Eye of the Wind – Ch. 4 – 1: Riding High

• Posted by Kyrielle Atrinati September 18, 2012 - 360 views

  Over the next week I roved Eastmarch hunting, replenishing our arrows, sharpening our weapons, stitching cloaks out of hides with the assistance of Tormir.  I still didn't know where we were going, but winter was coming and the journey would be harder; wherever we went.

  It was the beginning of the last warm day of the year--the last warm day I would see for a very long time, anyway--and I deigned to spend it watching the water and attempting to fish by hand.  Thus far, I wasn't doing very well.  In fact, I was doing terribly.  So, I sat down and watched the reflection of the mountains break apart and reform.  Hypnotized, my eyes drooped and I leaned back against a pine in a doze.

  "HENNY!  HENNY!"  I heard a voice calling.  Snapping awake and drawing a knife, I looked around wildly.  Then I spotted Derkeethus leaping and waving excitedly on the opposite shore.  In his hand was a letter.  Diving like a fish, I swam across to him.

  "A courier just came with this.  I've been looking all over for you!"

  "Who is it from?" I asked.

  "I haven't looked yet.  I only just got my hands on it, but the courier said Quintus sent it."  Derkeethus, vibrating with anticipation, followed me as I ducked under a porch to open the letter.  Light rain had begun to fall, and I could hear an autumnal squall brewing to the north.

  The letter was, in fact, several pages of notes carefully sewn together.  Some of them written in Altmeris, most of them in Cyrodilic.

  On top of the notes, was a smaller sheet of parchment written in an untidy, looping script:

  Dear Friends Gwaihen and Derkeethus,

  I hope this letter finds you alive and well.  I wish to thank you again in ensuring the White Phial escaped the hands of the Imperials and remained with someone I could trust.  Shortly after your departure, an Imperial officer was seen attempting to break into the city using an ancient culvert under the docks.  The guards spotted him and chased him off.  I can only assume this was the gentleman threatening you on that night.

  My master kept his notes in complete disarray.  I was lucky to find any kind of logical sequence of events pertaining to the White Phial.  Rest assured, friends, I have located everything pertinent to your task ahead.  The most useful bit can be found summarized here:

  Atop the tallest mountain high,
  Where ever Kyne's breath draws nigh,
  Where winter's deepest chill is felt,
  Lies gleaming snow that does not melt.

  In the western canyons cloven,
  Dwell the long forgotten chosen.
  Wicked hands, ancient beliefs,
  A heart stolen, pricked with grief.

  Hills of stone house men large as pines,
  Faces gazing, eyes fraught with lines.
  The ground shakes with monstrous treads,
  Crushed to dust are bones long dead.

  It's a translation of a rubbing from the interior of a half-sunken tomb in the Sea of Ghosts.  The rubbing was originally in a strange language I've never seen the like of.  I believe it pertains to the making of the White Phial itself.  Not having traveled Skyrim, I can't really make heads or tails of the poem.  The only obvious clue may be the first line as it clearly refers to what the Nords call the Throat of the World.  It might be best if you began your search there.

  Please take care and return quickly.  Nurelion's condition is worsening.  I fear he will not last the winter.

  -Quintus Navale

  
  "Well, that's very helpful.  Nothing like a bit of poetry, a thank you note, and a bit of scribbled nonsense to get us going," rumbled Derkeethus, gazing bemusedly at his neighbors as they went about their daily chores.  

  We walked together through the village back towards the river and stood for a while looking up at Hrothgar the Great--the Throat of the World.

  " 'Atop the tallest mountain high,' " Derk quoted.

  Sighing, I glanced at my friend.  "You know we're going to have to climb that monstrosity, right?"

  "Of course, why would this ever be easy?  Just don't leave me to become a frozen treat for a troll."

  "Me?  Never!  You on the other hand..." I smiled as the Argonian elbowed me.  

  As we turned away to prepare to leave, I gave one last look over my shoulder at Hrothgar.  The mountain seemed to glower over the lands, an intimidating force that cared not for the smaller beings.  

  There were stories about men who lived up on the slopes, near the peak.  They were keepers of some kind of knowledge, something the people of Darkwater had called the "Voice", but whether or not that meant chanting or singing or a person with abnormal vocal abilities was never made clear.  I wondered if they guarded the top and would let us pass, or if we would have to climb tooth and nail to the summit.  I hoped for the former, but in my heart knew it would be the latter when push came to shove.

  When we departed Darkwater, our extra gear packed away carefully, the clouds had broken and the sky blossomed above us.  Taking the move direct route visible, we clambered up a path formed in part by wild animals, in part by rain.  The path was steep and studded with stones that threatened to injure the horses' hooves.  In some parts, we dismounted and walked them through the roughest parts.

  At last, as the sun rose high, we reached the top of the ridge we had been climbing for the last few hours.  The basin unfolded before us in the thin haze of the rain-washed day.

  Ahead of us the path widened and turned around a bend.  In rounding it, we glimpsed down into a pool formed by several waterfalls.

  "I know this place," said Derkeethus.  "This is where those beastly Falmer caught me.  I never went swimming here after you found me, you know.  A shame.  The water was wild.  So unlike the waters in Black Marsh."

  "Please tell me you didn't go diving off those falls," I sighed, imagining my friend careening through the air.

  "Of course not!  You don't dive off of falls!  You ride them with a log.  I'll have to show you some time," he grinned boyishly.

  "If we ever get out of this mess alive, I might be willing to try anything."

  "Riding the falls will be child's play after climbing that hunk of rock," he said, jerking a thumb towards the mountain that now loomed closer than before.

  The shadows lengthened as we pressed onward  Eventually the falls gave way to a raging river that crashed down the mountain more than it flowed.  Mists billowed up off of the rocks like waves, and it wasn't long before we were drenched and shivering.  

  Up here, the air had already become cooler and the water was freezing.  We were nearing the source of the Darkwater River:  Lake Geir, which in turn was fed by the snow melt from Hrothgar.

  When the sun had dipped behind the mountain and the land was filled with shadow, we reached the small village of Ivarstead at its base.  No one looked at us as we approached, and I noticed a distinct lack of diversity in its people.  Here, unlike any place we had seen thus far, everyone appeared to be of Nordic descent.

  I suppose to them, it must look strange to see a Bosmer and an Argonian appearing from the wilds, looking prepared to cause a commotion.  I smiled, also thinking it sounded like the beginning to a bad joke.  "A Bosmer and Argonian walk into a tavern..." I murmured to myself.

  Of course, we had no intention of doing anything other than climb the mountain, and in asking a local we passed the best way to access the peak, we were told of the Path of Seven Thousand Steps.  The path began on the other side of the river, and in looking at the snow-covered, rocky face of that beast of stone, I realized it would be foolhardy and suicidal to attempt that climb in the dark.

  So, resigning ourselves to one last night of warmth indoors, we headed to the local inn, and bedded down for the night.  As soon as it was light, we would begin our ascent.