strode to the museum door, and made to open it with Calcelmo’s key. The guard eyed him dubiously as I watched from the shadows, and then Vilkas opened the door and turned, rummaging in his pack then grunting as Nimhe’s fang clattered upon the ground. Even from where I stood, I could see the guard’s face blanch.
“By the Nine, where did you get that?”
“This?” Vilkas took the massive, glittering thing into his fist and brandished it, his voice only slightly boastful. ”Took it off that bitch-spider’s corpse, the one you call Nimhe. Well, called. See, the channel where her poison ran? Careful, don’t touch the tip.”
While the guard was thus distracted, I crept forward. Key or no, I had a feeling I’d be going into areas that it would embarrass me to explain my presence, so I’d have to go as swift and silent as I could. What I wanted was in Calcelmo’s lab itself, and I doubted anyone was going to give me a by-their-leave to explore there.
The museum itself? Impressive – extremely so. Do yourself a favour and go sometime. Calcelmo’s long dead but his nephew continues his work, and it really must be seen to be believed. If it had been after these events however you would have never managed it – security was tripled after my little foray, I can promise you! I made quite a challenging go of it, and I may as well be honest; there were so many brilliant little trinkets and treasures that conveniently fit into a small bag or a pocket, I really couldn’t keep from helping myself to the spoils.
It can also be said that the Dwemer were the most devious elves I’ve ever known; everywhere a trap, everywhere something loaded with poison or guarded by creatures of metal and steam that still worked. On some level I’m glad they’re gone – if I thought Altmer were bad, the Dwemer must have been worse.
Eventually, I found myself in the uppermost rooms, which required a lot of sneaking and stealth on my part. Once I won into the main laboratory, I found what it was I had been looking for – a huge stone in a very prominent place, with the carven runes I was looking for. Still, how was I going to scrawl it all out? I was pressed for time. Eyeing some of the paper and charcoal on a nearby desk, I spread the paper over the stone and rubbed fiercely with the charcoal, transferring the work in sharp relief. I wrapped the whole into another paper to help keeping it from smudging and was just about to turn back the way I came when I heard movement from down the cavernous halls.
Now, I had a problem. Only one way in or out that I could see. I struggled with a sidedoor – it opened to a small balcony; not ideal, but there wasn’t time. I closed the door as quickly as I could and stood out in open air.
The sun had long set, and the torches were burning below. I realised with a grimace and a curse that I was on a flywalk. There was nowhere to go – no stairs, no walkways. Just…down, and the waterfall roaring alongside.
Well, I’d always wondered what the Shout of Ethereal could do. I put it to the test, and touched down on a far stretch of a bridge below, managing to get beyond the waterfall’s spray before ducking behind a pillar and coming back to full form. I gave the approaching guard a bit of a turn, but smiled, waved and had nothing to answer for. I had managed the task, and made my way to the inn, whistling merrily.
Vilkas was awake – of course! – though only just. I grinned at him, shooing him off the stool he was perched upon, though I gave him my sternest look. ”Bed, shield-brother – back to Whiterun tomorrow.”
“Fine by me,” Vilkas yawned. ”But I haven’t forgotten your promise. On the morrow, Harbinger.”
“On the morrow.”
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This quest is half familiar to me. I k... more