It was just a little bit further now. The long, slow descent of the elevator was a trudging trek. The huge gears ground smoothly, a thousand some years of expert craftsmanship having gone into their construction, and almost four thousand years of disuse had done very little to compensate for the impeccable construction of the contraption.
"You take me to the nicest places," said one of the occupants of the elevator dryly. Gradually as the large stone slat lowered down, all other sounds had disappeared, leaving only with the displacement of air. A steady roar, like a stone throat hissing at the intrusion so deep into the crust of the earth. To say the air was still and cool here may have been an understatement. The air was so undisturbed it had practically forgotten how to move. The dirt itself was rather affronted to be forced to make way by being stepped upon. This was a place so old, and so magical, it had started to come alive in a way. Mostly, that way was a more pronounced inertia towards stillness, and stasis. But that, too, was a way the land could live.
The two figures stepped through the smooth-carved stonework with a decisive purpose, but no small amount of caution. A place like this, even after so long, even upon return visits, even with all the precautions taken, could still have active traps. Neither of them lit a torch, prefering to walk in darkness. The remnants of the structure here had more than enough light to see by for the likes of them.
The first area was hardly more than a stone and brass cage of a foyer. Thick, heavy grey stone with brass bars and fittings. On either side of the gate, a threadbare and faded tapestry, the herald of its faded sigil long lost to the ages. The taller of the two – the one who had spoken before – spared a lingering glance to them.
"These were gone even by the time I was around," she mused quietly, more to herself. The other figure a hand on the lever to the right, and pulled it down. The gate in front of them swung open. Beyond it was rough hewn stone, rough enough that it must have been a natural cavern. The type of rock was even different. Darker, more like hard clay, less like quartzite or schist. The path was lined with slate cobbling. To the right of the path was a broken fountain, sputtering water helplessly out of a mangled pipe. To the left, with the path bending around it, was a thick stone brazier. It was lit somehow.
They descended some stairs, obviously made of the same imported grey stone the Dwemer architects had been so fond of so very long ago.
"Wow," said the tall one. "You weren't kidding. This place is huge," she breathed. By the light of the brazier she stood beside, more of her features could be made out. She was about the right height and stockiness to be Imperial, though not quite. Something closer to Nordic, perhaps. Nothing quite fit the ticket either. Her eyes were red, with blackened yellow whites. Her skin was pale and pink, her hair like polished obsidian in shining black waves which ended in wispy locks by the line of her jaw. No one would be confused about whether she was pretty or not. She wore a white heiyon robe, seemingly unperterbed by the cold in any way. Bright white stones on thin silver chains hung about her, from her ears, on her forehead like a crown, and about her neck. She smirked at the other figure once her eyes were done taking in the vastness of the scene in front of her.
"Not going to take a moment to admire the view?" she chided. The other figure stopped in its tracks. This one was harder to see somehow. Though there was a gloom of shadow cast over the entire cavern, somehow the shorter person held onto them better. The shadows almost clung to the silhouette, making them hard to be seen, even when inspecting. All that could be made out was a dark, hooded shape, probably rolling its eyes as it retraced some of its steps, and stood beside the taller one. They clasped each others' hands as they took in the view.
There was a great pillar of stone, thick as a silo, carved away at by the soft chisel of water. At the base of the pillar was another of the ornate stone braziers. The wall curved away from the path toward the right, and the path curved around the pillar and brazier to the left. Crumbled statuary and stonework littered the area. The two resumed their walk, but slowly, with an eye for the sights.
There were more stairs down, this time in two flights. At the bottom of the first, the magnitude of the cavern is finally known in full. The taller one gaped at the ceiling, which careened away hundreds of feet up. From the steps could be seen the water, which formed a moderately sized underground lake. In the middle of it was an island set around the pillar. Connected to the pillar were two, apparently naturally formed, stone bridges. At the bottom of the second flight of stairs, off to the right and somewhat in the distance, buildings could be made out, like a little village. There was a soft, incredibly distant and faint little ray of sunlight pointing toward the centre of them.
"You know, if I'd spent the better part of the last millenia in a cave like this, I might not hold I against them so much," said the tall one. The short one nudged her in the ribs playfully, but said nothing.
They crossed the bridge, soft dirt displacing with each step. As they passed into the sunlight, the shadows finally had to let go. The shrouded, humanoid shape gave way to more detail. Short, and lithe, probably elven. Draped with a cowl over the head, and chain-mail about the torso. Thick, fur lined gloves and boots. A very finely made lute strapped to a backpack, as well as a quiver of arrows, and a bow half again taller than the figure carrying it. And a bizarrely ornate pickaxe hanging from the belt.
Upon the taller one's back was another lute and backpack, a much smaller and more practical looking, although ornate bow, and a quiver of elven arrows. About her waist she had an obsidian sword, with hungry looking runes inscribed on its blade, and a folded black fan. Both figures walked so comfortably with their own personal armories that there was no doubting at all they were dangerous people.
The sunlight faded to darkness over the last leg of the first bridge. There was a small shrine, or perhaps it was a work bench, one the pillar island. A small Dwemer oil fueled lamp casting its distinctly sickly light to one side of it, and a vent to the other. Looming over it was a large brass face. Like the visage of a disappointed foreman watching over his workers for all of eternity. The table itself was covered in gears, cogs and struts. Screws and other assorted tools for making automatons.
Veering right again, past yet another lit brazier on the left, they crossed the second bridge. They passed under a rather plain, and comparatively unimpressive archway at the end.
Now, at the foot of the buildings, it was clear this was no village. This was a fortress, huge and imposing. It was a return to the schist, grey and gold, in the symphony of brass mixed magnificently with stone. Sphere Centurion statues stood to either side of the walk up, poised, and looking so much like the real thing, they might come alive at any point. There were two sets of stairs, one on either side of a fenced lookout porch, which loomed overhead like a cloud of doom.
On the next flight of stares the doom and foreboding was off to either side, hanging in the shadows of the massive towers. Though closer to the top, the sole ray of sunlight glared faintly off of tree branches up ahead. The air here was moving, hot and sweet. It had gotten much warmer in here, and the water was making it quite humid. Not to mention the sound of the cavern echoing the waterfall, which fed the river, which fed the lake at the end of a cauldron of stone. Fungus was growing in every crevice it could find. The taller figure frowned as her sandals squelched in slimy fungus. She sighed through a grimace, and shook her head.
"I take back the nice things I said about this place. Yuck," she said. The other figure swung their clasped hands playfully, and made silent motions of mocking. "Laugh it up," warned the tall one again. The shorter one nodded.
At the top of the stairs there was a small square. There were long-since tripped mechanical contraptions, whose purposes at this point could hardly be deduced. Wild paddles with faintly glowing round window in the centre. The light which had shown down from the distant ceiling fell in a single ray upon the tree in the centre of the square. The tall one let go of the other, and came closer to get a better look.
It was in a raised stone planter, almost like a dais. All around the outside were designs and carvings, worn down over centuries of neglect and fungus. The tree itself was old, twisted, gnarled, and dry. It looked like it held on as best as it could possibly have been expected to, but still died in the end. It was much warmer up here. So warm it was bone dry, even with the waterfall only a few yards off. The taller one wiped at her forehead.
"Well preserved," she noted. "Even the tree didn't rot away into nothing. How long ago was this place abandoned?" she wondered aloud. The other shrugged.
There were three doorways pointing away from the tree. The door to the left led only to a cave-in of the once proud, and powerful architecture crumbled with age. To the right was a view of the waterfall, as if the rest of the structure on that side was simply cleaved away like a tectonic shoulder shrug. And flanking either side of the centre door were those same metal heads from before. These two bigger, and more imposing, staring down at anyone who came to this sacred place with the vengeful judgment of gods. The elf led the way though the middle door, and began to quietly trot down the stairs.
After the impressive openness and spaciousness of the cavern, this hallway felt damn right claustrophobic. Steam puffed overhead, as there were massive pipes, wider around than the height of a nord. They were strewn about the place. running overhead like particularly violent rafters. The delicate beauty, and attention to detail hadn't traveled to this corridor. Furiously hot pipes along the wall beside them, like a basilisk slithering along for their journey. The tall one flicked some wine at one experimentally. It sizzled, and vanished instantly. "Cool," she said.
More threadbare tapestries and rugs were here, in their time no doubt impressive. Threads made out of pure golds had shattered and fallen to the ground in small flecks. Older than anyone could really imagine. Now they were just sad scraps of fabric and finery, no living soul remembering what the symbols even meant.
Down yet more stairs, the Dwemer being so fond of ups and downs as they were. These ones were adorned with sculptures the shape of some gyroscopic measuring device, or some complex orbital symbol, mirrored on either side. At the bottom of the stairs, the hall took a left. To the right was another brass cage. The massive pistons behind the bars were working like mammoths, pushing their way against a tree. Heave after heave, making progress every time, but in for a long task.
"This place means business..." said the tall one, awe actually creeping into her otherwise sardonic voice. "I've been in Dwemer ruins before... But this one..." she said. The other one was standing smugly ahead of her, with arms crossed. The tall one rolled her eyes, and grinned. "Okay, okay, so you meant it. You win, happy?" she asked. The elf nodded jovially. "Right, smart ass. Just let me appreciate it, will you? It's really impressive."
At the other end of the hall was a massive set of double doors. They were all etched brass, acid carved. Fine and cleanly defined lines of geometric composition set against a rough, unpolished backdrop. The elf waited for the human to be ready, then with a dramatic flare forced them aside.
Beyond them was an amphitheater. At the other end of it, staring down at you more like a god than a machine, was the Atherium Forge. The tall one had no words for this. Her mouth hung in slack silence for some time before the elf scooped up her hand, and led her down yet more stairs, in an even narrower hallway. The ceiling didn't follow the stairs down, and continued up into a complicated chimney apparatus.
A massive golden head looking down from on high, flanked from all directions in the red glow of magma, a steady drizzle of pure molten metal being poured out from the chin. There was a sound, or perhaps more a sensation. Like a low hum, so deep it couldn't be heard, but could be felt inside one's bones. There was a bubbling pool of fire between the stairs and the Forge. It was covered with an ornate grille, much like the design on the doors. The pipes in this room had been laid with more care, more reverence. This place was almost like a temple. It widened out, and the valve release controls were raised and out of the way. More like a place for an audience than worker.
The tall woman stopped before they stepped onto the grille, her free hand covering her face. She shook her head, looking flushed and breathless. The elf stopped when her arm provided resistance. They exchanged a look, the human's eyes flashing just a touch of fear for a moment. The elf took her hand in both, and kissed her knuckles sweetly. Then the elf dropped her hand, and continued toward the Forge itself. Like an ant walking toward an Atronoch.
To either side of the base of the Forge itself were several tanks, each containing molten metals, and more magma in different conditions for working Atherium. There was a stand in the middle, a little cog shaped receptacle. The elf stooped over it for a moment, and pulled out a small pouch. In this light, more of the elf could be made out. She was probably female, dark skinned but not ashen. Probably Bosmer. Her hood was brown leather, her chain-mail was well kept, green fabric underneath polished steel. The massive bow strapped to her back was most decidedly made out of bone. It looked like it was made from a dragon's wing. The arrows on her were excellently crafted, and matched the quiver and bow to a tee. The lute, in this light, looked no more remarkable than before.
The elf hefted the pouch in her hand gently. She shook it very gently into the receptacle. Almost as if concerned its contents might ricochet out, she covered one side, and shook it just a little more forcefully. Small shards of pebbles rattled out. The entire contents was hardly enough to make a lump bigger than a toe. And they glowed, a rather bright teal.
The elf pocketed the pouch once she was done pouring. She pulled her gloves off, putting them in her satchel. She placed her hands over the two control globes at the top of the daises. There was a teal flash, and the machine flit to life at her touch. A similar flash showed out from under the edges of her armour a moment, too. She gripped tightly, the Forge began to make its second new piece of Atherium in nearly five thousand years.