Dragon of the East - Arc 1, Chapter 19

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus July 2, 2014 - 1,246 views

  Chases-The-Wind

  ~ ~ ~

  I woke abruptly from a dreamless sleep, grasping for Xehtasken. It appeared I was alone. My sense of time was lost. How long had I slept?

  I shrugged aside the question as my stomach growled. I was safe and soundly whole, if a bit hungry. No traces of pain lingered where the draugr’s arrow had wounded me. There was merely tightness in my abdominal muscles. The cavern’s gloom remained pervasive as ever, cramped and foul smelling. I lingered in the dark before reaching for my armor.

  “Xho huuqlop… lazy tail,” I grumbled to myself as I stood and redressed. “You’re not done yet. You still have an assignment to complete…”

  Fastening one last buckle across the waist, I hoisted my knapsack and re-sheathed my weapons. There was no more time for tarrying. The Dragonstone had to be close.

  Pressing forward through the cave, I could see clear enough without a torch. Light was breaking further beyond. Daylight. The passage grew wider, expanding as I came upon a massive inner chamber. A flurry of winged creatures flew past me, too small to be bats but too large for moths. I could not distinguish them. My boots splashed in shallow puddles upon the floor. The cave’s air became moist, filling with sounds of torrential water.

  I stepped into the expanse of the chamber. The sights took me aback.

  Tall waterfalls roared and echoed throughout the hollow’s breadth, crashing into streams of runoff that flowed like brooks. A large slit in the cave’s ceiling shined sunlight down upon a wall carved in stone. It stood atop a terrace, with stairwells and pathways winding toward it. There were plants growing where water was abundant. I ambled over to the streams and knelt down to drink. The water’s taste was rich in minerals.

  Never would I have suspected such a wonder could exist beneath the mountains of Skyrim. It almost made the perils of the barrow worth braving. Almost.

  As I ascended stairs that lead to the terrace, I marveled at the make of the strange wall that stood at its peak. I call it a ‘wall’ because I am not sure what else to call it. Standing twice my height and curved inward, it appeared to be some sort of monument. Its surface was covered in more of the same swirling patterns I’d seen all through the barrow. Contrasting the wall’s grey, a black stone carving adorned its crown. It appeared to my eyes as a dragon’s head.

  Beneath this carving was a smooth face that ran along the wall. Crude etchings were carved into it. They appeared to have sequence and structure – I wagered the carvings depicted a statement, in no language I recognized.

  A black stone sarcophagus lay nearby. Was the wall a memorial? An epitaph? I sighed. There were no signs of the Dragonstone. The sarcophagus was the last place to search and I had no desire to search it. My dislike of entombed dead and the human practice as a whole had only grown in my time spent among the catacombs. Nevertheless, I kept my weapon ready as I approached, expecting another draugr to emerge at any moment.

  Then the most bizarre thing happened.

  I felt an unfamiliar sensation. A sound, but not quite a sound. Something different, with rhythm, as though alive. It was coming from the wall.

  Turning to face the source of this strange new sense, I walked closer. The rhythm became stronger, rising in intensity. The etchings on the wall – a word – seemed to beckon me. There was no unease or fear. It felt as water to the scales of a hatchling. Intrinsic. Natural. The word on the wall began to glow and resonate. My vision blurred, then darkened, leaving only the word’s light as it imprinted upon my mind’s eye. I could feel it within me, like a sixth perception of its own kind. It was at once visual, auditory, syntactic, phonetic…

  The word was ‘Fus,’ and it meant nothing.

  Forgive me if I sound cryptic, but even now I struggle to describe the experience. I could feel the word and even speak it aloud, but it was void of denotation. It existed like an empty husk. As my vision returned I stood stone still, trying to grasp the nature of this discovery. It left me baffled, bewildered, yet placid all the same.

  The feeling did not last. There was a crashing thud. The lid of the sarcophagus had been lifted off. From the recess of the coffin immerged another draugr, armed with sword and shield. Its face was well defined, a look of hatred in its glowing eyes. I spun back and snarled as I freed Xehtasken to fight.

  Flexing calcified muscles, the draugr’s jaw stretched open after drawing a sharp inhale.

  “FUS…”

  A chill ran down my spine. It speaks the same word–                 

  “…ROH DAH!!!”

  Sounding like a clap of thunder, a ring of sheer magic hurled from the draugr’s mouth with startling speed. It slammed into me with the force of a cannon ball, tossing me back as though I were a feather to the wind. Xehtasken nearly slipped free from my grasp as I slammed against the wall and fell to the ground.

  “What the Iyorth…!?” I wheezed as I hurried to recover.

  I jumped away from the wall to get free before my opponent could corner me. The draugr raised its sword to swing. I readied Xehtasken to parry the blow, banking on my reaction speed. Yet a sword raised is not a sword swung. I had been reckless. The draugr instead bashed me at face height with its shield, trying to blind me as its blade swept down to my legs. I dodged scantly. There was a numbing pain beneath my knees. Shallow cuts on my legs were speckled with ice. Only then did I see that the corpse’s weapon was enchanted with frost magic.

  An able foe, this one. But I had no intent to lose. It was time to gain control of the fight.

  We circled about each other, eyes locked, neither committing to a move. Blood seeped from my nostrils. The draugr finally struck, winding back from its left to cleave horizontally. I blocked edge against flat and, just as my foe recovered its defensive stance, kicked its shield dead center, sending the corpse staggering backwards. With my off hand I grasped the handle of my crossbow, drew it to aim, and fired.

  The bolt punched clear into the draugr’s neck, shattering its vertebra. My foe was paralyzed. With a roaring charge I came forth and plunged Xehtasken down across its shield arm, cleanly severing it. A quick repositioning, a plunge through its chest, and the draugr was no more. The light in its eyes faded away. I pulled free my weapon and stood over the fallen undead warrior in triumph.

  My stomach growled. I growled with it.

  I have had enough of this barrow…

  After healing my wounds, I retrieved the draugr’s sword. Its dark steel was worn, rusted and heavy, covered in white runes that glowed faintly. The charge of its enchantment had been spent considerably. Soul gems or a varla stone would be needed to recharge it. Either way the weapon was unwieldy, far inferior to Xehtasken in craftsmanship. I chose not to take it with me.

  There was only one thing left to do. I walked over to the empty tomb and peered inside. Lying at the bottom of the cold stone niche was a slab of rock. Markings were engraved on its surface, forming a cartographic outline of Skyrim’s borders. Symbols on the map dotted various locations. Dragon burial sites, I assumed. A wide grin rose my face.

  The Dragonstone at last!                          

  I looked back at the fallen draugr. Had this entire place been built to guard the stone… or the wall? What magic sustained these corpse warriors? There were many things I still did not understand. I hoisted the Dragonstone and stuffed it into my knapsack. Its weight was burdensome, but I did not mind it.

  I took in a lungful of air and carried on with renewed determination.

  To Dragonsreach once more…                                              

  ~ooooo~

  The main chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow exited near the base of the mountains, facing south. Though I longed to swim along White River to reach the north-east, I knew I was too encumbered. I decided instead to alter my return course, traversing through Brittleshin Pass and out across the flat plains of Whiterun hold.

  The silhouette of the Jarl’s palace became my guide and compass as I journeyed beneath clear skies, well into evening time. Thistle plants and tundra cotton brushed against my legs. I came upon many exotic sights, the most unusual of all being giants, creatures baring the guises of men. They towered several feet above the tallest Nord, wearing crude garments of fur and brandishing clubs, appearing more or less barbaric. Across the open plains they drove herds of mammoths, enormous creatures of brown wool with ivory tusks. Their size rivaled even the mighty swamp leviathans of Black Marsh.

  Skyrim was still alien to my eyes, full of so many strange curiosities and forms of life.

  As I minded the outrageously heavy rock I carried, a thought began to gnaw at me. I had the Dragonstone in possession. Was I forgetting something else? I rechecked my gear. Weapons, potions, supplies, all were accounted for. Then I remembered.

  The golden claw!

  In my haste to escape the draugr back in the barrow, I had left it on the other side of the puzzle door…

  Such a careless mistake seemed beneath me. Arvel and his companions had stolen the claw from someone. They would certainly never get it back now. Still, perhaps it was for the best. Safer that the claw be sealed away than left in the hands of another. Who knows how many more would seek out the barrow in search of fortune, only to meet the terror of its undead denizens. I shuddered to think what would happen to anyone who entered those catacombs unprepared.

  Eventually I arrived at Whiterun’s gates. The city was bustling with activity, slowed only slightly by the sunset. Merchants selling farm grown wares were pushing their produce, trying to sell all that they could before their stores would spoil. A priest of Talos was preaching in the streets. He seemed quite passionate. Others sat beneath the light shade of the Gildergreen, talking and gossiping among one another. I skirted past crowds and ascended to the Jarl’s palace, eager to deliver the Dragonstone and be on my way.

  Farengar was in his laboratory, absorbed in some new task, taking notes near a set of alembics and foaming beakers. I cleared my throat. The court wizard turned his attention to my presence, a pleased yet surprised look on his face.

  “Ah! It’s you! The Jarl’s protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn’t die, it seems.”

  Such faith…

  “Yes, to speak nothing of what I went through,” I muttered, feeling deflated. “I sincerely hope this Dragonstone proves useful.” I hefted the slab of rock from my bag and set it gently on the table. Farengar eyed the Dragonstone with curious interest.

  “Oh, have no fear – I’m certain it will,” the man replied, regarding me with gratitude. “You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me.”

  You know not the half of it, mage. Your Jarl recruited a dangerous fugitive.

  “All things considered I imagine so,” I said. “What happens now?”

  “This is where your work ends and mine begins. The work of the mind. I will decipher the stone and discover what knowledge it contains. My associate will be expecting a full report when she returns.”

  “Associate? Do you not work alone?”

  Farengar smiled. “No. Many others share a fascination with the dragons as I do. Even the Jarl himself has finally taken an interest. It is good to be able to devote most of my time to this research.”

  “I see… At least you have enthusiasm,” I said, eyeing his work desk.

  The room settled into a long uncomfortable silence. Farengar returned to his alchemy. It was clear he did not wish for conversation, but I was not yet finished. He glanced at me.

  “Hm? Oh, you’re still here?” the wizard said. “I have nothing for you. See the Jarl or his steward. I’m sure one of them will pay you appropriately for the Dragonstone.”

  “Actually, this one has a question.”

  “Ah, I should have figured… Go ahead.”

  I tried to think how best to frame the context of my query.

  “I discovered something back at Bleak Falls Barrow. I am unsure if it is related to the Dragonstone, but… there was a wall…”

  I retracted my words at the sound of commotion. Footsteps on wood, commands from soldiers, readying of weapons.

  “Yes? And? What about this wall?” Farengar prodded.

  “Wait. What’s happening?” I growled softly, peering out into the palace’s grand hall.

  A woman was running toward us, calling out Farengar’s name. It was the Jarl’s housecarl, Irileth. A dazed looking man accompanied her wearing the uniform of the city’s guard, chain mesh with yellow cloth. They stopped at the doorway to the wizard’s study.

  “Farengar! You need to come at once!” Irileth exclaimed. “A dragon’s been spotted nearby.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  The mage’s face beamed with delight. “A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?”

  “It was sighted from the west. I’d take this a bit more seriously if I were you,” Irileth replied, glaring at the Nord. “If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don’t know if we can stop it.”

  The mage wasting no time abandoning his work. The group made their way toward the stairs leading to the upper floor of the palace. The Dark Rlf woman turned back to me.

  “You should come too. Quickly!” she called out, motioning that I follow. I did not defy the request, rushing to catch up with her. A sinking fear was churning inside me. Were the events of Helgen to be repeated?

  If that black dragon strikes again, these people stand no chance…

  At the peak of the stairs the palace’s wood swapped for stone, adorned with yellow banners and carpets. A back door led to the grand porch of Dragonsreach. Fire pits and a chandelier casted light upon dark walls. I saw the Jarl accompanied by a clutch of his men and advisors. They were gathered around a small war table, arguing with one another. Balgruuf slammed his hands on the tabletop.

  “I don’t care if it comes here or not!” he boomed. “I want water in every bucket this city has! Now!”

  A soldier saluted and ran past us as we approached the gathering. The Jarl’s anger settled somewhat at the sight of his housecarl. She dragged forward the guardsman following her.

  “Irileth… Who’s this you’ve brought me?”  Balgruuf asked.

  “This man was at the western watchtower when the dragon flew over,” the woman replied, turning to the gaunt man in uniform. “Tell him what you told me.”

  “Uh… that’s right,” the man stammered, addressing his liege. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast… faster than anything I’ve ever seen!”

  “Did you see it clearly?” I interrupted. “What did it look like?”

  The man looked at Balgruuf, seeking permission to speak.

  “Answer him,” the Jarl commanded.             

  “The dragon was big… really big… with huge wings and–”

  “Its scales!” I snapped. “What color were its scales!?”

  “Oh… they were grey, I think, or brown.”

  Grey brown. This was not the dragon that destroyed Helgen. This was something else.

  “What did it do?” the Jarl asked. “Is it attacking the watchtower?”

  “No my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left,” the guardsman said. “I’ve never ran so fast in my life… I thought it would come after me for sure.”

   Balgruuf stepped forward to rest his hand on the man’s shoulder.                  

  “Good work, son. We’ll take it from here. Get down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”

  Dismissed, the guard made his way for the stairwell. Balgruuf looked gloweringly at his housecarl.

  “Irileth, you’d better gather some guardsmen and get down there,” he said.

  “I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the gates,” Irileth replied.     

  “Good. Don’t fail me.”

  The Dunmer went off to her assignment. Farengar stepped forward to speak.

  “I should come along,” he suggested. “I would very much like to see this dragon.”

  “No,” the Jarl responded flatly. “I can’t afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons.”

  Farengar was quite disappointed, ready to argue his case, but he submitted to Balgruuf’s command. The mage left quietly. Only the Jarl and his men remained. They looked to me.

  “You’ve returned,” the Jarl said. “Did you succeed in your task?”

  “Yes,” I replied sternly. “I found the Dragonstone as your mage requested. But now is hardly the time to stand on ceremony.”

  “Right you are, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You’ve survived one already. You’re the closest thing to an expert we have.”

  Somehow I knew he would ask such a thing. I let out a grim sigh. This would likely end in my death, but I could not abandon these people now.

  “Of course,” I hissed calmly, erecting the spine of submission. “I don’t know what difference my presence will make, but I will do all that I can.”

  “Then hurry. There’s no time to lose–”

  The room suddenly shook. Loose rubble fell from the ceiling. Everyone at the gathering braced themselves, drawing weapons. Then came an all too familiar sound. A dissonant metallic roar, barely audible from within the walls.

  “Talos save us, it’s here!” one of the men cried out. The dragon had perched atop Dragonsreach itself. A loud, trumpeting horn resounded outside.

  “Go!! Defend the city!” the Jarl ordered his men. He looked to me. “Argonian–”  

  “I’ll join the defense!” I called back, breaking for the stairs. “Stay here! You’ll be safest!”

  I ran back down to the entrance. Soldiers were hastening to the fight, some gathering at defensive positions along stairways, ready to protect the Jarl and his palace with their lives. A small group of guards rushed through the main doors. I watched the dragon fly by behind the latticed windows of the great hall, wind whipping in its wake. With a swipe of its tail, the wyrm smashed the bridge that crossed the Cloud District’s water basin, tearing it apart. I passed over once more, uttered forth fire and igniting the sundered remains. The way out was cut off.

  Fire burned through the entryway with brilliance to match the red-orange sky. I came to a halt. Soldiers and cleaning maids alike were scrambling to find water to douse the flames. Dread coursed through me at the sound of the dragon’s shouting, bellowing down upon the city of Whiterun. The bustling sounds of its townsfolk had become a panicked discord of screams and terror.

  My worst fears were being realized. It was all happening again…

   

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  More made up Jel used by Chases-The-Wind.

  In this instance, the language literally translates “You rise…” but is used in the English equivalent manner of “Get up, you…”

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